Friday, June 29, 2007
Mickey's Irish Pub(816) 455-6868
420 NW Englewood
(In the Northland, bitches!!)
I promise to not arrive three hours late.
Annoyed, I got out of bed and stuck my head out the front door. I asked them to please stop throwing the ball at the house. When it stopped raining, I would bust out the ladder and go get the damn sandal myself. The kids said they would, and I thought that would be the end of it.
Meanwhile, Sam is still going apeshit. I really need to get replacement batteries for that bark collar.
A few minutes later, I hear cheering and I look out the window. Some bloated bleach blonde lady from up the street managed to cart a ladder of her own, and a really long pole, and got the sandal down herself. That would have been fabulous if she had fallen, because she looked the type who would want to file a claim with my homeowners insurance.
They scattered before I had a chance to stick my head outside and yell at them. Still annoyed, I deem the rest of my nap a total loss and just shower, taking my time to get ready for work.
I still like my neighborhood, but I can tell that at some point, I'm going to have to be a complete asshole and lay down the law that my front yard and driveway are not extensions of anyone else's yard, and therefor not a generalized meeting place for all the neighborhood children. I have a basketball pole with no hoop, and I have been considering getting a new hoop and backboard put up, but I know that would just be asking for trouble. Every other house in the neighborhood has a basketball hoop, and there is a merry band of pre-teeners that rotate usage of those hoops. My putting up one would just add another venue to their rotation. It's not that they are miscreants and plotting drug deals and when is the best time to rob my house. They are loud, and I like quiet. Especially when I am trying to sleep.
Even now, I'm thinking about landscaping the front yard differently so it's not used as a hill for kids to sled down in the winter. It's not enough to salt the driveway and shorten the sledding path. Maybe I could cut into the earth and create some sort of dropoff with landscaping bricks, but I have to be careful with that for two reasons:
1. Neighbor children would attempt to sled anyway and end up hurting themselves, thereby causing a potential insurance nightmare.
2. Mom tends to drive over the current landscaping I have now because she's driving a vehicle that is too big for her. I don't know how many times I've had to reassemble the little rock wall at the end of the driveway.
So, maybe I will be that old person that yells at children to keep of the grass...hiding in the bushes with a power washer, ready to spray the first person that sets foot on my lawn.
Don't be a hater...you just wish you had a power washer, too.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Paul (ND!) called and woke me up this morning, all chipper and perky. He's bipolar in that sometimes he's one of those morning people, and sometimes, he's not. Today was a morning person day. He wanted to know if I wanted to meet him for breakfast. Paul doesn't do booty calls...he does breakfast calls.
Yeah, you can say it. He totally wants me.
I showered and drove to Sharps, which is some place in Brookside I've never been to. A tasty breakfast later, and we part ways. He to go home and go to bed because he has to work tonight, and I to return to my house and find something to waste my day on.
Still bummed my plans to stain the deck were thwarted, I busted out the can of paint I bought a while back for my office and painted said office. Of course, the computer cabinet is too big for me to move by myself, so I could only paint around it. I selected a gray-based purple color. Not Barney-purple, but more lilac with gray in it. I got most the office painted (save for that area behind the cabinet that I won't be able to get to until I can finagle someone into coming over and helping move it), and I am quite pleased with the color. I'll post pics after it's all done and I get my shelves and junk hung up.
My doc's office called today to inform me that my second exam was also abnormal. So much for hoping for a fluke thing. The nurse said I need to go see a gynecologist RIGHT AWAY. RIGHT AWAY for any doctor's office is weeks away. The soonest I can get seen is July 11, which is stellar because I get to go to a seminar on Strokes that morning. A full day of excitement, I can't hardly stand it.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about the whole thing with Heather's Adventure Kingdom and it's malfunctioning main attraction. My mind blows through all the scenarios, and I envision the worst things possible (because creative minds always do). What if it's cancer? What if I can't ever have children? What if, with further testing, the doctors find a calcified twin that I absorbed in utero??
It's worse to be a nurse and to have anything medically wrong with you, because you know exactly what can, and probably will, happen to you.
For now, I will try to clear my mind of it. Instead, I will go to Lowes and look at new outlet covers to match the new purple office.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The doorbell rang this morning and it was the neighbor kid, who told me his sandal was on my roof. How did it get there? He accidentally tossed it.
I went outside (meanwhile, I'm talking to Paul (ND!) on the phone) and sure enough, there is a white sandal on my roof. Two floors above ground. I don't know how you can accidentally toss a sandal up that high, but there it is. The neighbor kid (who ordinarily is a good kid) was just standing there, watching me. I don't know if he expected me to drag out a ladder and fetch his sandal, but I told him I would not be able to get it today. Meanwhile, Paul is yelling from his end of the phone, telling the kid he'll have to go to Walmart and get a new pair of sandals (his cries went unheard by said neighbor boy).
When Paul is an old man, he's going to be the one yelling at children to get off his lawn.
Now, the neighbor kid is standing outside in his brown, fuzzy bear slippers and is trying to dislodge the sandal with a basketball. The sandal is currently wedged in the gutter. Good luck with that.
My day's plans have been scrapped. So, I don't know what else to do aside from laundry.
Monday, June 25, 2007
One of the best stories I heard was from a coworker who used to work in a hospital in Nebraska with his wife. They worked as techs in an ICU. One patient was a woman who was pretty much brain dead, but they kept her on life support because she was pregnant. Time came that they decided the baby was done cooking, so they delivered it via C-section. Mom died and that was that. Later, a little old lady with Alzheimer's was admitted to the same room. The patient was pretty much incoherent most of the time, but one night, she was screaming her head off. The techs go to the room to investigate and find the woman screaming about a baby. They try to calm her and ask for more details about this baby. The woman points a bony finger to the corner of the room and says, "That lady there wants to know where her baby is!"
It seems that older the hospital, the better the ghost stories. My floor, while somewhat new, never really had a ghost story...until now.
At some point, we had a patient (whom I'll call Ed) who was in a particular room for a long amount of time. A very sick person, who probably hung around on this mortal plane far longer than he needed to because his family had issues of letting go. Well, he finally passed not too long ago, much to the relief of the staff who saw everyday how he suffered.
Monday, a couple nurses were in the room (empty at the time) when the lights started flickering. The television would turn on, cycle through all the channels, then turn off. Maintenance was called, and they found nothing wrong with the room.
Friday, I am assigned to a patient who is in the same room. Everything is going fine until another nurse hears my patient chattering in the room. She ducks inside and the patient tells her that "someone is floating around in here". The nurse suspects if the patient has lost her marbles, and comes out to tell me about it. This patient had been with it all night, so I go into the room to assess the situation.
Me: What's this about someone floating around?
Patient: Oh, you already heard about that?
Me: I hear about everything. What's up?
Patient: Did someone die here recently?
Initially, I'm pretty vague. I explain that it is a hospital, and patients do sometimes die here, so it is probably that someone died recently. I don't say anything about Ed.
Patient: Well, my husband died a while ago, but sometimes he comes home to check up on me. I will feel him rub my leg, or pat my arm. However, whomever is in here, is not my husband.
Slightly freaked, I go tell the others. We are now convinced that Ed has returned, and is going to exact his revenge upon the nursing staff for making him suffer. We didn't, his children did. The nurses were merely their tool for doing so.
The patient finally falls asleep, but I check on her frequently. At one point, I call down to the cancer floor and ask one of the nurses if they had experiences with patients who had died, but hung around for a while.
"Oh yeah. In fact, we have one on the bone marrow transplant floor right now."
That morning, I'm in the room with my patient, giving her morning meds. I ask if her visitor came back.
Patient: He never left. (Note that she said he.)
Me: Well, next time he does, tell him to go home.
Patient: I've been telling him to go to the light.
Me: Try telling him to go home and haunt his children.
Patient: You probably think I'm crazy.
Me: Not at all. In fact, we kind of have an idea who it is.
I cared for this patient all weekend. Apparently, Ed never got around to leaving. My patient wasn't freaked, but merely annoyed because her guest hindered her sleep.
Most everyone is sort of nonchalant about our haunting. Some are happy it has finally happened because every floor needs a good haunting. One nurse is downright ecstatic about it. She loves ghosts, hauntings, and all that stuff. I don't care as long as they leave my patients alone and don't move anything that shouldn't be moved.
Friday, June 22, 2007
I took the car to the tire shop to have a leaky tire fixed. I took it to Walmart on Monday for the same reason, but the flat tire that greeted me Tuesday morning was a clear sign that something was missed. At any rate, I feel confident that I won't have a flat tire come morning. If I do, I'm going to be pissed.
I picked up Mom from work and took her to my house, but not before stopping at the gas station to fill up the PT. Some egghead was sitting in her car, looking like she was finished, so I pulled in behind her. We waited...and waited...and waited. Then, she got out to start filling her tank, jumping in surprise at seeing me parked behind her, like she had NO CLUE that entire gas station was busier than a one-legged person in a butt-kicking contest. Dumbass. Mom yells out a sarcastic "Thank You!", I tell her that because she is not well versed in the art of being an asshole, she should leave such things to those who have being an asshole down to a science.
Dumbass Johnson County girl then tries to put in her debit card SIX TIMES. Each time, swiping the card, punching the pin, pushing the button to select her gas, then hitting cancel. Six times before she switched cards. She only put in $10 in gas, which is roughly a little over a gallon, before getting in her car. However, before she did, I instructed Mom to start applauding and cheering with me. The guy sitting at the next pump over snorted soda out of his nose.
I told Mom to take note...it's not everyday you see a retarded person driving a car. A Mercedes, no less. The reason her card wouldn't work: the debit system was down. I know this because it said so...RIGHT ON THE PUMP!!
The Boyfriend meets us at my house, offers a quick demonstration on how to run the power sprayer I will be using next week for my big deck refinishing project. We go to Salty Iguana for dinner, where The Boyfriend is exceedingly grumpy (bad day at work). Mom and The Boyfriend go on their merry way, and I go to Lowes and see if there is anything I might have missed in one week I haven't been there. I find a cute shelf on clearance that will go great in my office, once I get it painted...whenever that is going to happen.
I call Paul (ND!) and check on him because he fell violently ill earlier this week, and is now home gorked on pain meds. He was all slurry, and promised he would call me later tonight. He never did. I doubt he even remembers I called in the first place. If I wasn't so annoyed with him right now, I might be more concerned. I'm sure I'll get over it by Monday.
Tomorrow, I go back to work. Ugh. Everyone else is going on Worlds of Fun excursions this weekend except me. I get no Worlds of Fun, unless you count enemas, bedpans, and some grumpy old man hocking loogies on the floor fun.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Mingle2 - Online DatingYes, I am a woman to be envied.
Just why did I get this rating? Because I have the following words in my blog: crappy, gun, ass, crap, sex, breast, and most importantly, fart. No mention is made of bullshit, asshole, and splooge bucket.
I hope this doesn't mean my Mormon friends will stop reading.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
In the end, two stone pans were completely destroyed. All items were accounted for otherwise. Including the forged cutlery I bought and gaze upon lovingly each night before I go to bed. At any rate, the pans will be replaced.
Today, I took Mom to lunch. After lunch, I met with Trish to do some shopping at Zona Rosa. Her family will be leaving Thursday to go to Family Hell (i.e. Disney World), where they will stay until July 2. With three boys, not including her husband, I can only hope she takes a colossal bottle of Prozac with her. She's going to need it.
Upon leaving Zona, I noticed a printed receipt stuck inside my wiper blade. It was a parking ticket. A parking ticket at Zona Rosa, courtesy of their rent-a-cop. They have those little parking meters that you feed coins in, and all the proceeds go to charity. Having emptied my loose change into my change banks at home, I had a total of fifty cents on me in various coinage. Apparently, my time expired, just in time for Barney Fife to come along with his little computer, whose sole purpose was to spit out tickets. The fine was for $5.
Okay, now I am debating whether to pay it. How can possibly be valid? It looks like a credit card receipt!
On the ticket, it says "donation/fine"...but aren't donations voluntary? Fines are not voluntary...so which is it? It's not that I can't afford $5, but it's the principle. Wasn't the change I had on me good enough, or are they not happy until they squeeze every drop they think they can get out of me (not including the extra tax I just paid for the privilege of shopping there), all in the name of charity?
I have half a mind to call them tomorrow, tell them to shove their donation/fine ticket up their ass, then take my business elsewhere.
I'll take the $5 and give it to Harvesters.
Friday, June 15, 2007
No, I'm not pregnant.
Paul (ND!) kept razzing me about church and how I don't go. Hmmm...hard to attend when you work every single weekend. By the time I get home from work, I don't have the energy to go to church and actually stay awake for the services. The bed is far more appealing, not to mention closer.
So, Paul (ND!) makes a couple more religious remarks, which I ignore. A little later in the evening he tells me about seeing Robin Givens on The 700 Club and now she's found Jesus and all that other stuff.
Paul is the first and only person I know who has openly admitted to watching that show. I come across it while channel surfing, and Pat Robertson is usually sitting there, with his eyes squinted shut, praying for God to smite down a dictator or that blue Teletubby.
I immediately conclude that Pat is responsible for Paul's proselytizing over a beef brisket sandwich, and I ban Paul from watching the show ever again. I mean, what would his Catholic parents say if they knew?
I mean, aside from the fact that he's clearly smitten with a Mormon girl...
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Getting there, I saw the parking lot swarming with a sea of people. Cars everywhere. It was pandemonium. I love Sheridans, but not that much...so I left. It wasn't until this morning that I found out why...some promotion from channel 9 to get free frozen custard. If I actually watched channel 9, I would've known that.
Next stop: Sonic.
The Sonic by my house doesn't have a drive-thru window. Instead, you have to pull into a bay and a car hop brings you your order. Sam starts barking at two rednecks sitting on the patio sharing a twelve pack of beer. I push the button to place my order: one orange creme slush and one small vanilla cone. The girl on the other end informs me that they are currently out of ice cream.
What. The. Hell. Sonic? Out of ice cream?? There should be laws against this.
I ordered a small cherry limeade and left. Other people also had the same idea for ice cream, but just left without placing any kind of consolation order. I'm guessing they probably had drove by Sheridans as well.
There was a line that wrapped around the Dairy Queen. I didn't even stop.
Last resort: McDonalds. Deflated, I just pull through the drive-thru and order a small vanilla cone for Sam. When I say small, I want something, well, small. This cone? Well, the cone was small, but the pile of ice cream on top was as big as my head.
Sam ate every bit of it and nary a drop spilled. It's good to know that someone got what they wanted. I went from a mocha almond concrete, to a orange creme slush...and reduced to a cherry limeade.
I don't usually buy ice cream to keep at home, because it will get all old and crystally before I ever get around to eating it. However, when I want ice cream...I want ice cream, and someone better have it handy!!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
So, it will be a week before I hear anything. If this comes back unfavorable, I will have to seek out a gynecologist so they can also take a look at my girlie parts. My yoni hasn't had this much attention since...well...hmmm....
I don't recall ever hurting this much after someone has poked around my delicate girlie parts. I think I am going to just crawl in bed with a hot pad and take a nap. I'm supposed to work tonight, but who knows how I can function with I can't even walk upright.
Off to bed I go!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
"Aren't you scared?"
I pressed further and she elaborated on if being a house all by myself was scary in any way, especially considering the latest with that Kelsey girl who was abducted and killed.
Truth be told, I've never really thought about it. Oh sure, I was a little more watchful when I first moved in because I didn't really know my neighborhood, and it was a new environment. I'm always conscious of my surroundings, especially when out and about, but I've always lived on my own (save for a couple experiences with having a roommate). I don't think I have ever lived in fear. It interests me that some women would view my life and get chills up their spine: mortgage, job, maintaining a home, personal security...all done by myself with no man around, no parents to watch over me. I can see how that would intimidate.
I've been on my own for so long, the idea of sharing now seems like an alien concept. Would it be possible to just marry a guy and live in houses next door to each other? Then, we could have one big backyard.
Friday, June 08, 2007
It's going to be a good day.
We'll see if she stays there. I don't know who this judge is, but he sounds like someone I wouldn't want to piss off.
Maybe while she's in jail, families of people killed by drunk drivers should stop by and have a little talk with her. A new family, everyday, for 40 days.
After doing some more digging, I found that Dina Lohan's show will be on the E! channel if it comes to fruition. That's right, the Famewhore Network.
So, I'm boycotting the E! channel. I should drop them an email telling them of my decision and why. Hell, maybe everyone should.
Anyone else interested?
Starting with the Sheriff's office, the asshat who arbitrarily let Splooge Bucket Hilton out of the clink because she's a whiny, spoiled bitch. Are you kidding me? I take care of patients who are guests of the Penal System. They don't get sent home, they get sent to the hospital, with their own guard in tow. Sometimes, they are lucky enough to not be shackled to the bed. Usually they are, even for something as slight as bounced check charges.
But Paris(ite) gets a "get out of jail free" because she can't handle the pressures of being incarcerated. Hmmm...maybe she should have considered this when she decided to get behind of the wheel while drunk.
I hope they toss her back in, where she stays for her full sentence. I hope the Sheriff who circumvented the judge's ruling gets fired. I hope that maybe some faith is restored in our judicial system, which is perilously hanging on by a thread.
I also hope that everyone boycotts any Hilton hotel because her parents are the root cause of all of this. Her parents are enablers, and they need to be in the pokey right along with their daughter.
Which is why I will be staying at Marriott for all my hotel needs.
Don't forget Lindsay Lohan! She needs to be in a cell next to Paris(ite). What about all those establishments who served her alcohol with the entire globe knows her age? Yeah, nuke them, too! Again, the root cause of Lindsay's problems can be traced to her parents. Her mother only now goes to visit her daughter on day ten of her rehab stint?? I read somewhere that Dina is going to have a reality show of her own...all about her attempts to whore her other children out to the entertainment industry. I mean, she's already sacrificed one daughter to the Famewhore Gods, and Lindsay's pretty ate up now. As if I couldn't be anymore disgusted, I'm appalled that a network would think that airing this show is a good idea.
Which is why I am also boycotting the network that airs it.
In conclusion, a nuclear bomb dropped on California would eliminate these awful, pathetic excuses for human beings. It might even foster some good will with Muslim extremists. I suspect they hate us because they think people like Paris(ite) Hilton and Lindsay Lohan represent the average American.
It all makes me want to barf.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
That's not a euphemism for anything. I bought a $7 set of clippers and shaved his beard. Now, he's happy. I can tell because he no longer looks at me like he wants to chew on my kidney.
I used to cut hair before my nursing days. Truth be told, while dogs are not as picky as humans, they are certainly more challenging to cut...all that squirming around. Sam squirmed a little, but for the most part, stayed perfectly still. I think he knew exactly what I was doing, and was grateful for it.
While not the best haircut I have ever given, he looks a lot better. This haircut should in no way demonstrate my ability with shears, just in case someone out there was looking for a free haircut because the person who normally does his hair won't return his phone calls.
Awesome blogger, Pom, posted a pic of some cookies she made, with the link to the recipe for homemade Oreos. I haven't really done a lot of serious baking since I moved in, which is something I love to do. So, after reading the raving reviews of these cookies, I thought I would make a batch. The first batch was okay. I stayed up at 1am to make them. The second batch, I made this afternoon.
In grand tradition, I accidentally burned the last batch when I tripped the breaker (too much crap turned on in addition to the air conditioning unit) and the timer shut off. The slightly burned batch turned out to be the best cookies of all of them, but I do love a slightly burned cookie...and I am kind of weird like that.
The smaller cookie in the back is one of the burnt ones. That one's mine. I'll probably take a bunch to work to share. I even went out and bought some Shatto milk to enjoy with my burnt cookies. There were only six of them (the burnt cookies). Now, I am down to three.
So easy to make, I will probably be making a ton more of these cookies in the future.
Making motorcycles vs. Saving Lives
The two are somewhat related as motorcycle enthusiasts are healthcare's biggest source of job security, not to mention the most reliable source of organ donors.
But I'm fairly confident working at the Harley plant would be less stressful.
I think I am going to go have my brother teach me to weld now...
Saturday, June 02, 2007
So, imagine my sheer delight when I drove by it on the way to work and that magical green sign was attached to the side. That beautiful green and white sign that got me so excited, I almost drove the PT into a ditch. Starbucks!!
It's not open yet, but it will be soon, and then I can stop for my favorite beverages before I come to work.
I've also been looking at Sam's post-haircut picture, and I have decided to invest in some clippers so I can try to shave off his turkeyneck. I can't bear to look at it anymore. I can't bear the look Sam gives me now. The one that says, "How could you?!?" He's already chewed up one slipper in retribution.
Nothing new to report. I'm tired and I can't wait to go home and go to bed.