Friday, February 29, 2008
Who was the last person you hugged?
My mom. She needed one.
Share a beauty or grooming trick or tip with us.
Ladies...Magic Powder is the best thing to use to remove unwanted hair.
What does the color yellow make you think of?
Big Bird's feathers
If you were to make your living as a photographer, what subject would your pictures revolve around?
Naked men. And hands. But not necessarily together.
What was the longest book you ever read?
The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub. I read it in Junior high.
See, I told you I have the mad toothbrush skillz. And the only thing I do is brush regularly with plain whitening toothpaste by Crest, use floss, and drink most of my beverages through a straw. I think it's the last one that has particularly saved my teeth. That, and I don't smoke.
The dentist charges $325 just to get the trays made. That kind of money for two shades...whatever. I just bought the white strips for $30. I'm replacing a couple crowns, and I want the crowns and the teeth to match in color. Preferably white.
I'm sort of obsessed about my teeth like that.
The kit I bought was a seven day regimen. I started day one yesterday. I was so impressed because the strips were wax-like, and conformed to my teeth. Not like those other strips that just sort of slide around.
My bottom teeth hurt so bad. Right now!! This seven day regimen is probably going to be a seven week regimen. Meanwhile, Tylenol is my best friend. And Sensodyne toothpaste. Ice is evil. And yawning outside.
The things we do for vanity.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
That was a year ago.
En route, Mom calls me on her cell phone, almost in tears. She's at the doctor's office, still feeling like crap, and tells me that the doctors are trying to figure out what to do with her. Uncertain of how she will react to a shot of antibiotics (she has allergies), they can either give her the shot and send her home and hope she doesn't go into anaphalactic shock...or they can admit her. If they do decide to give her a shot and send her home, they would prefer someone to stay with her. Oh say, someone like a nurse.
Now here's a dilemma. Sure, I can go keep an eye on Mom, but if she were to go into anaphalactic shock, I would be totally screwed (and so would she for that matter). What person is readily equipped to manage such a crisis in the confines of their own home?? By the time EMS would arrive, her airway would be shut tighter than Meesha's wallet on Valentine's Day. That would be a bad, bad thing.
I told her to call me once she knew the next definitive course of action. Ten minutes later, I'm standing in the waiting room of the dentists office and she calls, crying. They plan to admit. I tell her to go home and pack an overnight bag, and I will meet her at the hospital right after the dentist is finished with me.
Incidentally, my dentist was shocked that my teeth were so clean considering it had been a year since they last saw me. Yeah, I gots the mad toothbrush skillz.
Stopping by the store to pick up some pj pants (because I'd really not see my mom's ass hanging out the back of her gown), I go to the hospital where she is set up with her little iv pole and lunch. The room is not set up to encourage family members to stay the night. Too bad.
Some patients come with their own private duty nurse if they happen to have one in the family. Feel safe at night: sleep with a nurse...or give birth to one.
Those little hard chairs are going to be a bitch to sleep in.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
100 E 20th Street (just east of Hereford House)
Kansas City, MO
Wednesday, February 27th4:00 - ???
(Karaoke starts at 9pm)
There will also be Kansas City trivia - and kick ass prizes!!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
However, Mr. Recommendation felt the wrath of Brisbane 10 last week. So much, he had to go to the ER for some IV rehydration, breathing treatments, antibiotics, and a fatty bill. This week, Mom has it. It was only a matter of time.
So far, I've managed to elude B-10, although we are starting to see staff members at work falling victim. I'd like to think that my entire sick month of November was the strain before it mutated into the festering mess it is now. If that is the case, I should have some sort of immunity already.
So, best of luck to you, especially if you have it. Drink lots of fluids. Get lots of rest. Wash your hands. Treat the symptoms, but don't overdo.
Don't call me. I don't make house calls.
Anyway, we decided that for her 30th, she needed to ring it in proper, so we made plans for an outing. I was to be the DD (designated driver). I haven't come to a point where I can think about the work Christmas party without shuddering. Besides, being the DD does have it's pluses. You get to remember everything that happened, plus it affords you the opportunity to embellish a little. It's not like anyone else is going to know better.
Tweener and J came to my house. From there, I drove to Belton to Smo's house. We hit crappy weather at the Grandview Triangle, but the PT didn't waiver. We picked Smo up, and decided to eat in Belton because everyone was starving. Smo selected a Mexican restaurant by the name of Guichos. Without going into the full review I will Yelp about later, I will say that it was the most disturbing Mexican food I had. My enchilada tasted like a pot roast. And my burrito had peas and carrots in it. The rice looked like Chinese fried rice. At least they didn't fook up the tamale. That would have been tragic.
Towards the end of dinner, karaoke started in the bar part, and we got to listen to some howlings from what looked like the residents of the local trailer park. Dinner and a show!!
Smo got to wear the big sombrero and the complimentary birthday tequila shot. Lots of pictures, and we were off to our night's big adventure. By then, a lot of snow had fallen, but once we got to the Grandview Triangle, the roads were clear again. Wet, but clear.
We went to The Drop. Tweener had visited once before and raved about the place. The place was crowded, and we did have to wait for a table, but the wait was well worth it. Being full of bad Mexican food, we didn't order any eats, but we had beverages. I sampled a tasty bellini, my compadres had martinis, shots, and Woodchuck. I observed some plates being carried to tables, and the bruschetta looked awesome. Tweener says it's the best she's ever had.
The clientele of The Drop consisted mostly of the mature crowd. By mature, I don't mean those who rock the AARP cards. I mean those who like to go out to socialize over drinks, and not get loud and falling down drunk (Westport, anyone?). Tony would refer to these people as hipster wannabes. If going out and acting like an adult instead a drunken Leawood skankmuffin, then you can call me Hipster.
Like I said, it was insanely busy. I do plan on going back for lunch sometime when they are not so busy.
By the end of our stay at The Drop, Smo is squinting and two sheets to the wind. This after two martinis, two shots, in addition to the tequila shot at dinner, and a weak frozen strawberry margarita.
Moving on, our next and final stop would be Tootsies. I'd been to this place once before, so I kind of knew what to expect. Smo, on the other hand, had never been.
Tootsies is a predominantly lesbian bar, but there was huge number of inner city folk who were not gay, so I was puzzled. But not alarmed. In fact, I kind of thought it spoke something of the establishment itself saying that everyone was accepted, no matter who you were.
Immediately upon arriving, we make a beeline to the bathroom. Considering the amount of women there, I was somewhat surprised there wasn't a line that wrapped all the way around the building. As I was waiting for the others, four girls approached. Actually, it was three girls, carrying a fourth, who could not stand up on her own steam. They announced she was going to throw up, and I stood back to give them a wide berth.
You know, if you are at a bar, with friends, and one of those friends becomes so impaired that they can't even hold their head upright, you'd take them home, right? Not these girls. I would spot them a few more time later that night, dragging their semi-conscious friend around the bar. Just because girlfriend was almost comatose, didn't mean everyone else's fun had to be infringed upon. Nope. They just drug her around like a Coach purse.
As an added bonus, they had a drag queen show, which wasn't anymore impressive as the first one I saw. I was standing next to one guy who almost had a coronary. Apparently, he had never seen drag queens either.
J and I get overheated in the stuffy place and decide to go outside for fresh air. While we are out there, a bouncer pops out of the building, carrying the drunk girl we had seen earlier. Behind him, one of the girl's friends is following hot on his heels, harping about how they were not ready to leave.
"It doesn't matter, you are done for the evening" he announces before depositing passed out girl in the back seat of a car.
Back inside, people are dancing to a lot of hip-hop music I haven't heard before. One girl, with the biggest ghetto booty in the history of ghetto booties, is shaking her rump on the floor. Ordinarily, that would not warrant a second look from most people. What did it was the fact that this girl was wearing a dress that just sort of hung on her, allowing her flat, long, horribly wrong breasticles to flop out of the top of her dress. Repeatedly. At one point, she gets on her hands and knees and makes her butt dance, one cheek at a time. I'm pretty confident she was a stripper.
I understand the difference between men and women and their center of gravity. Men's allows them thrust their hips from front to back, but they can't shake their hips from side to side the way women can. Women, however, cannot do that thrusting motion the way men can. What I don't understand is how some women (predominantly featured in hip-hop videos), do that booty shake. White women cannot replicate this. I've seen them try. They fail miserably. I've been known to thrown down on the dance floor, but I can't shake my butt like that, even though I have the junk in the trunk that would qualify. I want to learn to shake my booty. Does the Communiversity offer classes in this??
A few hours at Tootsies, and we are ready to call it a night. I deliver Tweener to her home. Smo to hers (but not before plowing through some serious snow to get to her house). J rides home with me and naps on the sofa before she goes home.
Smo's 30th birthday was a big success, and I hope it showed her that just because you turn 30, it doesn't mean you become old and start yelling at kids who walk on your lawn. Reaching your 30's is like passing a threshold where you don't have to care about impressing others. You're comfortable in your own skin, your own life. Established. Experiences with friends and family have more meaning. You're more relaxed and content.
At least, that's how I felt when I turned 30. Maybe I'm just the lone dissenter.
Women are like fine wine. We just get better with age. Anyone that says differently is a dumbass.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Let me amend that. Quality toilet paper is expensive.
Something that you just wipe your ass with should not cost that much money.
On a side note: this is my 700th post. Which means I need to find a hobby.
Friday at work went well. Nothing too exciting happened, which is how I like it. I like it when work is steady without any major setbacks. If, by some miracle, patients actually sleep during the night, time draws out and we are left, bored and watching the clock.
One of our well-known patients died this weekend, and I just happened to be in the room when he took his last breath. With the wife standing there. Awkward! I hate being the one to tell the family when a patient has died, because I can never be prepared enough for the reaction, which is varied. Sadness, grief, wailing and screaming. Sometimes there's anger directed at staff for "not doing enough". Some families are great to work with, some not so much. There's been a lot of death around the house. Indy (coworker), reports a large number of kids dying. I'm glad I don't work in pediatrics.
I had a pretty sick patient this morning, who decided she didn't want to do well at 4:30 with a heart rate hitting the 180's range. The whole situation gave me that sinking feeling, which usually accompanies the code cart. The resident on call looks like he's not even old enough to drive a car, much less save a life. He relays a couple half-assed orders which leave the nurses blinking and looking at each other with that "is he serious?" look. Most residents are completely oblivious to this look. So are most seasoned doctors, for that matter.
I was pretty happy to come home.
A flurry of activity going on next door as Mom and Mr. Recommendation prepare the house for move-in. Painting, the pulling up of the hideous old carpet. The installation of new, shiny kitchen appliances which have me green with envy.
Mom wasn't feeling well on Saturday as she was doing laundry in her new washer and dryer. Because any type of illness can affect diabetes and blood sugar, her sugars were precariously low and she was acting like a space cadet. While still in my pajamas, I drug her over to my house and made her eat a spoonful of peanut butter and watched her until she was able to form complete sentences.
When Mom was first diagnosed with diabetes, she got zero education from her doctor. Nothing on nutrition (save for a pamphlet), nothing on what to look for if your sugars are too high or too low. Dr. Retard just gave her insulin and sent her on her merry way. The first time her blood sugar bottomed out, she went unconscious, leaving Stepdad terrified and not knowing what to do. As a result, she no longer takes the insulin. She really didn't need it in the first place.
Whenever I think about it, I want to drive to Dr. Retard's office and kick her square in the taco with a pair of steel-toed boots.
At any rate, next weekend is the big moving weekend.
Then, I will officially have new neighbors.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
I stopped and listened more closely to the music.
"The Midwest Hemorrhoid Treatment Center!" sang a happy little man on a commercial touting this office that you may go to and get your hemorrhoids treated. (I wonder how long it will take before someone drags their spouse in just because they are a pain in the ass.)
In spite of the GINORMOUS sinus headache I have right now, I busted out laughing. Brother joined in.
You just see if you can keep a straight face when you see the commercial.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Have you ever played a practical joke on anyone? If so, what did you do and who was your victim?
Once we had a patient who lost a leg, but was handling it with humor. So much, that he decided to play practical jokes on the staff. He was wheeling himself down the hall, looking for something to do when an idea came to my head. I gave him a couple cartons of apple juice and a new urinal. I didn't have to tell him what to do with it. An hour or so later, a scream comes from his room as an IV nurse went in and he decided to "recycle" his urine by drinking it.
My idea...of course, I didn't take credit for it.
What do your salt and pepper shakers look like?
I have the salt and pepper mills. One's black. The other white. Both shaped like bowling pins. I got them from the Ikea store in Atlanta.
Where is the next place you plan to visit (on vacation or business)?
Caribbean cruise booked for the fall.
What kind of lotion or cream do you use to keep your hands from getting too dry?
I use this thick aloe vera cream at work we lovingly call "butt cream". At home, I use the stuff from Bath and Body that has milk and honey in it. Great stuff.
Make up a dessert, tell us its ingredients, and give it a name.
Cherry pie filling with dry yellow cake mix dumped over the top and baked. Okay, I didn't make this up...but it is rather tasty. I shall call it Heather's Dump Cake
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Yeah, I won't be going anywhere today.
(Meagan's Bay in St. Thomas...because I wish I was there instead of here.)
Just as well. If I stay inside, I won't be exposed to the crud that everyone and their mother is coming down with. Mom and Mr. Recommendation both have it. And every other person I know.
I'm hoping that this might be the same crud that I had in November. If so, I should have the antibodies against it. If not, I'm totally screwed.
Work is going to suck.
Seriously. Being blonde really isn't that big a deal. Of course, I say that because I've had blonde hair for my entire life. I got that from my father. And his brown eyes. I was a weird looking kid.
At any rate, I went to the salon to my usual girl. She recently came back from a trip to the AVN Awards. I guess there is a porn star who is from Shawnee, and my girl was flown out to Vegas to do her hair and makeup for the show. So, I got to hear all the sordid details of the trip...which really wasn't all that sordid. K was expecting to see orgies with rock stars, what she found was on par with a PTA meeting, but with more breast implants. She saw Dave Navarro (who I would totally get naked with). Tito and his girl Jenna (word is that she has cancer, which is why she looks like a shit sandwich now). Nina Hartley (who was a nurse before she went into "the industry".
An hour or so later, I'm a redhead again and only my stylist knows my natural color. I go home to fish sticks and green beans. I watched Bowling for Columbine, which I'd never seen before. I thought was a very good documentary, and am now inspired to see Sicko.
A couple times, I dashed out of the house to check out the lunar eclipse. Almost freezing my ass off, I gave up for the night. After two other lunar eclipses, it kind of loses it's appeal. I tried to take a pic with my camera for the blog, but the pic sucked. I have a crappy digital camera. I really need to invest in another one before my next cruise...which can't get here fast enough.
Nothing horribly exciting going on otherwise. Just trying to keep warm. Maybe tomorrow I will take Sam to the groomer for a bath. I brushed him today and now the office is covered with a fine layer of white fuzz.
Dog hair is not just an accessory in my house. It's also a condiment.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
I told Brother that if he wanted Chinese that bad, he would have to go there. This was met with a snort and him begrudgingly putting on his shoes. He hates going out to eat, unless it's with a girl who will probably put out. So, I guess it's better to say that he hates going out to eat with family.
We go there, and it just reeks of newness. We both order the iced tea, and Brother balks when our waitress brings our drinks. It looks like an iced urine specimen. The taste is somewhat vague. I figure it to be herbal, Brother reasons that it is probably the urine of all the dogs the restaurant killed for our Peking Surprise. The drink menu says Jasmine Iced Tea.
What's wrong with plain old Lipton???
Over dinner, we discuss various goings-on. Brother is making plans for the basement. His Boom-Boom Room.
Brother says he wants to pull up the multi-color tile in the basement and put carpet down. I veto this idea, if only because the tile provides a nice little barrier between water and furniture in the event it rains for 40 days and 40 nights again like it did last year. At least until we figure out where the leak is. I told him to just toss down an area rug for now.
Besides, I kind of like the tile.
"Why?" He snorts, "It's not like you're going to have any children."
Brother eats his weight in Chinese. He eats like a horse and still maintains a decent figure. He must get that from Dad. I can't even look at a slice of cheesecake with my ass getting bigger. I get that from Mom.
Brother forks a whole, sauteed mushroom and advises that when eating a whole mushroom, it should be chewed thoroughly because if not, you will crap it out whole again. "They'll pop out like anal beads. Pop! Pop! Pop!"
I don't know how he knows about anal beads. I didn't ask. There's just some things I don't want to know.
We finish dinner. Brother leans back in his chair and announces that he will go home and proceed to produce the world's biggest turd. I ask him to use the downstairs bathroom when he does. I'm surprised my plumbing system hasn't ruptured since he moved in. Yet. Brother is very in tune with his gastric system, particularly the lower part. He's going to be one of those old people who obsess about when they poop. He's going to have it down to the minute. I just know it. If he's a minute late, he's going to freak out.
I stop by Starbucks and spring for coffee. Brother sings (badly) when he gets his coffee, and the barista makes a face. She's clearly not impressed. I'm still convinced that someone is going to shoot at us because Brother will piss off the wrong person.
His current thing: Wishing everyone Happy Black History Month. This coming from a kid who looks like a skinhead.
My house would be so boring if he did not live here.
Monday, February 18, 2008
It wasn't until I overheard the waitress talking that I realized that the waitress was a he. Or more appropriately, a "queen".
I understand that drag queens are a bit over the top, but at 8am??? I don't know of any women who go out with that kind of makeup at 8am.
I struggled to keep my expression in check, and I struggled even more against the overwhelming urge to take a picture with my camera phone. Sadly, he/she wasn't our waiter/waitress. So, I had to settle for covertly watching from afar. Drag queens are intersting to watch. If there was a trailer park full of drag queens, I'd have to quit my job because I would be there all the time. Watching.
I'm salivating just thinking about the people-watching potential.
Spell check on blogger hasn't been working for me, for about a month now. It's really starting to piss me off. I love spell check. I hate having spelling errors. Has anyone else been having problems with Blogger's spellcheck??
I came home this morning to a vile smell in the house. Turns out, Brother fried an onion for breakfast and tossed some eggs in. My contempt for onions is well documented. Apparently, I need to remind Brother of the no-onion policy in place in my house.
Work kicked my ass this weekend. We are running a special on pulmonary patients. I've come to discover that I really, really like working with these patients. The disease processes, the treatment...all of it is interesting to me. After almost 4 years, I'm starting to get a clear picture of what I want to do with this whole nursing career long term. Yay for me.
Meanwhile, I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed. The onion smell in the house will just have to wait until I get up. Thank God for Febreeze.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Name one thing that is unique about you.
My frank and honest demeanor.
Fill in the blank: My favorite _________ is __________ but I like _________ too.
What type of wood do you have for your home’s furnishings?
Who do you talk to most often on the phone?
What level of responsibility do you have in your job?
Considering that I am the difference between life and death on a regular basis...I would say that my level of responsibility is, uh, somewhat high.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The friendly guy from the garage called...with a list.
"Be gentle." I said before he started to read off said list.
Some sort of thermostat housing is bad, causing it to rain antifreeze on the belts...hence the squealing. So, I obviously need new belts. Some sort of gasket with the transmission is bad, causing a leak of tranny fluid. Thankfully, they don't have to drop the transmission to fix it.
I also have another bad tire.
Without the tire, we're talking just under $500. Or in other words, my new bathroom tile. At least until next month.
I took Mom to dinner tonight at Corner Cafe before I picked it up from the garage. A big, hairy Italian that kind of looked like Big Pussy from The Sopranos. He was there with his wife/girlfriend/whatever. He was an asshole to his date and the wait staff. Douche. At one point, I was waiting for one more insult before I turned around and dumped my iced tea on his nasty, greasy head.
After dinner, I drained the tile portion of my bathroom remodel budget to pay for the car repairs and came home. I had planned on treating myself to a pedicure, but I figured I blew enough money today and called it good. Tomorrow, I'll go to a real tire store and replace the gimpy tire that's currently on the car.
Now that I have my car back, I have no legitimate excuse to call in tomorrow night.
-Dan and his wife are on-again, off-again. His wife has been passed around more times than a doobie at a Grateful Dead concert.
-Dan's wife left him for an Army recruiter when he got his leg blown off. She could have at least kept it within the Marine Corp.-A year or so before E.M. approached, both Dan and wife came into large amount of money. Hers from Ford as severance, his from the military. The figures relayed to me were as little as $250K and as much as $400K.
-They pissed all the money on vacations, new cars, and crap they can't account for...including a "renewal of vows" in their backyard.
-The ex took the $5000 ring he bought her (with said money mentioned above), pawned it, and ran off with another guy.
-Dan knew about the E.M. house before his wife remarried. He waited to tell her two days after the wedding.
-Her anger was a sight to behold.
-She stalked the family.
-A restraining order had to be taken out against her until after the house was completed.
-All four kids do not live with Dan. Two live with him, two live with the mother...who lives close by. This is so Dan does not have to pay child support.
-Dan has a fifth child (in her early teens) that lives with her mother in North Carolina. Dan has not paid child support in years.
-This daughter did not get to go to Disney with the rest of the family.
-When asked about what type a house he wanted, Daniel said he wanted a two-story log cabin, with a finished basement. And separate living quarters for his Mom.
-When asked where they would like E.M. to send the family for the week vacation, Dan said Ireland.
-Dan didn't want new Ford vehicle. He wanted something different because he just purchased a brand new Ford truck. E.M. told him to just trade in the new vehicle and keep the cash.
-Dan's kids had/have an issue with lice...for at least a year.
-Dumbass mother's solution: "treated" the lice by pouring kerosene on their heads.
-The entire house now has an issue with lice. I hope Ty bought RID before going home.
-Dan's ex is still bitter about not being part of the E.M. experience. In a case of sour grapes, she continues to be a bitch, including dragging the kids into the fray.
-Dan got at least $10K in cash at the viewing party. Chances are fairly good he's not going to pay up on that child support he owes to the daugher he ignores in North Carolina.
-Dan will probably end up taking crazy ex back because he's the world's biggest jackass, and that's what he does.
Yeah, I know he lost a leg and touted as a war hero and blah, blah, blah. This whole situation just illustrates that even douchebags join the military and go to war. Just because you are injured in the line of duty, it doesn't mean it wipes clean your title of Deadbeat Dad. One could argue that karma is the reason he was injured, but that wouldn't explain a network building him a new house. Read the news and you can find 10 more deserving individuals out there.
You have to wonder just how well ABC researches these so-called "deserving" families they build the houses for. The whole situation is disgusting.
I'm never watching ABC again.
*as reported to me by sources close to the family
RDM posted a brilliant take on the Extreme Makeover, and his experience with the military. Check it out.
I'm celebrating by taking the PT in to the shop. The belts have been squealing, plus I'm fairly sure there is an oil leak involved. I know it's Valentine's Day and all, but I'm really hoping I don't get bent over and done dry.
The water guy came over yesterday to service my water system. Naturally, they had to send the mentally retarded service tech. In between going from his van to the basement, I'm entertained with stories on how he got his ass reamed by his boss for not checking the oil in his van.
I once had a patient spontaneously bleed from her lungs and she died before my very eyes in what was the biggest, bloodiest code I've ever had the misfortune of witnessing. I'm still traumatized. So, unless your work problems can compete with that...I really, really don't care.
Corky finally replaces the filters and carbon in the system. It takes him so long that Brother is convinced he's just sitting in my basement, masturbating. I decide to just stay upstairs until Corky emerges with his shop vac. I'm sure Brother was wrong, but why take my chances?
Anyway, other than the car getting fixed, I have no big plans. Maybe I will stop somewhere and buy something for myself as no one is going to do it for me. Don't feel bad. I will get exactly what I want, and I won't have to put out for it.
But I will say this: I'm not obligated to observe S&BJ Day. Which is unfortunate because my meat skillz are phenomenal.
I can cook a really good steak.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Ahhh, Lent. I never knew what Lent was until about 7 years ago or so when I overheard a surgeon discussing that he gave up sugar for Lent. Another mentioned chocolate. I grilled the Catholic hens on Lent. The following year, I made one of them give up bitching about people for Lent. A Mormon making a Catholic give up her most favorite thing for 40 days. She made it through (with the help of her peers) and as a reward, I took her to lunch at Andres.
I'm always curious to hear about what people give up for Lent. This year, a Catholic friend told me that they gave up shopping/frivolous spending. A couple days later, they let slip about a shopping excursion they went on that day.
Me: You told me you gave up frivolous spending!
Catholic: It was a housewarming gift.
Me: And you just bought one?
Catholic: Well, they were on sale and I bought a couple.
Me: Ah-hah! You're going to hell.
Catholic: I can always take the others back if I decide I don't want them...
Me: So, what does God do when you break your Lenten promise?
Catholic: I'll try again tomorrow.
Me: When you stand before God, and he cries because you went shopping at Kohls during Lent, what are you going to say to Him??
Catholic: It wasn't even for me. It was a gift for someone else.
Me: That's like saying you're giving up sex for Lent, but you give someone a handjob...or a hummer.
Mormons don't observe Lent. Sure, we have Fast Sunday...which is the first Sunday of every month. We just give up food until dinnertime. However, most the things Catholics give up for Lent, are things Mormons are prohibited from doing anyway...except chocolate.
I should try giving something up for 40 days, just to see what it feels like. Just once. Just the tip.
Blogging? Starbucks? My job?
Now there is a sacrifice I could get behind.
1) Cover your stump before you hump
2) Before you attack her, wrap your whacker
3) Don't be silly, protect your Willie
4) When in doubt, shroud you spout
5) Don't be a loner, cover your boner
6) You can't go wrong, if you shield your dong
7) If your not going to sack it, go home and whack it
8) If you think she's spunky, cover your monkey
9) It will be sweeter if you wrap your peter
10) If you slip between her thighs, be sure to condomize
11) If you go into heat, package your meat
12) When you take off her pants and blouse, suit up your mouse
13) Especially in December, gift wrap your member
14) Never ever deck her, with an unwrapped pecker
15) Don't be a fool, vulcanize your tool
16) The right selection, is to protect your erection
17) Wrap it in foil, before you check her oil
18) A crank with armor, will never harm her
19) If you really love her, wear a cover
20) Don't make a mistake, cover your snake
21) Sex is cleaner with a packaged wiener
22) If you can't shield your rocket, leave it in your pocket
23) No glove, no love
24) If you think she'll sigh, cover old one eye
25) Even If she's eager, protect her beaver
26) Avoid a frown, contain your clown
27) Harness the pygmy man before entering the bearded clam
28) Constrain the little head before you stick it in the shed
29) Put a condom on your dink before you dart it in her sink
30) Cloak the joker before you poke her
31) Encase that torch before you paint her porch
32) Cape your throbber before you bob her
33) After detection sheath your erection
34) Don't surprise her, plug your Geyser
35) Protect her wrinkle before you sprinkle
36) House your noodle then release your strudel
37) Put your dog in the pound and make her yelp like a hound
38) Shelter your jerky then nab that turkey
39) Don't be a fool cover your tool
40) Stitch that switch then itch her niche
41) Wrap that tool to catch the drool
42) It ain't no jibe to protect her hive
43) Restrain your log then plow her bog
44) Cover old pete then grind her meat
45) Wrap your bate before you mate
46) Can your worm before you squirm
47) Bag the mole then do her hole
48) Cover your vein then drive her insane
49) Wrap that pickle then slip her a tickle
50) Protect your dink then fluff her mink
51) Hide ole harry then take her cherry
52) Wrap that spout then bore her out
53) Shroud your trout then make her shout
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I've known that it would eventually come to this, but I have outgrown my current tower. I have DSL, but my computer runs like dial-up. It occasionally crashes. Routinely freezes. When this happens, I'm filled with a blind, white-hot rage that has me wanting to grab a baseball bat and beat the shit out of my computer.
Computer usage should not be this way.
I really don't want to go to Best Buy for a new computer because they suck. I bought the current turd from Nebraska Furniture Mart. The only real good computer I've ever owned was built for me by a guy I was dating at the time. While he sucked in bed, he was a wizard with computers.
So, this is my call to the internets...anyone out there interested in building me a new tower? Of course I would pay for it.
This is your chance to save me from going postal on my current tower. I'm really close to doing it. You have no idea...
We had planned to go on two seperate occasions, but no sooner than we made plans, Erotic City was in the news for something scandalous. The first time was the 14 year old guest of honor at an orgy in the basement. The second time, a guy was accosted in one of the booths.
I told Michelle I'd prefer if we didn't visit the basement nor the booths, thank you very much.
Finally, we made a date and went. The Big KC Porn Tour of '08 was about the commence!
But first, dinner at Salty Iguana!
From there, we went to Erotic City...which sits all by itself on a dark section of Truman road. It even looks seedy from the outside. On the door, signs posted that no cameras or videos were allowed (rats!) and they only took cash. The guy sitting behind the counter suspiciously looks at us as we enter. We are the only women in the store. About three other men are there, they all look shifty. At one point, a guy pops out from behind the wall (from the office, I guess), hauls ass over to Michelle and I, and demands to see our I.D. He didn't ask the men for their I.D. Perhaps they were regulars of the store. I stick close to Michelle because I'm afraid of being drug down into the basement. I also refrain from touching anything because I remember that I forgot to bring hand sanitizer.
For the most part, the store was 75% videos, and 25% everything else. By everything else, I mean various items that fit into various orifices, in varying colors, shapes, and sizes. Of note, they sold the inflatable sheep, which I contemplated buying to replace my other sheep that has a leak in it. (Oddly enough, Paul was the last one to be spotted with the sheep before the leak presented itself. I'm sure the two are completely unrelated...)
They also sold some stripper items. Some dinky little lime green outfits and some of the ugliest stripper shoes I've ever seen. All of which covered in dust.
Michelle: Look! Camouflage stripper shoes!
Me: I can't see them.
I'm standing next to Michelle when she whispers "LaChoy!" I look and they are selling LaChoy canned chow mein noodles behind the counter. In addition to cans of soda, Pledge furniture polish, and an economy sized can of Carnation Coffee Creamer.
If there is some sort of fetish out there involving coffee creamer and furniture polish, I'd like to know. On second thought, maybe I don't. Nevermind...
Moving right along!
We stopped at After Hours, which is just up the road from Erotic City. The lighting is a little better, and the person working the counter is a woman (I think). Again, 75% videos and 25% novelties. I spot a small display of Emotion Lotion and have a nostalgic moment from when I was a kid and finding these bottles all over the house. My parents were sex addicts. Connoisseurs of kink. I'm surprised they only had three kids.
We saw a lot of the same stuff we saw at Erotic City, only their videos were grouped according to fetish (I didn't see a section marked Chinese Noodles or Furniture Polish). However, I did see a section dedicated to Midget Porn where you could buy cinematic treasures like Little Whores on the Prairie and Tiny Asian Sluts. (It's not enough to have just Midget Porn, but even Midgets have fetish needs, too. Hence, the Asian Midgets...).
I also spotted Pregnancy Porn (porn featuring pregnant women), which leads me to believe that the babies of the, ahem, actresses stand no chance in life once they come out of the womb. There's Geriatric Porn for the sex-charged seniors crowd (or those who find wrinkes sexy). There's Fatty Porn (a free bag of flour with every purchsae). Foot Porn. Cartoon Porn. If you have a hankering for it, chances are pretty good that there is a porn video out there just for you.
Of a more disturbing nature, I discovered there is a market for enema porn. Yes, you read right. Enema porn. I know there is a market for everything, but I'm even mystified by this one. I've given countless enemas. None of them an erotic experience. Some of which just downright terrifying. What's even more disturbing than the presence of enema porn, is the fact that I am wracking my brains trying to think of who I could buy this for as a present. You know, for the person who has everything...
After our exploration of After Hours, Michelle and I are somewhat disappointed that our tour of the stores didn't produce more horrifying discoveries. Plus, it was just two stores. I seem to remember seeing another place on 40 Hwy, so we investigate and find that my suspicions were correct. A Naughty But Nice Store. The cleanest of the three and they take Visa or Mastercard.
Nothing really more exciting here. Much of the same, only more organized, and no Chester Molesters milling around. I spot a video with a girl on the front, and she is fugly. Apparently, there is a fetish for ugly porn stars, no??
Michelle buys a souvenir of our adventures, and we call it a night. I don't buy the inflatable sheep. I'm still convinced I can find the leak in my sheep and patch it up because I'm cheap that way, even though a new sheep only cost $7.
Thus concludes the Big KC Porn Tour '08, Winter Edition. This could be a trend...to find porn stores around the area and investigate. Offering a comprehensive review of each...so the masses will know where to go for all their enema porn and inflatable livestock needs.
Remember to bring hand sanitzer!
Saturday, February 09, 2008
I've been busy with blog things as of late. First off, trying to get my Yahoo squared away (Not that Yahoo, you sick perverts!) so I will know who updates. When I linked to only a couple blogs, I didn't mind checking daily. Now that my blog list has grown, it's become a pain in the ass to click on every single one, especially when nothing new has been posted. Then, I just felt cheated.
Now, as everyone has hopefully figured out, I'm a nurse. If this is news to you, then you are either not paying attention, or are intellectually challenged (i.e. retarded). However, if this is your first visit, then this really is news to you...and I'll let that slide. At any rate, I figured because I'm a nurse, and that sort of is my "angle" as far as blogging goes, I thought I would make the blog appear more relevant to what I do. Naturally I won't be blogging about being a nurse all the time, but the events posted on this blog do happen to a nurse, even if they are not nursing specific. So, I guess it's all relative.
Perhaps I will add a little more spice later. But this is what I've done with the place for now. Hope you like it. Come by often and make yourself at home.
I'll have the enemas ready.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Thursday, February 07, 2008
I was curious as to why they would be calling me, so I picked up. The guy on the other end told me that I was listed as a reference by my cousin who was applying to rent-to-own something through them, and would I mind answering a few questions?
RAC: And what is your relationship with this person?
Me: My cousin.
RAC: And how long have you known this person?
Me: (pausing...is this a loaded question?) Uhhh...my entire life.
RAC: Can you verify her address?
Now, I haven't physically talked to my cousin in months, if not years. The only communication I've had with her was via email and IM.
Me: Uhhh...no. I know she lives in a small town somewhere.
RAC: Podunk? (Not the real name of the town)
Me: Yup! That's the one!
RAC: Okay...can you verify her phone number.
Me: No. I don't know it off the top of my head...but maybe I can find it somewhere.
RAC: That's okay. Can you verify her place of employment?
Me: Not really. I think she's a telemarketer.
RAC: (Rattles of some business that I've never heard of)
RAC: Can you vouch for this person as upstanding?
RAC: So, can we put you down as a contact in case we need to leave her a message?
Shit! In the event she welches on this rental agreement, guess who's going to get the phone calls. For as long as I have known my cousin, I have known her to not exactly be prompt in the paying of the bills department.
There's a reason people buy from Rent-A-Center.
I'm a little annoyed that she put my name down without calling me first. I'm sure RAC guy hung up and thought that I was not only a crappy reference, but a crappy family member for not even knowing where my own cousin lived and how to reach her. That's not entirely true. I can send her an email.
I called my Mom and told her what happened. She thought it was hilarious.
I'm still not amused. I'm changing my phone number.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
So, water sales guy comes over a few weeks later, and he makes his case, complete with a flip chart. He also tests my water and shows me how disgusting Kansas City water is. He hooks up his portable water treatment filter, and makes me a pitcher of Kool-Aid to show me how wonderful filtered water makes Kool-Aid.
Before I know it, I've leased a water treatment system for the house. Now, I'm not a pushover when it comes to sales. In fact, I'm usually the last holdout. So, you know this guy had to have been good to get me on board.
A few days later, it is installed. They don't let you wait more than a week because that gives you time to think about what you've done, and the last thing they want is for you to cancel. So, water guy not only installs the system, he also leaves 3 years worth of soap behind. Laundry soap, dish soap, body soap, soap for the dishwasher, shampoo, bar soap, multi-purpose cleaner, window cleaner, and a couple things I can't remember off the top of my head. The idea is that now that you have a water treatment system, you don't need to buy soap with softeners in them. You already have the soft water.
To their credit, the laundry soap is actually pretty good. The body soap smells nice. The shampoo sucks. (I still use my overpriced, salon-purchased stuff because I'm a neurotic hair snob.) I don't notice any difference in dish soap, but the dishwasher stuff is pretty nice. I can't use the bar soap because I apparently have a sensitivity to soap with oatmeal in it. (Which worked out because Brother loves the stuff.) Truth be told, I haven't purchased a lot of cleaning items for over a year.
Anyway, a few weeks after installation, a different sales guy comes over to "go over your lease agreement", which translates into "we're going to get you to buy this whole thing outright."
For the longest time, I had a problem with my skin. I itched...constantly. Initially, I thought it was a dry skin issue, but when you sit in a bathtub full of water and all you can do is scratch your legs, I figured it was an allergy. I changed laundry soaps. I changed body washes. I tried lotions, creams, medications. Nothing worked, and it was normal to see me with big welts on my body from excessive scratching. It wasn't until I made the switch to soft water, and I spoke with a dermatologist about it, that it was figured that I have a sensitivity to hard water.
This made it hard to say no to the buying of the water treatment system, not to mention the reverse osmosis water is pretty sweet. Chronic itching left me miserable. Besides, such things like water treatment systems add value to your home when you go to resale...or at least that was the reason I used when I signed the agreement.
Naturally, they asked for referrals. I put a couple names down, one of which being someone that I knew would end up buying the system, because he can't say no to buying anything. In fact, he usually buys multiples of the same item (you know who you are and you can't deny it).
As I predicted, he bought the system (I gloated about how right I was for months after). I was supposed to have gotten something free for the referral, but I heard nothing from the company until this evening when they called to schedule maintenance to the tune of under $200. Out of curiousity, I mentioned my referral that panned out. They asked for the name to confirm that he bought the system.
Low and behold, I get my maintenance for free. I was expecting a clock radio or a tent or something.
That's $200 I can use to pay for a shiny new crown for my tooth! I'm replacing one out of sheer vanity...but I'll post on that later.
Overall, Febraury is shaping up to be a good month. Provided no one tries to seduce me on the internet.
"Yes, can you tell me where the broccoli is?"
The employee apologizes profusely and explains to the woman that they have run out of broccoli, but are expecting another shipment later that night.
"I see..." says the woman. "Well, then can you tell me which direction I go to find the broccoli?"
Thinking the old lady didn't hear him (as older folks tend to be hard of hearing), the employee apologizes again and explains that they are out of broccoli.
"Oh...ok...well, can you at least point me in the direction of where you keep the broccoli?"
The employee is starting to get a little annoyed, but he again repeats what he said about the store being out of broccoli.
"Hmmmm. Can you show where I can buy the broccoli?"
Reaching his breaking point, the employee says, "Ma'am, can you do me a favor?"
"What's that?" she asks brightly.
"Spell 'cat' as in catastrophe."
"Good. Spell 'dog' as in dogmatic."
"Good. Now spell 'fuck' as in broccoli."
"There ain't no 'fuck' in broccoli."
"THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU!!!"
Sometimes, we have patients who's, shall I say, cheese has slid off their cracker? Nuttier than squirrel shit? A float short of a full parade?? It can be for various reasons. It can be drug-related. It can be part of a pathology. Or it's because they were born back when dirt was clean. Or it's because they used to work as nurses and their jobs haranged them within an inch of their sanity. (Seriously, I've seen too many retired nurses who have completely lost their shit.)
It really doesn't matter why their elevator doesn't go to the top floor, we have to take care of them when they are sick.
But that doesn't make it any easier.
In nursing school, we are taught all these nifty little tools for "therapeutic communication". It's not until you graduate and you begin working in the real world that you realize you pissed away an entire semester and a couple thousand dollars, learning something completely useless.
Patient: (screaming) Kill that snake coming out of the wall!!
Nurse: (calmly) I know you believe that there is a snake coming out of the wall, but I don't see any snakes.
Patient: Fuck you! Call an exterminator!! That snake is going to eat me!!!
If there is one thing that sends me over the edge, it's having to repeat the same thing, to the same person, multiple times. I should only have to say it once. If I have to say it twice, I'm going to think you just weren't listening the first time. I have to repeat it more than that, I'm going to assume you are retarded. The only exception to this rule are those who are almost deaf, and even then I find I can change the resonance of my voice so I can be heard without yelling.
That being said, I don't particularly care for the patients who may have mentally checked out because I have to say the same thing a hundred times in one shift. It's called reorientation...and it never works.
Patient: Where's my daughter?
Me: She went home for the evening. She'll be back in the morning.
Patient: I think she's in there (pointing to the bathroom door).
Me: No, she had to go home. She said she'll be here first thing in the morning. Are you warm enough?
Patient: My daughter has my coat. She's outside waiting for me.
Me: It's 1am. You're daughter is at home in bed.
Patient: Does my daughter know I'm here? I'd better go down to the kitchen and find her.
Me: You're in a hospital. You're daughter knows you are here. She called earlier tonight to check on you. She told me to tell you that she will be here bright and early and she's bringing breakfast. Patient: You're holding me captive!!! I'm going to call the police. HELP! HELP!!
My personal favorite is the bathroom conversation. I have it at least once a weekend.
Patient: I have to get out of bed.
Me: Is there something I can help you with?
Patient: I have to get out of bed to go to the bathroom.
Me: The doctor wants you to stay in bed and rest for <insert reason here>
Patient: I have to pee!
Me: (Inspecting catheter to make sure it's working) You have a foley catheter that helps you do that so you don't have to get out of bed.
Patient: I don't care. I have to get out of bed. I have to pee.
Me: See this (holds up catheter tubing). This is your urine. (jiggles tubing so urine sloshes...this is for illustration). This tubing goes into your bladder and drains the urine out. See!
Patient: You're crazy. I have to get out of bed. I have to go downstairs and make dinner.
This is what I have to look forward to when I retire???
Where's the broccoli?
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
My life is so exciting.
I bet you wish you were me.
Have a safe night celebrating the caucuses.
I left a whole hour early because I know that if anything wrong can happen, it will. And where work is concerned, it will happen in the parking garage. So, I haul ass to work, bypassing Starbucks because I didn't want to take my chances.
I get there and as per usual, parking sucks. What is it with people and parking garages? The arrow says go this way, some illiterate asshole decides to go the opposite way, snarling progress and pissing everyone off in the process.
I manage to find a spot, rush inside. I have forty minutes before showtime, so I go to my floor to drop off my coat, but not before becoming nauseated on the elevator as some resident had a plate with tons of pameasan cheese. While parmeasan cheese may be tasty on food, it smells like vomit and smelly gym socks.
Happy Day! The Snapple I forgot to drink on Sunday was still in the employee fridge. Either God was smiling upon me, or I'm the only person who likes Snapple.
I go find the meeting room where this is going to take place. I'm the first one there. Now, I prepared with the idea that I would have a podium. Guess what...no podium. Shit. Now where would I put my notes? What would I hold on to so I wouldn't fall over??
Slowly, people start filing in, about a half dozen were nurses from my floor...including the Bosshole. I told him to go away, but he didn't listen.
Lunch is served, but I declined because I still feel like I'm going to blow chow. From the looks of it, lunch is provided by a drug company. One of the drugs I will be speaking on, in fact. Salad, meat, veggies, pita bread.
Dr. Prestigious gets to go first and he talks about the pathophysiology of our disease process du jour. He has the power point. He has his own laser pointers, which he enthusiastically waves around his power point. Midway through, everyone gets that glazed over look that comes when doctors like listening to the sound of their own voice.
Ideally, these inservices last an hour, with two guest speakers. Each guest speaker gets twenty minutes to talk, followed with five to ten minutes for questions.
Dr. Prestigious takes forty-five minutes.
So, it's my turn, and I have fifteen minutes. Ten if you subtract the five minutes it took for the lady who was managing the computer to get my power point loaded after she inadvertantly shut the computer off. So, Heather has ten minutes to give a twenty-five minute presentation.
I manage to do what I like to call the "quick and dirty"...a rapid fire presentation, and I finish in fifteen minutes. I had mountains of notes, extra little bits of info that I had wanted to share, but was unable to do so. I gave the attendees just what they needed to know, and nothing more. Naturally, no one has any questions, and the meeting is done. I'm not overly impressed with my effort because I had to talk 120 miles per hour, but everyone blows sunshine up my butt and tells me it was fabulous, including the Bosshole. I tell him that I will now crawl back into the dark hole that is the night shift, and that I will not be doing this again anytime soon.
"That's what you think", he says.
So, now it's over. I can put the whole thing on my resume, get props for doing it in the first place, and try to forget the whole thing ever happened. Now, I'm back home, in my comfy at-home loungewear. No more business casual for me.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Sometimes, I really like what I do.
I totally missed the Soulard Mardi Gras festivities in St. Louis this weekend. I love Mardi Gras, and I'm not even Catholic. I've been to the St. Louis festivities once, and that was years ago. I ended up in a choice viewing location for the parade and getting a shit ton of beads. A group of guys walked by me and I heard one say,"Man, she must've showed her boobs to everyone!!!"
Puh-lease. I don't showcase the dairy cannons for cheap plastic beads.
Now, if they are cheap plastic beads with blinking lights, then we'll talk.
I remember standing in the street with my boyfriend while some college-aged girls were doing the boobs for beads thing from their apartment balcony. Below them were a cluster of guys, cameras at the ready, waiting for the right moment to snap away. I turned and asked my boyfriend what the big deal was. It's not like guys have never seen female breasts before.
"It's not just about seeing the boobs," he explained. "It's the fact that we got strange, random girls to show them to us for two-cent beads."
So, in other words, girls are retarded.
Anyway, I love everything about Mardi Gras. The colors. The traditions. Finding the baby Jesus in the King Cake that usually isn't very tasty, even though I always thought it a little disturbing that people put a baby Jesus figure in a baked confection. I always asked my Catholic friends what it meant if you accidentally cut off His head when you were cutting the cake.
Before I croak, I want to go to New Orleans and experience the real Mardi Gras experience. Anyone want to tag along with me, say, next year??
For now, I'd settle for an impromptu Fat Tuesday gathering here in town. Any takers??