It's all fun and games until someone gets stuck working overtime.

You guys, this week may kill me. The part-timers that come in and cover my ass at the day's end are both gone onto greener pastures (the kind of pastures where you don't have to check eyes all day). This means that I get to deal with patients for eleven hours out of the day, instead of my manageable eight.

In case I don't make it through the week, here are some strict instructions on my funeral:


The day will start at 2PM, and everyone will gather at a stadium. After everyone is seated, there will be a photo montage of things I like (tacos, kitties, pools, Walken.... Those kind of things). The montage will be set to 'It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp', by Three 6 Mafia.
Then, there will be a snack (probably nachos and slurpees).
Afterward, my coffin will raise out of the ground, and will move around like I'm dancing for a few minutes. The song that will be playing is 'Dancing with Myself', by Billy Idol (I actually don't like this song, but due to the fact that I'll be dead, it really doesn't matter).
We'll then have a taco party around the coffin, and popsicles and gin will be served for dessert.
There will be an interpretive dance routine, set to 'Fix Up, Look Sharp', by Dizzee Rascal, about my life.
Everyone will get a goodie bag, with all sorts of fun shit like whistles and candy necklaces and stickers and those little parachute guys.
At the end, everyone will have a group hug, and my hand will be propped up so people can high-five me on the way out the door.
The final song that will play is the theme to The Jeffersons. Someone should hire Sherman Hemsley to come and dance, too. That'd be nice.


....and that's that. You are all invited. It should be fun (not that I'll know.... I'll be dead, doyyy).

~sarah p.