A little murder, a little mystery

It's Friday night...just sitting here, ready for another exciting weekend. Yo Cletus, yo cell, you guys can squeal any time now. Perhaps a reenactment of last Saturday night? Except this time we'll skip the dress rehearsal and go straight to opening night.

Thursday we were picked up by the Hamiltons and hauled off to physio; I was kicking and screaming, but nobody cared. Physio went well; how could it not when I get to annoy these two:

Mark was finished and out of the room first (he was obviously just jealous of my technique and was tired of being out-shined). I got out of the treadmill room next, which left Carman last (he was turning an ugly shade of green (envy) and I couldn't stand to look at him any longer). Bonnie and I waited for him and Pamela outside the room and down the hall.

As I'm sitting there, guess who strolls on by? None other than the surgeon who came in my hospital room and uttered the word "unfortunately". He said hi and asked me how I was doing. I said hi and then gave him a roundhouse to the face.

Okay, please, no I didn't. I just stood there screaming at him for ruining my weekend.   

No, I'm lying. I simply slipped him a fifty and asked him to find me TWO healthy ones and a tall blonde.

And then over the sound system...

Beeeeeeeeeep. Code blue, 12th floor, treadmill room...

My immediate thought was Carman!

I think my heart stopped in that few seconds before I looked up and saw him standing at the end of the hall. Note to all my post-transplant wannabee buddies: Don't code on me. Thanks.

Last night I did something I've never done before....

Murder Mystery Night!!!

Bonnie was getting ready while I was slamming a sandwich back. She came over and said, "How do I look?". I looked up and almost choked. My godmother turned into Pepper Crenshaw. Hilda helped her with her character and ladies, I have to say, I was impressed. We sent a picture of her to her husband Wayne and he asked "Who's that? One of Jessica's friends?"

He likely thought it was Red. I'm sure you can see the resemblance.

As we strolled out the door, I advised the concierges that I would be victorious and come back a winner.

Turns out I was right. See, I'm very smart. I asked a lot of intelligent questions and deciphered all of the clues. Either that or I got lucky...sitting at the same table as the murderer, and doing some light thinking in between bombarding my guts with cheezies and ginger ale, enabled me to guess the right person.

Some photos of the night:

1 post, 3 wannabees

The victim & birthday girl

A germaphobic, anti-social librarian & a gothic nice girl

The "Dawson" family - don't trust any of 'em

Look, I'm all ready to perform a double-lung transplant! Who's in??

Hilda came over for brunch this morning. I slaved all morning; whipping around here doing absolutely everything....oh wait, that was Bonnie. Me? I slept in, got up about 9 and told Bonnie I would take the G-man outside.

She took one look at my face and told me to hook up my aerosols. So, not only did she make a delicious post-murder brunch, she looked after the G-man and then pushed me all over the place today.

We were in the Bay when Hilda whispered, "You know who that is, you know who that is!"

I looked over and saw Clara Hughes. She's really unimpressive....you know, just an olympian!!!!

I called out (all cool like) "I know you, I know who you are!"

I think I'll invite her to physio and challenge her to a cycling race. I know I'll win, as long as Carman hasn't tampered with my bike. I mean, who would you bet on, an Olympic cyclist or moi???