The Best First Date Ever

Okay, so I am on a blogging roll. I sometimes get into these moods where I just have to write.

I was thinking about stuff as I was driving home from the cabin. I think a lot when I drive. I think about a lot of things. As I passed by a certain county justice center, I couldn't help but think of one of the prosecuting attorneys that works there. When I think about Michael (the lawyer, not my brother), my mind always wonders back to our first date...and I can't help but smile.

We had discussed going out for a while, and finally got around to it. We made a plan to go out on a Monday evening. He mentioned that he had a court-thing that night, but it was a small thing, and would only take about 15 minutes. Would I mind just coming along with him to court?? Then we could go directly to the restaurant immediately after.

Sure...why not?

So, Michael shows up at the apartment in what he called his "lawyer costume". Costume or no, he looked pretty damn good. Anyway, he drove us in his Jeep...with very, very bad brakes. They would grind and squeal every time we approached a stop sign or light. Michael told me he had an appointment at the dealership the very next day to get them fixed.

Mike is driving, and I get to hold the map. Neither of us has been to this courthouse which was in some little suburb in Johnson county. We make it to a very small brick building and go inside. I take a seat in the very small, and not-at-all-court-looking courtroom. A desk at the front with a long table, and a room full of chairs. Mike takes a standing spot at the courtroom. Slowly, the room fills up. The janitor comes in carrying a garbage can and disappears into a back room. The judge comes out of the back room in a robe, then I realize that it's the janitor.

It was explained later that in most courts, the judges see the folks who have lawyers first so the lawyers can do their thing and leave. Not so with this court. The janitor-judge just goes straight down the docket. Mike's client is somewhere further down the list. People come and go...not guilty, no contest, guilty, pay your fine, go away. Mike cringes when a woman who has a stack of violations pleas guilty, her husband, who is sitting behind me, almost starts to weep openly. The judge, apparently seeing her husband turn blue, suggests that the woman think about what she is going to do before she makes a plea. Apparently, she was looking at an obscene amount of fines.

Mike disappears into the back room with his client, along with another lawyer. I watch the court proceedings with some interest. One other time, I did manage to observe court...only because I was there for a traffic violation and managed to show up an hour early. This was in KC...the big place downtown. So many people went up for drug charges, and everyone of them plead "not guilty". It gave me a moment's pause. How can someone who was found with crack, the tools to smoke it with, not to mention itemized receipts showing they had sold some of it, and video footage of them smoking crack still manage to plea not guilty?? Okay, so it wasn't as blatant as that. I am always amazed that people caught red-handed will say not guilty, and I will never understand how that flies. But then again, I'm not a lawyer.

At any rate, I watch people shuffle in and out of the, ahem, courtroom. Some big guy sits next to me, I smell him shortly after. At the time, there must have been some sort of soap shortage because this guy had bad body odor...but was wearing a really, really nice leather coat...so you can't tell me that maybe he couldn't afford deodorant.

Soon after that, I much bigger man in a Harley jacket sits in front of me...and has the largest plumber's butt-crack I have EVER SEEN...compounded by the fact that this guy had a hairy ass. I immediately pull out my Palm Pilot and start playing solitaire...anything to keep my mind off the hairy butt-crack in front of me, and the smelly man next to me who is now making my eyes water. Throughout all this, Mike keeps turning around and mouthing, "I'm sorry!!" I merely chuckle because only things like this happen to me.

Two afters after our arrival, Mike finally gets to finish with his client and we get to leave. I could tell he felt bad about how our first date was going, and he apologized profusely. I told him I wasn't mad, and I don't think he believed me. However, if I had simply decided to meet him at a restaurant and wait for him...for two hours...I probably would have been more unhappy. But then again, I wouldn't have waited in a restaurant for two hours...

Mike takes me to the Plaza to a place called Grand Falloon. He tells me it is one of his most favorite places. I've never been there. It's a relaxed atmosphere, and not at all prententious...which is me in a nutshell. We order burgers and talk all night. At the time, he was in private practice, and had such interesting stories. We found common ground: we both hate onions, and he has sued my employer, not to mention the very doctor I loathe and despise.

He also keeps apologizing for the court debacle...not to mention that he takes me to a bar for dinner.

He might have been thinking, "She is never going to speak to me again after tonight."

I was thinking, "I hope there is date number two with no legal involvement."

The night ended on a happy note. As he was kissing me, he asked if I realized that our legs were touching all during dinner. I must say that was the exact moment I was reeled in hook, line and sinker.

Funny how life moves on. He took a job in the public sector, thereby sacrificing any semblance of a social life. I started working a lot. I've seen him since then, but nothing concrete has materialized. I suppose if something monumental is meant to pass, it shall. I still think he is a terrific person, and I still have hope. He told me he wanted me to think of him as exceptional. Well, it is safe to say that he accomplished that.

Why, you might be wondering, would I even think this as a best first date? Well, I know a lot of guys pull out the stops to make a great first impression...but is that who they truly are? When time passes, girls tend to forget the flowers, the fancy dinners, and all that other stuff. After it happens so often, it just blends together until nothing stands out...all the faces become blurred and experiences become "something I went with some guy once". I'm sure there are some girls who would look upon this experience with a very sour outlook. I'm not one of those girls. Experiences rich in laughter far exceeds anything in the monetary sense.

You have to admit...sitting in a courtroom for two hours on a first date is pretty damn funny.

I like to think of this as the best first date because it was something I will remember until the day I die.

Say it isn't so!!!

Wow...Nick and Jessica, calling it quits.

Boy, no one ever saw THAT coming.

Maybe we can finally not have their faces all over the media. Maybe the news can actually report something noteworthy (not likely, but a lofty hope). Maybe the media will actually get a clue that the general public really doesn't care about the love triangle between Nick, Jessica, and her dad.

However, if Nick is looking for a change of pace...someone who has an IQ greater than 100...he can always give me a shout. I'm available...AND I know where tuna comes from.

Thanksgiving Blather

So, another T-Day come and gone, and I spent most of it sleeping.

I got home Thursday morning butt-exhausted after three days of sheer hell. I showered, and climbed into bed, still soaking wet. After a three hour nap, the alarm sounds and I hustle to get dressed, pack a bag, catch Sam, and try to figure out where my brother lives. (He had switched addresses) After some text messaging, and a pointless conversation with a rather dumb female, I finally find my brother. We take off, speeding for the cabin. We get there in record time, and I immediately head for the guest bed in the loft. Wake up, eat dinner, and go back to bed.

Mom and I had planned on getting up early for the Black Friday festivities...but we both overslept. We finally make it into town around 10am and head to Walmart...where everyone else in Southern Missouri is. Mother gets detracted by a box of free kittens and I lose her in the crowd. When I finally find her, the first thing she wants to look at is tablecloths. Tablecloths!!! Not a large selling item, not even listed on the circular...but by God, Mom has GOT to have one.

Hours later, we make our way out of the store. I manage to buy some yarn, a DVD, and a digital camera to get me by until I can grow a pair of balls, buck up, and drop a grand on the digital camera of my wildest dreams. Mom ends up not getting a tablecloth, but rather some red slippers and a skateboard.

The rest of Friday passes unremarkably with the exception of a round of "Name That Ache and Pain" with my stepdad, then we all turn in for the night. Around 1am, Mike comes into the cabin and sets up camp on the couch. I asked him why he wasn't staying in the guest room off the garage, and he yawns and tells me there is possum in the room under the bed. What!?! Mom hears this and wakes up Jerry and they discuss the possibility of a possum in the guest room. Perhaps Mike just saw the cat and thought it was a possum. Nope, Mike swears it's a possum...he came face to beady eyes with it. Mom tells Jerry to go shoot it. Jerry goes back to bed. Everyone else decides that there will be no shooting that night, so everyone goes back to bed except Sam who is excited and starts barking.

Later that morning, it turns out that Mike was right. The possum was still in the guest room. Jerry shoos it out where it casually strolls out of the garage, down the steps, down the sidewalk, and under the cabin. Mom wants to know why Jerry didn't just shoot it. Jerry didn't have the heart. Next time I go to the cabin, that damn thing will have a name and it's own bed.

I drive Mike home in record time, drop him off and head for my house. I know there is a hot bubble bath with my name written all over it.

My sinuses have been very congested as of late, coupled with the very dry air...it makes for a pretty miserable time. I blow my nose and I must have blown a little too hard because I then have a nose bleed. Not a little trickle...oh no...we're talking Mount St. Helens! So, imagine passing a black PT Cruiser doing about 70mph, a redhead inside, with tissues stuck up her nose. That's me, folks. I must have gone through three tissues, before blowing my nose again and ousting a big clot, and even more blood. I have a pretty strong constitution, but even that grosses me out.

So, I am trying to control the car AND the bleeding. The bleeding stops the same time the car does...when I get home. I've got blood on my hands and probably the steering wheel. I definitely needed a bath at that time.

If any man who was interested in dating me had seen me at that given moment, he would certainly not be interested in me anymore.

The Chronicles of 'bert

This Thanksgiving, I got to spend some time with my brother Mike, who often enlightens the family with humorous tales of him and others. This time, he told us of his best friend 'bert...which is obviously a nickname. I feel compelled to blog about it because the stories are just too good to not share...and I still can't make this stuff up.

*******************

A couple days before Thanksgiving, Mike and 'bert are driving down a country road. At the end of the road, there is a small cluster of wild turkeys. Mike jokingly suggests that 'bert try to hit one of them. 'bert readily agrees and accelerates. His car finds its mark on the slowest turkey of the bunch (Darwinism at work) and smacks it just as it was flying out of the way. 'bert stops the car and they get out to inspect the damage. There, on the side of the road, lays a dead turkey...who suffered a quick death at the hands of GM.

Now, one might say that this was a cruel and inhumane thing. However, upon looking at the turkey, 'bert says, "This will save us having to buy a turkey for Thanksgiving." And with such words, he scoops up the catch of the day and deposits it in the back of the car. To our knowledge, 'bert's family did eat the turkey for Thanksgiving. Mike told him to save enough for a sandwich.

Is this incident wrong if the outcome was to feed your family?? I can't think of anyone who would think to run over a turkey for the purpose of eating it later...except 'bert.

******************

Mike and 'bert go out to the local watering hole and proceed to drink their weight in grain alcohol. Mike, recognizing he was in no shape to drive, passes the keys to 'bert...who really wasn't in any better condition. At 4 in the morning, eats at McDonalds sounds like a fine idea. At the drive-thru, both inebriated men order their food. Mike then immediately passes out in the passenger seat. 'bert pulls up to the drive-thru window, and then passes out while the clerk gets his change. So, you have a car at the drive-thru at McDonalds, and both occupants are passed out.

I thought strange stuff like that only happened at my job.

I imagine trouble with the law ensued after that, but I don't know for certain because Mike wouldn't elaborate...either that or he just didn't remember.

I Dreamed a Dream

I dreamed last night I was workng (shocking, I know). One of my patients was a little old man. When I was assessing him, he reached up and grabbed my left boob, squeezed it three times and kissed it twice. Mortified, I scolded him for being inappropriate, to which he replied:

"I'm an old man and I can't help myself."

I bet stock brokers and and real estate agents don't have nearly the warped job-related dreams.

A Salute to Justice

Earlier this year, an elderly man was murdered. Less than a week later, the man's granddaughter was arrested in connection. She told her friends he had millions stashed at home, so the friends went over to collect the alleged millions, and ended up shooting the man, who was also a retired minister. One of his own children was had the misfortune of finding him dead.

I'm convinced there are special places in hell for criminals of this nature. Almost a year later, I still cannot fathom what would be so important that you would place your family in mortal danger for. I have some pretty crappy family members (most on my Dad's side), but my contempt of them would never reach the point that I would want them eliminated(incarcerated, yes...but not death). Then, I think of my Mom. What if something horrible happened to her and it was deliberate, and commited by another family member? I don't know if I just have way too much time on my hands...but I simply cannot wrap my mind around it. How does a parent come to terms that your child is responsible for your father's murder?

At any rate, the trial of the granddaughter started this Tuesday, and a verdict was reached on Thursday. Talk about quick and speedy trial!

Why do I even bother to blog this? Well, I happen to know one of the prosecutors on the case. I know he has been very stressed in what I am fairly certain is his first murder case ever. I know that he has made sacrifices in his own life for his job. I sleep better knowing that there are people like him in the world, who have the courage to do what he does. I have my own challenges with my job, and I know he doesn't understand why I can do the things I do. Rest assured, that works both ways. I know I could never do what he does...not in a million years. I don't think that I could even hold a candle to it.

So, here is to you, Michael. Congratulations on the guilty verdict (even if bittersweet). I'm truly fortunate to know someone like you exists in this world.

(I still think you are dead sexy, and a damn good kisser.)

Sleep in this weekend...you deserve it!!

Pick a Winner!*

I stopped by Starbucks before I came to work for their delicious Peppermint Mocha. Because I was tired and felt crappy, I had them toss in an extra shot of espresso. Anyway, in front of me, there was a woman and her little son...who was maybe 5-6 years old. He was in his pajamas and a bathrobe. He also had his finger so far up his nose, you would have thought he was digging for a Power Ranger or something. He popped his finger out, and cool as you please, popped it right into his mouth.

Ummm...ewww.

Mom, oblivious to her child's prospecting, turned and looked at me...who was standing there, mouth agape. She gave me this look that said, "What the hell are you looking at?"

Honestly, I can't make this stuff up.

On a happy note, the child got some hot chocolate...which is good because I'm certain he needed something to wash the boogers down.

(*Edited because I felt like it)

Yup

Ever been so tired that when you wake up, you realize that when you put on your pajamas, they are not only on inside-out, but also backwards??

Another website to waste time on...

I've been putting the names of exes, folks I loathe, and most importantly, Paris Hilton.

Tombstone Generator

Oprah...gone but not forgotten.

Today, my baby brother came and took my truck away. Ofcourse, I told him to. His crappy little Mazda finally died, and he neded a vehicle. I've been trying to sell Oprah for about 6 months now, to no luck thanks to the prices of gas. Oprah has been sitting at Kant's house, so I am certain everyone in her family was tired of looking at it. The truck need a new owner who would love her and cherish her the way I did.

Why do I call the truck Oprah? Well, she's big, black, and powerful...and also getting up there in years.

I was sad to see Mike drive off with the old girl. I was surprised it was still operational...but at least he knows how to work on her should she break down. Lots of memories with that truck: a romantic interlude in a parking garage at the Plaza, many trips down to the lake, piling tons of nursing school buddies in the cab just to go to lunch, a canoe trip, towing my boat after it was purchased...only to discover the brakes were bad when I was on the highway...ahh yes, the memories. Oprah...you will be missed.

At least I know the truck went to someone who needed it. I didn't make any money from it, I just gave him the keys and said "take care". I'm glad I could do this for him.

My Humps??

I don't have MTV...I don't even have cable. I can afford it, but with so much garbage on tv, why should I waste the money? I do listen to music online, and on the radio on my car. So, I like to think myself up on what's new on the charts. Sometimes, I regret that. My latest example: My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas.

Normally, I like the Peas. Most of their music is catchy, and has a good beat. I take exception with this song. The first time I heard it, was in my car. I must have looked funny to other drivers, doing 80 mph down the highway, with my mouth hung open in abject horror. The second time I heard it, I saw the video online. I was even more appalled.

I must be getting old.

In case you have no heard the song, "my hump" refers to a woman's ass. Fergie goes on to refer to her breasts as "my lovely lady lumps". She uses all of the above to get men to buy her things.

I. Have. No. Words.

If a man were to comment that he liked my humps/lumps...I would have to laugh in his face, but I wouldn't be flattered. These are not the words that make normal, educated, classy women swoon. If ghetto-fabulous is more your cup of tea, humps and lumps could be part of your vernacular. You probably also use the words "pee-pee" to refer to your penis, and "private parts" to refer to girly netherregions.

INSERVICE! Humps are something you find on a camel. Lumps are something you either A. find in oatmeal, or B. things you find inside a breast, also known as tumors. They are not words to describe human anatomy unless you are 8 years old.

I think I am going to go listen to some Ray Charles or Dean Martin now.

Because Snitches Get Stitches

So, Kansas City has just had their 113th homicide this year. I think we've beaten previous records for our town. Media has run stories on how inner city folk won't talk after a crime has been committed...because "snitching", as pop-culture has coined it, just ain't cool. A teenager is gunned down in broad daylight in a crowd of people, and no one knows a thing.

Most of the crime occurs in the areas of town notorious for it. Usually, there are witnesses, and usually, those witnesses won't talk. Then, they complain that these crimes go unsolved and the killers walk free. "Cops ain't doing their jobs" they say, as if the police department can figure most of this stuff out by looking in their crystal ball. Don't people realize that a lot of success within the justice system is directly related to the cooperation of the people it was designed to protect?

Ofcourse there are groups who are fighting this mindset, but it appears they are losing the battle. How do you fight glorified pop-culture?

If you don't snitch, you lose the right to bitch...they should make a shirt that says that. Until people stand up and speak out, their neighborhoods will fall to gangs and thugs. Instead, they will just go on, killing each other, and everyone on the outside powerless to stop it. And I, will be at the hospital, with a lot of my colleagues, just waiting for the end results to roll in.

*I found this blog...if there were more people out there like him (edited for gender), I think a lot of problems would be solved. One of the best blogs I've read.*

It's cold....

I already miss the days when it was 60+ degrees outside. Now, it is windy, cold, and big fat snowflakes came down earlier. My toes are cold. The heater is on. Winter sucks...and its not even winter yet.

November's Midwest Pasttime

I decided to go down to the cabin this weekend for lack of better things to do. I got up at 4am...which is way to early for anyone to get up, and made the trek. Mom does it in alittle over 2 hours, I can make the trip in about an hour and a half.

Along the way, I kept seeing various vehicles parked alongside the highways. It wasn't until I saw someone in an orange hat, that I remembered that deer hunting season was officially open. That time of year where men take leave of their senses and disappear into the woods, donning the brightest, ugliest orange coupled with clothes to make them blend in with the environment. That never made much sense to me. Why would someone go to great lengths to look like a tree, only to throw on a flourescent orange vest and hat? Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose??

Another thing that baffles me is that these great hunters slather "deer scent" all over themselves to mask their humanly, macho man smell. Deer scent is a nice way of saying deer piss. Something called Deer Piss couldn't be marketed at Walmart (it's a family place, ya know)...so they give it a much more pleasant name...Deer Scent, because no man would knowingly bathe in deer piss to attract other deer. To make it even better, they don't shower for the entire time they are out...which can last up to a week.

So, not only do they prowl the woods looking like light-reflecting orange trees, they smell like a johnny-on-the-spot for Bambi. Men from all walks of life. It's a national event. In some parts of the country, I'm sure banks close down (don't let the whole Veteran's Day fool you). Towns roll up their sidewalks. Open rifle deer season has come upon the world.

Meanwhile, the women...the hunting widows, are left at home...alone to indulge in the luxuries of shopping, eating out, and most importantly...bathing with soap.

All the men in my family (and one tomboyish female) partake in this time-honored tradition. They go away and be fearless hunters during the day, sitting around the campfire at night, drinking beer, eating chili, and embellishing stories about how the world's largest buck narrowly escaped from their sinister, and very intimidating, clutches.

This is my dowry. The man that marries me is ensured a spot in the Great Charpie Hunting Expedition. The expedition so renowned that Charpies (by blood or marriage) travel from all parts of the country to take part in.

I'm so glad I was born with a vagina.

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.