2007: A Reflection

It seems like only yesterday I was looking forward to the new year of 2007. One minute it was January and I was getting settled in my new house, the next minute I'm trying to decide on what to do for New Year's Eve. That's how fast the year has gone. It seems the older I get, the faster time flies. Is it that way for everyone, or is it just me.

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.

Special Christmas Gifts

Back at work for another fun-filled, exciting weekend. So are the other weekenders. We were discussing how our Christmases were, and Smo shows us the pretty diamond anniversary ring she got. She then wonders what she would wear with the pearl necklace her husband gave her.

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."

New Year's Eve Plans

I ran into a friend as I was walking out of work one morning, and we got on the subject on New Year's Eve and our plans, which neither of us had. We had a nostalgic moment when we reflected on that one time we rung in the new year together.

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?

Belated Accolades

A big Thank You goes out to Smo and Tweener, for without them I might have not made it into my house after the work Christmas party and various post-party festivities. Tweener for unlocking the door. I'm not sure what Smo did, but I'm sure she was helpful. Actually, I don't remember a whole lot about the incident. Just what they have told me.

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.

Twas the Day After Christmas

Christmas is over. Thank God!

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.

A Holiday Wish

May Santa fill your stockings with a Major Award!

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Memememe

I got this meme idea from Spyder, then XO did it. So, you know I had to jump on that wagon.


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.

The Sky Is Falling and Other Blather

I couldn't sleep. Brother finished his Christmas shopping and bought the Nephew a remote controlled Dukes of Hazzard car. As with anyone with a penis, Brother had to take it out of the box and make sure the thing worked...for three hours. This car, while big, also has the horn sound of the Dukes of Hazzard car. So, I'm laying in bed, listening to the sound of little wheels burning rubber in the living room, I also hear the horn of the General Lee playing over, and over, and over again.

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.

Tis The Season of the Office Christmas Party

Last year, our unit Christmas party was held at The Granfalloon. The after party activities aside, the party was a complete bust. Bosshole was most displeased that so much money was spent, and only a handful of people showed up. So, it was unofficially decided that future Christmas gatherings would be best served hosted at a personal residence.

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's Musings

I just got home from work. Actually, I drove out to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to find an air popcorn popper. I parked in the parking lot only to realize I forgot one of those 20% coupons they send me every week. So, I just came home. If I scour the house today and don't find a coupon, I'm going to be pissed.

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...

Brother

Brother has been sort of withdrawn lately. I asked him earlier today how Special Friend was, and he just sort of answered despondently. He's been hibernating in his room for the most part, coming out to check his email, eat dinner, and go outside to smoke...whatever. (I'm not judging, and I'm not hating.)

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.

And What Did You Expect??

Back when the Lipo center first opened, a lot of nurses quit their stable hospital jobs to go work there. I considered it. I even spoke with a representative from their HR about working there, but was turned off by the fact that they didn't hire part time or prn (as needed), and it wasn't really nursing. Later, I found out a lot of those same nurses who left their stable jobs, quit working at Lipo because it was more centered on sales, and less on actual nursing.

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.

Ice, Ice, Baby

I'm sitting here, totally paranoid that an ice-encrusted tree is going to fall on my house.

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 Blather

I was working this weekend with my orientee, and everyone was all in a lather about the impending storm. I asked my orientee if she had ever been witness to one of our ice storms (because she is not from the area). When she said no, I told her about the big storm we had a few years back that left people without electricity for a couple of weeks. I think my orientee damn near soiled herself.

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...

Glad I Don't Live in JoCo

I don't usually watch local news because it's usually a joke. However, Brother had the tv turned to local station and I didn't have the strength to change the channel on the remote. Instead of Katie Horner screaming doomsday, as I expected, the lead story is that of Kansas AG Paul Morrison coming under fire for having an affair with a subordinate.

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.

Politics and Strange Bedfellows

Being the current events whore that I am, I was somewhat dismayed to see that Oprah Winfrey has taken to stomp for her favorite candidate, Obama. Now, I'm not a huge fan of Oprah Winfrey, and an even lesser fan of the vapid people who worship the ground she walks on. Even so, I find it interesting that now she has decided to step into the political spotlight for this particular candidate. It begs me to wonder just why exactly she is supporting Obama. Why now? Why him??

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.

Friday Blather

So, I still haven't found a tree. Thursday morning, I got up, grabbed the keys to Oprah and away I went. It's been a while since I last drove Oprah, and that was before Brother dropped a new super-charged engine and transmission into it. I backed out of the driveway, put it in drive, and lightly pressed the gas. I think I ended up in Arrowhead parking lot before I realized it happened.

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.

What Actually Got Done Today

I ended up staying awake for most the night because I became engrossed in a book. I went to bed about 6am, and woke up around 2pm.

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.

Hump Day Plans

I have a long list of things I would like to get done tomorrow.

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.

Nurse Follies: Two Weeks

What would you do if your doctor told you that you had only two weeks to live? I think everyone has pondered this question at some point, but doctors really do give out life expectancies that short, and patients are left to ponder how they want to spend those last two weeks. I've never witnessed it, until now.

So...what would you do, if your doctor told you that you had only two weeks left in your life?

What would you do?

Uh Oh

The news world is all in a lather about this new study that came out saying that people who worked night shifts were more likely to get cancer than those people who worked day shift.

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.

Grrrr

While I was in the shower, Lucy decided to snack on one of my work clogs. The ones I just bought this last May. The ones that were specially ordered for me and I got a discount because I ordered them at the nursing conference. The one pair of shoes that I could stand in for 12 hours straight and not have so much as a sore toe. The shoe is beyond repair. She also chewed up my Swiffer duster...and an ink pen.

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.