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Twenty years ago...

I can't believe it has been 20 years since the Challenger exploded. I used to remember thinking what it would be like to say that I remembered when something had happened, and no one else would.

That day has come. I'm officially old.

I was at work when I read a news blurb about it. I asked the other nurses what they were doing when they heard the Challenger blew up. I was mostly met with blank stares as if I had just asked them to explain the molecular makeup for Crisco. It never occurred to me that these people wouldn't know...but they were around 3-4 years old when it happened, so they wouldn't know. Most of these people never knew what Madonna was like at the beginning of her career, they have always known a world of technology, they don't remember when Michael Jackson was black, and they certainly didn't have the pleasure of experieneing New Coke.

Sheesh, I remember what life was like before microwave ovens .

Each generation has that one big thing they will remember. My grandparent's will remember Pearl Harbor. My mother's generation will never forget the day Kennedy was shot. My generation has the Challenger. The next generation (and pretty everyone else who was breathing that day), will have September 11. What will be the event that my posterity will always remember.

Given the current state of the world today, there should be plenty to choose from.

Anyway, I remember the day that Challenger fell from the sky. I was in the 5th grade. I was wearing a Royals baseball hat. We had just finished a school assembly of some band presentation when our principle announced that the Challenger blew up. Not too many students understood the gravity of it, but what did resonate was that there was a teacher on board, and she died. That could have been one of our teachers.

After the assembly, everyone quietly went back to their homerooms. Then, we resumed our lessons. The news that evening would reply the incident over and over and over. I will remember what that looked like. I will remember Christa McAuliffe walking out with the other astronauts in her blue suit, waving as she did so.

And to think, that was 20 years ago.

@$#%^!@!!!!

To think, if I had not cancelled...I would be sitting on this ship tomorrow. Sun on my head, frou-frou drink in one hand, sitting in a chair by the pool, listing to a band whip out Caribbean-sounding tunes, and maybe judging a hairy chest contest.

But Nooooooooooooooo, I cancelled. Now, I must sit at home, and only wish I was on that ship.

This sucks ass.

Million Little Pieces of Oprah

Oprah apologized today to all the bored housewives everywhere about James Frey's bullshit memoir book, "Million Little Pieces" . I'm sure even the people in China have heard the story. Frey writes this book about his addiction and all the bad things that happened to him, painting a picture (apparently using very broad strokes) of him not only a drug and alcohol addict, but a badass as well. Oprah endorses the book for her Book of the Month Cult, er, club...and the book becomes a best seller. The Smoking Gun does some research that discovers that a lot of events in the book that Frey describes is grossly exaggerated, or fabricated entirely.

It is safe to say, people are pissed.

Frey simply could have avoided this mess had he claimed his book as fiction, loosely based on certain events in his life. I think the general public would have accepted this. Lots of good writers create good works based on experiences in their own life. You write best about what you know.

At one point, the only people who would stand up for Frey were his really strange and seemingly psychotic mother, and Oprah. I still feel sorry for Larry King.

Oprah has now back-pedaled on her support, and issued Frey a finger wagging. I don't really think she is that sorry. I think what prompted this was the angry letters from her Bored Housewives Club. Her endorsement of Frey after the truth came to light was the same as saying that the truth doesn't really matter at all.

Way to be a pillar of light, Oprah Winfrey.

No, I really think she is sorry because in the end, the bottom line comes down to ratings and money. I don't think she cares two shits whether Frey lied in his book or not. I think she cares more that this experience left her with egg on her face. Whatever. I still don't like her. I still think that one celebrity having that much influence is a very bad thing.

It is safe to say that if/when I publish my own book, I will not be nominated for her little cult, I mean, club. That's fine with me.

I like Ellen better anyway.

You've got a friend in(side) me!

I have strange friends.

This is not news to me. I've made this observation many a time...usually when one of my friends does something unusual. I'm not talking about Kant. She's one of the most normal friends I have...and she has three kidneys.

So, last night I go and visit a friend I have not seen in a while. I haven't seen him in a while primarily because the last time I talked to him, he wanted to have sex with me, or rather, "fun with no strings". I've been propositioned before, but in his case, he promised he would take me out for a Q'doba burrito afterwards because he had a coupon.

I don't like Q'doba...but I do like strings, so I declined.

At any rate, that was last fall, and after explaining to my friend that I'm more a long-term relationship kind of person...I thought the air was cleared between us. After all, I've known him for a long, long time.

So, we hang out. He begins asking me questions about intimacy. Just general questions. I'm okay to answer such questions because he is peeking into the land of 40 years old, and only been with one woman. There's a lot he doesn't know, and I feel like I am helping out not only him, but the woman he does end up marrying.

We watch some episodes of The Sopranos because I don't usually watch it, and it was something to do. Then, he starts stopping every scene that shows a naked breast (because you can do that with DVR). Then he laments about how he loves boobs. I cast a glare in his direction and he resumes the show.

And then asks me if I would like to go to this place with him sometime. In case you don't want to click on the link...it's Kansas City swingers club. Now, I have heard that KC has a large subculture of this sort of thing...but I have never known anyone who has actually witnessed these events firsthand...until now.

My dear friend begins to tell me that he went to one once with another friend. Lots of nakedness, lots of dancing...and a really great buffet. Apparently, the hanky-panky goes on later behind closed doors. Single men cannot attend events unless they are part of a couple...but single women can go stag. Oh yes, and married couples.

It all makes me want to barf.

I know another person who insists that when he finds that sweet little someone to marry, it will be an open marriage. Who wants to eat the same flavor of ice cream every night for the rest of your life? I've heard about some people at work who are into this lifestyle...and it still blows my mind. I cannot fathom being in that situation.

I don't consider myself a jealous person, but if I saw my husband shagging another woman...I've have to go rip his nuts off, then I would and string said woman up by her girly parts on a billboard somewhere off Highway 71...right by that restaurant that used to be called "Git Yo Chicken".

So, now I have an open invite to infiltrate the alternative lifestyle community of Cowtown with a near and dear friend. Lucky me. He said that sex wouldn't have to be part of the equation (somehow I don't think people go to these events to share recipes for fondue), but did elaborate that the last time he went, his date and him fooled around a little when they got back to his house. But hey...no pressure!!

Now, I am going to go shower now...because I feel really, really gross. I shall wash, but shant ever be clean.

My Eyes Adore You

Ever since my car accident, I have had to go see a retina specialist at least once a year. This is much better because before, I had to go and see him at least twice a week.

I'd rather have a root canal than go see the retina specialist...even if he is ridiculously hot.

Yesterday morning, I went straight to the office right after work. I was the youngest person in the office. All the older patients in there looked at me as if I had a third arm growing out of my head. After a night at work, I feel like I have something growing somewhere...usually on my shoes from something I may have stepped in. I'm in wrinkled scrubs, dark circles under my eyes, and a perpetual scowl on my face.

After waiting, and waiting, my name is finally called. I am taken back to a dark room where the assistant puts these eye drops that smell like moldy socks in my eyes. I do the obligatory eye exam and she tells me that my vision has changed...big shocker there. Then, she takes me to a different waiting room where there are 4 television sets playing some sort of video explaining all the fun ailments for vision. You could be losing your eyesight because of this...or this...or this. Also, there are magazines everywhere. I always found the irony in the fact that there are magazines in a waiting room where everyone's eyes are dilated, rendering everyone illiterate. One lady in the waiting room is telling some stranger about how she had cancer...twice.

"Wow", remarks the stranger, "I bet going through that sort of makes one reassess life and adopt a different way of living."

"Nope" the old lady replies.

Intrigued by this conversation, I immediately fall asleep in one of the chairs.

The next thing I know, my retina specialist is tapping me on the shoulder and beckoning me to another exam room. Grounds for waking me up from a nap is usually immediate death, but I spare him because he is ridiculously hot. "You look like hell" he observes.

Now, here comes the part I loathe and despise about these visits...

Dr. Hottie has me sit in something that looks like a dentist's chair. The room is dark, I am now in a reclined position with my feet in the air. The only thing missing is mood music.

Dr. Hottie reaches in his pocket and pulls out a little box. Inside the box, he pulls out a little prism.

My blood turns cold.

He then switches on his little eye-doctor-penlight which is 10 times stronger than a Maglite.

Beads of sweat start forming on my head. If I had balls, I'm sure I would be sweating there also.

Dr. Hottie then gently places one hand on my head and slides it back as if stroking my hair. I feel pressure because he is now holding my head in place. There is no escape for me now.

The other hand pries one of left eye open. I should be grateful. He used to use an evil metal tool to do this.

He shines his little light into the prism, which focuses it's magnified blinding bright light right into my eyes.

In case I forgot to mention, my eyes are very sensitive to bright light.

So, while I am squirming and convulsing in the chair, Dr. Hottie shines his light around, peering through my eyes into the back of my head. Even I can see my own blood vessels. To make things worse, he commands me to look at the the light here, here, here and here. As a distraction, he tries to ask me questions about my job. It's hard to answer because I'm in extreme pain.

After torturing me, Dr. Hottie writes me a script for a new set of glasses because of my ever-changing vision. We chat while I try to get accustomed to seeing again. Dr. Hottie is not only ridiculously hot, he is also insanely smart...and if he wasn't married, I'd be all over that like a fat kid on a cupcake.

After my visit, I am unleashed upon the world...eyes fully dilated. Did I mention I drove?? It doesn't matter...as long as I don't have to read anything, I do okay. Fortunately, the sun wasn't out, and I had dark glasses on.

I'm certain I looked like a dork. But this is my experience, so shut your piehole.

Utah Mormon...Redux

A new one to add to the criteria for Utah Mormons...

-> If you think the sky in Utah is more blue than anywhere else because God would never curse Salt Lake with smog...Utah Mormon.

Has anyone checked out the brown funk that hovers over Salt Lake City lately? Apparently, God was taking a vacation from blessing Zion during the week I was there.

Second Ever Ray Nagin Dumbass Award

A while back I thought of the Ray Nagin Dumbass Award...specifically for people in the public eye who were, well, dumb. I never thought the first award I would give in his honor, would be to him.

Ray Nagin, you are still a dumbass.

Today is Martin Luther the King Day. Various businesses are closed, some are not. Some kids have no school, some do. I think it is all a matter of preference. If you prefer to have the day off to "observe" this day, I don't think anyone would kick up a fuss about it because it is politically incorrect to do so today. I think I got holiday pay for working, but I'm not sure, and even more so...I don't care. MLK was a great man, but I don't think he is honored in a way he should be. Maybe the best way to honor him is to remember him, what he did, and realize that he made a valuable contribution.

Out of everyone who has or took the day off, how many of them stopped to ponder the man's life, it's meaning, and how he made his mark on the world. No, I think it would be safe to say that majority who have this day off, just value it as a day they don't have to go to work or school.

Just like President's Day. Or Veteran's Day. Or Labor Day.

At any rate, on MLK, a lot of people invoke the name. Ray Nagin is no exception. I figured he would use the day to grandstand for the toilet bowl that is now New Orleans, and I wasn't disappointed. Ray Nagin, because not only is he a smart man, he is also a spiritually enlightened man who apparently received revalation that God wants the new New Orleans to be a predominantly black city.

So, all you non-African-American NOLA-ites...you should start looking for another place to live because God expects you to. If you don't move...He will surely smite you down, or turn you into a pot of gumbo or something.

Ray Nagin, you are still a dumbass. I initially thought it was just a fluke thing, now I see it is a permanent condition, and there is really no hope for you. I think it is crappy to say something like that, and somehow tie it in to the most recognized Civil Rights leader.

So here's to you...the proud recipient of your own damn award...because right now I still can't think of someone who deserves it more than you.

You Might Be a Utah Mormon if...

With my previous post touching briefly on Utah Mormons, some people might have wondered "But Heather, am I a Utah Mormon??" After giving it much thought and deliberation, I have compiled a few guidelines to help you distinguish if you are in need of professional help (and I swear, each one of these have happened to people I know).

If you answer yes to one, you are teetering on the line.

Two or more, you are doomed.

-> If you ever called a childless couple for the "Monthly Period Report" because you think that being married without children is an abomination...Utah Mormon.

-> If you ever thought that the Salt Lake Temple had wheels because it was going to be rolled to Indpendence, Missouri at the Second Coming...Utah Mormon.

-> If you would never socialize with someone because they are a nonmember...Utah Mormon.

-> If you don't want your toddler-aged children associating with nonmember toddler-aged children because you think they will become tainted...Utah Mormon.

-> If you ever put the names of your single relatives in a temple prayer book so someone can pray for them to get married...Utah Mormon.

-> If you ever travelled outside of Utah and prefaced every sentence with "Well, back in Utah..." Utah Mormon

-> If you have an Osmond shrine in your house, but are not directly related to them...Utah Mormon.

-> If you ever were shocked and appalled that a woman wore pants to church on Sunday...Utah Mormon.

-> If you ever eloped in Vegas on a Friday, and had it annulled on a Monday so you could have an interesting weekend...Utah Mormon.

-> If your name can be found on this site...Utah Mormon.

-> If you ever told a nonmember that they were going to go to hell and you would pray for their baptism...Utah Mormon (and you are lucky you didn't get your ass kicked!)

-> If you think it is a mortal sin to be over 30 and still single...Utah Mormon.

-> If you cried when Steve Young got married to, gasp, a convert...Utah Mormon.

-> If you feel sorry for a Mormon because they don't live in Utah and you pray for their safety...Utah Mormon.

So, this is my public service for the month of January.

Now, I am going to go eat a jello cup and then go to bed.

Another Reason to Like Having the Weekdays Off

Kant and I decided to go have dinner tonight. We were both starving. We set out in search of red meat like hunters scoping out their prey.

Four restaurants later, and twenty-five miles later, we finally found a place who would seat us in 30 minutes.

When you are wasting away, who wants to wait an hour just to be seated?

No one goes out to eat during the week.

Immediate seating.

Yay!

My dog, the alcoholic.

Since Mom has been staying with me, she has found a sense of purpose. Her purpose: to find the most perfect margarita that Kansas City has to offer. She's praised the Lobsterita at Red Lobster as you get a keepsake strand of beads with a lobster on the end to remember the occasion by. She rejoiced in the fact that margaritas now come in single serving bottles for your take-home pleasure. She's had margaritas here, and margaritas there. She can tell you if it is a good margarita, or a subpar margarita.

It is safe to say that my Mom loves the margarita. With this, she has found a kindred spirit in Paul, who also loves the margarita. Heaven help me if they decide to get together for Margarita Night...because guess who gets to drive.

I personally think that margaritas taste like ass...but who am I to deprive someone else of their guilty pleasure.

She recently discovered with much delight that I had a blender of my own (which is amusing because it has been sitting out in plain view since she started staying with me), and has now taken to making her own little frozen margarita after work when the day has been a little too rough.

She has a lot of rough days.

She has also recently discovered that my dog, Sam, also loves the margarita. With such a discovery comes the awesome realization that by enjoying the margarita with Sam, she is not drinking alone. Sam is now her drinking buddy.

She didn't give him a whole one (not yet), but put a blob in a little bowl for him. I witnessed the exchange. I witnessed as Sam licked the bowl clean, picked the bowl up in his mouth and dropped it at my mother's feet with that look that asked, "Got anymore??"

My dog is a lush.

So, we will see where this goes. I had read somewhere that once a dog gets schnockered on something, the dog will never drink it again. But Sam is no ordinary dog. He is a mutant dog of the devil. He eats cat turds, so it is safe to say he has no discerning taste.

Do they have AA for pets?

My 100th post...and 10 Year Anniversary Stuff

I'm not married. The 10 year Anniversary thing is for Kathryn's kidney transplant. Ten years of free-flowing urine as a result of a medical miracle. Yay! We shall celebrate this monumental occasion by spending a week somewhere, celebrating.

The original thought was that we would all rent a house in Hitlon Head. It averaged to about $400 per person...but that didn't include food, and any activities outside the house. There's only so many card games you can play in one week.

Now, it looks like the tribe is leaning towards a cruise. I love cruises. They are the best fun. For just a little bit more moolah, you can spend a week on a cruise ship somewhere in the Caribbean, food included (not to mention having it prepared and served to you). Plus fun and games poolside on Lido deck.

We have a year plus to prepare. Here is the blog. And off we go!!

(Oh yeah...YAY for the 100th post! I really need to get a hobby or something...)

Mormons and Backdoor Mountain

Okay, so the movie is really called "Brokeback Mountain"...a movie about two gay cowboys. Yee-haw. It's acclaimed, it's provocative, it's controversial, it's touching, and it's poised to win a shit-ton of Academy awards this spring. A movie about two gay cowboys in plaid shirts. This is what American cinema has come to.

I just read that a theater, owned by the same guy who owns the Utah Jazz, pulled the movie and will not show it. If memory serves, this really isn't the first time those hardlining little Pewtah Mormons have fiddled with movies. I'm sure they have refused to show plenty other movies due a conflict of ideals, but the one incident that comes to mind was the Titanic. One theater went so far as to cut the love scene (by far the lamest, tamest love scene I've ever seen in a movie). Thereby saving people from the horror of seeing Leonardo DiCaprio's bare chest, and that "I'll Never Let Go" chick's sweaty hand on the window of a car.

There are two types of Mormons. There's Mormons, and there is UTAH Mormons. Nonmembers usually can't make the distinction, which sort of sucks because when the Utah Mormons behave badly, it reflects poorly on the church as a whole. Then, the other Mormons (who are not Utah Mormons) have to work twice as hard to make up for whatever retarded thing the Utah Mormons did in the first place. I do feel the need to add a disclaimer that not ever Mormon who lives in Utah is a Utah Mormon. There are normal Mormons in Utah...and they have my heartfelt sympathy (that means you, Pengalin!).

But I am not here to discuss Utah Mormons. Instead, I am here to talk about a movie. The previous paragraph was only meant to sort of illustrate that Utah Mormons are very, very zealous.

You see, in my church, free agency is a very important thing. We have our free agency so we can make choices...and with the tools we are given in church (teachings, scriptures, divine intervention of the Holy Spirit), the hope is that we will make the right choice. That way, when we all die and go to our appropriate place, we will have gotten there on our own steam, and not because someone made those choices for us.

Sort of like cheating your way through college. Sure, you get a degree in the end, but you really didn't earn it on your own...and you probably didn't learn a great deal in time you were there.

Which is how I look at things like the "Bareback Mountain Movie Debacle of Salt Lake". I think they should at least offer the movie, give everyone the choice of whether they want to go see it. I don't think I will go see it. Not because the whole gay-thing is an affront to my religious beliefs, but rather a movie about gay cowboys doesn't appeal to me. Cowboy movies in general don't appeal to me at all. BUT...at least I have the free agency to decide whether to go or not.

Just because you offer someone the option of doing something, doesn't necessarily mean they will chose to do it. This, is what free-agency is all about.

My best friend, Kathryn, doesn't go see rated-R movies. That is her choice. There's lots of movies out there, good ones, that she hasn't seen because of that rating. That might be ridiculous to some, but that is the choice that she has made. The important thing is that she made that choice, and no one made it for her.

It's the choices we make that test our inner mettle. If our free agency is stripped from us, how are we really to know what our true potential is?

So, here is to the mental giants of Pewtah...who have not only once again taken away the free agency of your residents, but also generated more free publicity for an overhyped gay cowboy movie.

Cowboy movies suck.

All is Forgiven

After my bad movie experience with The Producers, I was somewhat skeptical of trusting the movie selections of my friends, even after their profuse apologies. The Producers was that bad. So, imagine my hesitation when Kathryn suggested another movie, Memoirs of a Geisha. I wasn't doing anything else last night, so I agreed to go.

I'm glad I went. A very good movie, with very beautiful colors, costumes and sets. I have a personal love for all things Japanese...so much that I spent a year learning the language (most of which I have forgotten due to non-use). Sure, I can understand a word here and there, but not enough to carry on a conversation. However, in the event of an emergency, I am able to ask you what you like to eat, and if you like to drive a car.

In conclusion, Memoirs of a Geisha gets two thumbs up and a flaming onion volcano for being so good. I have also deemed it DVD worthy for my collection. I recommend that everyone should see this movie.

It makes up for the horrible, horrible thing that was The Producers.

And I'll have a pizza to go with my fortune cookie.

Mom and I went to Ghengis Khan for dinner. For those of you who don't know, this is a Mongolian-style restaurant (which is Asian for you geographically/culturally-hindered readers). It's like having fresh stir fry that you make yourself (except the little Hispanic workers fry it up for you on a huge metal plate with big wooden paddles that look like boat oars).

While we were sitting in our booth, a man, woman and baby were seated next to us. They looked over the menu while the baby cooed and slobbered in his carrier. The waiter came to take their order when man asked (and I shit you not)...

"Got any nachos?"

I can see the light!

Tonight...my last night of the week, then off for six days. Six glorious days of lounging around in my pajamas. No sick patients, no blood, no questions. Just me and my warm, snuggly bed...which is the only thing that is getting me through tonight.

Yes, and I will also start going to the gym as well, thereby beginning one of my resolutions.

And I have to do more laundry. There is happiness in clean underwear.

The New Night Shift Book Club

Move over, Oprah!

In my absence from work last night, the other nurses had an epiphany of brillance. Since we all like to read books for leisure, and we usually end up passing books around...why not have our own book club? This is the best idea I've heard in a while, and I am very excited.

Yeah, I'm a nerd. So, shut it.

Each month, a book will be selected. After we have all read it, we will get together for food, fun and festivities...and discuss the book. February's book will have something to do with love. As much as "February" and "love" make me want to barf right now, I'm still excited about the book club.

I was off last night, and went out with mom to dinner, then for a little shopping. I go back tonight. Hopefully, it won't suck. The last time I worked, a 400lb patient managed to fall out of bed, requiring 8 staff members to hoist said patient back into bed...and squishing one nurse in the process as she lost her balance and fell into the bed just as the patient was being lowered onto the bed...thereby having the 400lb patient laying on top of a nurse who maybe weighed 140lbs.

You do the math.

Sometimes, I think we deserve some sort of raise in pay. Hazard pay.

Happy New Year!

The New Year's Eve festivities went off as planned last night. Dinner at The Melting Pot was great. We had a great waiter, the food was great, the company was great. We all had a collective stroke when the final bill was presented.

However, the movie we saw after dinner sucked ass.

We went and saw The Producers. I had heard that it was good Broadway show. I had also heard they turned it into a movie with the same actors that was on the Broadway show. I had heard it was funny. Despite my reservations of sitting in a movie theater when the clock struck midnight, I agreed to go. It was a funny movie, or so I was promised.

No. It sucked. It was almost as bad as Ishtar. If you ever listen to any piece of advice I offer on this blog, listen to this...don't go see The Producers. I'm sure this show is great live. One of the things I found annoying was that the acting was a little over the top as it usually is in theater because in theater, you can't see the facial expressions of the actors, and so you have to go a lot on body language. I like a lot of movies, this one doesn't count.

Two and a half hours of my life I will never have back.

After the movie, we drove through the Plaza to get home. On the way, we saw many a merry folk...some a little too merry. In one instance, a guy decided to carry a girl in a very revealing dress on his back. Five steps later, they toppled over onto the sidewalk. Their friend, meanwhile, staggered over to a taxi waiting at a stoplight (who already had a fare inside) and blurted, "Can we have a ride??" The taxi just sped away. We cheered.

Drunk people look really, really stupid. We laughed at all of them. Maybe if people realized how stupid they looked, they wouldn't drink so much.

The cops were out in full force. Cars pulled over right and left. I would be curious to how many drunk-driving arrests were made last night. One might think there would be sobriety check-points peppered throughout the city. Turns out, there were none. Instead, the police just decided patrolling would be better.

Other than the movie, it was a great night.

I'm glad 2005 is long gone. I'm looking forward to a new year. Happy New Year, everyone!!