Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Adventures in Homebuying: The Home Warranty

The other night, I attempted to fix a frozen pizza in the oven. The top was all cooked, but the crust was all soggy...not to mention it took forever to bake. I didn't think anything of it because I made a crap ton of chocolate wafers in the oven later that night.

Last night, I made this salmon dish from a recipe I found in my new cookbook. It was a seasoned salmon with a garlic cream cheese spread, topped with spinach, and wrapped in filo dough. Even Brother was excited to try this dish.

So, I prepared it and put it in the oven for the 12 minutes required. After 12 minutes, I pulled it out and noticed it wasn't finished cooking. How odd. I left it in the over for anther 15 minutes to the same result. When I opened the oven door, instead of a hot blast of air greeting my face, it was more of a warm wafting. Eyeing the still raw fish, Brother told me about his experience with a frozen pizza a couple days before, very similar to mine.

I heard the faint noise of a death march coming from the oven. My heart dropped. Dead oven!!

Ordinarily, I'd be thrilled at the idea of getting a new oven, but the oven that currently sits in my kitchen is a drop-in. I checked into replacing it shortly after I moved in. The very least I could expect to spend on a black, drop-in range, was $1000. After finding that out, I decided I could live with the relic of a range that came with the house indefinitely. Judging from the looks of it, the range is original, having been put there when the house was built so many years ago. Yeah, it's older than I am (I think), but that bitch could heat up faster than a virgin on prom night. I decided it was a good stove, and I called her Betty.

But now, she's showing her old age, and I can't even heat a burrito. This is a near-catastrophe because the oven gets lots of use in this house.

Brother thought it might just need a new heating element, so I called Mr. Recommendation, who reminded me that it should be covered under my warranty I got when I bought the house. D'oh!

I spent an hour looking through paperwork before I found said warranty, scanning over the contract and discovering that Dinosaur Betty was still covered. Woo-hoo!!

This morning, I called the home warranty people and explained my problem to a guy who had the personality of a bucket of piss. He transferred me to a more cheerful person at Sears who scheduled an appointment for the repairman to come over and assess Betty. For a $50 deductible, I will either get Betty fixed, or a replacement. But that is next week. So, Brother and I have to try to live without an oven until then...which is going to suck because now meals will either have to be nuked, or grilled.
Incidentally, I was finally able to finish cooking the salmon by killing it in the microwave. Crude, yes, especially after the pastry dough exploded. But, it was still edible. I'll have to try the recipe again after Betty is fixed.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

He's a Bigger Cold-Hearted Bastard Than I Am

Paul: I'm sad.

Me: Why are you sad?

Paul: That Owen guy...

Me: Owen Wilson??

Paul: Yeah...he tried....

Me: To off himself??

Paul: makes me sad.

Me: It makes you sad...

Paul: That he didn't do it right the first time.

Me: Oh...uhhh...

Paul: You'd think with all that money, he'd have the resources to get it right the first time.

Me: I'm going to blog this.


So, The D tagged me for this award and stuff. And I really don't know what it means, but I have to pass it along...sort of like genital warts or something...I'm not really sure.

I couldn't find a blogger award for being an asshole (which is certainly a higher honor than being a schmoozer in my book), so without further delay, I present my nominees (who are not schmoozers in any shape or form)...

1. Xavier Onassis at Hip Suburban White Guy

2. Faith at Frighteningly Uncommon Sense

3. Dick at Big Dick's Place...his Friday posts always leave me with a nauseated feeling

4. Nightmare at Smells Like Bullshit

5. Greg at Death's Door

You guys can tag people...or not.

Call Me Ms. 500

Submitted as Exhibit #249 for Further Proof I Have Too Much Time On My Hands and Need a Hobby, I present to you, my 500th post.

Umm...yay. ~yawn~

How do I ring in such a momentous milestone? I could offer commentary on such things like:

1. What a big douchebag Michael Vick is.
2. Point out that Senator Larry Craig is not a Mormon...but rather a Methodist.
3. How many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.
4. How Paul (ND!) is secretly in love with me and would be best served by pulling his head out of his ass.
5. Post pictures of Sam and George.
6. Complain about my tomatoes (or lack of).
7. Bag on my Bosshole.
8. Make penis jokes.

But I can do those things on any old post. This is the big 5-0-0!

A nap sounds good. Yeah! Writing 500 blog posts is tiring work. Just thinking about it is making me sleepy (and the fact that I only had 3 hours of sleep last night has little to do with it).

I'll have cookies later to celebrate. I might even live dangerously and wash them down with milk.

Monday Schmonday

Brother decided to go in early tonight in an effort to start racking up the overtime. He wants to buy a new transmission of Oprah so that he may finally have reliable transportation, and he can quit borrowing my car. It's starting to annoy me (even though I'm trying to be fair and understanding), and I think he knows it's starting to annoy me. Honestly, I don't really need the car in the middle of the night, but the idea of all those extra miles being put on it makes me cringe. He fills up the tank, and will be getting the oil changed, but still...

I'm trying to be a good sister and not bitch all the time...which would be a first.

Tonight, I grilled this ready-made dinner kit thing I bought at the store. It came with two marinated chicken breasticles, some potato wedges, and a medley of veggies. The tators and veggies were kind of bland, so I plucked some rosemary from my rosemary bushed and tossed it in, which improved the dishes greatly. The chicken was fair only because of my superior grilling skills, and not because of the marinade that came on the chicken. In the end, Brother and I decided it was not the best dinner kit ever, and I would have been better off doing it all from scratch. No more pre-made dinner kits!! They taste like ass.

I also made a buttload of homemade oreos. Actually, I just made the little chocolate wafers. I doubled the recipe in the KitchenAid and now I have a shit ton of chocolate wafers. Tomorrow, I shall make the frosting and put the cookies together. I also found a recipe for pastry-wrapped salmon I am going to try my hand at. Guinea pigs welcome.

So there is a lunar eclipse in about an hour or so. I thought I could stay awake to see it, but I don't think I am going to last. I've seen a lunar eclipse before. I'm not really missing a lot. A big, red moon. Woo. Hoo. I'll just catch the next one...

I think I would probably enjoy sleep more anyway.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Post Op: Day 3?

Sitting here at home. What post-op day am I? I lost count. I've just been hanging out at home, snacking on Ibuprofen and Tylenol 3, and waiting for my uterus to fall out at any given minute because that's what it feels like.

Tonight is Brother's first night on the job. He made a valiant effort to take a nap before he went in, but found he is unable to sleep during the day. He's one of those Morning People. He thinks the day is wasted if he wakes up after 9am. Tomorrow, I'm going to ask Mom if there is a possibility she got saddled with the wrong baby at the hospital, because there is no way we are related.

But then again, it's hard to deny the DNA connection. We're both sick and twisted, we look a lot a like, and we can both smell water.

Like I said, I've just been hanging out at home. Tonight, it's not too hot, but I'm finding myself sitting here, sweating my ASS off. I wonder if I'm running a temp or something. I've been drinking water by the buckets, so much that my urine is now completely clear and colorless. Today, I drove to the store to pick up some milk, and when I got home, my hair was completely drenched from sweat. What's the deal with that??

Today, I decided to do something more productive than sleep and nibble pills, and I fired up the grill. Cooked two steaks, some zucchini, nuked two potatoes, and we had a little feast. Later, I made a delicious chocolate bread pudding from a recipe I found in my new Pampered Chef cookbook.

For some reason, I was on the schedule to work tonight, but a couple phone calls cleared that up. Kind of hard to work when you are gorked on pain meds, and almost ready to puke because of said pain meds. It kind of says a lot when you would rather be home nauseated on pain meds, waiting for your uterus to fall out...instead of going to work. Sad indeed.

No big plans for this week. Maybe I will just sleep the week away. That sounds like good fun to me.

Videos Explained

So...some of you are probably wondering what the deal is with my video feature, and who the hell this Toph person is. Allow me to explain.

There is a mind just as warped as mine. Consider him Heather With a Penis, or Toph for short. We work together. I knew him when he was a fledgling nurse assistant, all scared and uncertain. Now, despite my best efforts to dissuade him, he's a nurse. His mind, even more twisted and evil than before because that is what a nursing license will do to you.

In our spare time at work, Toph and I like to look at stuff on YouTube. Oddly enough, it's only stuff that we find amusing. Everyone else just looks at us with blank stares. Since discovering my brilliant blog and the ability to post videos on it, Toph has been pretty helpful in directing me to, as he says, "comedic gold", and I post it on my blog. And each time, he nags me like a desperate girlfriend wanting an engagement ring or positive pregnancy test, as to why he wasn't given credit for these finds. These diamonds in the rough.

In the end, I decided to plant his name on it, so that he may also have a taste of the glory of being associated with General Blather. Not to mention, he will now be held to a standard to find new and odd entertainment in a regular fashion, so the video feature does not get stale.

If you like the video, Toph gets some of the credit, but most of it going to me because General Blather is ultimately my brainchild.

If you hate the video, Toph gets all the credit. Plus, he gets to try harder to win back your affections with his next video choice.

One less thing for me to worry about. I should have put people working under me a lot sooner. This frees up more time for me to shop on Ebay.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Drama in the Neighborhood!!

Brother smokes like a chimney, but to his credit, he has been adhering to the "no smoking indoors" rule. His favorite place to light up, sitting outside the front door on the porch. Judging from smoking activity of next door neighbor, they also have a "no smoking indoors" rule.

Brother reports that during the first smoke of the morning yesterday, he noticed a strange car parked in front of my house. Brother just sat there, puffing away, when a man came running out of the house caddy corner from me. The man, in various stages of undress, got into the parked car, stared at my brother for a minute, then drove away.

The family that lives caddy-corner from me: a husband, a wife, and two small children.

The man who was observed running from said house was not the husband.

I'll leave it to you to put the pieces together.

Friday, August 24, 2007

Post-Op Day: One

I finally fell asleep around 4am this morning, woke up to let the dog out, went back to bed, woke up an hour later to let the dog back in, went back to bed, woke up around 1pm...still feeling the effects from yesterday's anesthesia. Irritable, groggy, bleh.

Paul (ND!) arrived around 4pm because he is secretly in love with me and wanted to check up on me. He was distraught. After spending the day at work at some sort of inservice, he goes out to his car to discover there's a $100 parking ticket on his window. Parking at our hospital sucks, and employees are supposed to park miles away and bus in, unless you are working nights. Then you get choice parking. It all changes if you have to come in during the day, however. You no longer get choice parking, you have to park miles away and bus in just like everyone else. Periodically, the night folks will try to be sneaky and park where we always park. Some get away with it, and as Paul found out, some people don't. This is the main reason I don't like going to work during the day for meetings or inservices.

Paul and I decide to go find something for dinner, and he drives because Brother has my car, and I am in too delicate a state to drive (according to everyone else). For a quick detour, Paul pulls into the trailer park in hopes of lifting his spirits. We see a late model SUV with two stuffed plush white tigers strapped to the roof, and a mural of lightening bolts covering the back window. I regret leaving my camera at home as it would have made a great pic. Paul tries to get a picture with his camera phone, but a couple on a bike that is not a Harley Davidson (I notice these things now), drive by and eye us with suspicion. They also know we don't belong.

Paul drives us further down the road to a cluster of restaurants and shopping and we see a World Market. I mention I have never been inside, so he whips in the lot. While inside, I find a cool wine rack, not to mention loads of German chocolate. I love me some imported chocolate, and am happy to know I don't have to wait for Kant's sister to go to Germany to get some. Ahhhh. They also carried a ton of Haribo (for those of you gummi fans who know what I'm talking about...)

While we are leaving World Market, Paul asks me if I saw the guy in the Daisy Dukes. I had not, so we linger in the parking lot until he emerges. Eventually, he does and I start waving my hands around, telling Paul to drive closer. He does and we both peer at the strange gangly man in white cut-off shorts so short, I expected his nut sack to pop out and wave hello. He was also wearing little red and white flip-flops that I could have swore met the business end of a Bedazzler. I tell Paul he should try this look sometime, and I would be more than happy than dress up his flip-flops if need be. He tells me he will take this into consideration as he heads to the restaurant of our choice where he makes me eat part of a blooming onion (nasty, slimy thing). After a nice dinner, he takes me home and gets to meet Brother.

Still no kiss at the end of the night. Hmph!

Tomorrow, Mom and Mr. Recommendation want to go to Peachtree for dinner. I tell Paul that I need to go to the gym because everyone insists on taking me out to dinner. Paul yells at me because he says I have no business going to the gym so fresh from surgery. See! Secretly in love with me...

Right now, I've started reading the Harry Potter series all over again for something to do. It's interesting how much crap I missed in retrospect.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Heather's Big O Day

I'm home. I'm awake. I'm half the woman I used to be...or rather, my cervix.

Mom arrived at 5:30am to take me to the hospital, but I had to drive her Jeep because she didn't know how to get there. I checked in, they took me to the pre-surgery where I got to talk to about a dozen different residents. Anesthesia resident popped in and announced he would be putting my IV in. He gathered his junk and we made small talk. He figured out I was a nurse, so asked me where I worked, so on, and so forth. I don't like making general announcements that I am a nurse when I am in a patient capacity. I hate it when people do that to me. Most nurses hate that.

He plops down in a little chair, eyeballing my arm. I'm not the best stick in the world for IVs. I point to a particular spot on my wrist, "That is your best bet." But he is not just any resident. Noooo, he's an anesthesia resident, and they know everything, certainly more than a peon floor nurse would know.

So, he selects a different site on my hand. I just sigh and don't say a word. He injects some lidocaine, which I loathe and despise. It burns like hell and what difference does it make because it still hurt when he put the iv in and fished around. He fished, and fished, and fished. No blood, no vein, no luck. Finally, he abandoned that attempt and looked at me. I just smiled and pointed to the same place I pointed out before.

Resident: But I don't feel a vein there.
Me: You can see it, no?
Resident: Well...(staring at large blue line on my wrist)
Me: (trying to sound encouraging) Try putting the tourniquet a little higher, and go for that spot.

Resident sighs (he doesn't believe me) and repeats all his prep work. The IV slides in. Success!! Sheepish, he apologizes because he should have listened to me in the first place. I shrug. Hopefully, he will have learned a valuable lesson: listen to your patients and don't assume you know everything. I guess that would be two lessons.

Mom is allowed back to see me, and I tell her where the Starbucks kiosk is. She is very excited. Anesthesia Resident returns and I get to have some Versed. God Bless Versed. A minute later, I'm giggling uncontrollably and I have no reason to. That is what Versed does. It makes me happy.

I'm wheeled into the surgical wing, turn left, and go into Outer Darkness. The O.R. looks like it's a throwback to the 1940s, not to mention it's hot...which is odd because operating rooms are supposed to be butt-ass cold.

I'm moved to an operating table, which is about 6 inches wide. They strap me in so I don't fall off the table. They give me oxygen and tell me to have nice dreams. I say I will probably dream about work, so it's probably going to be more of a nightmare. They chuckle. I don't remember falling asleep.

I wake up to the sound of a screaming baby. Not pleasant. I've got a plastic thing in my mouth that keeps my tongue from rolling into the back of my throat. A nurse notices I'm somewhat awake and takes the piece out. I'm freezing and start shaking uncontrollably. I've given a warm blanket. The toddler continues to scream, and I hear nurses talking how they can't find the Mom, Wilm's tumor, and more child screaming. For every scream, my abdomen cramps. Observant nurse notices my grimacing and gives me Fentanyl. Heather's happy...until the child starts screaming again.

More cramping. More Fentanyl. It's a vicious cycle. They finally locate the Mom who comes and holds her baby. This calms baby down, and the tension level of the entire recovery unit lowers. When you are coming out from general anesthesia, a screaming child is the last thing you want to hear. The toddler is ushered out to go to the hospital room they will be staying in. The nurses breathe a sigh of relief.

Still groggy, a nurse takes me to the bathroom where I proceed to change back into my pajamas. Some discharge instructions, and I am sent home. This time, Mom drives. In my extreme post-anesthesia crankiness, I give her directions to get back to my house, convinced she is going to wreck the Jeep and I am going to die. I'm always irritable after surgery, just ask the ex-boyfriend after my knee surgery.

After getting home without incident, I crawl into bed and sleep the rest of the day away.

Now, I am awake. I still feel queasy from the drugs, and I've bitten off Brother's head once. I'm to follow up with my doctor in two weeks. I was told they would call me, but I am fairly certain I'm going to end up calling them.

So goes my big day. I'm probably going to go take more meds, and go back to bed. I just thought I would let you know how things went.

Thanks for all your well wishes and thoughts.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

The Countdown to Cuttage

This morning, I got up before the buttcrack of dawn and took my brother to work because his truck sucks. Fortunately, he has possibly found someone he may be able to carpool with. I will keep my fingers crossed that an arrangement is made.

I made it back home before the sun came up, and jumped back into bed for an hour or two of sleep. Got back out of bed, threw on some clothes, and attempted to haul ass to the hospital for round-two of pre-op preparations. Attempted, being the keyword.

Traffic. Backed up. As far as the eye could see. I called the office to let them know I was going to be late. The elderly receptionist chuckled as if she'd been hearing this all morning, "Of course, dear, the President is in town."

"What!?! As if we needed another reason to hate him..."

So, I finally make it to my appointment. Three hours later, I get to leave after having blood drawn, poked and prodded by an anesthesia resident, and sign my life away on various consent forms. They wanted to make sure someone would be staying at the house with me overnight in case I had a bad reaction to the anesthesia. I explained my brother was currently staying with me, all the while I had visions of him running around the house trying to capture cicadas, just like he was doing last night.

Eager to get back home for a nap, I run into more traffic, which I can only assume was Dubya leaving KC. Terrorist of the United States, Bane of the Average Joe Commuter, and Scourge of Naptime. Bastard.

So, tomorrow is the big day. The actual procedure will only take less than fifteen minutes. I will spend more time in recovery coming out from anesthesia than I will in the actual O.R. Mom is taking a day off from work to take me to and from the hospital. Rather than dress up, I've decided to just go in my pajamas. That way, I can just go home and go straight to bed without bothering with changing. I suspect I will spend a lot of time sleeping, but I will drop an update when I am out of the fog of narcotics.

Wish me luck!!

When Good-bye is Hard

Today was more of a stay-at-home and relax sort of day, which pretty much was the goal of Matt's relax. He works 12-hour days, all week long (he gets paid well for it, as evidenced by the big shoes he was wearing), but working horrible hours like that can take a toll. I'm wiped out after three 12-hour shifts in a row. I can't fathom even breathing after working weeks without so much a day off. He's been talking about a possible job in Iraq. I don't like this idea, and I even told him that. Sometimes, the money just isn't worth it.

Anyway, he snoozed on the couch while watching the History channel. I took a nap after breakfast because making breakfast burritos and coffee is hard work. Time came where he had to pack his things so I could take him to the airport. I don't know how we got on the subject of my surgery and the reasons for it, but finally I did the one thing I haven't done since this whole mess began 8 months ago.

I cried.

He held me, and I cried. I told him how scared I was, and that I've been telling people I'm not scared, because I didn't them to be scared or worry.

My relationship with Matt...somewhat complicated, yet simple. He is my "what if" guy. Ten years ago, I was madly in love with him, thought he was "The One", and all that stuff. We may have been involved in a brief fling that more than likely shouldn't have happened. We were young, dumb, and had no direction in life. Anything seriously pursued at that time would have been met with disastrous results. Aside from that, we've always had a good relationship. We could talk to each other about anything. He'd call bullshit on me faster that anyone else I knew.

For this reason, he flew halfway across the country to see me. To call bullshit to my brave facade because he knew I needed it, and he knew that he was the only one who could deliver the message. That is what best friends do. Then they hold you while you have a global meltdown, and let you snot on their new shirt.

The first time he left, to go home after his work was finished here, I felt as though he took part of me with him. I was convinced that I would die, and that life couldn't go on. But then, life did go on. I moved onto other relationships, went to college, got a degree, found a career, and bought a house. I grew up. I'd say life went on rather well. While Matt was here for these past couple of days, I would look at him, grateful we never got married. He's not the same person he was ten years ago. I'm sure he was thinking the same thing when I caught him looking at me. We'd trade that knowing smile, and then argue about a birthday cake Kant and I made for him and Line ten years ago. (You remember which cake I'm talking about, don't you Kant?)

Lifelong's the best thing ever. Wouldn't you agree?

Monday, August 20, 2007

Monday Blather

I've been busy entertaining my visiting friend, Matt, since Sunday morning...which is good because I don't have to think about the fact that my girlie parts are going to have a very traumatic experience later this week.

Monday night, we went out to dinner with Mom and Mr. Recommendation. Brother also came along. We decided on Genghis Khan, and I don't remember why.

While Mom slurped down a drink ending with -rita, various discussions about motorcycles, toilets and bowel habits, masturbating, and bad jokes were touched upon. I also discovered that Brother once cleaned out an ashtray with his tongue for $6.

Today, I took Matt, to see Harry Potter on IMAX, which was playing in Olathe. For those of you who are familiar with the lay of the land, it takes an hour to get anywhere in the Kansas City area. It takes me an hour to get from my house to Walmart, and it's only a mile away.

Anyway, we left early, and being the clever and eager-to-please hostess, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to take him to a BBQ place. I mean, while KC isn't known for having a top-tier sports team, it has to be the BBQ. I decided on Oklahoma Joes because it was close to the theater, plus it has pretty good BBQ. Even though there is BBQ in South Carolina, and apparently they usually make theirs with mustard, it couldn't possibly be as good as what we have here.

During lunch, Matt told me about a BBQ place in his state where the owner is openly racist...with pictures in the restaurant of the guy in his KKK getup. Culture in the southern different from us, and we live in a buffer state.

After lunch, we went over to the theater and got our tickets. They handed us these dorky plastic glasses to wear. There was no disclaimer posted as to how we would know when to wear the glasses, but I had heard someone say that they were not needed until the last part of the movie. I speculated that maybe something would flash on the screen to let us know when to put on the dorky glasses. Matt didn't listen, so he wore his dorky glasses through the entire movie. I somehow managed to stifle my laughter when a little icon flashed at the bottom of the screen. Matt looked at me, still wearing his dorky glasses, and had this smirk that told me that he was aware that he'd just been owned, and could we please not discuss it.

On a side note, the Harry Potter on IMAX was excellent fun...dorky glasses aside. The seventh movie is going to kick ass...providing they don't hire a director that's going to fuck it up.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Heather In Heartbreak Hotel

I'm so sad right now, I could just cry.

An Elvis parade, right here in Downtown KC, and I missed it. I MISSED IT!!!


I'm going to go find a peanut butter and banana sandwich to drown my sorrows in.

Friday Night Blather

Things with Brother are going well other than the fact that he smokes worse than a pile of burning leaves. He's banned from smoking in the house (as with all smokers), but has been good about going outside to light up without complaining. He's been pretty entertaining. Just the other night I was able to talk him into putting a cicada in his mouth for less than a dollar. He stood there, opening and closing his mouth while the cicada made it's buzzing noise. It was pretty funny in a disgusting sort of way. When we were younger, we used to tell him to put all kinds of stuff in his mouth just to see if he would do it. It's nice to know that somethings haven't changed.

Everyday he comes home from work and tells me all about his benefits and whatnot, which leads me to ask, "Do they hire nurses?" Seriously.

We are currently engaging in emails wars with the Bosshole. His first salvo was to chide us for binding the techs and flogging them with used foley catheters, then making them do their jobs. Actually, we just got lectured about that last part. Some techs need to be reminded of their job duties...every five minutes. Then, they go crying to the Bosshole about how big of victims they are because the evil nurses exact our misery on them every chance we get, which leads to hate mail from the Bosshole filled with lots of exclamation points. I returned the volley and sent out an email which pointed out that he sucked, but in big flowering words and sentence structure that really didn't come right out and say he sucked. Sometimes, you just have to read between the lines.

To his credit, the Bosshole is giving me some time off to recover from my Big Surgery next week. Maybe he did it because he knew I would just call in sick if he didn't. Somethings are more important than work. Maybe he did it because he is trying to redeem himself because he fucked up so badly, one of our pregnant nurses is without health insurance until the first of the year.

The hospital released some statistics. Housewide, nurse turnover is at 13%, which is really good when you compare it to other hospitals. For our floor alone, the turnover is 21%, earning us the title of Worst Floor In Entire Hospital. Like we didn't know that already. I wonder if any of the higher-ups have noticed, and maybe try to find out why we can't retain staff.

I had to call the doctor's office today and confirm my appointment next week for pre-op festivities. I swear, I've had to call them for everything: to find out what my test results were, to schedule my surgery, to schedule my pre-op stuff. The organization of that office stinks. I just hope they have their shit together by the time I'm wheeled into the O.R. or I am going to wake up with a penis.

I worked extra Thursday night, so tonight feels like Saturday. I have to keep reminding myself that it's Friday and I have one more shift. I'm taking Sunday off because of some appointments I have early Monday. Coincidentally, a friend I haven't seen in 10 years is coming for a short visit. I asked him what he wanted to do while he was here, and he told me, "Go see Harry Potter on IMAX." Apparently, IMAX doesn't exist in South Carolina. I think I may have him read something to me while he's here because he has the cutest southern accent.

Nothing more to report. I'm pretty tired...too tired to spew my usual weekend venom. I wish I had a good book to read right now. I think I will go find a book or two to read while I am recovering from having my hoo-hah sliced and diced. Kant suggested some good reads, and she always has good book suggestions.

Have a good weekend, y'all!!

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Happy Homecoming!

I'm not a summer person. I hate the heat. It's hotter than Satan's ass after dinner at Dixons (ten points to you if you know what/where that is). The only thing there is to do is just keep inside the nice, cool house, and take a long nap. I just woke up 15 minutes ago.

Brother moved in last night. Well, he's not completely moved in. He just arrived with two bags and his welding hat. Just before getting to my house, the clutch stuck on his truck. If you saw a bald guy who sort of looked like a Nazi, he's with me. He's not a Nazi though...he just looks like one. He's covered in ink, has a long goatee that I've been dying to trim, and he shaves all his blonde hair off because he's "too lazy to actually care for hair". I guess it saves on shampoo.

Mom and Mr. Recommendation came over with a living room set for me, sight unseen. It's almost new, and looks a lot better than what I had. It's probably not would have been what I picked out, but it looks good in the living room, and you can't beat free. Afterwards, we went and grabbed a quick bite for dinner where Mr. Recommendation made a couple jokes and was met with the sound of crickets chirping.

Afterwards, Brother appeared a little unnerved during the ride home.

Brother: What was that ring Mom was wearing?
Me: Uhhh...which hand?
Brother: The left.
Me: Big diamond?
Brother: Yup.
Me: That would be the engagement ring.
Brother: WHAT!?!
Me: Oops. I thought you already knew.

Anyway, guess who had to drag their ass out of bed at 5:30 AM to take him to work? Me!! I made it from my house to the Harley place in less than twenty minutes. We got there before 6:30am, and I went over Brother's tax forms, which is a good thing because he claimed EXEMPT on everything. I made the appropriate corrections because that is what responsible older siblings do. I was a little impressed with the Harley place. They have a big lot right in front of the building where employees who ride their bikes in to work get to park. Rock Stah parking!! So, when average schmuck walks in, they walk through a sea of shiny Harleys and swell with patriotic pride, and a need to buy a Harley of their own. At some point, I may get the motivation to go take a tour of the place for lack of better things to do. They only offer tours in the morning at the buttcrack of dawn, on first come, first served basis.

Tonight, I'm having some coworkers over for dinner and hanging out. Maybe just one coworker will show, which is fine. Brother is already asking which ones are single. It may be too hot to sit on the deck, to sip cold beverages and complain about our jobs, so we will do that inside the air conditioned house.

Maybe someone will end up doing cartwheels in my living room again.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Monday Blather

Work sucked this usual. I was injured when I was assisting moving a 400 lb plus asshole who attempted to bite anyone who tried to help. I don't know if he was meaning harm us, or if he was trying to eat us, but I hurt my arm all the same. I filled out an incident report, and will probably have to go see Occupational Health, which ranks right up there with getting a colposcopy or listening to Paris Hilton's album.

Paul (ND!) and I went out to dinner tonight to Cinzetti's. I'd been there once or twice, many years ago. I remember being there and making mention about the buffet in front of an employee, who sniffed, "We are not a buffet. We are an Italian Market". Apparently, Johnson County has issues with the buffet label.

I don't care what they say. If you have an open feeding trough and people pay a flat rate to graze there, it's a buffet. You can dress it up as much as you want to make it look like a quaint little market place in some charming Italian town, but it's still a buffet. I should have tested this whole market thing by trying to buy some of the cheap plastic tomatoes from a fake cart.

As I was sitting there, munching on something I acquired from the market, this ginormous lady came in with her family. I'm not going to dog on how big she was, but let's stop for a moment to reflect on what she was wearing: beige pants that were two sizes two small and revealed her buttcrack when she sat down, a flimsy spaghetti strap shirt that was stretched to the point her boob almost fell out of the side when she went from sitting to standing position, and her bra with industrial strength straps glaring out from under the shirt. I blanched. Paul followed my gaze and smirked. He wasn't concerned, his back was to her. Meanwhile, I get birds eye view of the Eternal Buttcrack to go with my crepe.

After dinner, we wander over to Borders and set up camp in the bargain books section. Call me odd, but I feel sorry for the bargain books. Books that no one wanted and are marked down, left to sit on the shelf until some cheapass like me comes along looking for another book to add to the bathroom library. It's not their fault, those books that couldn't make the cut to full retail price. Blame it on their shitty authors who only were lucky enough to get their book published because their parents owned the publishing company. I always try to do my part so unwanted books can have a happy home.

Imagine what would happen if I went to an animal shelter.

I found another book for the bathroom library, not to mention a bible on BBQ grilling. We paid for our purchases and went our separate ways. Another night out, and I still go home alone.

My brother hasn't moved in yet. If ever were a procrastinator, it would be him. He can put off deciding what to put off. Thankfully, I got his room painted a lovely blue courtesy of Eddie Bauer. I hung a set of khaki curtains only to realize that I hung to curtain rod too low and the curtains were too long. Never to be deterred, I put the curtains in the washer and shrunk the piss out of them with hot water. They hang perfectly now. A matching set of bedding for the room and I will have a guest room that any soccer mom would be happy to sleep off their hangovers in. Mike doesn't care about colors and decor. He's just happy he gets his own room and I am not making him sleep in the basement.

At any rate, he says he's moving in tomorrow and tomorrow night, I will have an orientation to the daily operations of Heather's House, which will include exciting seminars such as:

How to Operate the Washer Without Flooding the Garage
The Toilet Seat: It Can Go Down! Also paired with The Toilet: It's Lower Than You Think
The Dishwasher: It's Not Just for Looks
Surviving With Standard Satellite Channels
If You Break It, You're Sister is Going to Kick Your Ass
The Thermostat: Touch it and Die
and most importantly Please Don't Burn Down My House

He starts his first day of work on Wednesday. Eight days of orientation then he starts working night shift, which works out great because he will have to sleep during the day, the same as I do. Mike is a good kid, and I'm not too concerned about him staying with me. He's fun to have around, even though I'm fairly certain his cooking prowess is limited to hot dogs and peanut butter sandwiches. I'm happy he'll be here because I'll be more inclined to cook if someone else is there. I eat out way too much. Besides, I need to put to use that new cook book I just rescued from the bookstore.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

It's All Downhill From Here

I would be remiss if I didn't offer up a big CONGRATS to fellow blogger, and now fellow nurse, Pom. It seems as if it were yesterday that she was just starting nursing school, and I was just telling her that nursing school sucks, but it goes by fast.

I'd definitely party with her this weekend (sorry, girlie!!), but I have to save up my PTO to spend it on my fun procedure on my delicate parts later this month.
Have a drink for me, eh?

So C*O*N*G*R*A*T*U*L*A*T*I*O*N*S to Pom. Head on over to her site and celebrate with her, but don't ask for a sponge bath.

Update on Heather's Adventure Kingdom

So I went to the doctor yesterday. I saw Nurse Betty and gave her the hairy eyeball. She weighed me and right then I decided it was time for me to start going back to Weight Watchers. I'm also going to start taking Krav Maga lessons.

Anyone care to join in?

Anyway, I was seen pretty quickly by my doctor. She was very good about explaining things to me, and I wasn't so anxious about everything when she was finished. I could still kick Nurse Betty's ass.

So, I get to go in for a LEEP. Probably on a Thursday so I have ample time to recover and only having to miss one weekend of work. Tomorrow, the scheduling people will call me and we'll make an appointment. I'm shooting for the end of this month. My options are to have it done as an outpatient with a mild sedative, or in the operating room where I am knocked out. Judging by how I handled the colposcopy, I think I am going to opt for the knocked out part. It's more expensive, and while I inadvertently picked the crappiest of insurance plans, I do have a supplemental insurance though my hospital that covers anything the insurance won't...which means I won't pay anything. You can't get a sweeter deal than that.

The doctor did ask me about my childbearing plans. No one has ever asked me such questions in all seriousness before. I stammered, "Uhhh, I'm single and ummm, I don't have any kids now. But I don't want to rule that out. Hmmm, I think someday I would like a kid or two."

Doctor tells me it is important to know because everything we do can and may have some effect on me and childbearing. I'll be considered high risk for carrying to full term, a doctor will have to follow me closely, and so much for being a normal pregnant person. I never really considered the idea of having children because I'm not married. Hell, I'm not even seriously dating someone. And I am not the kind of person who will sleep with a random guy and hope I get knocked up. I'm not that kind of girl.

I called Mom and told her everything, playing down as much as I could. She's still pretty anxious, though. Truth is, they caught it early, and cure rate is 100% if you catch it early. After my LEEP, I will have plenty of follow-ups to make sure everything is clear. I also told her about the whole "high risk pregnancy" thing, and lamented that my eggs will more than likely shrivel up before I end up actually having a kid. She then suggested I get artificially inseminated. Scary part: I think she was serious. I don't think I care to be a single mom at this time.
I don't really like dwelling in what is going on, because there are people out there with cancers that are not curable or treatable, and I feel guilty about feeling bad for myself when there are others who are not as fortunate to have my prognosis.

However, let me take this opportunity to remind all the ladies out there to get your regular screenings. Yeah, the whole pap thing is not fun, but there are worse things out there if you don't get regularly scheduled exams. I get exams every single year, and lucky for me, it was caught early. For all you guys out there, remind the women in your life to get exams.

That's all.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

More on Fuzzy Bastards

If I could revel in a crowning achievement in home ownership, aside from actually buying the house, would be that I could finally, after many years of failure, grow a bumper crop of tomatoes. And it looked like I was well to reaching that goal.

I had a small batch of grape tomatoes ripen on the vine. I washed them and put them in the fridge, only for Paul (ND!) to discover and eat half of them before I caught him in the act. I collected two larger tomatoes that sit in my kitchen window, waiting for their moment to shine. Monday, I inspected my tomato bushes and much to my delight, I saw at least a dozen green tomatoes in varying sizes on the vine. I announced to Paul that these tomatoes would be the tomatoes I use for my World Famous Fresh Garden Salsa. All I would have to do is wait for them to get bigger, and ripen.

So, imagine my horror today when I went out to water the plants and all those green tomatoes were gone. GONE!! Neighbor kids did not do this. I had to look no further than my own backyard for the culprit.
I spotted this little fucker the other day on my deck, having just finished gnawing on a little green pear tomato. Of note, I have yet to see what a fully grown pear tomato looks like thanks to this little shithead. I had been finding little green pieces of tomato scattered throughout the deck area. Look at him! He looks guilty!! However, I know he has accomplices. Namely, the herd of squirrels that seem to relish in tormenting Sam and cleaning out the bird feeder. Not to mention the family of rabbits that live under my shed. They are all in on it. One great, big, secret combination whose sole purpose is to rob me of my tomatoes.
Mom thinks they are charming. She is grateful they are able to get nourishment in this ungodly heat. Apparently, Mother has forgotten how much she liked the World Famous Fresh Garden Salsa. I bet if I told her that the fuzzy bastards were eating her share of the salsa, she would send an exterminator over to the house first thing in the morning. Or with my brother moving in, I suggested that I could station him out on the back deck armed with a BB gun and he could pick off any illegals one by one. He did it with Mom's mice problem in her garage one summer.
Instead, she suggested that I spread moth balls around the tomato plants because they will keep critters away. I don't know if this works. It would suck if they didn't because not only would I have no tomatoes, I'd have the smell of moth balls in my back yard. It seems I have the growing part down, now I just need to protect my harvest, especially at night because that seems to be when they strike the worst. Apparently, the chipmunk was feeling rather ballsy to do it in broad daylight.

Any suggestions?

Bonds Schmonds

So, Bonds beat Aaron's record? Whatever.

As far as I am concerned, that record is still unbroken.

The only comforting thing about all of it is that Bonds probably has a little penis. 'Roids will do that, ya know.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Tuesday Bleh

Up late again. This late night crap is for the birds.

Work sucked, which is now becoming the norm. Half the night nurses have either quit or put in for transfer. The Bosshole has no idea he's the reason. He doesn't care. This job is only a stepping stone for him. I recently read a story that said crappy managers get promoted instead of punished. I can attest to this sentiment. Somewhere, there are nurses who love their jobs and look forward to going in to work. None of those nurses work on my floor. It's depressing. My doctor thinks all my problems right now are directly related to stress, a catalyst to cause one thing to cause another. I think she knows where I work.

Want to come work with me??

Monday, Paul (ND!) took me to lunch at a place called Peachtree. It's soul food, which is a fancy way of saying it's really salty. We were the only white people there. It was magical. The food was good, and they give you a free set of cardiac paddles with your meal. Generally, I don't add salt to my food. I use other seasonings (including an awesome blend I found in Tortola) to enhance my food. It was quite a shock to actually have a meal and have swollen fingers shortly after. If you go there, stay away from the mashed potatoes.

I've only eaten "soul food" once before. I had a roommate (who was black), and she took me to her grandmother's house for Sunday dinner. I was standing there, plate in hand, surveying the table laden with more food than Thanksgiving dinner. Her grandmother eyed my empty plate and thrust a second one in my hands...for the meat, she said. I've never been to a dinner that required me to two-plate it. Afterwards, I told Taja that I understood why everyone in her family was being treated for high blood pressure. She agreed with me.

Today, I went and got my haircut. It's short and has character, but not too short. I also had it highlighted because I was genetically blessed with that mousy dark blond color that makes my hair look chronically dirty. I went to the new girl again as I am not able to get a hold of Amy. Recent Amy-sightings have her wasted on illicit substances, so maybe it's better she not do my hair right now. The last time she did, she left the bleach on too long and it fell out in hunks and chunks.

That was a bad week.

Tomorrow, I get to go see the doctor. It seems since I talked to Nurse Betty, the time waiting for this appointment has slowed to a crawl. I've not been completely honest with my Mom about what is going on because I don't want her to freak out. I'll get the entire picture tomorrow then I will tell her. I'm ready for all of this to be over.

My little brother is planning on moving in on Friday, which means I need to get his room painted before then. I think I will be doing it on Thursday. I'm excited to see how it will look when I am finished. I also have to get accustomed to having a roommate again...which means no more walking around the house naked. Mom is pretty excited about him moving in with me because she will know he is okay and she can have two of her children close by.

I got nothing else. I think I will go to bed now and try to sleep.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

What I Did Today

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. Around noon-time, we met at Tomfooleries at Zona Rosa. I never paid that parking ticket I got...not because I was being defiant, but I lost it. It was the size of a little credit card receipt, so of course I was going to lose it!! At any rate, the rent-a-cops never spotted the PT, so I don't know what sort of ramifications come with not paying a $5 fine/donation at an overpriced and over-hyped shopping center.

After lunch, I stopped by Bath and Body works and bought more lip gloss, because a girl always needs lip gloss. I also bought some shower gel that smells like peppermint. That should be an eye-opener next time I jump straight from bed to shower.

Then, I drove to the uniform shop, which was really my entire reason for being in the Northland. My current scrubs are getting faded and worn, and I wanted new ones. I found some I really liked, and bought three sets in three different colors, plus an extra pair of pants. A grand total of $170. I'm going to be the sharpest looking nurse on my floor that ever got barfed on. Guaranteed.
On my way home, my mind wandered to the things that are going on in Heather's Adventure Kingdom. Apparently, one of my good friends I work with was in the next car over from me at a stoplight. She honked, but I wasn't really paying attention, and I never noticed. I feel bad because my head was up my ass. I didn't ignore her on purpose. Sorry, Casey!!!
I'm a little tired, so I think I am going to take a nap now. I'll be going to the gym late tonight. I think tonight will be bike night. I don't feel much like swimming.