Why on earth anyone thinks JC is reserved is beyond Chris. "The serious one," right. "Shy?" Not even. It's testing the limits of Chris's sanity daily to reign JC in so that the pop world media doesn't explode with glee over reports of JC's drunken antics and sexual escapades.
"...and then we tied her up, but we left her pretty naked, I guess, which I never would have done if I wasn't drunk, really, and she was pretty pissed because some gang or something came along and found her, I heard all this from Johnny the next day, the bastard, he called at like ten when he knew we were gonna be hanging hard, you know, and he said something about lawyers, blah blah blah, but..."
"Yeah. Check it out, man, I totally got bite marks, I'm not sure where from, 'cause I think we may have ended up at some after party, I don't remember, too fucked up, but..."
"What? Dude. Your face is turning beet red."
"C. I know I'm, like, completely conservative."
"Well, not really, man, I mean, you can't help it, man, denying yourself, but I think..."
"JC. Shut up."
JC stops talking, finally, and looks at him. But Chris is not sure how to go on. He feels like someone's square old parent, scolding a space alien from another planet. Yeah, the planet of sleeze, and JC needs a swift kick so he doesn't ruin it all for all of them, but Chris knows that would only make JC grin and wiggle and raise his eyebrows, and they were all doomed.
...just for the hell of it, but I kind of petered out because JC really is the disciplined one, all partying aside, and the guys were all so charmingly devoted to their earnest hard-working good sport wanna-be pop star gig, still are, and actually upon reflection I think Chris would have been the "we" in JC's speedy ramble, if anyone, except maybe Lance. But it was fun getting my thoughts around chatterbox!JC, going on and on about the naughty.
Another god-have-mercy day at work yesterday, first a transfer from ccu who had gone into cardiac arrest and was brain dead, so came to us to die, poor guy, but when they extubated him his vitals stabalized out, of course. His wife couldn't bear to see him like that so he was alone, but I tried to spend some time with him. I sang him "100 Ways" and got him a continuous morphine drip, and I don't think he'll be here long. It's cool. His wife told me "he never met a stranger" so I know he's over there, wherever, schmoozing and hanging out, waiting for her.
It was just kind of hard because his brother came in and nobody had told him anything, so his first question to me was "what's his prognosis." So I had to tell him, basically, that he had none. *sniff*
And then the lady with the kidney transplant, immunosuppressed, with abd pain and they sent her to the ER, which is basicaly like handing her a petrie dish full of the grip and telling her to rub her face in it, sick people go to the ER, you know. *shakes head* Then they ordered her to go without anything by mouth so she missed two doses of her anti-rejection drugs, not to mention no food all day, and then they didn't bother to come in 'til late, and when they finally wrote the orders at 7 pm they said "I need these orders in STAT so she doesn't lose that kidney!!1!" Well, SIR. If you'd bothered to come see her before frickin' NIGHTFALL, hello, this might not be an issue now. By "they," of course I mean "he," the kidney doc, who is also married to one of our oncologists, the very same charmer who cut me off in the middle of a call about a confused patient to say "I have to be somewhere. Hurry it up." And, grrr. /rant
Hee. Don't get me started. Oops. Too late.
Ah, well. The money's better than bartending.
Today I am tired. I stayed up way, way past my bedtime to watch Curb Appeal last night, god help me, but they had on the very cutest gay couple painting their house yellow, and I kept dozing off but they were so cuddly and funny. Then I dreamed about JC's feet. Yeah, I don't know, either.
Today, also, I have the desire to buy shirts. I found the nicest sweater on J Jill's website, but it was fittyDOLLARS, zoicks, and while I'll spend that on jeans, somehow when it comes to a top I just can't do it. I wish that made sense.
Hmm. Fifty dollars for a top. *swerves off into happy porn-stream*
...yep. That was just random enough.