Thanks to Keith for the link!!
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
If you feel the need to visit, a small group is fine...maybe bring some flowers or balloons. IT IS NOT APPROPRIATE to bring your party's alcoholic trough and set it up in the CONFERENCE ROOM. If someone else had seen that spread, and assumed it belonged to the staff, we would have CNN camped out in the hospital lobby.
I can see it now, Nurses Getting Sloshed While Caring for Your Sick Mother....details at 10.
And when we tell you that you can't have your party in our hospital, don't act all surprised like this is news to you. WHAT HOSPITAL ALLOWS YOU TO HAVE DRUNKEN FRAT PARTIES ON SITE?????
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!?!?!?1!?
The shallow end of the gene pool...I work there.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I started with the garage.
After going through the boxes of crap that came from my old storage shed, I set aside a bunch of stuff earmarked for the garage sale. Lots of stuff from my younger days that I no longer need. I also pitched a bunch of stuff as well.
The sad part, is that after toiling all afternoon, I'm not even close to being done. Four days off from work (including a rare weekend), and all I have to show for it is a pile of old clothes, costume jewelry, and ugly picture frames.
So if you need me, I will be in the garage.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
After I woke up, the house was quiet, seemed bigger, and a lot more empty.
All this means is that I can go back to sleeping naked again. Woo hoo!
On a more somber note, some of you may have read about the recent developments at the Harley Davidson plant. The Boomers are aging, and it appears they are the main driving force behind Harley's success. Everyone else (i.e. younger people) are buying less expensive bikes. So, unless Harley comes out with a line of motorized scooters, I doubt their sales will return to the pinnacle of their glory days.
At any rate, Brother was one of the many, many employees who were given their notices. Laid off...permanently. On the cusp of moving into a new house with a pregnant girlfriend. As worried as I am, they are unconcerned. They have a better idea of their finances than I do, so I will try to take a page from their book and not worry about it so much. Old habits are hard to break, I've been worrying about that boy since forever.
Also this afternoon, I woke up to an empty driveway. Meaning...Oprah was gone! Brother finally found a buyer for the truck. Finally! I did a celebratory dance in the vacated spot where the truck used to sit. Tomorrow, I shall lay down in the same spot and make dirt angels in the runoff that has accumulated in the year it sat there. My neighbors, who have had to look at that ugly thing as well, convinced I was single-handedly making their property values plummet, probably had a small stroke when they noticed the truck was gone.
Of course, with the eyesore of the truck being gone, you can't help but notice that my lawn looks really, really sad.
If grass were hair, my yard would look like Donald Trump's head.
The beautification projects around here are without end.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Things have been crazy lately. Brother and Co. moved in at the beginning of this month, along with Hank (who now tops the scales at 150lbs), and Vick (a terrier). Combined with my four-legged brood, there is dog hair everywhere, and the chorus of barks is enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
George is stressed out and losing clumps of fuzz.
Having the nephew around is handy. He started walking, in my house. He toddles around with his arms in the air, mouth open to a big toothy smile. He's cute, that kid. And he appears to like me. I kinda like him, too. His crib is in my office, and when he sleeps, I can't be in there because it distracts from his sleep. And he sleeps a lot. So, my computer time has been drastically reduced. I suspect to be homesteading more frequently next week as Brother and Co will be moving to their new and improved humble abode this weekend. Woohoo!!
I also like the baby momma. We've hung out, and I've discovered that she and I are a lot a like in temperment and attitude. Poor Brother!
I just observed my 5-year anniversary at work. Today, the Bosshole made a big production out of presenting me with my gift, which was a watch...to add to the 20 or so watches I already own. I can't complain...it was that or tools.
Nothing new in the personal life department. I still carry a torch for a certain someone, and we still talk periodically...sometimes on an intimate level. I get the feeling he is depressed, and it depresses me that he feels this way and I wish I could help. I don't like it when people I care about are unhappy...because I'm powerless to do anything. On a more amusing note, I became jealous when there was some flirting going on from a colleague, directed at him. (She, who so nonchalantly admits to cheating on every boyfriend she's ever had. Dating a girl like that is the emotional equivalent of putting your peener in a meat grinder...but it's not my peener.) I was amused that only a couple small words would illicit such a strong response from me. I generally don't get jealous. I just try not to give a shit. But I will admit to a powerful urge to reach over and punch her square in the cake-hole.
I may be an asshole, but I am still a woman, after all.
I did manage to book another cruise for 2011. Yes, it is very far from now, but I have all year next year to pay for it. Besides, I have a tentative trip to Vegas planned for next spring (No, I'm not getting married!), plus something else that I can't remember off the top of my head.
So, life is kind of a in a holding pattern for now. But I'm still breathing. Just so you know.
Friday, July 03, 2009
When I was a kid, I loved Michael Jackson. LOVED him. I remember when I brought the Thriller album home. I would spend hours listening to that album, gazing at the album cover. In fact, I even had the Michael Jackson doll.
That's how far back I go.
For my generation, also known as Generation X, Michael Jackson's music was the sound track to our lives. He was the King of Pop long before the genre of pop became a punchline.
So, imagine my shock when I flipped on CNN last week to hear them talk about him being rushed to the hospital with cardiac arrest. My tingly nurse-sense told me that the outcome wasn't going to be good...but it was still stunning when it was announced that he died.
I never did buy into the molestation stories. So many things just didn't add up. But this post isn't about whether he did or didn't. Hell, I'm not even going to get into his apparent self-loathing, he inability to emotionally evolve into a mature adult, or even go into the fact that I think Joe Jackson ought to do humanity a favor and drive himself off a cliff.
This post is about the fact that so much of my young life was woven with his music that had nothing to do with how much money he made, what he drove, the bling he wore, and how many bitches he had. His music usually had a good message, and he didn't come off like a complete douche bag when he sang it.
To say that when he died my childhood died, would be a disservice because I left my childhood behind me a long time ago, and am painfully reminded of my adulthood every time I make my mortgage payment. But his death, to me, does make me remember the innocent girl I used to be, before horrible things happened...and when those horrible things did happen, I was always able to seek the safe confines of music for comfort. Michael Jackson was one of those safe outlets.
So yeah, I'm a fan of his music for a lot of reasons. And for those reasons, I do mourn his passing. Yes, he may have died a drug addict, but most celebs are shooting up something anyway, and no celebrity should be looked upon as something to aspire to. At least this guy actually contributed something other than beaver shots and bad reality television. It is possible to admire the music, yet pity the man who created it.
He died as strangely as he lived. His death proving to be every bit a circus that his life was, and it makes me glad I live in relative obscurity.
Hopefully he can find in death, what he could not find in life.