Friday, January 30, 2009
And she lives with her parents.
No amount of eye-rolling does this story justice.
So, I'll be going to work, because I have 14 kids to pay for.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Mere words cannot describe the intensity of loathing I feel towards this mother, and to call her a mother is painful and an insult to good mothers everywhere. No, it's probably better to just call this woman Uterine Slumlord.
I know we come to expect back behavior from Wichita, from the BTK killer to various other acts of atrocity that comes from a town that means "trailer park" in ancient Indian language, but this really takes the cake.
And let's not forget the case that's in my own back yard of the douche nozzle that sired 4 kids with his daughter, killed a couple and buried their bodies in coolers. They didn't live in Wichita, but they are from Harrisonville, of which I have on good authority, is a sister-city to Wichita.
Fact being that our laws are not as tough on people who abuse children, in all aspects of the word. So, I would like to offer up my time in dealing with these pathetic excuses for human beings. Ten minutes is all I would need.
Just ten minutes, me, a baseball bat, and Midtown Miscreant standing outside the door to bar anyone from interrupting me.
Friday, January 23, 2009
My father had just passed away just over two weeks prior to this, and Nick had stepped up to a situation that, quite frankly, was an absolute cluster fuck. Even some of the strongest men would find themselves shying away from. It was because of this, I felt obligated to say yes. Oh sure, I loved him, but in that ridiculous teenage love that is infallible and will conquer any obstacles, save for the actual marriage itself when years down the road you are in your mid-20's, saddled with children you can't afford, a marriage you resent because you know you could have been more, and struggling to make ends meet on two or more minimum wage jobs.
At 18, in the sudden ancient wisdom that had just come crashing down on my shoulders just two weeks before, I knew this. And yet, I still said yes out of obligation, and fear of hurting Nick's feelings. After all that he had done for me, what business did I have to refuse?
Most girls dream of their wedding, and then that golden opportunity presents itself, they throw themselves into the planning of the event. It's supposed to be an exciting and fun time. However, two months into the engagement, I may have looked through one bridal magazine, may have tried on two dresses, and never even considered setting a date. Nick was deliriously excited to be married.
I, however, was not. Truth be told, I wasn't excited about much at the time. I was still living in a fog of masked grief and shock. My cousin, who is loud, opinionated, boorish, and unrefined, is also very observant. After watching me for weeks move about life in a subtle depression, approached me one day. In her usual, blunt manner, told me that she knew my heart wasn't into getting married. I shrugged off her concerns, not wanting to discuss it. She became annoyed.
"If I got you a cat, you'd probably love that cat more than you love Nick!!"
A week later, she showed up at my job with a box, and inside was a little gray and white furball. As much as I liked cats (my family had them growing up), and as cute as the little kitten was, I protested. Having a pet of my own came with responsibility that I wasn't ready to assume, and didn't want to. I had enough on my plate without trying to worry about caring for something that actually depended on me.
Despite my pleas, my cousin left the kitten with me and I took her back to my apartment. A day later, I called her Shasta. To this day, I don't know why.
So Shasta lived with me, and a few months later, I finally found the courage I needed to break things off with Nick. Shasta had nothing to do with my decision, but when I made the break, it was safe to say I liked the cat better. Nick, sensing a change in the tide, became more clingy and needy and desperate. The breakup was everything ugly that I feared it would be. Nick was devastated, and in my crippled emotional state, I was indifferent.
The reason I share this with you, is to try to explain why Shasta's death has affected me more than a pet's death might for most without coming off like some Crazy Cat Lady. You see, she was not only my cat, she represented a lot of things. She was the first thing I actually cared about in the aftermath of my father's death. In the past 14 years, she has been the one constant in my ever-evolving life. She was insistent on being held right after a shower because I didn't smell like anyone. Her little tail quivered when she was happy to see me. She could hold a grudge. She was quiet. She was sweet-tempered. Some of her biggest fans were self-proclaimed cat-haters. One of which being Mr. Recommendation the night she jumped on his lap while he was sitting on the toilet.When Mom lived with me a few years back, they bonded in a way that she never bonded with me. (I actually think she barely tolerated me most days.) It was Mom who started calling her Lil Shasta Roo...which evolved into Lil Roo. She never took up a lot of space, yet the house now feels empty without her. I know she's better off. I opted to have her cremated so I can plant her ashes with a new rose bush come this spring.
I know animals lack the ability for rational thought, but I do wonder if she thought I was a good owner. I'd like to hope so. I owed that much for helping me get through the rough spots in my life, and saving me from a doomed marriage.
So, here's to my Lil Roo and the 14 years she was my unjudging companion. May she be fat and happy on Rainbow Bridge.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
That being said, I went downstairs and watched the great, big, historic event to end all historic events. I found it endearing that Obama, clearly nervous, flubbed his lines on the oath. Other random thoughts in my head...
- Obama talks with his hands a lot, usually using the same gesture. It kind of annoys me.
- Yo Yo Ma is a God and we should all worship his cello.
- Aretha Franklin still sounds good...but what was with that hat???
- Not impressed with the "poet". I started to drool on myself halfway through her poem. Too bad Shel Silverstein is dead. He would have been much more entertaining.
- Inauguration Over, I think I'm ready for a nap.
POST-NAP INAUGGIE THOUGHTS
- Michelle's dress was bad. Hopefully, her gown will make up for it. If not, she needs to fire her stylist and get a new one.
- I knew I should have put Ted Kennedy on my 2009 list.
- I still can't get over Aretha Franklin's hat!!!
- Obama didn't flub up the oath, the judge did and Obama caught it. Which makes you wonder if Obama practiced the oath at home to the point of memorization.
- CNN really needs to tone things down a notch or two.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Red is currently in the Southwest doing the travel-nurse thing. In her travels, she has encountered many different things, but the latest and greatest took even me by surprise when she announced that she was the lucky nurse that got to do a fecal transplant that day.
For those of you intelligent people who don't watch Gray's Anatomy (apparently this very thing was featured on one of their shows when the characters weren't sleeping with each other), fecal transplant is the new hotness for treating c-diff, which is horrible unto itself.
I looked up fecal transplant and found mountains of data on it. Sometimes, the cure is worse than the disease, so naturally the doctors make the nurses do it. Poor Red. Morbidly curious, I asked her to elaborate.
First, she had to get a poop specimen from a healthy family member who hadn't taken any antibiotics within a certain time frame.
Let's stop right there. How is God's name do you broach this with the family?!?!?!? A concerned family member stopping by with a Pick-Me-Up Bouquet enters the room, only to have the nurse demand they go into the bathroom and produce a brown trout? Not quite the same as donating blood. At least with blood, you get to brag that you possibly saved your family member's life with your generous gift and everyone looks to you with respect. How are people going to look at you when you announce that you might have saved your family member's life because you ate chili that day and gifted them with big turd???
After receiving the brown gift of life, Red takes the specimen into the Poop Preparation Station and prepares it. This means making it into a "slurry". I don't want to know the details of this process, because it would mean I would never set foot in a Dairy Queen ever again.
Slurry process completed, Red strains the, ahem, slurry, leaving with a poop-tainted suspension, ready for transplant. From there, the concoction is administered via enema where the good bacteria in the donor battles the evil c-diff bacteria in the poor schmuck who has it.
In some cases, I am nauseated to say, it is administered through an nasogastric tube. If that is the case, you better hope and pray that the tube doesn't get dislodged during the administering, otherwise you'll belching up whatever your brother had for lunch that day.
After my phone conversation with Red, I relayed the information to my coworkers, whom a couple of them referenced the Gray's Anatomy episode (ugh). We don't do this practice at my hospital, but it's only a matter of time before some doctor who hates nurses is going to push for this to be implemented.
And that will be the day that I leave nursing and go teach for the Kansas City School District.
And the publicist's only comment is that he's "well enough to be released".
Sounds more like going home to die to me. Ask any nurse/doctor you know, and they will probably agree.
I'm going to go watch Dirty Dancing now.
Nobody puts Baby in a corner.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
I don't really have any one good excuse, other than life sucks right now (from my perspective). Maybe it is a case of the winter blahs and I should probably park my ass in front of a light source as soon as humanly possible. I have all these emotions in me that are screaming to come out, but I feel like I don't have anyone to talk to about it. In times like this, I usually pour out my heart and soul into my journal, which was ultimately substituted for this blog. However, this blog has become a double-edged sword for me as a lot of people who know me consistently read it, and a lot of what I am feeling right now is highly personal, and I'm just not up for broadcasting that part of my life right now.
And for icing on the cake, my little cat is sick again. She spent a couple days at the vet's office, came home to me somewhat fixed and perky, but now she is sliding back into the problems that made me take her to the vet in the first place. I know of the decision that lies before me, but that doesn't mean I am prepared to make it.
So, do not be alarmed by my silence. I'm just trying to get my shit together. I'm not abandoning my blog, but just taking a moment to collect my thoughts and try to figure stuff out. I should be back on, as regular as XO on a healthy regimen of prunes and apple juice, spewing forth enough anger and malice to make you think twice before going to the ER with a hangnail.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Normally, when folks come to the hospital, they exercise their self control and refrain from doing anything remotely sexual while a patient. Think about it...hospitals are breeding grounds for nasty bacterial like MRSA, VRE, and microbes that haven't even been identified yet. Why, oh why, would you want to make the beast with two backs in a setting like that??? Not only is it unromantic, un-sensual, and un-erotic. It's just downright nasty.
However, there are those who leave all class at home. That's assuming they even had class to begin with. And it's never even a normal couple doing intimate things. It's the most fucked up situations that ultimately end up with the nursing staff having to seek help in the form of eye bleach and a partial lobotomy.
Like the time I walked in on a mother and her middle-aged daughter in the shower together. Naked. The daughter claimed she was helping her mom shower. NAKED!!!
Or the time a nurse stumbled upon a wife giving her husband a "mouth hug" while their young children stood sentry outside the door. To be fair, it could have been a dying man's last request because he did put in for the "God Consult" three days later.
Or maybe the patient whose daughter was thoughtful enough to bring in a vibrator from her own personal stash for Mom to use while she was there. Did I mention it was the daughter's toy?? She made a point to tell us that she "cleaned it real good" before she brought it in.
Or the chronic masturbator whose favorite pastime was to try to trick the nurses into walking in his room at the most opportune times. And he would leave his splooge towels laying everywhere instead of having the decency of tossing them in the hamper.
Or the girl who spooned with her father. In the bed. While she was hooked up to various machines. Not surprisingly, she was also a stripper.
Or the the time I walked in on man orally pleasuring his woman on the exam table. At a free health clinic. After we chased him out, I assisted the doctor with the pelvic exam on the woman. Her crotch smelled so bad from the various STDs she was hosting, I fainted. Literally. I never went back after that day. Because I was both embarrassed, and repulsed.
My hetero status was firmly cemented that day.
I'm a huge fan of sex. Obviously, I sell sex toys. (Did you know that a study conducted revealed that doctors and nurses have better sex than those who do not work in the medical profession? No?? It was determined because we are more self-aware than laypeople.) However, that doesn't mean you're going to catch me in the stairwell conducting a physical assessment on some lucky guy. Not even if I was there as a patient.
Some would argue that patients have needs, too, but really...why would you subject your nurse to the risk of having to witness any of it??? There's a right time and place for that sort of thing...none of which involve an environment where you can find traces of 25 different types of body fluids on your shoes...and that's just after walking through the cafeteria.
So for the love of God and all that is Holy...KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS AND WAIT UNTIL YOU GET HOME!!!!
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Keeping with the tradition that I am usually the last to hear about anything, I just learned that Guitar Hero is coming out with a game based exclusively on Metallica. Sometime before the end of March, but just in time for my birthday.
The only person who I think will be more excited at this prospect (the game, not my birthday), will be Brother.
I'm almost tempted to go wake him up just to tell him about it.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
One new tire for a PT Cruiser...$130.
So, imagine my, uh, chagrin this morning when I got off work, came out into the buttass cold parking garage, to find that same tire flat.
Flat! Flat! FLAT!!!!
Pissed, I called Mom, who came and picked me up from work. Mr. Recommendation has an air tank we are going to fill and take with when they take me back to work tonight. I can only hope the retarded Parking Nazis don't ticket my car for taking up choice parking during the daytime.
And in the morning, I'm going to go blow the roof off of the tire place.
There are some moments that I encounter people in the business sector that provide service so heinous, that I wish they could come visit me on my turf, so I could give them a taste of their own medicine.