End of the Year Blathering

Here we are on the cusp of 2006, and I am sitting here in my pajamas, and it is noon. I was up late last night...so I deserve the right to sleep in if I want.

Tonight, we are going out to the Melting Pot for fondue and friendship, and paying way too much money for it. Oh well. New Year's Eve only comes around once a year, and I think that this is the first time I am actually doing something other than going to some lame church dance and watching two girls do their best Britney Spears impersonation...seriously, because they think she's, like, cool and stuff.

I usually don't make resolutions because I never keep them anyway. I thought I would try again this time around. I can keep a tally of them on my blog, and we can see where I am at this time next year.

So, here we go...

1. To take better care of myself. I have a gym membership that I haven't been using...which is pretty much the equivalent of going to the bathroom and flushing $30 down the toilet. Besides, if I exercised more, I wouldn't be so tired. Eating better is also included. Mom is joining me in this, so it's a win-win situation. She's actually more excited about this resolution than I am. I'll get the Garden Veggie Soup ready.

2. To buy a house. I've been looking online. In the early spring, I will actually go to open houses. The lease is up in the shithole I live in, so then is the perfect time to buy. Renting sucks.

3. To pay off everything (except the car). I have a small bunch of little piddly bills to pay off. Better credit score = better home loan rate.

4. To learn to knit. Everyone is making fun, cute furry scarves except me. There's more to life than crochet.

5. To book a big fat vacation for 2007. And from the looks of things right now, I will be booking two of them.

Yeah...that's about it. Not very exciting, I know. I suppose I could add "buy a sex swing" as one of them to spice things up a bit, but that's really not a goal of mine.

Besides, where would I hang it?

Nurse Follies: A Letter to a Pothead

Dear Pothead,

When I said I would brandish a fire extinguisher if I found anything on fire on my floor, and I would use said fire extinguisher...I meant it. Even if the fire in question was at the end of whatever you happened to be smoking at the time. I was also serious when I said I would call the hospital po-po to come and write you a big fat ticket for smoking. Federal law, dumbass.

They would not only write you a ticket for lighting up in your bathroom, they would also run your name, and I am fairly confident they would find you had an outstanding warrant. From the hospital, you would go to directly to jail...do not pass go and collect the $200 you would need to pay the fine for smoking in the hospital.

You're ugly spouse is also annoying. Just because we work for the same employer doesn't mean I am going to cut you a break and allow you to blow us a new skylight in the hospital. I'm still beside myself that she even asked. I should have told the other nurses so they could all come into the room and read you and Uglyspouse the riot act. Why should I get to have all the fun?

Yes, I made you sign the AMA form so you could leave the floor to go smoke. I told you that it was a bad idea, the docs told you it was a bad idea. If you go off to parts unknown to spark a doobie and you manage to fall over dead, I don't particularly care to go to the board of nursing and defend my license. The AMA form protects us and our livelihood from idiots like you.

So yes, I may be an asshole, but I am not a bad nurse. You can piss away your health, and your life all you want...but do it on your own time, and not on my floor.

Hope you get to feeling better soon.

Sincerely,
Your Nurse

Because Nothing Says "Happy Holidays" Like a Funeral

Upon arriving home from my holiday at the lake, Mom calls me to tell me that her best friend's father passed away on Christmas Eve...and would I mind going with her to the viewing that night??

Why not...it's not like I had anything better to do.

So, we dress in somber-wear and go to a local funeral home where Mom's friend greets us at the door. I do feel sorry for anyone who loses a loved one so close to the holidays. He had been chronically ill with respiratory ailments stemming from long-term smoking. For him, death was a blessing.

To honor his passing, the entire family gathers outside the funeral home and proceeds to light up. I'm fairly certain that my mother and myself were the only ones there who didn't smoke, except the 8 year olds. There was a man there, who was as big around as he was tall, and looked as though he would be the guest of honor for the next funeral the family would attend. He was toting a portable oxygen tank...

And smoking...

At the same time.

I overheard one family member mention that he couldn't figure out how to turn off the tank. I casually eased mother to a safer distance and told her she was not allowed to be anywhere near this man...for he could blow at any minute, therby taking out anyone within a 25 foot radius.

I'm always amazed at people who have a family member that dies from smoking-related illnesses, and yet they keep on puffing. Are they just in denial that such a horrible fate could not possibly happen to them? Whatever the case may be, one thing is for certain...as long as people smoke, my job will always be secure.

Merry Christmas!! (belated)

During the rush and hustle of the holiday, I found myself not able to post as often during the weekend, as I know everyone wants to know how my Christmas went. I went down to the cabin again, came back the next day. Nothing too exciting, and no blood was shed.

But I will blog more about it when I am not so tired, and have a little more motivation to do so.

Until then...Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Hi Ho, Hi Ho...It's off to work I go!

I still feel like a bag of chewed up buttholes...but I am going in to work tonight. If I call in tonight, I won't get paid for the Christmas holiday. Yes, it sucks...but that is economics.

Besides, I get to go home early if I barf on the nursing supervisor!

Calling in Sick: A Catch 22

We have these signs posted ALL around the hospital...in English AND Spanish...blathering something to the affect that if you are sick, you shouldn't be around patients, and please see the nurse before entering a patient room. Blah, blah, blah.

Reason would tell you that a healthcare provider should call in sick and not expose whatever crud they have to their sick patients...right? Yes, that does sound good in theory, but there is hell to pay when you actually do call in sick. You leave the floor short-staffed, and they have to find more nurses, and how dare you get sick in this time when EVERYONE ELSE is getting sick?!?

Why am I blathering about this? Well, I had to call in sick tonight due to some, ahem, gastric ailments. There's some sort of little bug floating around, targeting nurses, and picking us off like flies. Some nurses, rather then face the wrath of an unforgiving attendance policy, will actually go to work...only to be sent home sick anyway.

Yeah, I'll probably get written up for calling in sick. Ask me if I care when I am paying homage to the Industrial toilet that sits in my bathroom.

Nurses generally have a stronger immune system than most...and that comes from coming in contact with most every single bacterial critter both known and unknown to modern medicine. We've built up a tolerance. If it is something that is bad enough to knock a seasoned nurse on her butt, imagine what it would do to someone who is already sick in a hospital.

Now, I am taking my Sprite, dry toast, and wooby to bed.

Out Amid the Holiday Throng

Mom comes home after work yesterday with the urgent, urgent need to go shopping. I go, but my heart filled with dread when she mentioned the W-word. Walmart.

So, I drive there because the PT is small and fit into little parking spaces. We rounded the corner and discovered that everyone else who lived in the Northland had the same idea. Someone even brought a moving truck. Now that is some serious Christmas shopping!

We manage to park in a spot that isn't in Kansas, and hike to the store. Once inside...bedlam. People everywhere buying everything that isn't nailed down. Mom and I wander around the store with a cart that has a bad wheel. We always manage to get the cart that has the bad wheel. An hour or so later, we make it up to the checkout. After careful consideration, Mom decides to do as I did...GIFT CARDS!!

As we are in the checkout line, two children are running around like someone gave them an IV bolus of Kool-Aid before they came to the store.

Oh yes, they were also yelling and squealing.

Somewhere, miles away, dogs began to howl.

The one boy was wearing a motorcross helmet that the parents were planning on purchasing, makes a running start before swan diving onto the ground, and sliding about 3 feet, almost knocking over a Walmart employee. The mother laughs like its the funniest thing in the world. The boy begins squirming around on the ground, still in the helmet, picking up whatever seen and unseen object that happened to be laying in that particular area.

I started to go into convulsions, filled the strong desire to go rip my uterus out of my body, ensuring that I will never, ever procreate and risk giving birth to that kid.

I remember when I was a child, my parents NEVER took us kids to go Christmas shopping. Not even grocery shopping. We got to stay home with a sitter.

Now, I understand why.

I turned to my mother and said, "Now I know why you never took us kids anywhere. We were evil children."

She smiled that matronly smile, the one that not only says "Mother knows best", but also that triumphant smile that comes with being acknowledged that you were right.

I thought I also detected something of a smirk that said, "You just wait 'til you have kids of your own."

Yay for Me!!

I got the weekend position. Woo-hoo! Sure, I will have to work every single Friday-Saturday-Sunday for the next 6 months (because that is how long the contracts are), but I will have my weeks off to do productive things...

Like take Sam to obedience classes...again.

Or I can go back to school and work on other degrees.

With my newfound fatty raise that working weekends entails, it brings me this much closer to buying a house...with a really nice toilet.

Yay!

Is it just me...

...or is the president of Iran a stark, raving lunatic???

Banishing Kenny G from radio because of the evil Western Influence is like banishing Big Bird from television because he promotes terrorism.

Tis the Season of the Office Party

Our unit party was Saturday night. It was catered...all we needed to bring was a dessert or appetizer, a gift for the exchange, and your own beverage. You needed to bring a date just to help you carry all your stuff.

Well, my date options didn't pan out. They either had to work, or couldn't find a sitter. Whatever. I went anyway. I bought a brownie platter and a plant for Katie because she was the hostess.

I shouldn't have bothered with the brownie platter...by the time dessert rolled around, everyone was too drunk to care about brownies. Everyone there was drinking their dessert. Our unit educator became so sauced that she passed out in the coat check room on top of everyone else's coats and scarves. Fortunately, she didn't barf.

The best gift at the exchange, as deemed by another night nurse (with much glee), was something called a "Whizzer". It was a statue on a bottle that would squirt whiskey out of it's wiener when you pushed the button. Two nurses filled it with vodka and insisted that everyone take a turn on the Whizzer. I don't like vodka, I think it's gross. However, they kept shoving it in my face, this statue of a small boy with a small winkie, and despite my insistence that I didn't want to partake of the Whizzer, I got vodka peed on my face and down my shirt. "A facial!!," someone cried.

Brilliant.

My bosshole was there sans the wife. Turns out, she is somewhat of a prude (or Nazarene to be more accurate) and she doesn't go out to festivities. So, the bosshole must socialize by himself. I could tell he wanted to partake of the beverage and be falling down drunk like everyone else (except me), but because he was a manager, social mores kept him from doing so...which is unfortunate, because I was hoping for some leverage. At any rate, I felt some pity for the bosshole for having a wife that was a human quaalude...but he married her, so that pity was short-lived.

There was kareoke, with all these new songs I've never even heard of, much less know the words to. Bosshole tried to sing a song with disastrous results, but much laughter from everyone else. There was even dancing, of which I mostly sat and watched. There's great entertainment value in watching drunk white people dance.

It was interesting, though, to see that the night shift people sort of stayed to themselves, the day people stayed to themselves, then there were a couple people (like me) who would go between the two. Overall, it was a nice gathering. Afterwards, a bunch of people were going to go to Westport to get further inebriated. I was invited, but I declined. I'm such a party-pooper.

Besides, I like to think of myself as the only one who remembers exactly what happened that night. It leaves room for some embellishment.

Some Medical Advice (from a nurse)

Repeatedly rubbing olive oil on an open, draining wound will NOT make it heal faster.

And no, it doesn't matter that your minister prayed over the entire bottle beforehand...

Fooked in the Head

I blogged about my Gay-Not-Gay cousin a few months back. After that, I vowed not to get caught up in the drama, not to ask anymore questions. Sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss. Besides, the family already descended upon her and chastised her for being dishonest with her current girlfriend, and she had an excuse for everything. I think everyone just sort of tired of it.

I was online yesterday, checking out some books online for my latest subject of interest (and I am not going to tell you what it is), when Cousin popped online and wanted to chat. Okay, no harm in menial family blather. Then, she unloads that she is in a quandry. Why? Apparently, Mr. Right(eous) admitted that he and his mother had a monumental arguement, and he damned her to hell. This bothers my cousin. I pointed out that mere mortal man can't damn a head of lettuce to hell, much less a human being. Her concern was the outburst, and the fact that he apparently is prone to them, and what if he does it to her??

I can understand her point as Cousin is the poster-child of Crappy Rotten Abusive Relationships. Then, she starts to make excuses: he's always had a hard relationship with his family, and he's about to be excommunicated by the LDS church.

Huh? Mr. Right(eous), who served a mission in Poland, who can read scripture in several different languages, who also is a temple worker?? I inquired further (because I'm nosy like that). Cousin casually mentions that he was recently bapatised into a Fundamentalist sect somewhere in Arizona. You know...the ones who hide out in the desert with their multiple wives, some of them underage, where the men are seen as prophets and the women as cattle...with handy little vaginas for pleasure and procreation.

What!?! I ask what the quandry is. Broom this guy fast, he wants to make you a pleural wife. Cousin says the pleural marriage thing doesn't bother her as long as God commands it. But she is still concerned because he might yell at her after they are married.

Methinks if you marry a polygamist, having him yell at you should be the least of your worries.

Fundie sects are notorious for incest in God's name. I cringe whenever I hear the stories, and go into convulsions when the media inevitibly ties them with the main LDS church. She defended this particular sect. "No, this one is different. They treat the women like queens and you have to be at least 4 generations apart to marry them...like 4th cousins!"

Cough, cough, bullshit, cough, cough

How reassurring! Somehow, I think Fundie sects are sort of like those vacations that tout to be the best ever with pretty words and glossy photos; but after you sink you money into it, and arrive at your destination...it's a roach-infested room, cold showers, poor service and the crappiest vacation ever.

So, I am at a loss. I told her what I thought, and she said she appreciated my advice, but knowing my cousin as well as I do, I could almost imagine my words going right into one ear, and floating out of the other. I told her she would be better off staying gay.

But now, I am done with it. I've made my opinions known, and I am not going to get drawn into this mess.

However, I pity the jerk if he comes out to meet the family. We may not be the most righteous bunch of Mormons, but we can certainly smell a bullshitter a mile away.

Why Apartment Living Sucks Ass

I went out today to do laundry. I have to lug my laundry across the apartment complex to their overpriced laundry facility. $1.25 to wash, $1.25 to dry...and they are not even commercial washers and dryers. So, I notice a nice little dent on my fender that wasn't there before. A dent about the size of a golf ball.

I hate apartment living.
I hate that I have to leave the warm confines of my abode to have clean underwear and scrubs.
I hate that I have a car buried in snow whenever there is inclement weather. When I do clear my parking space of snow, some bastard comes along and takes it after I leave.
I hate that I can hear my neighbors upstairs shagging when I am trying to sleep.
I hate that my car gets all kinds of dings and dents because everyone else who lives in my building drives a piece of crap (with the exception of my mother), and doesn't care if they damage my car or not.
I hate that I now have a commercial toilet in my bathroom. (I still hate the toilet.)
I hate that crabby woman who lives across the hall who thinks I am after her bloated, old husband.
Hate! Hate! Hate!

I can't wait to buy my own house, with a garage, a washer and dryer, a yard, and a regular toilet.

I curse the asshat who put the dent in my car. I curse them with sexual dysfunction until they are old and senile and no one will sleep with them. Oh yeah, I curse them with herpes as well.

Job Update

I'm making a bid to work weekend option. This means I work weekends only, and make more moolah in the process. It's an everyone-wins situation.

I figured if I am not going to have a social life, I should at least be compensated for it.

My Thoughts on Oprah

I've never really cared much for Oprah, and it has not been much of a secret with friends. Any one celebrity who has that much influence over so many people (religious figures excluded), can't be a good thing. Sure, she does bring light to topics that people should know more about, but I can't help but get the nagging feeling that no matter what, "It's all about Oprah."

I was working my 4th shift last night (I was talked into coming in extra. Damn Katie and her guilt trips!) When one of the nurses, who has a known affinity for the finer (and more expensive) things in life, was talking about a pair of UGG boots she purchased. She kept referring about seeing them on Oprah's Christmas List. So, I took the liberty of looking of said list.

Popcorn tin with popcorn: $117
Burberry coat: $690
Burberry Purse: $695
UGG Boots: $180
iPOD: $299
Ralph Lauren (ugly) Sweater: $498
Colored pants: $160 (for the cheapest pair)
Brownies from Geneva: $25
Bathrobe: $150
Sony Notebook: $1500

Oh. My. God. I know that out there, in this vast country, there is some woman...who probably doesn't pull down the kind of money Oprah does, who is DESPERATE to buy all these things (plus a few others I didn't mention) because they are Oprah's Favorite Things. Somewhere out there, a woman is going to go into hock because she has to own these things, so she can be in the "Oprah In-Club" and be the envy of all the bored housewives on her block. Somewhere out there, a woman is relaxing in her recliner in a pair of UGGs, while watching Oprah on tv, in the comfort of her mobile home...knowing that something else was forsaken for the boots (the electric bill, perhaps?).

For some women, it's all about WWOD...What Would Oprah Do. A modern day false prophet.

If Oprah said she gave herself coffee enemas everyday and pooped on her dog because it made her feel pretty, coffee would start flying off the shelves, and dog groomers would have to hire extra help to manage the surge in appointments.

Like I said, one celebrity having that much influence cannot be a good thing.

Oprah is the AntiChrist...and Dr. Phil is her minion.

The White Shroud Still Cometh

Here at work...almost 1am. I looked out the window and was dismayed to see fat flakes falling from the sky. The Gay Weatherman says we could have up to ten inches by morning. That should make getting home a real treat. Getting to work was an adventure unto itself. I left early, skipped my stop to Starbucks, and a drive that only takes about 15 minutes, took me almost an hour, but the PT pulled through like a little trooper.

Funny thing about Midwest people...they can't drive worth crap in snow, especially those beady-eyed soccer mom's who drive the great big SUVs. (My philosophy is that if you can't change the tire on it, you shouldn't be driving it.) One big problem with folks who have SUV's with 4 wheel drive, they go tearing down the highway like they are racing for the checkered flag. Four-wheel drive works great in snow, but doesn't help you stop any faster on ice...which is what happens to be laying under the white menace. Oddly enough, driving in snow isn't really that bad, and sometimes can be a relaxing experience...it's the other tards who have to go and mess it up.

Midway to work, I noticed a Ford Explorer bobbing in and out of lanes, just sort of making up their own. It wasn't until I passed that I realized it was a woman on her cell phone. HELLO!!!! It's 11 degrees outside, snowing, traffic is about as bad as you can get with cars sliding everywhere, and you HAVE to be on your cell phone while on an Interstate??

Was it wrong for me to hope she would put her vehicle in a ditch? Without injury, of course...

Any highway going north was a parking lot. I saw people making U-turns in the middle of the interstate and go the opposite direction on an entrance ramp. The news later reported that folks were stuck on I-35 for 4 hours. Four HOURS!! I think at some point, I would have just parked the car on the side of the road and walked to the nearest hotel. You always have to wonder about who's at the very front of a traffic jam...they need to have their asses kicked.

I made it work without incident. The day nurses seemed more concerned about all the night people making it in so they could leave, instead of just us making it to work in one piece. Bastards...I hope they got stuck in traffic as well. We've already had 2 call-ins for tomorrow. If staffing isn't covered, we are expected to stay over until staffing can be found. They can kiss my ass if they think I am going to stay over. I left early and made it in...and I drive a glorified golf cart!!

That's IT! I'm fleeing South!!!

I drove home in the butt-cold weather with the same 12 snowflakes blowing around. Everyone on the radio was talking about the snow. When I woke up this afternoon, the entire KC has been covered with the white shroud, and sounds like it will continue to come down until late this evening. Great. I still have to go to work tonight. The drive should be interesting.

It's not even fun snow. It's not wet, it doesn't pack well. It's just dry, and so cold that someone from Colorado would whine like a little bitch if they had to stand in it for any extended period of time. I should know...I'm from Colorado!

Now, I've got the Caribbean on my mind. Warm ocean air, soft sand under my feet, turquoise waters, frou-frou drinks, the smell of coconut oil, the sun on your bare shoulders, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, steel drums...ahhhhhh.

But nooooo....I'm stuck in snowy hell!!! I've got to get to the sun. Anyone care to join me??

Christmas Shopping Sucks and Other Funny Things

I went Christmas shopping with Mom yesterday. She took a day off from work to do so. She is way more into shopping than I am. I am the kind of person who likes to have a general idea of what I want to buy, go to the area where I might find the item in question, buy it, then get out. A kamikaze shopper. My mother is one of those people (along with every other female) who likes to go to a big place that sells lots of stuff (i.e. the mall) and wander around, looking at everything, maybe make a purchase here or there. At the end of the day, she would have spend 6 hours at the mall, and bought a total of 3 items.

So, she set her alarm at 5am. Who gets up that early to go shopping? My mother! She bounces in my room all cheery and perky. She is a morning person. I am not a morning person, which is why I work night shift. I roll out of bed and stumble into my clothes. I remind her the mall doesn't open until 10am, but that doesn't matter. By the time I get dressed, awake, and we get our ducks in a row, it is almost 9am.

We trek out to The Great Plains Mall or whatever the hell they call it. It's quite a drive from my house. We get there, find a parking spot, go inside. I find myself a new warm coat because I have been needing one for 2 years now and haven't been able to find something I liked. It is purple and has fake fur trim. I was hoping to find something with real fur just to piss the PETA people off, but no such luck. We walked the full length of the mall, getting accosted by a pushy Israeli who wanted to rub lotion on my hands and buff the hell out of one nail in hopes I would by his wares.

We happened to find something to wear to our respective Christmas parties. At the checkout counter, I noticed the clerk carefully folding my mother's shirt, only to just stuff it in the bag when he was done.

In the end, Mom got most of her shopping done. I didn't buy much, but did decide I was going to give everyone gift cards this year.

Tonight, I am at work. I am in charge, so I get to put on the asshole face. I've only had to be hostile once so far to a float nurse who never wants to work when she's supposed to. I did manage to stop by Starbucks and pick up one of their yummy Peppermint Mochas before coming in. In the parking lot, I saw an older woman and a younger guy at her car. She had unlocked the driver's side with her remote, but not the passenger side. So, with the door open, she is standing there pushing her remote so the guy can get inside the car. Pushing, pushing, pushing. I almost wanted to remind her that the button on the door would probably work a little better, seeing how her companion was shivering in the 18 degree weather. Sometimes, people can be really, really dense.

Medicine's Priority...A Rant

I worked last night. I was tired, and therefore cranky by default. I clocked in, got my patient assignment, and Katie (who was charging that night) approached me with this look that said, "I'm about to lay a big pile of BS on you."

Katie: We have a VIP coming.
Heather: Excuse me while I dance with joy.
Katie: We are moving a patient down to another floor so the VIP can have a private room.
Heather: Naturally
Katie: But that room doesn't have a good view out the window. So, we need to move your patient into that room, and give the VIP her room because it has a better view.
Heather: Like hell! I'm not kicking my patient out of her room so some asshole of perceived importance can have a better view.
Katie: I know, it's bullshit...but this came down from the house supervisor.
Heather: Well, then she can kiss the fattest part of my ass. (Katie and I have a good working relationship that we can talk to each other in this manner.)

While not widely known to poor schmucks like you and me, VIP treatment does exist in the very place it shouldn't. Some hospitals even have special, ornate rooms exclusively for VIP patients (i.e. anyone with potential to donate money to the hospital). Private rooms with fancy bedding, curtains, plasma tv's...you get the idea. Once, we had a VIP who had donated mountains of money to the hospital, and the supervisors told us to treat them extra special: make their needs priority, and generally kiss their ass.

Bullshit.

I distinctly remember in nursing school our instructors telling us that everyone is entitled to the same dignity, respect, and care regardless of race, gender, creed, and socioeconomic status. Apparently, this is just lip service that nursing schools have to tell their students, knowing full well that once we are out in the "real world", this sentiment is only advocated until someone "important" is wheeled in. It's disgusting.

Good nurses and doctors will try to adhere to the oaths they took when they first went into practice. All the rest are just assholes. We'll see how they feel when that moment comes when the needs of their family member is passed over by a government official with tennis elbow.

In the end, we didn't kick my patient out of her room, but rather moved someone who was confused and wouldn't know the difference between a view to a brick wall, or a view of the city skyline. I was still livid, and fumed about it for the better part of the evening.

I've decided that I will probably never end up in a high management position as a nurse. I lack the talents of an effective ass-kisser, not to mention I advocate for my patients...ALL of them.

Scientific Method at its Finest!!

Did you know that you can get a grant to study anything?? And our government is dumb enough to happily accomodate. After all, doesn't everyone need to know how fast ketchup comes out of a bottle??

The latest example of really dumb research comes from a presentation given this week at the annual meeting of the Radiological Society of North America. It was there that researchers revealed what we have guessed, but never known for certain:

Fatter asses require longer needles for intramuscular injections.

I can't imagine how the scientific process of this research came to pass, but using the standard scientific method, one can assume that it went something like this:

1. Observation: "We have observed that the posteriors of Americans have been growing at an alarming rate with the invention of the super size value combo meal. This could be problematic to the nurses who have to give them pain medicine for their chronic back pain."
2. Forming a Hypothesis: "If needles are only 1 inch in length, they cannot reach musle tissue in someone who has a fat ass. Therefore, longer needles are needed to effectively give injections."
3. Experiment: "We shall measure the asses of test subjects and try different sized needles so we can find out which needles can reach muscle. We shall put out a call for test subjects with ghetto booty."
4. Analyze: "The average-sized needles were not effective in giving an intramuscular shot. The longer needles worked much better."
5. Conclusion: "Fatter asses require longer needles. Yay...now we can go to lunch."

Sheesh!! I could have saved them time and money and told them this. They could have given ME the money and I could have shared this pearl of wisdom to the researchers. Any nurse could have told them this I wonder how much money was shelled out for this completely pointless and idiotic study. Besides, don't they know that nurses seldom give shots in the ass due to the higher risk of hitting a nerve? If we do have to give an IM shot, it usually goes into the arm.

I'm going to put in for a research grant. I even have a hypothesis: Fatter asses require larger pants.

Tis the Season

So, I am at work. The songs of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory keep running through my head. Imagine trying to insert an IV with "Augustus Gloop" ringing in your ears.

I talked with Mike (the lawyer, not the brother) earlier this evening and he was just finishing up tree-trimming festivities with his two daughters. He said that all the ornaments were on the lowest part of the tree, on one side. This makes sense because little kids can't reach any higher. I laughed as I heard excited squealing in the background. I imagine this time of year is exciting when you are a parent.

When I was a kid, I looked forward to Christmas. Now that I am an adult, Christmas doesn't hold nearly the magic for me. I'm fairly certain a couple bad experiences are to blame, not to mention I have no children of my own to fawn over (but this year I do get to buy for my newly-adopted nephew). I remember as I child, that certain smell that would come from the box of Christmas decorations. I occasionally smell it when I go to a craft store and walk down their decoration isle, and it takes me back to the days when I still believed in Santa Claus.

We used to put up the tree at the beginning of December with great excitement. Now, I can't even work up the enthusiasm to erect a tree. Oh, I find excuses...no room, crazy dog, I live alone. I own a 7 foot pre-lit and fiber optic tree that I bought after Christmas one year. The damn thing is so heavy, and takes more than one person to assemble...but it is really pretty when it is decorated.

My mother used to say that "Christmas is for kids". I'd hate to think that is true, but sometimes it sure seems that way. I wish I could again feel the magic and the excitement of the holidays. It's not even about the whole gift-exchanging thing. In all the commercialism of the holiday, the message and the feeling has been lost.

Mom is planning on decorating my patio, but no mention of a tree. I should put up a tree this year. After talking with Mike, I thought maybe I could invite some kids over to decorate my tree. Kids love that sort of thing. I could pay them in freshly baked cookies and hot chocolate. Kids also love that sort of thing. But kids today are very smart. They would probably detect anything fishy.

I should also order pizza.

But I want to sleep!!!

I'm supposed to work tonight. I had planned on sleeping all day to prepare for it...but nooooo. The maintenance men had to come over and finish repairing my ceiling. Now, Sam is in his kennel going insane, and I get no sleep. NO SLEEP!!!

It's going to be another strong caffeine night for Heather.

However, I did read somewhere that an apple will wake you up better than caffeine. I might have to find an apple and test this.

The Best First Date Ever

Okay, so I am on a blogging roll. I sometimes get into these moods where I just have to write.

I was thinking about stuff as I was driving home from the cabin. I think a lot when I drive. I think about a lot of things. As I passed by a certain county justice center, I couldn't help but think of one of the prosecuting attorneys that works there. When I think about Michael (the lawyer, not my brother), my mind always wonders back to our first date...and I can't help but smile.

We had discussed going out for a while, and finally got around to it. We made a plan to go out on a Monday evening. He mentioned that he had a court-thing that night, but it was a small thing, and would only take about 15 minutes. Would I mind just coming along with him to court?? Then we could go directly to the restaurant immediately after.

Sure...why not?

So, Michael shows up at the apartment in what he called his "lawyer costume". Costume or no, he looked pretty damn good. Anyway, he drove us in his Jeep...with very, very bad brakes. They would grind and squeal every time we approached a stop sign or light. Michael told me he had an appointment at the dealership the very next day to get them fixed.

Mike is driving, and I get to hold the map. Neither of us has been to this courthouse which was in some little suburb in Johnson county. We make it to a very small brick building and go inside. I take a seat in the very small, and not-at-all-court-looking courtroom. A desk at the front with a long table, and a room full of chairs. Mike takes a standing spot at the courtroom. Slowly, the room fills up. The janitor comes in carrying a garbage can and disappears into a back room. The judge comes out of the back room in a robe, then I realize that it's the janitor.

It was explained later that in most courts, the judges see the folks who have lawyers first so the lawyers can do their thing and leave. Not so with this court. The janitor-judge just goes straight down the docket. Mike's client is somewhere further down the list. People come and go...not guilty, no contest, guilty, pay your fine, go away. Mike cringes when a woman who has a stack of violations pleas guilty, her husband, who is sitting behind me, almost starts to weep openly. The judge, apparently seeing her husband turn blue, suggests that the woman think about what she is going to do before she makes a plea. Apparently, she was looking at an obscene amount of fines.

Mike disappears into the back room with his client, along with another lawyer. I watch the court proceedings with some interest. One other time, I did manage to observe court...only because I was there for a traffic violation and managed to show up an hour early. This was in KC...the big place downtown. So many people went up for drug charges, and everyone of them plead "not guilty". It gave me a moment's pause. How can someone who was found with crack, the tools to smoke it with, not to mention itemized receipts showing they had sold some of it, and video footage of them smoking crack still manage to plea not guilty?? Okay, so it wasn't as blatant as that. I am always amazed that people caught red-handed will say not guilty, and I will never understand how that flies. But then again, I'm not a lawyer.

At any rate, I watch people shuffle in and out of the, ahem, courtroom. Some big guy sits next to me, I smell him shortly after. At the time, there must have been some sort of soap shortage because this guy had bad body odor...but was wearing a really, really nice leather coat...so you can't tell me that maybe he couldn't afford deodorant.

Soon after that, I much bigger man in a Harley jacket sits in front of me...and has the largest plumber's butt-crack I have EVER SEEN...compounded by the fact that this guy had a hairy ass. I immediately pull out my Palm Pilot and start playing solitaire...anything to keep my mind off the hairy butt-crack in front of me, and the smelly man next to me who is now making my eyes water. Throughout all this, Mike keeps turning around and mouthing, "I'm sorry!!" I merely chuckle because only things like this happen to me.

Two afters after our arrival, Mike finally gets to finish with his client and we get to leave. I could tell he felt bad about how our first date was going, and he apologized profusely. I told him I wasn't mad, and I don't think he believed me. However, if I had simply decided to meet him at a restaurant and wait for him...for two hours...I probably would have been more unhappy. But then again, I wouldn't have waited in a restaurant for two hours...

Mike takes me to the Plaza to a place called Grand Falloon. He tells me it is one of his most favorite places. I've never been there. It's a relaxed atmosphere, and not at all prententious...which is me in a nutshell. We order burgers and talk all night. At the time, he was in private practice, and had such interesting stories. We found common ground: we both hate onions, and he has sued my employer, not to mention the very doctor I loathe and despise.

He also keeps apologizing for the court debacle...not to mention that he takes me to a bar for dinner.

He might have been thinking, "She is never going to speak to me again after tonight."

I was thinking, "I hope there is date number two with no legal involvement."

The night ended on a happy note. As he was kissing me, he asked if I realized that our legs were touching all during dinner. I must say that was the exact moment I was reeled in hook, line and sinker.

Funny how life moves on. He took a job in the public sector, thereby sacrificing any semblance of a social life. I started working a lot. I've seen him since then, but nothing concrete has materialized. I suppose if something monumental is meant to pass, it shall. I still think he is a terrific person, and I still have hope. He told me he wanted me to think of him as exceptional. Well, it is safe to say that he accomplished that.

Why, you might be wondering, would I even think this as a best first date? Well, I know a lot of guys pull out the stops to make a great first impression...but is that who they truly are? When time passes, girls tend to forget the flowers, the fancy dinners, and all that other stuff. After it happens so often, it just blends together until nothing stands out...all the faces become blurred and experiences become "something I went with some guy once". I'm sure there are some girls who would look upon this experience with a very sour outlook. I'm not one of those girls. Experiences rich in laughter far exceeds anything in the monetary sense.

You have to admit...sitting in a courtroom for two hours on a first date is pretty damn funny.

I like to think of this as the best first date because it was something I will remember until the day I die.

Say it isn't so!!!

Wow...Nick and Jessica, calling it quits.

Boy, no one ever saw THAT coming.

Maybe we can finally not have their faces all over the media. Maybe the news can actually report something noteworthy (not likely, but a lofty hope). Maybe the media will actually get a clue that the general public really doesn't care about the love triangle between Nick, Jessica, and her dad.

However, if Nick is looking for a change of pace...someone who has an IQ greater than 100...he can always give me a shout. I'm available...AND I know where tuna comes from.

Thanksgiving Blather

So, another T-Day come and gone, and I spent most of it sleeping.

I got home Thursday morning butt-exhausted after three days of sheer hell. I showered, and climbed into bed, still soaking wet. After a three hour nap, the alarm sounds and I hustle to get dressed, pack a bag, catch Sam, and try to figure out where my brother lives. (He had switched addresses) After some text messaging, and a pointless conversation with a rather dumb female, I finally find my brother. We take off, speeding for the cabin. We get there in record time, and I immediately head for the guest bed in the loft. Wake up, eat dinner, and go back to bed.

Mom and I had planned on getting up early for the Black Friday festivities...but we both overslept. We finally make it into town around 10am and head to Walmart...where everyone else in Southern Missouri is. Mother gets detracted by a box of free kittens and I lose her in the crowd. When I finally find her, the first thing she wants to look at is tablecloths. Tablecloths!!! Not a large selling item, not even listed on the circular...but by God, Mom has GOT to have one.

Hours later, we make our way out of the store. I manage to buy some yarn, a DVD, and a digital camera to get me by until I can grow a pair of balls, buck up, and drop a grand on the digital camera of my wildest dreams. Mom ends up not getting a tablecloth, but rather some red slippers and a skateboard.

The rest of Friday passes unremarkably with the exception of a round of "Name That Ache and Pain" with my stepdad, then we all turn in for the night. Around 1am, Mike comes into the cabin and sets up camp on the couch. I asked him why he wasn't staying in the guest room off the garage, and he yawns and tells me there is possum in the room under the bed. What!?! Mom hears this and wakes up Jerry and they discuss the possibility of a possum in the guest room. Perhaps Mike just saw the cat and thought it was a possum. Nope, Mike swears it's a possum...he came face to beady eyes with it. Mom tells Jerry to go shoot it. Jerry goes back to bed. Everyone else decides that there will be no shooting that night, so everyone goes back to bed except Sam who is excited and starts barking.

Later that morning, it turns out that Mike was right. The possum was still in the guest room. Jerry shoos it out where it casually strolls out of the garage, down the steps, down the sidewalk, and under the cabin. Mom wants to know why Jerry didn't just shoot it. Jerry didn't have the heart. Next time I go to the cabin, that damn thing will have a name and it's own bed.

I drive Mike home in record time, drop him off and head for my house. I know there is a hot bubble bath with my name written all over it.

My sinuses have been very congested as of late, coupled with the very dry air...it makes for a pretty miserable time. I blow my nose and I must have blown a little too hard because I then have a nose bleed. Not a little trickle...oh no...we're talking Mount St. Helens! So, imagine passing a black PT Cruiser doing about 70mph, a redhead inside, with tissues stuck up her nose. That's me, folks. I must have gone through three tissues, before blowing my nose again and ousting a big clot, and even more blood. I have a pretty strong constitution, but even that grosses me out.

So, I am trying to control the car AND the bleeding. The bleeding stops the same time the car does...when I get home. I've got blood on my hands and probably the steering wheel. I definitely needed a bath at that time.

If any man who was interested in dating me had seen me at that given moment, he would certainly not be interested in me anymore.

The Chronicles of 'bert

This Thanksgiving, I got to spend some time with my brother Mike, who often enlightens the family with humorous tales of him and others. This time, he told us of his best friend 'bert...which is obviously a nickname. I feel compelled to blog about it because the stories are just too good to not share...and I still can't make this stuff up.

*******************

A couple days before Thanksgiving, Mike and 'bert are driving down a country road. At the end of the road, there is a small cluster of wild turkeys. Mike jokingly suggests that 'bert try to hit one of them. 'bert readily agrees and accelerates. His car finds its mark on the slowest turkey of the bunch (Darwinism at work) and smacks it just as it was flying out of the way. 'bert stops the car and they get out to inspect the damage. There, on the side of the road, lays a dead turkey...who suffered a quick death at the hands of GM.

Now, one might say that this was a cruel and inhumane thing. However, upon looking at the turkey, 'bert says, "This will save us having to buy a turkey for Thanksgiving." And with such words, he scoops up the catch of the day and deposits it in the back of the car. To our knowledge, 'bert's family did eat the turkey for Thanksgiving. Mike told him to save enough for a sandwich.

Is this incident wrong if the outcome was to feed your family?? I can't think of anyone who would think to run over a turkey for the purpose of eating it later...except 'bert.

******************

Mike and 'bert go out to the local watering hole and proceed to drink their weight in grain alcohol. Mike, recognizing he was in no shape to drive, passes the keys to 'bert...who really wasn't in any better condition. At 4 in the morning, eats at McDonalds sounds like a fine idea. At the drive-thru, both inebriated men order their food. Mike then immediately passes out in the passenger seat. 'bert pulls up to the drive-thru window, and then passes out while the clerk gets his change. So, you have a car at the drive-thru at McDonalds, and both occupants are passed out.

I thought strange stuff like that only happened at my job.

I imagine trouble with the law ensued after that, but I don't know for certain because Mike wouldn't elaborate...either that or he just didn't remember.

I Dreamed a Dream

I dreamed last night I was workng (shocking, I know). One of my patients was a little old man. When I was assessing him, he reached up and grabbed my left boob, squeezed it three times and kissed it twice. Mortified, I scolded him for being inappropriate, to which he replied:

"I'm an old man and I can't help myself."

I bet stock brokers and and real estate agents don't have nearly the warped job-related dreams.

A Salute to Justice

Earlier this year, an elderly man was murdered. Less than a week later, the man's granddaughter was arrested in connection. She told her friends he had millions stashed at home, so the friends went over to collect the alleged millions, and ended up shooting the man, who was also a retired minister. One of his own children was had the misfortune of finding him dead.

I'm convinced there are special places in hell for criminals of this nature. Almost a year later, I still cannot fathom what would be so important that you would place your family in mortal danger for. I have some pretty crappy family members (most on my Dad's side), but my contempt of them would never reach the point that I would want them eliminated(incarcerated, yes...but not death). Then, I think of my Mom. What if something horrible happened to her and it was deliberate, and commited by another family member? I don't know if I just have way too much time on my hands...but I simply cannot wrap my mind around it. How does a parent come to terms that your child is responsible for your father's murder?

At any rate, the trial of the granddaughter started this Tuesday, and a verdict was reached on Thursday. Talk about quick and speedy trial!

Why do I even bother to blog this? Well, I happen to know one of the prosecutors on the case. I know he has been very stressed in what I am fairly certain is his first murder case ever. I know that he has made sacrifices in his own life for his job. I sleep better knowing that there are people like him in the world, who have the courage to do what he does. I have my own challenges with my job, and I know he doesn't understand why I can do the things I do. Rest assured, that works both ways. I know I could never do what he does...not in a million years. I don't think that I could even hold a candle to it.

So, here is to you, Michael. Congratulations on the guilty verdict (even if bittersweet). I'm truly fortunate to know someone like you exists in this world.

(I still think you are dead sexy, and a damn good kisser.)

Sleep in this weekend...you deserve it!!

Pick a Winner!*

I stopped by Starbucks before I came to work for their delicious Peppermint Mocha. Because I was tired and felt crappy, I had them toss in an extra shot of espresso. Anyway, in front of me, there was a woman and her little son...who was maybe 5-6 years old. He was in his pajamas and a bathrobe. He also had his finger so far up his nose, you would have thought he was digging for a Power Ranger or something. He popped his finger out, and cool as you please, popped it right into his mouth.

Ummm...ewww.

Mom, oblivious to her child's prospecting, turned and looked at me...who was standing there, mouth agape. She gave me this look that said, "What the hell are you looking at?"

Honestly, I can't make this stuff up.

On a happy note, the child got some hot chocolate...which is good because I'm certain he needed something to wash the boogers down.

(*Edited because I felt like it)

Yup

Ever been so tired that when you wake up, you realize that when you put on your pajamas, they are not only on inside-out, but also backwards??

Another website to waste time on...

I've been putting the names of exes, folks I loathe, and most importantly, Paris Hilton.

Tombstone Generator

Oprah...gone but not forgotten.

Today, my baby brother came and took my truck away. Ofcourse, I told him to. His crappy little Mazda finally died, and he neded a vehicle. I've been trying to sell Oprah for about 6 months now, to no luck thanks to the prices of gas. Oprah has been sitting at Kant's house, so I am certain everyone in her family was tired of looking at it. The truck need a new owner who would love her and cherish her the way I did.

Why do I call the truck Oprah? Well, she's big, black, and powerful...and also getting up there in years.

I was sad to see Mike drive off with the old girl. I was surprised it was still operational...but at least he knows how to work on her should she break down. Lots of memories with that truck: a romantic interlude in a parking garage at the Plaza, many trips down to the lake, piling tons of nursing school buddies in the cab just to go to lunch, a canoe trip, towing my boat after it was purchased...only to discover the brakes were bad when I was on the highway...ahh yes, the memories. Oprah...you will be missed.

At least I know the truck went to someone who needed it. I didn't make any money from it, I just gave him the keys and said "take care". I'm glad I could do this for him.

My Humps??

I don't have MTV...I don't even have cable. I can afford it, but with so much garbage on tv, why should I waste the money? I do listen to music online, and on the radio on my car. So, I like to think myself up on what's new on the charts. Sometimes, I regret that. My latest example: My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas.

Normally, I like the Peas. Most of their music is catchy, and has a good beat. I take exception with this song. The first time I heard it, was in my car. I must have looked funny to other drivers, doing 80 mph down the highway, with my mouth hung open in abject horror. The second time I heard it, I saw the video online. I was even more appalled.

I must be getting old.

In case you have no heard the song, "my hump" refers to a woman's ass. Fergie goes on to refer to her breasts as "my lovely lady lumps". She uses all of the above to get men to buy her things.

I. Have. No. Words.

If a man were to comment that he liked my humps/lumps...I would have to laugh in his face, but I wouldn't be flattered. These are not the words that make normal, educated, classy women swoon. If ghetto-fabulous is more your cup of tea, humps and lumps could be part of your vernacular. You probably also use the words "pee-pee" to refer to your penis, and "private parts" to refer to girly netherregions.

INSERVICE! Humps are something you find on a camel. Lumps are something you either A. find in oatmeal, or B. things you find inside a breast, also known as tumors. They are not words to describe human anatomy unless you are 8 years old.

I think I am going to go listen to some Ray Charles or Dean Martin now.

Because Snitches Get Stitches

So, Kansas City has just had their 113th homicide this year. I think we've beaten previous records for our town. Media has run stories on how inner city folk won't talk after a crime has been committed...because "snitching", as pop-culture has coined it, just ain't cool. A teenager is gunned down in broad daylight in a crowd of people, and no one knows a thing.

Most of the crime occurs in the areas of town notorious for it. Usually, there are witnesses, and usually, those witnesses won't talk. Then, they complain that these crimes go unsolved and the killers walk free. "Cops ain't doing their jobs" they say, as if the police department can figure most of this stuff out by looking in their crystal ball. Don't people realize that a lot of success within the justice system is directly related to the cooperation of the people it was designed to protect?

Ofcourse there are groups who are fighting this mindset, but it appears they are losing the battle. How do you fight glorified pop-culture?

If you don't snitch, you lose the right to bitch...they should make a shirt that says that. Until people stand up and speak out, their neighborhoods will fall to gangs and thugs. Instead, they will just go on, killing each other, and everyone on the outside powerless to stop it. And I, will be at the hospital, with a lot of my colleagues, just waiting for the end results to roll in.

*I found this blog...if there were more people out there like him (edited for gender), I think a lot of problems would be solved. One of the best blogs I've read.*

It's cold....

I already miss the days when it was 60+ degrees outside. Now, it is windy, cold, and big fat snowflakes came down earlier. My toes are cold. The heater is on. Winter sucks...and its not even winter yet.

November's Midwest Pasttime

I decided to go down to the cabin this weekend for lack of better things to do. I got up at 4am...which is way to early for anyone to get up, and made the trek. Mom does it in alittle over 2 hours, I can make the trip in about an hour and a half.

Along the way, I kept seeing various vehicles parked alongside the highways. It wasn't until I saw someone in an orange hat, that I remembered that deer hunting season was officially open. That time of year where men take leave of their senses and disappear into the woods, donning the brightest, ugliest orange coupled with clothes to make them blend in with the environment. That never made much sense to me. Why would someone go to great lengths to look like a tree, only to throw on a flourescent orange vest and hat? Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose??

Another thing that baffles me is that these great hunters slather "deer scent" all over themselves to mask their humanly, macho man smell. Deer scent is a nice way of saying deer piss. Something called Deer Piss couldn't be marketed at Walmart (it's a family place, ya know)...so they give it a much more pleasant name...Deer Scent, because no man would knowingly bathe in deer piss to attract other deer. To make it even better, they don't shower for the entire time they are out...which can last up to a week.

So, not only do they prowl the woods looking like light-reflecting orange trees, they smell like a johnny-on-the-spot for Bambi. Men from all walks of life. It's a national event. In some parts of the country, I'm sure banks close down (don't let the whole Veteran's Day fool you). Towns roll up their sidewalks. Open rifle deer season has come upon the world.

Meanwhile, the women...the hunting widows, are left at home...alone to indulge in the luxuries of shopping, eating out, and most importantly...bathing with soap.

All the men in my family (and one tomboyish female) partake in this time-honored tradition. They go away and be fearless hunters during the day, sitting around the campfire at night, drinking beer, eating chili, and embellishing stories about how the world's largest buck narrowly escaped from their sinister, and very intimidating, clutches.

This is my dowry. The man that marries me is ensured a spot in the Great Charpie Hunting Expedition. The expedition so renowned that Charpies (by blood or marriage) travel from all parts of the country to take part in.

I'm so glad I was born with a vagina.

Karma is a Wonderful Thing

It's a official. I am going to have a niece. My first niece ever. My brother and his wife had their sonogram yesterday, and it was revealed that they are going to have a little girl sometime in March. With any luck, maybe around my birthday. They have already named her...with everyone else's middle name.

At any rate, I always thought it would be great if my brother had a girl. Remembering what a little turd he was when he was in his younger, wild oat-sowing days, he would have a daughter of his own...constantly under the black cloud of knowing that somewhere out there, boys just like him will be laying in wait. He's going to go prematurely gray just worrying about. My dad used to say, "With a son, you only have to worry about one penis. With a daughter, you have to worry about them all."

I laugh with sadistic glee. I'm going to buy her every noise-making toy on the planet. I'm going to buy the most feminine of outfits. I can't wait until that day when the house is full of Tiger Beat magazines, and filled with the sound of whatever crappy bubble gum pop happens to be trendy. He will never get to use the telephone. He will have boys calling the house at all hours of the night. He's going to be sitting in the living room cleaning his hunting rifle whenever a young boy comes to take her out.

I can't wait until the first time my brother has to go out and buy feminine hygiene products.

This is going to be great!!

Rioting in France???

Hehehe...couldn't happen to a nicer country.

At War with the Toilet

Okay, so Mom and I both agree that we don't like the new toilets. Mom, having worked for a plumbing company in the past, tells me they are industrial-type toilets designed to save water. Industrial? That explains why I feel like my ass is being cut in half whenever I sit on it. The one place you could go for solace and comfort...destroyed by the bastards who want to save a few bucks on the water bill.

Kant calls them Princess Potties. I guess because they are so tall you feel regal sitting on them. I don't feel regal. I feel annoyed. I loathe the toilet.

I ran some errands today and saw the workers were busy around the complex installing the gleaming white menace. The old toilets sat in a pile, rejected. I contemplated going and stealing one for my apartment. I don't know how to install a toilet, but I don't think it would be that hard.

Mom's toilet is not secure, and wobbles when you sit on it...partially because the floor is uneven in her bathroom. Today, she called to tell me that her toilet mooed at her this morning. I called the office to complain about the shakey toilet, but I withheld the mooing part. I don't know how the management would have felt about that.

The World Against Me...One Flush at a Time

So, I worked last night. I was the only "seasoned nurse" with a bunch of new nurses, so by default, I was the charge nurse and go-to girl. If you had a question, I would most certainly have an answer...at least that's what being the charge nurse is supposed to mean. In truth, I was sick, running a fever, pounding headache, and I didn't want to answer anyone's questions because it required me to think, which made my head hurt even more. I would have called in, but the staffing being the way it was...I didn't. We have one girl who's called in before so she could get ready to go to a party. I am not so pathetic, and I really didn't want to screw over my coworkers in such a manner. Sick as I was, I went in to work.

For the better part of the night, I was nauseated. We got a patient who tipped the scales of 600lbs plus. I walked in her room, and the smell was so horrible, I thought I would hurl right then and there. Who knew what lay in the folds of the abdomen and cankles of this patient, but I swear I thought I saw a green fog hovering over her bed.

The night passed on, and in the morning...I had to go to then annual Competency Fair. For those who don't know what Comp Fair us, you are lucky. It is a day where you go and take little quizzes, do return demonstrations on skills such as NG tube placement, blood gases, and other menial blather nurses do. We also have to sit through little presentations...all the while keeping track of all we have done with a little check-off sheet. When everything is checked-off, we get to leave. I'd rather set myself on fire than ever go to Comp Fair.

For us unfortunate night folks who worked the night before, we were given a sticker that said, "I worked last night, I get to go to the front of the line." Ideally, we were to wear these stickers to facilitate a faster procession through the gauntlet of catheters and needles. In reality, no one cared. I had to wait in line behind all the people, the freshly dressed and well rested people. Bitches.

Towards the end, I was starting to get annoyed. I stood in front of this HUGE posterboard display and some med-surg nurse (I hate med-surg) blathered on about...oh hell, I don't remember what she blathered on about...but all she did was read from the posterboard. Like I can't read it for myself. At the end, she wanted to know if anyone had a question...so naturally, someone had a dumb question. I wanted to go smack them both.

Three hours it took me to go through this. I skipped the flu shot and drove home. I walked into my apartment building and found the door wide open. Shit. Inside, I found two little Mexicans working on my toilet. I then remembered that my apartment complex sent out letters saying they were replacing all the toilets. Yay. Too tired to care, I went into my room, shut and locked the door, and proceeded to pass out.

I woke up this evening to a quiet apartment. I jumped out of bed to admire my new, gleaming white toilet.

I miss my old toilet already.

My new toilet is tall. My feet don't even touch the floor when I sit on it. If I can't touch, Mom's legs are going to fall asleep everytime she has to go. My blue fuzzy lid cover won't fit on the new toilet either.

This sucks. I'm buying my own place, then I can have the toilet I want. They don't call is a throne for nothing.

November already!

I can't believe how fast the year has gone by. The next thing you know, it will be Christmas. I haven't done shi-nola in preparation for Christmas. I've thought about buying an iPod for myself...and that is about it.

I do know I will be working Christmas Eve. I also know I will be off New Year's Eve. I always say I am going to do something spectacular for New Year's Eve...but never do. Last year, I think I fell asleep on my couch before the new year struck.

What can I say? I'm not a go-out-and-get-shit-faced-from-something-I-drink-out-of-a-Dixie-cup-just-because-I-can type of girl. I always thought one of the those New Year's Eve parties hosted by one of the big fancy hotels would be pretty fun. A chance to dress to the nines! I wear scrubs most of the time...so I welcome the opportunity to dress up and strut my stuff...which doesn't happen very often.

Into the (Shallow) Dating Pool

I'm off tonight after working my three in a row. Thankfully, no one crashed. Unfortunately, it was so quiet and boring, it was like watching paint dry. When the night is quiet and boring, time draws out like a blade...especially last night. Considering we were there for only an hour longer, it felt like a 16 hour shift.

Friday night, one of our more colorful aides came in toting a red folder. One of the nurses inquired, and so this aide produced all this paperwork for Great Expectations. Now, I've heard of this business...I get their crap flooding my mailbox ALL. THE. TIME. It immediately floods my garbage can, unopened. How do they know I am single? I wish I could take my name off their mailing list.

At any rate, this aide announced that she had paid for a membership to GE, which left the rest of the staff looking at each other thinking, "She has officially lost her mind." Now, I dated a guy once who used/bought/joined GE. He said he wasn't impressed with their services, and alluded to the fact that he paid out the nose for a membership. I kept asking how much, and he never would tell me for fear that I would laugh at him. So, I figured it was some insane amount. Little did I know...

Well, this aide had her credit card receipts in the folder, and she allowed us to look at them. I slid the first one out and blinked. $898! Then I slid the next one out of the pocket and just about crapped my scrubs...$2000!!! This girl just paid close to $3K for a dating service. A DATING SERVICE!!! I could take one cruise a year for 3 years on what she paid for a 3 year membership. We were all appalled. She immediately went on the defensive.

"I spend $4K on myself every year", she sniffed. We still shook our heads in disbelief. This girl is not exactly ugly, she's cute in a WT kind of way. She's been obsessed with finding a boyfriend. Her problem is that she has a crappy attitude, and she sleeps around...a lot. This is also the same girl who boned the ugliest and biggest asshole surgical resident to ever grace the halls of our hospital...but that is neither here nor there. This is the same girl who was soliciting our advice as to whether she should go back to an ex-boyfriend, and then ignored us when we told her it wasn't a good idea.

I've heard a lot of very bad things about GE. They have even been investigated and sued in the past. Dozens of websites dedicated to warning people about joining this service. I personally (as well as everyone with a brain on my floor), feel strongly that this girl has been duped...but she is the type who will not listen to reason. Oh well...some people must always learn the hard way.

Thing is, she is only 23 years old. We pointed out that she was so young and had lots of time ahead of her, to which she snipped, "Well, I don't want to be single and alone forever."

Bitch. I may be single, but I'm not the butt of everyone's jokes. Annoyed, I pointed my finder in her face and peered over the rims of my glasses, "What makes you so certain that I'm not dating anyone? I just don't offer up my personal life up for lunctime gossip."

Okay, so I'm not really dating anyone...but she doesn't know any different.

So, we will see how this pans out, and I would be lying if I said we were not watching with sadistic glee and expectations. As one of the other older aide's pointed out, "The guys are not going to be getting such a great catch with her...unless they are looking for a piece of ass, and even then it probably won't be so great."

On a side note, if I was dumb enough to shell out that kind of money because I was that desperate to find a date, I sure as hell wouldn't tell my coworkers about it.

A Departure From Good Taste

So I worked last night. On a side note, everyone liked the red hair. After a couple washings, the bright orange faded to a nice, strawberry blonde. Yay. What did surprise me was how many doctors complimented me on the new 'do. I never even knew they noticed what I looked like in the first place.

Anyway, we ended up transferring a couple patients to different floors more centered to their particular condition. Because my floor is still relatively shiny and new, all the rooms are private, and are designed in such a manner than families can stay the night, in the patient room, if they so wish. Not so on other floors, which have semi-private rooms, thereby requiring all families must camp out in the waiting room if they want to sleep over (which again begs the question, why would anyone want to sleep over at a hospital ,especially if their loved one wasn't in crappy health?)

One patient we transferred, had a daughter...maybe in her 40's. While most family members who do opt to stay over will wear the most modest of night attire if they don't sleep in their street clothes, this woman was wearing a pink teddy. A satin pink teddy. I had heard of this teddy, and thought I missed the spectacle after the patient was transferred downstairs. So, I was sitting at the front desk charting, when a flash of pink and bad bleached hair charged by the desk. It was scantily-clad daughter, who was on a mission to fetch the rest of her parent's belongings. I wasn't entirely certain of just what I saw, so I peeked around the corner and saw her scouring the old room, looking for anything that wasn't nailed down. Sure enough, tacky pink teddy (probably from K-Mart) and ass cheeks hanging out of the bottom of the getup.

I shake my head in disbelief even as I now write this.

The daughter comes out of the room and comes face to face with me. She complains that her Dad is now in a semi-private room and she can't stay in the room with him. "Uhh..." was my reply. A funny thought occurred to me, and I pictured this woman setting up camp in the waiting room, teddy and all. The daughter charged off the floor, never to be seen by us again...but never forgotten.

Later, as we sat at the desk and joked about it, one just had to wonder just why someone would wear something like that around a sick parent. Someone speculated that was her attempt to possibly catch the attention of an up and coming doctor, someone who could better afford more tasteless nighties for public wear.

I must say I am almost getting to the point where I can say, "Now I have seen everything." I've seen a patient wearing an orange sequined thong under his gown. I've seen family members walk around patient rooms in their underwear, or sometimes nothing at all. I've seen a Dad making out with his daughter. And last, but certainly not least, I've been the unfortunate witness to a mother and daugher in the shower together...naked (I still have nightmares about that one).

Where in the hell do these people come from?!?!

They really need to tell people in nursing school that you will encounter these things in practice...maybe then it won't be as shocking...or nauseating.

Give me an open, gushing wound any day.

Random Blathering

My last of 5 days off, and as usual, the most exciting thing I got to do was laundry. Late last week, I lamented to Paul about not usually doing anything when I have big blocks of time off. He simply said in all his infinite wisdom, "Go somewhere."

Yes, I like to travel, but I don't like doing it by myself. So together, we hatched a plan to take a small road trip equally benefitting to both parties. Not traveling by myself, I could take some pics, and he could buy junk (because Metrosexual Paul is also a compulsive shopper). Before he left work that morning, he promised to call and we would plan further.

Big mistake.

In true form, Paul did not call, and I resorted to my backup plan of laundry (because everyone else was working). I was hacked, and am still fuming about it. I did manage to get a hold of him today to make my displeasure known, and as usual, I got a lame excuse (sick, sleeping, etc). I don't put up with this behavior from any of my other friends...why should I make allowances for him? Ass. He never calls when he says he will, he doesn't return calls, he flakes out of plans...and if that boy ever said yes to a plan and actually stuck with it, I would have a huge cranial bleed. Sheesh!

At any rate, I went and got my hair done yesterday. Instead of plain blonde me, there's now sassy red me. I have been known to go red from time to time, usually with much success. I went to Kant's house last night and her sister made a comment about it being Halloween hair. Now, I am somewhat self conscious about it. I'm not red head...I'm pumpkin head...and I will be going back to have the second phase of redness done...but still. This is not shaping up to be a red-letter week (maybe more of an orange-letter week). The scary part is, I still have to work 3 shifts this week.

A nap sounds good to me right now, I think I will go take one.

I can't believe it!

Nebraska not only lost to Missouri this weekend, they had their asses handed to them on a paper plate.

Huskers, you have disappointed me greatly.

At least the Chiefs won their game...

Things all alcoholic liver patients should know...

1. If you have an alcohol problem, you will kill your liver.
2. No one looks good in yellow, so jaundice doens't flatter anyone.
3. If you need a new liver and are an alcoholic, you will not get a new liver if you don't stop drinking.
4. If you don't stop drinking, but think you can fool us into thinking you have, we have ways of finding out the truth. Science doesn't lie.
5. Dying from liver failure is ugly, bloody and not peaceful.
6. If you have the misfortune of living through the experience, you will wish you were dead because we pump you with so much lactulose (to get rid of the excess ammonia in your blood), you're going to think you are melting out of your butthole.
7. High ammonia levels = crazy psychotic patient. We will tie you to the bed.
8. When you are crazy psychotic patient, it is not cute to ask the nurse for some Jack Daniels.
9. Tell your family it is not the nurse's fault you are in the crappy shape you are in.
10. We really don't feel too sorry for you because you did this to yourself.

Day off!

I'm done for 5 days. A crappy 3 day stretch capped off with a gruesome, ugly, and very bloody death...so naturally, it was my patient.

Today, I shall go shopping. New underwear always makes me happy. Maybe some new scrubs. I can't wait!

While the cat's away...

My bosshole is officially on vacation for two weeks. Two weeks!!!

WOO-HOO!!!!

About last night...

Last night sucked. I got my ass kicked and handed to me on a paper plate. My only consolation was the chips and salsa I brought. One really sick person who had a daughter who read a medical article in Women's Day and was an authority on medicine...cow, one somewhat sick person, and someone who was a total asshole. Dude...if you are going to be the poster boy of noncompliance, sign yourself out AMA and free up that bed for someone who actually wants to get better. And don't cuss out my techs for no reason. That's a sure fire way of getting an ass-chewing from the short, and sometimes intimidating, blonde nurse.

I may look cute, but don't piss me off.

I still don't like it...

I sought clarification from the Bosshole on the Stroke Tele Unit. It figures, he comes from a neuro floor and wants us to be neuro-based too. Initially, we were to only be stepdown for MICU...now he wants to throw NICU in the mix as well.

A bunch of my coworkers discussed this the other night with the nursing supervisor. You would be hard pressed to find someone on nights who actually thinks this is a great idea. So, alot of people are talking about transferring to other floors. Problem is, we don't want to leave our coworkers. That is why I stay. We are a close-knit tribe on nights, and we don't have the squabbling problems the day shift does. We get along with most everyone, we work well together, we value each other's input and see out their opinions when ours simply isn't enough.

Our nursing supervisor agreed. She told us that the night shift on our floor has established a cohesiveness not found on any other floor. We relayed our frustrations to her...about the Stroke tele thing, about our Bosshole, about some of the problems as of late. All news to her. I don't think there is much she could do, but it was nice to actually have someone listen to what we were saying.

I go back tonight for 3 nights. Get it all over with, I say. I made some salsa yesterday, and made too much of it. So, I am going to take some to work. It might make the night more tolerable. That and a Starbucks latte!

Sad night, part 2

Well, the 30 year old patient died this morning. It was the saddest thing. He had been looking rather bad all night, so we figured it was imminent. He rallied yesterday...out of bed, talking. They usually rally before they die. Sometimes this is a bad thing as it always gives the family hope.

This patient's sister came to keep vigil. We had a cot for her and she had it right next to the bed so she could hold his hand. A couple times I would go in to check on them, and there they would both be sleeping, and holding hands.

I was in another patient's room when one of the new grad nurses came in. "I think he is gone," she whispered. I went to the room and I could tell by looking at him that she was right. Death robs even the palest person of any discernable color. He lay there, his cherubic face peaceful as if sleeping. The sister was still sleeping, I did notice that she wasn't holding his hand. I felt my throat tighten.

I touched the patient, he was cool. I looked for any breathing. I felt for a pulse. I listened for a heartbeat. I found nothing. I looked at the new grad and shook my head. She leaned over and gently shook the sister.

"He's gone."

She gasped, bewildered. For days she has been told this was going to happen, supported her brother in his decision to let go...and still it did not prepare her for the reality that her little brother had just died within arm's reach. She held his cool, pale hand. "I...I wasn't ready." She smoothed his hair and she fought the tears. We left the room so she could be alone with him. Other staff members on our floor had heard of his passing, and they met me outside the room. Everyone had tears in their eyes...myself included. We all had taken care of this patient at some point or another during one of his many hospital visits. He was dealt a wicked hand of sickness that spanned his entire life. In the 30 years of his life, he nowhere near did half the things that I've gotten to do in mine. Death was a blessing for him, and I am grateful that it was peaceful.

And that is all I am going to say about that...

Fun Blog of Note

I discovered this blog in the recommended section. It's pee-your-pants-funny.

Sad night...

I'm at work. We have a patient who is my age that is dying. He is a "frequent flyer" on our floor as he is always sick, and always needing to be hospitalized. I guess he got tired of being sick and tired, so he said "no more". Now he is dying, and it is very sad for everyone because we have all taken care of him, and become attached in our own little way.

The on-call doctor, who has been a resident for a whopping 3 months, is being a dick. His attitude, "He wants to die. Let him die." He's callous, rude, and so full of himself because he's a doctor. I can't wait until he crosses me. I can't wait to rip him a new one. He doesn't understand why we are so sad...after all, it's only a patient. A stranger we don't know. Bastard.

Meanwhile, the doc who has been taking care of this patient for years and years, the one who a lot of people thought an asshole, and had no heart...cried because the patient wanted to give up. Pleaded with the family members to help convince the patient to reconsider. I think very highly of a doctor who will cry for his patients. Nurses do it routinely, but you don't see docs do it too often. I remember seeing a doctor cry with a family because their loved one was dying. It was this resident's first death. I'm sure she will always remember it, and I hope she doesn't ever lose that compassion that enables people to grieve with those who grieve.

What's that smell???

I took Sam out last night before I put him in his kennel. The back yard behind my building is rather dark, and all I can make out is Sam. So, he runs to the end of the retractable leash and starts barking at something. Then he starts tugging at the leash like he wants to chase something. Annoyed (which seemed to be the theme for yesterday), I took Sam back in the house.

I was cleaning up the latest casualty of Sam's toys when I smelled it. I sniffed just to be certain. I opened my sliding patio door and caught full wind of it.

"Skunk!!" I yelled to Mom who was on the computer. After a minute, she began to smell it and started gagging.

I guessed that whatever Sam was barking at, was indeed, a skunk. And Sam scared the stink out of it. Fortunately, the skunk was too far away to actually spray Sam. Had that happened, I would have had to sent Mom to the store to buy out their inventory of tomato juice just to give Sam a bath.

This morning, I stuck my head outside to see if the smell had gone away, and came nose to nose with a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses. I listened to their introduction, and politely told them I wasn't interested. Ordinarily, I would offer them a Book of Mormon in exchange for their Watchtower, but I was too tired, and all I could think about was going back to bed.

This is shaping up to be a great day...

Benadryl = Weird dreams

I took some Benadryl last night in an effort to get some sleep. I do, after all, have to return to work tonight. I don't particularly care for Benadryl...it makes me groggy and gives me weird, and sometimes frightening, dreams.

So, I dreamed I was in this cross-county race on a yellow, inflated banana. I ended up dropping my cell phone when my racing party overturned, so after the race, I had to go back and find it. I came across Tom Cruise who was an asshole (ofcourse)...and he was 2 feet shorter than me. Down the road, I came across Nicole Kidman, who was decidedly a lesbian. And her girlfriend was Queen Latifah. I won't even tell you what I saw in their room.

I found my cell phone on a table in the projects, along with someone's pink cell phone, and a deflated ball.

We did not win the race.

A team in a turbo-charged tomato did.

A lesson to any parent...

Let's try this again...

This is why you should not let children ride in the front passenger seat. Those airbag warnings are there for a reason. My eyes were not open because I was physically unable to at the time. It wouldn't have mattered anyway...I was blind at the time.

My face hurts just remembering...but look how skinny I was then!!

On Crosses and Friends

I'm sitting here at home in my pj's. Paul was supposed to have called me today to meet for lunch. It's now 3:30pm, lunch has passed and no phone call. Grrr! If you say you are going to do something, then do it! Don't sit and jerk my chain around because you have trust issues!!! I could have gone and done something else instead of sit here and wait for the phone to ring! Be prepared for an ass-chewing when you finally do remember to call, you twit!! That is, if I decide to take your call in the first place. Hmph!

I went ahead and ate some leftover pizza for lunch. I should have had a V-8.

I haven't been sleeping well lately, and I don't know why. As of lately, I haven't been able to fall asleep until 3-4am. So, I read...write in my journal...attempt to do the bookwork I'm supposed to do for my job (because that sort of boring thing should be a clear path to Snoozeland)...snuggle with George (the cat). Last night, I decided to poke through my jewelry boxes. I found a cross and a St. Christopher's medal that I had long forgotten about. Both items are of importance to me, even though I am LDS. Generally, LDS folks "don't do" crosses. I never found this odd, until Paul the Catholic thought it so. Now, he tells me when he sees a cross, he thinks of me, and it gives him cause to laugh. I've tried to explain the whole LDS-cross thing...but I don't think he gets it. In my faith, we chose to dwell on the Resurrection, and not the Crucifixion. It's not that we think crosses are bad. It's a symbol of His death. While it is important that He died for our sins, it is also important to note the empty tomb and the fact that He rose and conquered death.

I've seen members wear crosses to church, and no one says anything if they notice it. When we see crosses, we don't go running in opposite direction with blood pouring out of our eyes. If a Mormon wears a cross, they are not damned to Hell and excommunicated from the church. That's the beauty of the LDS church. We are given the free agency to make these choices for ourselves. Isn't that the whole point of being here??

At any rate, the cross used to be my mother's (who is also LDS). I never asked where she got it from (perhaps I should). She gave it to me shortly after my Dad died. I guess she thought I needed it, and maybe I did. I remember after he died, that I felt very lost and confused. I wore the cross on a chain around my neck for a while. I took it off to wear something else, and just never put it back on. It just went into the jewelry box to be forgotten. This was over 11 years ago.

The St. Christopher's medal is another story. I was involved in a bad accident 5 years ago, which left me burned and blind. At the time, I worked with a lot of Catholic women. I loved those women as if they were my own family, and they stuck up for the mouthy Mormon girl when another nurse told me I was going to go to hell for what I believed in (she was Southern Baptist...shocking, I know). I didn't know a lot about the Catholic faith before I worked with these great ladies, but they schooled me. I respected them because they held fast to their beliefs, and respected me because I held to mine. Anyway, I was in this accident. One of my coworkers (Phyllis) went out and bought a St. Christopher's medal, and went to her priest to have it blessed. She told him, "It's for my Mormon friend." He thought it was an odd request, but did it anyway. Phyllis later presented me with this medal. She wanted me to have it so I would be safe when I went anywhere. Incidentally, St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers. I wore the medal for a long, long time. Do I believe in Patron Saints? Not really, but Phyllis believed in them, enough to go to the trouble of getting the medal, and having it blessed for a non-Catholic. It was important to her, and she had faith it would help me. Because of this, I wore the medal. It came off when I needed to wear a different necklace for my brother's wedding...and it too fell by the wayside of my jewelry box, to be forgotten.

So, now I have these two little silver pieces on one silver chain. I don't even know if you can put a cross and a saint medal on the same chain. These two little things are important to me because they were given to me by people I loved, in times when I was going through great struggle. Sometimes, you can find inspiration in the faith of others...and my cross and medal serve as a reminder of that.

In the darkest moments of my life, I am grateful that I had people who cared enough to share their light with me.

Ho-Hum

Today, I am doing laundry. The maintenance guys are working on a toilet in my building, so I have no running water until they are done. No shower either. So, I wait patiently.

I woke up and Sam smelled like an emesis basin. I discovered that he ralphed in his kennel. So, I managed to give him a bath while I still had running water. I also used my purple shampoo on him to get rid of any yellow tones in his fur. He's a lovely sparkling white! Now, instead of vomit, he smells like wet dog. I can handle that smell a lot better. Vomit smells remind me of work.

I have to take my carpet shampooer in to have a new cord put on it because Sam chewed the old one into many pieces. Little bastard. That one is going to cost me $60 to fix because they have to send out for the repair. Sheesh.

A couple calls to make, an application and various paperwork to complete. Is there no end to the excitement in my life?

The End of the World

First...the tsunami. Then, hurricanes. Then the mudslide. Then the massive, town-leveling earthquake. Now, Trish got high-speed internet.

The world is definitely coming to an end.

But seriously...the number of natural disasters is staggering. The body count rising. As my Mom so put it, "Kind of makes you wonder..."

Indeed.

I even dreamed last night I was in a place where the storms kept coming. Rain and wind, flooding. No power. Death everywhere. I'm glad I woke up...and I love to sleep.

I do have to wonder, though, to what point do people become desensitized and stop caring? I think it is called "Compassion Fatigue". I've seen nurses get it. The point where nothing phases you and you stop caring. I wonder how the Hurricane refugees (yeah, I said refugees) feel in light of seeing the devastation left by the earthquake.

It's a scary world to be in right now, that's for sure.

Happiness if comfortable shoes.

After my ill-fortune with the shoes from hell that I wore to Paula's wedding, I decided to unceremoniously toss those horrible, horrible things. I had taken them with me on both cruises I had been on, and both times, while they looked nice on...they were murder after wearing them for an hour. Each time, I swore never to wear them again...then I would forget...only to remember that vow the next time I wore the shoes. So anyway, I decided to buy another pair of black sandals. This time, I bought Danskos...and they are the best shoes EVER. I own two pair of clogs I wear to work. I love my new sandals. I actually heard my feet sigh when I put them on. I wore them around the apartment. My new height enabled me to see a whole different angle to the freezer. I can't wait to wear them out...but now the weather is colder, and past sandal wearing time...and I am NOT one of those people who wears socks with sandals.

I have come to the sad conclusion that I will never be able to successfully wear a pair of stillettos. I have wide Flintstone feet that are just not cute. From now on, I shall buy only Dansko shoes for all my shoe-wear...unless I have to buy athletic shoes. Dansko doesn't make those...yet.

My mother went to the cabin this weekend, and I am left to my own devices. Lately, I've been consumed with this computer thriller game I bought. It is called "Still Life" and it rocks. I bought two books to read last night...so I can spend the remainder of my time off reading, playing my game, and not working.

Cause for Vomit

I just read that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are expecting. Oh joyous rapture! I thought she was a virgin and going to stay that way until she got married. And she gave it away to that asshat!

I once talked to an Indian resident who claimed to be a virgin. Only to find out later from one of the nurses he dated that his idea of being a virgin was merely the Catholic method of "Pull and Pray". Maybe Katie thinks if neither party got their jollies off, it didn't count.

Tom Cruise is now reproducing. I can't help but feel sorry for the child, but then again...it may just grow up dumb and never know that his parents have a collective IQ of 12. Ignorance is bliss.

Would it be too much to hope that Katie has post-partum depression?? I'd like to see Daddy Tom push the misses some Flintstones vitamins and tell her to go bike 10 miles on the treadmill and watch her have a nuclear meltdown. Hee!!

You are required to test out to drive a car, yet anyone with penis and vagina (because it takes both) can produce offspring. There should be a competency test for prospective parents. Nothing that folks with an average IQ couldn't pass. But it would keep Tom and Katie from inflicting their dumbness upon the world by unleashing the fruit of their loins.

So, I am going to go now and take a purge.

I'm not doing it, and you can't make me!!!

My floor is in upheaval. When I applied, I knew that a transition to progressive care was in the works...which was all fine and good. I don't want to be a PCU nurse, but I'll hang out long enough to gain my experience, then go off to do what I really want to do.

Now, the bosshole is dropping this "stroke certification". He says its mandatory, our unit educator says it's not. I like the educator better, so I am going to listen to her. We've come to realize that our bosshole is passive-aggressive. He blows sunshine up your butt when you go to complain to him, but then sends ambiguous spiteful emails to the entire staff later along the lines of, "I'm not going to say who did it, but this happened. Let's not let it happen again because its a very bad thing." Some of the things directly undermines nursing judgement, and that is a very bad thing.

Anyway, I don't want to be stroke certified. I don't like neuro-anything. If I wanted to work on a stroke/neuro floor, I would have applied to work on one in the first place. A lot of my coworkers feel the same way. It's bad enough we are going to go to PCU...which entails some long term, heavy, sick as hell patients. Now, this gets crammed down our throats. Mandatory certification in anything is a load of crap. To make things worse, we are now looking at an overstaffing issue on nights...which means we could start getting floated to other floors. Some of my coworkers have said they would quit before that happens. As it stands, those who worked overtime before, are unable to do so now, and are having to get agency jobs for their overtime hours. No one likes to float, to which our bosshole replies, "That's just the nature of our job." Bullshit.

On the whole, I like being a nurse. I know what it is what I was meant to do in life. I love the people I work with...for the most part. However, I don't like my floor. Usually, I'm a nice, fun person, but when I clock in, I turn into an asshole. I may cut back to part time to retain all my benefits, and then go work somewhere else...like agency. There are other reasons I stay, but I won't go into that right now.

I work tonight and tomorrow then off for seven. Seven days off!!! What will I do with myself!!! I'm going to go hang out with Kant, maybe find other stuff to do as well.

I can hardly wait!