Temporarily Preoccupied With A Different Richie

ADifferentRichie

“Big Dick Richie” (Joe Manganiello) in what has to the best scene in Magic Mike XXL…

Yesterday we sort of closed work a few minutes early so we could all attend a very special, uniquely educational presentation. Or something like that. Oh, okay, okay…  it was Magic Mike XXL at the matinée. I’m just going to come right out and say it… we all loved it. Two of our group had already been to see it once, but wouldn’t hear of missing out on a second round, and now I see why. In addition to some truly exceptional, if highly sexualized hip hop-style dancing, the movie was really geared for humor in a way that the first film wasn’t. My favorite character was that of “Big Dick Richie”, played by an actor I admit I’d never paid much attention to before: Joe Manganiello. Now that I’ve IMDB’d this guy, it looks like I may need to dive into True Blood, where it seems he played some kind of werewolf for the last several seasons. I just really need some more of that. Funnily enough, I had seen him once before, when my surgery tech accidentally pulled him up at the 1 hour 56 minute mark while googling Shirtless Richard Armitage images… I remember being inspired despite myself, though I told her she sucked at identifying Richard.

ADifferentRichie2

I’d watch the whole movie again just for this scene! See the woman in the background… his goal is to get her attention, and somehow make her day. Um, I’m pretty sure this would make MY day…

Best scene in the movie, shown briefly in the trailer, was when on the road trip, this other Richie of mine, this aging male entertainer, is suddenly struck with a lack of confidence that he has any new material to bring to the show at the upcoming male stripper convention. Magic Mike, played by Channing Tatum, urges him to imagine that the only thing of importance is to make a woman’s day, and as the melt-down happens at a pit stop, the men all notice there is one very dour-looking woman alone in the store, manning the cashier’s station. She’s frowning down at her phone, not having noticed the rather amazing entourage that has pulled into the parking lot and exited the vehicle. Mike and the others encourage Richie to just go in that store, and make her day, with any sort of freestyle routine that might cause her frown to turn into a smile. Needless to say, what ensues is just a hilarious scene. I won’t give away whether or not she notices him and/or smiles….

 

We’re… ah… doing a bit of rearranging and making some space on the fridge for some new, inspirational material…

JoeMFridge

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Hubby Googled Preoccupied With Armitage

So last night, profoundly tickled by my own new Giffing skills, I proudly showed Hubby my new GIFs, and he was of course very impressed… if not with my GIFs, then at least with my determination to tackle a new, somewhat technically demanding (if you’re *me*) project. We got to talking about the blog, the blog stats, the search terms that I know of, etc. Hubby said he still hadn’t really visited on his own time to see what I’ve been up to, and I must admit, that bothered me a bit. Nevermind that I kept it a secret for the first few months and then accidentally outed myself

Beg Pardon

I guess now that the cat’s out of the bag, I expected he might show at least a little interest in what I’ve been up to, but apparently not. I didn’t know whether he just really has no interest in the topic of Richard, or whether maybe he actually has some level of displeasure/jealousy/irritation etc. I suppose my tone of voice, or perhaps my indignant facial expression, must have cued him, because he quickly added that he didn’t know if he was “allowed” to look at the blog.

Screenshot1I told him to basically enter at his own risk, or not, and I fear I may have come across as a bit petulant, because with a raised eyebrow, he typed in “preoccupied with armitage” into his phone google app, and saw this: ——->

Yeah, so somehow or other, Ladies, the top suggestion seems to be the tag “Shirtless Richard Armitage” (I can’t imagine why…) and when you click on it, it leads here. Yes, that tag is on some all of my top-viewed posts. I immediately began to regret my peevish tone.

“Just what kind of blog are you running?” he asked mildly.

“That… ah… that does look a bit shady.” (Gulp!)

Believe So

But Hubby clicked on “Shirtless Richard Armitage” and read the top post, which involved some shenanigans in the surgical suite. And as he read the post, and viewed the many lovely examples of Richard’s manly chest, that eyebrow went a bit lot higher.

Oops.

Bad Idea

When he finished reading that, he commented to the effect that me, myself and my surgery tech are a lethal combination, and should no longer be unchaperoned together in the surgical suite. Then he saw my trepidation, he reassured me that this came as no surprise. “You forget I’ve seen your fridge.”

Sorry

At any rate, now Hubby knows just what kind of blog I’m running.

Just what kind of tags I’m tagging.

Let the ribbing begin. LOL

I Will Now Resume My Regular Richarding Schedule

So today was Our Big Day, the once-every-three-year-big-long-exhausting-nerve-wracking AAHA Inspection to keep our veterinary AAHA-Accreditation. I’m happy to announce that we passed with flying colors, so I can now return to my normal Richarding routines. I am unbelievably grateful that, in honor of this very important day, I successfully resisted the urge to check Twitter, WordPress, Facebook, Armitage forum discussions and what-not while Inspector Lisa was in the house. I mean, if I’d seen that latest tweet in the midst of the inspection, it could have been disastrous…

* * *

B0GAZPxCYAEWKPi

Yes. This is #Winning.

Inspector Lisa: Will you please tell me your protocol for technician safety in the radiology room?
Me: RAdiology??

Inspector Lisa: What protective eyewear do you and your employees use during dental procedures?
Me: Eyewear. No, unfortunately. I saw none. But… eyes of blue. His eyes are so damn blue.

Inspector Lisa: Does your surgery suite have positive pressure ventilation?
Me: Positive pressure. Positive pressure. I think someone applied the right amount of positive pressure to induce him to tweet that selfie. Positive pressure is my friend.

Inspector Lisa: Do you run blood typing tests before every transfusion?
Me: Yes, blood typing. My blood type is the hot-running type. It’s running hot at the moment.

Inspector Lisa: Does your practice offer OFA hip certification radiographs?
Me: Did you say Lip Certification?

* * *

All’s well that ends well. And thankfully, the boys – I mean puppies and kittens- can now return to the fridge.

A Temporary Damper on the Richarding Life

There comes a time in every Richard Armitage admirer’s schedule when the demands of Real Life unfortunately interfere with her Richarding needs. I may not have too much time to post in the next 2 weeks because we are 2 weeks out from our veterinary AAHA inspection at work. There are thousands of standards that must be met, with new protocols that need to be written and so on. AAHA certification is completely voluntary, and it’s about meeting a higher standard of care. I’m proud to be AAHA certified, but it sure is a pain in the rear a lot of hard work when inspection time rolls around… they only inspect every 3 years, and it’s an all day affair. (They spend the 3 years between inspections coming up with new protocols for the veterinarians to write up, I am convinced.)

I regret to announce that, at 5:59pm on Inspection Eve, we must dismantle our fridge display. This is because, sadly, AAHA does not stand for Armitage Admiring Hospital Association.

If that was what AAHA stood for, we’d be ready.

Dream: Armitage (?) at the Vet Office

So a couple of nights ago, I had a strange and heartwarming dream. It was related to my Spooks Season 6 dream… it had only the edge of a hint of the danger element, but quite a bit of the absurdity.

* * *

I’m at my desk, when I hear the clinic door chime. It’s my lunch hour, and no appointments are scheduled. I assume someone is picking up medications or something, and am therefore surprised when I hear footsteps moving at quite a clip down the hall. I immediately stand, thinking an emergency has arrived. However, the look on the office manager’s face is anything but concerned.

“Richard is here to see you in Exam Room 1!” she says, flushed. Naturally, I know this is some kind of a joke. I don’t know what to expect… my husband, a blow-up Richard doll, a surprise party… anything could be waiting for me. So I sort of take my time getting there. And find a dead ringer for Richard Armitage, his chin shaven, dressed in jeans, button-up shirt and black leather jacket, alone in the exam room. No pet accompanies him.

My mind flashes to my previous adventure involving Adam Carter. I don’t know if the man in front of me is Richard Armitage, or Lucas North. As far as I know, Richard is still wearing a beard, so I suspect this is Lucas. I don’t have to ask, as he immediately launches into an explanation. His presence here is twofold. He wants to thank me for my part in freeing him from the Russian prison. The information on the Russian microchip I’d given to Adam Carter, as it turned out, gave Harry Pierce enough leverage with Lucas’ captors to negotiate his freedom.

(So it was down to me, everyone. The glorious Season 7 of Spooks, was thanks to me, and thanks to Milton. That’s pretty impressive egoism!)

I now know that Lucas is standing in front of me, and wonder if I am somehow involved in another covert operation. But before I can respond, or question Lucas about the events of that other crazy day at the office, he goes on to say that, in addition to saying thank you, he’s in the area to promote Into the Storm and to visit the areas destroyed in the May 20, 2013 Moore Tornado. Specifically, he wants to visit displaced pets from the devastating storm.

(Having to reassess whether this is Lucas, I meanwhile fail to point out that Into the Storm has already come and gone from the local movie theaters, and that the pets who were displaced last summer have long since been either reunited with their families, or re-homed with adoptive families.)

Remarkably, we do have two canine refugees in the kennel. I tell him he’s more than welcome to visit our storm refugees.

(That was very convenient. Magically appearing dogs!)

The man looks pleased, and mentions that he’s wanted to adopt a dog for a long time. I had been  on my way to the door, to ask one of the girls to bring the first dog, but upon hearing he is in the mood to adopt a dog, I stop in my tracks. “I’m afraid that depends on who’s adopting a dog. Are you adopting as Lucas North, or Richard Armitage?”

(Apparently, I’m about to tell Lucas North he’s not a qualified applicant. Having him show up and wave a weapon around would be fine with me; in fact, I’ve yearned for it. But a dog adoption is another matter entirely. You never know when someone like Lucas might go all John Bateman, and where would that leave the dog?)

He smiles a very Lucas-like, mysterious smile, and does not answer. I close the door again, stubborn.

(I’m not sure why Lucas is now not even qualified to visit with my refugee dogs, but it seems I will not even bring a dog forward until I am certain of the man’s identity.)

Finally, he caves. He admits he is Richard Armitage, but asks me not to let on. I tell him his face is already known in this vet office, and he mutters that he has been debriefed about our fridge. However, I am now satisfied, and call for the first dog. The dog appears. She is a smallish white female, and I inform him that she’s a cross between a Bichon and a Westie. As soon as she is placed on the exam table, she timidly approaches Richard, and presses into his torso. He pets her for a few minutes, silently. She gazes into his eyes and presses closer. He sighs, and asks if she has any medical problems.

I tell him that she is a very timid dog, that she came from a hoarder situation before the tornado, and that she is very loving and sweet, but is easily scared and is prone to submissive urination. His head jerks up at this, and an odd light comes into his eyes. “Submissive urination?” I smile at him, and tell him it’s ok, I know he has a tendency for bathroom humor. Without missing a beat, he says he just didn’t want to piss me off. I let out a little laugh. He looks down at the dog again, continues to stroke her. Then he sighs again, and admits he was looking for something a little more manly than a fluffy white dog with submissive urination. But when I go to take her away, she presses closer to him again, and starts to tremble a bit. He says he wants to have a look at the next dog, but never stops petting the non-manly little candidate.

So I call for the next dog, and while we are waiting, I ask Richard Armitage what it is he’s looking for in a canine companion. He immediately confesses he wants a “dog like Dean’s” and I tell him I’m afraid I don’t know Dean, or Dean’s dog. He looks at me like I’m crazy, and tells me of course I know Dean’s dog, “Whisper”- she’s famous. I realize he’s not talking about his Hobbit co-star, but Dean Potter, a world-famous free solo rock climber who has recently taken to climbing with his dog, Whisper, in a special harness on his back. Whisper also does BASE jumps and wingsuit flying with Dean.

(I have a thing for free solo climbers. It’s a morbid fascination, plus some of them are hot. If your palms are not sufficiently sweaty on any given day, check them out.)

Richard assures me he’s no free solo climber, but he’s always wanted to go snow-skiing with a dog. He’s seen how Whisper rides in Dean’s harness, and that’s what he has in mind.

(Far be it from me to discourage Richard’s dream. If he thinks downhill skiing would be more fulfilling with a dog on his back, then by all means, let’s find the right dog for the occasion.)

I tell Richard that I believe I happen to have an outstanding candidate. This next dog is small enough to ride in a harness; he’s athletic, adventurous, and definitely more of an all-terrain dog. The dog enters the room; it’s a little Australian cattle dog mix, with a patchy coat and friendly, confident demeanor. I ask our vet tech to demonstrate the dog’s capabilities. What follows next is a fantastic sequence of dog tricks, real circus-level material, while she explains to Richard that the rough and ready little dog can fetch, swim, ride horseback, compete in agility, and is probably a great candidate for search and rescue, as well. She issues a command for the dog to find the biohazards, and he immediately opens the cabinet, sits, and stares at the sharps container under the sink. I make a little quip that the only thing this dog doesn’t do is speak Russian.

There is an immediate change in the atmosphere, as Richard looks at me sharply. The mysterious Lucas-smile flits across his features. He holds my gaze for some time, and I start to feel prickles. Then he issues a sharp command in Russian, and the dog immediately leaves the sharps container, goes to his side, and sits, watching Richard alertly. Another Russian command, and the dog performs a rapid roll-over. My skin prickles again. How does the dog know Russian?

Before I can think too much about this phenomenon, Richard redirects my attention to the little white dog, still snuggling as close to him as she can.

(Who can blame her? Any female with one iota of taste would love to have Richard Armitage take her home with him.)

He asks me to explain a little more about submissive urination, so I launch into my little blurb about that topic, hoping for the dog’s sake that he is not about to break her heart. I throw out the possibility that with his schedule so busy, two dogs might keep each other company a little bit, when he is gone. He starts to ask questions about dog husbandry, and we enter a pretty banal conversation about heartworm prevention and so on, and meanwhile, I begin to hear the front door chiming quite a bit. Aware that my lunch hour is almost over, I indicate to Richard that he is welcome to sleep on it, and return later if he decides to adopt one or both dogs.

(Really, doc? You tried to hustle Richard Armitage out the door? Yes, I’m afraid I did. I didn’t want to keep my afternoon appointments waiting.)

However, he’s already come to a decision. He doesn’t look particularly proud of himself, but he’s unable to separate himself from the fluffy animal plastered against him. He has tried to push her toward me once, as I lectured about flea prevention, but as soon as she started to tremble again, he had reluctantly drawn her back into his chest. I’ve been watching his hand language during my veterinary spiel, and I can tell that she’s getting under his skin. His strokes are becoming almost protective, and his lashes have been lowered as he watches her while listening to my veterinary advice. After I politely hint that it’s time for him to go, (somebody smack me, please!) he says, with another sigh, that he guesses he will have to adopt both dogs. I give him a delighted smile, and tell him he needs to fill out some paperwork.

We go to the lobby together, where I am astonished to find several ladies, who don’t belong in this setting, milling about. The office manager’s daughter is here, on the pretense of buying ear cleanser. She doesn’t have a dog. My Hubby’s cousin, a local physician who also has Not One Single Pet, is in the lobby holding a bag of cat food. Several other ladies, sans pets, are lined up at the counter with random pet supplies, and the entire staff is also in the lobby, dusting, pretending to reorganize the pamphlets, pretending to mop. The office manager starts to load Richard Armitage up with necesseties. Pretty soon he has a couple of bags of food, his own bottle of ear cleanser, a year’s supply of heartworm preventative, a thunder shirt for the timid dog, low calorie dog biscuits, and several other items. He looks overwhelmed. His forehead is very crinkled. I have to duck back to the treatment area before I start laughing at the lobby full of faux customers and the man with two new dogs and enough products to open his own pet store.

lucas2

Lucas North, my nemesis.

From a window in the back, I watch him exit the building, his arms loaded. He makes his way to his car, and suddenly the driver’s door opens and Hermione Norris appears. Prickles start again. Is that Ros Myers?  They exchange a conspiratorial smile, efficiently load the dogs and the supplies into the back seat, all the while scanning the area. Ros says something into an ear mic, gives him a meaningful look, and they both get into the car, fast, and speed out of the parking lot.

I think back to the Russian dog commands, the dog’s extraordinary intelligence, and realize his capabilities were always highly unnatural. I realize, too late, that the male dog was a Russian asset.

I have just been played by Lucas North.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. And I really hope Lucas returns to the clinic soon. =)

Dream: Spooks, the Vet Office Episode

 

I had another g-rated Richard Armitage dream last night. These g-rated Armitage dreams are just delightful, though why so g-rated all the time, I’m not sure. I’ve made notations about it, but since it connects with a dream I had several months ago, I thought I’d share the prequel today.

* * *

(To really enter this dream experience, you must first pause, and play the intro music to Spooks in your mind. Dun Dun…. duhduhduh…. Dun Dun….. wuaarrr…. You all know it. It’s in the background of this dream.)

I’m at the office, and much to my dismay, I have one of my favorite patients on the table. The pet is presenting in a weakened and lethargic condition, and has an infected, open wound tract near the base of his skull. He has been transferred from the emergency center, where he’d presented for status epilepticus, a neurological emergency, the night before. The seizures are now under control, but everyone is still very worried. This patient is named Milton, and he’s a real patient of mine, or he was before I bought my own practice in a different town.

(No, I’m not sure whether Milton is named after “the” Milton of North and South fame. Maybe I’ll ask him. He’s a minor YouTube and Facebook celebrity.)

We anesthetize Milton, clean the wound, and take him to radiology.

(Why I thought we needed to radiograph his skull is a mystery, but it’s a good thing I did.)

To everyone’s astonishment, there is a microchip implant inside his skull cavity! I assume that this is a Home Again Microchip implant, gone horribly, horribly wrong. It needs to come out ASAP, I tell Milton’s mom, or he’s likely to continue having seizures and recurring brain infections.

(Recurring brain infections, very bad juju. WTF, self? Please excuse the implausibility of all this, and trust me that my veterinary dreams are never very medically sound. In other words, please don’t fear having your pet microchipped. Recurring brain infections are NOT a risk factor.)

Milton’s mom is one of those clients who will spare no expense on her pets, and she immediately agrees to brain surgery.

(In the dream, I apparently have no qualms about brain surgery. In real life, Milton would be on his way to the veterinary neurosurgeon.)

Now the brain surgery is over, and Milton is in recovery. My surgery tech and I are examining the microchip, but something is not right. It doesn’t look like a Home Again Microchip. It’s a little bigger, and it has Russian symbols on it.

(Apparently I can always recognize a top-secret Russian symbol when I see one.)

I start to get a tingling all over my skin, as I realize I’ve stumbled onto something dangerous. I think I may need to call the FBI or the CIA, but there are ramifications to that. Someone has implanted a foreign microchip, with classified data, in Milton. If Milton’s mom is involved in a covert operation, she could be in danger, or might be a danger to myself and my employees… I’m not sure. If another veterinarian, who presumably implanted the data chip, is involved, implicating a colleague could likewise have profound consequences, both to me and to the colleague, especially if innocent. But before I can contact either the FBI or the CIA, the front door chimes. My surgery tech and I both startle, and are instantly on guard. She reaches for her weapon.

(No, firearms are not standard equipment for veterinary technicians. Fear not, the next time you are at the vet’s office.)

adamc

Adam Carter, Section Chief, Veterinary Operations

Before she can draw the weapon, Adam Carter slips through the door to the treatment area, his weapon already drawn. He is on high alert. He scans the room, and his eyes land on our damned fridge, which is decorated with hot men and fluffy animals. He only glances at it, but I know he’s seen Richard Armitage, and made the connection to Lucas North. His eyes meet mine, and I can see he’s measuring me, gauging my involvement with Lucas North, Russian spies, and the world of covert operations. My glance shifts to my surgery tech, and I give her the slightest negative signal, indicating to her that she should not try anything. I know she doesn’t watch Spooks, and has no way of knowing Adam Carter is one of the good guys, or that he could drop her in an instant if she moves for her weapon again.

(At this point, I have the distinct thought, outside the dream but still in it, that I must be dreaming in Season 6. I chastise myself for not dreaming in Season 7, when Lucas North might have come to the clinic instead.)

Our office manager arrives, breathless, looking both terrified and exhilarated. She was at reception when Adam Carter entered the premises. She doesn’t watch Spooks either, but she recognizes Rupert Penry-Jones from Persuasion. I give her the same slight signal, not to try anything. I am confident Adam Carter will not kill us, unless he has no choice.

Moving very slowly, I put the Russian data chip into a biohazard ziplock bag, and hand it to Adam. I know that as an American citizen, I should probably not be handing whatever secrets it contains to the British, but Adam does have a gun, and I have witnesses to corroborate that I was under duress as I passed classified data to MI-5. Adam slips the bag into his trench coat pocket, never lowering the weapon, glances at the fridge again, and I regret that Rupert Penry-Jones is not among the puppies and kittens there. Nobody says anything. Adam nods at me, and withdraws from the room in a fluid motion. A moment later, the front door chimes, indicating he has left the building.

Instead of freaking out, the three of us whistle, fan our faces and murmur things like “Dayum!” and “Smokin’!” as we smile at the gorgeous luck of it all.

* * *

It was a very thrilling dream. I mean, if I had to choose any character other than Lucas North, to draw a weapon on myself and my employees, it would definitely be Adam Carter. I knew he wouldn’t kill us, and he sure looked sexy in that trench coat.

And stay tuned… a vet office sequel happened last night. (Warning, though: It was more of a hallmark movie than an action/suspense. =)

The Inaugural Post- Preoccupied With Richard

armitage3Collages1I find myself so bemused, here at my desk, embarking on a blog. In all likelihood few will read it, as I have no plans to really announce myself as a blogger to my real life circle, nor do I know if or how I should go about promoting my blog to others suffering the Richard Armitage Syndrome. I do know this: not one person in my real life knows much about Richard, aside from what I myself have told them, and that he plays a comparatively hunky dwarf in The Hobbit films.

 

posterboys

Hubby’s idea of a Richard Joke

That’s not entirely true. My husband knows who Richard Armitage is. He’s an attentive husband. A tolerant husband. How could he help but notice the sudden forum memberships, the appearance of a region-free DVD player and the arrival of multiple new DVDs, the impulsive decision to travel to London? Not long after I announced my fond desire to spend a small fortune attending The Crucible, I found this gem, courtesy of the Hubby, as the desktop image at the house. Hubby delights me time and again. He didn’t care to travel to London, but he gave his blessing and reminded me that I only fawn after Richard because he reminds my of my spouse….

Fridge

Fridge Rules: Each post must contain at least one cute, fluffy animal along with sex appeal.

My employees know who Richard Armitage is, as he features more than once on the community “puppy/kitten display” on our laboratory fridge, shown here in all its unapologetically exploitative glory. That, and I just left them for 10 days to travel to the UK, merely because he starred in a play and I had to be there. I did have to endure some ribbing, as they claimed they would hide the controlled drugs and cautioned me that any attempt to abduct Richard would result in imprisonment and/or deportation. The cheekiness!

My mom, probably more than anyone, knows how much I’ve lost my mind over Richard. As my travel companion to the U.K., it would be difficult for her to not realize the extent to which I’ve involved myself in this fandom. She was, however, game enough to accompany me to the Stage Door twice, and having watched the Crucible with me twice, she, more than anyone, now understands at least my intense admiration for his talent.

In this blog, I will publish my musings and my experiences pertaining to Richard Armitage. No telling how long my Affliction will last, or how dedicated a blogger I will become. I don’t know whether to hope it’s temporary or hope it’s here to stay.

This concludes my first blog entry. I believe it’s time to see a dog about his ear. =)