GB Goes to Hell...Again

At this time, there are five words that strike fear into my heart and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Let's go to the mall!"

So, Mom wanted to go and look for Christmas gifts. And we did, in the sub-arctic temps. Shockingly, I found a parking spot relatively close to the building so we wouldn't risk dying from hypothermia.

I don't particularly relish going to any shopping mecca around this time of year, but if I do, I try to make the best of it. I demanded a visit to the pet store. What can I say? I like animals more than people on most days, and a trip to the pet store always makes me happy. It used to be, before I set foot in a pet store, it had to be established that I would not leave there with anything that had a heartbeat. The one time this rule wasn't put in play, I came home with Sam.I was a little disturbed to see that a surgery center specializing in weight-loss procedures was right across from the pet store. A surgical center. At a mall. Who in the hell thought that would be a good idea???

"Okay, kids. Billy, you go to Hot Topic and get your goth wear. Rachel, you go to Victoria's Secret for underwear. I have to stop off at Bath and Body Works before I go have surgery on my stomach. Afterwards, we'll meet in the food court."

Nice!!

Anyway, we go into the pet store, and the puppies are actually awake and playful. Mom and I coo and squeal at the little furballs. They are so damn cute, especially the big, fluffy Newfoundland pup they had. One lady was standing in front of the kennel with the golden retriever, her nose pressed against the glass, bawling her eyes out.

"I used to have one of these!" she cried. Mom and I started feeling sorry for her. It's always hard when you have a pet that passes away.

"...when I was seven years old!" she finishes. Mom and I stop feeling sorry for her. Now, she's turned into Creepy Lady, crying in a pet store about a dog you had thirty years ago.

But you never know, she may have been having some odd reaction to the anesthesia from her weight loss surgery she just had fifteen minutes ago.

Nurse Follies: How to Create a Hostile Work Environment

From what I can tell, most nurses enjoy working at Acme Community Hospital (my employer). We occasionally get fed. We sometimes get free ink pens and coffee mugs. Administration will take us for walks and pat us on the head when we are good. We are routinely de-wormed, de-loused, bathed, and dropped into a nice warm flea dip twice a year (the ER nurses get this more often because they have greater exposure to the greater unwashed).

Nurses Week, they have little events to make us feel warm and fuzzy.

For Christmas, we get a gift card to a local store. Not enough to buy Christmas for your entire family, but it's enough to defray the cost of Christmas dinner. Wouldn't more be great? Sure! But with a hospital our size, one can't possibly expect them to dish out significant bonuses to all their staff. Hell, the place would go bankrupt!

So, imagine the ire when it was revealed that our hospital did in fact give out some bonuses to a small percentage of nurses. Only certain nurses, in a certain department. Not in management positions. Just regular floor schmucks like myself. To the tune of $1500 per nurse.

In these economic times, some nurses have had to be the sole breadwinners for their family because their spouses didn't end up in a profession that was recession-resilient. I'm sure those nurses would love to get a bonus like that so they can ensure that their families can have a good Christmas. But instead, you get a select few who get to take home $1500 check, while everyone else gets a $35 gift card to Bob's Food Mart.

It hardly seems fair, does it?

But can you imagine what work is going to be like after this revelation? How would you feel if you were the gift card recipient working with the tool who doesn't do anything more special than you do? Or how would you like to be the bonus recipient, working amongst your angry coworkers who would like to see you fall down an elevator shaft??

This should be as well-received as a five year old fruitcake.

Shocking News is Shocking

Everyone is all agog at the Tiger Woods and the steaming pile of crap he has found himself in. And all he did was crash into a little fire hydrant.

But in crashing into the defenseless fire hydrant, it opens a pandora's box of secrets into his alternative life. Tiger Woods a serial cheater? No, say it isn't so!! Who ever heard of a multi-million dollar athlete married with multiple girlfriends?? Inconceivable!!

I'm going to guess that the imprint of the nine iron on the side of his head tells us that he didn't have an "agreement" with his wife.

Is this really news? Is this really worth obsessing over??

Tiger, perhaps you should google Steve McNair, mm'kay? Dumbass.

And golf still isn't a sport.

Black Friday: Into Mount Doom

Well, by some wild hair I apparently had up my ass, going out early for the Black Friday sales seemed like a fine idea. I don't know why. I perused the Black Friday offerings online, and there wasn't any one thing that made me think, "I gotta have that!!!" Not. One. Thing.

But there I was, standing in my shower trying to wake up at 0400. We weren't shooting to arrive when the doors opened. I'm not a complete masochist. But to get somewhere and still maybe catch, err, something.

So, Mom staggers over and bleary-eyed, we get our caffeine fix before our first stop, Target. We both agreed that Walmart was ground zero, and should be avoided at all costs. Especially the one by our house. It draws the crazies on a regular day. I can't imagine what it would look like on Black Friday.

We get to Target around 0530, and park five miles away. All the 31-inch flat panel televisions are gone because they only stock five of them. I noticed that the cheap stuff was gone, but there was always a comparable item overstocked and ready for you to take if you paid just a little more. Whatever, Target, I'm onto your little game.

I manage to get a couple dvds, a digital picture frame, and something to decorate my mantle with.

Next stop, the mall. Parking sucks, but we take it up the ass anyway. We clean out Bath and Body works of various gels and lotions because women like that sort of thing.

After that, we agree to take a breakfast break at Dennys.

Right around the corner, is KMart. Parking still sucks, we're stupid and go inside anyway, where the place looks like a tornado swept through it. More people than we encountered anywhere. I find a pre-lit tree and some new pajamas. I love pajamas. These are black, silky ones that are pimpin' like Hugh Hefner, but they are women's pajamas. But if Hugh saw them, he'd say, "That's pimpin!" I have bawdy pajamas, too, but I like to switch things up. Most days, I prefer to be the hammer instead of the nail.

From there, we stop at Big Lots, and see nothing impressive. Moving along!

In the car, we discuss Walmart and decide to go, but the new one in Raytown. Sure, it may be smaller, but there appears to be less a risk of getting shanked in the toy isle. By the time we roll over, the parking lot doesn't appear dire, and we actually find a spot relatively close to the actual building. As we walk in, we overhear two cops talking about the shoplifter they just caught.

It is at Walmart, I find a similar tree to the one I just bought, but for $35 less. And a picture frame one inch bigger than the one I bought at Target, for the same price. Shit. I hate it when that happens.

Legs numb, walking zombies we have turned into. Mom and I buy some stuff, and right now I can't remember what I bought, but I'm sure I felt I needed it at the time. Anyway, we retreat to home where I immediately crawl into bed and pass out.

Black Friday, you are done and I hardly remember ye. I'm going back to bed.

Nurse Follies: NOT Appropriate!!

Sometimes, cute little old ladies are endearing, when they are not worrying about they are two minutes late from having their scheduled bowel movement. They are so cute, you just want to put them in your pocket and take them home and bake them prune cookies. Other times, not so endearing as they are mean as a pit of rabid dogs. Look into the history, and it's not shocking to find that they are retired nurses.

But, there are the ones who start out cute as a button, but then turn on a dime and scare the hell out of you. Take the 80-year old lady who was admitted for an electrolyte imbalance.

Little Old Lady: Honey-child, do you have a husband?
RN: No, not married.
LOL: Oh, so do you have a boyfriend then?
RN: Yeah.
LOL: Oh! So you've given up the pussy then!!
RN: (speechless)
LOL: I know my pussy is old, but it still makes the men holler, dear Jesus!!
RN: (still speechless)
LOL: At the last hospital I was at, a worker there became my friend. He held my hand just a little longer. Looked at me a little longer.
RN: (regaining composure) Oh?
LOL: Yeah...we were going to do it! Just didn't have a place to go. But, oh boy, I would've gotten on top of that! He had a nice ass.
RN: (composure lost)
LOL: Uh huh! I used to be married, you know.
RN: (wearily) You did?
LOL: Yeah...I had me some good dick back then. I love me some good dick!
RN: (jaw hits floor)
LOL: (dry humping the air) Yes, Lord have mercy! I need to get me some dick soon or I'm going to have to rape someone.
RN: Uhhh...
LOL: (looking at television) Look at that guy. Yes sir, I bet he gives good dick!

For the duration of her stay, we get to hear strange noises coming out of her room. A quick peek into the observation window shows that she is alone, but we avoid going in there unless we are summoned. Soon, the sound of her call light strikes fear into the hearts of the staff. She watches television, and we occasionally hear her appraisal of the potential sexual prowess of whomever is on the screen. The Sham Wow guy, Billy Mays, people on MTV, and some televangelist with a mullet. We try to warn ancillary staff before they go into the room, but the lab tech still slips through our fingers.

LOL: (eyeing lab tech) Mmmm, you're pretty fine.
RN: (flinches)
Lab Tech: Uhh, thank you?
LOL: Yeah, you need to get all the pussy you can while you are here, Lord have mercy!

No one was safe. She announced to the nurse tech who was bathing her that she was doing a stellar job washing her pussy. I think that tech has quit nursing school and is now applying to work at Sonic.

Was it mere coincidence that I, who sells sex toys, be assigned this patient?

I contemplated, briefly, sending Bosshole in there to speak with her about sexually harassing our staff. But then, she'd probably do her own sexual assessment of him, and no one wants to hear that. The poor chap's head would explode.

Because Sausage is for Southern People

I heard this on the radio the other day. I almost pissed myself because I was laughing so hard.



Enjoy.

Nurse Follies: Why I Refuse to Work in th ER

Because I'd slap this woman halfway through the conversation. My hats off to those who do work in the ER. Generally, people like this aren't admitted (unless, according to the recently published Harvard Study, you have insurance), but occasionally one slides through the cracks and they get to have me for their nurse. People like this make nurses re-evaluate why they became nurses in the first place. Some doctors, too.

And you wonder why you have to wait four hours to be seen in the ER? It's schmucks like this that hold up the line. I wish I could say that patients like this are rare, but they are not. There's enough of them to spawn an entire race. Skin-color irrelevant. They belong to the drug-seeking demographic.

(Shamelessly poached from Dr. Grumpy, who poached it from someone else. Go check out Dr. Grumpy's blog!!)

Under the Big Top

Over a month ago, Mother told me to reserve such-and-such date because there was a family outing to the circus. The circus. What 34 year old, never-been-married, womb dried and shriveled up barren female, wants to go to the circus?

But the peer pressure waxes strong with Mother, so I orchestrated a trade at work, and got the day off.

Mother said I could bring a guest, and my attempts to invite one were met with incredulous looks and transparent excuses (none of my single friends wanted to go either). So, not only does childless, husbandless me get to go to the circus, I also get to go stag.

It was a morning show, starting at 10am. Mother said we had to be ready to go at 8:30 am. Now, working nights since I graduated high school, I tend to stay up late. Not by choice, but because my internal clock is wired for it. So, I finally go to bed around 5:00 am, maybe get in a light nap, and then roll out of bed at promptly 8:00 am.

Scowling, I meet the women and children in the driveway, and we go downtown. For some reason, I was under the impression that this was a Barnum and Bailey type circus. It wasn't until we got into Municipal Auditorium, and I spotted a bunch of men in the classic burgundy fez, that I realized that it was a Shriner's Circus.

I don't have anything bad to say about the Shriners. When I was a newborn, I had a defect that required me to wear a cast and braces the first year of my life. The Shriners paid for it. Because of the Shriners, I can walk like a normal person (unless I've had something to drink). However, as I was sitting in the stands, watching the pre-circus festivities, I couldn't help but wonder just who was going to be on the trapeze. Some old guy in tights and a fez?

Thankfully, it turns out that they have a, ahem, real circus come and do the circus type stuff. The Shriners are left to dress as clowns and sell you anything that isn't nailed down. This includes these light-up wands that play music. They had some that looked like laser guns. Some looked like butterflies, some looked like light sabers. Each you would have to put a second mortgage on your house to buy. But parents were buying it all.

Anyway, I'm sitting in the stands (which were pretty good seats, actually), and am observing. In front of me, they are giving elephant rides for $10. You get to ride the elephant around the little ring twice. That's $5 a lap. Over on the other end, they are giving pony rides for $5. You get more than two rotations (maybe three), but you are going around so fast, I expected small children to be airborne by sheer centrifugal force.

There's a bungee jump thing in the corner, and I don't know how much they were charging per bounce. But the one thing that caught my eye was the Titanic Slide.

What. The. Hell? Am I the only one who finds this disturbing??? Apparently not, because parents were shelling out dollars so their kids could slide down the deck, much in the same manner that the actual Titanic passengers did when the ship was plunging into the frigid waters of the Atlantic. I'm surprised they didn't have a little quartet of kazoo players near by playing, "Nearer My God to Thee".

So, the circus actually begins with the ringmaster singing some cheesey little opening song, with a handful of girls dressed in skimpy Vegas showgirl outfits. One had a bad case of muffin top.

The lights dim and the Shriner clowns play a game with the audience, or rather, those in the audience who bought those spinner lights. They told everyone turn them off, and then on the count of three, everyone turn them back on. Exciting! This served no purpose other than to shame the cheap parents who didn't buy them for their children. Disappointed cries could be heard throughout the arena.

The first act is the tigers and the smell of pee fills the air as hundreds of children wet themselves with excitement. Sis-in-Law says it was tiger pee that I smelled, but I know better.

I'm not one of those freaky PETA people, but I felt bad for the tigers. I don't know if it was because such a graceful, beautiful thing was not meant to be a circus act, or it was just being in this particular circus, but I found myself wishing one would swallow the head of the trainer. Is that bad?

And so the circus goes in standard fashion: trapeze, high wire, Shriner clowns, trampoline, guys on bikes in a big metal ball, Shriner clowns, jugglers, some people playing drums half as well as I do, dancing bears, Shriner clowns, and various other acts that I refer to as Stupid Human Tricks. Oh, and some lady was shot out of a cannon. Big Finish!

The worst part? Not one beer to be found during that entire event. I asked a vendor why, and she sniffed, "This is a family event." So!! I would think that for such an event is when you need beer the most! Oh well. If they charged $2.50 for a can of soda, I imagine you'd have to sign the title of your car over for a bottle of Bud Light.

Financially drained, everyone files out of the auditorium, with their sugar-laden hyped-up children, all waving their little spinning light wands that probably died by the end of the day. Or turned up missing at the hand of the parents who were tired of listening to the same tune over and over and over again.

I hope the next baby who has to wear braces on their legs, understands the sacrifice I made on their behalf. I sat through a Shriners Circus so that they may walk.

Hair for a Cause!!

Unless you have been living under a rock, everyone knows that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Out come the pink ribbons. And soup cans. And spatulas. And everything else that is made pink so you don't forget to save the boobies!

November, it would appear, is a Man's Cancer Awareness Month. Instead of coloring everything one color, it was decided that the best way to bring awareness to the cancer of men's dangly parts and internal plumbing, was for the menfolk to grow a porn stache.

Meesha has been chronicling his facial pube journey. Chipotle has thrown his face fuzz into the cause as well.

(On a side note, porn stache's scare me. The Boy had some weird facial hair style thing going on for a while. He looked like an ice cream truck driver. It gave me nightmares. Thankfully, he caved to the online tauntings of his friends and got rid of it. However, the image is forever seared in my mind...)

But it got me thinking. Men will wear the pink to support the boobie cause. What can women do to return the favor in kind?? Not all women were blessed with the power to grow a full stache. I mean, I have one rogue hair that likes to crop up on my chin, but even if I allowed it to grow, you still couldn't see it because it's so dam light. It's not enough to be effective! It lacks impact! It just doesn't convey to the world that I support the men folk in their fight against dangly part cancers!!

Then it came to me. While most women may not grow hair on their faces, we do grow hair in other places.

So, in observance of Men's Cancer Awareness Month, I propose that the women of the world unite and stop shaving for the month of November. Legs! Armpits! Delicate girly parts!! The more hair, the more you can show your support of our brothers in their cause.

And if you have questions about how to avoid shaving, ask our European sisters for pointers.

Hair cuts are still acceptable. We're not total barbarians.

So, toss those razors, ladies! Let Operation: Fuzz for Cancer commence!!! Do it for the health of the special men in your lives!! Fathers, Husbands, Boyfriends, Brothers. Show them we are in the trenches with them, right by their side!!!

A Girl's Got Needs!!

Lucy has been acting funny lately. She chatters in her kennel. And by chattering, I mean it's not a bark, and not a whine either.

It finally occurred to me that she could be in heat.

This might explain why she pounces on Sam each morning when I let them out. Sam, who has been fixed since he was a little boy, clearly has no idea what to do with the ladies. Bewildered, he just looks at her, then me, then her, almost as if pleading for me to save him from the wanton trollop.

Then, she routinely flops over onto her back with her legs in the air. May as well attach a sign to her ass that says, "Free! Help yourself!!" And she has that look.

You know that look. You see that look in the eyes of countless females at the Power and Light District.

I have since scheduled an appointment to get her girly parts fixed.

Meanwhile, I'm going to have a talk with her. Just because she's not getting her needs met, doesn't mean she needs to act so desperate. She can take a page from my book and GET SOME SELF CONTROL.Damn horndog.

Hump Day Blather

I just got off the phone with the city people to schedule a bulky item pickup. November is full, so I get to unload my junk sometime in December. I'm sure there will be 3 feet of snow and ice on the ground when I have to cart it out of the garage and at the end of the driveway.

The odd thing, the woman wanted to know what I was putting out. Uh...crap I don't want that I can't put out on regular garbage day. No, she wanted specifics. Like I know every little thing that goes. I usually just blow throw the house picking stuff at random to toss. So, I just covered the basics of what I knew already earned a spot. I'll find a couple surprises to leave out there as well.

The laundry room is almost complete. The tile floor is done, walls painted, ceiling repaired, re-textured, and repainted. New sink. New light fixtures. It's going to be glorious when it's completed. Pics will be forthcoming.

Halloween was a general bust around my neighborhood. I bought a shitload of candy (which I am told is an actual unit of measurement), and only had 12 trick or treaters. Not counting Mom who came over with a paper bag over her head. I just enticed her into the house with promises of candy and my puppy.

Of those 12, only 3 came without costumes. Grr. Halloween is simple. You wear a costume, you get paid in candy. It isn't rocket science. A couple girls showed up bathed in glitter. I don't know what they were supposed to be (Christmas ornaments??), but at least they tried. No-costume Boys got DumDum pops.

So now I have a shitload of candy. I'm slowly dishing it out at work because those nurses will eat anything you put on the break room table. Next year, I may just forgo the trick or treaters, and find a nice party to go to instead.

I'll dress as a Christmas ornament.

Who Does This??

One of the girls I work went out to her car the other day, and was greeted with one missing tire. Apparently, her robbers only needed one, because that's all they took, leaving her car propped up on a wooden block.

Is the economy so bad that people have to resort to this?? I hate people who do this kind of crap...steal from people who work really hard to get what they have, only to have some pinhead skulk over in the middle of the night and help themselves to what they didn't earn, and not theirs.

This girl is probably one of the sweetest girls you could ever meet, so it really sucks that this happened to her.

And for that reason, I can only hope the tire blows out while car is being driven down 435, flips over, and the robbers end up with limbs missing.

Or they can just burn in the car fire.

My Nose is Going to Fall Off and Other Blather

So, I was sick with the crud a week or so ago. I don't think it was flu, I think it was just some other crud going around. Back to work, life should return to normal, right?

Nope, this week, I'm having a huge allergy flare-up. I really need to see an allergist so they can do that allergy test to tell me exactly what makes me so miserable. It's probably George. And oxygen.

So, I've been sneezing all over the place, and working down in the laundry room makes it worse because of all the drywall dust and general dust I'm stirring up in rearranging the garage and storage room. But I have to help because that is part of my home remodeling arrangement with Mr. Recommendation (I probably should invest in some masks...or just appropriate some from work.) With the sneezes, come the snotty nose and I have rubbed said nose off down to a little nub (even with fancy-schmancy tissues with lotion). Anyone know who Michael Jackson used to get his fake noses from? I figured I could pick out a cute little button nose instead of the board straight Nordic nose I inherited from my father's side.

Funny thing about the sneezes. I get a couple good ones in, strong and loud because I can do that in my own home, and it makes my spine tingle. I haven't decided if I like it. I probably need a spinal alignment. I'll just add it to my list of crap to do.

I've been reading up on the plague, I mean, swine flu. Wichita is getting hit pretty hard, and it's only going to come to Kansas City and make for a long, miserable winter for health care workers. I didn't realize that a variation of this flu made a big splash in the 70's-80's, which is why you see the younger people getting hit harder than the older folks. Most the older folks have already been exposed and have some sort of immunity. Us young'uns...not so much. I'm sure it doesn't help that the younger generation has been fed antibiotics as an after school snack for every sniffle since birth. Plus, if you have some sort of respiratory issue, you're really in for a kick in the ass if you catch this one. If ever were a good reason to quit smoking, now would be a good time to start.

I called my mother and asked her if I got sick with it when I was younger, in hopes of not having to take the vaccine. I wasn't, and she's making me get the vaccine. My mother making her 34 year old RN daughter get the H1N1 vaccine. Sheesh. She may be small, but don't piss her off.

I still stand by my original opinion that this flu isn't any worse than regular flu. I guess more people are taking notice because it's targeting young people. Regular flu kills tons of old people every year, and yet it barely registers even a blip on the radar of the media. Won't anyone think of the old people???

Wash your hands. Cough in a hankie. And for God's sake, if you are sick, stay the fuck home! No matter if you have garden variety flu, swine flu, or Klingon flu.

This morning, I woke up way early and decided to make a trip to Hellmart, which surprisingly, was nice and quiet and deserted, save for the workers who were stocking the shelves. I bought way too much Halloween candy. I bought some good candy for the kids who actually wear costumes this year, and then Dum Dum pops (get it?) for those who don't bother...but that is a rant best saved for another post.

I think I will go back to bed for a little nap before going shopping for new frilly unmentionables. Good bra shopping is serious business, and I need to be well rested and completely focused when I go.

The Most Heinous Thing You Will See Today...Or Not

As most of you know, I sell sex toys as a hobby. At some point, I will decide actually get serious about it and make enough money to be able to quit nursing and be the next Dr. Sue. Thus far, I've started doing a radio segment once a week to discuss all things sex.

I do this because I want people to be empowered, and I want the right information to get out there.With that in mind, this website was brought to my attention by some of my other sex-toy sling colleagues. The Netflix of sex toys, it is Rent-a-Dildo.com.

I didn't stutter. You read that right.

The premise is exactly like Netflix. You pay a monthly fee, you pick out a toy, and it comes to you "clean". You keep the toy for as long as it blows your skirt up, and when you are done, you send it back and they send you the next toy in your queue.

Who the hell thought of this? What the hell were they thinking? And most importantly, what drug were they on when they thought this would actually be a good idea????

So, let's say Earl McDumbass and his wife Twila are wanting to add spice to their sex lives. They go to Rent-a-Dildo (I shudder every time I type that) and pick out the double-ended, two-foot pink jelly dong. It arrives. Earl and Twila get their freak on with said toy for two solid weeks. After that time, the DETFPJD has lost it's luster and Earl remembers that the next item on their list is a replica of John Holmes' Butthole -o-Pleasure. Earl and Twila send the DETFPJD back to the headquarters, and anxiously await the arrival of their new toy.

Did I mention that Twila and Earl might bathe once a week? And that Earl has anal warts? And Twila has herpes? And the single wide trailer they reside at The Mayfair is held together by Elmer's Glue, duct tape, and mouse poop.

So, DETFPJD goes back to headquarters where it is allegedly cleaned, sterilized, and repackaged to be sent out for the next eagerly waiting client...your grandparents.

NONONONONONONONONONONO!!!!!!!!!

You know, I once had a nursey friend tell me about a patient she took care of that used to go dumpster diving in a college town. On one of their DD safaris, the woman came across some student's discarded Mr. Willy. She hurried home with her treasure, and after cleaning it with soap and water, proceeded to tickle herself into the throes of rapture.

Months later, she ends up with a severe case of rotten crotch and cervical cancer.

Your parents instill in you the values of sharing, but in life, there are certain things you probably should not share...underwear, toothbrush, needles, and sex toys. You buy these things brand new, and when they wear out, fulfill their need, you discard them. Sex with people and with toys are a lot alike in the respect that you don't who or what they came in contact before you entered the picture. I don't care how well they claim to clean it...would you like to get your rocks off with a rabbit who's previous user had some mutant AIDS strain that was impervious to most standard disinfecting agents???? Sure, they guarantee the cleanliness, but would you really want to take that chance???

Overall, Rent-a-Dildo is probably the most retarded idea. Ever. And I say that because even a Downs Syndrome person would look at it and say, "That's fucking retarded!" Because it is. It's retarded, and disgusting, and the people who came up with this idea needs to have their heads examined.

But they are not accepting paying customers yet. Right now, it's in Beta testing. With any luck, the company never gets off the ground. However, if you are an adventure-seeking moron, feel free to sign up for email updates so you can be among the first to get in line and await your turn to have a go with the replica Jenna Jameson Poonanny!!

A Netflix for porn would be a better idea, but I don't know of anyone that sticks a dvd in their vagina or ass for a thrill either. But then, I don't work in the ER, so I'm privy to all the shit they pull out of orifices there.

For $20 a month, you can build up your own arsenal of pleasure without the risk. Hell, I will even sell them to you.

For the time being, I'm going to go throw up.

Sex and Candy

Tonight, I am hosting a chocolate tasting party courtesy of Dove Chocolate Discoveries. I figured that because the demo isn't horribly long, I'd bust out a little demo from my Passion Parties inventory.

Plus, I'm making white sangria.

So, we have chocolate, toys, and a wine-based beverage. All the things a girl could possibly want, all under one roof.

I really need to finish cleaning the house. And I need to run to the store and buy a few last-minute things.

Instead, I'm here on the computer, blogging about it.

There's no shame in my procrastination game.

Nurse Follies: Another Example of Needed Healthcare Reform

The son of one of my mother's friends, took his girlfriend to Liberty Hospital because she fell ill. Not allergies or some pud thing like that. No, she was full on sick. Debilitating sick. Judging from the symptoms, it smacked of swine flu.

Anyway, they go to Liberty and they run a mono test. Negative. They run a strep test. Also negative. They tell her she's going to be discharged and sent home.

But wait, the boyfriend interjects, you didn't test her for swine flu.

Well, it turns out that the girlfriend didn't have insurance. And the test to diagnose H1N1 was too expensive to do on someone who didn't have insurance, and therefore, they refused to do it.

Have a nice day!

Fuckers. I've always disliked that hospital.

Anyway, last I knew, the boyfriend was going to take her to another hospital, one that actually gave two shits about treating sick people and not about money, and hopefully she won't infect anyone else in her travels to seek care.

But what about the law that says a hospital can't deny treatment because of your ability to pay? That only applies to emergent cases. I'd wager that while Liberty will initially treat the uninsured, they immediately ship them to another hospital once they are stable. I don't have to bet money, I've talked to people who have witnessed this firsthand.

Cock sucking assholes.

I'm happy I work at a hospital where we treat anyone, regardless of their inability to pay. I've never once heard a doctor deny treatment to someone because they were uninsured. I've never heard of a patient get preferential treatment because they had better coverage.

So, here's to you, Liberty Hospital. May you choke on your own self-righteousness and may your entire administrative staff get struck down with the clap. Or better, the swine flu.

And may your insurance plan not cover the cure.

General Observations on Dating

Mom and I went out to eat the other night. From my vantage point, I observed a couple. And from what I overheard, it was a first date.

He was dressed in jeans, running shoes with no socks, and a button-down shirt. Sounds okay, right? Well, it would have been fine, and I probably wouldn't have noticed him in the first place if he had his shirt buttoned. Now, I'm not talking about all the way up to the top button, but for the love of God, all the way down to your belly button isn't acceptable either. But there it was, chest fuzz for all the world to feast upon. The only thing missing was the heavy gold chain. Oh, and to further cement his douche bag look, he left the cuffs on his shirt unbuttoned so they would flop around when he waved his hands in the air. You know, because nothing says hipster cool like a guy who dresses to impress in sloppy Guido wear. I bet money he spent at least an hour in front of the mirror before his big date perfecting his "I don't care about being trendy" look.

He kept glancing at me, probably because I have special Douche Bag Radar. And big boobs.

So his date, you know the type...looks like every other girl who goes to Power and Light and doesn't have an original thought bobbing around in their head. I don't know why Guido was trying so hard, it was painfully obvious she was going to put out at the end of the evening.

Even though he totally took her to Sweet Tomato on their first date.