Rosie and L-Ho moved to some podunk town so L-Ho could be closer to her family. (No word on if her john was also included.) Towns this small are almost always alike in the fact that there is NOTHING to them. You may have one gas station (usually a Caseys). One nursing home (which serves as the community's largest employer). And one drinking hole.
Anyway, Rosie and L-Ho move to Podunk, and Rosie is unable to find employment there because the local nursing home is under a hiring freeze. So, you have two lesbians, chilling out, and only one having a job that consists of them blowing a 60-some year old man, one night a week.
At some point, 60-some year old john decides he wants to broaden the time he spends with L-Ho. Rosie, who was okay with the one-night arrangement before, suddenly has a problem with L-Ho spending more time with this guy. This causes some general friction in Lovers' Paradise. Things boil until they culminate in the parking lot at the local bar where our two lesbians get into a heated argument.
Into the car, Rosie starts hitting L-Ho. They drive home, and the fight escalates. L-Ho's alcoholic mother shows up and Rosie, lacking any sense of decorum, continues to beat L-Ho. Alcoholic or not, most mother's won't stand for someone pounding on their kid, so A-Mom tries to intervene. Rosie, pops A-Mom in the face, breaking her nose.
Rosie continues her assault, this time choking L-Ho until A-Mom grabs a big, insulated Bubba mug and doinks Rosie over the head with it. Rosie, in turn, tosses A-Mom into a coffee table, causing A-Mom to break her hand.
Upon seeing her mother all bloodied and banged up, L-Ho exclaims to Rosie, "Why don't you just die! This is all too much!!"
With those words, Rosie disappears in the kitchen and grabs a big knife, goes back into the living and proceeds to slice her wrist, but not in the manner that actually does the job. More in the manner that demonstrates that you are a dumbass seeking attention.
"Happy now?" Rosie demands.
L-Ho's grandmother shows up, and L-Ho and G-Ma help A-Mom out, leaving Rosie to bleed all over the carpet. Rosie, calls a friend, explains what happens, and then passes out from the loss of blood. Phone-a-Friend calls 911, and the ambulance picks up Rosie. Her cuts deep, but not life-threatening.
The next day, the doctors clear Rosie to go home, but before she can make it to the exit, the local mental health people pick her up for an involuntary 3-day stay at the local nut hut, because slicing your wrists, even poorly, wins you a psychiatric evaluation.
After her 3 day mini-vay, Rosie is released and for some reason, goes to the police station, where the immediately present her with a set of bracelets and book her on assault charges. From A-Mom. Not L-Ho, because she lurrrvves Rosie and refuses to press charges.
So, now we have my cousin in the clink, L-Ho furiously working (on her back) to help pay for a lawyer. Meanwhile, L-Ho is shacking up with another woman, telling Rosie, "I'm in a relationship with this woman, but when you get out, baby, I'm totally with you."
To make things even more unbelievable, Rosie is now soliciting donations from family members for postage stamps and money on her books so she can call L-Ho. Oh, and because Rosie is without employment, and unable to pay her bills, would myself and my mother be willing to make her credit card payment??
Needless to say, we said no, but in exciting and colorful ways.
While the above situation might have some degree of dark, morbid humor...there is nothing funny about Rosie beating on people. I've always felt she had some sort of sociopath personality. She killed her mother-in-law's dog because she didn't like that it barked all the time...and you know how little old ladies are about their dogs. Deep down, Rosie is a dark person, and God only knows what she is capable of.
Which makes me glad she doesn't know where neither I nor my mother live.
Now, don't you feel better about your problems???
Saturday, March 28, 2009
All Hat, No Cattle
I went to work last night, the weather community predicting a blizzard to world-ending proportions.
So, all night, patients and nurses a like stared out the windows, waiting for the first snow to fall. It never happened. We were rewarded by crappy rain in the morning.
Now, we have freezing rain over snow, which makes for a nice, slushy mess. Should make for a fun drive to work.
The weather community is doing all kinds of back-pedaling. They promised me 6-10 inches last night. What I got was 2.5 inches. Of snow.
I've known guys like this.
I'm going to use someones idea of weather predictions via Magic-8 Ball. The ball is just as accurate.
So, all night, patients and nurses a like stared out the windows, waiting for the first snow to fall. It never happened. We were rewarded by crappy rain in the morning.
Now, we have freezing rain over snow, which makes for a nice, slushy mess. Should make for a fun drive to work.
The weather community is doing all kinds of back-pedaling. They promised me 6-10 inches last night. What I got was 2.5 inches. Of snow.
I've known guys like this.
I'm going to use someones idea of weather predictions via Magic-8 Ball. The ball is just as accurate.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
A Tale of Two Lesbians: A Perfect Couple
There is a saying, fairly old, that you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince. Or my cousin's case, your princess.
If there is one absolute that can be said of my Militant Lesbian Cousin Rosie, is that she can't find normal, decent partner...in either men nor women.
Her first husband, liked to wear women's underwear and lived life on the DL...that's Down Low for you innocent types. Even more to the point, he liked to play with other guys, then go home to his wife. He was a nice guy, but really had no business being married. Rosie claimed that he was too feminine for her tastes.
Second husband, Bubba, as I like to refer to him. Weighs probably close to one metric ton, and is a guard at a local prison for criminals. Not the hardened type, but more the kind with the soft, chewy center. Rosie ditched her first husband for this gem. In fact, Rosie and I once shared an apartment when she moved this ass-clown in then couldn't understand why I demanded that he pay rent also. I only went grocery shopping once, spent $100, and Bubba depleted everything in less than a day. A sloth of a man, I could never understand the attraction...between either of them.
First Lesbian Girlfriend...seemed normal at first, but almost 20 years younger than Rosie. They were together for years, their relationship fairly unremarkable. Then FLG left Rosie for another guy, but just long enough to get pregnant and go back to Rosie with the "look, we can be a family" pitch. Along the way, she may have also banged a couple of their other lesbian friends.
New Lesbian Girlfriend (in her early-to-mid 20's to Rosie's early 40's)...initially, talked up as the first normal person Rosie has been "in lurrrvvve" with. NLG makes nutritious meals so Rosie can shed some weight and be healthy. My Aunt boasts that NLG is the best thing to happen to Rosie. The rest of the family shrugs in indifference. What we are experiencing is some sort of Rosie's Bad Partner Fatigue.
NLG is gainfully employed. She works only one night a week, from the hours of 9pm to 5pm and makes between $400-$500. Sounds like a fairly sweet deal, right? Because that leaves her with more time to cook for my cousin.
Well...
NLG has a friend. A man in his 60's. And her job is to spend the night with this man.
One night a week. From the hours of 9pm and 5 am.
Chains and whips sometimes included.
"That's a whore," I explain to my mother when she told me.
"A dominatrix?"
"Nope...just a whore. In the big city, we like to call them prostitutes."
The best part? Rosie knew about this, ahem, job beforehand. And thought it was a pretty neat deal. That paid good money.
I sat down and calculated. That would make L-Ho pulling down between $50-62 an hour. I know nurses who make that, and they don't have to have sex with someone old enough to be their grandpa.
Another added bonus, one of L-Ho's exes had the HIV/AIDS. Anyone care to wager that condoms are not part of the equation for these weekly visits??
But to hear Rosie tell it, L-Ho is the best she's ever had...both in and out of the sack. She gushes that they are so good for each other.
If by good you mean a possible STD-carrying whore is the perfect partner, why not???
You know, sometimes, there are worse things than being single.
I'll shut up about my date drought now.
If there is one absolute that can be said of my Militant Lesbian Cousin Rosie, is that she can't find normal, decent partner...in either men nor women.
Her first husband, liked to wear women's underwear and lived life on the DL...that's Down Low for you innocent types. Even more to the point, he liked to play with other guys, then go home to his wife. He was a nice guy, but really had no business being married. Rosie claimed that he was too feminine for her tastes.
Second husband, Bubba, as I like to refer to him. Weighs probably close to one metric ton, and is a guard at a local prison for criminals. Not the hardened type, but more the kind with the soft, chewy center. Rosie ditched her first husband for this gem. In fact, Rosie and I once shared an apartment when she moved this ass-clown in then couldn't understand why I demanded that he pay rent also. I only went grocery shopping once, spent $100, and Bubba depleted everything in less than a day. A sloth of a man, I could never understand the attraction...between either of them.
First Lesbian Girlfriend...seemed normal at first, but almost 20 years younger than Rosie. They were together for years, their relationship fairly unremarkable. Then FLG left Rosie for another guy, but just long enough to get pregnant and go back to Rosie with the "look, we can be a family" pitch. Along the way, she may have also banged a couple of their other lesbian friends.
New Lesbian Girlfriend (in her early-to-mid 20's to Rosie's early 40's)...initially, talked up as the first normal person Rosie has been "in lurrrvvve" with. NLG makes nutritious meals so Rosie can shed some weight and be healthy. My Aunt boasts that NLG is the best thing to happen to Rosie. The rest of the family shrugs in indifference. What we are experiencing is some sort of Rosie's Bad Partner Fatigue.
NLG is gainfully employed. She works only one night a week, from the hours of 9pm to 5pm and makes between $400-$500. Sounds like a fairly sweet deal, right? Because that leaves her with more time to cook for my cousin.
Well...
NLG has a friend. A man in his 60's. And her job is to spend the night with this man.
One night a week. From the hours of 9pm and 5 am.
Chains and whips sometimes included.
"That's a whore," I explain to my mother when she told me.
"A dominatrix?"
"Nope...just a whore. In the big city, we like to call them prostitutes."
The best part? Rosie knew about this, ahem, job beforehand. And thought it was a pretty neat deal. That paid good money.
I sat down and calculated. That would make L-Ho pulling down between $50-62 an hour. I know nurses who make that, and they don't have to have sex with someone old enough to be their grandpa.
Another added bonus, one of L-Ho's exes had the HIV/AIDS. Anyone care to wager that condoms are not part of the equation for these weekly visits??
But to hear Rosie tell it, L-Ho is the best she's ever had...both in and out of the sack. She gushes that they are so good for each other.
If by good you mean a possible STD-carrying whore is the perfect partner, why not???
You know, sometimes, there are worse things than being single.
I'll shut up about my date drought now.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
A Tale of Two Lesbians: A Saga!
My cousin, whom I shall call Rosie, came out of the closet in her mid-30's. She had been married twice before, to men. The first husband, she left because he liked the company of other men. She left him for the slobbery, slovenly oaf that was her second husband. This fat manatee of a husband single-handedly made the local Chinese buffet rethink it's All-You-Can-Policy. Such is life of a Podunk prison guard.
In a ironic move that wasn't entirely lost to us, Rosie left her second husband for another woman.
I'm not the expert when it comes to "coming out", so I don't know what proper protocol is for newly minted lesbians in social situations. However, I'm fairly certain that making out with your girlfriend at your grandfather's funeral isn't listed under the Top Ten Things All New Lesbians Have to Do!
Rosie was brought up in a proper Mormon house, complete with Stay-at-Home Mom. Seminary in the mornings before school. Girls Camp. Family Home Evening. A temple marriage with her first husband. Sometimes, Rosie would brag that she had the best upbringing compared to mine...a Mom that worked two jobs because Dad was too drunk to go to his one. No church. No Girls Camp. Mom told me later that she was sometimes made to feel inadequate by her own sister because of the differences in upbringing. To this day, my mother still feels guilty, even though she has no reason to feel that way.
I only mention these things to give you a little backstory, and perhaps an inkling into the mind of my Militant Lesbian Cousin and her origins. You love her because she is family, but you also know she can't be trusted. I think every family has someone like that.
This weekend, Mother relayed a story that is so jacked, that there is no way that in my most creative imagination could have made the story up. And just when I thought the story couldn't get any better, it did. Because the story is so fabulous, I feel I must share it with the world. Sure, it's my family, but there are some things that shouldn't be kept secret. While the story is laughable, there is a dark undercurrent that deserves to be unmasked.
And so begins the saga (because everyone LOVES a saga!), of my lesbian cousin and the trainwreck that is her life. A trainwreck that she caused and can only blame herself for.
Enjoy!
In a ironic move that wasn't entirely lost to us, Rosie left her second husband for another woman.
I'm not the expert when it comes to "coming out", so I don't know what proper protocol is for newly minted lesbians in social situations. However, I'm fairly certain that making out with your girlfriend at your grandfather's funeral isn't listed under the Top Ten Things All New Lesbians Have to Do!
Rosie was brought up in a proper Mormon house, complete with Stay-at-Home Mom. Seminary in the mornings before school. Girls Camp. Family Home Evening. A temple marriage with her first husband. Sometimes, Rosie would brag that she had the best upbringing compared to mine...a Mom that worked two jobs because Dad was too drunk to go to his one. No church. No Girls Camp. Mom told me later that she was sometimes made to feel inadequate by her own sister because of the differences in upbringing. To this day, my mother still feels guilty, even though she has no reason to feel that way.
I only mention these things to give you a little backstory, and perhaps an inkling into the mind of my Militant Lesbian Cousin and her origins. You love her because she is family, but you also know she can't be trusted. I think every family has someone like that.
This weekend, Mother relayed a story that is so jacked, that there is no way that in my most creative imagination could have made the story up. And just when I thought the story couldn't get any better, it did. Because the story is so fabulous, I feel I must share it with the world. Sure, it's my family, but there are some things that shouldn't be kept secret. While the story is laughable, there is a dark undercurrent that deserves to be unmasked.
And so begins the saga (because everyone LOVES a saga!), of my lesbian cousin and the trainwreck that is her life. A trainwreck that she caused and can only blame herself for.
Enjoy!
Thursday, March 19, 2009
On Blowing Chunks (Not my Dog's Name)
(Warning: This post contains TMI. So, if you are grossed out easily, stop reading.)
Because I am no longer a full-time weekend person, and am now a part-time weekend person, I get to have some weekend shifts off. Of course, there is the pay cut that goes along with that, but we won't dwell on that, mm'kay?
I get my birthday weekend off, so in trade, I had to work last night. Midweek. It was odd. But do not fear, I had packed a tasty lunch of leftover corned beef and cabbage. The night was shit, mostly dealing with a resident who wanted to give a patient Mylanta for his chest pain, instead of say, NITROGLYCERIN!!! We argued back and forth on the patients heart rhythm, she thought he was normal, I said otherwise. I even took a poll from the other nurses, those who work in the tele monitor room, and we all agreed that this resident was an idiot. Her senior was brought in who sided with the nurses, and we got the patient squared away. Crisis averted!
But at least lunch was good.
Around 5, I started feeling blah. As time progressed, more and more blah. After I signed off, I sat in the break room. The nurses were descending on a box of bagels. I caught one whiff and my stomach turned. Another nurse was cleaning her stethoscope with alcohol, and the smell of it almost pushed me over the edge.
Of course, whenever any female is nauseated, comes the obligatory remarks of, "Are you pregnant?"
No, I'm not pregnant, and thanks for your concern.
In what could be the longest drive home, I fought the rise of bile in my throat, but I had a bag handy just in case I didn't make it. Finally, I pulled into the garage, rushed into the laundry room, and proceeded to expel everything in my stomach to the nasty toilet that resides there. Most everything that came up is undigested corned beef...that I ate six hours prior.
Funny thing about my tummy. If it knows something isn't right with the food I ate, the pyloric sphincter locks down and food goes nowhere but up from whence it came.
Having missed the toilet a couple times, I try to clean up my mess, trying not to start a chain of gagging in the process. Yeah, I got it all over my scrub top, too.
Strip down to my pajamas, crawl into bed, where my tummy is making it's displeasure known. Thirty minutes of intense abdominal pain that has me curled up in the fetal position and wondering if I should go to the ER, I stumble into the bathroom and launch my second salvo of pissing out my ass. So much, that I think my entire system is full of wretched, foul-smelling, cabbage byproduct. The smell is so rank, I immediately grab the garbage can and try to throw up my uterus.
Shooting out of both ends like some sort of Chinese firecracker of luck.
Meanwhile, Brother is in the back yard playing with Hank. He can hear my loud retching, and starts mimicking the sounds coming from my bathroom window. Asshole.
This passes, and I brush my teeth, drink some water, go back to bed.
What happens from the hours of 9am and 1pm is a vicious cycle: sleep for 15-30 minutes, feel the urge, go sit on the toilet, barf in garbage can. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I damn near cried when I found a bottle of Imodium in my medicine cabinet. Too bad it didn't help.
So, three pajama changes later, for various reasons, I think my entire GI system is completely empty. I manage to sleep for 45 minutes this time. My stomach still bitching me out. This has to be the worst case of food poisoning I have ever encountered.
I did what any normal person would do, I called my Mommy who will be bringing me beverages this afternoon.
And that is how I spent my Thursday. I'm exhausted due to lack of sleep. Thirsty, but unable to keep anything down. AND, I have a vomit-filled garbage can that I need to figure out what to do with. There's no way in hell I'm going to the gym tonight. I can't stray more than 6 feet away from a toilet without disastrous consequences. AND, the sheer force and magnitude of my barfing has rendered me looking like I have freckles because of all the popped blood vessels on my face.
To sum it up, I look like a shit sandwich.
How are you?
Because I am no longer a full-time weekend person, and am now a part-time weekend person, I get to have some weekend shifts off. Of course, there is the pay cut that goes along with that, but we won't dwell on that, mm'kay?
I get my birthday weekend off, so in trade, I had to work last night. Midweek. It was odd. But do not fear, I had packed a tasty lunch of leftover corned beef and cabbage. The night was shit, mostly dealing with a resident who wanted to give a patient Mylanta for his chest pain, instead of say, NITROGLYCERIN!!! We argued back and forth on the patients heart rhythm, she thought he was normal, I said otherwise. I even took a poll from the other nurses, those who work in the tele monitor room, and we all agreed that this resident was an idiot. Her senior was brought in who sided with the nurses, and we got the patient squared away. Crisis averted!
But at least lunch was good.
Around 5, I started feeling blah. As time progressed, more and more blah. After I signed off, I sat in the break room. The nurses were descending on a box of bagels. I caught one whiff and my stomach turned. Another nurse was cleaning her stethoscope with alcohol, and the smell of it almost pushed me over the edge.
Of course, whenever any female is nauseated, comes the obligatory remarks of, "Are you pregnant?"
No, I'm not pregnant, and thanks for your concern.
In what could be the longest drive home, I fought the rise of bile in my throat, but I had a bag handy just in case I didn't make it. Finally, I pulled into the garage, rushed into the laundry room, and proceeded to expel everything in my stomach to the nasty toilet that resides there. Most everything that came up is undigested corned beef...that I ate six hours prior.
Funny thing about my tummy. If it knows something isn't right with the food I ate, the pyloric sphincter locks down and food goes nowhere but up from whence it came.
Having missed the toilet a couple times, I try to clean up my mess, trying not to start a chain of gagging in the process. Yeah, I got it all over my scrub top, too.
Strip down to my pajamas, crawl into bed, where my tummy is making it's displeasure known. Thirty minutes of intense abdominal pain that has me curled up in the fetal position and wondering if I should go to the ER, I stumble into the bathroom and launch my second salvo of pissing out my ass. So much, that I think my entire system is full of wretched, foul-smelling, cabbage byproduct. The smell is so rank, I immediately grab the garbage can and try to throw up my uterus.
Shooting out of both ends like some sort of Chinese firecracker of luck.
Meanwhile, Brother is in the back yard playing with Hank. He can hear my loud retching, and starts mimicking the sounds coming from my bathroom window. Asshole.
This passes, and I brush my teeth, drink some water, go back to bed.
What happens from the hours of 9am and 1pm is a vicious cycle: sleep for 15-30 minutes, feel the urge, go sit on the toilet, barf in garbage can. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I damn near cried when I found a bottle of Imodium in my medicine cabinet. Too bad it didn't help.
So, three pajama changes later, for various reasons, I think my entire GI system is completely empty. I manage to sleep for 45 minutes this time. My stomach still bitching me out. This has to be the worst case of food poisoning I have ever encountered.
I did what any normal person would do, I called my Mommy who will be bringing me beverages this afternoon.
And that is how I spent my Thursday. I'm exhausted due to lack of sleep. Thirsty, but unable to keep anything down. AND, I have a vomit-filled garbage can that I need to figure out what to do with. There's no way in hell I'm going to the gym tonight. I can't stray more than 6 feet away from a toilet without disastrous consequences. AND, the sheer force and magnitude of my barfing has rendered me looking like I have freckles because of all the popped blood vessels on my face.
To sum it up, I look like a shit sandwich.
How are you?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Nurse Follies: The Economy Catching Up
It seems you can't do anything on the planet without hearing something about how the economy has turned into a Crapfest. I've been incredibly lucky to work for an employer that is still doing well financially, that our jobs are not in any immediate danger. Some would think that folks who worked in health care have it made, and I'm here to say that's not the case. Quite a few hospitals in the KC area are under a hiring freeze...which sucks for the new nurses who are graduating this spring. I've heard about more than one hospital laying off people in management, ancillary staff, leaving the floor nurses safe. But, I've also even heard of one hospital firing nurses for minor infractions. These same nurses who also happened to have reached the salary cap.
Coincidence? I think not!
Not to say that my facility hasn't felt the effects of the impotent economy. In an effort to cut cost, our hospital stopped stocking peanut butter.
Yes, peanut butter.
Our Kitchen Nazi was overheard praising the decision, citing that "too many people were eating it". God forbid the patients were eating the peanut butter! However, I'm unaware of other uses for peanut butter that would make the number crunchers happy enough to bring back the peanut butter. Its wreaking havoc on our patient satisfaction questionnaires. You should see the incredulous looks we get when we tell the patients why we no longer carry peanut butter.
However, we still do offer jelly. But just grape.
Hard to say what will be next on the chopping block. We already serve that nasty generic cola, and you can't get much worse than that. And crackers...BUT you do get a choice of Saltine or Graham.
But seriously, this past weekend, the house census was low. Lower than what we usually see, even during holiday time. Nurses were being cancelled, sent home early. This rarely happens. What's the deal? We know that less and less people are having their elective surgeries (i.e. joint replacements, boob jobs, etc), but it stands to reason that more and more people are just refusing to go to the hospital because they can't afford it. Whether it be because their insurance sucks and the co pays are insane, or they have no insurance, or they just can't afford the time off from work, especially in these hard economic times where one sick call-in can be the difference between having a job, and not having one.
I find a certain irony in working for the industry that will either be the salvation of the country, or the final nail in our coffin.
My heart goes out to those who are severely effected by the Second Great Depression. So much, that I almost feel guilty that I still have a job when so many others don't.
Coincidence? I think not!
Not to say that my facility hasn't felt the effects of the impotent economy. In an effort to cut cost, our hospital stopped stocking peanut butter.
Yes, peanut butter.
Our Kitchen Nazi was overheard praising the decision, citing that "too many people were eating it". God forbid the patients were eating the peanut butter! However, I'm unaware of other uses for peanut butter that would make the number crunchers happy enough to bring back the peanut butter. Its wreaking havoc on our patient satisfaction questionnaires. You should see the incredulous looks we get when we tell the patients why we no longer carry peanut butter.
However, we still do offer jelly. But just grape.
Hard to say what will be next on the chopping block. We already serve that nasty generic cola, and you can't get much worse than that. And crackers...BUT you do get a choice of Saltine or Graham.
But seriously, this past weekend, the house census was low. Lower than what we usually see, even during holiday time. Nurses were being cancelled, sent home early. This rarely happens. What's the deal? We know that less and less people are having their elective surgeries (i.e. joint replacements, boob jobs, etc), but it stands to reason that more and more people are just refusing to go to the hospital because they can't afford it. Whether it be because their insurance sucks and the co pays are insane, or they have no insurance, or they just can't afford the time off from work, especially in these hard economic times where one sick call-in can be the difference between having a job, and not having one.
I find a certain irony in working for the industry that will either be the salvation of the country, or the final nail in our coffin.
My heart goes out to those who are severely effected by the Second Great Depression. So much, that I almost feel guilty that I still have a job when so many others don't.
A Letter to AIG
Dear AIG,
I've read with boiling anger the articles which reveal to me the millions in bonuses you are paying out to the very people who have created the problem you find yourselves in.
These same people are your Best and Brightest?
So tell me, what did they do to deserve such large bonuses? Who's knob have they been polishing?
I got a bonus with my job. A gift card to Price Chopper. While I don't disparage the gift card (it came in handy for holiday dinner spending), I just want to point out that my job routinely involves me making decisions that could affect the life (or death) of a patient, and my annual income is probably what most AIG execs spend on a car.
I save lives. You help run our country's financial system into the ground. Tell me why you need those bonuses again?
My retirement plan is through AIG. I'm looking at moving it to another firm, just because I can't stand you that much and I can only hope you get sick enough that I get to be your nurse someday.
Fuck you and the high horse you apparently think you are entitled to ride on.
Sincerely,
General Blather
I've read with boiling anger the articles which reveal to me the millions in bonuses you are paying out to the very people who have created the problem you find yourselves in.
These same people are your Best and Brightest?
So tell me, what did they do to deserve such large bonuses? Who's knob have they been polishing?
I got a bonus with my job. A gift card to Price Chopper. While I don't disparage the gift card (it came in handy for holiday dinner spending), I just want to point out that my job routinely involves me making decisions that could affect the life (or death) of a patient, and my annual income is probably what most AIG execs spend on a car.
I save lives. You help run our country's financial system into the ground. Tell me why you need those bonuses again?
My retirement plan is through AIG. I'm looking at moving it to another firm, just because I can't stand you that much and I can only hope you get sick enough that I get to be your nurse someday.
Fuck you and the high horse you apparently think you are entitled to ride on.
Sincerely,
General Blather
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
On Notice!
I don't like going to Walmart. In fact, I can think of ten other horrible things I'd rather do than go to Walmart...like a Well Woman Exam, a root canal, or a visit to the retina specialist.But, I have a shitload of certificates of CEUs that need printing, and Brother's tattoo pics sapped all the ink out of my printer. AND, there isn't an office store close by I can patronize. There's only a Walmart.
So, I hurry back to Electronics and get my ink cartridges, the price causing my blood pressure to elevate. Then, I stop by the Pharmacy for some lube for the ass-raping I'm about to receive at checkout.
I get in the Express Lane (because I don't want to be at Walmart any longer than I have to), right behind Cleetus Jr. and Starla with matching hickeys. Nothing says upper echelon of humans more than His and Hers Hickeys! She's as big as a mobile home, sporting God-awful prison-bitch tattoos, and looking like she took a swan dive in a tackle box.
Their friend, Earl, is the one who is buying....an 89-cent roll of paper towels. He pays with a $100 bill. The check-out girl doesn't have enough change on her register.
My head explodes.
Another lady behind me, also sees this and hauls ass over to another lane, where the product of the Kansas City School District is there. I know this because the Express Lane is 20 items or less, and this lady had 50 items in her cart. I can't fault her...she obviously can't count.
Register Lady has to find someone to make change. Cleetus and Co. are left standing there, holding their Sam's Choice paper towels. My blood pressure goes up even more. I'm seething.
Fucking White Trash Mouth Breathers!!! GAH!!!!!!!!
I decide to go to a different lane, but not before I loudly tell the guy next to me that there is an obvious reason I avoid Walmart. He agrees with me. I cast my patented Disgusted Nurse Look to Cleetus and Co. before stomping to another lane. Had I stayed there, Officer Friendly stationed nearby would have had to get off his cell phone, and intervene.
Oh, and I had to pay $90 for printer ink. PRINTER INK!!!
I hate you, Canon.
I hate Walmart, too.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Stupid is as Stupid Does
You know, I never understood why some women would be complacent in a relationship where her partner abused her on a regular basis. In my nursing school psych class, we even spent a fair amount of lecture time going over this very thing. On paper, the theories made sense. In reality, I still can't wrap my mind around it. There is no excuse in the world that would remotely justify standing by some guy who routinely put your life in danger.
I can stand up for you if this was a first time incident and you dump the guy, never to speak to him again, despite the pleas and promises. You go back to him, you're on your own. Don't come crying to me the next time he breaks your nose, or arm, or ribs, or causes a brain bleed.
So, imagine my disgust upon hearing that Rhianna took Chris Brown back. Just when I thought my opinion of a woman couldn't go any lower, I read this.
Really? Even after all this, she not only takes him back, but rumors swirl that she married the guy because she thinks that with him, she will have the Fairy Tale. What does this tell abused women everywhere? That it's okay for a guy to beat you? That he didn't really mean it and that he loves you? The darker the bruise, the deeper the love??
(I'm not talking about women who try to beat on a guy, then act all righteous when he pops her one in return. No, I'm talking about the guys who hit women for power and control issues. The guys who are too big a candyass to try to hit another guy, but rather take their aggressions out on the one who does his laundry. Raises his children. Maintains his home.)
It makes me ill. I don't listen to the musical offerings of either artist, but I'm sure as hell not going to start now. What kills me even more is how the Hollywood community is just rolling over and pretending it never happened.
So, dumb Umbrella singer, the next time your True Love actually succeeds in putting your head through a window, don't look to me for sympathy.
You have made your bed. Good luck sleeping in it.
I can stand up for you if this was a first time incident and you dump the guy, never to speak to him again, despite the pleas and promises. You go back to him, you're on your own. Don't come crying to me the next time he breaks your nose, or arm, or ribs, or causes a brain bleed.
So, imagine my disgust upon hearing that Rhianna took Chris Brown back. Just when I thought my opinion of a woman couldn't go any lower, I read this.
According to a detective’s affidavit, Brown and Rihanna got into a fight after the Umbrella” singer checked her boyfriend’s cell phone and found a three-page
text message from another woman.Brown pulled his car over and tried to push Rihanna out, but she was still wearing her seatbelt, Los Angeles police Detective De Shon Andrews wrote. He said Brown pushed Rihanna’s head against the window, punched her with his right hand, and then continued driving while hitting her, the affidavit states. He also bit his girlfriend on the ear, the affidavit states. At one point, Brown reportedly put her in a headlock and she nearly lost consciousness, the report says.
The affidavit was filed as part of a search warrant request for the phone records of Brown, Rihanna and her assistant. While beating Rihanna, Brown allegedly told her "I'm going to beat the s--- out of you when we get home, you wait and see." Brown allegedly threatened to kill Rihanna after she either left or pretended to leave a phone message with her assistant, telling her to have the police waiting at her house. He reportedly then said, "You just did the stupidest thing ever. I'm
going to kill you."Andrews described Brown’s blows as causing Rihanna’s mouth to fill with blood. He also writes that Brown tried to choke Rihanna after she took the keys to his car away.
Really? Even after all this, she not only takes him back, but rumors swirl that she married the guy because she thinks that with him, she will have the Fairy Tale. What does this tell abused women everywhere? That it's okay for a guy to beat you? That he didn't really mean it and that he loves you? The darker the bruise, the deeper the love??
(I'm not talking about women who try to beat on a guy, then act all righteous when he pops her one in return. No, I'm talking about the guys who hit women for power and control issues. The guys who are too big a candyass to try to hit another guy, but rather take their aggressions out on the one who does his laundry. Raises his children. Maintains his home.)
It makes me ill. I don't listen to the musical offerings of either artist, but I'm sure as hell not going to start now. What kills me even more is how the Hollywood community is just rolling over and pretending it never happened.
So, dumb Umbrella singer, the next time your True Love actually succeeds in putting your head through a window, don't look to me for sympathy.
You have made your bed. Good luck sleeping in it.
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