#milo can eat anything and run just fine but he unfortunately can taste

[artificial-espionage]

Imagine being a machine that only runs on money.

Cannot be me.

[saltygilmores]

THOUGHTS WHILE WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS: S3/EP5/8 O Clock At The Oasis

Ah, I'm only two episodes away from the Dance Marathon. I am PUMPED! I hope Shane is living out her bucket list (or should I say Fucket List) because the clock is ticking for her. Original Air Date: October 22nd, 2002. The episode opens with a pretty unfunny comedic exchange between Lorelai and Rory as they head to Luke's. They arrive to find the diner unusually crowded.

An Iconic line. Welcome back, Tomatos Sign. Sun Shine. Coffee's Fine. (A Gilmore Girls Haiku)

Maybe Lorelai should have thrown some condoms at these people too. Condoms for The Hollow is my new initiave. Luke is complaining that the parent group comes in every weekend and takes up space for hours and make a mess out of his business only to order two iced teas; he is telling this to Lorelai and Rory, who take up space for hours, eat him out of house and home and never pay for their food.

Says Luke Danes about a woman breastfeeding meanwhile he doesn't try to stop this:

Another banger of a one liner.

Later, Emily calls Lorelai at work and invites her to a furniture auction. The conversation is suspiciously pleasant and Lorelai hardly even puts up a fight. She later attends the auction with Michel and has a nice time and meets Jon Hamm. But Emily Gilmore always has some kind of motive. Stay vigilant, Lorelai. Michel overhears the conversation and begs Lorelai to take him with her and she agrees. For a price.

I looked up a phone number for you, Michel.

Next scene, Lorelai meets a quirky, vertically challenged, talkative new neighbor who asks Lorelai to water his lawn while he's away and although her agreeance is once again reluctant, there is very little quibbling. Who is this doormat who is saying yes to everything without a fight (so basically, Rory), and what have you done with our Lorelai?

No, I will not. I will continue to post Crap Commentaries to Tumblr. Com until Tumblr finally, mercifully ends up in the dustbin of internet history. Or until I finish Season 3 (maybe 4). Whichever comes first. My 73 year old mom loves loves loves loves loves LOVES Jon Hamm. She definitely loves Jon Hamm more than I love Milo. So of course I've shared this episode with her a few times.

My mom gives Jon Hamm the same googly eyes whenever he's on TV. Here's some Random-Hamm Shots I sent to my mom this morning.

Jon Hamm is a babe. Let's all give it up for my mom. She has good taste. The urge to call him "Baby Jon Hamm" when he was actually 31 years old here is strong. I mean, I still call 30 year old Milo Baby Milo. He didn't shed Baby until at he was at least 35. It's a badge of honor. These fine men age like wine. Lorelai doesn't get BabyHamm's name at the auction, so now she's on a quest to figure it out, which unfortunately for her means she'll have to put the squeeze on Emily to try and get it. Whoops. My bad. She actually asks Rory to do it for her (then gets mildly irritated when Rory actually does it). Just a quick run down of all the manipulative micro transactions going on in just the first 17 minutes of this episode: Luke ---> Lorelai: Tell that woman to stop breastfeeding in my diner Lorelai ---- > Michel: You can come to the auction if you work every weekend Lorelai ----> Rory: You have to ask Grandma to get me BabyHamm's number Dwight (new neighbor) ----> Lorelai: I know you just met me but I need you to water my lawn for the next week Dwight ----> Lorelai: While you're here watering my lawn you can water my indoor plants too Then there's the whole sprinkler business... which we'll get to in time. Lorelai swallows her pride at the next FND and inquires about Paddle #17 and we find out BabyHamm's name is Peyton Sanders. Isn't he a football player? (Peyton Manning. Bad Joke.). Emily agrees to obtain his phone number for Lorelai without anything more than some light teasing . Highly suspicious.

Dwight's house is pretty rad.

Okay okay I LOVE this kind of thing. The thing being: listing all of the board games whose names I can make out. Les go. We'll finish out the post here. Some of the games, I'd assume for copyright reasons have their names cropped short or changed. Hungry Hungry Hippos became Hungry Hungry Nippos.

Candyland (two copies). Chess (three copies). Chinese Checkers. Hungry Hungry Nippos. Yahtzee (two copies). Ouija Board. Scattegories. Sorry. Chutes and Ladders. Easy Money. Clue. Hangman. Pyramid (two copies). Risk. Aggravation. Horse Around. Mastermind. Scrabble. Go For It. Times to Remember. Charades for Dummies. Monopoly. And FIVE copies of Operation.

I’m such a slut for small details, ya’ll 🤤

[hotpinkhoshi]

kiss it better | three

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: age gap (nine years), cursing, explicit sex, slow burn

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

a/n: hi everyone! thank you for being so patient with me for this chapter! if you follow me i’ve mentioned a few times that i’m struggling with writer’s block these days, but i’m pushing through it. i hope you guys like this chapter and if you have any questions or feelings pls don’t hesitate to let me know! 

✩ index here ✩

In his thirty years and some odd months of life, Mark had learned one unquestionable thing about himself.

He liked to be alone - in all senses of the word. 

In his experience, nothing good could come from allowing anyone past your emotional walls. If he was alone, he was safe. No one could hurt him without his permission. But he’d be lying if he said that having you around wasn’t like a sliver of sunshine peeking over those walls he’d built brick by brick. 

Milo loved you, and another thing he’d learned in all of his wise years was that if his dog liked you, then you were alright. The moment you walked through the door that first morning, Milo had been at your heels, sniffing and licking your shins affectionately. So, one point in your favor.

Mark slept in most mornings since he wasn’t needed at the shop until eleven, so by the time he woke up you’d been up for hours. You took it upon yourself to clean, organize, and revive the dullness of Mark’s apartment. Another point for you. 

You spent most evenings at the dingy diner you worked at until nearly midnight. When you came home, Mark’s usual spot was on the couch, with Milo on his chest and a de-stressing round of Overwatch on the TV. 

For the first few nights, you all but scurried past him to the bedroom to quickly change for bed and then he didn’t see you at all for the rest of the night. He could tell you were doing everything you could to practically be invisible - so different from the fiery girl that had rolled her eyes at him and called him an old man. 

“Y/N,” he called to you the next night when you arrived home from work. He caught you just before you went down the hallway. 

“Yeah?” you said meekly, turning on your heels to face him. 

Mark sat up further, arms holding Milo on his lap. Even your body language seemed like you wanted to disappear. Your arms were behind your back as you stood straight, hands clasped like a servant. 

“You know you don’t have to hide, right? You live here. You can watch TV or have a friend over, or whatever you want.” 

He could see the hesitation in your eyes, like you didn’t quite believe him. He just wanted you to feel at home; something unfortunate had clearly happened before you moved to Seoul. It wasn’t his place to pry or ask questions, but he wanted you to feel comfortable. 

“I… it’s okay, really.” You chewed at your lip, eyes on the floor. 

Mark sighed. “Y/N, just come sit and watch TV with me. No excuses.”

“I should really-”

Milo barked, high pitched and sudden. He was looking at you expectantly as if he was also joining in on the debate. 

“See?” Mark asked. “Milo wants you to hang out with us.”

Mark watched as your features softened bit by bit until you caved. “Okay. I just need to go shower and change, though.” You tugged at your plain black polo that you were forced to wear for work, a little baggy around your figure which made him wonder if the shirt was too big or if you’d lost weight. 

It wasn’t his business, not really, but he still felt this pull to you, towards taking care of you like your parents had done for him. They had saved his life and he’d always been so sure he would never be able to repay them - until now. 

Half an hour later, Mark looked up to find you coming out of your room, no longer in your stuffy uniform but in something more comfortable. Quite comfortable. A pair of shorts and a tank top that was loose on your shoulders, revealing your collarbone and smooth shoulders still glistening from your shower. 

“Hey, can you look at this?” you asked as you sat down next to him on the couch, angling your body so that he could see your tattoo. You slid the strap off your shoulder and pulled your damp hair to the side, revealing the intricate purple flower to him. 

Mark found his throat going a bit dry for some reason, seeing your bare skin like this, smelling the scent of your coconut shampoo. In his defense, it had been a long time since he’d seen this much skin in the flesh outside of the tattoo shop - female skin, to be specific. It was a shock to his system, that’s all. 

“It really itches. Is that normal? I can’t get a good look at it,” you told him, tucking your chin over your shoulder to look back at him. “I’ve been good with the ointment, I swear.”

Staring down at his own design, Mark brought a tentative hand up to your shoulder, tracing his index finger over the lines he’d created. It hadn’t healed completely yet, and it was beginning to shed the top layer, so he could still feel the ridges under the pad of his finger. 

“The itching is normal,” he said, after clearing his throat. “As the tissue heals, it’s trying to repair itself and prevent infection. So that causes itching, kind of like when you get a scab. If it continues for a few more days or starts to hurt, just tell me. It looks like it’s healing well, though.”

You nodded. Mark noticed you didn’t turn away yet, not until his eyes flicked up to meet yours. He had never been this close to you. Had you always had that freckle above your lip? And he’d never noticed the little scar above your eyebrow either, just a little nick that was probably from a tumble you’d taken as a child. 

And he realized with a start that you had been a child not so long ago. It may have been ten years ago, but he still vividly remembered your gangly limbs and braces from when you were twelve. You were Taehyung’s kid sister, and there was no good reason for him to be tracing over your shoulder and going dizzy from the smell of your shampoo. 

Milo saved the day, wedging himself between your bodies until he settled upon your lap, curling into a tiny fur ball. Mark laughed, grateful for the break in the tension. You giggled and sat back against the couch, cradling Milo in your arms. 

“So, what are we watching?”

— — —

And thus began a new routine. 

In the morning, you still woke up earlier than he did. You still made breakfast, except now you waited until just before Mark woke up so that he could start his day with the scent of eggs and bacon as it sizzled in the frying pan. And instead of leaving it on a plate to warm in the oven, you actually sat with him to eat. 

He learned a lot about you. There were still many blanks and question marks but slowly, you revealed little bits of yourself that almost made him feel like he knew you. Not kid you, real you. The woman you’d grown to be in the last several years. 

You were timid, as a whole, but he could see that part of you was slowly beginning to melt away. Once you warmed up to him, he found that you actually had a lot to say. 

Mostly about the food he ate. 

“Mark, that is not a lunch.”

You stood with your hands on your hips, watching with a frown as he grabbed a granola bar out of the pantry and tucked it under his arm along with the flimsy sandwich that he’d thrown together. He wasn’t picky, he just had simple tastes. When you grew up lucky to get two meals in your belly in a day, it made you realize food was just something to keep your body moving. 

“Huh? This is fine. It has nuts in it,” he told you, holding up the granola bar. “Nuts are healthy.”

By the way your lips pursed together, he could tell that you weren’t appeased by that. “At least take an apple with you, they’re fresh.”

Mark humored you at least, grabbing an apple before he was on his way. As he was grabbing his wallet and keys, he had to press his lips together to hide the half smile fighting its way onto his lips. 

— — —

You tried not to think about it. Really, you did. 

It was your day off, so after Mark left, you tackled your first load of laundry since moving in. It had been piling up ever since you were staying in the hostel, where half the laundry machines were almost always taken and the other half were out of order. 

Once you had thrown your clothes into the washer, you tidied up your room. It was a small room, one you suspected was actually meant for a child when the apartment was built - but it was enough for you. More than enough. 

It didn’t take long for you to clean up the room, putting away any clothes you hadn’t folded and put into your drawers just yet. It was silent in the apartment, leaving you only with your thoughts. 

You wondered what Mark was doing. It was nearing noon by now, and he’d mentioned he had two back to back appointments. It didn’t leave him with much time for a meal… not that he’d brought one with him, anyway. 

It wasn’t like you were doing anything. It wouldn’t hurt to throw something together for him quick, and run it down to the shop, would it? Honestly, it was the least you could do. He was allowing you to live in his apartment, rent free, not asking for a single thing in return. 

You found yourself in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets to see what exactly he had on hand. Not much, you realized. From what you could tell, he lived mostly on take out and the occasional instant meal. Luckily, you found some vegetable broth and enough spices to scrounge together a stew. You’d bought some short ribs the other night, planning on making something delicious over the weekend as a thank you to Mark. 

You’d always loved cooking. Ever since you were a child, it was the one thing you could share with your mother. She wasn’t a cold woman, but she wasn’t one for many words. You never laid your head on her lap and confessed your worries while she played with your hair, or cried in her arms when you were upset. Instead, you cooked. 

If you came home from school, eyes wet with tears, your mother wouldn’t say a word - she would simply fire up the stove and list the ingredients for you to gather from the refrigerator. The only sound while you cooked besides that of the sizzling pans and bubbling broth was the humming - a soft, wordless tune that even now, you could hear in the back of your mind. 

You moved quickly, more confident in your steps than you had been in months. For just a moment, it felt like you were home again. 

— — —

Clutching the paper bag in your hands, you looked up when you heard the ‘ding’ of the bell above your head, signaling your entrance into the tattoo shop. It was noticeably more lively than it had been during your first visit - three young boys were sitting on the couch, flipping through a binder of tattoo designs and exclaiming over each one. 

In the back, you could hear the metallic buzz of a tattoo gun. Dahyun was at the counter with another customer, a girl your age deciding between several types of facial piercings. The former looked up as you entered, offering you a smile when she recognized you. 

“Ah, Y/N!” 

You returned her smile and gave a polite nod. “Hello,” you replied, unable to help but glance around, looking for Mark. It was as if he sensed your presence - no less than five seconds later, he was emerging from one of the rooms down the hallway and coming towards you. 

“Y/N?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

Mark ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. He was in the same outfit you’d seen him in earlier, a black top and jeans with a blue flannel. Except now he’d taken the flannel off, revealing the toned, tattooed skin of his biceps underneath. 

You tore your eyes away from his muscular arms and stared up at him, swallowing the dryness from your mouth. “Hi.” 

“What’s that?” he asked, jutting his chin towards the bag in your hand. 

You had to glance down to remember what you’d brought with you. Sticking your arms out towards him, you pressed the bag into Mark’s chest. 

“Food,” you answered simply.

Mark rolled his eyes, though you noticed the smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, you really didn’t have to. I told you, I’m alright.” 

You huffed. “It’s real food, not granola or whatever greasy meal you were planning on ordering. Short rib soup. And rice.” 

Mark took the bag, unfolding the top to investigate its contents. He blinked a few times before looking up at you, an unfamiliar expression on his face. Almost like he was touched, but you couldn’t quite understand why. It was just food. 

“I was going to make it anyway, this weekend-” you started. 

“Thank you,” Mark told you, voice surprisingly sincere. It made you feel as if there was something in between the lines, something you couldn’t put your finger on. “Is it… your mom’s recipe?” 

He asked the question slowly, carefully. Mark was a smart man, you knew he’d picked up on the tension between yourself and your family, yet he never pushed. He avoided the topic, and never pried when you mentioned them off hand. 

You swallowed thickly, then nodded. “Yeah.” 

Mark’s face softened as he looked at you. Just as he took a step closer, Dahyun’s voice broke the bubble that had apparently been surrounding the two of you for the last few minutes. 

“Hey, what are you doing tonight?” 

Dahyun was looking between the two of you with a very interested stare, a knowing smirk on her lips as she ignored the customer she’d been helping. 

“Nothing, why?” you asked, a bit hesitant. You were off work, and Yerin was pulling an extra shift at the restaurant tonight. She was your only friend, so it left your night wide open. 

“Well,” Dahyun said, leaning her chin upon her hand. “We were going to go bowling tonight with a couple of other people, and we need an even number. If you came, it’d be perfect. Yugyeom’s girlfriend bailed, something lame about a massive nursing exam tomorrow.” 

Mark sighed. “You really don’t have to - it’s fine.” 

“I’m really bad at bowling…” you said, already preparing your polite rejection. 

“So is everyone else,” Dahyun replied. “I mean, Mark’s good. And Jackson pretends he is. But mostly we just get drunk and make fun of ourselves.” 

Your instincts were telling you to say no. Your social circle, even at home, had been very small. Large group settings weren’t your thing, especially with strangers. But you’d decided as soon as you moved to the city that you would try every new thing you could. 

“You should come,” Mark offered. When you looked at him, he was chewing at his lip, but he offered you an encouraging smile nonetheless. “If only for the entertainment of watching Jackson lose his mind every time he bowls a gutter ball.” 

This was what you’d come here for. You’d left your life behind, everything you knew, so that you could live. You couldn’t do that if you refused to step outside of your comfort zone any time an opportunity presented itself. 

Besides, if you could get a tattoo, surely you could handle a little drunk bowling. 

“Okay,” you finally agreed. “I’ll be there.” 

[itssandflower]

Milo

Image Source: Thehappypuppysite

When he first was admitted to the hospital, Milo was young. He was two years old and was a very handsome russet-colored retriever mix. You wouldn’t have been able to guess his age by looking at him, though; his back legs were constantly in a squatting position due to his pretty crappy and already arthritic knees, and he was very, very sick. Milo was on a pretty safe NSAID (non-steroidal anti-inflammatory pain medication) as far as NSAIDs go, but we suspected he was very sensitive to NSAIDs in general. Only after a few short weeks of being on this NSAID, Milo had developed a severe gastric ulcer that eventually perforated, meaning his gastric contents had begun to leak into his abdominal cavity. As you can imagine, this is a very serious complication and one that absolutely could not have been foreseen.  Milo was very, very unlucky.

So unlucky, in fact, that he needed surgery to deal with this perforated stomach ulcer. The type of procedure he needed is called a Total Billroh I. This procedure is a complex one that requires a skilled surgeon to take away the part of the stomach closest to the small intestine. As one can imagine, the recovery from a procedure like this is very rocky, and many times pet owners end up euthanizing before the animal heals because they are concerned for their quality of life or the cost of extensive ICU stay becomes too much. This surgery was the only option Milo had besides euthanasia, and the owner wanted to give him every chance he could.

As expected, Milo’s recovery was very involved. He was on the best pain medication we could offer, including Fentanyl, Lidocaine, and Ketamine constant rate infusions. We were very careful to avoid NSAIDs due to his suspected hypersensitivity to them. Because gastric emptying time was very delayed due to the type of surgery Milo went through, he needed a lot of extra help with digestion. He had a PEG tube placed (A tube that goes directly into the stomach to facilitate medication administration, in addition to removing excess fluid to prevent him from being sick), a J tube (a tube that goes directly into the jejunum, a portion of the small intestine to provide supplemental nutrition for when he refused to eat), an esophagostomy/e-tube (A tube that enters the esophagus to facilitate supplemental feeding), and a central line to facilitate medication administration. Milo was now on the Critical Care service, and for good reason. It took him at least 3-4 days before he was willing to eat on his own and at the direction of our board-certified veterinary nutritionist, we offered him highly digestible cat food. There are many reasons why a veterinarian may recommend cat food for a dog, but the main reason Milo was offered it was because it has a higher protein content to aid in healing, and it’s very palatable, meaning it tastes great to dogs. In addition, it also has a higher caloric density to allow us to feed him less per meal, but still achieve the number of calories he needed in a day. Even with this very tasty option, it still took him 3-4 days before he was willing to eat on his own.

The first week passed. Even though it was clear Milo didn’t feel very good, he always made an effort to wag his tail for us whenever we entered the run. He was on a soft orthopedic bed to reduce stress on his pretty crummy skeleton, but he still needed at least three people to help him stand to go on walks due to his very poor knees. He was understandably very nauseous-- when you need to have 1/4 of your stomach removed, your digestive tract changes drastically. We had him on at least 3 different anti-nausea medications to combat this. Eventually, Milo became more comfortable, and we were able to start weaning him off of his pain cocktail, while still keeping a very close eye on him for signs of pain. The owner was visiting as many times as he could. Milo’s dad was a very nice man, and it was very clear he wanted to do all he could for his best friend. This was such a freak incident, with such major consequences, we all felt for him and for Milo. I watched nervously as his bill climbed over the original estimate of $9,000... Then over $13,000... Climbing every day.

Toward the middle of week two, Milo developed a fever of 104. We were concerned with an infection, which could have been caused by pretty much anything at this point. Milo needed a lot of different entry points into the body, and he had undergone a lot of physical stress with the type of surgery he had. The critical care doctor started him on antibiotics, and we rechecked his temperature multiple times that day. By midnight, his fever broke, but we kept him on antibiotics to finish out the course. It seemed like there were never-ending pitfalls for Milo, and each day I grew more nervous for him.

But one night near the end of the second week, Milo stood up without any help. It seemed like such a small accomplishment for anyone who didn’t know him or his story, but it meant so much to us to see him do it. That same day, he ate not one meal, but three! We didn’t have to use his e-tube at all that day, and things were looking much brighter for him. The next day, we were able to start pulling his PEG tube and his J tube. Eventually, we were able to pull his central line.

One night, I came into work with a bandana on the ICU island. Usually, the bandanas are reserved for extensive cases like Milo, as sort of a “graduation”. The nurses and doctors are able to sign the bandanas with well-wishes. Joy rose like a bird in my heart as I read Milo’s name on the bandana. I asked the nurse who was rounding if Milo was going home that night, and she confirmed it. I eagerly went to sign Milo’s bandana. Milo went home later as a very happy dog. The bill was still very expensive due to how involved Milo’s care was, but the good news was the company who manufactured the NSAID agreed to pay over half of the bill as a reimbursement.

Milo is now 4 years old, and is doing relatively fine! I believe the owners are pursuing surgery for his knees, or have already done so. Just recently, Milo and his dad came back to visit us to say hi. That rarely happens, unfortunately, but we love it when cases like Milo come back for happy visits. It’s so rare that we get a chance to follow up with our patients once they are discharged unless they are on the Oncology or Internal Medicine services. More often than not, everyone gets on with their lives. But that doesn’t mean we don’t remember the intense struggles we have overcome.

I wanted to share Milo’s story to show that not all my stories have bad endings. Sometimes, our patients should have died due to complications or other factors. But it’s an amazing feeling to be able to look death in the face and deny him a life when he insists he gets one. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: When you work in ER/ICU, euthanasia or other patient death happens at least once a day. On a very bad day, you can have 3-5 or even 10+. Those cases never get easier. But for cases like Milo, the ones who should have died, but didn’t... Those are the ones we can hang onto when days are going bad. Those are the cases we can take comfort in knowing that, even though we leave each shift sore because we had to carry a 75+ lb dog to and from the yard for walks, we know it was all worth it. I hope Milo grows to be so old, his russet muzzle turns white. I hope his owner spends long days with him on the couch watching tv.

One thing is for sure, I’ll never forget that even though it feels like we lose more than we win some days, those wins are still there. And when we win, we win big.