Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Then, crap started to fall apart about 6:30am, and by fall apart, I mean I started to have technical difficulties.
I'm just going to chill out at home tonight. Poke through my many boxes of Christmas decorations. Try to figure out if I want a real tree or a fake tree.
Maybe the weekend will be better.
I'm so glad this NaBloPoMo thing is almost over. It has sucked the joy out of blogging. Nothing ever becomes fun and enjoyable when you have to do it. I'll be happy to go back to blogging when I feel like it. Then, I can stop posting boring shit like this very post here.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The family featured a mom, a dad, and their six children...all living in the crappiest trailer I've seen. Well, maybe not the crappiest, but certainly in the top five...top ten. It was really crappy. The three sons slept on the couch, the three girls slept in their own little room on beds that didn't have sheets. Instead of curtains, they had blankets and sheets up. The place was as stereotypical as one could get as far as mobile homes go....so was the family, whom I am confident could tell you the glories of government cheese.
So, Bill Engvall and his team go in and pretty much rebuild this trailer and make it southern fried fabulous. The boys get their own room, the girls get their own room (with sheets on the bed!). The parents get their room redone with curtains (it looks like a hotel room). The end result doesn't look bad, and it's a HUGE improvement from their living conditions before.
The family returns to the trailer park for the big reveal. The entire trailer park turns out and you'd be hard pressed to spot a woman wearing a bra in that group. Mother (in her bleach-blond, black-rooted goodness) blathers about how she's a new person with this new house. She's a new Mom now!!
What?!? They just redid your house, they didn't give you a personality makeover. You're still a dumbass on welfare.
With all the new things that came with the newly remodeled trailer (flat panel plasma television, computer, gas bbq grill, all stainless appliances in the kitchen, furniture, etc), the thing that the parents are most excited about...they have their own soda dispenser in the shed.
I've only seen the one show. I don't know if they have any others, but I checked the website. If the show wasn't entertaining enough, you can peruse the message boards. Everyones got a sad story to tell, and everyone wants to know how they can get their trailers made over as well. It's enough to make me salivate over the prospect of new trailer park shows on the horizon. It's like being able to observe life in the park, without the fear of being caught.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Brother and Special Friend, Mom and Mr. Recommendation, and myself plus a girlfriend from work (Jen) who is fun to hang around. Redneck Brother was supposed to go as well, but in true form, he flaked out at the last minute. His wife probably didn't want to get out of bed that early. Redneck Brother used to be a Man's Man. Now, he's the biggest Pussy-Whipped Candy Ass I've ever seen. It's enough to fill it's own post.
Anyway, everyone rides in Mr. Recommendation's minivan to the stadium, where we park far, far way and walk to our tailgating party. Free drinks, free food, and a lady selling purses was also passing around jello shots.
A few hours and three trips to the porta-johns later, we finally went into the stadium. We found our seats: nine rows from the field next to the end zone, and found some older guy camping out in our chairs. After told him he was sitting in our seats, he just stood there and stared at us. What? Like we're going to go find different seats? He finally realized we weren't going anywhere and he left. Some douche bags are like that. They pay for the cheap seats, then hone in on better seats that might not be occupied. Only this guy didn't care if they were occupied.
The game commences and I fight to stay awake. That's how exciting the game was. I didn't see anything amazing happen on the field, so I just sat there, waiting for the next time I had to go use the toilet.
Lucky us, the Chiefs Preening Squad has set up shop right in front of us. I thought they might be better than last year. I thought wrong. It's not just me, either. At one point, Mom leaned over to me and said, "The Chiefs Cheerleaders don't have much rhythm." Agreed. Out of sync, out of lines. I concluded that our cheerleader squad's only real function is to pose for swimsuit calenders. Oh joy, Creepy Seat Grabber guy returns and parks in the seat in front of us after some other guy took his little boy to the bathroom. Mom told him they would be returning, but he ignored her. Sure enough, Dad and Son come back. Dad waves creepy guy off with a large hand attached to a muscular arm.
Halftime! They start laying tracks and when kids on bicycles appear, it's apparent they are going to do tricks. I remember a time when the Chiefs used to invite high school marching bands to do halftime at Arrowhead. What happened to those days??
The second half goes with as much excitement as the first. I'm still trying to stay awake, and I have used the bathroom twice since the game started. No lines the first time, the second time, there was a line, in addition to a female employee of the stadium that was directing women to empty stalls. Much like those guys at the airport direct the planes to the terminals. It leads me to wonder: How do you land a job directing bathroom traffic? What are the qualifications for such a job? What kind of training do you get?
Jen and I decide we want something to drink. Some people were drinking fruity looking beverages out of football shaped glasses. It reminded me of fruit punch, and I wanted one. Jen and I go to the vending areas and I see that the fruity drink is a Chiefs Hurricane, and is $8.50. My miserly sense overcomes my thirst for fruit punch (which I'm sure is all it tasted like). Jen buys an iced soda and puts her youngest child up for collateral. I stand in the hot chocolate line, but decide I want a funnel cake instead. And some cotton candy for later after I go home and read a book. The young girl working the stand tells me my total is $10.25. I give her a $20. She grabs a fistful of money out of her cash box then pauses. She looks at me, looks at Jen, looks at the money.
"Did you give me a $20?" she asked. I nodded. She stares at me for a minute, then her money. I cast a look to Jen, who is trying not to laugh.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Afterwards, Mom and I had lunch at Corner Cafe where I bought a bag of their delicious homemade croutons I can have in tomato soup later tonight. Lunch finished, I dropped her off at home before stopping by my storage shed and picking up more boxes to take to the house. Most of the boxes this time had Christmas decorations.
Right now, I'm going to take a nap. Then, I am going to get up, make neat and tidy around the house, then assess my Christmas decorations and see what I want to drag out. Everything else will go in the attic.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
But speaking of Mangina...I keep hearing these references to cupcakes. Because it is mentioned so often, I figure there has to be a story behind it. No one I work with could figure it out either.
So...what's the story with the cupcakes???
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Didn't people learn anything from Titanic??
Cruise ships + icebergs = bad vacation
Next time, book in the Caribbean. The only ice you'll find there is in your drink. Just the way nature intended.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Instead, I just stayed in my nice, toasty house. In my nice, toasty bed.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
If there is one universal truth in my family, every word, no matter how innocent, can be construed to be something naughty. Dinner begins and Brother makes his little remarks, Mom joins in...all innocent words with hidden meaning. Then, Special Friend blurts out that Brother needs to start drinking more pineapple juice.
I hope he remembered to stop by the store and pick up some pineapple juice.
Mom and Mr. Recommendation are en route.
Brother is currently in the shower, sucking all the hot water out of the 40 gallon tank.
Sam is in the back yard, barking at leaves.
I need to get dressed and go make pie.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Overall, the night went well. I got slapped with the charge nurse hat again. Fortunately, there was a good team of nurses working, and I didn't have to worry about gross negligence. Unfortunately, patients will do their own little thing, and one decided to code before the end of the shift.
I hate it when things like that happen around the holidays. God should have a "no expiration rule" starting from November 1st to January 15th.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I just woke up.
I have to start getting ready for work early because I remembered that today is Taco Night.
I haven't prepared jack.
Looks like a stop to HyVee on my way to work is in order. Maybe I will just buy a big, fat brownie platter.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Our unit has a bunch of computers on wheels, which we call cows (Computers On Wheels). In an effort to bring some light in a rather painful experience, some of us nurses named some of them. It not only made for smiles, but also enabled us to tell who's computer was who's for the shift. We only got three named: Mac and Cheese, Lil Devil, and Rastus.
The next night, we reported for work and the fun little name stickers we made were gone. We queried as to why.
Day Nurse: We felt it was not very professional looking.
Me: I heard no such complaints.
DN: One was even offensive.
Me: Which one??
DN: Rast Ass.
Me: You mean Rastus? Rast-Us? Can you not read??
DN: Well, we're going to give them numbers instead of names, and we're going to use the little label maker.
And they wonder why morale sucks? Because some people suck all the joy right out of our jobs, and relish in doing so. These people are Bossholes in training.
Not that just the night nurses were mumbling about the killjoys of the unit, but I heard day nurses mumbling as well. So, it's not a shift thing.
I've really got to get my transfer papers in order.
Mom just left the house. She came over and we went on a preemptive shopping strike. Everyone waits until Wednesday to buy their Thanksgiving meal crap. We thought we'd be clever and go tonight. Our first stop: Costco, where their turkeys were roughly the size of small chickens.
After that, we went to the dreaded Land of Sam where thousands of people had the same idea. Fortunately, the turkeys were bigger. Unfortunately, we had to wait in the checkout line forever...and we still didn't get everything we needed.
This will mark the first time I have hosted the Thanksgiving feast. Mom is going to help with food preparations. It should be good. I'll try to take lots of pictures.
Now, I must do some cleaning, staying up as late as possible. I'm working extra tomorrow. Christmas is approaching, and I haven't even thought about buying gifts yet.
My old hometown has a myspace page. Actually, to call it my hometown is a bit of a stretch because I only lived there for two years then got the hell out after I graduated high school. Population under 800, no stoplights, one-car police department, and the only thriving things about this place was the gas station/grocery store, and the local pub that I waited tables at during my junior year. Incidentally, farmers are the worst tippers. Ever.
So, I get this email from the person who created this hometown myspace tribute. The county rag is doing a blurb in their paper about the myspace page. Apparently, a slow news week. At any rate, the letter beseeches us to post a comment about the town, a memory, something that the county paper could possibly include in this news story.
I sat back and thought about what sort of comment I could write, something worthy of mentioning in paper (probably next to the school lunch menu for the week). I couldn't come up with jack. Truth be told, I really hold no love for that place. Too many bad memories crammed into two years. And the town was full of really strange people. Yeah, it can boast that the guy who was the lead singer of Paul Revere and the Raiders was from there, but there was also a guy who would walk through town wearing combat boots and a loincloth. I don't think I could put that as a comment, though.
Maybe I could write: "Whenever I think of this place, I get nauseated and my ass twitches." I'm sure they wouldn't print it, but at least it would be an honest answer.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Good luck with that.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
I nearly bit the head off one of the Happy Helpertons who was trying to help me figure out why I couldn't do the simple task of printing labels. When you see a sick nurse trying to manage a new computer system that has more bells and whistles than a spaceship, it's not a good idea to be perky, happy, and cheerful. That is almost begging to get your ass kicked. Or at least coughed on.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
I understand that the dollar isn't as strong as the euro. I understand that. However, I don't need dumbass celebrities telling me that I'm not cool because I still deal with dollars. I care about that about as much as I care about Sean Penn telling me who he's voting for and why I should vote the same way.
Because I'm a kind and generous person, I am willing to step up to the plate and offer a home to the unwanted, unsavory American currency. I will open my home to all the Bens, Georges, Andrews and Abes who want a warm place to stay, roof over their heads, and food in their bellies. And when they regain their strength and self-esteem, they can happily resume residence in my checking accounts.
Heather's Home for Unwanted Dollars
I'm sure I could come up with some people who would also be willing to volunteer their time, even their own homes. It might be a struggle, but I'm sure we could get by.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
This same practice applies to any store that has their own label: Target, Walmart, Costco.
I heart Gray Goose. However, I don't heart how much it costs.
So, I go to the doctor, and am ushered into an exam room. The nurse takes a swab of my throat and does a rapid strep test. Negative, she happily tells me. No shit! I had a series of strep occurrences five years straight once. I know all about strep throat.
Then, some other doctor comes in, and I suspect she's related to the doctor who saw me when I gouged my hand open. She tells me to open my mouth, but isn't happy that she can't see, so she tells me she's going to have to "be a meanie". She grabs a tongue depressor and proceeds to pry my face open with it.
"Oooohhh! You still have tonsils!!" she says. Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?
She goes on to tell me that she can neither tell if it's bacterial or virus, but would I like a prescription for antibiotics anyway? Ah. She's one of those doctors. My PCP is from the school that antibiotics should only be a last resort. I'm along the same way of thinking. I prefer to allow my body's immune system to fight stuff off. If you ask me, antibiotics are overused WAY to much for every sniffle, cough, and sneeze. This is why we now have problems with crap that antibiotic resistant. At least I can rest easy at night. I didn't contribute to this problem.
The doctor then waves a bottle of Flonase in my face and tells me to use it to help with the congestion. "What congestion?!?" I whisper. At this point, I'm really sorry I can't yell. The good doctor looks puzzled for a minute.
Doc: You no want Flonase?
Me: No. It doesn't work.
Doc: You can take this home and try again!
Me: I have three of those things at home already!!
The doc then puts away her Flonase, writes me out a prescription (even though I didn't want it), and tells me just to get lots of rest and drink lots of water. Before she leaves, I catch her attention and whisper one word: mono! She pauses like this never occurred to her, but then tells me it could be mono...but there is no cure for it because it's a virus.
Well, no shit, Sherlock!
I tell her I want a mono test ran to rule it out, and she agrees. Before she leaves, she offers some parting advice.
"If it mono, don't play any contact sports because you can rupture spleen."
What!?! Look at me!! Do I look like I play contact sports??? (Although I did have a high school history teacher/football coach always say making out was a contact sport...he was later caught stealing Playboys from the local Gas and Go.)
Before I leave the office, I stop at the lab and they draw my blood. Because I dehydrated, my veins suck and the lab tech struggles. She gets a little blood and we both decide it's going to be enough. I'll be damned if she's going to go fishing in my veins again.
So, now I wait for the results of the test. If it is mono, I'm S.O.L. There is no treatment for it...just ride it out. If it is mono, I just have to refrain from kissing anyone, or sharing drinking glasses. And take lots of naps.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
So, I'm wandering around the store when I feel like someone is following me. I use my peripherals and my suspicions are confirmed. I pull into the juice isle, hoping to lose him, and pull off to the side. I spin around and he is practically on top of me. Unable to curse obscenities at him, I just cast the glare of death. Unapologetic, he reaches behind me and grabs a bag of Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. Tubby didn't realize that he almost got kneed in the junk for Peanut Butter Cups. Douchebag.
Moving along, I stop by the frozen food isle. It's amazing how many low-fat, low-calorie, low-flavor frozen dinners there are to chose from...and they all taste like ass. Right there in the middle of the Healthy Choice and the Lean Cuisine, were the Blue Bunny Ice Cream Sandwiches in the seasonal flavors. Way to go assholes. Somewhere in Kansas City, is a person who is binging on Egg Nog ice cream sandwiches when they actually meant to buy the Baked Chicken and Roasted Pepper dinner.
After purchasing toilet paper and a couple other necessities, I leave the store and right there in the handicap spot is the ugliest, most ghettofied car. Ever. A white, late model Ford Crown Vic with the biggest dubs I have ever seen. So much, the car was higher off the ground than most pick-up trucks. To make it even more hideous, the car was decked out with a shit ton of chrome. Even at that hour, people were stopping to look at it, but not out of admiration. I saw one black lady shake her head and say, "Hot Ghetto Mess". I'm sure she would have liked to have found the owner of the car and smacked them upside the head for making the entire African American population look bad.
I feel the same way whenever I watch Jerry Springer.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Anyway, resident suggested I get a bulbous sucker thingie and try to irrigate my nasal canal that way. So, I bought the nasal sucker thingie and tried it. Didn't work. I was lamenting my sinus problems last night when Toph suggested something called a Neti pot. After some brief research, I thought I would give it a try. So, I stopped by Walgreens on my way home and bought one.
I was sorta hoping to find the kit with the cute little blue pot, but instead I ended up with the kit that looked a lot like a gravy boat. I hurried home with my purchases, let the dog out, and set up shop in the bathroom. I took the little gravy boat, filled it with warm water, emptied a packet of sinus wash mix into the gravy boat and stirred it with the little plastic spoon that came with the kit.
While my sinuses seem to be clean, whatever I have has uprooted and moved further down the respiratory tract. My voice is completely gone. I'm so tired, that when I walk from my room to the kitchen, I feel like I should stop by the living room and take a nap on the couch.
The best part? My house is playing host to a home decor party. A friend is using my house for the shin-ding because her house is being remodeled. From the sounds of it, everyone from work is going to be there. If I don't feel any better, I think I shall just lock myself in my room and let everyone else do whatever they want in the house.
Meanwhile, I'm busy making homemade chicken and noodles. Complete with some homemade dumplings.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Friday, November 09, 2007
But now I'm wondering if this is maybe not an allergy problem, but rather something more sinister.
My throat feels like someone rubbed it with sandpaper. My tonsils (what's left of them) are the size of golf balls, plus I feel like my airway is smaller than it was last week.
Other than that...I feel fine from the neck down. I'm not running a fever or anything.
I don't want to be intubated or anything, especially since the respiratory therapy department is giving me the cold shoulder right now.
Oprah is insured! The best part (aside from getting my car back all to myself) is that I got a multiple car discount with my insurance company. Woo hoo!
Brother is now going to unleash her upon the streets of Kansas City...right after he washes my car.
May God have mercy on your souls.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Can you guess which category I belong in?
What does it mean to be a charge nurse? You have the standard staffing decisions...which nurse takes which patients. You have to decide where the new admits go. You get to talk to cranky residents who demand to speak to the charge nurse. There's extra paper work involved. Once in a while, you get to serve as a mediator between unhappy patient, and frustrated nurse.
Doing the staffing doesn't bother me too much. I just throw some names down on the paper, and usually the day nurses are content...unless it's the ones who complain about everything. You could tell them that their job is to stand outside the parking garage and wave to everyone as they left...and they would complain that it's too much work. I've been known to tell the chronic whiner that I'm not fielding complaints that morning before they have a chance to start in. I don't pour over the assignments too much. From my personal experience and observations, there are some things in life that you just fuck up even more because you've given it too much thought. It pisses me off when someone agonizes for hours on assignments. I've had many a crappy night due to their brilliant skills in deductive reasoning.
Assigning admits isn't too bad. You have an empty bed, you stick a patient in there. Not too complicated. The only time the charge nurse needs to actually grow a pair is when those trolls down in admitting try to slide a patient in that is not suitable for our floor. Sneaky bastards, they are. Because I'm notorious for being an asshole and catching them in their nefarious schemes, I'm confident they have a picture of me posted down in their office that they routinely throw darts at.
We don't come across cranky residents too often, and when we do, usually it's from a misunderstanding. The residents have grasped the general idea that when they are mean to the nurses, we are going to hang their asses out to dry the first chance we get. Everyone plays nice and gets along...for the most part.
It's that last part of charging that I hate.
There are those occasions that arise where the nurse and the patient are just a bad match. Or when the nurse is a complete dumbass and the patient has figured this out within the first five minutes of meeting them. Sometimes, the patient is unhappy because we are not fulfilling their narcotic requirement in a way that is pleasing to the patient (but probably illegal in most states). Whatever the case may be, patients will sometimes ask for another nurse. Sometimes, they will ride out the shift with the nurse in question, then just request not to have him/her back. In more extreme cases, the patient demands a staff change right then and there.
(In one case long ago, a patient was racist and didn't want a black nurse taking care of her, despite the fact that this nurse was one of the best ones on our floor. The charge nurse (and my role model) then assigned the dumbest nurse on the floor (who happened to be white) to take over their care.)
Such was the case recently when I got to wear the charge hat. I was approached by a nurse, who had the misfortune of being flagged down by an unhappy patient. She reported that this patient didn't like her nurse who was taking care of her...just on sight alone. Therefore, she wanted another nurse. If she wasn't going to get a different nurse, she was threatening to leave.
Heavy sigh, and I go to the patient room. I introduce myself, and prepare to hear the tirade of why this nurse in question was so evil. She was mean. She was rough. She was rude. Etc. Etc.
Patient: I was in the ICU, and I saw her there.
Me: Uh hmm
Patient: And she and her whole group were smoking crack in my room. There were at least a dozen of them.
Patient: Yes, they are just a bunch of crack heads, and I've had crackheads before. And I don't want any part of it.
At this point, I really am rendered speechless (if you knew the type of environment our ICU is, you would know this to be impossible), so I sputter that I will investigate the matter further and come up with a viable solution. I leave the room and find the nurse in question (did I mention that she probably could qualify for the seniors discount at IHOP?).
Me: Uhhh...your patient in room 10...
Me: Well...do they have any, uh, psych issues?
Nurse: Yes, a few. Why do you ask?
Me: (dryly) Because you really need to stop smoking crack in front of them. All twelve of you.
Because we are insanely busy, I decide to take this over this patients care. The patient is over the moon that the charge nurse is now taking care of her. She now feels like a VIP. Situation solved!
I hate psych patients. They teach you all kinds of "therapeutic communication techniques" in nursing school...none of which work in the real world. Psych patients are live happily in their own little reality, and there is nothing you do or say that is going to change that.
God only knows what the patient told day shift about me the next day. That I drug a stripper pole in the room and practiced for a part time gig at Diamond Joe's or that I had a wild orgy with twelve circus midgets in her room.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
After that, I drove to Walfarts to pick up some items, namely carpet shampoo because some furball barfed on the carpet. First, I wandered back to the seasonal stuff to look at Christmas stuff. You know, I could actually get enthusiastic this year. I have a house, and I have room for decorations. I could even hang lights outside if I wanted to. I'd really like to find a Festivus Pole to put in the front yard.
After that, I grabbed the things on my list and found a line to wait in.
Walmart has a shit-ton of check out lanes. On any given day, where they might have 50 registers, only five of those are open. Naturally, I end up in the line behind the family that has three carts LOADED with groceries. To make it even better, the clerk was new.
So, I stood there. Perused a couple magazines, watched the family unload their mountainous carts (and judging from the content, their house is the home of fabulous home-cooked Hispanic dishes), pondered the meaning of life, and tried to figure out a way to get invited to that family's house for dinner sometime. Finally, an hour later, it was my turn to check out. I'm sure my frozen burritos had fully thawed by that time.
Another clerk appeared and the two began to squabble about the fact that the store is out of bags. This went on FOREVER. The Great Walmart Bag Shortage of 07!! The older of the two clerks sighed.
"All jobs come with stress." She looked at me, "I bet you have stress at work, too."
"Yeah," I said blandly. "People die."
Yes, I know. I'm an asshole.
On a side note, the Redneck Brother has been calling the house all day, leaving messages for Brother to call him. Considering that Brother worked last night and has been sleeping, and that I also work nights, I have the courtesy to wait until he wakes up before telling him to call Redneck Brother.
Knowing him, he either wants money, or he wants to try to get Brother to trade him Oprah for a bicycle or a sleeping bag. Redneck Brother is such a shiester. It comes from Dad's side of the family.
I think I'm going to turn in for a nap now.
Opponents are trying to make it into a race issue. Whatever. KCMO School District sucks wet donkey nuts, and I don't blame parents for not wanting their children in that system. During my college experience, I encountered people who had graduated within the KC district with a perfect GPA, only to not be able to read past a sixth grade level. And isn't the KCMOSD still not accredited?? Nice.
If I had kids, I wouldn't want them to attend any of the KC schools. It's not because of some conjured up race issue. It's painfully obvious that the KCMO School Board cares more about money and power, than whether or not your kid can pass the ACT.
When I went through the whole house-buying process, I paid attention to school boundaries, even though I don't have kids of my own. Why? Because I know that's what people with children pay attention to when they buy houses. To not be on that inept school district means I have a better chance of selling the house (when that time comes).
I've always felt the KCMOSD was too big to manage. Too many kids fell through the cracks. Maybe if it were smaller, people would find it easier to maintain...just like the 'burbs. I think that once those schools are out of the KC clutches, we're going to see just how bad the inner city school are in terms of test scores. Maybe it will force people to address an issue that they have been ignoring until now. It shouldn't be about taxes and property values. It should be about education.
I don't think I can vote on the succession issue, but I would vote for it if I could.
Monday, November 05, 2007
I just got home from dinner with Mom and Mr. Recommendation at Fuddruckers. I had never been there before, and I am happy to say I will be going back. The best hamburgers. Ever. However, I'm so full, I feel like I could take a good purge...and I didn't even get a big burger. However, the girl at the next table got the one-pounder, and inhaled it in less than 10 minutes. The thought of that makes me want to take a purge as well.
Mr. Recommendation reports acquiring tickets to the Chiefs-Raiders game later this month, including parking passes, and before/after game tailgating hosted by one of the vendors (i.e. free food and beverages). All I need to do, is find a date. Any takers?
Instead of subjecting myself to reruns tonight, I'm going to slip into my pajamas and watch Bubba Ho Tep.
Thank you very much.
Brother and 'bert stood in the driveway and tweaked with the engine, and I watched from the porch, heart swelling as Oprah roared to life. Such good times with that truck. Good times. Brother's done a lot of work nursing her from the brink of death. I'm so proud. ~sniff~
Brother estimates he will have it properly insured and with new tires by the end of next weekend. He's excited to have a working vehicle of his own. I'm excited I get to have my car back, which means I can resume my late night visits to the gym, instead of going during the day.
I don't know what I will do with myself.
Work wasn't too bad this weekend. I had an orientee last night, and it was a bit of an effort to refrain from just jumping in and getting stuff done when she fell behind. It's the pitfall of being a new grad...you haven't quite mastered that time management thing.*************************
I think I'm the only person in Kansas City who doesn't have tickets to the Garth Brooks concert. I haven't decided if it is something I would want to see. Considering he's the new anchor tenant of the Sprint Center, I think I will have lots of opportunities if I ever change my mind.
My allergies are acting up in a big way. I hate the cold weather, but until we get our first good cold snap, my allergies are going to be hell. My voice is all Kathleen Turner with the extra mucous and dry, red eyes thrown in. Sexy phone voice it may be, but it's hell on my singing career.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
That should count for something, I think.
It's never too late to get started. I think this would also be a good thing for Kant to do. She blogs once a month, or maybe a quarter.
I just got home from work, stopping by Land of Sam to pick up some more Kleenex and bread. Because I live close enough to Arrowhead that I can actually hear the groans, I also get to contend with the traffic that comes with it. People in red all over Walmart, and most of them converging by the hot dog buns, or the liquor isle. One family came in wearing Green Bay colors. I wanted to wish them luck.
So, I finally made it home after a 13 hour workday. An extra hour doesn't seem like much, but I'm convinced that extra hour actually tacks on an additional four hours, but manipulates the clock in some manner that we only think we are there for just one more hour. Fortunate for me, I took the iPod with me and got to listen to some tunes while I charted on bowel habits.
Brother is supposed to come home today because he has to work tonight. It's still up in the air whether he comes in the truck. When I spoke with him last night, he said they had just put the new transmission in the old girl. Not to mention she's not insured right now. And she needs new tires.
Looks like I'm probably not going to get full control of the PT until next weekend. I'm going to make Brother wash it. And clean the inside out.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go turn in for the day. Good night!
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Funny thing, though, it seemed that maybe half the kids that stopped by the house were dressed in costume. The rest in street clothes. What's the deal with that? Some girls wore cheerleading outfits that looked suspiciously like official uniforms. That's cheating! That's like me dressing in scrubs and going out as a nurse. Kids have no imagination today. I blame video games for that. And Barney.
When I was younger, my brothers were the epitome of industrious, imaginative children. They would dress up, go out and hit up the neighborhood. Then, they would return home, change into different costumes, and go out and hit up those same houses again.
But back to the street clothes...
Two boys came to my door, carrying backpacks instead of Halloween buckets or bags. They were dressed in normal street wear. I opened the door and they stood there. Having this expectant look on my face, they both muttered "trick or treat". (That's another thing...a lot of kids didn't say "trick or treat"...they just stared at you with blank expressions and held open their bag...)
Me: What are you two dressed as?
Boy#1: mumbling incoherently...cartoon...more mumbling...booty...more mumbling
Me: Booty scratchers?!?
Boy #1: No...booty snatchers!
Me: (to Boy #2) And what are you supposed to be?
Boy #2: Oh, I just got my ears pierced today.
I turned off my porch light shortly after they left. It was getting late and the children seemed to get weirder and weirder every time I opened the front door.
So this is what Halloween has become? If that is the case, then I am very sad.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
We decided to go to Hibachi on the Plaza. I had never been there before, but I read good reviews. And I love Japanese food.
I was prepared to dislike Red's boyfriend (?). Eight years of being together and no ring, I guess I would have split long before. After having met him, and socialized with him, I did concede to Red (who had been trying to convince me all along), that despite his obvious commitment phobia, he was a nice guy. Instead of just leaving outright, there is now an option for Red to return after her travel stint. The sugar tree has been shaken, and it seems that her boyfriend is starting to come around. Whether things pan out between those two or not...everything usually ends up for the best. As with all things.
At any rate...dinner was good, the service was great. I must say, the place was quite the sausage-fest. International House of Sausage! Not that there is anything wrong with that, but frat boys and hipsters blitzed on saki bombs don't quite do it for me.
Toph was even in rare form as we started down the path to Raunch Land, only to put the kibosh on it out of some respect for the boyfriend we really didn't know well enough to expose him to our true nature. Someday, we're both going to find ourselves on the business end of a sexual harassment lawsuit. Mark my words.
In the morning, I have to drag my ass out of bed and drive Brother to 'bert house...some 70 miles north. Then, I have to drive home, toss some laundry in the washer, go to stupid employee health so they can drag out the dog and pony show. Come home, and try to salvage some sort of nap before I go in to work.
Tomorrow is going to be an awesome day.
First off, I can never get an appointment to see them when it's most convenient for me. No. Those bastards always schedule at the most inopportune times, one of which being tomorrow mid-morning...even after I told them that under no uncertain terms, I couldn't come in at that time. When I called the reschedule, I get the whole "if you miss this appointment, you'll be deemed non-compliant, and you won't be able to work, and it will go on your record". If I don't make tomorrow's appointment, I will not be cleared to work for the weekend. While a weekend off might sound good, I neither have the PTO to cover it, nor can I afford the penalty.
I then told the lady that she ought to drag her ass in to work at midnight and see how she liked it, because that is what my appointment time amounted to. Brazen of me, I know, but I wasn't on the clock at the time I said it.
Plus, I'm going to have to tell Brother that he needs to find someone to take him to his truck as I will be unable to. Instead of helping family, I'm being blackmailed by my employer.
Fuckers. They are not happy unless they are not only screwing you, but everyone in your house.
You know what I think? I think corporations make the process as painful and complicated as possible so you think twice about reporting an injury the next time it happens. I didn't ask for this to happen, but I just LOVE how I've been made out to be the bad guy here. Like I'm trying to bilk the hospital out of something. Sure, there are some people that do, but not me. I just want all this to be over and done with. So much, that I'm going to demand they lift my restrictions tomorrow. The workman's comp counselor told me that looking at my file, she thought I needed another week or two of therapy. She can take her physical therapy and shove it up her ass for all I care. I'm done with dealing those assclowns.
I'd rather deal with an achy shoulder than the emotional distress these assholes have inflicted upon me since I signed my name on that incident report three weeks ago.
I'm so angry right now, I'm worthy of the red hair.
Where's that hot curling iron??
At any rate, I got roughly 30-40 kids. At one point, 7 of them crowded my front porch and I couldn't even get the door open. My overflowing candy bowl has been drastically reduced to a handful of candy bars. Less for me to be tempted to eat. I'm not too worried, Brother will have it taken care of by the end of the week.
Red stopped by later and we sat and talked. We had planned on going out, but thought of all the people that would be out and about, and decided it was safer to just stay in and visit. Besides, we'll go out tonight. She's leaving at the end of this week for Arizona, and her boyfriend isn't taking this well at all. We're all having boy problems as of late.
Brother just came and told me that he's going to go to 'bert's house this weekend to finish his truck and bring it home. Of course, I have to drive him there first. But this is joyous news! I will finally get my car back.