Sunday, July 30, 2006

Hotter Than (Insert Word of Choice)

I shouldn't have to tell you it's hot outside. Even the short-bus crowd (which equates to Sugar Creek) can tell you there is a heat wave amidst. When the the bank sign is blinking because the heat has fried the circuits, you know that can't be a good thing.

It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the humidity. Humidity sucks. Heat waves suck.

Air conditioning is the greatest invention since, I don't know. It's just the greatest invention ever. To honor this invention, I am going to hole myself up in my apartment today and spend the day sleeping in my birthday suit until the time rolls around and I have to get ready for work.

Which is really no different than any other Sunday.

Everyone has got a heat-related story (and if you don't, you should get one). My heat story...the damn cursed heat has been so bad, it fried the temperature guage on my car. Not the one that tells me how hot the engine is. No, that little digital display that tells me how hot it is well as what direction I am pointed towards. It's stuck on south. It now loves south. I'm either traveling southeast, southwest, or just plain south. No more north. North is gone, and I don't know for how long. It could be forever. It could be until winter. North won't even go south. It's too hot down there. North has retreated further north...away from the Equator.

And it's always 87 degrees, and never one degree more or less. Even the PT doesn't want to know how hot it is outside.

And I have come to the conclusion that while heated leather seats are sheer heaven in the winter time, they do me no favors this time of year. Especially when I get to work and look as though I pissed all over myself. I really need to invest in some sort of seat cover so when I get into my car that has the internal temperature of an Easy Bake Oven, the top 3 layers of skin on my ass don't peel off once I get to my destination.

I should make some cookie dough and plop a pan in my car to see if I can have a dozen or so cookies to enjoy during my commute to work.

The mental giants at the news station tell me it's going to be a hot day. Shocking, I know. So, stay indoors if you can help it. Park yourself in front of a fan. If you don't have a fan, or you don't have air conditioning, find a place that does and camp out there. If you know someone who is unable to help themselves, don't be an asshole and ignore them. God will smite you in the chocolate starfish if you do.

Most importantly, drink lots of water...but not too much that you get water toxicity and have to pay me a visit tonight on a professional level. Gatorade is good. So is pickle juice (if you are into that sort of thing). Feel free to dump cold water on your head...but make sure you are not wearing a white t-shirt when you do...unless you are George Clooney. If you are, I get to dump cold water on your head...and wherever else I so choose.

Be good. Keep cool. Be safe.

Friday, July 28, 2006

An Icon From My Childhood

I loved Barbie when I was younger. I had Barbie out the wazoo. So, imagine my delight when I stumbled across this.

Mattel recently announced the release of limited edition Barbie dolls for the Midwest market:

Leawood Barbie: This princess Barbie is only sold at Town Center Mall. She comes with an assortment of Kate Spade handbags, a Lexus SUV, a longhaired foreign lap-dog named Honey, and a cookie-cutter dream house with a lawn service. Available with or without tummy tuck and face-lift. Workaholic ex-husband Ken comes with a Porsche.

Overland Park Barbie: This modern-day homemaker Barbie is available with Ford Windstar mini-van and matching gym suit. She gets lost easily and has no full-time occupation or secondary education. Traffic-jamming cell phone sold separately. Can swear in English and Spanish. Available at Target.

Independence Barbie: This recently paroled Barbie comes with a 9mm handgun, bowie knife, a '78 El Camino with dark tinted windows, and a meth lab kit. This model is only available after dark and can only be bought with cash, preferably small bills, unless you are a cop, then we don't know what you are talking about.

Blue Valley Barbie: This yuppie Barbie comes with your choice of BMW convertible or Hummer H2. Included are her own Starbucks cup, credit card set, and country club membership. Also available are Shallow Ken and Spanish-speaking Nanny.

Paola Barbie: This pale model comes dressed in her own Wrangler jeans two sizes too small, a classic Metallica shirt, and Tweety Bird tattoo on her shoulder. Wants to major in NASCAR at K-State. She has a six-pack of Coors Light and a Hank Williams, Jr. CD set. She can spit over 5 feet and kick mullet-haired Ken's ass when she is drunk. Purchase her pickup truck separately and get a Confederate flag bumper sticker absolutely free. Available at Big Lots & Dollar General Stores.

Wyandotte County Barbie: This tobacco chewing, brassy-haired Barbie has a pair of her own high-heeled sandals with one broken heel from the time she chased Beer-Gut Ken out of Paola Barbie's (discontinued) house. Her ensemble includes low-rise acid-washed jeans, fake fingernails, strawberry lip-gloss, and a see-through halter-top. Comes with Barbie's dream doublewide trailer. Available at Wal-Mart. Cheap.

The Grandview/Raytown Barbie: This collagen injected, rhinoplastic Barbie wears leopard print Spandex and drinks cosmopolitans to new age music with friends at the lodge. Into crystals. Comes with Percocet prescription and botox. Also cheap.

Olathe Barbie: This Barbie now comes with a stroller, infant doll and Bible. Optional accessories include a G.E.D. and bus pass on the Jo. Gangsta Ken and his '79 Caddy were available, but are now very difficult to find since the addition of the infant. Available at any Christian bookstore.

Brookside Barbie: This doll is made of actual tofu. She has long straight brown hair, archless feet, hairy armpits, no makeup, and Birkenstocks with white socks. She prefers that you call her "Willow." She does not want or need a Ken doll, but if you purchase two Brookside Barbies and the optional Subaru wagon, you get a rainbow flag sticker free.

Lenexa Barbie: Is pregnant, drives a new Ford Excursion, and is perfect in every way. We don't know who Ken is because he's always away hunting or in Japan on business. Lenexa Barbie aspires to become Leawood Barbie. Not cheap, but still very naive.

Waldo Barbie: Into foosball, animals and bonfires. 98% belong to a cult, 2% are free thinking and void of any "traditions." Does nothing but complain about Plaza Barbie.

Argentine Barbie: This Spanish-speaking-only Barbie comes with a 1984 Toyota with expired temporary plates and three babies in the back, without car seats. This is the only Barbie willing to do manual labor. Ken comes in a meat-packer's uniform and is missing three fingers on his left hand. Green cards are not yet available for Argentine Barbie or Ken.

Plaza Barbie/Ken: This versatile doll can be easily converted from Barbie to Ken by simply adding or subtracting the "snap-on" parts. Likes to "experiment." Doesn't understand why Waldo Barbie complains so much.

Topeka Barbie: Would come with a 97 Ford Taurus with an unpainted body kit and crappy stereo system. This Barbie is twice the size of all the other Barbies and has more tattoos than Topeka Ken. Ghetto braids optional. And she's still white, but she doesn't "know it".

Lawrence Barbie: This doll comes with a royal blue "Muck Fizzou" t-shirt, 70 parking tickets, and $20k in student loans. She thinks PHIL 100 is deep and gets excited when "I take Women's Studies to meet girls" Ken asks if she wants to go to The Ranch. (She has a sister, Lawrence Skipper, but Skipper long ago declared corporate Mattel evil and destroyed her own box in protest.)

Gardner Barbie: Has never been North of 95th Street and complains about going "all the way to Olathe". Comes with her own bag of fireworks, ill fitting t-shirt/shorts combination and has been banned from all 4 of the Gardner bars. Comes with optional motorcycle and current boyfriend/ex-husband Sh*t Starting Ken.

I am disappointed there is no Northland Barbie. Maybe she is still stuck on the bridge.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Nurse Follies: A Unit of the Eternally Damned

I've come to the conclusion that the unit I work on is cursed.

I didn't come to this realization until my unit educator pointed it out. By golly, she was absolutely correct. Consider these events witin the last 6 months (all with different nurses):

1. Nurse up and dies at home.
2. Nurse has sister who has taken ill, probably mortally.
3. Nurse's kid has horrific accident on bicycle, subsequently landing in hospital for bad injuries.
4. Nurse collapses at elevator with kidney stones.
5. Nurse manager (Bosshole) falls ill with body part run amok, has surgery and stuff. Now, saunters around unit with weight and color tone of Casper the Friendly Ghost.
6. Crazy nurse terrorizes unit.
7. I have a flat tire.
8. We're understaffed.
9. Our unit has officially gone to Progressive Care.

So, it is probably safe to assume that my unit is situated on a Hellmouth. At any given moment, it is going to blow wide open and hell is going to empty out onto our floor in the form of 900lb patients in need of digital bowel evacuation, sue-happy family members, really dumb residents, and C-diff.

I suspect that the staff will start hanging wooden crosses and garlic at every entrance. Nurses will start passing meds with Holy Water. Checking for lung sounds will be problematic when assessing the undead (because they don't breathe).

We will have to find a young priest and an old priest. How do we bill that on insurance?

All of this will mean more paperwork for us.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Random Thursday Blather

Yesterday, I went to have my hair done. Another attempt to get this awful gold color out of my hair. My hair is blonde, but not gold blonde. More of an ashy-blonde. The girl who does my hair was running way behind, so I didn't get to sit in her chair until much later...which was fine. I just wondered around her shop and drank icy cold Dr. Pepper. My car's thermostat read 107. I didn't need to go back out in the heat unless I absolutely had to.

Good thing for Amy, she hired two new people to work in her shop. One girl (Kelley) is a smart-ass blonde who will leave you in stitches with her dry, and crude, sense of humor. I must be related to her somehow. The other person is a guy named Brandon. An import all the way from Los Angeles, California..which is a big deal to Midwesterners.

Brandon ended up taking a walk-in client. An obvious gay man in need of color and a cut. Brandon (not gay), goes to work, and that hairdresser chit chat ensues.

Gay Man: ...yeah, well I work as a teacher, and they have a decent pension, but my partner works for the he has a better pension plan.
Brandon: Ahh. Considering your partner works for the IRS, he must have a decent package. (he meant retirement)

Gay Man doubles over in his chair in fits of laughter, along with everyone else in the shop. Brandon is clearly embarassed. Hee!!

My hair didn't turn out quite as well as we had hoped, not to mention I was there hours longer than I had planned. So, Amy didn't charge me for the service, and gave me free product. I love Amy and would never dream of going anywhere else, so I still tipped her $20. I really don't think it was anything Amy did to my hair. My hair has been doing to very strange stuff lately. I don't know why. It used to be it's curly. I used to want curly hair when I was a kid. Now that I have it as an adult, I've changed my mind.

That evening, I went to check up on a sick friend. We ended up watching some Martin Lawrence movie and talking about the Star Wars series.

Tonight, I have to work. Joy. There's a big night shift campout thingie that I can't go to because I do have to work, and I don't make a habit of calling in so I can go to a social event. I've looked at tonight's schedule. It should make for an interesting night.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Review: Tim and Faith Concert

The Tim and Faith concert was last night. I went. Kathryn left Tuesday morning, so she could not go. The next person up was Paul, and he won the "Who Loves Heather More" contest only because he accidentally bought me coffee at Starbucks.

So, he had to work that day at his little part time job. After much discussion, I told him I would pick him up from his work and we could go to the concert from there, stopping for dinner along the way.

After dinner, I charged down I-35 and came into concert traffic. Lots and lots of concert traffic. Half of Kansas City had also bought tickets to the concert.

A couple turns through downtown, I managed a shortcut that dumped me off ahead of the folks who were still waiting on the highway. We parked in Kansas, paid $10 to park on a pile of dirt, and walked 100 miles to the arena. Good thing I wore my comfy sandals. I saw skanks there wearing heels and then bitching because their feet hurt.

Because the nature of the concert was country, the rednecks came out in full force. They were fairly easy to spot.

We finally made it inside Kemper. Walked to the other side of the arena where our seats were, and made a mountain climb up to the nosebleed section where our seats were. We were center stage, but 3 stories in the air. The stage was pretty cool. A big cross that lit up and showed images. Sort of like the performers were standing on a large television screen.

The concert begins. Tim and Faith sing a song together. The crowd goes nuts. Faith does her set in a long-sleeved shirt. Did no one tell her it was 105 degrees outside?? Everyone was sweating buckets, and I thought Paul was going to pass out from dehydration.

An hour later, Faith finishes her set. The hubby comes back out and they sing a couple songs together. The crowd goes wild. Faith disappears and Tim does his set. The crowd goes apeshit. Tim finishes his set, Faith comes out in a muu-muu and they sing a couple more songs together. Concert over, lasting a little under 3 hours.

Walking back to Kansas, a group 4 adults approach me and tell me that their hotel shuttle never showed, and they are having difficulty flagging a taxi, and would I mind taking them back to their hotel if they give me $20. I would have, they seeme like nice people, but how in the hell do you fit 6 adults inside a PT Cruiser???

I make tracks and take Paul back to his car. I tell him that considering I spent $50 for his concert ticket, he should at least put out. He only laughs at me and drives away. Men are so clueless.

Overall, a great show. I didn't spend any money on concert junk. $35 minimum for a t-shirt that shrinks 3 sizes after you wash it. I can find one on Ebay for less.

Nurse Follies: The Scapegoats

In what could possibly be the biggest load of bullshit I have heard this week, two nurses and a doctor have been arrested for murdering patients in a New Orleans hospital during the Hurricane Katrina disaster.

In talking with other nurses, I have come to understand that working in a New Orleans hospital at that time made Hell look like an all-inclusive vacation resort. No water. No power. No supplies. No support. I cannot fathom what it must have been like, being cooped up in that hospital, with sick people all around you, not having the tools you need to make them well, all the while wondering why no one is coming to help.

You could argue that these people should not have played God. But you weren't there. You don't know what it was like. I don't know what it was like...and I shudder when I try to imagine it. I've heard from nurses who were there, who will be haunted by the very experience until the day they die.

While I am confident that there were a lot of healthcare staff that had a hand in this. On a normal day, I'm sure if some doctor approached with syringes full of Lordknowswhat, saying to just give them to the sickest and dying patients, I'm sure the nurses would have told that doctor where to go. However, this was not a normal day. This was an unprecedented disaster, staff were not even certain they would live through it, much less the patients.

I cannot begin to convey how bad it was because I wasn't there, so I will encourage you to read this online journal of a nurse who was right in the thick of it. (click the ~next~ at the top of the page to navigate pages)

Why are they going after the healthcare staff? The ones who stayed behind rather than abandon their patients. Why isn't anyone holding the corrupt government of Louisiana accountable? In my personal and professional opinion, the doctors and nurses are being used as scapegoats, to deviate from the truth that the government abandoned it's own people, even when the doctors and nurses refused to.

It's all so disgusting, I plan on emailing the the asshole Louisiana Attorney General. My email should follow the thousands of emails sent by other nurses. God help him.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Jack FM: KC's Outlet for Dumbasses

I listen to all kinds of music. Well, save for Strip Hop. I don't care if you are in love with a stripper. I don't care how much money you have, and whenever I see a video of someone showing off their "bling", I think, "Wow...they must have a really small penis."

That aside, the radio settings on my car are as varied as the colors in my underwear drawer. Hard rock, Country, Oldies, to name a few...and Jack FM.

Jack FM is probably one of the stations I listen to the most. No blathering DJ's who think they are funny, no interviews with porn stars and B to C-list celebs that I've never even heard of, and most importantly, no Britney Spears. The Jack format "playing what we want" works well for me, even though they do play some songs from time to time, that suck. Those times, I defer to satellite radio.

Their newest thing is a number that people can call in to and leave messages, and Jack in turn plays these messages on air as a sort of station endorsement. At first, the messages were along the lines, "I think you're great" and "this is the best station ever". Somewhere along the way, Kansas City started thinking they were funny, then the messages started getting goofy. Jack continued to air them. Taken as encouragement, Kansas City's messages became outright retarded.

If terrorists were to pick a city to attack based on our collective intelligence, Kansas City would be on the top of his list after listening to Jack. The people that call that line and leave messages, make everyone sound like we take the short-bus to get to work. And just when I think I've heard a message from the dumbest person in town, someone comes along and outdoes them.

It's getting so bad, that I haven't been listening to Jack as much as I used to.

So, please, redneck population of KC. PLEASE! Stay away from the phones and stop calling that number. If you were actually funny, you would have your own sitcom. It you were actually clever, you would know how much of an assclown you look make yourself sound, and you wouldn't call radio stations and leave retarded messages.

Otherwise, I might just have to listen to one of those other stations that plays Britney Spears.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Prepare to be Culturally Enriched

I love all things Japanese. Well, maybe not all things. I'm not one of those people who are so obsessed with another culture that they will only date people from that specific culture. I think those people are called Japanophiles. In my recent internet jaunts, I discovered this site about an American Japanophile who is currently in Japan teaching kids English...which is what I had toyed with doing at some point before this whole nursing thing happened. There's a lot of crap out there in Blogdom. Gaijin Smash isn't one of them.

At any rate, I love the Japanese...culture, that is. The spark happened when I took a Japanese class in high school. Because in Nebraska, a Spanish class just didn't seem practical enough to be offered there. From there, I studied more of the language, the traditions, the food. I thought I would share my love for Japanese culture, and injecting some into this blog, by sharing some common phrases for all to learn and use. Enjoy!!

Koro shite yaru -- I'm going to kill you.
Mattsu! -- Crap!
Onara atama -- Fart head
Urusee -- You are too noisy.
Yaro -- Bastard
Jigoku ni ike -- Go to hell!
Boku no shiri ni kisu siro -- Kiss my ass!
Baka yaro -- Stupid bastard!
Echi shite kudasai -- Please have sex with me.
Bukkoroshite yaru zo -- I'm going to beat you to a pulp.
Debou wa ase o taksan kakimasu -- Fat people sweat a lot.
Do digata ni kazana ho akeruzou -- I'm going to rip open your abdomen.
Oray no shieta koto jenai -- I don't give a damn.
Nande kuso? -- What the hell?
Anata wa sei desu? -- Do you want to have sex?
Kisama tama -- Lord of donkey's balls.
Neboken nayo! -- Get your head out of your ass.
Tansyo-! -- Your "tool" is small.
Nametonka? -- Want me to kick your ass?
Shinde kudasai -- Please die
Anata no ikei wo miru to totemo koufun shimasu -- You are the dumbest person I have ever seen.
Kocha koi -- Come here and get your ass kicked.
Kudasai -- Please
Arigatou gozaimuasu-- Thank you very much.

Try using one today!!


Kant is coming tomorrow night. The original plan was for her to come at the end of this month, but there is a funeral this week, and she has changed her plans. Instead of only being here for 3 days, she will be here almost a week.

I'm happy she will be here, even though the circumstances of her visit are sad.

I think I will get to spend at least one day hanging out with her. Then, we can complain about men, have Chinese food, and talk about the struggling 3rd World Countries of the Caribbean and how our tourism dollars sustain their economy.

World's Greatest Obituary

I found this link from another blogger at

When I die, I can only hope that someone has the balls to write something similar to this for my obit.

Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark

Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle as a result of an automobile accident on June 18, 2006. True to Fred's personal style, his final hours were spent joking with medical personnel while he whimpered, cussed, begged for narcotics and bargained with God to look over his wife and kids. He loved his family. His heart beat faster when his wife of 37 years Alice Rennie Clark entered the room and saddened a little when she left. His legacy was the good works performed by his sons, Frederic Arthur Clark III and Andrew Douglas Clark MD, PhD., along with Andy's wife, Sara Morgan Clark. Fred's back straightened and chest puffed out when he heard the Star Spangled Banner and his eyes teared when he heard Amazing Grace. He wouldn't abide self important tight *censored*. Always an interested observer of politics, particularly what the process does to its participants, he was amused by politician's outrage when we lie to them and amazed at what the voters would tolerate. His final wishes were "throw the bums out and don't elect lawyers" (though it seems to make little difference). During his life he excelled at mediocrity. He loved to hear and tell jokes, especially short ones due to his limited attention span. He had a life long love affair with bacon, butter, cigars and bourbon. You always knew what Fred was thinking much to the dismay of his friend and family. His sons said of Fred, "he was often wrong, but never in doubt". When his family was asked what they remembered about Fred, they fondly recalled how Fred never peed in the shower - on purpose. He died at MCV Hospital and sadly was deprived of his final wish which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a double date to include his wife, Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter to crash an ACLU cocktail party. In lieu of flowers, Fred asks that you make a sizable purchase at your local ABC store or Virginia winery (please, nothing French - the *censored*) and get rip roaring drunk at home with someone you love or hope to make love to. Word of caution though, don't go out in public to drink because of the alcohol related laws our elected officials have passed due to their inexplicable terror at the sight of a MADD lobbyist and overwhelming compulsion to meddle in our lives. No funeral or service is planned. However, a party will be held to celebrate Fred's life. It will be held in Midlothian, Va. Email for more information. Fred's ashes will be fired from his favorite cannon at a private party on the Great Wicomico River where he had a home for 25 years. Additionally, all of Fred's friend (sic) will be asked to gather in a phone booth, to be designated in the future, to have a drink and wonder, "Fred who?" Published in the Richmond Times-Dispatch on 7/9/2006.

Here's a drink to you, Fred!

Monday, July 10, 2006

Don't Piss Off the Short People

Japan is toying with a pre-emptive strike against North Korea. This is very interesting, because Japan really doesn't come off as a huge military power.

The Japanese, whose police force more notably carries around notebooks instead of guns (unless that has changed the last time I checked). The Japanese who are obsessed with Western Culture, but place a weighted importance on manners and ettiquette. A culture rich in color, customs, and sex-crazed teenagers.

I just have a hard time imagining the Japanese, after a nice little tea ceremony of sorts, politely saying their good-byes to family, donning fatigues and then going to open a can of whoopass on that Short-Bus Dictator of North Korea. I suppose when they really set their mind to it, they can do quite a bit of damage in a relatively short time, as proven by history.

Maybe they still have a lot of pent-up rage from World War 2 they need to get rid of.

North Korea is toast.

Anata no ketsu wa kusa da oyobi ore wa shibakariki da. Meaning: Your ass is grass and I am the lawnmower.

Another Weekend Overview

Saying I had a lousy weekend would be an understatement.

Friday night was awful. Saturday night was even worse, so much that I ended up driving home Sunday morning covered in Mineral oil and gastric contents. I was pissed.

Sunday showed a small amount of improvement, but by then, the weekend had been shot, and there was no chance for redemption. They didn't even have decent tomatoes at the Farmer's Market.

I also found out a friend of mine's dad passed away in a very unexpected and horrific manner. I realized that my weekend, although bad, could have been a great deal worse. There are more disasterous things than mineral oil and gastric contents...but I was still mad anyway.

Wondering Mom came home as planned on Saturday. She knows I'm annoyed, but at least I know she's not floating around in the Potomac River, or traded off as a sex slave in Trinidad. I'm sure we will address the other issues later, but right now, I just don't have the constitution for it.

Sunday, July 09, 2006


Italy won the World Cup.


Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Wednesday the 5th

I'll readily admit that Independence Day is not a day I relish oweing to the simple fact that it's another day that people will readily exhibit how retarded they are. The day after is no exception.

I don't know what ordinances say what concerning when and where you can't light fireworks, and I thought there was a day or two after the 4th where you could attempt to blow your fingers off, free from legal persecution. That would explain why everyone is my neighborhood is still lighting fireworks this evening. I find this somewhat amusing that my apartment complex has "strict policy" prohibiting fireworks on the property.

I drove my car to the business office to drop off the rent check. On my way, a half dozen little punks were staging a Roman candle war...over passing cars. A small fireball whizzed in front of my windshield. Assholes. I cursed them with a lifetime of asking, "You want fries with that?"

Another set of morally upstanding citizens were igniting those small mortar shells that send showers of sparks cascading onto traffic, my car included.

And the big kicker of all of Platte County's finest in his little parked car at the end of the street, full well in sight, just sitting there...thumbing his ass.

Maybe I am a snob. Or maybe I am just getting old. Or maybe both.

My 4th of July Festivities

I did go to my friend's house for festivities last night. I arrived with my large bowl of the World's Famous Kieffer Fresh Garden Salsa. It was the star of the evening. (I'll post the recipe when I get permission to do so, and Kathryn can email me the exact recipe).

We ran back and forth between various houses in the neighborhood to watch everyone shoot off fireworks. Small kids milled around, I was waiting for the 3rd degree burn, which thankfully never occurred (it was more a 2nd degree burn).

My friend's husband bought large, and I am certain illegal, firecrackers. When you're standing 50 feet away and it causes such an explosion that you not only have to cover your ears, but feel the blast...obviously it's not something you find in the fireworks tent next to the sparklers. He lit off a couple, causing the entire neighborhood to tremble. From then on, everytime he would go to light one of his "big bangs", I learned three fundmental things: stand 100 feet away, cover your ears, and don't look at it.

Immediately after the bang, 4 LDS missionaries appeared, all agog at the sheer power of the explosion. All boys like to blow things up, that includes the Elders. Most everyone thought they were Jehovah's witnesses because they were wearing white shirts and ties, but being the resident Mormon expert, I explained that the boys were required to wear their whites and ties, no they were not JW's, and be nice to them because they don't get to see their families for 2 whole years...holidays included. Feeding them will score you extra points.

A group of children started lighting little cones and things, prompting one neurotic mom to pass around spiral notebook, collecting signatures. When asked what they were signing, the mother explained that it was a waiver in the event someone got hurt, and it cleared them of liability.

Now, I'm not a lawyer (even though I did date one), but I am fairly certain that signatures on a kid's school notebook doesn't hold much weight in a court of law. I left before she cornered me into signing it because I didn't want to explain how ridiculous her notebook was. Most other people signed it, then left. While I am told that this lady is nice, she is somewhat of a prude (like I couldn't figure that one out on my own). I was also told that she doesn't fare much better at comedy clubs either because she cries at the handicap jokes.

The city's display started, and everyone situated themselves in places where they could see the display. While it was a good display, I think everyone grew tired of it 20 minutes in, so they went back to eating the rest of the chips and WFKFGS.

My friend's neighborhood is really cool. They get together for block parties and such, except for the anti-social family on the corner. I told my friend it would be fun to live in her neighborhood, but I couldn't do it on single nurse's salary, even on weekend option. So, that means I will just have to marry well.

I retired for the evening around 11pm. Came home, shaved my legs, went to bed. I didn't wake up until 2 this afternoon. I did have morning plans, but I slept right through them. I still need to take my rent check to the office, late. I think I will wait until they are closed for the evening so I can go in pajamas.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Happy Indepedence Day!

Because I'm not a fan of my family this year, aside from the fact they are all crazy (save for one or two), I'm going to a friend's house for my evening's patriotic festivities.

Remember, God gave us friends because we couldn't pick our family members. (Well, maybe we could, but that's a different post.)

Instead of a big display, my friends are attending a neighborhood block party where everyone will be collectively lighting off fireworks. Drunk adults watching children light small explosives.

I guarantee, we're going to have at least one 3rd degree burn by the end of the night. Too bad I'm not a burn nurse, but I can point them to the closest burn unit.

I made a big bowl of the Kieffer's World Famous Fresh Garden Salsa. I hope I have some leftover. This could very well be the best salsa ever. Maybe I should put some in a little bowl and leave it here for my own recreational use.

So, to repeat almost every other blogger out there in Blogdom, have a safe and fun 4th. Don't drink and drive. Don't burn yourself. Don't be an ass. Remember the troops. And in the immortal words of Tony, don't go near the potato's been sitting out too long.

Monday, July 03, 2006

The Red Dress

Finally...something to be pleased about.

I love Ebay. I'm a huge Ebay whore. I've bought a little over a hundred things, only got jipped once (because I was novice and didn't know about such bad things). Fortunately, that cost me $ really wasn't out much. I've purchased a camera, a Palm Pilot, a nurses cap, perfume, a lovely Coach purse, mint molds, books, chew toys for the dog, and a myriad of other things that I can't remember right off the top of my head.

My latest purchase was a red dress for my cruise. THIS red dress. I fought hard and came out the victor because considering the stress I have in my life, I think I deserve a red dress. It fits, but I do see that I will have to tone up a couple spots before I wear it for formal night.

However, I'm a little at a loss as how to actually wear it. Obviously, I can't wear a conventional bra, and I don't think a strapless would work either because of the low cut in the front. I dance on the line of DD, so really would prefer not to go commando and run the risk of falling out my dress between the salad and the main course at dinner, giving the person across the table a concussion, and blinding the waiter across the room.

I've heard they make these little sticky things you can wear to sort of keep things in place, but I have no experience with them. I suppose a couple strategically placed pieces of duct tape would work as a last resort.

Or I could get my nipples pierced and rig some sort of snap or something that could fasten from the inside and secure the dress. Duct tape sounds less painful though.

So, if any ladies (or feminine-type males who like to wear such things) have any words of advice to offer, I have 6 months to figure this out.

D.C. Day Two

Mom called my house while I was at work and left a message.

"Hi. It's Mom. We made it to D.C. okay. The architecture is amazing. You wouldn't believe the architecture. Well...I'll call later this week. Bye"

By architecture, I can only assume she meant penis.


Sunday, July 02, 2006

Heather's Hoppin' Mad

I stopped at the Farmer's Market Satruday morning when I got off work. The Tomato Gestapo was there, but he was out of his mutant fruit. I did end up buying a cluster of mushrooms, tomatoes from another vendor, a small head of cabbage, and six ears of sweet corn. I came home, took Sam out, and checked my messages. I noticed my mother called at 6:45am. I found this to be odd because she never calls so early, I figured something was amiss. She left a message.

"Hi. It's Mom. I let Sam out last night. I'm going to be gone this week because I'm going on vacation. I'll be home Saturday, but I will call you periodically during the week."

Annoyed, I called her at home.

Me: What's this about a vacation? Where are you going?
Mom: To the East Coast.
Me: Can you be more specific?
Mom: Washington D.C.
Me: And WHY are you going there? You've never been to D.C.
Mom: Because they have a great fireworks display.
Me: What!?! And who are you going with?
Mom: (pause) Ummm...friends.
Me: Internet friends?
Mom: (pause) No.
Me: And just when did you decide to go on this vacation?
Mom: I've had the plane ticket for about a month now.

Disgusted, I hung up the phone. Then, I went and peered in my bathroom mirror to see if I could spot the "Stupid" tattoo that apparently is on my forehead somewhere. I didn't see it.

Upset, I called Paul, because all my other friends were either working, or out for the weekend. I ranted to Paul, who only said, "She's a big girl and can make her own decisions."

Disgusted, I hung up on him, too.

I understand that my mother is an adult, fully capable (physically) of making her own choices...but how about acting like a responsible adult?!? She's flying half a country away to meet up with Random Internet Guy, whom she HAS NEVER MET IN PERSON BEFORE. I have NO INFORMATION on how to reach her in the event of an emergency. No hotel. No flight numbers. I only have her cell phone number which she may or may not answer. Instead of acting like a rational adult, she's acting like a 14 year old meeting up with Chester the Molester from MySpace.


So, for a week I get to sit around and hold my breath and HOPE she comes back when she says she's supposed to. If not, what am I supposed to think?

You know, I've made some pretty bonehead choices in my life, but this really, REALLY trumps anything I've ever done. I can only hope she had the good sense to leave information with someone. Maybe some dimwit friend here who actually thinks this bullshit is romantic.

So, I'm going between being concerned, and being livid. I'm on edge here at work, and everyone knows it.

I don't recall ever having kids, but apparently I have a 51 year old daughter who is going through menopause and has lost her ever-loving mind.

I'm at a total and complete loss as to what to do. So, I guess I won't do anything. There's only so many times I can roll my eyes and shake my head before I get a migraine.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

Fame Whore Alert!

Star Jones, we liked you better when you were fat.

People somehow related to you. You were like every other woman on the planet...struggling to lose weight, buying shoes from Payless. You were likeable. Everyone wanted to bring you home to meet their families, and then take you out to a buffet restaurant for dinner.

Then, you had surgery, but you would never admit you had surgery to lose weight. While this was insulting to the intelligence of the general public, most folks let it slide. But then you got engaged, and started whoring yourself on national televsions for freebies for your wedding. Star, who makes obscene money to sit on your ass and blather for an hour, not to mention a lawyer to boot, was seeking freebies. To make it worse, you married a man of somewhat questionable sexual orientation in the world's tackiest wedding aside from Britney Spears.

Then, the general public watched what was once a likeable person, into what appeared to be a drag queen. It would appear that the excess weight on your chin was holding your head in place, because once those extra chins departed, your nose drifted into the air, where it would remain to this day. Americans cannot relate to someone like this.

You did some red carpet thing for an award show. You sucked something awful.

We won't even discuss the boob job.

So, you flapped your yap and you found yourself unemployed. Rather than sit back and eat humble pie, you thought you could outclass Barbara Walters. Barbara, who has interviewed dignitaries, dictators, and everyone else in between. Barbara, who will go down in the annals of history for her contributions to journalism and feminism. You, Star, if you are lucky, will be just a footnote. You could never outclass Babs. She even oozed class when she "served" you on The View.

I hate to say it, but Oprah Winfrey has more class.

So, Star, just go away. We don't care about what happened. We don't care why you left, or where you are going. You have a law degree, why not put it to use? If you want to be honest with your fans, just send them an email, but quit whining about it. If you find yourself feeling down, eat a Twinkie, or play dress-up with your husband.

Don't go away mad...just go away.