Pinhead of the Internets

After blogging about the Bosshole's myspace, someone at work set the dorky looking high school picture as the desktop for a couple computers. It brought everyone great joy who saw it, and for one fleeting moment, morale around the unit was the best ever. Everyone was smiling, and if you listened closely, an angel got it's wings.

Then, the Bosshole came in and saw it. We hear he was angry. We hear he's looking for the offending party/parties involved so he can send them an strongly worded email with lots of exclamation points. We hear he feels it was an invasion of his privacy.

Hey, dumbass. Posting your geeked-out high school picture on a public MySpace profile does not constitute privacy. That is public domain, and thereby fair game. Just like Britney Spears flashing her bootwagga in public and expecting that to stay private.

Popular consensus is that he is more embarrassed that some docs may have seen it, and their impression of him being a fearless, strong, and studly leader is now being called into question (much like Britney's taco shots changed people's impressions of her being a exemplary parent).

However, it's given me a great idea for Nurses' Week...but I won't be able to do it until next year.

Incidentally, Bosshole deleted his MySpace account.

On the Verge of an Insomniac Meltdown

I have never, ever had a problem falling asleep at night on my nights off. Until now.

It's just after 6am, and I haven't been to sleep since yesterday. I should be tired, but I am WIDE AWAKE!!

I watched a couple episodes of Heroes on my iPod, hoping that I would be sleepy when I was done. Nope. The battery on the iPod wore down before I did.

I think I may try some pharmaceutical intervention. I know I have some Benadryl, and I think I have some Ambien left over. I won't take them together, but it's good to know I have options.

It's been this way for the past two weeks. TWO WEEKS!! This is crap.

Nurse Follies: I (Heart) Triple Bypass Surgery

It's that time of year when folks around the hospital flex their fundraising muscles for the annual AHA Heart Walk. I didn't realize how big a deal it was until I became a nurse and wasn't so focused on school. This is a REALLY BIG DEAL. Teams are formed. Fundraisers out the wazoo. I've seen auctions for dates (usually with annoying residents and nurses), raffles for various arts and crafts, vote for cutest pet/baby/etc, jewelry, but the most popular fundraisers have something to do with food.

The American Heart Association makes these recommendations on their website for dietary guidelines.

-> Vegetables and fruits are high in vitamins, minerals and fiber — and they’re low in calories.
-> Unrefined whole-grain foods contain fiber that can help lower your blood cholesterol and help you feel full, which may help you manage your weight.
-> Eat fish at least twice a week. Recent research shows that eating oily fish containing omega-3 fatty acids (for example, salmon, trout, and herring) may help lower your risk of death from coronary artery disease.

-> Choose lean meats and poultry without skin and prepare them without added saturated and trans fat.
-> Select fat-free, 1 percent fat, and low-fat dairy products.
-> Cut back on foods containing partially hydrogenated vegetable oils to reduce trans fat in your diet.
-> Cut back on foods high in dietary cholesterol. Aim to eat less than 300 milligrams of cholesterol each day.
-> Cut back on beverages and foods with added sugars.
-> Choose and prepare foods with little or no salt. Aim to eat less than 2,300 milligrams of sodium per day.
-> If you drink alcohol, drink in moderation. That means one drink per day if you’re a woman and two drinks per day if you’re a man.

Fundraisers around the hospital, however, include the sale of the following:

-> Fudge and chocolate dipped confections

-> Breakfast burritos

-> Nachos

-> Hot dogs

-> Frozen custard

-> Pizza

-> Cookies, Cakes ala Bake Sale

I don't think we'll be seeing a fundraiser featuring broccoli or shredded wheat anytime soon..not unless it's swaddled in melted cheese or chocolate.

Methinks that anyone who actually participates in the Heart Walk is not only doing so to benefit the AHA, but sort of needs to in order to walk off all the crap they ate in the name of charitable contribution.

Provided they haven't been wheeled into a cath lab first.

A Leisurely Visit to Walmart and Other Blathering

Today is a day of firsts. Well, maybe just one first. A first I have never, ever encountered before in all my driver's license days.

My due date for an oil change came before the mileage said it was time. Usually, I hit the mileage mark a month and a half for the change the oil date rolls around. My oil change date is today, and I've got 750 miles to spare. Being the procrastinator I am, I probably won't get around to getting said oil change until those 750 miles are up. I'm a bad, bad girl.

I took a nap last night after Woody left. Watching him work made me tired. I woke up around 11pm, wide awake and bushy-tailed. I watched some television, poked around the house, then decided a trip to Walmart was in order. I needed eggs.

I used to go grocery shopping late, late at night on my shifts off. I preferred it. No crowds, no screaming children throwing the mother of all tantrums because they can't have a toy, only to see the parent buy them the toy just to shut them up. It wasn't until I ran into a cheating smarmy ex-boyfriend stocking shelves at Walmart one night, that I curtailed my late night shopping excursions.

But now, I am cursed with the night shift curse, and for the life of me, I can't sleep at night. Off to Wally World I went. Say what you want about Walmart being the axis of evil, but they are cheap, and my checkbook tells me where I have to shop. Maybe if I got a roommate, I could afford a place more upscale...like Target.

I ended up buying more than eggs. I bought a bunch of other stuff, too. Inspired by The D, I've decided to make a conscientious effort to eat better and get more exercise. A while ago, I did this diet, and I lost a shit ton of weight in a short amount of time. I attribute most of it to a diet supplement I took that had ephedra in it before it was banned (damn FDA). I'm going to do this diet again sans the supplements.

New diet includes:
No fried foods, only baked or grilled
No fast food
No soda...unless it's diet, and only occasionally.
No concentrated sweets
Limit eating out to once a week or less, but still adhering to the previous guidelines
No more ordering out at work
Daily vitamin supplements

I used to run. I used to rollerblade. I used to do all kinds of fun stuff that active people do. Then, I had to go blow out my knee during a hot yoga session. I had reconstructive surgery using innovative, exciting technology, and my leg hasn't been the same since. When you have to stand and remind your legs how to climb and descend stairs, you know it's not good. It's depressing. I don't have knee pain anymore, but I don't have a fully functioning knee either. Crappy tradeoff, if you ask me. So, I have weights and a big workout ball. I miss the rollerblades.

It's now morning, so I am going to go back to bed. I will get up later and plant my tomatoes and herbs. Maybe make my weekly pilgrimage to Lowes.

Good night!

High on Grass

My friend, Woody, came over this evening because he wanted to mow the yard. That's not a euphemism for anything...he really wanted to mow the lawn. Woody is one of those strange, rare people who have fabulous work ethic, not to mention he owed me for helping him move into his new house while having to deal with some crazy, psychotic bitch who thought I was snaking in on her man...never mind the fact that they weren't even dating. Moving while dealing with raving lunatics is a very hard task because you have to pack things neatly into boxes instead of throwing items at the head of said crazy person...

But I digress...

At any rate, Woody stopped by and I introduced him to the lawn mower. My mower has a two-pull start guarantee. If it takes more than two pulls to start it, I'm supposed to send it back to the manufacturer so they can fix it. I don't think the two-pull guarantee takes into account that some people just can't start a mower because they are big pansies. Woody finally gets the mower to start on the forth pull, after I tell him to put some effort into it.

So, he mows the grass while I watch. This really isn't great entertainment for me, but he was insistent on doing this because he allegedly loves to do yard work. I just move a bunch of items for planting to the back deck, because tomorrow, I'm planting a small garden.

After he is finished, I give Woody a glass of refreshing filtered ice water. We chat about people we knew and used to hang out with, where they have gone. Thankfully, he didn't broach the subject of sex again. I think we've moved past that, or at least, I hope.

Tomorrow, I will be planting my tomatoes so that there will be an abundance of World Famous Fresh Garden Salsa in this house. I may even go looking at more light fixtures, and squeezing a nap in there somewhere.

Bang, Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down

X-man posted his thoughts on gun control in a very passionate post. I don't necessarily agree with his views, but far be it for me to tell him that he's wrong. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, much like the right to bear arms. I suspect you can take that or leave it as well.

I used to be a strong advocate of gun control for a couple days before I thought about it. Whenever there is a shooting of the magnitude of Virginia Tech, or even small-scale like Ward Parkway, the first knee-jerk reaction is to ban the guns. Take all the guns away, and the world can leave in peace, harmony and unicorns.

So, pass more laws. Make the wait time longer, the screening process more stringent, have more classes and training for those who want to own. Set the bar higher for law-abiding citizens to obtain a gun. I have no issues with that. In fact, I would even support legislation barring anyone with a mental illness from owning a firearm. Harsh, maybe. Infringe on the privacy of one's medical records, perhaps. I'm perfectly okay with that.

Maybe if laws were in place that prohibited Schizophrenic Stanley from buying a gun, Virginia Tech and Ward Parkway could have been avoided. Actually, they probably would have been avoided if assholes in government wouldn't have slashed funding to mentally ill treatment and programs so people like Cho and Logsdon could have gotten proper help, instead of finding their therapy in a hail of gunfire.

But what about those people who get guns without going through the proper channels? Those with felonies who also happen to own one. Drug dealers? I'm sure they are not registered (unless they are registered sex offenders). I'm pretty confident most those people bought their guns from some dumbass who sells them from the trunk of his car, his main source of income while he's trying to get his rap career off the ground. Pass thousands of gun control laws, and these people will still be able to buy guns as easily as I can go to Hi-Vee and buy a loaf of bread.

Not everyone is gun-owner material. Owning a gun is an immense responsibility. Just because the constitution says we can, doesn't mean we have to. I grew up around guns, my father was an avid hunter and sportsman. My brothers and I were brought up with the clear understanding of what they meant, what they could do...complete with a reverent demeanor when we were handling them (i.e. no clowning around). My brothers own guns. I do not (but I have been through gun safety classes anyway). It's a personal choice we all must make, but not a choice we have to force upon everyone else.

We do need gun control, but focus on the ones who shouldn't have them, and not the law-abiding citizens who do. We also need to remember personal accountability and that guns don't kill people, people kill people. Take away all the guns in the world, people will still be murdered in senseless acts of violence. People will have to find something else to blame instead of blaming it on the asshat that caused it. We've turned into a nation of pussies with no personal responsibility. A country of victims, and it makes me ill.

Proof That Kansas Citians Can Be Just As Crazy As Everyone Else

I woke up from my nap and discovered that there's a shooting going on at Ward Parkway Mall. I was just there a couple weeks ago when I took a friend to buy flip-flops to wear for his injured foot. My first thought...this is going to make for a fun night at work. Money says press will be camped out in the lobby when I go in tonight. Fun. For. Us.

Without knowing the specifics, I can only guess about the nature of the shooting. Some fucktard with a gun who thinks the only way to make his mark on the world is to open fire in a public place.

I blame the idiots in the media for sensationalizing this crap. I blame NBC for assaulting us with visions of that crazy asshat responsible for the Virginia Tech shootings two seconds after the last victim fell. Simple-minded peons now know how to get their faces on every major network without having to go through mindless auditions for crappy reality shows.

I'm sure Kay "Where's Waldo" Barnes is finally getting her wish of Kansas City center-stage of national attention. I'm also fairly certain that this isn't what she had in mind.

Sad and Hysterical at the Same Time

I have a Myspace page...and it's not very exciting. I did manage to find a few people I went to high school with, which was good, because now I'm hoping that someone will tell me when the next reunion is, and I don't have to hear about it after the fact.

Anyway...

Sometimes, when I am bored, I will do just a general search...of people I went to college with, of people who work where I work. The other night, lo and behold, I stumbled across my Bosshole's Myspace page. And I thought my page was lame...sheesh.

The dude has no friends. NO FRIENDS! Not even that Tom guy who appears whenever you set up an account. Tom is everyone's friend, but Tom is not Bosshole's friend. Bosshole has zero friend count. How sad is that?

He has some pics, and he looked like a scrawny geek in high school...and I felt sorry for him for, like, two seconds. Something tells me he was beat up a lot, or at least a swirly or two. I also get the feeling that he could easily kick my ass at video games.

(I'm still working on interview questions, so for those who requested it, I haven't forgotten about you...)

The Big Five from the Big D

So...my secret blog boyfriend, The D, had this interview thing that he picked up...and as with most things you just happen to pick up, it was contagious and I caught it. I invited him to interview me in the same manner he was interviewed. Would he have the guts to ask the hard-hitting questions? You decide.

1. You’re a nurse more specifically you’re a cardiac nurse. Why did you decide on nursing as a profession and why a cardiac nurse as opposed to an ER or some other specialty?
My original plan was to be a band teacher or an English teacher. I loved music (I kicked major ass playing drums) and I loved to write. My family life was so crappy, that I would just hide in my room and write...short stories, long stories, or just journal about how crappy my family life was. It gave me an escape from said crappy life, not to mention it cut down on the time I had to deal with an alcoholic and sometimes inappropriate father.

I wish I could say that I was called to nursing by some great and benevolent agenda. After my dad died, becoming a nurse seemed a sensible choice. I would always have a job no matter where I went, it paid well, and I was good at it. Sometimes I make a difference. Sometimes, what I do is in vain. Sometimes, people get well and go on to be happy and productive. Other times, patients might get a little better, then go out in the world and resume the same shithead habits and I see them a month or two later...and it's back to square one. I come to one great and universal truth. The good die young and they are missed. The assholes live forever with the singular purpose of making my job a nightmare. The ones who are grateful are few and far between. Everyone else is just looking for a reason to sue so they don't have to work again.

In my perfect world, I would love to work more with transplants. People who give the gift of life and those who are blessed. I have been fortunate to be able to stand on all sides: to be asked to give that gift (which I ignorantly declined...a decision I regret each day), to see the skilled hands that make this happen (I got to stand in on an organ retrieval), and to see what happens when a person receives that second chance at life (through the experiences of my best friend, Kathryn). However, to work in such a field requires experience in certain fields: cardiac, critical care, etc. This is why I work where I work. I love my place of employment, but I hate the floor I work on. It's a means to an end. I'm not an adrenaline junkie, which is why I stay far away from the ER.

Truth be told, my first love is, and always will be, writing.

2. Why did you start blogging? What makes you keep doing it?
I have journaled for as long as I can remember. My church is big into journaling and keeping records, so that was a no-brainer. I started writing on legal notepads, then graduated to bound journals I bought at Office Max when I could afford it. I have volumes stored away that I like to go back and read. It's funny to go back and read about things I thought dire ten years ago, only to see them as stupid. I was such a dumbass in my younger years.

I started this blog a few years ago, wrote a couple posts, then just sort of forgot about it. It wasn't until Kant and her family started blogging that I got back in the saddle. I've not written in my journals since, but instead just blogged. I haven't come to that point where I am completely open in my blog, as I was when I journaled. I should be, but I am a big, fat chickenshit. Maybe someday I will be brave.

Everyone should journal in one form or another. It's your own personal history, and it's far more interesting than the regurgitated information you read in some boring history book. Sometimes, I wonder what my posterity will think of me when they read my writings. Probably that I am, indeed, a dumbass.

3. Have you ever punched, not slapped, a guy, (family does not count) in the face? Why? Be specific.
I've punched a guy in the gut, and that was once. The unfortunate recipient of my wrath was my dad in one moment of impropriety. Finally sick of the gross overtures, I socked him one. He left me alone after that. Alcoholics are nasty people.

I did throw a roller skate at a boyfriend of mine once when I was 16. It clocked him in the head. He made the mistake of punching me, I guess to show that he was the man or some lame bullshit like that. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the first time he had ever hit a girl. I'm also pretty sure that my reaction was completely different that the others. I jumped to my feet, screamed, "YOU SONOFABITCH!" and tore after him, grabbing the first thing I could scoop up...which happened to be his roller skate. He ran away from me like I was brandishing a big knife. I hurled the skate at him before he had a chance to make it to his room, and it turns out I can throw pretty well.

I immediately broke up with him and started dating another loser.

I've never punched a guy in the face, but if I did, it would totally clean his clock because I've got it like that. You grow up in a house full of boys, you learn to fight like one. No sissy girl fighting for me!!

4. You seem to go on a lot of cruises or at least you have been on more than one. Why cruises? What’s the appeal to you? Convince us (your readers) that we should go on a cruise? Why not just fly to each of these destinations? Would you go on an Alaskan cruise?
For as long as I could remember, I had always wanted to go on a cruise, and it has nothing to do with watching the Love Boat. The time came when I could actually afford to go, so I took Kant with me. I was hooked. I love the idea that my hotel room goes with me no matter where I go. That I can visit many places in one week, to see which places I like better than others so I can return to them for longer visits (by plane). I have been to Belize, Roatan(my favorite), Grand Cayman, St. Thomas, Tortola, Cozumel, Antigua(second favorite), San Juan, and Costa Maya just with the three cruises I have been on. I love the feel of the sea air on my face, the smell, and the sound of the waves as I am sitting on my balcony. I don't really go to the shows, and I don't go because of the food (although some of it is quite good). For the money, cruising is the way to go, and it can be anything you want it to be. It can be romantic, it can be one great big party, it can be relaxing, or it can be all of the above (although I can't personally speak on the romance part...I'm still working on that one.) Not to mention, it's nice having people cater to you for a week...beds made, meals cooked, drinks served.

Because of my love for cruising, I have met a great group of people with my adventures, and I now cruise with them as part of the Cruise Fools. I've booked my forth cruise with them for next year. You should check it out. Great rates, good times, and awesome friends to be found there. Maybe we can even cruise together!

I'd love to take an Alaskan cruise, and someday I will. Right now, I'm all about the Caribbean sun, the turquoise waters, and trying to get scuba lessons done so I can go exploring down where it's hotter, under de water.

5. Money is no object. You have unlimited funds. You have to buy one person one gift. Who is that person? What would you get them? You will never be able to get this person another gift ever.
My mother loves the Caribbean (I turned her into a cruise junkie). I guess I would buy her an island of her very own with all the trimmings...including her own private plane. It's an all-inclusive gift. That way, I can go visit her whenever I want. When I retire, I can go open up my own day spa and live out my days while the rest of civilization destroys itself. In the end, everyone wins.


So, that is the end of my interview. I must say, I expected much tougher questions. So, now I am going to pay this forward and I get to interview someone. Here are the rules:

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.” (If I don't have your email address, leave it in the comment section or click on my profile and send me an email)

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. You will not be able to interview me.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Three Blind Mice

That is the song the ice cream truck plays as it drives up and down my street. Every. Single. Day.

I remember being a kid and almost pissing myself when the ice cream man drove around the neighborhood, and I wasn't alone in my sentiments. If it happened once a week, we considered ourselves blessed. No, I think it is safe to say that he maybe came around once a month. Boy, when he did, the entire neighborhood would whip themselves into a frenzy. We'd stop whatever we were doing and race home to beg and plead with our parents to give us some money so we could go buy something...anything.

"HURRY, MOM. THE ICE CREAM MAN IS DRIVING AWAAYYYYYY!!!!"

Sometimes, we would get money. Sometimes, Mom would fish around in the freezer for some ice cream confection she bought at the grocery store. While reasonable adults would say it's the same damn thing, children would argue that it's not. It was totally and completely different.

For one thing, ice cream from home didn't have all those ice crystals on it the way the stuff from the ice cream man did. Which is funny because a lot of crap that has been sitting in my freezer for months has the same ice crystals on it. Go figure.

In my old age, I have come to view the ice cream truck with a certain degree of scrutiny. Not to mention that the song annoys the piss out of me as I can't seem to get it out of my head long after the truck has gone. He drives by everyday, and I have yet to see the flock of children come storming out of their houses like they had been shot out of a cannon.

I also secretly think that people who drive ice cream trucks are child molesters or something. See...told you I was getting old. Stay away from the Ice Cream Man, kiddies. He's got a secret stash of porn hidden under the orange dreamsicles.

Three Blind Mice...Three Blind Mice...

A Night of Toys, Lube, and Chocolate

Ordinarily, this would qualify as a perfect date for me. However, this is the night I hosted a party. I don't know what you would call it...Toy Party, Naughty Party. Most people know it as Passion Party, but that is a brand name, and this party was done by Edible Ecstasy. More importantly, it was brought to us by Michelle.

I met Michelle at the blogger meet-up, and I liked her right away. So, I felt good about having her come to my house without worrying about being knocked unconscious by a two foot pink jelly dong, and waking up to a cleaned out house.

(The jelly dong does exist, and you could very well knock someone unconscious with it...just so you know.)

My mother came over early to help me with preparations. She found the inflatable sheep I took with me on the cruise (it was party of a slumber party theme activity our group had on the ship) and inflated it. A strong margarita in her system, and she starts dry humping the sheep until I yell at her for doing in front of my very big, very open to the neighborhood, bay window. Luckily, Michelle happened to drive by my house at that moment, so natually she knew it was my house.

Did I mention the neighbor kids were riding their bikes on the street in front of my house at the same time?

My standing in the neighborhood is falling faster than Bush's approval ratings, I just know it.

Others arrive at my party, and they feast on the lavish chocolate fondue spread I have prepared. I love fondue. I made a delicious chocolate turtle fondue with caramel and nuts. I had strawberries, pineapple, brownies, pound cake, and raspberries for dipping.

Michelle gives a presentation of some of things we can purchase. We sample various lubes, lotions, and oils. Marvel at small vibrators. Oohh at the rabbits. Stare in a combination of horror and wonder at the two-foot pink double-ended jelly dong.

And I, being a student of the Kama Sutra, am loving every minute of it. If I had to do it all over again, I would have been a sex therapist. Dr. Ruth would be out of a job.

At the end, Michelle takes orders from my party goers, most of whom are more than willing to share what they ordered, which sort of takes me by surprised because I am not used to women being that open about their toys.

I'm not saying what I ordered, but I will say I got a pretty sweet discount from hosting the party, not to mention some fun freebies.

Michelle did a great job, and it was tons of fun. Book your party with her today!!

A Meeting of the Minds

I went to the Meet and Greet, and predictably...I was late. So, I missed out meeting X-Man, Emaw, and a couple others that left before I even got there.

However, you bitches that didn't show (and you know who you are!)...you owe me a drink!!

Everyone seemed really nice. I was turned on to a couple blogs I hadn't really read before, but will be reading from now on. It's refreshing to know that in a city full of idiots, you can find more than one person who can string together sentences to form intelligent conversation. I was also struck by meeting people who actually knew what was going on in Kansas City government, and were pissed off enough to want to change it.

I didn't have much to say because there was so much to listen to, and I was just taking it all in. Like a buffet for my ears! Maybe next time I will have something clever to say...like enlightening tales of patients who drink their own urine.

Tax Day

As a rule, Tax Day sucks. I have friends who are getting back THOUSANDS, and I get a measly hundred. But then, they have kids, a house, and are going to school.

Today, I went to the bank to deposit a check that Paul (not dating!) gave me for stuff I paid for on the cruise, minus what I owed him for stuff he paid for on the cruise, not to mention the yellow garbage bags his nephews are selling for school fundraiser.

I'm permanently in love with the yellow garbage bags. I can't possibly envision a life without yellow garbage bags in it. That's how you know it's love, people.

Feeling rather industrious, I busted out the ol' Toro and mowed the front lawn. I mulched the big pile of leaves on the side of the house and deposited two more big bags with the other bags that the city failed to pick up on Leaf Day...which makes a total of five bags of mulched leaves, twigs and prickly balls. Just by looking at the back yard, I'd say there is probably at least five more bags of work to do back there.

So, I've decided to go to the KC Blogger Meet and Greet. The Pitch be damned. I'm looking forward to meeting some of my favorite bloggers (showcased in the right column of this blog). It should be fun.

But I am NOT eating a fried bologna sandwich!!!

Annoyed and Hungry

Eating a meal should never, ever be complicated.

I spoke with Paul (not dating!) last night, and I suggested breakfast when I got off work because I was a tard and forgot to bring a lunch. Not that I could have eaten a lunch if I wanted to. I was busy all night. I busted a patient eating Fig Newtons when he should have not been eating anything at all in prep for a test. Honestly, if you are going to be a rebel and buck the medical system, can't you think of something better than a Fig Newton??

At any rate, Paul said "call me in the morning and we'll see..." So, after I was finished with report, I called. He suggested lunch instead. Okay...at least I can go home and take a nap first.

So, I go home, cart heavy bags of mulched leaves to the curb and then fall into bed. I wake up an hour after my alarm is supposed to go off (for some reason, it doesn't). I call Paul and leave a message. He calls back a little later, already out and about running errands. "How about dinner instead?"

Paul: I have a hankering for Mexican. Know any?

Me: I'm sure I can drive around and find one mowing a lawn or something.

Paul: Very funny. What's a good place?

Me: I'm only familiar with what's around work and what's north of the river. Where are you at?

Paul: 119th street

Me: I don't know any Mexican restaurants there.

Silence ensues as dinner is pondered.

Me: Well?

Paul: I'm still here.

Me: Did you decide?

Paul: No... What about Chili's?

Me: (thinking about all that grease) No...I'm not feeling Chili's...What happened to Mexican? Why not Salty Iguana?

More silence...

Me: Hello??

Paul: I'm still here.

Me: Have you decided??

Paul: Not really. I'm hungry.

Me: What are you doing?

Paul: Just driving...

Me: What about Houlihans?

Paul: That's an option...

Me: Where are you at?

Paul: Closer to 135th

Me: WHAAAT! You're driving AWAY?

Paul: Uh-huh.

Me: The further you drive means more time I have to drive to get there AND I have to drive on 435 through evening traffic. AND my hair is still wet.

Paul: There's On The Border.

Me: I hate On The Border. They put onions in everything.

Paul: You're picky.

Me: And you're indecisive. Just pick a place! What happened to Houlihans??

Paul: Dunno. Maybe I should stop at a drive-thru. I'm hungry and I don't want to wait.

Me: Do you want to just go home?

Paul: I don't want you to drive in all that traffic.

Me: (clearly annoyed) Just say you don't want to have dinner, and don't feed me any lines.

Paul: There's a lot of traffic...

Me: Grrrr.

Paul: How about a rain check?

Me: If you're lucky...

So, it is finalized that the meal that has been in the planning stages all day has been cancelled due to an impasse. I'm pretty cranky because I haven't eaten since yesterday (unless you count a Rice Crispy treat another nurse brought in).

Some hours later, and I am still fuming.

I'm going to go have an egg sandwich.

Queen of Procrastination and Other Blather

A long weekend at work capped off by a code blue that I somehow missed because I was in a room doing other things. I'm sort of glad I missed it...I hate codes.

Taxes due tomorrow, and I have yet to do them. I'm pretty sure I know where the paperwork is. Maybe I will just file an extension so I can procrastinate even more. My return won't be stellar, but that could change next year because of the whole house-thing.

When I went to bed this morning, the news reports from Virginia Tech's shooting said three people dead. I wake up and now it's 33. What the hell is wrong with people?!? Now that this is going to be in the news on every single station, the whole Don Imus thing is going to become pretty dead. I bet Al Sharpton is going to be pissed, unless he can put some sort of spin on the situation and make it all about race. Famewhore!!

I think I may attend the KC Blogger Meet and Greet tomorrow evening. I said I would buy The D a belated birthday drink. I don't have anything else to do tomorrow night anyway.

Today was supposed to have been Leaf Day, but I look out the window and see the bags of leaves still sitting in front of my house. I'm not alone...bundles of sticks and bags of leaves spot the entire landscape of my neighborhood. I wonder what happened. I wonder if those asshats that work for the city forgot about Leaf Day. They better come pick this crap up. I'll be damned if I am going to cart those heavy bitches back to my storage shed.

At Last!!

I have finally found a name for those little prickly bastards all over my back yard. Sweet Gum Balls...hailing from a Sweet Gum Tree. Apparently, they produce pretty leaves, particularly in the fall, in addition to those annoying little balls that fall to the ground.

Two fully grown Sweet Gum trees in my yard = hundreds, if not thousands, of prickly balls in my back yard.

Monday is Leaf day. I have to have all my bags of leaves out front for the garbage man to pick up. I'm limited to twenty bags. I've got five bags so far, and a shit ton of leaves and those annoying balls still laying around the back yard. With all the rain, not to mention cold, I haven't been able to go outside and finish the job. So, this could mean I just put what I have out on Monday, collect the rest and keep it stored in my shed until the next Leaf day...which won't be until the fall.

Meanwhile, the grass seed I spread is sprouting...sparsely. At some point, I'm going to have to break out the mower and trim my new grass...which will be the equivalent of trimming the five remaining hairs left on a bald man's head. Just a trim, mind you. I wouldn't want the yard (or the guy's head) to look bald.

I can't wait for the weather to get back to normal so I can resume work on the yard. It looks so bad right now, if there were a rusted out car sitting there, it would all look appropriate.

Nevermind!! Found a Translator!!

This paper was turned in by an Oakland High school student who received the highest honors at the school district’s Ebonics translation competition.

Assignment: Please translate the following Rap song lyrics from Ebonics to standard English.
Artist: Notorious B.I.G.
Album: Ready to Die
Song: One more chance (remix)



Lyrics:
First things first, I poppa, freaks all the honeys
Dummies - playboy bunnies, those wantin’ money
Those the ones I like ‘cause they don’t get nathan’
But penetration, unless it smells like sanitation
Garbage, I turn like doorknobs
Heart throb, never, black and ugly as ever
However, I stay coochied down to the socks
Rings and watch filled with rocks

TRANSLATION:
As a general rule, I perform deviant sexual acts with women of all kinds, including but not limited to those with limited intellect, nude magazine models, and prostitutes. I particularly enjoy sexual encounters with the latter group as they are generally disappointed in the fact that they only receive penile intercourse and nothing more, unless of course, they douche on a consistent basis. Although I am extremely unattractive, I am able to engage in these types of sexual acts with some regularity. Perhaps my sexuality is somehow related to my fancy and expensive jewelry.


Lyrics:
And my jam knock in the Mitsubishi
Girls pee pee when they see me, Nava-hoes creep me in they tee pee
As I lay down laws like I lay carpet
Stop it - if you think your gonna make a profit

TRANSLATION:
I enjoy playing my music loudly on my car stereo. Apparently, women enjoy this also because they become sexually aroused when they see me driving. Oddly enough, when I visit the Native American reservations, some of the more sexually promiscuous Indian women attempt to seduce me in their homes. Their intent is to divest me of my earnings. Such actions are unacceptable.


Lyrics:
Don’t see my ones, don’t see my guns - get it
Now tell ya friends Poppa hit it then split it
In two as I flow with the Junior Mafia
I don’t know what the hell’s stoppin’ ya
I’m clockin’ ya - Versace shades watchin’ ya
Once ya grin, I’m in game, begin

TRANSLATION:
Understand this fact: you can have neither my money, nor my weapons. I suggest that you inform your peers that we engaged in violent sexual acts. Currently, I am rapping with my associates, the Junior Mafia. I’m having some difficulty understanding why you refuse to approach me. I am attempting to make eye contact with you through my expensive glasses, and as soon as you respond with a smile, I will approach you.


Lyrics:
First I talk about how I dress and this
And diamond necklaces - stretch Lexuses
The sex is just immaculate from the back I get
Deeper and deeper - help ya reach the
Climax that your man can’t make
Call and tell him you’ll be home real late
Let’s sing the break

TRANSLATION:
I prefer to open the conversation with light banter about my wardrobe and jewelry, then I like to discuss my collection of expensive cars. This is more than enough to convince you to have sexual intercourse with me. I am able to insert my penis further into you when I enter you from behind. Furthermore, you will be able to reach orgasm. I understand this to be a problem with your current sexual partner. He needn’t be concerned about your whereabouts. Please phone him and inform him that you won’t be home for a while. By the way, please sing the chorus of the song for me also.


Lyrics:
She’s sick of that song on how it’s so long
Thought he worked his until I handled my biz
There I is - major pain like Damon Wayans
Low down dirty even like his brother Keenan
Schemin’ - don’t bring your girl ‘round me
True player for real, ask Puff Daddy

TRANSLATION:
Your current love interest no longer wishes to hear your fabrications about the length of your member. After I had sexual intercourse with your woman, she became enlightened as to the proper way it is supposed to be performed; violently and immorally. It would be in your best interest to keep your woman away from me as my sexual prowess is very strong. If you are unconvinced, ask Puff Daddy.


Lyrics:
You - ringin’ bells with bags from Chanel
Baby Benz, traded in your Hyundai Excel
Fully equipped, CD changer with the cell
She beeped me, meet me at twelve

TRANSLATION:
Despite the fact that you attempted to win her at her doorstep with bags full of expensive clothes and a car (the lower end model Mercedes Benz which you financed by signing over your current vehicle) containing an expensive stereo and a cellular phone, your woman has contacted me through my pager indicating that we should rendezvous at midnight.


Lyrics:
Where you at? Flippin’ jobs, playin’ car notes?
While I’m swimmin’ in ya women like the breast stroke
Right stroke, left stroke what’s the best stroke
Death stroke - tongue all down her throat
Nuthin’ left to do but send her home to you
I’m through - can ya sing the song for me, boo?

TRANSLATION:
You, on the other hand, jump from job to job, barely able to maintain payments on the Mercedes Benz you purchased for your woman. Meanwhile, I continue to engage in sexual intercourse and commit lewd osculatory acts with your women. My only remaining option is to request that she leave my home and return to you because I have reached orgasm and no longer have a need for her presence.


Lyrics:
So, what’s it gonna be? Him or me?
We can cruise the world with pearls
Gator boots for girls
The envy of all women, crushed linen
Cartier wrist-wear with diamonds in ‘em
The finest women I love with a passion
Ya man’s a wimp, I give that ass a good thrashin’

TRANSLATION:
The ultimate decision rests with you. Whom do you choose as your sexual partner. I can take you on cruises around the world. I will dress you in the finest jewelry and footwear. You will be envied by women worldwide in your fine clothes and jewelry. There is a special place in my heart for beautiful women. I will defeat your man in an altercation because he is effeminate.


Lyrics:
High fashion - flyin’ into all states.
Sexin’ me while your man masturbates.
Isn’t this great? Your flight leaves at eight.
Her flight lands at nine, my game just rewinds.
Lyrically I’m supposed to represent.
I’m not only the client, I’m the player president

TRANSLATION:
You will be dressed in finest clothes on the runways of Paris. I will fly you to every state to shop for fine clothes and jewelry. You will enjoy sexual intercourse with me and your man will be forced to pleasure himself through manual stimulation. What a life! I’ll return you to LaGuardia in time to catch your 8 o’clock flight. The timing is perfect because I have scheduled a date with a second woman who arrives at the same gate at 9 o’clock. I’ll seduce her in the same way that I seduced you. I rap well and I am a positive reflection of my home town. Not only am I a sexually deviant, misogynistic, immoral, wealthy, male prostitute, but I also sit on the board of directors of the organization that governs others of my kind.

Need a Translator!

You owe a nigga? You don't wanna pay him?

Kill him, that's what they said ta ta disappear him

Y'all ain't got to believe me

When I'm done with this rhyme if theres time I'll hit a flick

Wit Mariella this connect bitch, Peruvian chick

She ain't hot but everytime I fuck the coke right drops

When it's time to get it on (what)

I pull over the thong (uh huh)

Fuck till I nut then get up, I'm gone (yeah)

Usualy hit it watchin tele way out in L.A.

I like it when she say "Papi I feel it in my Belly"

Call up all my niggaz in New York on the celly

First thing I'm sayin is "Nigga what da deally"

Pack a trey pound up under my Pelle Pelle

Y'all niggaz want war, clap clap, Oh really?

I watch niggaz slang packs in front of the deli

Got 20 inch chrome sittin on my perili

Lorenzo on the Benzo nigga you feel me?

50 Cent "You Ain't No Gangsta"

Get a blunt, roll the weed, light it up nigga,

Sipping on Gin and Juice fill up your cups nigga,

The Westcoast back crackin' like it's 94',

So bitch get on your knees and give me head like it's 94',

And don't come up for air 'til the beat drop,

I'm the Doctors Advocate call it a sneak peak,

at the mudafukn Detox, take note grab a pen,

And let the world know the west is ridin' again,

I Graduated from Dre's school top of my class,

Treat my switches like my bitches got me dropping that ass,

Still bangin' the chronic like doggiestyle came with it,

And I roll a sticky on my bitch back while I hit it,

I done been there, done that, had beefs and won that,

5 million records on 1 plaque I hung that,

Still got Dr. Dre low ridin' in the 64',

When you see us, throw it up for the fukin' Westcoast.

The Game "California Vacation"

Now you know and I know

Rule number one, you can't trust no ho

Now you can get caught up in the mix real fast

The ho gon' slip away and get away with all your cash

You got to stay upon your toes when it come to hos

I bust a brand new ho in every video

That's on the Pound and the Row when the wind blow

I pass a ho to my kinfolk

and then smoke

She say she was no groupie, coochie lookin juicy

She say she never ate a dick before but she gon' do me

Right before she do me, I blaze up a lupi

then turn on some Snoopy and, uhh, heat up jacuzzi

and later on I might just turn on a movie

so you can regroupie and redo me just for Snoopy

Snoop Dogg "Groupie"

"That's some nappy-headed hos there. I'm gonna tell you that now, man, that's some -- woo. And the girls from Tennessee, they all look cute, you know, so, like -- kinda like -- I don't know."

Don Imus: Imus in the Morning, April 4, 2007

Thank GOD they fired Don Imus. This sexist and racist pig was the biggest wrench in the machine of equality for all mankind. Had he not been fired, I'm confident that he would set the women's movement back 50 years. Lord only knows what he would have done to the African American population.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Farewell to a Good Lady

I was checking my email when a friend and fellow cruiser emailed me info about a possible excursion for my next cruise. Then, her last lines were along the lines of "...I'm going on a cruise in June to spread CeCe's ashes."

What!?! Way to tell me a friend died. I had to look in the Star's obit section to find out when...March 30th.

You might say that if I was such a friend, why didn't I know when it happened? CeCe was a lady I used to work with. She was quirky, but she was always nice, and I considered her a friend. We spent some weekends at the lake together with some other coworkers. She had breast cancer, and that is what took her in the end.

So, I was annoyed that no one contacted me about it (I knew she had been pretty sick as of late), so I missed the funeral...which made me sad.

I been bummed all day. Breast cancer is a bitch.

CeCe had been hoping to cruise again, to Alaska. Looks like she will get her wish after all.

A Productive Day

I've had a productive day...by my standards.

I went and had lunch with Trish at Houlihans. My most favorite restaurant, home of the delicious Key Lime Martini...or so I have heard.

Then, I was able to go to the store and buy some garbage bags, and a shitload of Dum-Dums that were marked down for Easter. I'm going to take them to work and hand them out to staff and residents.

After that, I took Kant back to the airport so she could go home to Atlanta...where I'm sure it's a helluva lot warmer than it is here.

I read a book, Tickle His Pickle. Just because you are older doesn't mean you should ever stop learning.

I downloaded a bunch more songs to my iPod...and the last episode of Heroes. My latest infatuation with music right now is that of the tango genre (not whiskey tango). I've been wanting to take tango lessons for so long, but I'm somewhat reticent to take lessons without a partner. Maybe someday, the right partner will come along. Good dance partners are hard to find. I had one once, but then he had to go get married. Women are funny when it comes to their husbands dancing with other women, even if there is nothing funny going on.

Now, I'm just sitting here, listening to my tunes. It was a good day.

A New Look

So, I decided to change things up a little because I've kept with the same look since this blog's inception.

I hope everyone likes the new look. The biggest changes I may make now are to the quotes under the title. George Carlin is my favorite. He is a level of sarcasm that I one day aspire to.

Enjoy!

Blogger Meet and Greet

So, it's all over the blogdom about the KC Blogger Meet and Greet. My paranoid side thinks this is all a ploy to get me to leave the house. There is some safety in blogging as it affords you a certain degree in anonymity. However, if one tried really hard, my identity wouldn't be too difficult to ascertain. The only person I know who doesn't read my blog is my mother. She thinks it's an intrusion, as if she were reading my diary or something. A diary that hundreds of strangers read...

But still...

Here's the info in the event anyone who reads this blog (and hasn't heard of the event that is growing bigger and faster than a turd rolling downhill) might like to go and meet their favorite bloggers...or just go and give them the finger for writing something that may have damaged their delicate ego.

Tuesday, April 17th
Happy Hour until ????
Harry’s Country Club(Harry’s in the River Market, NOT Harry’s in Westport)
112 Missouri Ave
Kansas City, MO 64106

I'm still considering whether to go or not. I'm such a chicken when it comes to these sort of things.

When "I told you so" just seems so obvious...

What did I tell you? Sometimes, it hurts to be right.

Money says the family will be putting up the for sale sign by the end of the year.

Slap Happy, Wet, and Full of Ham

I've been awake for a total of 28 hours. I'm so tired, I can't fall asleep. Something tells me I will be hitting the Benadryl tonight.

After work this morning, I stopped by my mother's apartment for last minute preparations for today's Easter Feast (Yeah, I know, Easter is tomorrow...). Mom stopped to show me her new prescription bottles she just picked up. One bottle of diabetic meds, one bottle of thyroid meds. The pills in both bottles were exactly the same. We deduced that some pinhead at the pharmacy filled both bottles with the diabetic pills.

Off to the Walmart pharmacy we go.

I'm still in scrubs, looking the part of the scowling nurse. I ask to speak to the pharmacist there and I get the manager of the whole department. I show her the bottles, show her the pills, and she damn near pisses her pants. She's stumbling all over herself apologizing, gives Mom a free month of meds, plus a $25 gift card. Mom is elated. I demand to know how this med error occurred, and the pharmacist agrees that it was some pinhead who wasn't paying attention, and assured me that this would be taken to the home office for further scrutiny.

"I shouldn't have to tell you how serious this could have been," I said somberly.

We pick up some last minute stuff and I go home. I'm thinking I get at least a tiny nap in, but people start arriving the second I crawl into bed. Not fair!!

Family arrives, we prepare the meal, featuring a delicious ham from the HoneyBaked Ham store. An egg hunt, squealing children hopped up on all kinds of chocolate, and I am about ready to pass out.

My last guest leaves around 6:30pm. My house looks like a hurricane blew through it, leaving paper cups, empty soda cans, and a buttload of leftovers I'm not going to be able to eat. Looks like I will be toting some of it to work tomorrow night. I hope they like fruit salad.

On a brighter note, I have efficiently rationed out the remaining beer leftover from the housewarming party. Some people like beer better than chocolate rabbits.

On a more annoying note, I got a call from work. The bosshole was wondering why I wasn't on the schedule for tonight. If the bosshole would check his mailbox more often, he would have known I traded shifts with another nurse so I could be off tonight.

And on a more disappointing note, someone gave Sam a plateful of leftovers. At least he was outside, because the leftovers disrupted his delicate digestive tract and he had explosive diarrhea in the back yard. My last chore before I turn in the for the next 12 hours, was to bathe the dog...and I always end up with more soap and water on me, than he.

I'm so exhausted. Time to find that Benadryl.

Happy Easter!

Way to Represent!!

After a two-hour long spiel from the water softener guy who came to my house (I did end up buying a system, in case you were wondering), I skimmed through the channels to see what was on. The Bachelor was on channel 9, and just like any other tragic, mangled car accident on I-70, I had to stop and look.

Fortunately, I only caught the tail end, thereby saving me from watching a bunch of famewhore pinheads flip their hair, laugh at lame jokes and witticisms, and subtly (or not subtly) convey to the bachelor in question that they put out on the first date...and they take it in the butt.

No, I only got to see the Most. Dramatic. Rose. Ceremony. Ever. It's always fun to watch the rejects. Some cry, some shrug and move on with life, some are relieved. Or, someone has a complete psychotic breakdown. Lindsay, from Lawrence, Kansas. Crying, cursing, and just an overall sore loser. She confirmed pretty much what everyone has suspected about people from Lawrence.

They are completely insane.

So, here's to you, Lindsay, for setting a fine example, and representing the town who is desperately trying to rid itself of it's already crappy reputation. I'm sure the university won't think you are a complete idiot. Guys won't have to date you first before they find out you are Psycho Girlfriend because, thanks to your toddler tantrum on television, they will already know.

This is still the lamest show on the planet.

A House Is Not a Home Until People Pass Out In It

Thursday night was the big Housewarming party. I went to a lot of trouble in preparations. I provided burgers, dogs, buns, and a shit ton of beer. I have a shit ton of beer left. What the hell am I going to do with a shit ton of beer?? There's only so much beer I can put on my hair to make it soft and shiny.

Surely I can find a home for a case of Bud Lite. Will trade for Dr. Pepper!!

I told people to bring side dish, dessert, or some other beverage in the event they didn't like beer. Most people like beer, which is why I provided it. I wanted to be a good hostess and be accommodating. So, when I went to the store before the party to buy said beverages, naturally the elderly couple standing in front of me at the checkout were Mormon missionaries from Utah. They glanced back at my cart, eyeing my contents.

Lite Beer
Potatoes
Wheat Beer
Fruit Salad
Tequila
Frozen fish sticks
Blue Curacao
Diet Dr. Pepper (free with coupon!)
fingernail file

I could tell by the look on their faces that they were sizing me up as a Midwestern Lush and were debating whether to hand me a Book of Mormon or not.

So, party time arrives and so do people. Fortunately, it stopped raining for my party so we were able to grill out. Everyone brought food, and there was TONS of food. More on that later.

Party winds down so there is only a handful of night shift nurses there. Someone notices the unopened bottle of tequila and thinks shots are a fine idea. After half the bottle is consumed, music is played and said nurses decide to dance in my living room. And the window shade was open.

I'm pretty convinced I've been branded the neighborhood lesbian. As if my dating life sucked before...I'm never going to land another date until I'm in a nursing home and the only guy who is interested is senile...and impotent. His only attraction to me will be my big hooters...which will be hanging down to my knees by then.

Eventually, the rest of the tequila bottle is drained, and three of us remain. I hide the keys of one who is entertaining the thought of driving home. She passes out on the couch. Red and I sit on the back deck and lament at how lame relationships are before she adjourns to the spare room, and me to my room.

I'm pretty sure I called Paul's house, but I don't know what sort of message I left.

Then, I proceed to vomit with the force of a F-16. Feeling better about life, I went to bed.

The next morning, I tried the throw up my pancreas, but all that came out was stomach bile and water. That taste was hideous, so then I was just tossing air. I was clinging to the toilet lid for support because when I throw up, I put my whole body into it...which is why I would never make a good bulimic.

Still in good hostess mode, I went downstairs and made my guests each a breakfast sandwich (I washed my hands first). They went home, and I went back upstairs and threw up the breakfast sandwich. By this time, I have popped all kinds of little blood vessels in and around my eyes and I look like someone has beat me in the face. Life isn't so great anymore, so I fall asleep by the toilet.

So, I've been going between extreme nausea, and extreme vomiting all day. Remember all that food my guests brought? Well, they left it all here. Whenever I would open the fridge for a Sprite or some Gatorade, the sights and smells would hit me, and off to the bathroom I would go.

Serves me right, I know.

I'm never, ever, ever going to touch tequila again. The mere thought of it makes me want to go visit my porcelain best friend. My stomach has a memory, so if someone tries to give me a drink with tequila in it...rest assured they are going to be barfed on.

Next time I have a gathering, I'm drinking Crystal lite...in water.

A Conversation on Elections

Paul: Your new mayor is rather ugly.
Me: Oh, so Funkhouser won?
Paul: I bet he's tall. He looks like he would be tall.
Me: (singing) We want the Funk!
Paul: Oohh...that McFadden Weaver lost big.
Me: Because she's corrupt.
Paul: What?
Me: She's crooked.
Paul: She looks pretty round to me.

Nurse Follies: Scheduling

On my floor, we practice the fine and rare art of self-scheduling. What this means, is that a blank draft schedule gets posted on the bulletin board and each staff member has almost two weeks to fill in which shifts they want to work. All nurses are required to work at least two weekend shifts within a four week schedule period. Most nurses are good about adhering to this requirement. However, there are some nurses who feel that going out and partying every weekend takes priority and simply will not willingly sign up for any weekend shift. This is where I come in.

Myself, along with another nurse whom I dub Red, do the scheduling for nights. What this means, is that after the two weeks are up and everyone has signed up for their shifts, Red and I sit down with the schedule and try to balance it out. When we have enough staff, it's cake. When we are working with a skeleton crew because everyone has hit burnout and quit, working on the schedule becomes as desirable as a root canal, and it take much longer. You will have one day where twelve nurses sign up to work, then only two nurses for the following day.

There are certain variables that come into play when we create the master schedule. Vacation time, request days off, specialized training, and skill level. Approved paid time off gets priority because that is handed down from the bosshole. Request days off are simply a way of saying, "I would really like to have this day off, but I don't want to use up my PTO. So, could you really not put me down to work on this day, mmkay?"

The understood rule is that while we try to honor the requests off, there is a risk of being moved to that shift if there is no other alternative. The second understood rule is that while we will also try to keep a nurse on the shifts she/he signs up for, they will be moved if it is needed...but only as a last resort. However, to make it fair, we make a list and keep track of who has been moved. That way, no one nurse is moved more than another.

This is why self-scheduling is a rare art. People are inevitably going bitch, and no one wants to listen to it. Every. Single. Month.

But I am an asshole (Red is coming along nicely in her asshole training), and I really don't care if people bitch about their schedules or not....which might be why I got the job of doing scheduling in the first place.

Usually, things work out so much that no one has really complained. Most all the nurses on nights are pretty grown-up about how scheduling works. In the land of hospital nursing, you work weekends, you work holidays, and sometimes, you work during your kid's Little League game. This is the sacrifice of being a nurse. If you want a normal 9-5 job, go to a doctor's office...a boring, quiet, doctor's office.

But as you know, there is, and always will be, one bad apple to upset the cart. Bad apples piss me off. They work hard to undermine the peaceful balance the rest of the apples have worked hard to establish.

Since she was hired, it seems that every month she complains to the bosshole if we move her just once. If her schedule isn't exactly what signs up for, she goes apeshit. She once trapped me in the clean supply room so she could complain about it without the risk of me running away. Even after Red and I both insist other nurses are moved equally, Bad Apple still persists in her effort to show that we are persecuting her by not giving her the days she wants. After a while, this gets pretty old, especially after the bosshole emails us each month about it, wanting a comment. We're not going to give her a set schedule, because it wouldn't be fair to the other nurses who have to work all the other shifts Bad Apple doesn't want.

Most times, I feel like telling her, "You don't like it, call in sick because you always call in sick whenever you don't want to work and you have to crappiest attendance record to show for it. If your job is that much of an inconvenience to your personal life, I suggest you go find a different job. One that allows you ten smoke breaks and a nap each shift because that's what you do when you're here anyway..."

Good help = hard to find.

So, I'm starting to get annoyed with all the bullshit. I wish the bosshole would grow a pair and tell her to quit whining. He should because when I tell her, he's going to have to listen to her complain about that, in addition to the scheduling issues. So, it's in his best interest to tell her to shut her cakehole.

But in a professional, managerial sort of way, of course.

32! 32! 32! 32!

I can't recollect the one time I had my face buried in another woman's hoo-hah. I probably can't recollect because it was 32 years ago today, and that other woman was my mother.

She was giving birth to me...for those of you who were starting to get excited.

Today was like any other day.

Somehow, a rumor got started that I don't ever like making a fuss or anything on my birthday. Since then, I've been lucky to get a card. On my 30th birthday, Paul (not dating!) built me a cake...my favorite of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. I didn't know what to make of it...but the cake was pretty damn tasty.

I think this rumor is the direct result of someone not wanting to buy me a present...or give me cake. Bastards.

So anyway, in honor of my birthday, I took a nap. Then, I watered the lawn, grilled a pork chop, painted my nails, and had some cake batter ice cream. It's not a real cake, but good enough.

However, I'm open to belated birthday celebrations if anyone has any ideas.

Extreme Makeover: Dumbass Edition

Would I be the only person in the northern hemisphere to think that ABC is ran by a bunch of retards?

Like most everyone else in KC, I was glad to see the EM crew go away. I was tired of hearing about it. Really. You'd be watching TV when late breaking news would cut into whatever show you were watching, to announce that Ty Pennington installed the bathtub. OHMYGOD! Ty Pennington installed a bathtub...RIGHT HERE IN KANSAS CITY!!!!

So, we have a family that would more than likely meet the criteria for what would constitute "poverty level" considering their size. They are also caring for a truck full of other children who belong to a relative who for whatever reasons I'd be curious to know, has lost custody of said children. I can commend the family for stepping up to the plate to take the kids in. Most people, if faced with that same situation, would do likewise. I'd do the same for my brother's kids...after I beat my brother for being a moron, and bad father.

Dad works a blue collar job...overworked and underpaid, I'm sure. Mom stays at home and cares for 12-person household. They live in a house that is 900 square feet (the average size of most apartments). It's probably safe to say that size of the house, while problematic, was probably not the most pressing matter in their lives. Twelve people on one income, and more than likely some government assistance tossed in.

So, here comes ABC with their trucks and video cameras. The family is sent away to some vacation in Florida...all expenses paid. The house is demolished, a 5,000 square foot house thrown up in it's place. It's fully loaded with all new crap, electronics, furniture, and a shit-ton of stuff that most normal people don't have in their own homes.

Oh yeah...a brand new Mustang, Expedition, and pick-up truck sit in the driveway. We've gone from humble to gluttony in the matter of 96 hours.

Now, here is the part that baffles me.

Nothing has really changed with the family dynamic. Still one income that hasn't changed, still 12 people living off it. While the most ugliest new house I've ever seen is nice, big, shiny and everyone has space to spare, the big problem...the one problem that I am sure everyone has overlooked is that this family is now going to have to pay taxes and maintenance on all of this. House, cars, vacation. More money involved in maintaining this new lifestyle. I'm pretty sure there's a big difference in the gas bill between a 900 square foot house and a 5,000 square foot house.

I'm certain that ABC will step in and pay for it, just the way Oprah paid the taxes on all those cars she "gave" away. Oh wait...she didn't.

Now, I'm reading that donations are being solicited so the family can keep this house. Are you kidding me?!? Thousands have already been collected. Call me an asshole, but I'm not going to be whipping out my checkbook anytime soon. ABC created this monster, they should be the ones who exclusively deal with it. In the long run, it seems to me that they might have made this family's life worse instead of better. Instead of maybe teaching the family a better way to fish, ABC just gave them a brand new frying pan, no pole, no instructions on how to catch fish, plus a short deadline as to when they had to have dinner ready for Uncle Sam.

Eventually, people are going to stop donating when they have to tighten their own budgets, and really can't see why they should pay for someone elses house when their own house is at risk of being foreclosed upon. When this happens, and there is no more money coming in, the family of 12 will have to sell. And when they have to sell it, who's going to buy? The price will be inflated because it was an Extreme Makeover house, but no one is going to buy because A. The market sucks and B. So does the neighborhood it was built in.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go turn my thermostat down and have a bologna sandwich.

Tuesday Blather

I didn't sleep well last night, so I ended up sleeping until noon today. Dreary day, so it's not like I'm going to get any yard work done.

I did, however, take the car to get a couple new tires. The back ones, if memory serves, were on the car when I originally purchased it over two years ago. I was pretty certain they needed replacing. Whenever the car would shimmy, I was always reminded of this. After the tires were placed, the tire guy drove my car around the parking lot a couple times in an "8" configuration. Everyone stopped to watch. We were that bored.

While I waited, I watched "Heroes" on my iPod until the battery croaked. I'm only to the third episode. At this rate, I might finish season1 before season 3 is aired.

Paul is sick. He started feeling crappy Sunday night, and all he could say was, "I feel like ass." Sometimes, I think the ass is short-changed. Can't ass be a good thing sometimes?? Anyway, he claims he caught it while reading my blog about me being sick. Whatever. I think it's just a ruse so he can get out of doing anything for my birthday.

Only a couple more weeks until Kant comes to visit. I'm very excited about this. I also think I am going to be hosting the family for Easter dinner on the Saturday before Easter. There will be an egg hunt in my backyard. Hopefully, Sam won't get to the eggs before the kids do.

A relatively quiet day. I think I will go take a nap now.

Happy St. Patricks' Day

Yawn....

And Now for Something Truly Disgusting

I've come to the conclusion that there are varying degrees of nausea. There's the nausea you get after seeing something really gross and you don't want to eat anything for at least two hours after you've seen it. There's the nausea you get when you know something bad is about to happen (like finding out your boyfriend has been cheating on you). There's the nausea you get after riding a roller coaster (for some). There's even the nausea pregnant women get, usually in their first trimester, due to the massive storm of hormones raging in their bodies. I've never had the pleasure of experiencing this last nausea.

Some nausea are relevant to bad feelings, bad food, or sights so hideous that your stomach churns. Some people get all that nausea rolled into one...usually the direct result of a full night of drinking green beer.

Then, there is good old fashioned nausea. The warning you get when everything you have eaten that day is going to be revisited, because there is something in your stomach that your body refuses to pass on. The sphincter muscle in the bottom of your stomach recognizes there is a traitor in the midst, and locks down for the remainder of the day, until the offending party leaves from the front door. The great bowel protector!

That, my friends, is the nausea I experienced last night. I hate to blame the sushi, because I LOVE sushi, especially the Vegas roll, but I am afraid the sushi was the culprit because I was belching up fish for the rest of the afternoon. Had a chicken pot pie for dinner and things were okay...until I got ready to go to bed. That's when the first wave of nausea hit. More than a stomach pang, it was was a clear signal from my stomach to my brain that there was going to be action before the night was done.

Then, the second wave it. Nausea so strong that my body shuddered. I hate that feeling. That's when I know that I will be praying to the porcelain Goddess. Fortunately, I had recently cleaned the toilets.

In my pajamas, I made a beeline for the master bath and let fly. Okay, so I am not the greatest aim. I ended up barfing on my feet, the little toilet rug, and all over my shirt. (Let me be the first to say that it was probably the most colorful vomit I have yet to see both on and off the clock.) Retching, retching, retching until I was certain with the next heave, my toes would pop out of my mouth.

I put all the affected items in the washer, took a shower, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed. Oddly enough, I felt TONS better.

I feel better today. I had to run to the bank this morning, stopping by the store to pick up some cabbage for the corned beef that is cooking in the crock pot. Now, I am going to go to bed and rest up for work. I hope this brief illness was a passing thing. I would hate to projectile onto my orientee.

On Colons and Yard Work

Yesterday was so lovely, and today was chilly...and I didn't like it one bit.

Yesterday, I brought out the new yard tools, raked the front yard, spread grass seed with my new seed spreader, rigged up the new sprinkler with the new hose, and watered the front lawn for about an hour or so. Fortunately, the sprinkler has a big enough reach (and the front yard was small enough), that I didn't need to keep repositioning it.

Last week, Mom sent me a link to a site that sold some sort of colon-cleansing system. Like a dumbass, I clicked on it. (If you have a strong constitution, you should, too!) I wasn't so much disturbed by what was expelled by those who took the product (I am a nurse, after all), but the fact they fished around the toilet to catch it, then set it on their toilet bowl rim to take pictures.

At any rate...Mom wanted to know if this would be safe for her to take because the idea of something so vile residing in her colon was giving her much anxiety. Not so much anxiety that she was willing to shell out the obscene money they were asking for their product, but enough to go to GNC and find something similar.

Operation: Colon Blow has begun. Hopefully, she won't take any pictures. I'd have to disown her then.

Today, I went and had a tasty sushi lunch with Trish, stopping by my credit union afterwards. After I left, I planted face off the curb and slightly strained my ankle. The only thing injured more was my pride. No one was in the immediate vicinity that saw me, but I'm sure someone far away was laughing his ass off.

A Day That Brings Out the Romance in Everyone

With the untimely demise of my Palm Pilot, I really have been out of sorts in terms of what day it is. I've just been out of sorts altogether since it croaked. My Palm was my lifeline. I feel lost without it.

That being said, I simply forgot that today is Steak and Blowjob Day. For those of you who don't know, you can click on the link above and read up on it.

Considering that no one bothered with me for Valentines Day, I feel no obligation to bother with anyone on this most sacred of Man-days. Your loss, fellas. I grill a pretty mean steak.

Ironically enough, I did pull a steak out of the freezer last night to grill tonight. I did this without realizing today was a holiday.

Time to marinate my meat!!

A Set of Matching Silverware Please!

At the urging of many friends and coworkers, I registered today for a Housewarming gift registry. Everyone at the store was excited for me, until they realized that it was a housewarming and not a bridal registry. Sorry to disappoint!

My list is somewhat small, compared to someone who is just starting out and has to have everything. Instead of someone like me, who already has almost everything. Most of the things on my list are upgrades, additionals, and a couple wishful things tossed in. Do I expect to get everything on my list? No, but it will give people ideas. The registry stays active for two years, so at least Mom will know what to give me for Christmas...until 2009.

Registering took a couple of hours, meandering around the store and scanning stuff with the little scanner gun. However, some boxes I had to tip over just to get to the bar codes. I'm here to say that a complete set of Pyrex is rather heavy.

I've set the date for my housewarming party at the end of the month. Weather permitting, we will be grilling out, and general debauchery that only nurses are familiar with.

It should be a fun night for all.

You're Uterus Is Going to Fall Out...Have a Nice Day!!

I was sleeping so good, until Monday struck. This is unfortunate because Mondays are my Fridays.

Sam started barking at a squirrel he saw in the back yard that he had to have. Never mind the fact that it's in a tree, but that doesn't deter the little white bastard from want to go bark at it further. So, I got out of bed and kicked him out. Bark all you want, you little shithead. At least it keeps the squirrels away from the house. I have a friend who had squirrels gnawing on her house to the point they actually got into the walls.

I crawl back into bed when the phone rings, and I see it is my doctor's office. I pick up.

Caller: Hi. I'm calling from So-and-so's office. I'm calling because of your pap smear.
Me: Yeah? (thinking: What the hell? I just got a letter in the mail saying all was honky-dory in Heather's Adventure Kingdom)
Caller: I'm calling to inform you that you had abnormal cells.
Me: Uhhhh
Caller: Yes, so we will need to have you follow-up in three months.
Me: Ummm...okay.
Caller: And for 48 hours before your test, you can't have sex, use this, that or the other.
Me: Hmmm...okay
Caller: So, would you like me to transfer you to scheduling?
Me: Wait a minute! What the hell does having abnormal cells mean?
Caller: Oh. Well...it means they are not cancerous cells, but we want to watch them closely.
Me: (not feeling any better) Uhhhh...okay.
Caller: Shall I transfer you??

What. The. Hell. I've never had an abnormal test in my life, and then I get the Great Communicator calling me to tell me different. I don't know if this lady was a nurse or not, but she needs to have her ass beaten. You don't tell someone something as scary as that without giving them a little information.

After I hung up the phone, I just sat there, my mind racing with What if? What if? What if? What if? If this test was so abnormal, why do they want to wait three months? Why wouldn't they want me to come into the office and look into it further? Then, I thought about what if I couldn't have any kids, and I was destined to be one of those old ladies who never had any kids, and had twelve cats, and when I was a patient in a hospital no one would come and visit me because I had no immediate family. I feel sorry for patients like that, the ones who never had any kids, and then they die and the only family they have is a nephew that lives in Toledo that they haven't seen in five years.

I know I am not the first person to have an abnormal Pap...but it's big and scary when it happens to you...even if you have a medical background.

I need some chocolate...stat.