Brother and Co. had an ultrasound to find out what flavor they were having. Brother was convinced it was a boy. Mom-to-be had aspirations for a girl. My mother was just hoping it wasn't a lizard.
At some point, Brother must have been a little shit, because come October, little Caylee Marie will be making her grand appearance in a parade of pink bows and lace. Everyone is excited, and I have another family member I get to give drum lessons to when they are older.
Sadly, I'm having computer woes. The dumb thing won't connect to the internet. No internet in Casa de Blather is like a day without sunshine. At some point, I'll probably have to talk to some guy in India named "Bill" and have him troubleshoot my problem. Those phone calls are always full of fun and excitement, and it's almost a contest to see how fast it takes them to piss me off because I don't understand a word of what they are saying.
On a happier note, Brother has found a buyer for Oprah, and I should see her removed from my driveway by the end of the month. I know it's driving the neighbor lady across the street batty and she routinely sends her daughter over on her bicycle to covertly check out the plates. Yes, they are expired.
Kansas City Corporate Challenge is in full swing. Mom's company was nice enough to volunteer her for shot put, which is funny because she has never thrown one. Perhaps they did it because she bowls, and they figure that all 8lbs balls are the same, it's just how you throw them that's different. I used to throw in my high school days, and I think I did well...I'm not sure because it's been a long time ago, and I've tried to forget everything about my high school days.
At any rate, we went to the gym and tossed a medicine ball just so she could get an idea of what it felt like chucking an 8 lb ball overhanded instead of underhanded. She could throw it 6 feet. I made an attempt and lobbed the damn thing across the aerobics room and almost knocked Mother on her ass. Pushing and pulling 400+lb patients may have some advantages. I'll either do really well in my event, or I'll drop the shot put on my foot and break a couple toes.
Go big, or go home.
Lately, I've been re-evaluating my job happiness, and noted that I really don't have any. It kicks my morale in the nuts...the politics and drama of the floor I work on. Not to mention seeing the same patient faces...over and over and over. Not getting any better, or getting better long enough to leave the hospital and be gone for a week or two, only to turn around and have to come back with the same problem. I don't know how Toph can stand working in the ER, where you can almost set your watch by the visits of their most frequent flyers.
So, I'm going to get my resume in order, maybe put it out there and see what kind of nibbles I get. Bosshole would never let me go part time, or even on an "as needed" basis. So, I would probably have to go transfer to the float pool, and cut back there, if only to stay on long enough to be fully vested in my retirement plan, which is now worth ten dollars and change.