Monday, December 31, 2007
I've given thought to 2007. I had to look back on previous posts to be reminded of everything I did this year. I got to return to my favorite place in the whole wide world (Caribbean). I reconnected with an old friend. I gave cancer the finger. I made my house a home. I laughed. I cried. I threw up more times this year than I have in my entire lifetime. Friends made. Love lost. Like a kaleidoscope, the entire picture changed with just the slightest of turns. Sometimes it was a good thing, sometimes it wasn't.
Someone asked me what my resolutions this year were. I resolved to not make any resolutions, because they end up falling by the wayside anyway. Yeah, I plan on going to the gym more, but that's because I'm a cheap bastard and paying money for something you don't take full advantage of is just plain stupid.
I guess maybe my biggest non-resolution is to not have as many expectations. I had a lot of them for 2007, and most all of them were met with disappointment.
So, here's to 2008.
Friday, December 28, 2007
What?!? I asked.
"My husband gave me a pearl necklace!" she replies. A doctor sitting nearby snorts and laughs. Tweener and I giggle and pass that knowing look. Smo clearly has no idea what is so funny. So, we enlighten her. She is clearly repulsed.
"From now on, just say he gave you jewelry."
Thursday, December 27, 2007
As of now, I don't have any plans. I've been asking around for ideas, but nothing has really made my socks go up and down. Oh sure, I could do what I did last year...stay at home and wait for my mother to drunk dial me.
I don't know what I want to do, but I would like to do something that won't result with me barfing in my rock garden again. The Melting Pot was fun, but damn expensive.
What are you guys doing?
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
You never know just who your friends are until you are puking in a rock garden in the most unglamorous way, and they are there to help out.
I worked the entire weekend, including Christmas Eve. I packaged all the Christmas confections in my house and took them to work, and they may have been the only saving grace for the weekend. My patients were assholes, but I had homemade peanut butter balls, and somehow, that made everything tolerable.
Christmas morning, I get off work and drive home. The PT has a gimpy tire, maybe two, so she shimmies when I drive her. I made an attempt over the weekend to get the car looked at, but with it being the last shopping weekend before Christmas, standard wait was two hours, and simply not doable for someone who was working the entire weekend. At one point, I had made Brother take the car out on Christmas Eve to get it fixed, but the tire place of choice was closed.
So anyway, I get home, frantically finish wrapping the rest of my gifts, and change out of my work clothes while Brother loads the car. We leave, only to turn around and return because we forgot the turkey. One turkey later, we're back on the highway, headed north to Redneck Brother's house. The PT shaking the entire way. At one point, I decide I'm too tired to drive, and let Brother take over. Instead of napping the rest of the way, I'm wide awake because Brother's driving scares me.
We arrive at Redneck Brother's house, and the unwrapping of the gifts ensue. The kids now own the entire contents of Toys R Us.
Dinner later: ham, taters, green bean casserole, etc.
Exhausted, I crawl into Nephew's bed for a nap. I think I manage to get one, too, before I awake to the most painful sound ever. A cross between someone who hasn't taken a healthy dump in three weeks, and someone who is getting their nutsack twisted off. I get up to investigate and find karaoke has been set up in the living room. I'm not talking about just some piddly little set-up you buy a Hellmart. No, this is the piddly set from Hellmart attached to a monstrous sound system. And some guy I've never seen before wailing into a microphone. The guy, turns out, is a friend of the family.
I love my Redneck Brother, but somewhere in life, someone has told him that he can sing. It wasn't me. Now, he fashions himself some sort of future country crooner, when in actuality, his singing reminds me of a manatee getting caught in a boat propeller. Redneck Brother wants to go sing at Harrah's for Lucky Break, with the rest of the retards that can't carry a tune.
Sister-In-Law gets up to sing, and everything goes from bad to worse. If Marianne Faithful gave birth to an Oompa Loompa, and that Oompa Loompa went on to have a child with Phyllis Diller and that child would go on to a singing career on cruise ships, you'd have my Sister-in-Law. Meanwhile, Mom and I are in the next room, trying not to die of laughter. It becomes increasingly difficult each time someone tries to hit a high note. When this happens, Sam starts barking...back at home in KC.
Mom and Mr. Recommendation leave. Sister-in-law is now inebriated and begins serenading Redneck Brother. I decide that I've had adequate sleep to make the drive home. I'll risk a bad tire incident before anymore of my favorite songs are further sodomized by my family.
So now it is five in the morning. I'm awake. Brother is in his room, having brought some skank over for a post-Christmas booty scratch. Apparently, with the demise of his relationship to Special Friend, Brother's response is to try to have sex with every skank who advertises their skankiness on MySpace. There's nothing quite as special as blogging about your holiday adventure with your family, while hearing coital noises coming from the room next door.
I think going deaf would be a fine alternative right now. Another hour of this, and I just might.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Rules: Paste the first line of your first post for each month, starting with January 2007.
January: Forgive my tardiness in blogging. I assembled my computer this week, only to find that the modem crapped out somewhere between the apartment and the house..
February: I was unable to go out and run any errands yesterday due to crappy streets, which forced me to engage in a sort of scramble today.
March: What. The. Hell.
April: After a two-hour long spiel from the water softener guy who came to my house (I did end up buying a system, in case you were wondering), I skimmed through the channels to see what was on.
May: My friend, Woody, came over this evening because he wanted to mow the yard.
June: By the new Walmart, they have been building some new stuff.
July: Yes, I went to the blogger meet up.
August: After Sam woke me up (little fuzzy bastard), I called my friend Trish, who suggested we go have lunch because I was planning on being in the Northland today anyway.
September: Friday night, we ordered Chinese take-out.
October: I thought I would start this Monday Musings because I usually have a bunch of random thoughts throughout the weekend, but usually don't have the time or the energy to sit down and actually write a full blown post about each and every little thing.
November: Initially, I didn't get any trick or treaters.
December: While I was in the shower, Lucy decided to snack on one of my work clogs.
In reading all these, it sounds like I have a very boring blog.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
So, I'm looking out my window, and it's snowing. Yawn. The KC Doomsday Squad is predicting, ohmygosh, 2-4 inches. Now, any woman will tell you that 2-4 inches is shameful and not even remotely close to getting excited about, but in Kansas City, it's enough to render everyone incapacitated. And on the busiest shopping weekend, too!
Just as long as roads are cleared enough when I go to work tonight.
Snow is really not a big deal to me, but I come from Colorado where they get real blizzards. I remember Mother Nature dropping 3 feet of the stuff in 1980, leaving Denver in a complete standstill. Cars were completely buried in parking lots. Snow drifts 6 feet or taller. It was awesome. The best part, it didn't come with the frostbiting temps that snow in the Midwest brings. It was snow that was actually fun to play in.
But enough of that nostalgic talk. The Storm of the Century is coming and we all must buy up all the bottled water and Spaghetti-O's.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Bosshole initially wanted to have it at his house, until he thought about having so many people in his house all at once. I had mentioned I would be willing to host it this year, and he pounced on that opportunity.
We had it Wednesday, and I spent the days preceding doing prep-work. On Monday, I cleaned the house, put up the loaner tree, and decorated it.Mom came over Tuesday and we made delicious Christmas confections ranging from popcorn balls, peanut butter balls, truffles, and chocolate dipped pretzels. Wednesday morning, I made a hundred jello shots in various flavors. I made a batch of no-bake cookies that never set-up right (they never do for me). I had Brother bring up folding chairs from the basement. I cleaned his toilet (shudder), and ran a couple other errands. I've been so busy, there was no time for blogging about it.
Party time arrived and the early people showed, including Bosshole. He had to come early so he could go get the food. Because he's from JoCo and most JoCo people are terrified of venturing into Missouri, especially Jackson County, I went with him so he wouldn't take a wrong turn and get lost, only to get sodomized or what JoCo people fear about coming east of the state line.
This year, we had our dinner catered by Salty Iguana. Twenty-six people signed up for the party, he ordered for forty people. Needless to say, we had a shit-ton of food. So much, I had to put the leaf in the dining room table.
When we got back to my house, more people had arrived and things were starting to get warmed up. It was BYOB, so everyone brought beer. For the night, we just set everything out on the deck because it was cool enough. I think there were about 10 different kinds of beer. One nurse brought three bottles of wine, and another brought a big bottle of bubbly.
Mexican food, libations, jello shots, peanut butter balls. Everyone was merry. Bosshole even got sauced and produced a personality. At one point, he perused the contents of my refrigerator, made fun of me for keeping my pancake mix in there (keeps it fresh, bitches!!), and announced to everyone that he was really good at making bunny-shaped pancakes, and he would be willing to make us pancakes later.
Meanwhile, Sam is the big hit of the party. He had gotten a bath that morning, so he was nice, white and fluffy. The groomer even sprayed him with marshmallow scented spray, so he was somewhat pleasant smelling. Everyone wanted to cuddle with Sam, Bosshole even wanted to take him home. They all said he was such a good dog.
If they only knew... (That's Toph with Sam, by the way. He's single, ladies!)
The White Elephant gift exchange rolls around and I manage to pull a bag with a pair of handcuffs (no key), and orange jumper from the Wyandotte County Jail. Don't ask me how they came to be in our possession.Sadly, I didn't get to keep the gift as another nurse took it. Her boyfriend had mentioned he would wear it next year for Halloween, which was funny because I was planning on making Mom wear it next year for Halloween.
I'm not sad about losing the cuffs, I already have a pair of my own. Mine are much nicer.
After the gift exchange, the crowd (roughly 30 or so) finish off the jello shots, the champagne, the wine, and most the beer. Someone decides it would be fun to go to The Levee. I manage to catch a ride with someone and a small group of us go there to see if we can kill off the rest of our livers. We close the place down and I am taken back to my house. Before I make it to my front door, I toss my cookies right there in the driveway. Mexican food, jello shots, and God knows what else, all over my little rock garden by the stairs.
The following day, my stomach makes certain it is completely empty, all day long. This includes water and bile. It sucks to be that sick. I'm never, ever doing that again. Detox must suck for alcoholics, and a hangover is just a taste of what they go through. Just thinking about it is making me queasy right now. However, I did try to drunk text some people, but didn't do it right. I'm going to have to have The D give me some pointers on that.
For the most part, the house has been put back together. I have three big bags of garbage, and a blue bin full of empty glass bottles in varying shapes and sizes. Now, I just need to get ready for Christmas. I have most the gifts bought, the rest are just going to be gift cards and money.
And maybe leftover beer.
Monday, December 17, 2007
That would be a short trip, actually. Like I said, I just came home from work, and I feel as though I've been bent over and sodomized. I don't do anal. That does not constitute as fun for me.
I had a patient go bad. When this happens, I get a horrible feeling in my stomach that feels like a big knot that I'm going to barf up at any given minute. When this happens, patients typically code and die, or they get sent to the ICU later and they die there. I don't feel this way about all my patients whose condition changes, just certain ones...and those are the ones that usually go down the toilet. I have a fairly good instinct about that sort of thing. It's almost frightening. One look at someone and I can tell that we are not going to have a fun time. I get the same feeling when I suspect a boyfriend cheating on me. It's a horrible feeling, and I'm 99.9% accurate. Why can't I be good at something else besides predicting doom and despair? Like knitting! I'd love to be good at knitting. But no, I'm good and sensing very, very bad things...with sickly patients and scandalous men.
I'm going to take a nap. Then, I'm going to wake up and look for a coupon. Then, I'm going to erect the loaner tree, maybe even decorate it. I have a lot of crap to do.
But first, that nap...
Saturday, December 15, 2007
It wasn't until later this evening that being the mental giant I am, put two and two together and figured out that Special Friend broke things off. Apparently, Brother liked her more than I thought, and what he previously alluded to. He's kind of secretive about how he feels.
It makes me sad to see him sad. He's like me in the respect that once we give our heart, we give our whole heart. And when that heart breaks, it breaks twice as hard. Mom always said that Brother was the tender-hearted one of the family, and she is right. For all his goofiness, crudeness, and shy nature, he is probably one of the most loving people I know.
It never helps to tell someone that they can do much better after they've been rejected. That while things didn't work out this time, they will down the road. That they deserve more. Or whatever sunshine you try to blow up their butt to make them feel better. No, such things have to learned on your own, in your own time.
Meanwhile, Not-So-Special Friend better not come around here anytime soon. I'll punch her in the face.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Heather dodged a bullet there. I loathe and despise sales. You can't give Ativan to an irate customer, no matter how much you want to. Instead, you have to toss their salad and use all kinds of flattering words to make them like you again. Giving Ativan is much easier. I'm not one for salad tossing anyway.
At any rate, life went on for the Lipo centers as the bored housewives of Johnson county flocked there in droves. I know it to be droves because my gynecologist office is in the same office complex. Only they had a much fancier sign. And the bored housewives in their big-assed SUV's that took up two parking spaces because they don't know how to park said SUVs, leaving Heather to gimp five miles back to her car after her vajayjay and related parts had been violated by the gyn's tools of death.
Not that I'm bitter or anything...
Anyhoo...then Lipo changed their name to Fig, which was short for figure, but conjured up images of some sort of dried up fruit that you found in breads and fruit cake, and the leaf that covered up Eve's delicate girly parts. I thought the name Fig was retarded, but bored housewives of Johnson county that had more dollars than sense still flocked to it, taking up two parking spots at a time.
Now, beady-eyed bored Johnson County housewives are all in a lather because Fig is closed for business. Paying obscene amounts of money for a procedure that was neither FDA approved, nor guaranteed to work. Think about it: someone injects some substance into your fatty bits and your fatty bits dissolve. Just where in the hell did people think the fatty bits were going to go??? Thin air??? At least with regular liposuction, you see your fatty bits go into a canister.
Dissolved fatty bits don't just convert into energy to be released into the atmosphere to combat global warming. Dissolved fatty bits have options! They can either vacate their current homes, only to go reside elsewhere in your body that haven't been poked (your ass being an option), or they can get all stubborn and not leave their current residence. Instead, they harden up into knots, giving you (the bored housewife who dropped thousands for this procedure instead of investing in a gym membership) the finger, and defiantly alerting the rest of the body, "Hell No! We Won't Go!!"
So now, not only do we have bored Johnson County housewives out thousands for a procedure they either had and failed miserably, or hadn't gotten around to having it done yet, but we also have those nurses (the ones who left stable jobs to go into this venture), having their final paychecks bounce.
It's just a crappy situation all the way around.
It would be sad if I didn't find stupid people so damn amusing!
Seriously. Why would you ever go have and invasive procedure that wasn't approved by the FDA? Why would you work for a company that sells medical intervention that is not approved nor regulated by the FDA? Advocates of the lipodissolve couldn't even begin to explain how it worked...they knew it just did...sometimes. It killed fat cells, sure, but it also killed any kind of cell it came in contact with...which is why you now have some clients with pits and holes where tissue used to be. It's called necrosis. It literally means cell death.
Don't people research this crap??
I hear battery acid is pretty good at dissolving fat, but that doesn't mean I'm going to draw up a big syringe of it and inject it in my ass. However, if I were to open up an office promising work-free weight loss by injecting battery acid in your fatty bits, I'd have a clientele list a mile long, and none of those people would question my method...as long as it worked...half the time. And when I finally was forced to close my doors, soccer mom's wouldn't be mad because my practice was dangerous, they would be mad I closed before they could get their treatments.
Now if you excuse me, I'm going to the gym to spend some quality time on the elliptical machine.
Why would I be worried?
When I went out today to replenish my stock of Theraflu, I noticed a house a block away from mine had half a tree sitting on their house and driveway. The tree just split right down the middle of the trunk. Lucky for the tree, a Lincoln Towncar happened to break it's fall, leaving the back window shattered, the trunk squished, and the owner standing there very, very distraught.
Granted, the car wasn't parked in a garage, but still...the idea of a damaging tree is enough to freak me out. Especially since I now hear the falling of ice chunks and the cracking noise which may or may not be coming from a large tree that is slowing splitting in half.
When I bought this house, I thought having mature trees was such a great thing. My house is SURROUNDED by mature trees. In fact, the youngest tree in the neighborhood happens to be the little dogwood that is in my backyard. I have a huge tree in front of my house. Two huge trees in the foreclosed house next door, and four grown trees in the backyard (not including the dogwood). Thankfully, powerlines do not run by my house.
(On a side note, Redneck Brother has been without power since the storm hit, and probably won't get restored for another couple of days.)
So, I'm going to go to bed now. I'm going to try not to think of falling trees. I'm going to try to forget the sight of the smooshed towncar. I'm going to pray that I don't wake up to a maple tree in my office.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
All in all, I thought the ice storm was pretty pud, which worked out for Brother because he never got around to buying sandbags for Oprah. Sure, we got the ice, but then the rain came, the temps rose, and the ice started melting. Of note, I have a big tree in the back yard that has a branch that now hangs three feet from the ground when it used to be eight feet.
I'm sick...AGAIN. It started Saturday when I went to work. I felt kind of blah, but I just attributed it to the weather. However, temperature watch revealed mine going higher and higher as the night progressed. The charge nurse called the nursing supervisor to tell her they had a sick nurse that needed to go home (me). This particular nursing supervisor is a big, fat sow that everyone in the entire hospital loathes gleefully tells my charge that there is no one available to replace me, and we were SOL.
Bitch. No wonder she's single and no one wants to have sex with her.
Anyway, I had to stay and finish out my shift. Coughing, fever-running, miserable, light-headed, and borderline hostile. Ironically enough, crotchety old supervisor never reared her ugly head on my floor...which worked out for her because I would have coughed on her and wiped my hands on her lab coat straight away.
By morning, it was decided I would not be returning to work Sunday night. Not to mention there were about half a dozen nurses who were paranoid that they had caught whatever I had.
So, I've been home since then. Me and good old Theraflu. I don't know about Nyquil and the Green Coma, but this Theraflu is pretty good stuff! It even makes you feel warm on the inside after you drink some. However, it tastes nothing like cherries. Sadly, I just ran out today, so I will probably have to venture outside tomorrow to go buy more.
I don't feel nearly as crappy as I did Sunday, but my ears are still full of fluid. If I turn my head too fast, I get dizzy and I have to sit down.
Being sick sucks ass. It seems I was just sick. I think I caught this bug when my immune system was still weakened from the last one.
I'm still treeless...but I figure I have time to put something up for next week's Christmas party. Maybe I can hang some ornaments on one of my potted plants...
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Men are cads and cheat on their spouses. So this is not news. The part that I found interesting is the details. Paul and his own, ahem, Special Friend, were going at it like hamsters in every nook and cranny in that courthouse. This same courthouse where defendants of morality gather to protect our eternal salvation from questionable Halloween costumes.
I find it hard to swallow (pun definitely intended) that this Linda was sexually harassed. Maybe she calls it that because "skanky whore" isn't available. She's probably pissed because Morrison gave her a crappy engagement ring. Not to mention he never left his wife.
Here's hoping that Paul's wife drops his ass like a heavy turd after a chili dinner.
Next time I hear the righteous wind coming from the Kansas border, I'll know it's just a fart.
I also have an issue with celebrities who feel their endorsement can make the difference between winning or losing elections. Sean Penn being one. However, Oprah is one of the few who probably can and will influence how people will vote this election. Everything she praises turns into the "must have" from books, to chefs, to whatever she features on her show.
Which brings me to the scary part.
The realization that some people will cast their vote based solely on celebrity endorsement, instead of actually taking a moment to research the candidate. A lot of people out there will say, "If he's good enough for Oprah, he's good enough for me." I think that's what Oprah is counting on, the vast legion of bored housewives who cling to her every word.
I don't know enough about ol' Barry to have an opinion...I'm still deciding. However, Oprah peddling Obama is akin to Michael Jordan and Nike. Mary Lou Retton and a box of Wheaties. People need to be smarter, and not so enamoured with celebrity endorsements that they cast their vote without a second thought. It's okay if you're just buying a pair of shoes, or a book. It's not okay when electing the next leader of the free world.
Maybe if people actually put more effort into actually learning about who the candidates are, they would stop electing assclowns to office.
It's your vote, folks. Use it wisely. Don't piss it away just because the candidate is Oprah's current Favorite Thing. The idea is so scary, it makes me want to vote for Hillary.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Oprah has gotten quite peppy with her makeover. This is definitely not the cold-hearted heifer I drove during my nursing school days.
I went to a couple local places that had pre-cut Christmas trees. Ordinarily, I prefer to go cut my own, but anytime I asked Brother to go and help with the task, he merely exclaims, "Christmas sucks!" before going to the bathroom to homestead on the toilet.
Anyway, I looked over what the pre-cut tree places had to offer. I have fairly tall ceilings in my living room, so I wanted a fairly tall tree. I figured 7-8 feet would work, but pre-cut people wanted a minimum of $60 for a 6 foot tree. Whatever! I refuse to pay that much money for something I'm going to use as kindling this time next year.
I contemplated buying a fake tree, but scoffed at that notion because that goes against my buy-it-after-Christmas philosophy.
I've got a few other options, and I still have a week or so.
Now, I'm working. Dinner wasn't that great at home (because I wasn't really hungry). That changed by the time I stopped by Quick Trip on my way to work, and I bought one of their corn dogs sans the stick.
If you get anything out of reading this blog, let it be that you never, ever eat a corn dog from Quick Trip. It was horrible. HORRIBLE!! Good thing they were only $.99, or I would have been really pissed.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
I called and priced food for the party. I don't know what would be a good price considering most places charge per person than just a flat rate for a big pan of enchiladas. We'll discuss it further at our little informal committee meeting.
I also went shopping. Bought some warm sweaters, then had to go buy some new foundation garments a.k.a bras.
You men have it easy. You don't have buy anything to support your nuts. They just sort of hang out and do their own little thing, free to move about in the warm confines of your boxers or tighty-whities. The only time they have to be holstered in a cup is when you play sports, and even then your options are small, medium, large, and extra large.
But not for women. Instead, we have to take ten million measurements before we figure out our bra size: circumference with the boob, without the boob, the lunar phase of the moon, the heat index, and fiber content of a bowl of Malt-o-Meal. Chocolate flavored.
Then there is the style. Underwire? No wire? No wire that pretends to be an underwire? Padding? Inflated balloon you can insert that push your boobs to just under your chin? Full coverage? Demi? Pasties?
Don't forget about what fabric!! Cotton? Cotton-poly blend? Lace? Sequins? Sandpaper??
I miss those days when I could just go to Hell Mart and pick up a bra for less than $10 and it fit comfortably. That was when I was a teenager, before my boobs exploded in a fit of pubescent hormonal rage. Now, I have to buy them at a department store, because to be endowed with generous bosoms, means comfortable bras are a little harder to come by. One ill-fitting bra can ruin your entire week, not to mention could poke the eye out of some innocent bystander.
At the end of the day, I found two bras (which were exactly the same). Because I was grumpy and needed something to lift my spirits, I bought new underwear as well.
I'm tired...I think I'll go to bed now. I just throw some laundry in the washer before I do so I can kill off one more thing on my list.
1. Buy Christmas tree. A real one. I'll buy a fake one after Christmas when they all go on sale.
2. Do laundry. I have a shit ton of dirty laundry. All my Christmas socks are dirty.
3. Get pricing for Christmas party catering. I'm hosting the work Christmas party this year...and Bosshole gave us a budget for food. How about Mexican? Everyone loves a good taco.
4. Go shopping. For more clothes. So I can have more laundry to wash.
5. Erect tree and decorate it. Not nearly as sexy as it sounds.
6. Hit the grocery store. Brother cleaned the fridge of all the cheese.
I'm sure there are other things I need to do. Damned if I can't remember what they are. I'm going to be lucky if I get this list completed.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
So...what would you do, if your doctor told you that you had only two weeks left in your life?
What would you do?
Saturday, December 01, 2007
I, on the other hand, believe that everyone is going to get cancer sooner or later, because everything causes cancer. Studies show that every single object in the free world causes cancer in lab rats. So, I guess you could say we are all screwed.
But at least these new findings give me some leverage to ask for hazard pay.
I now have to order another pair of clogs. And I have to pay full price.
Brother ditched out this weekend so he could go deer hunting. How crappy is that? He brings over Special Friend's dog, dumps her off, then splits for the weekend. As gratitude for me watching her without discussing it with me first, she eats one of my $100 clogs.
And Brother thinks it's funny. I've already informed him (while he was sitting in a tree stand) that he will be replacing my shoes.
Meanwhile, I'm going to put Lucy in his room and see what she can chew up.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Then, crap started to fall apart about 6:30am, and by fall apart, I mean I started to have technical difficulties.
I'm just going to chill out at home tonight. Poke through my many boxes of Christmas decorations. Try to figure out if I want a real tree or a fake tree.
Maybe the weekend will be better.
I'm so glad this NaBloPoMo thing is almost over. It has sucked the joy out of blogging. Nothing ever becomes fun and enjoyable when you have to do it. I'll be happy to go back to blogging when I feel like it. Then, I can stop posting boring shit like this very post here.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The family featured a mom, a dad, and their six children...all living in the crappiest trailer I've seen. Well, maybe not the crappiest, but certainly in the top five...top ten. It was really crappy. The three sons slept on the couch, the three girls slept in their own little room on beds that didn't have sheets. Instead of curtains, they had blankets and sheets up. The place was as stereotypical as one could get as far as mobile homes go....so was the family, whom I am confident could tell you the glories of government cheese.
So, Bill Engvall and his team go in and pretty much rebuild this trailer and make it southern fried fabulous. The boys get their own room, the girls get their own room (with sheets on the bed!). The parents get their room redone with curtains (it looks like a hotel room). The end result doesn't look bad, and it's a HUGE improvement from their living conditions before.
The family returns to the trailer park for the big reveal. The entire trailer park turns out and you'd be hard pressed to spot a woman wearing a bra in that group. Mother (in her bleach-blond, black-rooted goodness) blathers about how she's a new person with this new house. She's a new Mom now!!
What?!? They just redid your house, they didn't give you a personality makeover. You're still a dumbass on welfare.
With all the new things that came with the newly remodeled trailer (flat panel plasma television, computer, gas bbq grill, all stainless appliances in the kitchen, furniture, etc), the thing that the parents are most excited about...they have their own soda dispenser in the shed.
I've only seen the one show. I don't know if they have any others, but I checked the website. If the show wasn't entertaining enough, you can peruse the message boards. Everyones got a sad story to tell, and everyone wants to know how they can get their trailers made over as well. It's enough to make me salivate over the prospect of new trailer park shows on the horizon. It's like being able to observe life in the park, without the fear of being caught.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Brother and Special Friend, Mom and Mr. Recommendation, and myself plus a girlfriend from work (Jen) who is fun to hang around. Redneck Brother was supposed to go as well, but in true form, he flaked out at the last minute. His wife probably didn't want to get out of bed that early. Redneck Brother used to be a Man's Man. Now, he's the biggest Pussy-Whipped Candy Ass I've ever seen. It's enough to fill it's own post.
Anyway, everyone rides in Mr. Recommendation's minivan to the stadium, where we park far, far way and walk to our tailgating party. Free drinks, free food, and a lady selling purses was also passing around jello shots.
A few hours and three trips to the porta-johns later, we finally went into the stadium. We found our seats: nine rows from the field next to the end zone, and found some older guy camping out in our chairs. After told him he was sitting in our seats, he just stood there and stared at us. What? Like we're going to go find different seats? He finally realized we weren't going anywhere and he left. Some douche bags are like that. They pay for the cheap seats, then hone in on better seats that might not be occupied. Only this guy didn't care if they were occupied.
The game commences and I fight to stay awake. That's how exciting the game was. I didn't see anything amazing happen on the field, so I just sat there, waiting for the next time I had to go use the toilet.
Lucky us, the Chiefs Preening Squad has set up shop right in front of us. I thought they might be better than last year. I thought wrong. It's not just me, either. At one point, Mom leaned over to me and said, "The Chiefs Cheerleaders don't have much rhythm." Agreed. Out of sync, out of lines. I concluded that our cheerleader squad's only real function is to pose for swimsuit calenders. Oh joy, Creepy Seat Grabber guy returns and parks in the seat in front of us after some other guy took his little boy to the bathroom. Mom told him they would be returning, but he ignored her. Sure enough, Dad and Son come back. Dad waves creepy guy off with a large hand attached to a muscular arm.
Halftime! They start laying tracks and when kids on bicycles appear, it's apparent they are going to do tricks. I remember a time when the Chiefs used to invite high school marching bands to do halftime at Arrowhead. What happened to those days??
The second half goes with as much excitement as the first. I'm still trying to stay awake, and I have used the bathroom twice since the game started. No lines the first time, the second time, there was a line, in addition to a female employee of the stadium that was directing women to empty stalls. Much like those guys at the airport direct the planes to the terminals. It leads me to wonder: How do you land a job directing bathroom traffic? What are the qualifications for such a job? What kind of training do you get?
Jen and I decide we want something to drink. Some people were drinking fruity looking beverages out of football shaped glasses. It reminded me of fruit punch, and I wanted one. Jen and I go to the vending areas and I see that the fruity drink is a Chiefs Hurricane, and is $8.50. My miserly sense overcomes my thirst for fruit punch (which I'm sure is all it tasted like). Jen buys an iced soda and puts her youngest child up for collateral. I stand in the hot chocolate line, but decide I want a funnel cake instead. And some cotton candy for later after I go home and read a book. The young girl working the stand tells me my total is $10.25. I give her a $20. She grabs a fistful of money out of her cash box then pauses. She looks at me, looks at Jen, looks at the money.
"Did you give me a $20?" she asked. I nodded. She stares at me for a minute, then her money. I cast a look to Jen, who is trying not to laugh.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Afterwards, Mom and I had lunch at Corner Cafe where I bought a bag of their delicious homemade croutons I can have in tomato soup later tonight. Lunch finished, I dropped her off at home before stopping by my storage shed and picking up more boxes to take to the house. Most of the boxes this time had Christmas decorations.
Right now, I'm going to take a nap. Then, I am going to get up, make neat and tidy around the house, then assess my Christmas decorations and see what I want to drag out. Everything else will go in the attic.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
But speaking of Mangina...I keep hearing these references to cupcakes. Because it is mentioned so often, I figure there has to be a story behind it. No one I work with could figure it out either.
So...what's the story with the cupcakes???
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Didn't people learn anything from Titanic??
Cruise ships + icebergs = bad vacation
Next time, book in the Caribbean. The only ice you'll find there is in your drink. Just the way nature intended.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Instead, I just stayed in my nice, toasty house. In my nice, toasty bed.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
If there is one universal truth in my family, every word, no matter how innocent, can be construed to be something naughty. Dinner begins and Brother makes his little remarks, Mom joins in...all innocent words with hidden meaning. Then, Special Friend blurts out that Brother needs to start drinking more pineapple juice.
I hope he remembered to stop by the store and pick up some pineapple juice.
Mom and Mr. Recommendation are en route.
Brother is currently in the shower, sucking all the hot water out of the 40 gallon tank.
Sam is in the back yard, barking at leaves.
I need to get dressed and go make pie.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Overall, the night went well. I got slapped with the charge nurse hat again. Fortunately, there was a good team of nurses working, and I didn't have to worry about gross negligence. Unfortunately, patients will do their own little thing, and one decided to code before the end of the shift.
I hate it when things like that happen around the holidays. God should have a "no expiration rule" starting from November 1st to January 15th.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I just woke up.
I have to start getting ready for work early because I remembered that today is Taco Night.
I haven't prepared jack.
Looks like a stop to HyVee on my way to work is in order. Maybe I will just buy a big, fat brownie platter.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Our unit has a bunch of computers on wheels, which we call cows (Computers On Wheels). In an effort to bring some light in a rather painful experience, some of us nurses named some of them. It not only made for smiles, but also enabled us to tell who's computer was who's for the shift. We only got three named: Mac and Cheese, Lil Devil, and Rastus.
The next night, we reported for work and the fun little name stickers we made were gone. We queried as to why.
Day Nurse: We felt it was not very professional looking.
Me: I heard no such complaints.
DN: One was even offensive.
Me: Which one??
DN: Rast Ass.
Me: You mean Rastus? Rast-Us? Can you not read??
DN: Well, we're going to give them numbers instead of names, and we're going to use the little label maker.
And they wonder why morale sucks? Because some people suck all the joy right out of our jobs, and relish in doing so. These people are Bossholes in training.
Not that just the night nurses were mumbling about the killjoys of the unit, but I heard day nurses mumbling as well. So, it's not a shift thing.
I've really got to get my transfer papers in order.
Mom just left the house. She came over and we went on a preemptive shopping strike. Everyone waits until Wednesday to buy their Thanksgiving meal crap. We thought we'd be clever and go tonight. Our first stop: Costco, where their turkeys were roughly the size of small chickens.
After that, we went to the dreaded Land of Sam where thousands of people had the same idea. Fortunately, the turkeys were bigger. Unfortunately, we had to wait in the checkout line forever...and we still didn't get everything we needed.
This will mark the first time I have hosted the Thanksgiving feast. Mom is going to help with food preparations. It should be good. I'll try to take lots of pictures.
Now, I must do some cleaning, staying up as late as possible. I'm working extra tomorrow. Christmas is approaching, and I haven't even thought about buying gifts yet.
My old hometown has a myspace page. Actually, to call it my hometown is a bit of a stretch because I only lived there for two years then got the hell out after I graduated high school. Population under 800, no stoplights, one-car police department, and the only thriving things about this place was the gas station/grocery store, and the local pub that I waited tables at during my junior year. Incidentally, farmers are the worst tippers. Ever.
So, I get this email from the person who created this hometown myspace tribute. The county rag is doing a blurb in their paper about the myspace page. Apparently, a slow news week. At any rate, the letter beseeches us to post a comment about the town, a memory, something that the county paper could possibly include in this news story.
I sat back and thought about what sort of comment I could write, something worthy of mentioning in paper (probably next to the school lunch menu for the week). I couldn't come up with jack. Truth be told, I really hold no love for that place. Too many bad memories crammed into two years. And the town was full of really strange people. Yeah, it can boast that the guy who was the lead singer of Paul Revere and the Raiders was from there, but there was also a guy who would walk through town wearing combat boots and a loincloth. I don't think I could put that as a comment, though.
Maybe I could write: "Whenever I think of this place, I get nauseated and my ass twitches." I'm sure they wouldn't print it, but at least it would be an honest answer.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Good luck with that.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
I nearly bit the head off one of the Happy Helpertons who was trying to help me figure out why I couldn't do the simple task of printing labels. When you see a sick nurse trying to manage a new computer system that has more bells and whistles than a spaceship, it's not a good idea to be perky, happy, and cheerful. That is almost begging to get your ass kicked. Or at least coughed on.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
I understand that the dollar isn't as strong as the euro. I understand that. However, I don't need dumbass celebrities telling me that I'm not cool because I still deal with dollars. I care about that about as much as I care about Sean Penn telling me who he's voting for and why I should vote the same way.
Because I'm a kind and generous person, I am willing to step up to the plate and offer a home to the unwanted, unsavory American currency. I will open my home to all the Bens, Georges, Andrews and Abes who want a warm place to stay, roof over their heads, and food in their bellies. And when they regain their strength and self-esteem, they can happily resume residence in my checking accounts.
Heather's Home for Unwanted Dollars
I'm sure I could come up with some people who would also be willing to volunteer their time, even their own homes. It might be a struggle, but I'm sure we could get by.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
This same practice applies to any store that has their own label: Target, Walmart, Costco.
I heart Gray Goose. However, I don't heart how much it costs.
So, I go to the doctor, and am ushered into an exam room. The nurse takes a swab of my throat and does a rapid strep test. Negative, she happily tells me. No shit! I had a series of strep occurrences five years straight once. I know all about strep throat.
Then, some other doctor comes in, and I suspect she's related to the doctor who saw me when I gouged my hand open. She tells me to open my mouth, but isn't happy that she can't see, so she tells me she's going to have to "be a meanie". She grabs a tongue depressor and proceeds to pry my face open with it.
"Oooohhh! You still have tonsils!!" she says. Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?
She goes on to tell me that she can neither tell if it's bacterial or virus, but would I like a prescription for antibiotics anyway? Ah. She's one of those doctors. My PCP is from the school that antibiotics should only be a last resort. I'm along the same way of thinking. I prefer to allow my body's immune system to fight stuff off. If you ask me, antibiotics are overused WAY to much for every sniffle, cough, and sneeze. This is why we now have problems with crap that antibiotic resistant. At least I can rest easy at night. I didn't contribute to this problem.
The doctor then waves a bottle of Flonase in my face and tells me to use it to help with the congestion. "What congestion?!?" I whisper. At this point, I'm really sorry I can't yell. The good doctor looks puzzled for a minute.
Doc: You no want Flonase?
Me: No. It doesn't work.
Doc: You can take this home and try again!
Me: I have three of those things at home already!!
The doc then puts away her Flonase, writes me out a prescription (even though I didn't want it), and tells me just to get lots of rest and drink lots of water. Before she leaves, I catch her attention and whisper one word: mono! She pauses like this never occurred to her, but then tells me it could be mono...but there is no cure for it because it's a virus.
Well, no shit, Sherlock!
I tell her I want a mono test ran to rule it out, and she agrees. Before she leaves, she offers some parting advice.
"If it mono, don't play any contact sports because you can rupture spleen."
What!?! Look at me!! Do I look like I play contact sports??? (Although I did have a high school history teacher/football coach always say making out was a contact sport...he was later caught stealing Playboys from the local Gas and Go.)
Before I leave the office, I stop at the lab and they draw my blood. Because I dehydrated, my veins suck and the lab tech struggles. She gets a little blood and we both decide it's going to be enough. I'll be damned if she's going to go fishing in my veins again.
So, now I wait for the results of the test. If it is mono, I'm S.O.L. There is no treatment for it...just ride it out. If it is mono, I just have to refrain from kissing anyone, or sharing drinking glasses. And take lots of naps.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
So, I'm wandering around the store when I feel like someone is following me. I use my peripherals and my suspicions are confirmed. I pull into the juice isle, hoping to lose him, and pull off to the side. I spin around and he is practically on top of me. Unable to curse obscenities at him, I just cast the glare of death. Unapologetic, he reaches behind me and grabs a bag of Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. Tubby didn't realize that he almost got kneed in the junk for Peanut Butter Cups. Douchebag.
Moving along, I stop by the frozen food isle. It's amazing how many low-fat, low-calorie, low-flavor frozen dinners there are to chose from...and they all taste like ass. Right there in the middle of the Healthy Choice and the Lean Cuisine, were the Blue Bunny Ice Cream Sandwiches in the seasonal flavors. Way to go assholes. Somewhere in Kansas City, is a person who is binging on Egg Nog ice cream sandwiches when they actually meant to buy the Baked Chicken and Roasted Pepper dinner.
After purchasing toilet paper and a couple other necessities, I leave the store and right there in the handicap spot is the ugliest, most ghettofied car. Ever. A white, late model Ford Crown Vic with the biggest dubs I have ever seen. So much, the car was higher off the ground than most pick-up trucks. To make it even more hideous, the car was decked out with a shit ton of chrome. Even at that hour, people were stopping to look at it, but not out of admiration. I saw one black lady shake her head and say, "Hot Ghetto Mess". I'm sure she would have liked to have found the owner of the car and smacked them upside the head for making the entire African American population look bad.
I feel the same way whenever I watch Jerry Springer.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Anyway, resident suggested I get a bulbous sucker thingie and try to irrigate my nasal canal that way. So, I bought the nasal sucker thingie and tried it. Didn't work. I was lamenting my sinus problems last night when Toph suggested something called a Neti pot. After some brief research, I thought I would give it a try. So, I stopped by Walgreens on my way home and bought one.
I was sorta hoping to find the kit with the cute little blue pot, but instead I ended up with the kit that looked a lot like a gravy boat. I hurried home with my purchases, let the dog out, and set up shop in the bathroom. I took the little gravy boat, filled it with warm water, emptied a packet of sinus wash mix into the gravy boat and stirred it with the little plastic spoon that came with the kit.
While my sinuses seem to be clean, whatever I have has uprooted and moved further down the respiratory tract. My voice is completely gone. I'm so tired, that when I walk from my room to the kitchen, I feel like I should stop by the living room and take a nap on the couch.
The best part? My house is playing host to a home decor party. A friend is using my house for the shin-ding because her house is being remodeled. From the sounds of it, everyone from work is going to be there. If I don't feel any better, I think I shall just lock myself in my room and let everyone else do whatever they want in the house.
Meanwhile, I'm busy making homemade chicken and noodles. Complete with some homemade dumplings.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Friday, November 09, 2007
But now I'm wondering if this is maybe not an allergy problem, but rather something more sinister.
My throat feels like someone rubbed it with sandpaper. My tonsils (what's left of them) are the size of golf balls, plus I feel like my airway is smaller than it was last week.
Other than that...I feel fine from the neck down. I'm not running a fever or anything.
I don't want to be intubated or anything, especially since the respiratory therapy department is giving me the cold shoulder right now.
Oprah is insured! The best part (aside from getting my car back all to myself) is that I got a multiple car discount with my insurance company. Woo hoo!
Brother is now going to unleash her upon the streets of Kansas City...right after he washes my car.
May God have mercy on your souls.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Can you guess which category I belong in?
What does it mean to be a charge nurse? You have the standard staffing decisions...which nurse takes which patients. You have to decide where the new admits go. You get to talk to cranky residents who demand to speak to the charge nurse. There's extra paper work involved. Once in a while, you get to serve as a mediator between unhappy patient, and frustrated nurse.
Doing the staffing doesn't bother me too much. I just throw some names down on the paper, and usually the day nurses are content...unless it's the ones who complain about everything. You could tell them that their job is to stand outside the parking garage and wave to everyone as they left...and they would complain that it's too much work. I've been known to tell the chronic whiner that I'm not fielding complaints that morning before they have a chance to start in. I don't pour over the assignments too much. From my personal experience and observations, there are some things in life that you just fuck up even more because you've given it too much thought. It pisses me off when someone agonizes for hours on assignments. I've had many a crappy night due to their brilliant skills in deductive reasoning.
Assigning admits isn't too bad. You have an empty bed, you stick a patient in there. Not too complicated. The only time the charge nurse needs to actually grow a pair is when those trolls down in admitting try to slide a patient in that is not suitable for our floor. Sneaky bastards, they are. Because I'm notorious for being an asshole and catching them in their nefarious schemes, I'm confident they have a picture of me posted down in their office that they routinely throw darts at.
We don't come across cranky residents too often, and when we do, usually it's from a misunderstanding. The residents have grasped the general idea that when they are mean to the nurses, we are going to hang their asses out to dry the first chance we get. Everyone plays nice and gets along...for the most part.
It's that last part of charging that I hate.
There are those occasions that arise where the nurse and the patient are just a bad match. Or when the nurse is a complete dumbass and the patient has figured this out within the first five minutes of meeting them. Sometimes, the patient is unhappy because we are not fulfilling their narcotic requirement in a way that is pleasing to the patient (but probably illegal in most states). Whatever the case may be, patients will sometimes ask for another nurse. Sometimes, they will ride out the shift with the nurse in question, then just request not to have him/her back. In more extreme cases, the patient demands a staff change right then and there.
(In one case long ago, a patient was racist and didn't want a black nurse taking care of her, despite the fact that this nurse was one of the best ones on our floor. The charge nurse (and my role model) then assigned the dumbest nurse on the floor (who happened to be white) to take over their care.)
Such was the case recently when I got to wear the charge hat. I was approached by a nurse, who had the misfortune of being flagged down by an unhappy patient. She reported that this patient didn't like her nurse who was taking care of her...just on sight alone. Therefore, she wanted another nurse. If she wasn't going to get a different nurse, she was threatening to leave.
Heavy sigh, and I go to the patient room. I introduce myself, and prepare to hear the tirade of why this nurse in question was so evil. She was mean. She was rough. She was rude. Etc. Etc.
Patient: I was in the ICU, and I saw her there.
Me: Uh hmm
Patient: And she and her whole group were smoking crack in my room. There were at least a dozen of them.
Patient: Yes, they are just a bunch of crack heads, and I've had crackheads before. And I don't want any part of it.
At this point, I really am rendered speechless (if you knew the type of environment our ICU is, you would know this to be impossible), so I sputter that I will investigate the matter further and come up with a viable solution. I leave the room and find the nurse in question (did I mention that she probably could qualify for the seniors discount at IHOP?).
Me: Uhhh...your patient in room 10...
Me: Well...do they have any, uh, psych issues?
Nurse: Yes, a few. Why do you ask?
Me: (dryly) Because you really need to stop smoking crack in front of them. All twelve of you.
Because we are insanely busy, I decide to take this over this patients care. The patient is over the moon that the charge nurse is now taking care of her. She now feels like a VIP. Situation solved!
I hate psych patients. They teach you all kinds of "therapeutic communication techniques" in nursing school...none of which work in the real world. Psych patients are live happily in their own little reality, and there is nothing you do or say that is going to change that.
God only knows what the patient told day shift about me the next day. That I drug a stripper pole in the room and practiced for a part time gig at Diamond Joe's or that I had a wild orgy with twelve circus midgets in her room.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
After that, I drove to Walfarts to pick up some items, namely carpet shampoo because some furball barfed on the carpet. First, I wandered back to the seasonal stuff to look at Christmas stuff. You know, I could actually get enthusiastic this year. I have a house, and I have room for decorations. I could even hang lights outside if I wanted to. I'd really like to find a Festivus Pole to put in the front yard.
After that, I grabbed the things on my list and found a line to wait in.
Walmart has a shit-ton of check out lanes. On any given day, where they might have 50 registers, only five of those are open. Naturally, I end up in the line behind the family that has three carts LOADED with groceries. To make it even better, the clerk was new.
So, I stood there. Perused a couple magazines, watched the family unload their mountainous carts (and judging from the content, their house is the home of fabulous home-cooked Hispanic dishes), pondered the meaning of life, and tried to figure out a way to get invited to that family's house for dinner sometime. Finally, an hour later, it was my turn to check out. I'm sure my frozen burritos had fully thawed by that time.
Another clerk appeared and the two began to squabble about the fact that the store is out of bags. This went on FOREVER. The Great Walmart Bag Shortage of 07!! The older of the two clerks sighed.
"All jobs come with stress." She looked at me, "I bet you have stress at work, too."
"Yeah," I said blandly. "People die."
Yes, I know. I'm an asshole.
On a side note, the Redneck Brother has been calling the house all day, leaving messages for Brother to call him. Considering that Brother worked last night and has been sleeping, and that I also work nights, I have the courtesy to wait until he wakes up before telling him to call Redneck Brother.
Knowing him, he either wants money, or he wants to try to get Brother to trade him Oprah for a bicycle or a sleeping bag. Redneck Brother is such a shiester. It comes from Dad's side of the family.
I think I'm going to turn in for a nap now.
Opponents are trying to make it into a race issue. Whatever. KCMO School District sucks wet donkey nuts, and I don't blame parents for not wanting their children in that system. During my college experience, I encountered people who had graduated within the KC district with a perfect GPA, only to not be able to read past a sixth grade level. And isn't the KCMOSD still not accredited?? Nice.
If I had kids, I wouldn't want them to attend any of the KC schools. It's not because of some conjured up race issue. It's painfully obvious that the KCMO School Board cares more about money and power, than whether or not your kid can pass the ACT.
When I went through the whole house-buying process, I paid attention to school boundaries, even though I don't have kids of my own. Why? Because I know that's what people with children pay attention to when they buy houses. To not be on that inept school district means I have a better chance of selling the house (when that time comes).
I've always felt the KCMOSD was too big to manage. Too many kids fell through the cracks. Maybe if it were smaller, people would find it easier to maintain...just like the 'burbs. I think that once those schools are out of the KC clutches, we're going to see just how bad the inner city school are in terms of test scores. Maybe it will force people to address an issue that they have been ignoring until now. It shouldn't be about taxes and property values. It should be about education.
I don't think I can vote on the succession issue, but I would vote for it if I could.
Monday, November 05, 2007
I just got home from dinner with Mom and Mr. Recommendation at Fuddruckers. I had never been there before, and I am happy to say I will be going back. The best hamburgers. Ever. However, I'm so full, I feel like I could take a good purge...and I didn't even get a big burger. However, the girl at the next table got the one-pounder, and inhaled it in less than 10 minutes. The thought of that makes me want to take a purge as well.
Mr. Recommendation reports acquiring tickets to the Chiefs-Raiders game later this month, including parking passes, and before/after game tailgating hosted by one of the vendors (i.e. free food and beverages). All I need to do, is find a date. Any takers?
Instead of subjecting myself to reruns tonight, I'm going to slip into my pajamas and watch Bubba Ho Tep.
Thank you very much.
Brother and 'bert stood in the driveway and tweaked with the engine, and I watched from the porch, heart swelling as Oprah roared to life. Such good times with that truck. Good times. Brother's done a lot of work nursing her from the brink of death. I'm so proud. ~sniff~
Brother estimates he will have it properly insured and with new tires by the end of next weekend. He's excited to have a working vehicle of his own. I'm excited I get to have my car back, which means I can resume my late night visits to the gym, instead of going during the day.
I don't know what I will do with myself.
Work wasn't too bad this weekend. I had an orientee last night, and it was a bit of an effort to refrain from just jumping in and getting stuff done when she fell behind. It's the pitfall of being a new grad...you haven't quite mastered that time management thing.*************************
I think I'm the only person in Kansas City who doesn't have tickets to the Garth Brooks concert. I haven't decided if it is something I would want to see. Considering he's the new anchor tenant of the Sprint Center, I think I will have lots of opportunities if I ever change my mind.
My allergies are acting up in a big way. I hate the cold weather, but until we get our first good cold snap, my allergies are going to be hell. My voice is all Kathleen Turner with the extra mucous and dry, red eyes thrown in. Sexy phone voice it may be, but it's hell on my singing career.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
That should count for something, I think.
It's never too late to get started. I think this would also be a good thing for Kant to do. She blogs once a month, or maybe a quarter.
I just got home from work, stopping by Land of Sam to pick up some more Kleenex and bread. Because I live close enough to Arrowhead that I can actually hear the groans, I also get to contend with the traffic that comes with it. People in red all over Walmart, and most of them converging by the hot dog buns, or the liquor isle. One family came in wearing Green Bay colors. I wanted to wish them luck.
So, I finally made it home after a 13 hour workday. An extra hour doesn't seem like much, but I'm convinced that extra hour actually tacks on an additional four hours, but manipulates the clock in some manner that we only think we are there for just one more hour. Fortunate for me, I took the iPod with me and got to listen to some tunes while I charted on bowel habits.
Brother is supposed to come home today because he has to work tonight. It's still up in the air whether he comes in the truck. When I spoke with him last night, he said they had just put the new transmission in the old girl. Not to mention she's not insured right now. And she needs new tires.
Looks like I'm probably not going to get full control of the PT until next weekend. I'm going to make Brother wash it. And clean the inside out.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go turn in for the day. Good night!
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Funny thing, though, it seemed that maybe half the kids that stopped by the house were dressed in costume. The rest in street clothes. What's the deal with that? Some girls wore cheerleading outfits that looked suspiciously like official uniforms. That's cheating! That's like me dressing in scrubs and going out as a nurse. Kids have no imagination today. I blame video games for that. And Barney.
When I was younger, my brothers were the epitome of industrious, imaginative children. They would dress up, go out and hit up the neighborhood. Then, they would return home, change into different costumes, and go out and hit up those same houses again.
But back to the street clothes...
Two boys came to my door, carrying backpacks instead of Halloween buckets or bags. They were dressed in normal street wear. I opened the door and they stood there. Having this expectant look on my face, they both muttered "trick or treat". (That's another thing...a lot of kids didn't say "trick or treat"...they just stared at you with blank expressions and held open their bag...)
Me: What are you two dressed as?
Boy#1: mumbling incoherently...cartoon...more mumbling...booty...more mumbling
Me: Booty scratchers?!?
Boy #1: No...booty snatchers!
Me: (to Boy #2) And what are you supposed to be?
Boy #2: Oh, I just got my ears pierced today.
I turned off my porch light shortly after they left. It was getting late and the children seemed to get weirder and weirder every time I opened the front door.
So this is what Halloween has become? If that is the case, then I am very sad.