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.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
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.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Me: Why are you sad?
Paul: That Owen guy...
Me: Owen Wilson??
Paul: Yeah...he tried....
Me: To off himself??
Paul: Yeah...it makes me sad.
Me: It makes you sad...
Paul: That he didn't do it right the first time.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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!!
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.
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 friends...it's the best thing ever. Wouldn't you agree?
Monday, August 20, 2007
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 states...so 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
An Elvis parade, right here in Downtown KC, and I missed it. I MISSED IT!!!
WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME THERE WAS AN ELVIS PARADE IN KANSAS CITY!?!?!?! NOW I HAVE TO WAIT AN ENTIRE YEAR TO SEE IT!!!!
I'm going to go find a peanut butter and banana sandwich to drown my sorrows in.
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
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?
Me: That would be the engagement ring.
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
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
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
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.