True Story Tuesday: When My Cell Phone Exploded

Nighttime in the hospital is very odd.  It's quiet, but it's not quiet.  The visitors have gone home for the day, most of the patients are asleep, the staff is fewer.  But, you hear the beep of the machines, the moans and groans (or cries) as patients attempt to rest despite their pain, the covered giggles of the night staff as they try to have fun at work without waking the neighborhood.  It's weird.


When we went in Saturday night, I asked Super Realtor (love this nickname, by the way - it just may stick) to bring my laptop.  Of course, I also asked him to bring my exercise pants, a pair of athletic socks, my tennis shoes, a tshirt, and my pajamas.  I got his exercise pants, one of his dress socks, a pair of my fuzzy socks, and a sweatshirt.  Whatever.  At least he remembered the laptop. 


I don't sleep well in hospitals.  Heck, I have trouble sleeping at home!  And I learned from our first stay with Violet that nighttime can be pretty boring for Mama while baby is trying to sleep.  So, while Violet tried to get comfortable and catch some zzzz's between all the beeps and boops and whooshes, I hopped on FB to catch up with the world and let my brain unwind. 


And that is when the trouble began.


I guess it started innocently enough.  Rachel (who is NEVER on FB, by the way), posted about their adventure of the day:

Now, I'm sure you missed the most epic part of that post.  Go look at the number of comments. 


No, that is not a typo.  We discovered how to use the comments as a 5-way IM.  Genius!


Of course, after a long and stressful day, my snarky meter was WAY off the charts:

My other friend Shana jumped in the fray, but her snarky meter was just a little tired that night, at first:

Really, only Shana could say something like that and have it seem completely normal.  But, we still needed to know WHY IN THE HECK THERE WERE TEETH IN HER DRIVEWAY!

At this point, sweet nurse-man Jeff snuck in the room to check Violet's temperature and vitals. 

Mr. Daddy, Rachel's hubby, must have wondered what all the snickering was about, because he jumped into the fray:

And then we discussed the finer points of target practice with 22s:

Seriously, what husband, given that wind-up, would not swing straight for the fences?  Mr. Daddy delivered a home run:

And, we have all learned one thing from the times Mr. Daddy hijacks their blog.  Don't get that man on a roll.  Cause it's gonna be dangerous!

At this point, Rachel was red beyond belief and trying to do ANYTHING to focus the attention away from her:

Oh yes.  Mr. Daddy won a gift card from a blog giveaway.  To Dress Barn.  And, if you would like to see Mr. Daddy "modeling" his final choices, you can simply go here.  Don't worry, I'll wait.  It's worth it. 



So, we all had a good giggle at Mr. Daddy's expense.  And then one of us had to pee.

No, really.  Shana has crabs.  Real ones.  You can look at photos of them here.  And if you're a crab person, they really are quite cute.  But, because Liz hadn't seen the crabs, they became FB friends so that she could see the crabs.  Weirdest conversation ever!

And, really, it didn't seem odd at all that Mr. Daddy randomly chimed in with an outhouse anticdote.  But then Rachel took it down a whole other road:

And apparently, once Mr. Daddy found out that we ALL knew his buttocks were unshaven, he became a spoilsport and made Rachel go to bed. 

Fuddy duddy old man.


Yes, this conversation lasted 2 1/2 hours, had almost 1100 comments, and covered just about EVERY random subject known to man.  I do not remember the last time I woke up with sore abs from laughing.  And my phone, which receives all my FB notifications, refused to work.  Apparently I made it think too hard the night before. 


But, thanks to three crazy ladies (and one nut of a man), my night at the hospital was anything but boring! 






Want to read Rachel's side of the story?  Or more stories that are just so nuts they have to be true?  Go harass visit Rachel and Mr. Daddy at Once Upon A Miracle.  Don't forget to tell them that Saint Poopicus sent you!