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.