Karma is a Wonderful Thing

It's a official. I am going to have a niece. My first niece ever. My brother and his wife had their sonogram yesterday, and it was revealed that they are going to have a little girl sometime in March. With any luck, maybe around my birthday. They have already named her...with everyone else's middle name.

At any rate, I always thought it would be great if my brother had a girl. Remembering what a little turd he was when he was in his younger, wild oat-sowing days, he would have a daughter of his own...constantly under the black cloud of knowing that somewhere out there, boys just like him will be laying in wait. He's going to go prematurely gray just worrying about. My dad used to say, "With a son, you only have to worry about one penis. With a daughter, you have to worry about them all."

I laugh with sadistic glee. I'm going to buy her every noise-making toy on the planet. I'm going to buy the most feminine of outfits. I can't wait until that day when the house is full of Tiger Beat magazines, and filled with the sound of whatever crappy bubble gum pop happens to be trendy. He will never get to use the telephone. He will have boys calling the house at all hours of the night. He's going to be sitting in the living room cleaning his hunting rifle whenever a young boy comes to take her out.

I can't wait until the first time my brother has to go out and buy feminine hygiene products.

This is going to be great!!

Rioting in France???

Hehehe...couldn't happen to a nicer country.

At War with the Toilet

Okay, so Mom and I both agree that we don't like the new toilets. Mom, having worked for a plumbing company in the past, tells me they are industrial-type toilets designed to save water. Industrial? That explains why I feel like my ass is being cut in half whenever I sit on it. The one place you could go for solace and comfort...destroyed by the bastards who want to save a few bucks on the water bill.

Kant calls them Princess Potties. I guess because they are so tall you feel regal sitting on them. I don't feel regal. I feel annoyed. I loathe the toilet.

I ran some errands today and saw the workers were busy around the complex installing the gleaming white menace. The old toilets sat in a pile, rejected. I contemplated going and stealing one for my apartment. I don't know how to install a toilet, but I don't think it would be that hard.

Mom's toilet is not secure, and wobbles when you sit on it...partially because the floor is uneven in her bathroom. Today, she called to tell me that her toilet mooed at her this morning. I called the office to complain about the shakey toilet, but I withheld the mooing part. I don't know how the management would have felt about that.

The World Against Me...One Flush at a Time

So, I worked last night. I was the only "seasoned nurse" with a bunch of new nurses, so by default, I was the charge nurse and go-to girl. If you had a question, I would most certainly have an answer...at least that's what being the charge nurse is supposed to mean. In truth, I was sick, running a fever, pounding headache, and I didn't want to answer anyone's questions because it required me to think, which made my head hurt even more. I would have called in, but the staffing being the way it was...I didn't. We have one girl who's called in before so she could get ready to go to a party. I am not so pathetic, and I really didn't want to screw over my coworkers in such a manner. Sick as I was, I went in to work.

For the better part of the night, I was nauseated. We got a patient who tipped the scales of 600lbs plus. I walked in her room, and the smell was so horrible, I thought I would hurl right then and there. Who knew what lay in the folds of the abdomen and cankles of this patient, but I swear I thought I saw a green fog hovering over her bed.

The night passed on, and in the morning...I had to go to then annual Competency Fair. For those who don't know what Comp Fair us, you are lucky. It is a day where you go and take little quizzes, do return demonstrations on skills such as NG tube placement, blood gases, and other menial blather nurses do. We also have to sit through little presentations...all the while keeping track of all we have done with a little check-off sheet. When everything is checked-off, we get to leave. I'd rather set myself on fire than ever go to Comp Fair.

For us unfortunate night folks who worked the night before, we were given a sticker that said, "I worked last night, I get to go to the front of the line." Ideally, we were to wear these stickers to facilitate a faster procession through the gauntlet of catheters and needles. In reality, no one cared. I had to wait in line behind all the people, the freshly dressed and well rested people. Bitches.

Towards the end, I was starting to get annoyed. I stood in front of this HUGE posterboard display and some med-surg nurse (I hate med-surg) blathered on about...oh hell, I don't remember what she blathered on about...but all she did was read from the posterboard. Like I can't read it for myself. At the end, she wanted to know if anyone had a question...so naturally, someone had a dumb question. I wanted to go smack them both.

Three hours it took me to go through this. I skipped the flu shot and drove home. I walked into my apartment building and found the door wide open. Shit. Inside, I found two little Mexicans working on my toilet. I then remembered that my apartment complex sent out letters saying they were replacing all the toilets. Yay. Too tired to care, I went into my room, shut and locked the door, and proceeded to pass out.

I woke up this evening to a quiet apartment. I jumped out of bed to admire my new, gleaming white toilet.

I miss my old toilet already.

My new toilet is tall. My feet don't even touch the floor when I sit on it. If I can't touch, Mom's legs are going to fall asleep everytime she has to go. My blue fuzzy lid cover won't fit on the new toilet either.

This sucks. I'm buying my own place, then I can have the toilet I want. They don't call is a throne for nothing.

November already!

I can't believe how fast the year has gone by. The next thing you know, it will be Christmas. I haven't done shi-nola in preparation for Christmas. I've thought about buying an iPod for myself...and that is about it.

I do know I will be working Christmas Eve. I also know I will be off New Year's Eve. I always say I am going to do something spectacular for New Year's Eve...but never do. Last year, I think I fell asleep on my couch before the new year struck.

What can I say? I'm not a go-out-and-get-shit-faced-from-something-I-drink-out-of-a-Dixie-cup-just-because-I-can type of girl. I always thought one of the those New Year's Eve parties hosted by one of the big fancy hotels would be pretty fun. A chance to dress to the nines! I wear scrubs most of the time...so I welcome the opportunity to dress up and strut my stuff...which doesn't happen very often.

Into the (Shallow) Dating Pool

I'm off tonight after working my three in a row. Thankfully, no one crashed. Unfortunately, it was so quiet and boring, it was like watching paint dry. When the night is quiet and boring, time draws out like a blade...especially last night. Considering we were there for only an hour longer, it felt like a 16 hour shift.

Friday night, one of our more colorful aides came in toting a red folder. One of the nurses inquired, and so this aide produced all this paperwork for Great Expectations. Now, I've heard of this business...I get their crap flooding my mailbox ALL. THE. TIME. It immediately floods my garbage can, unopened. How do they know I am single? I wish I could take my name off their mailing list.

At any rate, this aide announced that she had paid for a membership to GE, which left the rest of the staff looking at each other thinking, "She has officially lost her mind." Now, I dated a guy once who used/bought/joined GE. He said he wasn't impressed with their services, and alluded to the fact that he paid out the nose for a membership. I kept asking how much, and he never would tell me for fear that I would laugh at him. So, I figured it was some insane amount. Little did I know...

Well, this aide had her credit card receipts in the folder, and she allowed us to look at them. I slid the first one out and blinked. $898! Then I slid the next one out of the pocket and just about crapped my scrubs...$2000!!! This girl just paid close to $3K for a dating service. A DATING SERVICE!!! I could take one cruise a year for 3 years on what she paid for a 3 year membership. We were all appalled. She immediately went on the defensive.

"I spend $4K on myself every year", she sniffed. We still shook our heads in disbelief. This girl is not exactly ugly, she's cute in a WT kind of way. She's been obsessed with finding a boyfriend. Her problem is that she has a crappy attitude, and she sleeps around...a lot. This is also the same girl who boned the ugliest and biggest asshole surgical resident to ever grace the halls of our hospital...but that is neither here nor there. This is the same girl who was soliciting our advice as to whether she should go back to an ex-boyfriend, and then ignored us when we told her it wasn't a good idea.

I've heard a lot of very bad things about GE. They have even been investigated and sued in the past. Dozens of websites dedicated to warning people about joining this service. I personally (as well as everyone with a brain on my floor), feel strongly that this girl has been duped...but she is the type who will not listen to reason. Oh well...some people must always learn the hard way.

Thing is, she is only 23 years old. We pointed out that she was so young and had lots of time ahead of her, to which she snipped, "Well, I don't want to be single and alone forever."

Bitch. I may be single, but I'm not the butt of everyone's jokes. Annoyed, I pointed my finder in her face and peered over the rims of my glasses, "What makes you so certain that I'm not dating anyone? I just don't offer up my personal life up for lunctime gossip."

Okay, so I'm not really dating anyone...but she doesn't know any different.

So, we will see how this pans out, and I would be lying if I said we were not watching with sadistic glee and expectations. As one of the other older aide's pointed out, "The guys are not going to be getting such a great catch with her...unless they are looking for a piece of ass, and even then it probably won't be so great."

On a side note, if I was dumb enough to shell out that kind of money because I was that desperate to find a date, I sure as hell wouldn't tell my coworkers about it.

A Departure From Good Taste

So I worked last night. On a side note, everyone liked the red hair. After a couple washings, the bright orange faded to a nice, strawberry blonde. Yay. What did surprise me was how many doctors complimented me on the new 'do. I never even knew they noticed what I looked like in the first place.

Anyway, we ended up transferring a couple patients to different floors more centered to their particular condition. Because my floor is still relatively shiny and new, all the rooms are private, and are designed in such a manner than families can stay the night, in the patient room, if they so wish. Not so on other floors, which have semi-private rooms, thereby requiring all families must camp out in the waiting room if they want to sleep over (which again begs the question, why would anyone want to sleep over at a hospital ,especially if their loved one wasn't in crappy health?)

One patient we transferred, had a daughter...maybe in her 40's. While most family members who do opt to stay over will wear the most modest of night attire if they don't sleep in their street clothes, this woman was wearing a pink teddy. A satin pink teddy. I had heard of this teddy, and thought I missed the spectacle after the patient was transferred downstairs. So, I was sitting at the front desk charting, when a flash of pink and bad bleached hair charged by the desk. It was scantily-clad daughter, who was on a mission to fetch the rest of her parent's belongings. I wasn't entirely certain of just what I saw, so I peeked around the corner and saw her scouring the old room, looking for anything that wasn't nailed down. Sure enough, tacky pink teddy (probably from K-Mart) and ass cheeks hanging out of the bottom of the getup.

I shake my head in disbelief even as I now write this.

The daughter comes out of the room and comes face to face with me. She complains that her Dad is now in a semi-private room and she can't stay in the room with him. "Uhh..." was my reply. A funny thought occurred to me, and I pictured this woman setting up camp in the waiting room, teddy and all. The daughter charged off the floor, never to be seen by us again...but never forgotten.

Later, as we sat at the desk and joked about it, one just had to wonder just why someone would wear something like that around a sick parent. Someone speculated that was her attempt to possibly catch the attention of an up and coming doctor, someone who could better afford more tasteless nighties for public wear.

I must say I am almost getting to the point where I can say, "Now I have seen everything." I've seen a patient wearing an orange sequined thong under his gown. I've seen family members walk around patient rooms in their underwear, or sometimes nothing at all. I've seen a Dad making out with his daughter. And last, but certainly not least, I've been the unfortunate witness to a mother and daugher in the shower together...naked (I still have nightmares about that one).

Where in the hell do these people come from?!?!

They really need to tell people in nursing school that you will encounter these things in practice...maybe then it won't be as shocking...or nauseating.

Give me an open, gushing wound any day.

Random Blathering

My last of 5 days off, and as usual, the most exciting thing I got to do was laundry. Late last week, I lamented to Paul about not usually doing anything when I have big blocks of time off. He simply said in all his infinite wisdom, "Go somewhere."

Yes, I like to travel, but I don't like doing it by myself. So together, we hatched a plan to take a small road trip equally benefitting to both parties. Not traveling by myself, I could take some pics, and he could buy junk (because Metrosexual Paul is also a compulsive shopper). Before he left work that morning, he promised to call and we would plan further.

Big mistake.

In true form, Paul did not call, and I resorted to my backup plan of laundry (because everyone else was working). I was hacked, and am still fuming about it. I did manage to get a hold of him today to make my displeasure known, and as usual, I got a lame excuse (sick, sleeping, etc). I don't put up with this behavior from any of my other friends...why should I make allowances for him? Ass. He never calls when he says he will, he doesn't return calls, he flakes out of plans...and if that boy ever said yes to a plan and actually stuck with it, I would have a huge cranial bleed. Sheesh!

At any rate, I went and got my hair done yesterday. Instead of plain blonde me, there's now sassy red me. I have been known to go red from time to time, usually with much success. I went to Kant's house last night and her sister made a comment about it being Halloween hair. Now, I am somewhat self conscious about it. I'm not red head...I'm pumpkin head...and I will be going back to have the second phase of redness done...but still. This is not shaping up to be a red-letter week (maybe more of an orange-letter week). The scary part is, I still have to work 3 shifts this week.

A nap sounds good to me right now, I think I will go take one.

I can't believe it!

Nebraska not only lost to Missouri this weekend, they had their asses handed to them on a paper plate.

Huskers, you have disappointed me greatly.

At least the Chiefs won their game...

Things all alcoholic liver patients should know...

1. If you have an alcohol problem, you will kill your liver.
2. No one looks good in yellow, so jaundice doens't flatter anyone.
3. If you need a new liver and are an alcoholic, you will not get a new liver if you don't stop drinking.
4. If you don't stop drinking, but think you can fool us into thinking you have, we have ways of finding out the truth. Science doesn't lie.
5. Dying from liver failure is ugly, bloody and not peaceful.
6. If you have the misfortune of living through the experience, you will wish you were dead because we pump you with so much lactulose (to get rid of the excess ammonia in your blood), you're going to think you are melting out of your butthole.
7. High ammonia levels = crazy psychotic patient. We will tie you to the bed.
8. When you are crazy psychotic patient, it is not cute to ask the nurse for some Jack Daniels.
9. Tell your family it is not the nurse's fault you are in the crappy shape you are in.
10. We really don't feel too sorry for you because you did this to yourself.

Day off!

I'm done for 5 days. A crappy 3 day stretch capped off with a gruesome, ugly, and very bloody death...so naturally, it was my patient.

Today, I shall go shopping. New underwear always makes me happy. Maybe some new scrubs. I can't wait!

While the cat's away...

My bosshole is officially on vacation for two weeks. Two weeks!!!

WOO-HOO!!!!

About last night...

Last night sucked. I got my ass kicked and handed to me on a paper plate. My only consolation was the chips and salsa I brought. One really sick person who had a daughter who read a medical article in Women's Day and was an authority on medicine...cow, one somewhat sick person, and someone who was a total asshole. Dude...if you are going to be the poster boy of noncompliance, sign yourself out AMA and free up that bed for someone who actually wants to get better. And don't cuss out my techs for no reason. That's a sure fire way of getting an ass-chewing from the short, and sometimes intimidating, blonde nurse.

I may look cute, but don't piss me off.

I still don't like it...

I sought clarification from the Bosshole on the Stroke Tele Unit. It figures, he comes from a neuro floor and wants us to be neuro-based too. Initially, we were to only be stepdown for MICU...now he wants to throw NICU in the mix as well.

A bunch of my coworkers discussed this the other night with the nursing supervisor. You would be hard pressed to find someone on nights who actually thinks this is a great idea. So, alot of people are talking about transferring to other floors. Problem is, we don't want to leave our coworkers. That is why I stay. We are a close-knit tribe on nights, and we don't have the squabbling problems the day shift does. We get along with most everyone, we work well together, we value each other's input and see out their opinions when ours simply isn't enough.

Our nursing supervisor agreed. She told us that the night shift on our floor has established a cohesiveness not found on any other floor. We relayed our frustrations to her...about the Stroke tele thing, about our Bosshole, about some of the problems as of late. All news to her. I don't think there is much she could do, but it was nice to actually have someone listen to what we were saying.

I go back tonight for 3 nights. Get it all over with, I say. I made some salsa yesterday, and made too much of it. So, I am going to take some to work. It might make the night more tolerable. That and a Starbucks latte!

Sad night, part 2

Well, the 30 year old patient died this morning. It was the saddest thing. He had been looking rather bad all night, so we figured it was imminent. He rallied yesterday...out of bed, talking. They usually rally before they die. Sometimes this is a bad thing as it always gives the family hope.

This patient's sister came to keep vigil. We had a cot for her and she had it right next to the bed so she could hold his hand. A couple times I would go in to check on them, and there they would both be sleeping, and holding hands.

I was in another patient's room when one of the new grad nurses came in. "I think he is gone," she whispered. I went to the room and I could tell by looking at him that she was right. Death robs even the palest person of any discernable color. He lay there, his cherubic face peaceful as if sleeping. The sister was still sleeping, I did notice that she wasn't holding his hand. I felt my throat tighten.

I touched the patient, he was cool. I looked for any breathing. I felt for a pulse. I listened for a heartbeat. I found nothing. I looked at the new grad and shook my head. She leaned over and gently shook the sister.

"He's gone."

She gasped, bewildered. For days she has been told this was going to happen, supported her brother in his decision to let go...and still it did not prepare her for the reality that her little brother had just died within arm's reach. She held his cool, pale hand. "I...I wasn't ready." She smoothed his hair and she fought the tears. We left the room so she could be alone with him. Other staff members on our floor had heard of his passing, and they met me outside the room. Everyone had tears in their eyes...myself included. We all had taken care of this patient at some point or another during one of his many hospital visits. He was dealt a wicked hand of sickness that spanned his entire life. In the 30 years of his life, he nowhere near did half the things that I've gotten to do in mine. Death was a blessing for him, and I am grateful that it was peaceful.

And that is all I am going to say about that...

Fun Blog of Note

I discovered this blog in the recommended section. It's pee-your-pants-funny.

Sad night...

I'm at work. We have a patient who is my age that is dying. He is a "frequent flyer" on our floor as he is always sick, and always needing to be hospitalized. I guess he got tired of being sick and tired, so he said "no more". Now he is dying, and it is very sad for everyone because we have all taken care of him, and become attached in our own little way.

The on-call doctor, who has been a resident for a whopping 3 months, is being a dick. His attitude, "He wants to die. Let him die." He's callous, rude, and so full of himself because he's a doctor. I can't wait until he crosses me. I can't wait to rip him a new one. He doesn't understand why we are so sad...after all, it's only a patient. A stranger we don't know. Bastard.

Meanwhile, the doc who has been taking care of this patient for years and years, the one who a lot of people thought an asshole, and had no heart...cried because the patient wanted to give up. Pleaded with the family members to help convince the patient to reconsider. I think very highly of a doctor who will cry for his patients. Nurses do it routinely, but you don't see docs do it too often. I remember seeing a doctor cry with a family because their loved one was dying. It was this resident's first death. I'm sure she will always remember it, and I hope she doesn't ever lose that compassion that enables people to grieve with those who grieve.

What's that smell???

I took Sam out last night before I put him in his kennel. The back yard behind my building is rather dark, and all I can make out is Sam. So, he runs to the end of the retractable leash and starts barking at something. Then he starts tugging at the leash like he wants to chase something. Annoyed (which seemed to be the theme for yesterday), I took Sam back in the house.

I was cleaning up the latest casualty of Sam's toys when I smelled it. I sniffed just to be certain. I opened my sliding patio door and caught full wind of it.

"Skunk!!" I yelled to Mom who was on the computer. After a minute, she began to smell it and started gagging.

I guessed that whatever Sam was barking at, was indeed, a skunk. And Sam scared the stink out of it. Fortunately, the skunk was too far away to actually spray Sam. Had that happened, I would have had to sent Mom to the store to buy out their inventory of tomato juice just to give Sam a bath.

This morning, I stuck my head outside to see if the smell had gone away, and came nose to nose with a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses. I listened to their introduction, and politely told them I wasn't interested. Ordinarily, I would offer them a Book of Mormon in exchange for their Watchtower, but I was too tired, and all I could think about was going back to bed.

This is shaping up to be a great day...

Benadryl = Weird dreams

I took some Benadryl last night in an effort to get some sleep. I do, after all, have to return to work tonight. I don't particularly care for Benadryl...it makes me groggy and gives me weird, and sometimes frightening, dreams.

So, I dreamed I was in this cross-county race on a yellow, inflated banana. I ended up dropping my cell phone when my racing party overturned, so after the race, I had to go back and find it. I came across Tom Cruise who was an asshole (ofcourse)...and he was 2 feet shorter than me. Down the road, I came across Nicole Kidman, who was decidedly a lesbian. And her girlfriend was Queen Latifah. I won't even tell you what I saw in their room.

I found my cell phone on a table in the projects, along with someone's pink cell phone, and a deflated ball.

We did not win the race.

A team in a turbo-charged tomato did.

A lesson to any parent...

Let's try this again...

This is why you should not let children ride in the front passenger seat. Those airbag warnings are there for a reason. My eyes were not open because I was physically unable to at the time. It wouldn't have mattered anyway...I was blind at the time.

My face hurts just remembering...but look how skinny I was then!!

On Crosses and Friends

I'm sitting here at home in my pj's. Paul was supposed to have called me today to meet for lunch. It's now 3:30pm, lunch has passed and no phone call. Grrr! If you say you are going to do something, then do it! Don't sit and jerk my chain around because you have trust issues!!! I could have gone and done something else instead of sit here and wait for the phone to ring! Be prepared for an ass-chewing when you finally do remember to call, you twit!! That is, if I decide to take your call in the first place. Hmph!

I went ahead and ate some leftover pizza for lunch. I should have had a V-8.

I haven't been sleeping well lately, and I don't know why. As of lately, I haven't been able to fall asleep until 3-4am. So, I read...write in my journal...attempt to do the bookwork I'm supposed to do for my job (because that sort of boring thing should be a clear path to Snoozeland)...snuggle with George (the cat). Last night, I decided to poke through my jewelry boxes. I found a cross and a St. Christopher's medal that I had long forgotten about. Both items are of importance to me, even though I am LDS. Generally, LDS folks "don't do" crosses. I never found this odd, until Paul the Catholic thought it so. Now, he tells me when he sees a cross, he thinks of me, and it gives him cause to laugh. I've tried to explain the whole LDS-cross thing...but I don't think he gets it. In my faith, we chose to dwell on the Resurrection, and not the Crucifixion. It's not that we think crosses are bad. It's a symbol of His death. While it is important that He died for our sins, it is also important to note the empty tomb and the fact that He rose and conquered death.

I've seen members wear crosses to church, and no one says anything if they notice it. When we see crosses, we don't go running in opposite direction with blood pouring out of our eyes. If a Mormon wears a cross, they are not damned to Hell and excommunicated from the church. That's the beauty of the LDS church. We are given the free agency to make these choices for ourselves. Isn't that the whole point of being here??

At any rate, the cross used to be my mother's (who is also LDS). I never asked where she got it from (perhaps I should). She gave it to me shortly after my Dad died. I guess she thought I needed it, and maybe I did. I remember after he died, that I felt very lost and confused. I wore the cross on a chain around my neck for a while. I took it off to wear something else, and just never put it back on. It just went into the jewelry box to be forgotten. This was over 11 years ago.

The St. Christopher's medal is another story. I was involved in a bad accident 5 years ago, which left me burned and blind. At the time, I worked with a lot of Catholic women. I loved those women as if they were my own family, and they stuck up for the mouthy Mormon girl when another nurse told me I was going to go to hell for what I believed in (she was Southern Baptist...shocking, I know). I didn't know a lot about the Catholic faith before I worked with these great ladies, but they schooled me. I respected them because they held fast to their beliefs, and respected me because I held to mine. Anyway, I was in this accident. One of my coworkers (Phyllis) went out and bought a St. Christopher's medal, and went to her priest to have it blessed. She told him, "It's for my Mormon friend." He thought it was an odd request, but did it anyway. Phyllis later presented me with this medal. She wanted me to have it so I would be safe when I went anywhere. Incidentally, St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers. I wore the medal for a long, long time. Do I believe in Patron Saints? Not really, but Phyllis believed in them, enough to go to the trouble of getting the medal, and having it blessed for a non-Catholic. It was important to her, and she had faith it would help me. Because of this, I wore the medal. It came off when I needed to wear a different necklace for my brother's wedding...and it too fell by the wayside of my jewelry box, to be forgotten.

So, now I have these two little silver pieces on one silver chain. I don't even know if you can put a cross and a saint medal on the same chain. These two little things are important to me because they were given to me by people I loved, in times when I was going through great struggle. Sometimes, you can find inspiration in the faith of others...and my cross and medal serve as a reminder of that.

In the darkest moments of my life, I am grateful that I had people who cared enough to share their light with me.

Ho-Hum

Today, I am doing laundry. The maintenance guys are working on a toilet in my building, so I have no running water until they are done. No shower either. So, I wait patiently.

I woke up and Sam smelled like an emesis basin. I discovered that he ralphed in his kennel. So, I managed to give him a bath while I still had running water. I also used my purple shampoo on him to get rid of any yellow tones in his fur. He's a lovely sparkling white! Now, instead of vomit, he smells like wet dog. I can handle that smell a lot better. Vomit smells remind me of work.

I have to take my carpet shampooer in to have a new cord put on it because Sam chewed the old one into many pieces. Little bastard. That one is going to cost me $60 to fix because they have to send out for the repair. Sheesh.

A couple calls to make, an application and various paperwork to complete. Is there no end to the excitement in my life?

The End of the World

First...the tsunami. Then, hurricanes. Then the mudslide. Then the massive, town-leveling earthquake. Now, Trish got high-speed internet.

The world is definitely coming to an end.

But seriously...the number of natural disasters is staggering. The body count rising. As my Mom so put it, "Kind of makes you wonder..."

Indeed.

I even dreamed last night I was in a place where the storms kept coming. Rain and wind, flooding. No power. Death everywhere. I'm glad I woke up...and I love to sleep.

I do have to wonder, though, to what point do people become desensitized and stop caring? I think it is called "Compassion Fatigue". I've seen nurses get it. The point where nothing phases you and you stop caring. I wonder how the Hurricane refugees (yeah, I said refugees) feel in light of seeing the devastation left by the earthquake.

It's a scary world to be in right now, that's for sure.

Happiness if comfortable shoes.

After my ill-fortune with the shoes from hell that I wore to Paula's wedding, I decided to unceremoniously toss those horrible, horrible things. I had taken them with me on both cruises I had been on, and both times, while they looked nice on...they were murder after wearing them for an hour. Each time, I swore never to wear them again...then I would forget...only to remember that vow the next time I wore the shoes. So anyway, I decided to buy another pair of black sandals. This time, I bought Danskos...and they are the best shoes EVER. I own two pair of clogs I wear to work. I love my new sandals. I actually heard my feet sigh when I put them on. I wore them around the apartment. My new height enabled me to see a whole different angle to the freezer. I can't wait to wear them out...but now the weather is colder, and past sandal wearing time...and I am NOT one of those people who wears socks with sandals.

I have come to the sad conclusion that I will never be able to successfully wear a pair of stillettos. I have wide Flintstone feet that are just not cute. From now on, I shall buy only Dansko shoes for all my shoe-wear...unless I have to buy athletic shoes. Dansko doesn't make those...yet.

My mother went to the cabin this weekend, and I am left to my own devices. Lately, I've been consumed with this computer thriller game I bought. It is called "Still Life" and it rocks. I bought two books to read last night...so I can spend the remainder of my time off reading, playing my game, and not working.

Cause for Vomit

I just read that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are expecting. Oh joyous rapture! I thought she was a virgin and going to stay that way until she got married. And she gave it away to that asshat!

I once talked to an Indian resident who claimed to be a virgin. Only to find out later from one of the nurses he dated that his idea of being a virgin was merely the Catholic method of "Pull and Pray". Maybe Katie thinks if neither party got their jollies off, it didn't count.

Tom Cruise is now reproducing. I can't help but feel sorry for the child, but then again...it may just grow up dumb and never know that his parents have a collective IQ of 12. Ignorance is bliss.

Would it be too much to hope that Katie has post-partum depression?? I'd like to see Daddy Tom push the misses some Flintstones vitamins and tell her to go bike 10 miles on the treadmill and watch her have a nuclear meltdown. Hee!!

You are required to test out to drive a car, yet anyone with penis and vagina (because it takes both) can produce offspring. There should be a competency test for prospective parents. Nothing that folks with an average IQ couldn't pass. But it would keep Tom and Katie from inflicting their dumbness upon the world by unleashing the fruit of their loins.

So, I am going to go now and take a purge.

I'm not doing it, and you can't make me!!!

My floor is in upheaval. When I applied, I knew that a transition to progressive care was in the works...which was all fine and good. I don't want to be a PCU nurse, but I'll hang out long enough to gain my experience, then go off to do what I really want to do.

Now, the bosshole is dropping this "stroke certification". He says its mandatory, our unit educator says it's not. I like the educator better, so I am going to listen to her. We've come to realize that our bosshole is passive-aggressive. He blows sunshine up your butt when you go to complain to him, but then sends ambiguous spiteful emails to the entire staff later along the lines of, "I'm not going to say who did it, but this happened. Let's not let it happen again because its a very bad thing." Some of the things directly undermines nursing judgement, and that is a very bad thing.

Anyway, I don't want to be stroke certified. I don't like neuro-anything. If I wanted to work on a stroke/neuro floor, I would have applied to work on one in the first place. A lot of my coworkers feel the same way. It's bad enough we are going to go to PCU...which entails some long term, heavy, sick as hell patients. Now, this gets crammed down our throats. Mandatory certification in anything is a load of crap. To make things worse, we are now looking at an overstaffing issue on nights...which means we could start getting floated to other floors. Some of my coworkers have said they would quit before that happens. As it stands, those who worked overtime before, are unable to do so now, and are having to get agency jobs for their overtime hours. No one likes to float, to which our bosshole replies, "That's just the nature of our job." Bullshit.

On the whole, I like being a nurse. I know what it is what I was meant to do in life. I love the people I work with...for the most part. However, I don't like my floor. Usually, I'm a nice, fun person, but when I clock in, I turn into an asshole. I may cut back to part time to retain all my benefits, and then go work somewhere else...like agency. There are other reasons I stay, but I won't go into that right now.

I work tonight and tomorrow then off for seven. Seven days off!!! What will I do with myself!!! I'm going to go hang out with Kant, maybe find other stuff to do as well.

I can hardly wait!

Dum, dum, de, dum!!

Well, I went to the wedding yesterday...and it was unlike any other wedding I've been to (only because I've only been to one Catholic wedding before, and even then I wasn't paying attention).

I called Paul (my date) to get directions to his house.
Me: What's up?
Paul: I'm just driving to Springfield.
Me: (barely audible gasp) Springfield??
Paul: Yes...Springfield, Missouri
Me: (Starting to panic) Did you forget?
Paul: Forget what?
Me: THE WEDDING IS TODAY!!
Paul: It is?
Me: (stunned silence)

Paul finally can't handle it and busts out laughing. For once, someone has rendered me speechless. Butthole. My retribution will be great and terrible as the sun. As treacherous as the sea!

I drove down to Gardner to pick up Paul...which is clean down in south JoCo. He decided to drive, which was fine with me...I had the map. So, we haul ass to Olathe and find the Catholic church and rush inside. I sign the guestbook and one of the girls manning the table hands me a program. I glance at the front at the names of the couple. I pale.

"I don't...Jason and Jennifer...I don't know who these people are!" I choke as the wedding party, who is preparing to march into the chapel, turn and stare at me.

Paul starts laughing hysterically as I try talk to one of the ushers. They tell me there is another Catholic chapel on the other side of the Parrish building. So, we leave (Paul is still laughing), and bust on over to the other Catholic chapel where we come across a small group of people hurrying across the parking lot.

"Paula and John?" they ask as they point the smaller chapel.
"Jason and Jennifer" I say as I indicate to the large building behind me. We rush inside and take our seat in pew before a guy in full Marine dress traps us in our seat with a roll of toole.

The bridal party marches down the isle. The first bridesmaid has a tatoo on her back of some tribal character playing a horn. Paul tries to contain himself, so he is laughing silently and staring down at his shoes. The second bridesmaid passes and she has wings tatooed on her shoulder blades...like angel wings. I hope that Paul won't look up, but he does, and his body starts to shudder because he is trying not to lose his composure (and oddly enough looks as though he is going int convulsions). I thought he was going to send himself into an asthma attack.

Paula comes down the isle after about a dozen bridesmaids. Paul whispers, "I know her!" To which I reply, "Do you need to leave?"

The wedding was very Catholic. I thought of my friend, Rachel, who loves Catholic culture. Stand up, sit down, say this, sing that. I just sat there feeling somewhat out of place. Paul was Catholic, so he participated as a good Catholic should.

An hour later, the wedding ends and we get to pelt birdseed at the bride and groom as they make their getaway in a bus. A bus!! How romantic. We have 2 hours to kill before the reception, so Paul decides he needs lip balm and we go to the mall. Did I mention I'm wearing the most uncomfortable shoes on the planet??

We kill time at the mall. Paul marvels that I don't buy anything as he wants to buy everything he sees. He is a metrosexual. If there is such a thing as a metrosexual female...I'm the furthest thing from it.

Ahh...finally, the reception. A very nice, very Johnson county sit-down dinner affair...with a Polka band (the groom is Polish). Paul got to talk to all the people he knew (which was quite a few), and I ran into one other person I knew besides the bride. Small world. There was a wierd lady who kept coming over to our table to snag bits and pieces of our centerpiece...which is funny because our table's theme was Little Shop of Horrors (ironic, I know) and part of the centerpiece included toothbrushes and dental floss. There was an open bar. I think I was the only one who thought a bunch of drunk Catholics trying to cross themselves was highly amusing.

Overall, a nice...SEVEN HOUR event. My feet still hurt, which is funny considering I didn't dance (I don't know how to polka dance). Paul asked how LDS receptions differed, and I just said, "Cake, mints, nuts, punch, receiving line, go home." I won't be the first one to say how boring I find LDS wedding receptions (with the exception of the Kieffers, who always have a pinata at their receptions). I'm getting tired just thinking about the one I have to attend in a couple of weeks.

When (or if) I get married, I'm just going to elope.

I Get Around

I worked last night...gimpy foot and all. My bosshole came in and I harped on him for having common use items out of reach for short people. I then requested a stepstool for the med room. He laughed at me. I get no respect.

On a related matter, I slept clean through the alarm and missed my doctor's appointment. Shit. Now, I have to call and reschedule.

Work went well...dealing with sick people and stupid doctors. We always try to make light of our situation and goof off as much as humanly possible because laughing is sure better than crying. Last night, a bunch of nurses were going around talking like they were mentally retarded (out of earshot of other folks). Yes, I work with a bunch of short-bus nurses. Katie is the funniest. It's not uncommon to see her dancing a jig down the hall on her way to the med room. I'm just the sarcastic one...I always have a smartass remark for everything.

One thing I have come to know about my employer...is that gossip spreads at the speed of light, true or not. I have a working knowledge of which resident "got on top" of which nurse, who's married and sleeping around, who likes bondage, etc. I even know that one nurse likes a little backdoor action because the resident she was dating told his colleagues, who in turn told EVERYEONE. That couple has moved on to wherever his medical education took him, but for the longest time, when I would get report from this nurse...all I could think of was, "She likes it in the poop chute." There's just certain things about your coworkers that you just shouldn't know.

And this is one of the reasons I won't date a doctor. They can't keep their mouth shut and their pants on. This is also the reason I would never consider marrying a doctor. Too many nurses out there who went to school for the specific pupose of finding a doc to marry, and they are out there hunting. I would just rather not deal with that kind of worry. Besides, I can get more out of the docs (for my patients) because I'm not throwing myself at them. They know I am there to do a job, I know what I am talking about, and they respect that.

Actually, I try to keep my personal life under a tight lid...but that hasn't stopped the rumor mill from cranking out their own assumptions. I could only wish my social life was as busy as my colleagues thought it was. According to them, I have my own fan club. I'm dating this nurse in the float pool. I'm seeing this respiratory therapist. I'm going out with this new resident. While these guys do exist, I am just friends with them. Apparently, girls and guys can't just be friends without some sort of sexual attachment. Whatever.

So last night, I was gimping around the unit. Said RT was working across the hall and would come over periodically to visit. Said nurse was working downstairs and did stop by once to chat. On that one occasion, they both were on the floor at the same time. So, there we were...sitting at the desk having a spirited conversation. (Later, both would ask me if I was dating the other.) I return to work on Monday and I'm sure there will now be some rumor circulating that I do threesomes....foursomes if they remember that said resident I'm supposed to be seeing.

My father used to always say, "Better to talk about me...they are leaving some other poor sucker alone." The gossip doesn't bother me as I know it isn't true. Besides, my gossip is quite boring, and there is always something juicier for people to talk about...which I suppose is the beauty of working in a huge teaching hospital.

Various Wedding Blather

This week has a theme. Ironically, it involves one marriage falling apart, and one beginning.

My little brother has announced that his second marriage is now gone down the crapper. He and his wife had been separated for a couple months now, and from what we knew, had been working to patch things up. Turns out, Mike has been really the only one working as he discovered that Mrs. P had a new boyfriend. Now, Mrs. P is a rotten little ho and he's going to divorce her. He is now vowing to ever get married again. I can understand Mike being jaded and bitter, but he really needs to date girls who are at least old enough to legally buy a lottery ticket. I don't know of too many 19 year olds outside the church who are serious about being married. Sure, its fun and cute to plan a wedding and play house...but the newness of being responsible wears off and gives way to parties, drinking and appearing on Girls Gone Wild. I know that Mike will marry again, hopefully next time, he will chose more wisely.

Saturday, I am attending a wedding for a friend I went to school with. It's a Catholic affair. I don't know if it is the full mass or not. A friend of mine is going with me because somewhere it is written that you must never attend weddings by yourself. It's sacriligious to show up at an event celebrating coupleness alone. Fortunately, my friend is Catholic, so I will know when to sit, stand and kneel. Afterwards, there is a full meal-deal reception. You don't see those too often anymore. Usually it's just a buffet featuring pigs in a blanket, and watermelon boats.

Today, I have to go see the doctor because my foot has been huring me for the last 2 weeks. I think I may have a stress fracture as I was leaping in the med room to reach something way up high. The world discriminates against short people. You never hear of the ACLU defending the rights of people 5 feet and under. Gary Coleman could be our spokesperson. We could have our own special colored rubber band bracelets to wear.

Why not orange...like the Oompa Loompas??

I'm home all alone. Mom is at work, making her daily bread. The apartment is quiet, except for the occasion noises from Sam and whatever he has found to chew on. I have to work tonight. My bosshole jacked up the schedule and put me in for 4-hour shifts this week instead of 12 hour shifts. I did make mention of it to my unit educator, but I don't know if it was corrected. I guess I will find out when I go in tonight. I'm either working til 11pm, or go to 7 am. No matter what, I will probably end up staying for the full shift. I get bored at home with nothing to do but nap and pick up doggy-slobber-covered debris.

Last night, I had a dream...and weird it was. I was in some large city (I want to say it was Chicago...which is odd because the only time I've been there was when I had a layover at the airport). Anyway, there was rumor of some terrorist sleeper cell activity, and the military came in to "flush 'em out". They blew up this chunk of land to find a ginormous training facility underground, which housed literally thousands of terrorists. They immediately jumped out of the ground and started shooting everyone. Pandamonium ensued.

I need to lay off the CNN.

On another odd note, a longtime friend of mine propositioned me last week. "Fun with no strings" he said. Then, he would take me out for a burrito at Q'doba afterward because he had a coupon. Ugh! I don't even like Q'doba...but I do like strings...so I said no on both counts. What a turd.

Kant is still sick, and I am going to take her to see another doctor. No one knows why she is sick, so I'm guessing they are just going to start ruling stuff out until they find the culprit. I hope she gets to feeling better soon.

A House in Upheaval

My stepdad came home yesterday from the south. His reports of the devastation there are amazing, and the cleanup efforts (which he was part of) are of monumental proportions. It's not gas prices that are grossly inflated...he had to pay someone $45 to do a small load of laundry. Someone needs to investigate those people.

So, now my apartment is now void of the extra furry little critters that arrived with my mother. They have gone down to the cabin to stay with my stepdad.

Today is laundry day. I decided to catch up on my current events before getting started. I just read that N.O. Mayor Nagin has prematurely started allowing residents to re-enter the city in his rush to get the city to flourish once more. That's a brillant decision considering there are no hospitals in operation in the city. Way to go, Mental Giant. Now, when your residents get sick, they have no where to go. Nagin wins the first ever dumbass award. In fact, the award should be named after him. The Ray Nagin Dumbass Award.

Women!!!

I worked last night, and one of my coworkers was lamenting an ex-boyfriend, whom after a long period of not hearing from him, has suddenly started calling and making overtures for a reconciliation. She wanted the advice of her coworkers. She told us about the nature of their relationship, the reason of the breakup (the standard reason for a lot of breakups...they couldn't keep their pants on around other girls). It was interesting to see how the youger girls would romanticize everything, while the older, more sage women with experience looked at the situation with a more critical eye. I being one of those people. Naturally, she favored the ones who told her what she wanted to hear. She was in love, and her mind was made up.

I am always amazed at what some women will settle for in a man. Women who are confident on the outside, but self-doubts so internal that they think they can do no better, that no truly magnificent person would ever love them, that no other oppotunities would ever present themselves down the road. I used to be one of them. I dated some real asshats in my day, and a lot of them had HUGE character flaws, of which I would overlook because "I loved him and he said he was sorry". Some people would think I am jaded, maybe even bitter. I don't think so. I have simply come to a point in my life where I know that life is too short to settle for something I have to make monumental compromises and excuses for. There are certain things one should never compromise on: trust, honesty, integrity. If I never get married, I'm comfortable with that.

There are worse things than being alone. I would much rather be a single woman hanging out with friends, than being in a committed relationship, and feeling the horrible anxiety that comes with knowing that at that exact moment, the person you love is probably with someone else.

My best friend recently split with her boyfriend...for the second, and hopefully final, time. I wish I could say I was disappointed. I wish I could say that. Coming out of an emotionally intense relationship is always a hard thing, but time heals all wounds...and I think she will be better and stronger for this experience. I think in the future, she will look back, and wonder just what in the hell was she thinking at the time, and she will be grateful she made the break. She is a good catch for any man, and if they are too dumb to realize that, or even take her for granted...then they are not worthy enough to lick the bottom of her shoes. And that is how I feel about the matter.

Now, I am tired and I am going to go to bed.

Today at the Vet's Office

I just got home from taking Sam to the vet for his vaccination update...and nail trim. This guy in a tattered wife-beater shirt and haircut that reminds me of Harry's cut from Dumb and Dumber, decides to make overtures to the girl who is working the front desk. Behind the desk on the wall is a calendar for Rolling Acres, which is a really nice pet cemetary.

"This may be letting my dark side show," he drawls in an effort to look cool. "But isn't it funny that Rolling Acres calendar has pictures of live animals on it??"

Ugh!

He starts asking her about "Do you like your job" and "Do you work here full time?" and "I see you have Victoria's Secret Catalog". The girl laughs nervously. I try not to bust out laughing.

A vet tech brings out Harry-clone's dog, to which the Harry-clone says, "Maybe my dog will get sick again so I can come and see you." More nervous laughter from the girl at the desk. Harry-clone leaves. The tech brings Sam out, who I am sure has repented for whatever bad thing he thinks he did to warrant a visit to the vet's office.

"He's right, you know." I tell the girl. "That calendar would make more sense if it had dead animals on it."

I'm such an ass.

SBC Sucks

I thought I would call them today and see about getting DISH network bundled in with my SBC services. I have my phone and DSL through them, and it would be cheaper than getting cable. Besides, Mom likes to watch the boob tube.

So, I called SBC, and was put on hold FOREVER...only to be told that I don't qualify for the deal. Why not? "It is our policy to not install dishes in apartment complexes."

It's hard to see their point because everyone else in my apartment complex has a satellite dish. If I want satellite, I have to go through the DISH company and order it as a separate service. I should give them the finger and order cable instead.

Bastards.

As if it wasn't bad enough, the lady with SBC tried to sell me every other service that I did qualify for. Wireless service for when I go on vacation? Uhhh...when I go on vacation, around a phone or computer is the last place I want to be, considering I usually vacation in the Caribbean. What about turbo-charged DSL? Why? So I can get my online bills faster?? (It was $2 cheaper than my current DSL service, so I bought it...she caught me in a moment of weaknes.)

I'm just mad today, and I am not sure why. Everything is pissing me off. I'm hungry, but nothing sounds good. Maybe it's PMS. I need some chocolate.

Born That Way vs. Free Agency

My cousin has decided that she is no longer a lesbian.

My cousin, who a year or so ago, said she didn't agree with the church and it's teachings, is now talking with her local bishop about coming back into the fold.

My cousin, who once argued that she could not possibly force herself to live a lie as a heterosexual, but rather be happy with another woman and face all the adversities it entailed...is now making plans to marry another man...in the temple...with all the trimmings.

To say I am confused, would be an understatement.

I love my cousin dearly, we grew up almost as sisters. While I don't generally agree with the homosexual philosophy of being "born that way", I've also held to the belief that what people do behind closed doors is their own business. It is only when you try to drag it into my house and force it down my throat, that I take issue.

Do I think gays should be allowed to marry? Nope. But on the same token, heterosexuals are not doing the institute of marriage any justice either.

But I'm not here today to expound on morality, or genetic predisposition toward the lifestyle, or whatever arguement either side of the issue will use to prove their case. I'm just here to try to understand just what my cousin is doing.

So, she met this guy...online...in an LDS chat room. They began talking in March. He came out to see her last week and they met face to face for the first time. He popped the big question. They are in love. She is going to out east to see him this fall. They are going to get married in the temple and blathercakes ad nauseum.

Did I mention that she is still living with her girlfriend?

Granted, she says they have not had "relations" in over 5 months (too much info, I know), and that she doesn't consider her a girlfriend anymore, the fact that you are living under the pretense of being "together" is disturbing when you consider that she is making plans to legally marry someone else. Her girlfriend has no clue that any of this is going on.

And how does one go from being a lesbian, to being an upright member of the Mormon church? I've not met this guy, but he sounds pretty hardcore...almost bordering on Fundamentalist sans the pleural wives. He's supposed to be insanely smart, funny, blah, blah, blah. However, I also am under the firm belief that you can be anything you want to be online. So, I shall remain skeptical.

That's me...the family skeptic.

I went to see my doctor, who is not in practice anymore (so I saw a nurse instead). I'm officially off work until next Wednesday. I'll be sucking up most of my vacation time to cover it.

The only upside to all this is that I now have time to get ready for Mom.

I saw Kant today, who is sick. She caught mono from her Neanderthal boyfriend (now ex...WHOOPEEE!). I hope she gets to feeling better. There are worse things to catch than mono...like herpes or something. I took her some Chinese food today and told her about the finger incident. She laughed. I think she needed a good laugh...and I am always happy to accomodate.

Now, I am just tired. Tomorrow, the reorganization of the house begins.

My Holiday Weekend

I managed to get Friday night off so I could make the drive down to the lake. I wasn't going for leisure. I went to help Mom move some of her stuff down to the cabin. Before then, I realize I can't find my debit card...and I have run out of checks. Shaping up to be a great weekend, this is!!

Being the chipper morning person I am (and the preceding statement is utter BS), I drove about an hour north to my parents' house. Lucky for me, all three trucks were already loaded. All I had to do was drive one. The 3 hour drive was long and boring, and I feel a glazed-over look coming on just thinking about it...so I won't elaborate any further on that matter.

At the cabin, the unloading of the trucks went quickly and without incident. My dog Sam played with my brother Mike's dog, Bob. I swear, if they gave out awards to families with the most mediocre-named pets...we would win first prize. We had dinner at some small podunk diner before we went back to the cabin and turned in the for the night. This was Saturday.

Sunday, we just sort of moved boxes at a turtle's pace. I had Sam tied up outside because I got tired of the little bastard running away and not coming when I called him. I saw that he had become tangled around a tree, so I attempted to get him untangled. My finger was caught in his choke collar and in his excitement to see me, he jumped. I felt white hot pain in my right hand, then saw a big chunk of flesh just hanging off my index finger. I yelled a tirade laced with profanity at the Sam who probably just heard, "Blarg! Blarg-blarg!!" coming from me, then I ran back into the cabin, almost plowing over my waif-looking sister-in-law in the process. I held my profusely bleeding hand under the sink faucet while the rest of the family gathered round. Damn, the cold water hurt too much, so I just held my hand over the sink while fighting the urge to just faint.

"Put your hand back under the water," said Mike as he tried to force my hand under the nozzle. Nevermind the fact that I am white as a sheet, and in a cold sweat. I can hear blood flow roaring in my ears.
"Hold pressure on it" someone else said, it could have been Mom.
"It don't look that bad, you're just being a big pansy" said Mike.

After I decided I wasn't going to pass out, I inspected my hand. Shit...I was going to need stitches. My family objected. I just needed a bandaid, so Mom brought out all she had there...a box of bandaids and a big bottle of rubbing alcohol. Uhhh...no. Can this wait until I get back to civilization? I thought. After a couple of minutes of studying the wound, I decided that I should be seen by a doctor that day.

So, Mom drove me to Bolivar...some 30 minutes away. We pulled up to County Medical Hospital. When I say little, I mean that the entire hospital would fit in one of the parking garages of where I work. This hospital was pretty much all the folks down in the area had. (Allow me to point out that the counties in the surrounding area are among the poorest in the state of Missouri.) True Rednecks live in this area...they live and breathe the redneck mentality...and seeing how I still have all my teeth, I belong in the minority. I'm a weekender.

Mom and I went to the ER waiting room where there was an eclectic mix of rednecks and weekenders (city folks that come down on weekends for fun on the lake). Ironically, the televisions in the waiting room were showing "Roadhouse". Bouncers to big country bars watch this movie and jerk-off. Bubba is sitting across from us in the waiting room, wearing a confederate flag bandana, and watching the movie as if Jesus himself just walked into the waiting room.

After waiting...and waiting...and waiting...and waiting (Oohh! Patrick Swayze beat the evil town bully!)...and waiting...I was finally called to triage, where a nurse took my information and I was assigned to room 4. Yay for room 4. I perched myself on the cart, Mom in the chair...where we proceeded to wait some more. I noticed their ER was staffed with 2 doctors and a gaggle of nurses...of all which were determined to hold the desk down and keep it from floating away. One doc came in, examined my hand, announced I would need stitches (thank you, Captain of the Obvious!) and then left. Then, some little oriental man shuffled in my room like he had a cob up his butt. He rattled off his name (Ping Pong?) and examined my hand. His accent was so thick, I had to ask him to repeat himself.

Dr. Ping Pong: whistle, whistle, click, click
Me: What?!?
Dr. Ping Pong: I put stitch in.
Me: Okay (passing a worried look to my mother) Will I be able to work with these?
Ping Pong: Yes...what do you do?
Me: (pause) A nurse
Ping Pong: Oh!! So you know every ting!
Me: Not quite (The other nurse sort of giggles, which annoys me. She wouldn't last 10 minutes where I work!)
Ping Pong: You can't work. I give note.

Mom decides to go back to the waiting room because she is squeamish and doesn't want to watch. Pansy! How she managed to raise 3 children, I will never know. Now, she is abandoning me at the hands of America's Newest Citizen, the only Chinese person for 100 square miles, and ER physician of Podunk Community Hospital/Bingo Hall...Dr. Ping Pong.

So, Ping Pong shuffles around the room to get his act together, and I am now laying on the cart, watching him suspiciously, my hand still flayed open. He first attempts to raise the cart so he won't have to bend over, and does it without success. "Bed no work" he mutters until he finds the right pedal to push to make the cart elevate. He indicates he wants me to lay on my side. I indicate I want the bed rail up so I don't fall out of the cart which is now six feet in the air. Ping Pong shuffles to the other side of the bed and lifts the rail. It falls. He lifts it again. It falls again. After a dozen attempts of trying to figure out why "bed no work", he goes to find a nurse who knows the magic secret to bed operation.

When he finally gets the tools he needs he, injects my hand with lidocaine...which burns like hell. The good doctor then puts 3 stitches in, and decides a 4th one is in order. I yelped because that area wasn't numb at all...I felt the needle go in, then out. I thought my chicken lunch would be revisited.

Ping Pong: whistle, whistle, click, click
Me: (through clenched teeth) What?!?
Ping Pong: It not numb?
Me: No! (Dumbass!)
Ping Pong: Oh (then procedes to finish the last stitch anyway)

Ping Pong inspects his work (which looks a lot worse than before he even touched it) and declares "One more stitch and then we done". As an afterthought, he decides to inject more lidocaine in the area he will put his last stitch. He leaves the room to look for something, leaving his needle and crap laying on the cart next to my leg. I shifted my weight and his tools crashed to the floor...oops. Ping Pong comes back and sees his instruments on the ground and makes a snorty noise, as if I did it on purpose. So, he shuffles out of the room to get another suture kit. I'm glad I wasn't bleeding to death or anything.

Ping Pong does the last suture, attempting to shorten the thread by sawing at it with a scalpel before giving up an using scissors, and tries to give me instructions on how to care for my wound. As usual, it comes out as whistles and clicks.

Me: What?!?
Ping Pong: (annoyed) I get nurse come and tell you.

I lifted my hand to inspect it. The laceration now looks like raw hamburger. My dreams of over being a hand model are now over. Where did this guy learn to do sutures? Bob's Community College of Medicine?? I take my gauze and wipe some of the blood that ran down my hand. Ping Pong gets upset.

Ping Pong: You no clean...I make nurse do it!
Me (thinking): (I am a nurse, you Asshat!)

So, he shuffles to fetch my nurse (who probably should've been in the room to assist so he wouldn't have had to walk away from the sterile field so many damn times). My nurse, who was very pleasant, wraps my hand...but doesn't bother to clean it, and gives me discharge instructions. Ping Pong wants to know if I need a note for work. I tell him no...I will just go see my doctor (a real one) when I get back to KC. Ping Pong thinks this is a fine idea. Mom and I check out, and the clerk almost is beside herself when I hand her my insurance card. Apparently, she doesn't get to see those very often. ..which of itself is rather sad. She did manage to misspell Mom's last name. Then she would repeatedly ask what relationship she was to me (and we answered her each and every time). I was starting to get annoyed. I should have just told her that she was my girlfriend.

So, now I am home...in the nice confines of my KC apartment. I've emailed my boss, who I am sure will shit a barrel of blue monkeys when he realizes I won't be able to work for a week. Mom thinks I did this on purpose to get out of helping her with the big move next weekend.

What a way to cap off my summer. I didn't get to do any boating. I think I swam once. The only thing of interest was going to the PT Cruiser event...which is sort of pathetic when you consider I am 30 years old and supposed to be hitting my prime.

Good-bye, Summer...you sucked ass.

I'm glad I don't live in Pewtah...

I might have to name my children in accordance to their state laws...

Utah Baby Names

Now I understand why folks in church have such strange names...particularly the transplants from the West.

I've been glued to the computer all week, reading articles, looking at photos...all of the Hurricane Katrina aftermath. With all I have seen, the one thought that sticks in my mind is "Can this really be happening in the US?" It seems surreal. The pics look like they were taken in some third world country. It hasn't hit home, I'm still in shock.

My hospital has put a call out for people to go down south and assist with setting up field hospitals, and helping with evacuations. I'm sure the docs and nurses working down there right now are exhausted. When you work in our field, you give so much of yourself without the presence of a natural disaster. When everything has been taken from you except your license to practice, what do you have left to give to your patient? Anyway, I volunteered to go, but my bosshole of a manager said we couldn't spare the staff...which is bullshit. I'm sure the folks down south are in a bit of a nursing crunch as well...and from where I'm sitting, their needs are greater. My coworkers are appalled that my request was denied, apparently some others were also denied as well. We are told to just donate money instead. Anyone can donate money, for nurses...time is more valuable.

Everyone is in a lather about the cost of gas, and will go higher. I'm sure it will go down eventually. Meanwhile, a lot of people are being more conservative about where they drive, how much they drive, and carpool. Thank God I have a car with better mileage. I do have to chuckle at the soccer moms filling up their big-ass Excursions at the pump. I'm sure they are lamenting for that station wagon they turned their noses up at. I can't really complain that much about the cost of gas. Sure, you get bent over and raped at the pump whenever you have to fill up...but there are worse things. I'm just happy I still have a car I can put gas in. I'm grateful that my job hasn't been washed away, that I have a home to go to with clothes and food. I'm most grateful that I know where everyone in my family is, and that they are safe. If it came down to it, I would even go back to driving Oprah if it meant I didn't have to live through the nightmare that the folks down south are living...and Oprah uses up a quarter of a tank just to start her.

Someone wrote that there are always two storms: the one that comes with wind and rain, then the political storm that follows. That is no lie. Already the fingers are pointing and blaming. Complaints about Bush because he didn't cut short his vacation before the hurricane hit. What the hell? What was he supposed to do? Go and try talking to the hurricane, convincing it to turn tail and hit Cuba instead?? The NAACP has now pulling out the "You ignored them because they were poor" horse and pony show...but you know they are DYING to pull the race card. I'm waiting for the ACLU to give us their interpretation of the incident.

I've decided that the NAACP and the ACLU are about as useful as big man-breasts...they serve no good purpose, but they garner a lot of attention.

Folks in New Orleans have taken to complaining that they have been abandoned...most of which are the same folks who didn't leave the city when they were ordered to evacuate (i.e. mandatory evacuation). The common reasons folks stayed behind..."I didn't think it would be that bad" or "I've lived through hurricanes before, I'll live through this one". Make no mistake, I am not talking about the elderly folks who just couldn't leave...no, I'm talking about the dumbasses who thought they were a lot tougher than airborne cars flying at 80mph. Plus, there are the pinheads who took to looting waterlogged electronic equipment, in a city that won't have electricity for months. Way to go, mental giants! To make things worse, thugs took up arms and declared war on the city...robbing, raping and trying to reinact scenes from Scarface. And I am supposed to feel sorry for some of these people? No, I'll save my compassion for the ones who are trying, the ones who are scared, the ones who still know how to be civilized human beings in times of crisis. I'll just hope the National Guard takes care of the native terrorists of New Orleans.

Americans are now opening their wallets and donating, some are even opening their homes...which makes me proud. Offers from other countries have started coming in. Chavez from Venezuela was the first to offer help, which I thought was pretty big of him. We should sent Pat Robertson with a thank you note...

Or maybe he could just be the thank you note.

Retchin' Gretchen

I like all types of music...so labeling me as a "country music fan" or "rockaholic" doesn't really apply. Bad music occurs in all genres. I'm here today to expound on one of those examples: Gretchen Wilson.

I hate Gretchen Wilson with the fire of a thousand hot suns, or rather, her music and what she has come to represent AND glorify. Once you get past the voice that sounds like its coming from the back of her nose, you get to the message.

"I'm uneducated white trash and that is a good thing. Everyone should have lots of babies with different dad's and live in a trailer park on welfare."

The recent controversy stems from her song (of which I am delighted that I've never heard) "Skoal Ring". She loves chew, and she gets turned on when she tastes it on her man's lips. (Writer pauses while reader fights back waves of nausea.) If she were to tell me she was dating a chemist, I would automatically assume its just some guy who has his own meth lab.

Wilson has come to represent everything bad that people think about country music; the very stereotypes that good country artists are trying to debunk. She sucks...and I can't wait for her 15 minutes to end so she can slip back to obscurity. In fact, I will be very happy when this whole "Trailer Park Chic" fad wanes and goes by the way of the trucker hat.

I'll just stick to the women of country to who still have class and style: Martina McBride, Faith Hill and Patsy Cline. At least these women can actually carry a tune.

PT Cruiser Convention...KC Edition

Being the owner of a PT Cruiser, I was able to attend the PT Cruiser's Club National Convention, right here in my back yard (well, sort of). Friday night, there was a T-Bones game followed by a "Show and Glow". I did not participate in this event seeing how the only thing that glows on my car are the headlights, but I did peruse the other cars...all dressed up for people to see. Some cars had themes...your standard cute junk like Betty Boop, teddy bears and fairies; some college worshippers (K-State and Nebraska), some featured dragons, spiders, and one lady had her car themed with cats...which included a large pair of cat ears on the top and a long tail on the back. Then, some peope abandon all sense and reason and create what I have dubbed the "More Dollars Than Sense" cars. Some guy from Texas had his on hydraulic lifts, spinners, fancy doors that open skyward, plus a Playstation set-up for each passenger...it looked like it came from one of the "Pimp My Ride" shows. Another couple from Oklahoma had their PT equipped car with the same doors, strobe lights and a fog machine. Whenever someone would get to close to the car, the woman's head would fly off her shoulders, spin 360 degrees, and land on back on her shoulders before she would exhale a stream of fire and a tirade upon the unfortunate individual who got too close. Honestly, if you don't want people touching your car...take a page out of real car shows and put up ropes or some sort of barricade! I was hoping for the guy from Texas to win just because the lady from Oklahoma was a real mean cow.

Today, it was hot as all getout. Everyone was showing their cars, a couple vendors were there peddling car-customizing stuff (I relented and had some small flames and a pinstripe added to my car). There was a big raffle, and I won a couple items...something I can give to my nephew for Christmas, a new coffee maker (which will come in handy when Mom comes to stay with me), and some brakelight covers for my PT. After all the booty was given away, we lined up and drove to the Kansas Raceway. There had to been at least 100 PT Cruisers...of many shapes and colors. The wait to get on the track might not have seemed so long if someone would have forseen that we would be roasting, and thought to set up some sort of beverage station or something.

I got to drive around the track on two separate instances. The first was was fun, but I was right behind the pace car, and I didn't get to go as fast as the people behind me. So the next time, I made sure I was toward the back of the line so I could allow some distance to pass between me and the next car...then I floored it. Talk about a rush! I wasn't aware that my car could go that fast, but it held up well, and not once did I hit the wall. I'm not a huge NASCAR fan, and this experience didn't make me one...but if someone offered me the chance to drive a real car around the track without a pace car in front of me...I wouldn't necessarily be opposed to it. :o)

So now I am home. I opted not to go to the awards thing tonight. I was too tired, too dehydrated, and I really didn't care. I think I almost fell asleep in my car waiting for my turn to drive on the track. I got my daybed set up, and I think I will spend the rest of the evening in my nice cool apartment, drinking whatever I can put ice cubes in.

Welcome to my new roomie!

So, my parents have finally found a buyer for their house. They close next month on the 8th, my mother is moving in with me on the 12th until she finds a job down at the lake, or one month...whichever happens to come first as Jerry has given her only 1 month to stay with me. This is fine, I imagine he would much rather have his wife with him than over a hundred miles away.

In the meanwhile, I have been preparing the second room for her pending stay. My new furniture is delivered on Friday. Fun for me.

My mother is very excited at the prospect of "quality time" spent with her only daughter. "We're going to have fun!" she chirps and giggles in such a way that leaves me worried. The last time we "had fun", I had to shell out $25 on the largest straw sombrero with VIVA MEXICO on the front, then half dragging her back to a cruise ship while she is singing loudly about how much she loves tequila. She did wonder where she could find the best margarita in Kansas City, making it sound like a possible quest while she is staying with me. Needless to say, I am concerned.

Any other time, I don't know that I would entertain the thought of having another roommate (being married would be a different story entirely). I tried that back in the day when I was poor and going through school. You have to deal with their habits and such (like having their 11 brothers and sisters over all at once for dinner). Financially, it is a sound idea for a lot of people, and most people can make the roommate situation work for them. I, however, like my own space. I know where most everything is in my apartment, and I never have to worry about a roomie's Neanderthal boyfriend coming over to vegetate on my couch, eat my food, and make really, really retarded comments while trying to sound like their IQ is over 70. Been there, done that, have the t-shirt. It's impossible to set limits when the other party is paying half the rent, as some of my more unfortunate friends have discovered.

On the up side, my mother has hinted at the possibility of Mom-Cooked Meals...of which I currently only get on holidays. She might also be handy for cleaning and walking the dog. Not to mention I can show her some really neat places in the area, not to mention assist her in her quest to find KC's Most Perfect Margarita. She will need someone to drive her.

But I draw the line at buying another sombrero.

Ahhh...the people you meet!

My friend Kristi and myself have been known to go out late at night. Being both night nurses, we do stuff so we can stay up late, usually on a night before we have to go in and work. This makes sleeping during the day more easier, and it is just something fun to do. Our usual activity is going to the Brass Rail to play pool. The Brass Rail is a nice place...only 75 cents a table, very clean, and the food is good. Kristi is rather good at playing pool. I suck something awful. Out of 10 shots, I might have one or two good ones, and I could never play on a regulation table because they are roughly the size of a football field...but this doesn't dissuade me from my dream of being a pool shark someday. Anyway, we go, have some nachos, some sodas (hers usually spiked with the Captain), she kicks my butt in pool, and we always attract the biggest dorks in the entire establishment. Last night being no exception.

So, our table is next to the jukebox...which happens to be playing every crappy country song on the planet. Our table also is next to one where two guys are playing, I am guessing to be in their late 40's, early 50's. One is short, flashy and loud, the other tall, quiet and wearing a pink shirt. Inevitibly, the flashy one meanders over and wants to play doubles. The pink-shirt guy and Kristi play as a team, and of course, I get the loud one. Pink-shirt guy is Mensa, a graduate of West Point, and most importantly...plays in a pool league. Loudy owns his own business and is more focused on bragging than he is playing. Predictably...we lost every game. You know the type...he measures his success in life by what he owns and who he knows. He spent a lot of time dropping names, apparently hoping to impress. Neither Kristi nor myself care. Pink shirt guy keeps quiet, maybe he is embarassed to be friends with such a weiner.

Inevitably, conversation turns to our profession...registered nurses with a level one trauma center. Loudy then expounds on why we shouldn't treat "them". Those inner city crack heads that shoot themselves...Loudy thinks we should just let them kill each other off, and he even suggested that we should help. This launched Kristi into a long tirade with the guy, who apparently saw things in terms of "us vs. them"...us being people who had money, and them being everyone else who didn't. Us also being everyone who was white, them being everyone else. I was waiting patiently for Kristi to haul off and bitch-slap him, I was actually hoping for it. Pink-shirt guy is just remaining quiet and playing pool. Eventually, it was just him and I playing because the other two were in heated discussion. Pink-shirt guy felt sorry I sucked to bad at pool, he eventually just started giving me tips. As for his opinion of the night's topic of discussion..."Garbage comes in all colors".

Apparently, it also comes with different sized bank accounts.

The garbage comment was kind of iroinic because it turns out pink-shirt guy owned a garbage hauling business in my old hometown. I guess you couldn't find a greater authority on trash. I almost asked him if Loudy was someone he found on a route...but I thought better of it.

Loudy said he would never come to our hospital beause of the patients we saw. Kristi and I decided that was probably a blessing in disguise because we wouldn't like to take care of someone like him. We would do it, though, if it came down to it because if it were my family member laying in that bed...I would want someone to take care of them, without giving thought to race, creed, socioeconomic status or otherwise. I may not like what my patient's do in their life...but at the end of the day, I don't have to answer for it. As long as I know I've done the best I can do, I can sleep at night...or during the day.

The Blathering Blonde

One of my truly bestest friends in the whole wide world, Kant, is reconsidering her packrat ways and perhaps doing a major restructuring of her life in the physical sense. Many a business have cropped up offering to help simplify your life in terms of junk around the house. Handy...I've been attempting to do this very same thing since I finished nursing school, and I have actually made some headway. I'm sure my neighbors await with sadistic glee to see what else I am pitching into the garbage bin. Honestly, who needs two vacuum cleaners anyway??

As of lately, I've been hiding out at Nebraska Furniture Mart, waiting for that next great bargain. Instead of an apartment that looks at though a poor college student lives in it, I'm going more for an apartment that looks as though it is inhabited by a working professional. Nothing ostentatious, but everything simple...and matching. Lately, I've become obsessed with my spare bedroom, which until now has been used mostly for storage, and Sam's kennel. I tossed out a lot of junk, moved much to a storage shed to be gone through later for prospective Ebay auctions. I visited NFM and dropped a wad of dough on a new daybed, a white computer armoire, and am planning on painting my old dresser white to match....my white dog will even match the room. After giving much thought, I realized my guest room/office is now the bedroom I had always wanted when I was a teenager. My daybed will be filled with pillows so I can have my little reading alcove to pour over great books. My computer workstation so I can create a great book of my own.

But I digress.

As Kant says, being organized is somewhat of a lifestyle change. I'm sort of an obsessed organized person at work...not so much at home. Instead of everything in its place at home, I prefer to have an everything in its place sort of life. Every relationship, interpersonal or otherwise, has its own place and distinct purpose. Everything has a point. Everything is simple. Only my job is complicated, but when I clock out and walk out of those double doors, the hospital ceases to exist. I don't have a ginormous circle of friends...quality, not quantity. Each relationship unique and special to me. Lately, even some of my relationships have become complicated, or just painfully one-sided...and it is driving me nuts. I guess I should, as my friend Woody sometimes says, "Fish or cut bait."

I've been considering taking a travel nurse assignment after the first of the year...probably to someplace where it doesn't snow. It's a big step, and wildly scary...to go where no one knows you and establish roots all over again...even if it is for 3 months. However, I am 30...and already most of the people I have known in life have gone on to settle down, have families and so on. Sometimes, I can't help but feel as though life has passed me by...even though I am told by some friends that they are envious that I have the freedom to come and go as I please with little obligation.

So maybe all my problems would be solved if I did a decluttering of life...again. I have an old microwave cart I need to pitch anyway.

Another CFR draws to a close...

CFR, or Charpie Family Reunion to you, has gone off with a smashing success. No bad accidents, no hostile family squabbles. I do believe that my family caused the stock of Anheuser-Busch to soar for the week as it seemed that is all anyone would drink.

About 80% of the family stayed in campers out at a campsite, which was the primary meeting place every night. Everyone else who didn't have to "rough it", stayed in their cabin or lakehouse. My cousin, Dave, and his wife arrived in a very shiny, new-fangled motorhome which cost roughly $150K. This thing was so posh and swank, I'm convinced it even wiped your butt for you. Boy, camping sure sucks.

An activity was planned for everyday, even if that activity involved playing in the lake. Skiing, tubing, riding the wave runner, playing on the inflated island, or just laying in some personal raft, drinking whatever your drink of the day happened to be, basking in the sun, and trying to ignore that pesky little fish who nibbled on anyone who happened to be in the water. Some family members got a lovely fish-hickey to remember the reunion by, me included.

We frequented "The Triangle"...which basically is the Walmart of Hickory County. "You can find anything at The Triangle" is the most uttered phrase at Pomme de Terre lake. The Triangle is a gas station...on steroids. They carry everything from ice to potpourri. Potato wedges to Red Hat Club essentials. It's true...you can find anything at The Triangle. I suspect that the owner will start offering an Ozark dating service sometime next year...

I talked with a second cousin about college courses as she has just started college. Cletus (who is married to a distant cousin-in-law) chimes in about how he was great at math...in high school...before he dropped out. No one likes Cletus (his real name is Kelly), but it is safe to say that he is always the dumbest person there, which usually provides some sort of entertainment for everyone else. He thinks he looks like Brad Pitt. He looks more like Britney Spears' husband...on meth.

We had a luau, and my stepdad looked mighty fine in his grass skirt and coconut bra. Everyone wore leis. I got lei-d at my family reunion by an uncle. The most excitement I've had in a while.

We went on a canoe trip one day, and I discovered that my dog Sam is a really crappy swimmer, and not very bright. He jumped out of the canoe, into swift water, and tried to swim upstream. I had to rescue him before he went under. I also discovered that he is allergic to fleas. I paid a vet over $100 so she could shave bald spots all over his body, give him a shot, and send me home with a bottle of pills that I have to spend 30 minutes twice daily trying to cram the damn things down his throat for the next 10 days. As of now, I have a really pathetic looking dog. Between him, and my clogged-peehole cat, and my fish whose fins fell off...I'm starting to think that my lot in life is to care for handicapped animals.

Overall, the reunion was loads of fun, and the added bonus was that I didn't have to work for an entire week. Hee!! I returned to work, much more relaxed and in a rare good mood.

I shoud take a week off from work every month.

In Today's News...

Our gov, Matt Blunt, has now banned Medicaid from paying for erectile dysfunction meds for their recipients. Ofcourse those individuals with pulmonary issues will still be able to get it, but not for those who need that little extra boost in the bedroom. As a taxpayer, I can appreciate this decision by our well-coiffed governator. Why should my taxes go to fund someone else's sex life...especially when mine is a virtual drought?

To counter this decision (as someone out there always has to have the dissenting opinion), an activist for Medicaid folks complained that without the ED meds, some people would be severely hindered in their quest to procreate...thereby being in conflict with Blunt's Southern Baptist social platform of Pro-life.

Methinks that if you are on Medicaid, and cannot afford ED meds on your own...you probably should not be having kids oweing to the fact that you probably cannot afford them either.

But that is just my opinion.

Right now, I am at work, having a rare decent evening. I'm dining on fruit salad and goldfish (nurses have the very best nutrition habits). After tonight, I am going to be off for a whole week to attend my family reunion. A whole week of scheduled family chaos: golf tournament, boating, Hawaiian-themed party, campfires, cliff jumping, and maybe this year, my cousin will go water skiing in a patriotic thong...again. Even though this family is not my blood relation (they are all from my stepdad's side), they are family to me, and I enjoy spending time with them. I only wish I had computer access so I could blog the week. I will just have to remember the high points and blog them upon my return.

So, this is me signing off for the week. While you guys are working, I'll be basking in the Southern Missouri sun. Bwah!

Half Ton!?!?

After a relatively relaxing and enjoyable weekend at the lake, I had to come to work tonight...and it sucked from the word "go". I got the worst team ever. I have 4 people, with a combined weight of 623.7 kg. Or, in case you are not metric system savvy, that's roughly 1372 lbs. I think that is less than what a Ford Pinto weighs.

And to think I was going to be an English teacher before this whole nursing thing happened. I was going to broaden young minds with the words of Shakespeare while writing the Great American Novel in my free time. Now, I put my hands where no normal person would put them. The golden moments of my job, the ones that make me go "I'm so glad I am a nurse" are very few and far between.

To make things even better, the Newbie Residents have now invaded the hospitals. This time last year, I didn't know enough to know that they didn't know anything either. Now, I know...and now it is very, very scary. If you really must get sick, July is not the time to do so. Neither is August. I think you could get sick in the fall and be relatively safe.

Independence Day Yammerings

Today is the first of July. Hard to believe the year is half over, but now we are at the halfway point...Independence Day festivities. Everyone is all in lather to go to the lake (myself included) and partake of picnics, boating, and fireworks display. I often think about things I did as a kid, how excited me and my brothers would get this time of year. Dad would buy a brick of Black Cats, divide them amongst the three of us, light a "punk" (which I discovered later is only cow poop on a stick) and turn us loose on a quest to see what we could blow up. I suppose our penchant for black powder is genetic...I know for a fact that my parents camped on the banks of the Republican River at this time in 1974 and my mother spent some of her free time trying to blow up frogs with Black Cats. The rest of her free time, apparently, was utilized by conceiving her first child...Yours Truly.

My parents would really drop some serious cash in the fireworks tent, 4 days of flaming fun until that big night with the big bbq and the big fireworks show put on by my parents. Our own fireworks displays were well known throughout the neighborhood. My favorite was the Happy Lantern. Sparks would fly and then ~bloop~ a little Chinese paper latern would appear. My brothers favored the parachute ones. A rocket would race into the sky ~bang~ then out would pop a little parachute which would ultimately not land on the ground for recovery, but instead go MIA until the following winter when someone would spot it hanging in the leaf-barren tree in the front yard.

And don't forget those snake thingies that would seemingly grow out of the sidewalk when lit, leaving a big black mess in their wake, not to mention the burn mark that would forever be emblazoned onto the concrete...long after the Second Coming.

We had no fear of burnt limbs or visits to the ER. We laughed in the face of danger as our dog ate anything that had smoke coming out of it. Bwah-hah-hah!

Now, I prefer to just go to the big fireworks display...usually free. I roll my eyes in annoyance at all the debris left over from spent fireworks on the 5th, littering my streets. I grit my teeth as my neighbors blow off the 100-count Saturn missile (with report) right outside my bedroom window while I am sleeping. Bastards. I guess I am just getting old. My excitement for lighting fireworks with a poop-stick has gone by the wayside with the likes of the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy.

I drive through Riverside, and notice there is a fireworks tent every 15 feet. There must be some city ordinance that permits one little town to have so much flammable material. If every single piece of fireworks were to spontaneously combust in Riverside, all that would remain of that town would be a large crater roughly the size of Rhode Island. I've often felt that Riverside should post large "NO SMOKING" signs at their city limits, effective from June 20th to July 6th. A true testament to the tourism dollar, Riverside could boast that they have enough fireworks to effectively blow off the fingers of every man, woman and child in the Greater Kansas City area, and it would be absolutely true.

No, I think I will stick with the free displays around town. No handling of dried poop required for that...not to mention less risk of me burning off something I may need later.

Have a fun, safe and burn-free Independence Day!