Fame Whore Alert!

Star Jones, we liked you better when you were fat.

People somehow related to you. You were like every other woman on the planet...struggling to lose weight, buying shoes from Payless. You were likeable. Everyone wanted to bring you home to meet their families, and then take you out to a buffet restaurant for dinner.

Then, you had surgery, but you would never admit you had surgery to lose weight. While this was insulting to the intelligence of the general public, most folks let it slide. But then you got engaged, and started whoring yourself on national televsions for freebies for your wedding. Star, who makes obscene money to sit on your ass and blather for an hour, not to mention a lawyer to boot, was seeking freebies. To make it worse, you married a man of somewhat questionable sexual orientation in the world's tackiest wedding aside from Britney Spears.

Then, the general public watched what was once a likeable person, into what appeared to be a drag queen. It would appear that the excess weight on your chin was holding your head in place, because once those extra chins departed, your nose drifted into the air, where it would remain to this day. Americans cannot relate to someone like this.

You did some red carpet thing for an award show. You sucked something awful.

We won't even discuss the boob job.

So, you flapped your yap and you found yourself unemployed. Rather than sit back and eat humble pie, you thought you could outclass Barbara Walters. Barbara, who has interviewed dignitaries, dictators, and everyone else in between. Barbara, who will go down in the annals of history for her contributions to journalism and feminism. You, Star, if you are lucky, will be just a footnote. You could never outclass Babs. She even oozed class when she "served" you on The View.

I hate to say it, but Oprah Winfrey has more class.

So, Star, just go away. We don't care about what happened. We don't care why you left, or where you are going. You have a law degree, why not put it to use? If you want to be honest with your fans, just send them an email, but quit whining about it. If you find yourself feeling down, eat a Twinkie, or play dress-up with your husband.

Don't go away mad...just go away.

Who Loves Ya Baby!

Okay, so Tim McGraw and Faith Hill are coming to town in less than 3 weeks, and I have one extra ticket. Rather than just arbitrarily letting any schmuck go, I thought I would make things more interesting if I made it into a contest. A Who Loves Heather More Contest. The winner of said contest would win the extra ticket, and have the honor of going with me to the event. Being with me should be incentive enough to compete, the concert just gives us something to do.

So, to kick off the contest, here are a couple rules:

1. Showering Heather with gifts is accepted. However, gifts that cause an allergic reaction, or anything with a heartbeat automatically disqualifies you.

2. Good things earn you points, bad things will lost you points.
Example: taking Heather to Starbucks = points earned. Making Heather pay for it = points taken away.

3. Bribes will not be accepted, but flattery will. Even if it's bullshit.

4. If you show up at my apartment naked, I'll call the cops...then sick my dog on you.

Don't want to go through all this trouble of sucking up? Submit a proposal as to what you would do if you were my escort to the concert. All proposals will be carefully evaluated and considered.

I will keep a tally on all interested participants, and I will announce who the lucky winner is before concert time.

Good luck!!!

Phone Conversation

Paul: Congratulations!
Me: What for?
Paul: We are the proud parents of a 9 inch cucumber.
Me: Already? Cool!
Paul: I found it while watering the garden, hiding under some leaves.
Me: Are there any others?
Paul: Yes, but they are small.
Me: Did you name it?
Paul: Yes...Paul Jr.
Me: How do you know it's a boy??
Paul: I have a feeling...
Me: You know, we're going to eat Paul Jr.
Paul: Yes, I know.
Me: That gives new meaning to "eating our young".

Nurse Follies: A Culture of Caring Nurses

I had to go to a mandatory thingie this evening. I don't like driving in for meetings and whatnot because A. the parking sucks and B. I just don't like meetings. However, this was mandatory, worth one whole CEU. I opted to go in the evening because I knew my chances at finding a parking spot were more promising.

I go to the auditorium, and for two hours, I get to hear about how nurses are supposed to be caring and whatnot. I don't really get into the preachy stuff about my personal reasons for being a nurse, well, because it's personal. So, I simply say I became a nurse to support my cruise habit. I made it through the inservice without incident. Considering I haven't been feeling well since Sunday, "without incident" means not barfing on the nurse sitting in front of me. It did take some effort on my part, though. They played some audio of a lady talking about lifeforces and some other blather. I just concentrated on the piano music, and the scrambled eggs that wanted an encore appearance.

For two hours, it really wasn't as horrible as some other nurses told me. In fact, I was expecting something entirely different. Something I had gone through with a previous employer. Something that still makes me shudder when I think about it.

The last Culture Inservice thingie I went to, was a two-day event. I was told I would get to take a nap, and I would need to bring my own pillow. Hey, sounded like a great inservice to me! Wrong! It was orchestrated by some new-age shiester. The pillow? Well, at one point we were told to lay on the ground with our pillow. They turned off the lights. I immediately close my eyes to get a jump on my after-lunch nap. Suddenly, I feel hands on me. What? Someone tossed a sheet over me and was "tucking me in". I guess the idea was for us to feel how good it was to be tucked in, and maybe we should tuck our patients in at night.

Another activity involved half the group standing in a big circle, the other half in a smaller inside circle, facing everyone else. New-Age Shiester plays this sappy music as we are to move from one person to the next after 2 minutes, not saying anything, just holding their hands and looking at them. For some unknown reason (I personally think there was subliminal messages in the music), lots of people cried. Grown people, sobbing and hugging each other...with no reason. I was confounded! I'd stand across from Sobbing Sally, and I would just pat her on the arm. In one instance, I had to stand across from this ridiculously hot guy, who was notoriously gay, and hold his hands while we just stared at each other.

He cried, and all I could think was, "What a waste."

There were lots of other likewise activities with this Culture of Caring thing, but my mind has blocked them from being remembered because they were too traumatic. I do remember, though, going back to work, no more different than what I was before I took the class, which was also mandatory. I do know that Gay-boy seemed to avoid me for a while.

Hopefully, tomorrow I will feel better. Hopefully, I can get some laundry done because I have a mutant laundry pile in my bedroom. It's hard to be relaxed in my Tantric/Asian bedroom when there is a pile of dirty scrubs and underwear right there on the shag area rug.

It also makes yoga damn near impossible.

Who are the TWO!?!

If you are not a Harry Potter fan, you can just skip over this post. For all other rabid readers like myself, read on...

The news reports that JK Rowling was on some show and she revealed some interesting things about her seventh, and last, Harry Potter book. Most of the Q&A was boring as it was stuff we already knew, but the most interesting parts pertained to who gets it in the end. Originally, three were going to be killed off, but one found reprieve...which leaves the other two.

Who the hell could they be? The world is ripe with speculation, myself included.

Of course, they are going to be big characters, Rowling said they would be. I predicted that Dumbledore would buy it in book six, and I was right. It was high time for a high profile character to kick the bucket.

So, here is what I think. Everyone, feel free to chime in!

Death and Life Theories!

Well, we know Voldy's going to get it, because you just can't have the bad guy live in the end...so I don't think he is included in the two that Rowling has mentioned.

George or Fred Weasley? I think it could be one of these guys, if not both. It would be more tragic if one died and the other had to go on without him because they are twins in the truest of nature.

Molly Weasley? Maybe...maybe she will give her life in an effort to save one of her children.

Ron or Hermoine? Nah...Rowling has spent the past 6 books cultivating a romance between the two (and it STILL hasn't even come to pass!), I don't think she would kill either off after all that work.

Snape? Quite possibly. If he does get it, it will be because he trying to save Harry. I think it will happen after everything comes out and you feel sorry for the guy.

Hagrid? Also another strong possibility. One of the last of Harry's protectors getting the axe, and it would happen early in the story. The same would apply to Minerva.

Arthor Weasley? Nah...I think he's going to be the next Minister of Magic after all is said and done.

Draco? Maybe, but who would really care? The same also applies to Percy...and Lucius.

Harry? I'm still on the fence about this one. I can understand why Rowling would kill him off...so she wouldn't be pressured to write about him again. I would like to think she lets him live so he can actually try to have a happy life. I don't know if Rowling would consider Harry's death one of the two. From the interview, I got the impression that if he died, it would be in addition to the other two. I do know that if she does kill off Harry, she will probably be the most hated woman in the world...for a while.

Who got the reprieve? I think it's Ginny.

So, more than two people will kick the bucket, but the point being that the two are MAIN CHARACTERS. Everyone else who buys it, they are in the background and not really essential to the story...sort of like Cedric or Sirius (c'mon...admit you really didn't care when these two guys died).

Those are my thoughts. It will be interesting to see how it turns out.

Absorbent and Yellow and Porous is He!

Today, I ventured out of the house to the craft store to get more fabric for my toothbrush rug. I decided to see what they had that might make good pajama pants. I found a lovely Elvis print, then I decided to look for something a little more fun that a boy could wear. As I was perusing the fabric section, an older woman approached, an employee of said craft store. She asked in a voice reminiscent of Kathryn Hepburn, if she could help me.

Me: Yeah...do you guys carry Spongebob fabric?
Employee: Sponge fabric?
Me: No...Spongebob Squarepants.
Employee: We may have a sponge fabric (flexing hands in a manner that is supposed to indicate sponging).
Me: No...it's a cartoon. Spongebob Squarepants? He lives in a pineapple under the sea?? No???
Employee: (looking at me as if I just asked her to pull my finger in Japanese) Sponge...bob??
Me: Nevermind...do you have anything with Star Wars on it?
Employee: Star Wars?
Me: (Oh hell no, don't tell me you don't know what Star Wars is!) What about Disney characters??

I guess it was good I didn't ask about Captain Underpants.

Eventually, I was directed to the section of fabric where I found cartoon characters. They had Spongebob, Star Wars, and all things in between. I didn't see anything I thought would make good pants. However, I did see some ideas for fashionable loungewear on my cruise...which is only alittle over 6 months away.

Fun times with fruity prints!

The Cutthroat World of the Farmers' Market

I usually stop by the little farmers' market on my way home from work on Saturdays. I like going. I like being among the people, as we all share a common love for produce. I like looking at vegetables, my mind running rampant with ideas on how to cook them. I can grill a mean zucchini.

Last week, I found some farm-fresh eggs, a loaf of french bread, and two tomatoes. These were no ordinary tomatoes. They were as big as my head. The older gentleman who was peddling these mutant fruits was boasting that his tomatoes were grown in soil, not in water, and not in a greenhouse. He leans in and whispers, "Those tomatoes over there," indicating to another booth, "They are grown in a hot house. I don't see how they let them get away it with it!"

Indeed! There must have been some sort of conspiracy afoot. Terrorists must be involved, because no true American would ever dare sell subpar tomatoes at a Farmers Market.

Apparently, he was the tomato police, or he thought there should be some...ready to ban anyone who's tomatoes didn't meet the high expectations of the Farmer's Market.

Today, I stopped by the market...late. The loaves of french bread were sold out. The farm-fresh egg peddlers were missing-in-action, as was Man of the Tomato Conspiracy. I did manage to buy what looked like two ball-shaped zucchini (Eight-ball Zucchini to be more precise). I can hollow them out, stuff them and bake them. I will try this Monday and see how it turns out.

If it's nasty, there's always hot dogs.

Keys, Please!

For as long as I have owned keys, I worry about them. Call it one of those strange phobias, which is why I have two full sets of keys in case something happens to one of them.

I fear that I am going to drop them down a sewer drain. You know, those big things covered with grates that you can walk on. I don't like walking on them, but when I do, I have the Vulcan Death Grip on my keys.

I fear that I am going to lock them in my car. So,I clutch them in my little hand whenever I close my car door. I make sure they are in my direct line of site. I'm the same way about checking to make sure my debit card is in my wallet before I leave the house...even though I live alone and there is no reason for my debit card to be out.

Yes, I'm sick about this. You don't have to point that out.

I came to work, as I usually do on a Friday. I parked in the garage, gathered my things, got out of the car...

Why is it that you realize you lock your keys inside your car the very second the door closes???

There they were, plain as day, in the ignition...inside my locked car. I stood there, my face pressed against the glass, spewing forth a string of profanities as I watched my keys dangle carelessly. I don't know how it happened, as I am usually neurotic about them. It must have been the fact that Starbucks ran out of black tea, and I had to settle for the green tea instead.

Quickly, I dialed my mother and told her what happened. She laughed at me, which upset me even more. I asked her to go to my place and pick up my other set of keys. While this was easy, she pointed out that she didn't know how to get to my place of employment to bring me the second set. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that directing my mother to work would have been a bad idea because with her sense of direction, she would have ended up off of Prospect or something.

A little white hick woman going through menopause in a large, red Jeep Liberty = not a good idea.

So, I called my friend Ben and orchestrated a pass-off of the keys. An hour later, he arrived at work, my keys in hand. I raced up to my car, and rescued the first set. All I could think of, someone could come along and see this shiny car, keys in the ignition.

May as well hang a sign in the window: Free for the Taking!

Now, I will worry twice as much about my keys, even though this was the first time in over 10 years since I've locked my keys inside my car. Maybe I can make multiple copies and hide them in places I know I can get to in the event it ever happens again. Heather's keys hidden like Easter eggs.

I guess there are worse things to be mental over.

On Loans and Ice Cream

My brother is still on his crusade to find some poor, unsuspecting schmuck to co-sign on a "Bail Me Out Loan". While it was initially thought that this loan was for school purposes, the truth comes out that my little brother is up to his eyeballs in debt (like every other person in the country), and at risk of losing his house, his car, his manhood. The loan would pretty much save the farm.

But that doesn't mean I plan on turning over my signature.

My other brother came over yesterday to use the computer. Bless his heart, he even filled my empty ice cube tray without me even asking him too! He mentioned that John had called him last week to beg him to co-sign. When Mike wouldn't budge, John wanted to know if Mike would ask his girlfriend if she would cosign. Mike said no, John got mad and hung up.

It wasn't until later that Mom told me that he was seeking a loan to the tune of $16,000. Sixteen THOUSAND...which is more than what I paid for my car! If my little brother does find someone to cosign for that loan, that person will officially be the Dumbest Person on the Planet.

I tried to make homemade ice cream yesterday. My very first foray into that little area. I bought a handy little attachment for my KitchenAid a couple years ago, and I finally cracked open the box. I was so excited as I mixed the vanilla ice cream with the milk and crunched up Reeces Peanut Butter cups. I even made Mike stay so he could partake of my accomplishment.

Why didn't anyone tell me I had to use whole milk or heavier? I used 1%!! The ice cream came out the consistency of a shake, and had to be consumed with a straw. So, I made Blizzards instead of ice cream. Mike ate it anyway.

I have a new mission: to make the best homemade ice cream with the KitchenAid ice cream maker. So, it's back to the drawing board for me. Maybe next time, I will try strawberry. As with any good experiment, I need test subjects.

Do I have any volunteers?? (sound of crickets chirping)

My Eggs: Scrambled or Fertilized

I slept all day Monday until 6pm (sleeping 4 hours more than I had intended). Got up, took Mom out to dinner, came home, checked my email, went back to bed around 9:30pm. Slept until 1am, got up, had an egg sandwich, played Kingdom Hearts 2 until 7am, then went back to bed. Trish called around noon and wanted to know if I wanted to meet her for lunch. In my sleepy haze, I agreed but forgot to ask if she would be bringing her children.

We met at Applebees...me, her and her 3 boys. I love her boys like they were my own family, but even I have family members who I can only handle in small doses. After an outing with her sons, I am reminded why I never reproduced, and am filled with the urge to run to the bathroom and rip my uterus out with a salad fork. I am also reminded as to why my parents never took us anywhere until we were 20.

In spending time with the little ankle-biters, I am also aware of some obvious truths in the event I have any kids of my own...

1. I'm going to still be an asshole.
2. I am going to be hated by my children because I am going to be their parent, and not their best buddy.
3. Time out is for sissies, I'm going to spank them until my hand falls off.
4. I'm never taking them anywhere until they are 20.
5. "NO!" is going to be the most commonly uttered word in my vocabulary.

I do sometimes worry that maybe I have waited too long, and maybe I should have settled down sooner. I worry that in getting older, I become more set in my ways, and I will be a crappy parent. To hear the medical community tell it, I may not even have to worry about having children because my prime breeding age has passed, and my eggs are hard-boiled.

After lunch, I stopped by Bath and Body Works to buy more crap I can't use. They are having their big Semi-Annual Sale, and everything is dirt cheap. I finally figured out that I can't use a lot of their soaps and stuff because it makes me itch to the point I get welts, which is unfortunate because I like a lot of their stuff. I still go and buy it by the basketful, only to put it away in a big box, and save it for when I need to come up with a gift and am too lazy to leave the house and get it. I can just reach into my wonderful box of soap and lotion, and pull out a couple items. Drop them in a gift bag with a card (I have those by the bulk, too.), and give them away. Everyone loves Bath and Body junk.

From there, I stopped by Walmart. Say what you will about Walmart being lowbrow, but sometimes, you just can't shake a stick at their prices. I don't buy everything from Walmart, but I am not a complete and total snob either. Some things I get from Walmart, and somethings I get elsewhere. For example:

Bras and Panties - Department store
Socks - Walmart
Housewares - Target
Laundry soap - Walmart
Shoes - Department store
Cat litter - Walmart

Some things you can scrimp on, but there are some things where there is no other substitute...like Macaroni and Cheese (Kraft).

I was in the checkout line and there was a lady was ahead of me, with her toddler. The woman had pink hair. HOT PINK HAIR...like a troll doll. Why? WHY?? Who said this was cool for a parent?? If my mom were to show up at my place with hair this color, I wouldn't take her out in public either.

If she wanted to eat out, the skies the limit...as long as they delivered.

Nurse Follies: Another Weekend, Winding Down

So, I have to go back to work tonight. It's been an interesting weekend. Friday, I took a new admit. ER never said anything about the patient being hostile, but sure enough, as they brought him to his room, he fully lost his marbles. It took 5 people just to get him to bed...one person for each limb, and one person to make sure he didn't bite anyone. At one point, he looked up and me and said, "You have nice, straight teeth."

Then, he attempted to punch me in the mouth. My catlike reflexes enabled me to catch his balled up fist in mid-flight. Disgruntled, he kicked another nurse in the chest, and grabbed one of the male workers in the junk with a death grip meant to render said person sterile for the rest of his life.

And people wonder why nursing has such a high turnover rate. The least hospitals could do is give us Hazard Pay.

The next night, I had a patient fiddling with her insulin drip. I walked into the room 30 minutes after I adjusted it according to her blood sugar, and I had found the rate had been increased from 2 units an hour to 30 units an hour...which would mark the first time I uttered a colorful expletive in front of a patient. The patient denied any wrongdoing, but she looked guilty. IV pumps are not smart enough to reset themselves, but patients who spend a lot of time in hospitals have a good idea of how to work them.

I locked the pump for the remainder of the night.

I wonder what tonight will bring me. I can hardly wait.

Thursday Outing

Thursday night, I went out on another "outing" with Paul for his belated birthday. We went to Dave and Busters, had dinner, then went on the game side for a little light-hearted fun. Not too many kids running around, but lots of grown-ups. We played on the race games, we stood mesmerized at this one lady playing that game where you drop tokens to make more tokens fall into the bin. Paul became so focused on Shakira dancing on the television, that he managed to accidently rack himself on a handrail. Serves him right. Paul then wanted to do this picture thing where the machine takes the picture of a guy and a girl, then creates this image as to what your child would look like. His idea...not mine.

To avoid the further ridicule of my coworkers (who already say I am pregnant with Paul's offspring), I will not be posting this picture online...so don't even ask.

However, at least it's good to know that our daughter will not be ugly, but according to the computer, she will have a bad haircut. I told him that he is not allowed to take our children to Fantastic Sams...ever. He kept the picture, telling me he would give it to his mother because she is always complaining that he hasn't produced her any grandchildren yet.

There was this one section of the arcade, a racing game that can pit up to 7 people against each other in a NASCAR-type race. One of the fun things, there is a camera trained on every single person playing, with screens above the game consoles, and those screens display the "drivers". There was this one guy so into his game, he didn't notice the half-dozen people standing behind him, laughing hysterically because he looked so funny...eyes wide open, mouth open in some sort of focused sneer. He looked like Dad of Chucky...with a mop of gray hair.

We stood there and laughed, bent over with tears streaming down our faces, for a good 15 minutes.

After that, we drove home, stopping by a couple swankier-than-thou subdivisions to oogle at the new houses that are being built down the road from my house. Yes, it's somewhat depressing to look at $300K+ houses, then return to my dumpy apartment. I always wonder what these people do for a living, to be able to afford to live in such expensive places. My only answer is that these people are up to their eyeballs in debt. We did note, that a lot of them were for sale, so maybe my guess isn't too far from the truth. Maybe some of these people have to work 4 jobs and live off of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and top ramen noodles...all for the sake of keeping up appearances.

Nothing else exciting, other than I almost got hammered by a speeding cop car on my way to work. The little douchebag had his lights and sirens running. I was just making my left-hand turn because the light was green, and he comes barreling over the hill like someone announced a sale at Krispy Kreme. Little asshat didn't even brake! Aren't they supposed to slow down somewhat when they go over hills and pass through intersections?? It could have ended a lot worse than me giving him the finger after he had already passed.

Had I been going any faster, I would have made the evening news.

The Funnest Thing I've Done Today

Besides doing the laundry, and going to that oh-so-exciting CPR class this morning, I ran a Google search as suggested by Rachel. Go to Google, type in your name followed by the word "needs". Put it all in quotes.

I'm amazed that Google knows me so well...

- Heather needs men...now!
- Heather needs TWO therapists
- Heather needs to start wearing a bra
- Heather needs a childhood
- Heather needs rest

I ran Kathryn's name, and I kid you not: Kathryn Needs to give Heather lots of Dove Chocolate Bars. :o)

Nurse Follies: The ER

I don't work in the ER, but I have friends that do. After hearing about some of the crap they have to put up with, I am eternally grateful I didn't take a job down there fresh out of school. It takes a special breed of nurse to stomach working there. While there are some really, really good nurses, there are also the assholes who have attitude over most other nurses because they have the "I save lives" complex.

Hey...I save lives, too. So, go blow yourselves!

But I digress...

I never cease to be amazed at some of the stories I hear coming from that department. Oh sure, you get the obligatory "seek and find" cases where the staff gets to delve into orifices in search of things deliberately put there, only to be told, "I was walking around naked, and slipped and fell. That's how that jar of grape jelly ended up in my ass."

Other asshat visits to the ER:
- a hang nail with no complaints of pain
- Gum stuck in long blond (bleached) hair
- a blister on the right toe
- child has lice
- female cut a fingernail to short and it hurt
- a paternity test, as he was due in court IN SIX HOURS!!
- totally well, but needing a work excuse for a sick day sometime last week
- mosquito bite
- A man with a ring on his penis- which was easily removed with lubricant
- "My girlfriend said her Doctor told her she had herpes. I wanna see if I got Herpes, too."
- came in wanting to have his blackheads removed
- wanted his ears cleaned
- Being drunk and requesting detox until social security check arrives
- "to have my wife checked out to see of she has been sleeping around"
- school vaccinations
- "When I get cold, my nipples get hard"
- chapped lips
- Daughter swallowed her gum
- Wanting Viagra

Again, I digress...

I was reading today about some blurb that proclaimed, "U.S. emergency rooms are understaffed, overwhelmed and could not cope with a crisis, whether a pandemic, attack or natural disaster, according to three reports released on Wednesday."

Well, no shit, Sherlock. Maybe if people came to the ER with actual emergencies, emergency rooms across the nation wouldn't be so clogged down. You hear about hospitals on diversion because they are too full to take anymore patients. Laypeople are just shocked when they read about this. SHOCKED! Lots of folks out there think that working in the ER is a lot like the tv show. Some of my friends get pissed when people compare the tv show to real life.

Let me tell you, not once have I ever heard of a helicoptor dropping in through the ceiling and taking out the biggest asshole doctor to wear a white coat.

Again, I digress...

Maybe if regulations were implimented that would prevent ER abuses, things might improve. Things that prevent those assclowns who come in at 1am wanting a pregnancy test (because they are too cheap to go out and actually purchase one at the 24-hour Walmart). Lots of people use the ER as someone might go visit their doctor's office. There's a reason some patients are referred to as "frequent flyers". Sometimes, it's not a matter of having insurance.

It's a matter of people being stupid...and the world is full of stupid people.

On Top of the Suckiness Scale

I just had the dubious misfortune to hear the new music of Paris Hilton...and I must say, if you anyone was ever wondering what Betty Boop would sound like if she entered the forum of pop music entertainment, chances are pretty good she would sound a lot like the garbage that Paris touts as the next BIG THING.

I saw it in video form. My ears are bleeding, as well as my eyes. It sucks something awful. The only thing that would be worse is a duet between Paris and Jessica Simpson.

But impressionable, young, teenage dimwits will love it.

Suffer the Little Ones

Normally, I don't care to offer a great deal of commentary on all things in the news unless it pisses me off, or I find great amusement in it. There are plenty of people in Blogdom who recap the news in ways that I never could (like Tony), and I am more than content to read their blogs.

However, after reading this news story...I had to say something.

Recap: A lady in St. Louis buys a puppy from a breeder. A chihuahua. She takes the puppy home, and the puppy gets sick. She takes the puppy to a veterinarian who tells her the puppy is only 4 weeks old, not mature enough to be on its own, and needs to be returned to it's mother immediately. Before this can happen, the puppy dies.

Now, this is where it gets interesting.

Owner of said dead puppy takes takes it back to the breeder's house around 6am, pushing her way into the house, demanding another dog to replace the one that died. She's pulling the hair of the breeder (whom I assume was a woman because no man would ever stand for the following bullshit), then she starts beating the breeder...WITH THE DEAD PUPPY.

A chihuahua is the world's smallest breed of dog. Fully grown, they seldom weigh more the 6lbs. I cannot even imagine that a 4 week old puppy weighed even 1lb, but still this lady (whom obviously has some sort of mental disturbance) was beating the breeder in the head with a dead chihuahua.

The beatings end, and the grief-stricken owner takes the dead puppy and retreats to her car. Before driving away, she waves the puppy out of the sunroof and makes threats to the breeder and her family.

"I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dogs, too!"

Okay, so she really didn't say that, but it would have been perfect if she did.

I don't really feel overwhelming pity for the owner because she apparently needs a dosage adjustment in her meds. I don't feel bad for the breeder either. Stupid bitch deserved to get boinked in the head for selling them before they were well enough to be on their own. (I'm sure a shitstorm is going to rain down on her by reputable breeders in the coming weeks.)

I just feel bad for the puppy. I know, the puppy was dead and couldn't feel a thing, but what an undignified way to leave the world...as a tool of violence. What happened to the days when simple assault was carried out with a pipe, or baseball bat, or a Maglite? Now, people are resorting to animals.

The next thing we will hear about is George Bush being pelted with hamsters.

Yo quero hospital visit.

Nurse Follies: Some Dude

With summer upon us, the activities of Some Dude usually increase. Apparently, Some Dude doesn't like to go outside in the winter.

If you don't know Some Dude personally, then you have at least heard of him. I know every doctor and nurse who works in the ER has. The purveyor of ill-will and naughty shananigans. He is lying out there, waiting for th opportunity to jump insuspecting innocent bystanders, who are doing nothing more than, ahem, minding their own business.

Nurse: Sir, can you tell me what happened?
Patient: Well, I was just sitting on my porch, minding my own business, when Some Dude just came up and hit me/stabbed me/shot me (pick one).
Nurse: Was this someone you knew?
Patient: Never seen him before in my life. I think he was a crack dealer, but I couldn't be certain because I don't do drugs.
Nurse: (inspecting burn marks on patient hands)

Sometimes, he's even accompanied by Some Bitch and/or Some Guy. We are not certain if they are related, or just good friends. Sometimes, these people do the dirty work for Some Dude. Sometimes, they strike out on their own to cause mayhem.

For years and years, Some Dude has eluded police. It's not just Kansas City. It's ALL cities. Some Dude gets around. Sometimes, he even attacks more than 5 people a night. You'd think with so many people, they could at least have a sketch of him or something, but no. Some Dude is particularly sneaky as no one ever can get a clear look at his face.

Some Dude is single-handedly responsible for the elevating crime rates everywhere. If we can apprehend Some Dude and his cohorts, then innocent, drug-free citizens can go about sitting on their porches in peace drinking their not-alcoholic beverages, without fear of being attacked for no reason.

He's out there, people. He's waiting.

In the End...Silence

Busy week...where to begin.

Earlier this week, I found out one of my coworkers died at home. A seemingly healthy guy in his early 40's, just dropped dead in his bathroom. I guess he wasn't so healthy. I didn't work with him very often as he usually worked during the week and I work weekends...but when I did work with him, he was usually nice to me...even though he complained a lot about how sick the patients were.

If there is one universal truth, there is a plan for everyone. When it is our turn to go, it doesn't matter what we are doing...it's going to happen. When I die, I hope I'm not sitting on the toilet or anything. I hope it's while I'm doing something I absolutely hate so I don't have to finish it. If I go while doing something I love (like being in the Caribbean), I'm going to be pissed.

So, the sudden departure of our colleague left my floor short-staffed. I went in last night to help out for 8 hours. It wasn't a bad night, and everyone is still in shock...like we expect to see him come in through the double doors and clock in. It's strange knowing that someone can be there one minute, and gone the next.

Some strangers came to floor to ask about it. People who didn't even know the guy! Nosy little bastards...go find someone else's ill-fortune to pick over for gossip. I ever heard two people blathering about it near the cafeteria. Hospital hot topic. Whatever. They need to go back to discussing which resident is shagging which nurse in the broom closet.

Today, Mom decided to venture out on her own and go stay at her own place. She hasn't moved everything out yet, but she is working at it. She has enough stuff in her apartment to make a go of it...so why not. I think she seemed kind of sad to leave, but there comes a time when we all must leave the nest. After she packed her little bag, took her toiletries and whatnot, she left. I sat in my apartment and marveled at how quiet everything seemed. My mother was not a loud roommate, but still...you get used to someone being around for a while, you notice it when they are suddenly not there.

But that doesn't mean I plan on taking on another roommate. If I have to live with another warm body under my roof, rest assured that we will have the same last name, but not linked by DNA.

I don't have any Cheetos on hand, so I think I am going to fix me a grilled turkey and cheese sandwich, maybe watch a movie (not so sure about being naked tonight). I have a huge blister on my foot from my new tenny-shoes. I've been inspired to get my ass in shape...which means actually using my gym membership.

For the first time in a long time, I have Saturday night off. I was originally slated to shoot a wedding for a friend I used to work with. She called me yesterday to tell me the wedding had been postponed until Christmas. They were too young to get married anyway. I thought about going in to work, but I think I shall help Mom move out the rest of her stuff, then maybe take in one of the half-dozen movies I've been wanting to see.

Maybe I will even buy some Cheetos and bring them home!

The Things That Make My Blood Run Cold

I don't consider myself as a fearful person. However, my mother uttered the words last night that made me break out into a cold sweat.

"Your brother quit his job."

Great! I knew I could count on a call from him the immediate future. I was not to be disappointed as he called my house numerous times before I caved and answered the phone.

Brother: I need a favor from you.
Me: The Bank of Heather is closed.
Brother: No, I don't need any money (yet). I need for you to co-sign on a loan for me.
Me: Why?
Brother: I'm going back to school and I need a student loan.
Me: You should qualify for grants, why do you need a loan?
Brother: Well, the BI Bill is covering the cost of school. I just need a loan to live off of while I'm going to school.
Me: And this is the loan you want me to co-sign for?
Brother: Yes.
Me: No.

I explained that I am trying to get my house in order so I can buy a house of my own within the next couple of months, and that means not over-extending myself credit-wise. I couldn't possibly co-sign for anything.

Besides, I know for a fact that my brother is not exactly, uhh, dedicated to paying his bills...which is why his bill collectors are calling my house looking for him. Me co-signing for a loan for him would be like me paying for a car I never owned. As an added overture in an attempt to change my mind, he added, "If I get the loan, I can pay back all the money I already owe you."

Thanks, but I'll pass.

He wanted to know my credit score so he could analyze it and see if I was a suitable candidate to co-sign. Sorry...my credit score is no one's business. Besides, my brother has no background in finance. I wasn't biting.

After deciding that he wasn't going to get anywhere with me, he said a hurried good-bye and hung up in a huff. I'm sure he'll be mad at me for a while. That his own sister wouldn't bail him out...again. I'm still miffed that a guy with two kids and wife would quit his job without having another job lined up. He said he hated his boss and that is why he quit.

I'm not exactly thrilled with my boss either, but that doesn't mean I'm going to up and quit without a notice.

I suppose there is a lesson to be learned in all this. Don't ever start "loaning" family members money...ever. After a while, they come to expect it, and then get pissed off when you say no. I didn't go through the trauma that is nursing school just so I could support everyone else when they decided to quit their jobs. Just because I am single with no dependents doesn't mean I have all this money laying around to just hand out.

I just hate being thought of as someone's safety net.

Grrrr!

Here Comes the Bride...and the Bride

Everyone is getting on the gay-marriage wagon. They are either for it, against it, or don't care either way. I guess you could put me in the last category. Considering how the institute of marriage is held in such esteem in my family (NOT!), my faith and confidence in it is somewhat diminished. It's almost laughable when activists claim that gay marriage will destroy the sanctity of marriage.

And a national divorce rate striving for 75% doesn't? Heterosexual couples have done a bang-up job of pissing on marriage, why not let the homosexuals have a stab at it??

But then, if states pass laws that permit gay marriage, then they have to open the flood gates for every kind of marriage because that "between a man and a woman" thing would be a moot point.

This also includes polygamy.

It never occurred to me that polygamists would be in favor of gay marriage, because most religious zealots are most decidedly anti-gay. However, some are in favor for it, if not to further their own agenda. This is frightening when you think of those scary little Fundamentalists who engage in molesting children under the guise of "God told me to do it". They want gay marriage to pass so they can push for the legalization of polygamy. After all, how can you do for one special interest, and not everyone else?

And just like that, polygamy could be legal in the United States once more.

Breakfast of Champions

After a long shift of dealing with one resident who kept calling me and asking all kinds of really dumb questions, my friend P and I decided to stop by the hospital cafeteria for breakfast this morning. It just sounded good.

On weekends, it's pretty much self-serve. This includes the waffle-maker. They have those waffle makers you see in hotels that offer the free continental breakfast. They give you little cups of batter, and you pour it yourself onto the griddle, flip it over, and then when the timer buzzes, you have a waffle. Yum!

So we are standing there, surveying the setup when my friend grabs a cup of batter and pours it into the griddle. She had never used the big, industrial waffle makers, so she assumed the batter was measured right, and dumped the whole cup. Naturally, when the lid was closed, the batter ran over the side of the waffle iron and onto the counter. I grabbed a cup and poured what I thought was a good amount, but the same thing happens. The cafeteria worker comes over in a huff to clean up the mess. P and myself are very apologetic, and look, there are other nurses watching because they want waffles too.

Surly Cafeteria Lady (SCL) grumbles that the messes have been happening all morning and she should just stand by the waffle iron and make the damn waffles herself so she wouldn't have to clean up the mess. One nurse helpfully suggests that a sign should be put up telling people not to dump the entire cup into the waffle iron. SCL continues to bitch that people would still make a mess, and she's pretty insulting about it. She even turns to another cafeteria worker to complain about it with us standing right there, as if we weren't.

Considering I was already in Annoyed Mode, I just suggest they try putting the correct amount of batter into the cups if they really didn't want to clean up a mess.

SCL glares at me then goes to tend to the oatmeal. I think she was mostly mad because she had to work on Sunday. Whatever. I work every Sunday...you get no sympathy from me.

The waffles were tasty anyway.

The Exciting Life I Lead

Today, I'm doing laundry. For a little extra excitement, I stopped by Taco Bell for lunch. The cup that came with my meal says I could be the next El Presidente of Taco Bell, and I need to just plug in some code on the cup to their website. I could win one million pesos.

Which roughly translates to $9.26. Just enough money to buy more Taco Bell.

This evening, my brother is coming over and helping Mom move some of her stuff to her new apartment. This weekend, she plans on moving furniture in. By Monday, my apartment should be Mom-free.

I plan on celebrating this marvelous event by sitting naked on my couch, eating Cheetos, and watching Napoleon Dynamite.

I worked an extra 8 hours on Tuesday for another nurse. Yesterday afternoon, work called and begged me to come in last night. I got the message too late, not that I would have gone in. I'm well aware of who was working last night. Most of the other nurses had also agreed that my floor was not the place to be Wednesday night. It's bad when you know it's going to be a horrible night just by looking at who is scheduled.

On another work-related note, I told my Bosshole yesterday not to stroke out if transfer papers with my name cross his desk in the near-future. Being the blatantly honest person I am, I told him that working on his floor is not what I want to do with my career for the rest of my life. Surprisingly, he wasn't an asshole about it. I don't think he wants to retire working on his floor either. Also surprisingly, he was very supportive about a lateral transfer. I secretly think he hopes I go away as much as I do.

Yesterday, I went back to my salon for round two of "Get the Red Out". My hair is now mostly blonde, save for a couple streaks of red that just won't die. Oh well. I'm going to lay off the bleach for now because I don't want a chemical haircut. Amy did cut my hair, now I have a super cute short haircut, just in time for summer. It was another all-day-at-the-salon-day, but I got lasagne, a t-shirt, and free hair product. Amy rocks!

Today, I was dorking around online, and I discovered that someone I went to high school with is one of the Chief Nursing Officers-In Training at Research Hospital. This same guy who was the BMOC (Big Man on Campus), the guy that every girl salivated over, the popular jock, the son of the school principal (who was busted for embezzlement or something like that)...is a nurse. A nurse!!! I always thought he would move on to anything...besides being in the thankless field of nursing. Of course, he's going to be a CNO, which means he doesn't get his hands dirty in blood or any other body fluid, and his main job is to smile a lot, and technically, he's not really a nurse-nurse now. He's more a Bosshole.

Even so, I still crack up when I think about it. I wonder if in those early days, playing football, the tuba, his poofy-haired girlfriends, and whatever other preppy crap he did in high school, it ever once crossed his mind that he would go on to become a nurse.

It also makes me wonder about some of the other folks I went to high school with. I'm not bored enough to go looking, but it still makes me wonder.

Nurse Follies: The Medical Student

Normally, I don't mind medical students. They taste just like chicken!

Seriously, most seem eager to learn, like to ask lots of questions (which is only a problem when you are running down the hall to a code situation), and are pleasant. They know their place in the Hospital Food Chain(HFC)...somewhere below the lady who cleans the toilets and just above the evil troll who works in the parking garage tollbooth. They live their little med student lives forever shaking in fear of the doctors and residents who keep them under their thumbs. Normally, I feel sorry for them. Some seasoned nurses treat nursing students the same way...but much more sadistically. At least we are warned before the actual encounters.

What people fail to the med students is that they should fear the nurses with equal terror.

Case in point...

Curly (named changed to protect the unsuspecting dumbass) is going to Medical School. He also works part time as a lab tech in our hospital. This means he goes from floor to floor, collecting blood specimens. That's it. The lab tech's place in the HFC is only a little higher than that of the med student because they actually do more than take up oxygen. Curly comes to our floor to collect blood. He comes to the desk wanting to know which nurse has patient so-and-so. That nurse is busy, but I ask if I might be able to assist.

Curly: Do you know if this patient is going to get Heparin?
Me: No...why?
Curly: Because I drew this particular test.
Me: Do you need a different colored tube?
Curly: No, but if the patient is not getting Heparin, I don't know why I need to run this test.
Me: (scratching head) If we need more tests, we can just add it to specimen in lab, right?
Curly: (exasperated) Well, I just don't see why they want this test if the patient is on heparin. I don't know why I'm drawing it.
Me: (getting annoyed...it's too early in the morning for this crap) You drew it because the doctors wanted it drawn. What difference does it make to you as to why they want it?
Curly: But he's not getting heparin. I should talk to his nurse because you don't seem to know what going on.

Curly finds the nurse, and he proceded to grill her, and she curtly tells him that the patient is going for a procedure, and that is all he needs to know. I'm still standing at the desk turning a bright shade of purple, my mind reeling in ways that I am going to snatch every curly hair off his head.

Curly makes for the door, but not before I announce, loudly, "It doesn't matter if the doctors wanted a pregnancy test on that man. The lab tech DRAWS the lab. It is the nurse's job to question it."

Dumbass.

The rest of the nurses agree that this kid is going to be a problem when they give him his long coat and turn him lose on the floor. If he is a lab-tech-medical-student, already second-guessing the care that the more experienced staff is providing him, he is going to be a little monster when he's a resident.

And the nurses will be waiting. Apparently, no one has told him what evil little bitches we can be when pissed off. Maybe no one should warn him. Maybe he should be totally oblivious until that day he has to take call for one of my patients, and I call his ass every 10 minutes for every dumb little thing.

One of the few perks of my job...

This...Is SWIMWEAR?!?!

I used to think that women had it rough with the swim season...then I found this website. (Not safe for work!) The folks who design this stuff must not be from the U.S. (unless they are from San Francisco). If I were a wagering woman, I'd have to say they are either from somewhere South America, or Europe.

I also must say, that you probably would be hard pressed to find a guy wearing this in the Midwest. You don this while at Party Cove, some redneck is likely to beat the crap out of you.

There was one item (remember, this is swimwear for men) that I could have swore looked exactly like a training muzzle I bought for Sam.

And I sincerely doubt I will be seeing something from this company gracing the pool area of Lido deck on my upcoming cruise...at least I hope I don't see it...

I remember the first cruise I went on. Kant and I were on a little boat going out to Sting Ray City in Cayman. Directly across from us was a man (mid-40's), his wife and two kids. He was wearing a pair of tan-thru swim shorts. The thing is with tan-thru...sometimes, you can see-thru if you are not careful. Sadly enough, the guy was casually sitting there, oblivious to the fact that everyone could see his junk through his shorts. I don't think Kant knew, and I certainly wasn't going to tell her. I didn't want to alert her to the fact that a penis was bobbing hello from the other side of the boat...it would have scared her. I was just hoping his own kids didn't notice.

Anyway, back to the Koala Swimline...

I think if we expected more men to wear swim suits such as any number of these...I think they wouldn't be so hard on us if we didn't all look like Kathy Ireland in our suits.

Huh?

What the hell kind of name for a girl is Shiloh?

Sounds like a cleaning detergent. Shiloh gets tough stains out AND won't harm delicate fabrics!

Poor kid.

Calgon, Take Me Away (Please!)

I just realized that this is a holiday weekend. Naturally, I have work the entire thing (save for Monday), but it's not like my ever-shrinking family has anything planned. No special lake-filled activities...just my mother going down to the lake to pick up more of her junk so she can start her life as a partying 50-something year old.

This whole divorce thing is making things very, very akward.

While I was at the craft store the other day, a very depressing thought occurred to me: I really have nothing to look forward to this summer. All the fun activities that I usually look forward to are directly tied in to my step-father's family. While my step-dad harbors no ill-will to myself and my brothers, I fairly confident the rest of his family cannot remain impartial. We are guilty by association alone.

On paper, I have a large biological family. In reality, I can't stand 85% of them. I told my mother recently that if I ever got married, I would elope so I didn't have to have family there. She wanted to know if I was ashamed of my family.

Isn't this a given? I shouldn't have to answer this question.

As of late, I've been in a fowl mood. Whenever I hear my mother coo on the phone to Sid the Fisherman (the internet guy), it grates like glass shards on a chalkboard, and I want to take her phone away and run over it with my car...multiple times.

It is not going to go well the first time she tries to introduce me to this guy. It might even be in her best interest to not bother at all.

I've been pretty grouchy all week. I could attribute it to PMS, but I could also attribute it to stress that is nearing the breaking point.

My only outlet is arts and crafts. The Rug of Angst. The Baby Blanket of High Blood Pressure.

I need a better outlet.

Music Takes Me Back

I subscribe to Napster. It's quite handy, except that I need a Napster-friendly MP3 player so I can play my tunes at the gym. I happened to be at Wally World and thought I would check and see if such Napster-friendly devices could be found with the Napster label on it. Afterall, I would hate to drop money on something, only to take it home and find out that it's not compatible.

Besides, I already did that.

Standing there at the electronics counter, the Slow Kid in the blue vest approaches and asks if he be of any help. I give him the benefit of a doubt and ask him if they carried Napster-compatible MP3 players. He slurred that Napster was shut down years ago.

With that, I went to Target.

So, I'm sitting here, downloading any song that tickles my fancy. My latest thing is 80's tunes. I hear certain songs, and I am transported to that time where all I did was hibernate in my room and write... which really isn't a whole lot different from now, only I have an entire apartment to hibernate in.

Funny how it seems that everyone has that one song that always conjures up the images of their first love. I am no exception. For me, that song is "Everything I Do" by Bryan Adams...otherwise known as the main song from that Robin Hood movie. You know, the one with Kevin Costner who lost his English accent five minutes into the movie?

Yeah, it reminds me of James (who incidentally took me to see that movie). He was my first boyfriend. He was a twin, and he lived the next town over, his parents were folk/bluegrass singers, and his biggest aspiration was to be a fireman. He idolized firemen so much, he wanted to re-enact that scene from Backdraft with me. Fortunately, I was too chicken to.

For the next two years, we were on-again, off-again in true teen-angst fashion. I thought I loved him. I thought I would marry him. I remember the first time I told him I loved him, and he just looked at me with what I think was a smirk, and said, "I'm not one for sentimentality."

What a douchebag! Is it any wonder why I have never been the first to say "I love you" to any guy I've dated ever since???

Needless to say, we didn't get married. He went on to marry some butt-ugly chick (of whom he was cheating on me with anyway) and have a butt-load of kids. I saw him once when I went home to see the family. He was at the store and struck up conversation with my mother. While time may have been kind to his twin, it certain wasn't as generous as James looked like a bag of chewed up assholes. He's now the deputy sheriff in some dinky little county up north, and his wife is works in the jail. Direct authority tells me that she routinely shags the inmates when she works the late shift.

So you see, it all worked out in Karma's eye.

So now when I hear Bryan Adams crooning that sappy song, I remember James, the crappy First Boyfriend.

And I remember that there are much worse things out there than being single.

(Too Hot to) Hump Day

Yesterday, I went out and got my hair done. I decided I was through with the red and wanted to go back to my natural color (blonde). My cousin doesn't understand why a blonde would ever want to be anything but blonde. I explained it was the same reason everyone changed their haircolor...because they get bored with what they have and want something different. I guess the same could be said about people with a lot of things...it applies to just about anything.

The girl I have been seeing for YEARS set to the task of bleaching and highlighting with enough foil to cover the outside of a lunar space module. I baked under a dryer forever, and when she took off the foil, my hair was fluorescent yellow and orange. Oops. She immediately put a toner on it. After 6 months of adding, adding, adding red to my hair, it wasn't going to go willingly with one salon visit. The toner was enough to make it a nice strawberry blonde, but I have another appointment next week for round two. She also cut about 3 inches off the length. It's too hot for long hair.

Today I went out, got my nails done at one of those places operated by Korean folks. The girl who was doing my manicure kept talking to me, and damned if I understood a word of what she was saying. Something about an ATM machine, or she could have been talking about a cat...I'm not sure. I just smiled and nodded. She drug out the loofah brick and started going at it with my feet. I think she accidentally sheared the top layer of skin off the back of my leg. I secretly said a prayer that I didn't end up like those women you see on the news...who go to a nail place, only to have their legs turn green and fall off because there was a contagious critter in the uncleaned hair trap.

From there, I went to the craft store to find more fabric for my rug. A woman was there with her toddler and infant, both cried and screamed the entire time she was there, which was roughly the same amount of time I was there. I was there for about half an hour. Wherever I went, the Screaming Duo was nearby. There was no escaping them.

By the time I made it to checkout, my left eye was twitching, and I felt compelled to rip the uterus out of my body. I refrained because my hands were shaking so much.

It's hotter than hell outside. It rained this morning, so now it's steamy on top of it. Sweat poured down the back of my hairless neck. Thank goodness I don't have a hairy ass.

Now, I am home. All pampered...and sweaty. For the remainder of the day, I shall remain indoors. I might even take a nap. I have to clean the apartment, maybe even download some music (legally), and do some work on my rug. Right now, the cats are sleeping.

Overall, a productive day...with lots and LOTS of iced tea.

KC Custody Dispute

Kansas City, MO (AP) - A seven year old boy was at the center of a Kansas City courtroom drama yesterday when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of him. The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge initially awarded custody to his aunt, in keeping with the child custody law and regulations requiring that family unity be maintained to the degree possible. The boy surprised the court when he proclaimed that his aunt beat him more than his parents and he adamantly refused to live with her. When the judge suggested that he live with his grandparents, the boy cried out that they also beat him. After considering the remainder of the immediate family and learning that domestic violence was apparently a way of life among them, the judge took the unprecedented step of allowing the boy to propose who should have custody of him. After two recesses to check legal references and confer with child welfare officials, the judge granted temporary custody to the Kansas City Royals, whom the boy firmly believes are not capable of beating anyone.

Another Drug-Sponsored Dinner and Other Blather

Last night I went to another dinner hosted by the same company who hosted the last drug dinner I went to. But this doesn't count the Kona dinner because that wasn't a drug inservice, but rather a drug rep feeling generous with their company's expense account.

Thank goodness for drug reps, otherwise I would have been sitting at home because I depleted my checking account on bills. Without drug reps, I might not ever get out of the house.

This time, dinner was at JJ's on the Plaza (I couldn't find their website...if they even have one). It was a much smaller gathering, and we even had elbow room!

Drunky Drunkerson didn't go.

About 8 nurses from my floor went. The tables seated 6, but we crowded together anyway to avoid anyone being left out to socialize with, God forbid, nurses from other hospitals. We had the appetizer...one if which being brie. I like brie, but brie is an acquired taste, so my enthusiasm was not shared by everyone. The free drinks poured. The speaker was much better...he didn't drag out molecular charts and proceed to bore us to death.

Then came salad, a stellar main course, and dessert of cheesecake. They even boxed up slices for us to take home. Cheesecake doesn't stand a chance in my house...it's already gone.

Topics of conversation varied, I think most everyone in the entire room was discussing the whole 14-year-old-brain-dead-kid. Some items were brought up that I had never even heard before. After having hearing them, I can say that while the mother may be in grief and whatnot, she's really, really dumb. I didn't need anyone else to tell me that...I pretty much figured that one out on my own when I saw her talking on the news going between "he's already expired" to "he's going to walk out of this hospital".

Oh well. I hope everything gets settled early next week.

The manager's office for my apartment complex dropped off a copy of a new lease today. I have no intention of signing it, but I did look it over and see that they were raising my rent by $100 a month. I can afford the increase, but it is hard to see just where the money is going...unless you count all the trees they are chopping down. I'm going to try to make an arrangement to extend my current lease by 3 months because hopefully I will be a homeowner by early fall.

As usual, I work tonight. I hope I have a good night, and I don't have to lay the smack down on anyone.

Fun Facts About Chuck Norris You Probably Didn't Know!

-> Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is based on a true story: Chuck Norris once swallowed a turtle whole, and when he crapped it out, the turtle was six feet tall and had learned karate.

-> There are no steroids in baseball. Just players Chuck Norris has breathed on.

-> Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.

-> Chuck Norris once ate a whole cake before his friends could tell him there was a stripper in it.

-> When Chuck Norris was denied an Egg McMuffin at McDonald's because it was 10:35, he roundhouse kicked the store so hard it became a Wendy's.

-> When an episode of Walker Texas Ranger was aired in France, the French surrendered to Chuck Norris just to be on the safe side.

-> When taking the SAT, write "Chuck Norris" for every answer. You will score over 8000.

-> Chuck Norris invented black. In fact, he invented the entire spectrum of visible light. Except pink. Tom Cruise invented pink.

-> Chuck Norris and Mr. T walked into a bar. The bar was instantly destroyed, as that level of awesome cannot be contained in one building.

-> There are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, Chuck Norris lives in Oklahoma.

-> The original draft of The Lord of the Rings featured Chuck Norris instead of Frodo Baggins. It was only 5 pages long, as Chuck roundhouse-kicked Sauron’s ass halfway through the first chapter.

-> In a recent survey it was discovered the 94% of American women lost their virginity to Chuck Norris. The other 6% were incredibly fat or ugly.

-> Chuck Norris destroyed the periodic table, because Chuck Norris only recognizes the element of surprise.

-> Chuck Norris is the only person to ever win a staring contest against Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder at the same time.

-> Chuck Norris’ sperm is so badass, he had sex with Nicole Kidman, and 7 months later she prematurely gave birth to a Ford Excursion.

-> Noah was the only man notified before Chuck Norris relieved himself in the Atlantic Ocean.

-> Chuck Norris once invited all of the other badasses from TV to duke it out in order to see who was the supreme badass. Only two showed up-- Jack Bauer and MacGyver.
MacGyver immediately tried to make a bomb out of some Q-Tips and Gatorade, but Chuck Norris roundhouse-kicked him in the solar plexus. MacGyver promptly threw up his own heart.
Jack Bauer tried to use his detailed knowledge of torture techniques, but to no avail: Chuck Norris thrives on pain. Chuck Norris then ripped off Jack Bauer's arm and beat him to death with it. Game, set, match.

-> There are no such things as tornados. Chuck Norris just hates trailer parks.

-> The agent of Chuck Norris asked Chuck if he wanted to be in Brokeback Mountain. Chuck Norris' agent has been missing for almost 2 years now. Never ask Chuck Norris to be in a gay cowboy movie.

A Night of Sushi and Stupid Football Players

Last night, I went to an inservice on a new drug we will be using on the floor. The drug sounds horrible. We start giving it next week.

The plan was for me to go home from the inservice, but some of the day nurses talked me into going out with them as they were having a going-away dinner for another nurse who was smart enough to transfer to another floor. I hesitated, but they wouldn't take no for an answer, even going so far as to take my keys away.

So, I went.

We went to The Kona Grill...which is on the Plaza. For a Wednesday, the place was PACKED. Fortunately, we had a table reserved.

I had heard once that a lot of Chiefs players hang out at Kona. I can validate this rumor as truth as I saw a couple of them there. For every one of them, there were at least 6 ho's clamouring to be the date for the evening. Shameless skanks...their Johnson county parents must be so proud. Their little girls with their advanced degree in party-planning, going out to score some big rich football player, so they can get pregnant and suckle off the tit that is the Chiefs payroll. They wouldn't have to go too far...I hear a handful of players have their DNA on permanent record with the Division of Family Services for paternity purposes.

Because purposely getting knocked up by a footballer is such a lucrative venture! Just ask the five women who had Derrick Thomas's kids. They are just RAKING in the dough.

One table over from us was Larry Johnson. Him and his friend (who I am assuming is also a player) were busy eating and texting on their little phones. Women at my table we all agog.

Please! I might have been more impressed if the Chiefs actually made it to the playoffs.

Aftewards, the majority of the nurses wanted to go to this whole in the wall dive. I declined. A hot bath sounded better. As a pleasant surprise, the drug rep (who was invited to come along because she was all alone), paid the tab for our entire table...on her company account. God bless drug reps!!!

18 nurses + sushi + $10 per drink = insane final bill

It can't be!! It just can't!!!

With heavy heart, I just heard that some schools have out for the summer today!! Today!!! Others will certainly follow within the next couple of weeks.

Annoying kids will be out in full force...clogging the streets, whoring themselve out in front of your local AMC, lounging around the malls, driving around with fresh drivers licenses, and pissing off the general population.

They should have school all-year round!! American kids lag behind in education anyway.

Year-long school! It's good for America!! It's good for the sanity of adults everywhere!!!

Sing Me to Sleep

Usually, I can sleep anytime. I prefer naps to most other activities (save a few that won't be mentioned). Naps are wonderful. I think if more politicians took more naps, the world would be a better place.

As of late, my sleep has been disturbed. I attribute it to the amount of stress I have going on in my life. Usually, I'm a pretty laid back person. Lately, I've been bitchy, and I am certain my blood pressure is up.

I went to my doctor's a couple weeks ago to have him look at my foot. I made mention of my sleep disturbance.

Doc: Why?
Me: Too much stress.
Doc: Why?
Me: My family is going down the crapper and I don't know if I'm dating or not.
Doc: Did you ever see the Seinfeld episode about the mansierre?? The Bro?? (laughs maniacally about his own joke)
Me: (blank stare)

So, the doc writes out a script for Ambien. The company recommends not to take it for more than 10 days, and scripts should not exceed one month's duration. He gave me enough for 3 months. (He threw in a script for Darvocet (for my not-broken foot) because they are handy to have also.) What a guy!

And no, you can't have any!

I know other nurses who take Ambien. I've heard a lot of people who work nights have to take it to sleep. My coworkers and I were discussing Ambien the other night during a lull in the shift. One nurse told me the first time she took it, she might have had hallucinations. She apparently told her boyfriend that if he continued to dismantle his face, he would have to go home. Another nurse said that when she took it, she swore up and down that her dresser was flapping it's drawers at her in a threatening manner. I have not experienced such hallucinations, and my experience with Ambien has been quite boring. I take it, I get sleepy, I go to bed and all is right with the world.

Except for last night.

Wide awake and 10pm, I decide an Ambien is in order and take one (I don't take them everyday, just when I can't go to sleep.) I sit on my bed and work on Peanut's baby blanket (almost finished!) and wait for the feeling of sleep to come around. I think it does, so I turn out the lights and hunker down for the night.

I can't explain what happened for the next couple of hours, but I can say it wasn't sleeping. The best guess I can come up with is the mother of all anxiety attacks...and I am not prone to anxiety.

Good think Paul was working, because he would have been ahead of the line for a long procession of ass-chewings. Mom was going to be second, my brother third, my dog in there somewhere, finishing off with the lady who delivers my mail. Oh yeah, and the douchebag at the body shop.

While some people experience hallucinations, I get to have delusions and extreme paranoia. Oh joy!!

I think I would rather deal with the homicidal dresser.

A Belated Birthday Shoutout!

Saturday was Kant's 31st birthday. I celebrated by calling her and singing (okay, more like screaming) the Happy Birthday song. Afterwards, she said she had it on speakerphone, and she was at work, and all her coworkers at the Temple heard her.

I bet that made for an interesting bapstism/sealing interlude.

She's has reflected on being 31. I have had a whole 3 months head start on her, and I reassured her that 31 was fun, and not much different than being 30. At least in your 30's, no one looks at you with the disdain and disgust that you are looked upon in your 20's. However, in our church, you are looked upon with disdain and disgust if you in your 30's and never been married.

Old crones! They are just bitter because they wish they were us. I always remind Kant of this, but I don't think she believes me. Ofcourse, the ones who are married, and don't treat us as if we have some sort of communicable disease, are the ones we call friends and close family...and they love us whether single, married, leperous or otherwise.

So, here's to a rousing 31! And 10 years of that owed to the miracle of modern medicine, not to mention your sister's oversized kidney.

I Stand Corrected

It appears that the story of the 14 year old kid and his mother won't go away as the news outlets are beating it TO DEATH. I drove by KU the other day and saw the news vans parked outside the hospital, and the family clamoured around them like children around an ice cream truck in July.

Oddly enough, the family won't sign a waiver allowing the hospital to discuss the boy's medical care/condition on the news. Meanwhile, they are making all kinds of wild, unfounded accusations on the news...based on medical educational information they may have read in Lady's Home Journal.

While the hospital could defend itself in this matter, their hands are tied so they just have to remain silent. They have said they will have lawyers fight the restraining order, but in the end, they are going to come off looking like the bad guys.

The general population, while sympathetic to the mother, thinks she's an idiot. She has mentioned that if the judge agrees that her son is braindead, she will also concur.

Which is like having a pastry chef give a professional opinion on a water main break.

The courts will more than likely side with the hospital on this matter. The boy will be ultimately taken off the vents (if all the other organs don't stop functioning first), and this story will give way to something more sensational for the media to blather about ad nuaseum. To the Star's credit, they did run a story today that differentiated between being in a coma, and being braindead.

With heavy sighing, I will continue to monitor this story.

On the News

With great disappointment, I saw this story on Channel 9. I looked at other local news outlets, and the only other one that carried the story (the I found), was the Star. Considering that they carry pretty much the same content, I wasn't too shocked.

I'm disappointed that Channel 9 ran this story without doing a little research on the matter of organ donation. Had they did their homework, they would have discovered the following things:

1. In the event of any death, medical staff is legally obligated to contact the transplant people. It doesn't matter if the death in question involves someone young, someone as old as dirt, full-blown AIDS, filled with cancer. Even if we, as medical professionals, know that there is no way on God's Green Earth that said patient is a candidate for transplant...WE HAVE TO CALL.

2. The family always has the right to say no. If they are absolute in their answer to not donate, no courts can override this choice and just arbitrarily procure organs without consent.

3. The doctors will treat any case aggressively, whether the patient is a candidate for organ donation or not. It's not a question of the medical community just wanting to keep the patient alive so they can have their organs...being aggressive with treatment is simply the right thing to do.

4. Doctors don't just throw around the words "brain dead". There are tests they can do to determine this sort of thing. I know this from firsthand experience when my own father passed away.

I understand the family is going through a difficult time, I can understand that the family is feeling desparate, clinging to every shred of hope...because 14 is far too young for a life to be cut short. But I also know the ins and outs of organ transplant and the people who work for them; enough to know that the mother is this 14 year old boy is gravely mistaken.

I know what it is to be approached. I know exactly what the family is thinking as they ponder this in their minds: the death of their loved one so that others may live. It's so easy to see a family member on a vent, breathing and heart beating, and have hope that they will make it, even though it's the machines keeping them that way, and nothing more. It's easy to become entrenched in bitterness because you are being asked to make, in what could be, one of the most daunting sacrifices that no person should have to make. It's also easy to see that when you are asking for a miracle, you don't see that the miracle is being asked of you.

I'm sure we will never know the outcome of this story, as once a news organization gets their sensational story, they seldom follow up on it unless it involves more drama. I cringe when I think of the reprecussions of something like this. Somewhere out there, someone will see this story, and make decisions based on false information. As a result, I will probably not watch Channel 9 anymore. I knew their journalistic integrity went to hell in a handbasket the first time they recapped a reality show on their channel...during the 10 o'clock news.

I just hope people out there will have enough sense to seek out the right information. With thousands of people waiting for second chances, many dying before it even happens, organ donation is something that everyone should become well informed about.

Share your life, share your decision.

Late Night Blather

Well, work isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe if I go in each night expecting it to be the worst shift ever, I will have a good night. Reverse psychology...that's the ticket!!

However, I am apparently allergic to something I use because I have been itching all night long. I am usually seen scratching my arms, legs, neck, hands, hands, etc, to the point where I am beet-red and covered in hives. It could be my bubble bath, which is sad because I love bubbles. I'll try just showering and using glycerin soap and seeing how I fare. For the time being, I'll just be miserable and itchy.

The friend who will be cruising with me next year called earlier today and announced they had just seen a preview of Poseidon and decided not to go on the cruise, to which I said they would be cruising, even if it meant I had to keep them sedated all week. I have always been under the strong belief that when it is your time to go, it doesn't matter if you are on a cruise ship, an airplane, or on the toilet...you're going in for the God Consult and there is nothing you can do about it.

(On a side note...I will not be going to see Poseidon. I've already seen Titanic, and one sinking ship story is enough for me. I do have to wonder, though, Kant went and sat through Titanic about 8 times...I wonder how many times she will go see this one...)

My younger brother popped by today, announcing he had a $700 check in his pocket, and can he borrow $5 for gas? I yelled at him for waking me up and asking for money. Why is it that after 13 years of working night shift, my family can't seem to comprehend the notion that I am not to be disturbed until after 5pm?? Peak sleeping times 9am-4pm. I'm going to start calling everyone at 1am and see how they like it.

Mom moves out June 1st (a separate post unto itself), and an opportunity has presented itself for me to buy my own place...so I told my brother that his mooching days will be coming to an end as neither of us will be in a position to supplement his income. Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I just moved far, far away and no one could just stop by and bilk me out of gas money.

I'm fairly certain that in the event I ever married, my husband will not be receptive to me shelling out any more money to the Family Charitable Fund. I'm not exactly receptive to it either...I can't wait to get married so I have a good excuse to say no.

Now taking applications for potential husbands. Must be somewhat neat, cooking knowledge not mandatory, boat preferred.

Please send picture of boat.

Heather Goes Out

Some people from my floor were having dinner out last night for Nurses Week. Ofcourse, we had to buy our own meal. I was vacillating as to whether I wanted to go or not, until a friend (of whom I worked with) called me. We made the pact "I'll go if you go", so my plans for Thursday night were cemented. Oh joy.

We ate at Buca di Beppo on the Plaza...and it was really, really good, despite me having to sit by a nurse I absolutely can't stand. Lots of people had signed up on the list to go, but half of those people actually showed up.

After dinner, a small number of us sauntered over to George Bretts for after dinner drinks. Originally, I wasn't going to go, but then I thought about what I had to come home to, and changed my mind. There, we sat at table and talked about what most nurses talk about when they go out: work. There were some people-watching opportunities as the night went on, from the shaggy homeless guy who came in, to the obligatory drunk guys in the corner who were making asses of themselves. One kept staring at me. I successfully averted my gaze because all women know that when you make eye contact, a drunk man will take this as encouragement, and stagger over to your table where he will engage you in "clever witticisms" and "intellectual banter"....which consists of him laughing at his own jokes, spilling his drink on you, and talking so loudly that everyone in Cass County can hear him.

There was one girl there. She was fairly attractive from the neck down. Neck up, she had the biggest nose I had ever seen, and we guessed her home address was a tanning salon because her skin was so sun damaged, she looked like she could score some work on the side as a saddle.

We stayed there until about midnight. A couple other nurses decided to go elsewhere, I decided to call it a night and go home. That was enough people-watching for me.

I work tonight, and I hear it's hell. Yay.

Happy Nurses Week!

Yeah...so, ummm, this is Nurses Week. The hospital and my floor have cooked up all kinds of stuff to "celebrate". Most all those activities entail the day shift, while as usual, night shift is left to fend for themselves.

My some bright minds on my unit designed these t-shirts for us to wear during Nurses Week. How the Bosshole managed to approve them is beyond my level of comprehension. The shirts are plain white, our hospital logo/mascot on the back, and on the front of the shirt is the name of our unit. Underneath that, "Penthouse Crew" (because we work on the top floor and it is rather posh).

Most everyone bought a shirt, even though most have said they will not wear them (to work) because of the whole "Penthouse" thing. I told some folks if they wanted, I could design an extra applique to go under that which would read something like, "Beaver Hunt" because anyone who sees these shirts, who doesn't know the inside joke, is naturally going think we have some sort of centerfold spread agreement with the porn mag Penthouse.

Oh joy. I can't wait until my turn as Miss March! Then I can wear a naughty nurse outfit.*

Most of the activities slated for the week (where I work), usually have something to do with food. So, Nurses Week will mostly consist of grazing, followed up by our first Weight Watchers meeting on Saturday.

So far, I have celebrated this week by planting a garden, cleaning the apartment, shampooing the carpets, doing laundry, trying to figure out what "having potential" means in the dating world, and arguing with the body shop. I can't wait to see what the rest of the week has in store for me!

So, if you have a nurse in your life, honor her/him this week by not telling them about your draining open wounds, or that "rash" that won't quite go away. Give them flowers, balloons, and dorky little teddy bears dressed up in nursing costumes (I think I have five of them).

Don't forget to keep your eyes peeled for our Penthouse spread!

*Real nurses usually don't have Naughty Nurse costumes. We play them in real life, so we are not all that interested in indulging your fantasies by playing a fake one. Sorry!

My Day Thus Far

I took the car back to the shop to point out a couple things that were missed and needed attention. One of which, being the pinstriping on the car. I was originally going to just leave it as it was, but then I noticed the moonroof deflector was pulling off the car.

I pulled in the same time as an adjustor with Farmers. I went and sat in the waiting room, the generously proportioned adjustor made a beeline for the bathroom, which was right next to the waiting room.

I will never forget the sounds I heard until my dying day.

I waited for 15 minutes to be seen by the body shop guy. The Farmer's adjustor waited the same amount of time, but on the toilet. He came out of the bathroom just as it was my turn, and I am disappointed to say he didn't leave the fan on in the bathroom. Within minutes, the waiting area smelled.

Thankfully, I had a reason to go outside.

I pointed out the flaws in the car to the body shop guy who first tried to tell me that my pinstriping being ripped off in chunks had nothing to do with hail. Bullshit. I told him the pinstriping was intact before the hailstorm, and it should have been replaced when the rest of the car was fixed. He conceded and told me a good time to bring it in so my little flaws could be corrected.

Later, I'm supposed to go an plant. If it gets cancelled again, I'm just going to Walmart and buy big pots and soil and plant my own damn tomatoes. Just as you can feel a big storm coming, I sense a DLT on the yonder horizon (my friends will know what I am talking about), probably tonight.

Kant, you can probably expect a phone call...

I've been fishing long enough. It's time to cut bait.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad night.

The state of extreme relaxation lasted a good 5 minutes from the time I clocked in to work tonight. In a nutshell, it's been hell on rye bread.

We ended up working short. The Bosshole's only solution (instead of coming in to help out), was to tell me that last year we worked short most of the time, and therefore were no strangers to adversity on the floor. He wished me luck.

I immediately crossed him off my Christmas card list after I hung up the phone.

In the time I have been here, I have almost burst into tears at least 4 times out of sheer frustration. We have new cardiac alarms and whenever they sound, I feel my blood pressure go up by ten points.

The really depressing part, I still have two more shifts of this crap.

I can feel the muscles in my neck tense up. The very same muscles that were pliable and squishy just yesterday.

We are all on edge tonight. The most commonly uttered phrases:

"I need to update my resume."

"I wonder if such-and-such hospital is hiring."

"Is there a market for travel agents?"

A State of Extreme Relaxation

Yesterday, I was supposed to Garden with Paul, which sort of sounds like a show you would find on public television. Last year, he never got the dirt tilled in his yard, so we had no fresh tomatoes for fresh garden salsa. This year, I altered my tactics and started nagging a whole three months early.

The dirt has been tilled (or so I am told), some tomato plants of differing varieties have been purchased. All that needs to be done now is to plant the damn things. The plan was to do it yesterday afternoon, but in grand form, he called and begged out. To his defense, however, he just finished working a three-shift stretch and was tired. I can relate...I'm pretty worthless on Mondays, which is why I consider it my Recovery Day.

My Thursday night wide open, I called a massage therapist friend and asked if his offer for free massage was still on the table. God Bless him, it was! So, I announced to the world that I was going to get a massage, and drove out to Independence (it pays to have all kinds of friends who know how to do all kinds of things).

I've had 3 massages in my life. One being in Roatan at a lovely dayspa that was owned by a former nurse practitioner. One being at some spa in Liberty by a guy who damn near dislocated my knee, and the third on a beach in Costa Maya, which really shouldn't count because it wasn't a true massage...but give enough people free alcohol, and they will think anything is top notch.

After my delicious massage by masterful hands, and managed to float out to my car and navigate home, feeling like my entire body consisted of jello sans the carrot shavings. The sounds of that relaxation music still echoing in my ears (a pan flute and running water), the smell of some oil that smells like something organic still on my skin and wafting in my nose.

I should pamper myself more. I might not be so bitchy if I did so. I work the next 3 nights, so hopefully I will be in such a relaxed state, that I won't be easily annoyed. However, I know the first time I have to move someone in excess of 400lbs, I'm going to undo everything that my friend did...I will have no choice but to have another massage next week.

Which really doesn't sound like a bad idea.

On another note, I've decided to be more proactive in my getting in shape. My cruise is 8 months away, and I am in no condition to be seen in a bathing suit. I need a Body for the Beach, instead of a Body for the Buffet. I've been considering starting up with the Hot Yoga again, and maybe trying to get back into running...so we shall see how it works out.

I need to have an affair with the treadmill. Tomorrow morning I shall go flirt with it and see what kind of response I get.

He May Look Innocent...

Yesterday, Sam got his new summer 'do. He's been pretty bushy lately, not to mention he had some dingleberries hanging from his back fur. I kept trying to get my mother to clean them off, but she wasn't biting.

I dropped him off at the vet's office...a very bushy, wild-looking dog.

When I picked him up, he was this nice, clean little puppy. Now, he looks like a little angel.

Too bad everyone knows different...

Suddenly, My Life Looks Rosey!

No, I'm not referring to the shit-ton of Ambien and Darvocet my doctor gave me yesterday (but it was nice to actually sleep for more than 3 hours at one time).

I know I bitch a lot about life. Yes, I had a shitty childhood growing up, but you'll never see me out robbing banks and whatnot because I didn't get enough Barbie dolls when I was a kid. Sure, I grew up with an alcoholic father, we were welfare kids, and my mother jumped into the shallow end of insanity for a couple years after my parents split up, but overall, I can't complain. I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, clothes on my back, and a life time of experience that offers more than enough motivation to not ever be in that same situation again.

It could have been much, much worse. I could have lived with this family instead.

(Disclaimer: the above mentioned blogger grew up in an RLDS family...not to be confused with an LDS one...although I am certain there are members of my church who can be just as crazy.)