Some would say spiders. I am in that group. I hate spiders. Other people are scared of snakes and clowns. I hate clowns too. Snakes don't bother me unless I am covered in them in an enclosed space, which never happens, so I am OK with snakes. Recently, I was exposed to a group of people in a mental health unit that are scared of everything. As not fun as that sounds, I cannot really comment because of HIPPA regulations. To me, the scariest thing in the world is three-fold, and I see it far too often.
White hair, expensive car, and a cell phone.
Under normal circumstances, those singularly placed into society would not elicit fear out of anyone, unless you fear old people, wealth and technology. I don't fear them seperately. When put together, however, it is down right frightening. Take today for example. I was driving down the road, minding my own business, when the nose of a very expensive Mercedes lurched out in front of me traveling down Leslie Road from one of the many side streets that are along this road. I had to brake pretty hard, and audibly said "what the phuck are you doing," glanced over to see who was driving and all I saw was a tall bun of white hair and a cell phone. Let's examine the logic in this, shall we?
First of all, as people age, their reactions become a little slower. It's like being constantly stoned. Reaction times are diminished significantly. This is on a good day, without distractions. It doesn't make much sense, then, to add a cell phone into the mix. I mean, first of all, you have to be aware enough to have the conversation as opposed to drifting off to the good old days sitting in a puddle of your own urine. If the phone call was to her doctor's office telling them "oops I crapped my pants," or "your urine specimen is in the seat cushion of my car," I suppose that could be made....while NOT operating a heavy piece of metal. Bad idea, grandma. Don't do this.
Secondly, it has been my observation that the more expensive the car, the less likely the driver is to obey ANY traffic laws. This includes, but is not limited to, rolling stops, failing to yield, tailgating, speeding, lack of turn signal usage, random cutoffs, inability to stay in one's own lane and speeding through yellow lights. It happens too often with a car whose value exceeds $40,000. This was a NEW Mercedes. New only by observing the sunlight glistening off the chrome wheels. I could be way off. It could be 10-years old and her husband (cabana boy?) has nothing to do but wash the car 4 times a week. Welcome to retirement. However, age plus wealth equals phuck laws, I'll just write a check. Strike two.
A quick aside, since it bears some relevance in respect to the Mercedes reference. My parents drive Nissan's, made in Japan. One of my parent's neighbors commented on their support of the Japanese and how neglectful it was since Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. This particular neighbor drives a Mercedes....made in Germany. Now, I am not one to categorize human atrocities. However, I believe the Mercedes is dirtier. Just saying...
Finally, as people age, they get a condition known as Noassitol. It inhibits the driver of the vehicle to sit up tall while driving, hence the vision of hair talking on a cell phone. Her sunglasses were on the bun. It literally looked like hair was driving. When a head check in traffic, however, reveals the rear door handle, it may be time to raise your level of sight. I am no expert but I believe in order to operate a motor vehicle, most states require the ability to SEE the field in which you are OPERATING said vehicle. Call me crazy, but it makes sense that the driving age is not 10 for that reason, along with many, MANY others. I don't want to be an asshole and get all high and mighty on this woman. I am sure she has lived a great life, and can act as she pleases. However, after you leave your driveway, you kind of need to be more...how do I say this...equipped to drive a car. It is really for the safety of others. Don't get me started if I had to add roundabouts in here.
That will require calculus...
Friday, July 22, 2011
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Of Course This Happened
This conversation actually took place. The names have not been changed because anyone willing that would sue me over this can't read, or cannot afford the Internet.
8:47PM (knock at the door)(Kid's scream "I'LL GET IT," and scramble to the door. I yell, "SIT DOWNNNNNNN," and get up to get the door. (door opens)
Ariel - Ummmm....hiiiiiii. I need to ask Peyton something?
Me - Is that a question? Want me to shut the door so you can refocus your energy on your tone of voice?
Ariel - I need to ask Peyton something.
Me - I know I heard that part, although bravo on the change in fluctuation. Unfortunately Peyton is in bed already.
Ariel - can you wake her up?
Me - I can but that involves doing something that makes absolutely no sense. It's almost 9PM.
Ariel - Can you wake her up?
Me - What the fuck?? Your like a parrot. Do you always repeat yourself or is it just really organized Tourette's?
Ariel - (stares back blankly)
Me - (waves hand in front of Ariel's face) Anyone home or is your Mom's pre-birth drinking problem kicking in?
Ariel - I need to ask Peyton something
Me - I know...we've been over this already. What do you need to ask her?
Ariel - I need her to sign my shirt.
Me - That's not really a question. That's more of a demand. A question is like a request...like when your Mom said do you have protection and your Dad said no and then....here you are, verbally waterboarding me with your words.
Ariel - Can she sign my shirt?
Me - she can't get her clothes in her fucking drawers while she is awake. Something tells me, like common sense, that she can't do that while in a coma
Ariel - what's a coma?
Me - It's that thing you aren't using in your hair, with an 'A'
Ariel - Can she sign it on Saturday?
Me - Nope.
Ariel - Why?
Me - we practice a really screwy religion where writing instruments aren't used on any day that ends in Y. That pretty much leaves Saturwednessun which, unfortunately for you, doesn't exist.
Ariel - when can she sign it?
Me - about the same time you become tolerable
Ariel - (silence)
Me - soooo...about never. Does that suffice??
Ariel - Maybe?
Me - again with the questions....I have to go tend to my sheep so don't be offended when the door slams
(door slams)
There is a high probability that this girl, accidentally or not, broke my wife's car window. She has a sociopathic look to her that makes me fear for lives of rodents and local door knobs. She eyeballs Peyton's rabbit like it's a pork chop. I know I am getting old behaving like a grump, but I only have so much patience and I reserve it for my family, and my patients. Beyond that, the Future Serial Killers of America can deal with the rest.
8:47PM (knock at the door)(Kid's scream "I'LL GET IT," and scramble to the door. I yell, "SIT DOWNNNNNNN," and get up to get the door. (door opens)
Ariel - Ummmm....hiiiiiii. I need to ask Peyton something?
Me - Is that a question? Want me to shut the door so you can refocus your energy on your tone of voice?
Ariel - I need to ask Peyton something.
Me - I know I heard that part, although bravo on the change in fluctuation. Unfortunately Peyton is in bed already.
Ariel - can you wake her up?
Me - I can but that involves doing something that makes absolutely no sense. It's almost 9PM.
Ariel - Can you wake her up?
Me - What the fuck?? Your like a parrot. Do you always repeat yourself or is it just really organized Tourette's?
Ariel - (stares back blankly)
Me - (waves hand in front of Ariel's face) Anyone home or is your Mom's pre-birth drinking problem kicking in?
Ariel - I need to ask Peyton something
Me - I know...we've been over this already. What do you need to ask her?
Ariel - I need her to sign my shirt.
Me - That's not really a question. That's more of a demand. A question is like a request...like when your Mom said do you have protection and your Dad said no and then....here you are, verbally waterboarding me with your words.
Ariel - Can she sign my shirt?
Me - she can't get her clothes in her fucking drawers while she is awake. Something tells me, like common sense, that she can't do that while in a coma
Ariel - what's a coma?
Me - It's that thing you aren't using in your hair, with an 'A'
Ariel - Can she sign it on Saturday?
Me - Nope.
Ariel - Why?
Me - we practice a really screwy religion where writing instruments aren't used on any day that ends in Y. That pretty much leaves Saturwednessun which, unfortunately for you, doesn't exist.
Ariel - when can she sign it?
Me - about the same time you become tolerable
Ariel - (silence)
Me - soooo...about never. Does that suffice??
Ariel - Maybe?
Me - again with the questions....I have to go tend to my sheep so don't be offended when the door slams
(door slams)
There is a high probability that this girl, accidentally or not, broke my wife's car window. She has a sociopathic look to her that makes me fear for lives of rodents and local door knobs. She eyeballs Peyton's rabbit like it's a pork chop. I know I am getting old behaving like a grump, but I only have so much patience and I reserve it for my family, and my patients. Beyond that, the Future Serial Killers of America can deal with the rest.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Chief Complaint
I suppose I should clarify what I do at Kadlec. I am a nursing student, not a nurse. I suppose I am a nurse-in-training, but I do not interact with the patients. In all reality, I do, jokingly, once the doctor has done so and it is apporpriate for me to do it as well. Let's say that I have not left a patient's room with the doctor telling me to knock it off. Yeah, I am surprised too. I am a scribe. Not the quiver-n-bow type scribe, but a medical scribe. I make paper. Well, electronic paper. I chart while the physician examines the patient. I track lab results and diagnostic tests for the doctor and prompt him or her to read them, interpret them and I will transcribe these verbal findings onto the chart.
Now, as mundane as that might sound, I love doing it. I love seeing the interaction that the docs have with patients. I love seeing their minds work and asking questions about the process. It is a trememndous learning experience, just as I thought it would be when I first applied. All the doctors are amazing clinicians and I know that when I am done with school I will owe them a debt of gratitude for both teaching me and tolerating me. However, I have seen some really, REALLY stupid things roll into the emergency room. Things that do not require emergent care and things that are referred from doc-in-the-box type clinics for further evaluation. The list of things that should not come into the emergency room is in my head, which, as we all know, can be a very insane place to hang.
A "chief complaint" is the complaint that the patient complains the most about. For example, often times a patient has so many complaints in triage that the nurse has to narrow it down to one. Often times, even that one is bullshit. However, since people come into the emergency room, the deserve proper, adequate care to relive this complaint. The list of interesting chief complaints is somewhat comical since what their diagnosis ends up being often has nothing directly to do with their chief complaint. For the uneducated, however, here is a list of things that do not require EMERGENT CARE...since that is what is done at the EMERGENCY ROOM.
1. Bug Bites - not brown recluse bites or black widow bites, or numerous wasp stings, but just 5-6 mosquito bites, none of which are infected. Simple treatment would include over the counter Benadryl (antihistamine to relieve itching) or Calamine lotion (topical ointment to relieve itching), both of which were not administered prior to arrival. When asked why they came to the emergency room, the parents of this 9-year old indicated that their child was itching these "huge bites," the biggest of which was about the size of a grain of rice. Diagnosis : bug bites, multiple. Prescription: OTC (over the counter) Benadryl. That will be $400 please.
2. Nausea - no vomiting, no diarrhea, just a stomach ache. When asked to grade the pain on a scale of 0-10, with 10 being someone smashing your legs with a sledgehammer, the patient graded it a 9, remote control in hand switching it to the NBA playoffs, feet crossed over each other, bed reclined, ala home recliner comfort. No abdominal tenderness to palpation, no fever, no real illness. I think this guy was tired of dealing with wife and kids while the game was on. A CT scan later to rule out any acute injury, $1000 or so, and off he went. Be sure to drink lots of fluids.
3. "My pee smells really bad..." - Sounds like it could be a urinary tract infection? Sounds serious enough, right? I mean we have all been taught that stinky anything is indicative of an infection, right? If that were the case I have had an ass infection my whole life. While being questioned about recent food, drink or antibiotic use, patient indicated that he had ingested some asparagus prior to arrival. End of exam. Diagnosis - normal exam. Prescription - car keys.
4. Abdominal pain/pelvic pain - I cannot fathom menstrual cramp pain, at least directly. However, every 28 days I do get an indirect idea of how these feel. Ouch. I get it. But when asked if these cramps are different from previous menstrual cramps, the patient indicated these are the same. No abnormal or excessive bleeding. WHY ARE YOU HERE? "I am out of Motrin." Wow....really? This will be some expensive Motrin. Next.
5. "My skin hurts." - Can you describe the type of pain you feel? "No not really." Is it like an itcing or burning pain? "yes, its like that." Is it also like a cramping pain? "yes EXACTLY like that. My skin feels very crampy." Can you tell me one spot that hurts worse that anywhere else? "Right about here (motions hands over his whole body; head to toe)." Have you taken anything for the pain? "I took some Benadryl and Motrin." Did you have any relief? "No, that made it worse." Are you allergic to any medications? "Ibuprofen and Benadryl." Did you know you were allergic to ibuprofen before you took it? "I didn't take ibuprofen, I took Motrin." That's ibuprofen...they're the same thing. "Oh...well, why is it worse?" Because you are having an allergic reaction to the medication you took. "Oh...can I get a shot of Dilaudid then?" I'm sorry, according to your care plan, I cannot administer any narcotics during your visit to the Emergency Room. "Oh ok, well I am feeling much better now. Can I just leave?" This happens quite often...more than you know.
There are many, many more I could illustrate but I don't want to bore you any further. From a student perspective, it is a great opportunity to listen to patients talk and be able to filter out the bullshit. My filter was not as keen as it was before I started. I am a tad cynical when my kids come complaining about certain ailments. When my wife took Peyton, now 8 years old, to the emergency room as a two-year old (see previous blog post from 2005), I laughed before she left, as did the docs at the ER I am sure. Diagnosis, diaper rash. Prescription: diaper rash ointment. I think that visits was about $300. Should have framed the bill. Unless they are bleeding from their numerous orifices profusely, or have dangling limbs bending in ways that God did not intend, they can wait to see a doc-in-the-box.
I don't want my kids to be someone else's blog fodder. They are for mine.
Now, as mundane as that might sound, I love doing it. I love seeing the interaction that the docs have with patients. I love seeing their minds work and asking questions about the process. It is a trememndous learning experience, just as I thought it would be when I first applied. All the doctors are amazing clinicians and I know that when I am done with school I will owe them a debt of gratitude for both teaching me and tolerating me. However, I have seen some really, REALLY stupid things roll into the emergency room. Things that do not require emergent care and things that are referred from doc-in-the-box type clinics for further evaluation. The list of things that should not come into the emergency room is in my head, which, as we all know, can be a very insane place to hang.
A "chief complaint" is the complaint that the patient complains the most about. For example, often times a patient has so many complaints in triage that the nurse has to narrow it down to one. Often times, even that one is bullshit. However, since people come into the emergency room, the deserve proper, adequate care to relive this complaint. The list of interesting chief complaints is somewhat comical since what their diagnosis ends up being often has nothing directly to do with their chief complaint. For the uneducated, however, here is a list of things that do not require EMERGENT CARE...since that is what is done at the EMERGENCY ROOM.
1. Bug Bites - not brown recluse bites or black widow bites, or numerous wasp stings, but just 5-6 mosquito bites, none of which are infected. Simple treatment would include over the counter Benadryl (antihistamine to relieve itching) or Calamine lotion (topical ointment to relieve itching), both of which were not administered prior to arrival. When asked why they came to the emergency room, the parents of this 9-year old indicated that their child was itching these "huge bites," the biggest of which was about the size of a grain of rice. Diagnosis : bug bites, multiple. Prescription: OTC (over the counter) Benadryl. That will be $400 please.
2. Nausea - no vomiting, no diarrhea, just a stomach ache. When asked to grade the pain on a scale of 0-10, with 10 being someone smashing your legs with a sledgehammer, the patient graded it a 9, remote control in hand switching it to the NBA playoffs, feet crossed over each other, bed reclined, ala home recliner comfort. No abdominal tenderness to palpation, no fever, no real illness. I think this guy was tired of dealing with wife and kids while the game was on. A CT scan later to rule out any acute injury, $1000 or so, and off he went. Be sure to drink lots of fluids.
3. "My pee smells really bad..." - Sounds like it could be a urinary tract infection? Sounds serious enough, right? I mean we have all been taught that stinky anything is indicative of an infection, right? If that were the case I have had an ass infection my whole life. While being questioned about recent food, drink or antibiotic use, patient indicated that he had ingested some asparagus prior to arrival. End of exam. Diagnosis - normal exam. Prescription - car keys.
4. Abdominal pain/pelvic pain - I cannot fathom menstrual cramp pain, at least directly. However, every 28 days I do get an indirect idea of how these feel. Ouch. I get it. But when asked if these cramps are different from previous menstrual cramps, the patient indicated these are the same. No abnormal or excessive bleeding. WHY ARE YOU HERE? "I am out of Motrin." Wow....really? This will be some expensive Motrin. Next.
5. "My skin hurts." - Can you describe the type of pain you feel? "No not really." Is it like an itcing or burning pain? "yes, its like that." Is it also like a cramping pain? "yes EXACTLY like that. My skin feels very crampy." Can you tell me one spot that hurts worse that anywhere else? "Right about here (motions hands over his whole body; head to toe)." Have you taken anything for the pain? "I took some Benadryl and Motrin." Did you have any relief? "No, that made it worse." Are you allergic to any medications? "Ibuprofen and Benadryl." Did you know you were allergic to ibuprofen before you took it? "I didn't take ibuprofen, I took Motrin." That's ibuprofen...they're the same thing. "Oh...well, why is it worse?" Because you are having an allergic reaction to the medication you took. "Oh...can I get a shot of Dilaudid then?" I'm sorry, according to your care plan, I cannot administer any narcotics during your visit to the Emergency Room. "Oh ok, well I am feeling much better now. Can I just leave?" This happens quite often...more than you know.
There are many, many more I could illustrate but I don't want to bore you any further. From a student perspective, it is a great opportunity to listen to patients talk and be able to filter out the bullshit. My filter was not as keen as it was before I started. I am a tad cynical when my kids come complaining about certain ailments. When my wife took Peyton, now 8 years old, to the emergency room as a two-year old (see previous blog post from 2005), I laughed before she left, as did the docs at the ER I am sure. Diagnosis, diaper rash. Prescription: diaper rash ointment. I think that visits was about $300. Should have framed the bill. Unless they are bleeding from their numerous orifices profusely, or have dangling limbs bending in ways that God did not intend, they can wait to see a doc-in-the-box.
I don't want my kids to be someone else's blog fodder. They are for mine.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Coupons? Seriously?
My disclaimer for this post is this: I know nothing about it. My anger stems from others who use it while I am shopping and know nothing about it. Just because TLC does a show about it doesn't make it an acceptable practice. I believe Sister Wives is a TLC program.
I rest my case.
Coupon shoppers annoy me. It isn't that they are being proactive and wanting to save a ton of money. To me, at least from what I have witnessed, it is an excuse to hoard. Who needs 12 boxes of saltine crackers and 22 bottles BBQ sauce? It seems to me that what you save in money you lose in living space. I am sure its awesome to never have to run out of water, bread, Hershey bars, laundry soap or thumbtacks. That's awesome for you. You saved $50 on a $200 bill? That's efficient and news worthy. It burns when I pee. But I don't go shari...err....you know what I mean? I don't care. You are better than me. I get it. That's fine with me. Just know that when I open my linen closet, there is linen in there, not 38 boxes of Rice mix, 14 jars of Jif and 33 Power Bars and 4 jars of shoe polish. It's hoarding.
The express line is just that...an express line...express, meaning hurry the fuck up and all 3-ring binders are to be kept in your back back. It's not impressive to pull out a binder that has more earmarks than Obamacare. It's kind of annoying. It causes eyes to roll. Then, you apologize which acknowledges the fact that what you are doing is inconvenient to others behind you.
Checker - Ma'am that will be $39.97 (I say ma'am because its a woman doing this. Guys won't coupon shop...too much work. Besides they don't have coupons for beer.)
Coupon magnate - Wait....I have coupons
Checker - you need to present those before you are rung up. Do you see the sign? (points to sign that says present coupons prior to checkout, fuckchop)
Coupon - I just need to get them out (takes out laptop, can of tennis balls, earmuffs, 22 inches of heavy chain link, one sock, a tube top that says 'OK-95,' 18 chapsticks and a swiss army spoon)...here you go
Checker - .50 cents off Depends? You don't even have Depends in your items?
Coupon - Oh sorry not that one....this one.
Checker - Buy one Trident, get the 2nd one at the same price, must buy 400 Tridents? This one? You realize this is a 15 item or less line right?
About this time there are 8 people with 12 items between them about ready to gang rape this woman. Why? She watches TLC and wants to save a buck. In all reality, to each their own. For the record, I don't care it works for you. I don't care to learn about it. I'm not mad that someone else does it and I don't. It doesn't bother me if you know what the hell you are doing. But if you don't, pardon me if I punch you in the vagina. I just need this milk...this one jug of milk so I can be on my way.
Asshole.
I rest my case.
Coupon shoppers annoy me. It isn't that they are being proactive and wanting to save a ton of money. To me, at least from what I have witnessed, it is an excuse to hoard. Who needs 12 boxes of saltine crackers and 22 bottles BBQ sauce? It seems to me that what you save in money you lose in living space. I am sure its awesome to never have to run out of water, bread, Hershey bars, laundry soap or thumbtacks. That's awesome for you. You saved $50 on a $200 bill? That's efficient and news worthy. It burns when I pee. But I don't go shari...err....you know what I mean? I don't care. You are better than me. I get it. That's fine with me. Just know that when I open my linen closet, there is linen in there, not 38 boxes of Rice mix, 14 jars of Jif and 33 Power Bars and 4 jars of shoe polish. It's hoarding.
The express line is just that...an express line...express, meaning hurry the fuck up and all 3-ring binders are to be kept in your back back. It's not impressive to pull out a binder that has more earmarks than Obamacare. It's kind of annoying. It causes eyes to roll. Then, you apologize which acknowledges the fact that what you are doing is inconvenient to others behind you.
Checker - Ma'am that will be $39.97 (I say ma'am because its a woman doing this. Guys won't coupon shop...too much work. Besides they don't have coupons for beer.)
Coupon magnate - Wait....I have coupons
Checker - you need to present those before you are rung up. Do you see the sign? (points to sign that says present coupons prior to checkout, fuckchop)
Coupon - I just need to get them out (takes out laptop, can of tennis balls, earmuffs, 22 inches of heavy chain link, one sock, a tube top that says 'OK-95,' 18 chapsticks and a swiss army spoon)...here you go
Checker - .50 cents off Depends? You don't even have Depends in your items?
Coupon - Oh sorry not that one....this one.
Checker - Buy one Trident, get the 2nd one at the same price, must buy 400 Tridents? This one? You realize this is a 15 item or less line right?
About this time there are 8 people with 12 items between them about ready to gang rape this woman. Why? She watches TLC and wants to save a buck. In all reality, to each their own. For the record, I don't care it works for you. I don't care to learn about it. I'm not mad that someone else does it and I don't. It doesn't bother me if you know what the hell you are doing. But if you don't, pardon me if I punch you in the vagina. I just need this milk...this one jug of milk so I can be on my way.
Asshole.
Sunday, June 05, 2011
Parent First, Friend Last
First and foremost, parenting styles are different. I get that. However, I believe there is a constant that all parents should share but seemingly few do. That constant is that as a parent, you are a parent first and a friend later. Period. End of story. I believe there is a generation of kids being raised that have little knowledge of right and wrong. Isn't that the job of the parent? If you are right, you get to stay here one more day. If you are wrong, I'll help you pack. I can't remember a time when I mistook my parents for my friends. Thank God or else I could describe a jail cell down to the dots on the cinder blocks.
I love all my kids. However, if they "hate me" because I won't let them do everything they want, so be it. I will get over it long before they will. It's the nature of the beast. I provide food, shelter, clothing, a sense of well-being and moral support...maybe some assistance with homework and a ride or two. Beyond that, let the molding begin. I have heard too many times that "my parents were strict and I hated it, so I am trying to be my kid's friend first," and every time I hear that I want to open up a sterilization clinic. That's not your job. Your job is to provide the knowledge and skills that are required to function in society, not to make sure your child's friends like you. My house is a gathering point for the socially inept when school gets out. I'm glad my kids have friends. Is it wrong that I want to make sure that their friends aren't going to kill a porcupine and hang it from a door knob? I don't think so, and even if it doesn't sit well with my kids, I don't really care and to the parent's who question why I won't let your kids play with mine after school, go fuck yourselves. I'm not a day care center. Spend time with your kids after school. Ask about their day. Don't send them to my house. Example:
(knock at the door, door opens) Hi, I live across the street and my daughter said that you told her she couldn't play with your kids
Me - Correct
Neighbor - Can I ask why?
Me - No
Neighbor - Excuse me?
Me - Which one of the single words did you not understand?
Neighbor - Why can't my kids play with yours?
Me - For starters, hepatitis. But if you want a complete list of reasons, lice, numerous blood borne diseases...ummmm....I am afraid your kids will dumb mine down, tuberculosis, cellulitis, sinusitis and gastroenteritis. Most important however, your kids need YOU, believe it or not. Go help your kids with simple math. If you can't handle that, Google it.
I have heard from my kid's how they hate it at home. I have offered to help them pack and offered to crack their piggy bank for some spending money. It never really goes very far, but honestly, if I didn't love them, I would let them be assholes. My job isn't to be friends and make them happy by fulfilling every request. That's not realistic. McDonald's management won't do that, so why should I? I need to prepare them for reality. Only way that will happen is by P-A-R-E-N-T-I-N-G. It requires a sense of realism. Parenting now, while they are young allows for friendship later. I have grown up always loving my parents, but have found a certain level of respect of their parenting style now that I have kids. Being a pain in the ass early in life has allowed us to become very good friends. I love them for that. I have no doubt my kids will be the same way as they get older. History has proven it.
I love all my kids. However, if they "hate me" because I won't let them do everything they want, so be it. I will get over it long before they will. It's the nature of the beast. I provide food, shelter, clothing, a sense of well-being and moral support...maybe some assistance with homework and a ride or two. Beyond that, let the molding begin. I have heard too many times that "my parents were strict and I hated it, so I am trying to be my kid's friend first," and every time I hear that I want to open up a sterilization clinic. That's not your job. Your job is to provide the knowledge and skills that are required to function in society, not to make sure your child's friends like you. My house is a gathering point for the socially inept when school gets out. I'm glad my kids have friends. Is it wrong that I want to make sure that their friends aren't going to kill a porcupine and hang it from a door knob? I don't think so, and even if it doesn't sit well with my kids, I don't really care and to the parent's who question why I won't let your kids play with mine after school, go fuck yourselves. I'm not a day care center. Spend time with your kids after school. Ask about their day. Don't send them to my house. Example:
(knock at the door, door opens) Hi, I live across the street and my daughter said that you told her she couldn't play with your kids
Me - Correct
Neighbor - Can I ask why?
Me - No
Neighbor - Excuse me?
Me - Which one of the single words did you not understand?
Neighbor - Why can't my kids play with yours?
Me - For starters, hepatitis. But if you want a complete list of reasons, lice, numerous blood borne diseases...ummmm....I am afraid your kids will dumb mine down, tuberculosis, cellulitis, sinusitis and gastroenteritis. Most important however, your kids need YOU, believe it or not. Go help your kids with simple math. If you can't handle that, Google it.
I have heard from my kid's how they hate it at home. I have offered to help them pack and offered to crack their piggy bank for some spending money. It never really goes very far, but honestly, if I didn't love them, I would let them be assholes. My job isn't to be friends and make them happy by fulfilling every request. That's not realistic. McDonald's management won't do that, so why should I? I need to prepare them for reality. Only way that will happen is by P-A-R-E-N-T-I-N-G. It requires a sense of realism. Parenting now, while they are young allows for friendship later. I have grown up always loving my parents, but have found a certain level of respect of their parenting style now that I have kids. Being a pain in the ass early in life has allowed us to become very good friends. I love them for that. I have no doubt my kids will be the same way as they get older. History has proven it.
Friday, May 06, 2011
Whenever I Feel Dumb....
There are times when I feel....how do I put this....blah? When I get these feelings I step outside and get a dose of what real stupidity is. It takes checking the offspring of the same branch of the family tree and I realize that I am not as retarded as....THAT kid, or THAT kid....or even THAT adult. Last time I cehcked parenting was a full time gig. I mean, it's a tough job, no doubt about it. However, at 3:35, when the bus lets kids off the bus, I go outside and get a good whiff of phuck chop. What do I mean? Keep reading....
It's odd to me to write such a heart felt post and then follow it with a profanity-ridden tyrade on the urine-tarnished gene pool that is my hood. However, it doesn't do anyone any good to keep it all in. I'll explode. It's difficult to tell my kids "no" when they ask to play with the neighborhood kids. When they ask why, I have to lie. No, we are eating soon, or no, you need to clean your room. Those are actually lies. What I would love to say is "no, because they will dumb you down," or "you might catch a case of stupid by touching them," or "wearing camo head to toe when you are (A) not hunting, and (B) not in the military is abnormal." My son, bless his heart, asked me why the kids by the bus stop play in the dumpster. I can't say "because that's where trash plays." He will then go to them and call them trash. Not a lie, however, not appropriate either. It's almost like my house after school is a phucking day care for stay at home Mom's who "need a break." Need a break? This isn't Teen Mom. This is motherhood. "But I am a single Mom." So? Why is this my problem? You have had all day to go to the store. Take your kid. One of my daughter's "friends" came over the other day RIGHT...AFTER...SCHOOL and asked if Peyton could play. I said no, because she had homework. The little feral girl said "what's that?" Shiiiitttttttt......really? Spelling, math...you know...the shit you learn at school between recesses and lunch? I get nothing but a blank stare. It's almost like I have to offer her a slice of cheese or a hair brush to get off my porch. So she asks if Jacob can play. Again, I have to lie. Nope, he is working on pefecting the human genome. If nothing else I can use enough confusing vocabulary to induce a seizure so she can shake away. Every 15 minutes, there is a knock on my door. Today, garage sale lady brought my dog a bone. Not the porn version, but literally a bone. WTF? Who does that? "But Eli, that's nice of her." Phuck that. That's weird. I don't care what you say.
I was spraying Weed B Gone on my front lawn after mowing (both concepts are completely foreign to the neighbors) and the son, the only male in the house asks me what I am doing. Building a rocket ship? What does it look like? Picking apples? Every Spring I have a battle with dandelions. Every year they lose. However, it is a process that takes persistence because honestly, for every dandelion I kill, the neighbor's lawn reinfests mine because they have no concept of weed control...hence the two spawns that roam my driveway like the living dead. I had two gallon jugs of this stuff and thought about letting him have one and he could spray their lawn. I thought twice thinking that with my luck, bastard would hit himself in the face with the spray mistaking the jug of weed killer for a can of paint and he might try to huff it. I can only mentor a certain number of children at a time, which usually does not extend beyond MY and OWN. The world can use another camo-wearin criminal that will need medical clearance in the ER before being discharged to jail.
So if you need a dose of confidence, thinking you may be stupid, let me know. I'll give you directions to my hood. You'll feel so much better...
It's odd to me to write such a heart felt post and then follow it with a profanity-ridden tyrade on the urine-tarnished gene pool that is my hood. However, it doesn't do anyone any good to keep it all in. I'll explode. It's difficult to tell my kids "no" when they ask to play with the neighborhood kids. When they ask why, I have to lie. No, we are eating soon, or no, you need to clean your room. Those are actually lies. What I would love to say is "no, because they will dumb you down," or "you might catch a case of stupid by touching them," or "wearing camo head to toe when you are (A) not hunting, and (B) not in the military is abnormal." My son, bless his heart, asked me why the kids by the bus stop play in the dumpster. I can't say "because that's where trash plays." He will then go to them and call them trash. Not a lie, however, not appropriate either. It's almost like my house after school is a phucking day care for stay at home Mom's who "need a break." Need a break? This isn't Teen Mom. This is motherhood. "But I am a single Mom." So? Why is this my problem? You have had all day to go to the store. Take your kid. One of my daughter's "friends" came over the other day RIGHT...AFTER...SCHOOL and asked if Peyton could play. I said no, because she had homework. The little feral girl said "what's that?" Shiiiitttttttt......really? Spelling, math...you know...the shit you learn at school between recesses and lunch? I get nothing but a blank stare. It's almost like I have to offer her a slice of cheese or a hair brush to get off my porch. So she asks if Jacob can play. Again, I have to lie. Nope, he is working on pefecting the human genome. If nothing else I can use enough confusing vocabulary to induce a seizure so she can shake away. Every 15 minutes, there is a knock on my door. Today, garage sale lady brought my dog a bone. Not the porn version, but literally a bone. WTF? Who does that? "But Eli, that's nice of her." Phuck that. That's weird. I don't care what you say.
I was spraying Weed B Gone on my front lawn after mowing (both concepts are completely foreign to the neighbors) and the son, the only male in the house asks me what I am doing. Building a rocket ship? What does it look like? Picking apples? Every Spring I have a battle with dandelions. Every year they lose. However, it is a process that takes persistence because honestly, for every dandelion I kill, the neighbor's lawn reinfests mine because they have no concept of weed control...hence the two spawns that roam my driveway like the living dead. I had two gallon jugs of this stuff and thought about letting him have one and he could spray their lawn. I thought twice thinking that with my luck, bastard would hit himself in the face with the spray mistaking the jug of weed killer for a can of paint and he might try to huff it. I can only mentor a certain number of children at a time, which usually does not extend beyond MY and OWN. The world can use another camo-wearin criminal that will need medical clearance in the ER before being discharged to jail.
So if you need a dose of confidence, thinking you may be stupid, let me know. I'll give you directions to my hood. You'll feel so much better...
Thank You
When I got sick, I had this epiphany that life was short and I should appreciate every day that God gives me. I am not sure I have really done that. People often tell me that I am burning my candle at both ends. I get asked "how do you do it? How do you go to school, go to work and operate on little sleep?" I don't know. I just do. I have to. My delay in finishng my education has left me motivated to finish. I'm driven, I suppose, to not just finish but finish at the top. That is with school. As far as work, I have obligations that I have to take care of. It isn't about me anymore. I have a family to help provide for. I don't regret anything to date except for maybe not having this mentality when I was 15. Maybe doing this now, later in life, will show my kids that they can do whatever they want to do if they put in the work.
When I started my scribe job, my hope was to make some great relationships with physicians who would help me progress in my nursing career. However, it has been so much more than that. I have seen scared kids come in and doctors treating them with such compassion, even through their pain. I have watched more code traumas than I care to, however the nurses are unbelievable. Everyone has a job to do and they do it without hesitating. They are truly miracle workers. It reinforces in my mind that I have made the right choice in what I want to do with my life. At the same time, it is a constant reminder of how precious and uncertain life can be. There are no gurantees of tomorrow. I have always known this, however, it rings home when you are present when death occurs. Not just natural death, either. We can never expect the unexpected. No one can. I pray every day to let God give me just one more day to impact someone's life. So far, He has given me my wish. What happens, though, when He says it's my time, or someone I love? Then what? Does it make me less apt to pursue nursing or caring for complete strangers? I don't think so. I ask myself these questions all of the time. It all comes back to appreciation; appreciating what you have right in front of you while you can.
Money will not give me happiness. Or you. or anyone else for that matter. Not in the long run anyway. If I had a lot of money, I would give it away. I don't want money. I want to heal people. I want to cure illness. I want to provide comfort. I want to educate. I want to research and diagnose. I want to find reasons why disease occurs, and then spreads. I want a patient that I am taking care of to leave my care better off, not just initially but forever. That can be a big hill to climb, but that obstacle will not deter me from trying. One person at a time can be changed. Imagine if everyone thought about encounters the same way. What kind of world would we live in?
I love my family. I love my Mom and Dad who taught me about resilience and perseverance. I love my brother, my silent pillar of strength, whom I know will always be there if I need him. I love my kids. Savannah, my oldest who is growing too fast and reminds me about how time together is short, yet sweet. Peyton and Jacob, even when they fight, I think of how when they get older, they will love each ther unconditionally as I did with my brother. My wife, my rock, our family's life preserver, someone I admire in ways I cannot put into words. I have learned to appreciate them more through the tragedy of death.
Today is the best day of my life. I know this because it is happening now. I can only control what I do today. Tomorrow is not certain. I pray for it, and God often grants me this prayer, and I start over, tring to bring a smile to an unhappy face. I hope, as a practicing nure, that my patients will leave knowing I cared. I hope my family knows how I cannot be successful in this effort without them. Life is like building a pyramid, one brick at a time. it takes the efforts of many to see the final result. Often times we walk on the backs of loved ones to get to the top. I appreciate the foundation that was laid in the beginning and I cannot express enough gratitude of the sacrifices made by the people closest to me as I lay the final bricks. I hope that they will be with me to see the finished product, and I can look into their eyes and say thank you, even if those are the only words I can use to express a fraction of the feeling.
No one gets what they want by themselves. I realize this more and more every day. I just hope I don't forget to say thank you once in a while. I hope you don't either.
When I started my scribe job, my hope was to make some great relationships with physicians who would help me progress in my nursing career. However, it has been so much more than that. I have seen scared kids come in and doctors treating them with such compassion, even through their pain. I have watched more code traumas than I care to, however the nurses are unbelievable. Everyone has a job to do and they do it without hesitating. They are truly miracle workers. It reinforces in my mind that I have made the right choice in what I want to do with my life. At the same time, it is a constant reminder of how precious and uncertain life can be. There are no gurantees of tomorrow. I have always known this, however, it rings home when you are present when death occurs. Not just natural death, either. We can never expect the unexpected. No one can. I pray every day to let God give me just one more day to impact someone's life. So far, He has given me my wish. What happens, though, when He says it's my time, or someone I love? Then what? Does it make me less apt to pursue nursing or caring for complete strangers? I don't think so. I ask myself these questions all of the time. It all comes back to appreciation; appreciating what you have right in front of you while you can.
Money will not give me happiness. Or you. or anyone else for that matter. Not in the long run anyway. If I had a lot of money, I would give it away. I don't want money. I want to heal people. I want to cure illness. I want to provide comfort. I want to educate. I want to research and diagnose. I want to find reasons why disease occurs, and then spreads. I want a patient that I am taking care of to leave my care better off, not just initially but forever. That can be a big hill to climb, but that obstacle will not deter me from trying. One person at a time can be changed. Imagine if everyone thought about encounters the same way. What kind of world would we live in?
I love my family. I love my Mom and Dad who taught me about resilience and perseverance. I love my brother, my silent pillar of strength, whom I know will always be there if I need him. I love my kids. Savannah, my oldest who is growing too fast and reminds me about how time together is short, yet sweet. Peyton and Jacob, even when they fight, I think of how when they get older, they will love each ther unconditionally as I did with my brother. My wife, my rock, our family's life preserver, someone I admire in ways I cannot put into words. I have learned to appreciate them more through the tragedy of death.
Today is the best day of my life. I know this because it is happening now. I can only control what I do today. Tomorrow is not certain. I pray for it, and God often grants me this prayer, and I start over, tring to bring a smile to an unhappy face. I hope, as a practicing nure, that my patients will leave knowing I cared. I hope my family knows how I cannot be successful in this effort without them. Life is like building a pyramid, one brick at a time. it takes the efforts of many to see the final result. Often times we walk on the backs of loved ones to get to the top. I appreciate the foundation that was laid in the beginning and I cannot express enough gratitude of the sacrifices made by the people closest to me as I lay the final bricks. I hope that they will be with me to see the finished product, and I can look into their eyes and say thank you, even if those are the only words I can use to express a fraction of the feeling.
No one gets what they want by themselves. I realize this more and more every day. I just hope I don't forget to say thank you once in a while. I hope you don't either.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
It's Garage Sale Season
This past weekend, we emptied the garage out to clean it and threw a bunch of stuff away. I call it spring cleaning. My wife calls it "I don't want to be called a hoarder." Regardless, it was time that we purged a few things that, to be honest, we haven't touched in almost a decade. It is hard to get rid of things from your past. I am guilty of that very thing. A lot of the things we are holding onto are mine that I have been holding onto for sentimental reasons. I have this vision of my kids wanting to know about me when I was their age. Like they would be looking up to me. Then I think, when my kids are in high school, I will be considered a tool because that is how things progress. The more hip and relevant you attempt to be, the dorkier you are. Sorry Mom and Dad but back then, it was kind of true. =) My parents rocked. Who am I kidding?
Of course, this event started about the time the sun came up. I really have no idea as I was only awakened at 1030 Saturday morning because my wife informed me that she was going to purchase shelves to put in the garage. My eyes were glued shut and as I pried them open, sunlight burned through them, reminding me that I had yet again slept late. I felt incredibly guilty. I through on a hat and shoes and went out to the garage and noticed that it was empty and sitting in our driveway was our history together. I noticed cars were driving by slowly, eyeballing shit they will not get their hands on. I felt compelled to yell "MOVE ALONG, NOTHING TO SEE HERE," as if steering the paparazzi away from Heath Ledger's corpse. One person did happen to break through the verbal bubble. That was our neighbor across the street. She lives on having garage sales. Well, to me, they are sales. To her, it is a way to make rent. She asks me" at a tone and volume necessary for underwater cavern communication "are you having a garage sale," drooling with every step closer to my driveway. I said, simply "no, just cleaning." This must have shocked her to no end. Who in their right mind would....clean? So she repeated her original question. I replied, again, less enthusiastically that I, in fact, was not selling anything. She began to tell me that next weekend some non-profit group was donating their donations to her to sell for income. I cared more about a steel catheter being inserted into my junk than I did to hear about her latest reason for me to dislike my current living arrangements. I feigned interest, similarly to an episode of Sister Wives. It occurred to me that my useless crap could easily be carted across the street and dealt with by someone else rather than having me make multiple trips to the Goodwill Donation wagon in a Honda Accord. My wife, upon her return, concurred.
Jackpot.
So we began dragging things in and without a second thought, began to pile our junk on the front lawn. The neighbor across the street began to pace back and forth, like a hyena waiting for a water buffalo to die. It's almost like watching the clock steadily approach high noon, diners waiting for cookie to ring the triangle. I left briefly to go throw away some boxes and other miscellaneous trash and when I returned, I saw people grabbing stuff from our yard and walking across the street, resembling ants taking food back to the colony. It was golden. This essentially saved me about 2 hours. I couldnt have been happier. Then I helped carry one load over...and I haven't really slept since. I got to hear more than I cared to about the inadequacies of her life, her trials that, according to her, had nothing to do with her specifically, but more TO her. Rough life being unemployed for 3 years. Really? 3 years? How is that? Are you injured? (no) I notice you have enough wherewithall to speed off in your Dodge Caravan for smokes every afternoon, so it isn't a mental defect (at least cognitively) or gross motor skill impairment (you do walk across the street daily for your mail). Seems to me that the choice to be unemployed is yours. Most people look forward to the spring weather for the activities, the fever we all get because winter is over. You look forward to it so the table and chair outside your front door has meaning....you sit in it and get cancer and yell at your kids for being born. Yes, Spring is here. How exciting. I now get to meet more people than I care to...as they park in front of my house....and buy your shit (and some of mine).
Of course, this event started about the time the sun came up. I really have no idea as I was only awakened at 1030 Saturday morning because my wife informed me that she was going to purchase shelves to put in the garage. My eyes were glued shut and as I pried them open, sunlight burned through them, reminding me that I had yet again slept late. I felt incredibly guilty. I through on a hat and shoes and went out to the garage and noticed that it was empty and sitting in our driveway was our history together. I noticed cars were driving by slowly, eyeballing shit they will not get their hands on. I felt compelled to yell "MOVE ALONG, NOTHING TO SEE HERE," as if steering the paparazzi away from Heath Ledger's corpse. One person did happen to break through the verbal bubble. That was our neighbor across the street. She lives on having garage sales. Well, to me, they are sales. To her, it is a way to make rent. She asks me" at a tone and volume necessary for underwater cavern communication "are you having a garage sale," drooling with every step closer to my driveway. I said, simply "no, just cleaning." This must have shocked her to no end. Who in their right mind would....clean? So she repeated her original question. I replied, again, less enthusiastically that I, in fact, was not selling anything. She began to tell me that next weekend some non-profit group was donating their donations to her to sell for income. I cared more about a steel catheter being inserted into my junk than I did to hear about her latest reason for me to dislike my current living arrangements. I feigned interest, similarly to an episode of Sister Wives. It occurred to me that my useless crap could easily be carted across the street and dealt with by someone else rather than having me make multiple trips to the Goodwill Donation wagon in a Honda Accord. My wife, upon her return, concurred.
Jackpot.
So we began dragging things in and without a second thought, began to pile our junk on the front lawn. The neighbor across the street began to pace back and forth, like a hyena waiting for a water buffalo to die. It's almost like watching the clock steadily approach high noon, diners waiting for cookie to ring the triangle. I left briefly to go throw away some boxes and other miscellaneous trash and when I returned, I saw people grabbing stuff from our yard and walking across the street, resembling ants taking food back to the colony. It was golden. This essentially saved me about 2 hours. I couldnt have been happier. Then I helped carry one load over...and I haven't really slept since. I got to hear more than I cared to about the inadequacies of her life, her trials that, according to her, had nothing to do with her specifically, but more TO her. Rough life being unemployed for 3 years. Really? 3 years? How is that? Are you injured? (no) I notice you have enough wherewithall to speed off in your Dodge Caravan for smokes every afternoon, so it isn't a mental defect (at least cognitively) or gross motor skill impairment (you do walk across the street daily for your mail). Seems to me that the choice to be unemployed is yours. Most people look forward to the spring weather for the activities, the fever we all get because winter is over. You look forward to it so the table and chair outside your front door has meaning....you sit in it and get cancer and yell at your kids for being born. Yes, Spring is here. How exciting. I now get to meet more people than I care to...as they park in front of my house....and buy your shit (and some of mine).
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Buyer Beware
I have 3 lovely children. 66.67% of those children are girls. 50% of the girls are psycho. 100% of the psycho girls are 7-years old. 100% of the 7-year olds that live in this house that are psycho are NOT bleeding. The above equation says to me that within the next 36-60 months are going to be totally.....awesome....as I wait for the hormones to accentuate the psychosis that is my 7-year old.
I really should have seen this coming. Since birth, she has had a complaint for everything. "The sun is uppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp!!!!" Or, "WHY IS THEIR FOOD ON MY PLAAATTTEEEEEEEEEE???" My favorite to this day remains, when asked why she is crying hysterically, "I DON'T KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!" That lovely diddy came out of her mouth at 4. It was at the time that my once descended testicles went back home to the abdomen to rest.....forever. About the age of 5, while all her friends were wearing clothes from the Gap with matching accessories, she was wearing Walmart, garlic necklaces, a 18-pound crucifix and a Bible duct taped to her chest, in hopes that the demon within would be exorcised. It failed. As she has gotten older, her complaints, still without reason, are backed by her idea of reason and meaning, all of which are spoken 3 levels higher than the parental retort. In all reality, the trouble lies with Mom because the arguments are between her and Peyton. I should feel lucky that I am indirectly excluded from these episodes, but lately it has come to my attention that something needs to change or else she is gonna be at home longer than she needs to be come legal maturity.
I can see it now, at....let's say....15, she is going to want to get a tattoo. Jamie will say "HELL NO!" She will likely come to me. Of course, I will do the polite thing and say, "what did Mom say," knowing full well Mom said no because you can usually hear that from the next street over. I, however, will say "you bet, let's go!" My wife will inevitably freak out, attempt to stop us and I will tell her it will be fine and not to worry, not explaining how this will go down. Peyton and I will get in the car, her saying her friends have 3 or 4 but she only wants one and she can't BELIEVE she is going to be able to get a tattoo...wow....how cool she will be. We'll pull up to a tattoo parlor, and she will anxiously go find a tattoo book (I guess that's what happens) and check out butterflies, unicorns, Japanese symbols that, below the picture read "PEACE" or "STRENGTH" but actually mean "YOU ARE TOO DUMB TO KNOW THIS MEANS I HAVE A FAT ASS." Meanwhile, I will walk up to the counter and say that my 15-year old daughter wants to get a tattoo and since I was put on this Earth to be a "cool parent," I agreed and then am going to buy her wine coolers for her and her friends (never....ever....ever). The artist will say "great, what one does she want?" ike Christmas morning, she wil run over to the counter and throw the book down, stabbing her choice with her saber-like phalange and say "this one, Daddy. I want this one." I will look down and see a big, colorful Monarch butterfly carrying the genetic formula for the cure for cancer. "Honey that is SOOO pretty, but I have a better one. I have been dreaming for this day since you were 4-years old." I would then plop down the following picture, with the instructions that it can only be placed on the forehead.
That would take care of that....
I really should have seen this coming. Since birth, she has had a complaint for everything. "The sun is uppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp!!!!" Or, "WHY IS THEIR FOOD ON MY PLAAATTTEEEEEEEEEE???" My favorite to this day remains, when asked why she is crying hysterically, "I DON'T KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!" That lovely diddy came out of her mouth at 4. It was at the time that my once descended testicles went back home to the abdomen to rest.....forever. About the age of 5, while all her friends were wearing clothes from the Gap with matching accessories, she was wearing Walmart, garlic necklaces, a 18-pound crucifix and a Bible duct taped to her chest, in hopes that the demon within would be exorcised. It failed. As she has gotten older, her complaints, still without reason, are backed by her idea of reason and meaning, all of which are spoken 3 levels higher than the parental retort. In all reality, the trouble lies with Mom because the arguments are between her and Peyton. I should feel lucky that I am indirectly excluded from these episodes, but lately it has come to my attention that something needs to change or else she is gonna be at home longer than she needs to be come legal maturity.
I can see it now, at....let's say....15, she is going to want to get a tattoo. Jamie will say "HELL NO!" She will likely come to me. Of course, I will do the polite thing and say, "what did Mom say," knowing full well Mom said no because you can usually hear that from the next street over. I, however, will say "you bet, let's go!" My wife will inevitably freak out, attempt to stop us and I will tell her it will be fine and not to worry, not explaining how this will go down. Peyton and I will get in the car, her saying her friends have 3 or 4 but she only wants one and she can't BELIEVE she is going to be able to get a tattoo...wow....how cool she will be. We'll pull up to a tattoo parlor, and she will anxiously go find a tattoo book (I guess that's what happens) and check out butterflies, unicorns, Japanese symbols that, below the picture read "PEACE" or "STRENGTH" but actually mean "YOU ARE TOO DUMB TO KNOW THIS MEANS I HAVE A FAT ASS." Meanwhile, I will walk up to the counter and say that my 15-year old daughter wants to get a tattoo and since I was put on this Earth to be a "cool parent," I agreed and then am going to buy her wine coolers for her and her friends (never....ever....ever). The artist will say "great, what one does she want?" ike Christmas morning, she wil run over to the counter and throw the book down, stabbing her choice with her saber-like phalange and say "this one, Daddy. I want this one." I will look down and see a big, colorful Monarch butterfly carrying the genetic formula for the cure for cancer. "Honey that is SOOO pretty, but I have a better one. I have been dreaming for this day since you were 4-years old." I would then plop down the following picture, with the instructions that it can only be placed on the forehead.
That would take care of that....
Friday, February 25, 2011
Lessons Learned
I learned a lot this week. I started a couple IV's, I learned different techniques about patient interactionm, I studied more medical terminology and abbreviations than I care to regurgitate at the moment. That last part was just for WORK. I believe, however, that the most important lesson I learned is that there are no guarantees in life. Yes, I know. This is not an old lesson for me, but we often forget about this golden rule and will take it for granted until the realization hits you like a freight train.
About the only thing were are given in life are opportunities. What we do with those opportunities will define our success or our failure. There is no whining about failure. The saying goes "if you fail to prepare, then you prepare to fail." This is true with just about everything we are. It is more apparent in Nursing school. A lot of you wonder why I am absent at times, maybe not myself. When I made the decision to pursue Nursing as a career, I thought I was going to die, in a very literal sense. I might have cancer, I might not, your liver is failing, oh wait, no it isn't. You have a mass on your spleen and your kidney....and your newly diabetic. At this stage in my life I had not accomplished really anything. "But you have 3 beautiful kids." Sure...but what legacy would I leave behind? How would I impact them in such a way that if I died, they would always remember me? The realization hit me that, among other things, I had the power to impact someone's life forever. I had been underestimating my capabilities for far too long. I could do this and it became clear that my illness was a way for God to really open my eyes to what the definition of potential really was.
Being accepted into the Nursing program, pretty much anywhere, is really the easy part. Sure you have to go through many trials to get there. However, you can't stop when you are accepted. When I got accepted, I wasn't elated. There was no "sigh of relief." I got nervous. I got butterflies. For me, failure wasn't an option. This was going to be the rest of my life. I had finally found what I wanted to do, and I was not going to let anyone take it away from me. My acceptance was my opportunity for something better, for something fulfilling. I had no intentions of thowing it away.
The short of this story is this. I have had 6 fellow nursing students lose this opportunity, for one reason or another, and it pains me to see this happen. How is it that, when given the chance to pursue a passion in life, that you let this opportunity slip through your fingers? We ALL have things going on in our life. We have distractions. We have issues that can cause an impedence in our progress. Aside from death, what else is there that will stop your from moving forward? I don't quite understand it. Was it once a priority and then it wasn't? It is a lot of work. It is more work than I have ever experienced, at least scholastically, in my entire life. To me, it makes it that much more important to stay on top of things. It's like every other project you might be working on. If you get behind, it then makes it that much harder to catch up and keep going. You are more apt to quit, and use life as an excuse. Life is what got you where you are. Life got you the opportunity. Don't make excuses. Own the outcome. You will sure as hell own the reward. It DOES work both ways. Failure is a direct result of preparation, as is success. Where do you stand? Life is going to happen whether you are ready or not. Don't miss out on the chance to make a difference because you forgot tomorrow was coming.
There are no guarantees...even for tomorrow.
About the only thing were are given in life are opportunities. What we do with those opportunities will define our success or our failure. There is no whining about failure. The saying goes "if you fail to prepare, then you prepare to fail." This is true with just about everything we are. It is more apparent in Nursing school. A lot of you wonder why I am absent at times, maybe not myself. When I made the decision to pursue Nursing as a career, I thought I was going to die, in a very literal sense. I might have cancer, I might not, your liver is failing, oh wait, no it isn't. You have a mass on your spleen and your kidney....and your newly diabetic. At this stage in my life I had not accomplished really anything. "But you have 3 beautiful kids." Sure...but what legacy would I leave behind? How would I impact them in such a way that if I died, they would always remember me? The realization hit me that, among other things, I had the power to impact someone's life forever. I had been underestimating my capabilities for far too long. I could do this and it became clear that my illness was a way for God to really open my eyes to what the definition of potential really was.
Being accepted into the Nursing program, pretty much anywhere, is really the easy part. Sure you have to go through many trials to get there. However, you can't stop when you are accepted. When I got accepted, I wasn't elated. There was no "sigh of relief." I got nervous. I got butterflies. For me, failure wasn't an option. This was going to be the rest of my life. I had finally found what I wanted to do, and I was not going to let anyone take it away from me. My acceptance was my opportunity for something better, for something fulfilling. I had no intentions of thowing it away.
The short of this story is this. I have had 6 fellow nursing students lose this opportunity, for one reason or another, and it pains me to see this happen. How is it that, when given the chance to pursue a passion in life, that you let this opportunity slip through your fingers? We ALL have things going on in our life. We have distractions. We have issues that can cause an impedence in our progress. Aside from death, what else is there that will stop your from moving forward? I don't quite understand it. Was it once a priority and then it wasn't? It is a lot of work. It is more work than I have ever experienced, at least scholastically, in my entire life. To me, it makes it that much more important to stay on top of things. It's like every other project you might be working on. If you get behind, it then makes it that much harder to catch up and keep going. You are more apt to quit, and use life as an excuse. Life is what got you where you are. Life got you the opportunity. Don't make excuses. Own the outcome. You will sure as hell own the reward. It DOES work both ways. Failure is a direct result of preparation, as is success. Where do you stand? Life is going to happen whether you are ready or not. Don't miss out on the chance to make a difference because you forgot tomorrow was coming.
There are no guarantees...even for tomorrow.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Taking Chance
It's not a typo.
God works in mysterious ways. I have always believed that. It seems about the time I wonder if God is paying any attention in my life, He points me in a direction I had no intention to go. I rented this movie. I had never heard of it before. No one had ever told me about it. I am not a semper fi, do or die type individual. I am insanely proud of our troops. This is not a partisan choice. I am proud of them, not because they are protecting our freedom, although that is part of it. I am proud, primarily, that they die for their brothers next to them. I am proud that they demonstrate a bond that cannot be replicated without a certain level of sacrifice that, unfortunately, most of us do not get to implement. I am honored to loudly and obnoxiously state GOD BLESS OUR TROOPS to anyone that would listen. I do not believe I am alone in this, but this movie made me really appreciate a side of our military that most outsiders are not familiar with.
The military escort for a fallen brother.
This process was so deliberately illustrated without saying a word. As a viewer, I could objectively see how marines form a bond beginning at recruitment, continuing through boot camp and the battlefield, and even in death. No man is left behind is not just a saying established in battle. It extends when a soldier is killed in the line of duty. It was an eye opening experience for me to see, not just what happens, but how, in this particular soldier's story, the public honoring a stranger. As a society, these deaths are just newsworthy for a brief moment and skipped over, not giving credence to the sacrifice given by the soldier and also the family. Sure, the soldier know what the consequences are for entering battle, but they do so without hesitation. They do so to protect their brothers, their family both in war and in peace. They do what outsiders may think is a worthless cause. Names of the fallen soldiers are attached to a presidency when in reality, politics is not what drives these men and women to do their duty. At least, not domestically. I'm sidetracked.
An escort will accompany the remains of a fallen soldier home, to a funeral director, and will pass on the personal effects to the family. The story was amazing. Any movie based on true events, and one without addition of un-Godly amounts of cinematic license, is one that will catch my attention. This was one of those movies. I watched it twice,back-to-back, because I wanted to see dedication defined. Without going into too much detail, it is a story of a stranger accompanying a stranger, to pass him on to strangers and everything in between. Watch a trailer. Read the story about it online. Then go rent it. It will change the way you view things. I guarantee that.
God works in mysterious ways. I have always believed that. It seems about the time I wonder if God is paying any attention in my life, He points me in a direction I had no intention to go. I rented this movie. I had never heard of it before. No one had ever told me about it. I am not a semper fi, do or die type individual. I am insanely proud of our troops. This is not a partisan choice. I am proud of them, not because they are protecting our freedom, although that is part of it. I am proud, primarily, that they die for their brothers next to them. I am proud that they demonstrate a bond that cannot be replicated without a certain level of sacrifice that, unfortunately, most of us do not get to implement. I am honored to loudly and obnoxiously state GOD BLESS OUR TROOPS to anyone that would listen. I do not believe I am alone in this, but this movie made me really appreciate a side of our military that most outsiders are not familiar with.
The military escort for a fallen brother.
This process was so deliberately illustrated without saying a word. As a viewer, I could objectively see how marines form a bond beginning at recruitment, continuing through boot camp and the battlefield, and even in death. No man is left behind is not just a saying established in battle. It extends when a soldier is killed in the line of duty. It was an eye opening experience for me to see, not just what happens, but how, in this particular soldier's story, the public honoring a stranger. As a society, these deaths are just newsworthy for a brief moment and skipped over, not giving credence to the sacrifice given by the soldier and also the family. Sure, the soldier know what the consequences are for entering battle, but they do so without hesitation. They do so to protect their brothers, their family both in war and in peace. They do what outsiders may think is a worthless cause. Names of the fallen soldiers are attached to a presidency when in reality, politics is not what drives these men and women to do their duty. At least, not domestically. I'm sidetracked.
An escort will accompany the remains of a fallen soldier home, to a funeral director, and will pass on the personal effects to the family. The story was amazing. Any movie based on true events, and one without addition of un-Godly amounts of cinematic license, is one that will catch my attention. This was one of those movies. I watched it twice,back-to-back, because I wanted to see dedication defined. Without going into too much detail, it is a story of a stranger accompanying a stranger, to pass him on to strangers and everything in between. Watch a trailer. Read the story about it online. Then go rent it. It will change the way you view things. I guarantee that.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Where Did My Humor Go?
You ever have a one of those months? How about 3 months? I have been so wrapped up in school, I have forgotten what this blog was all about...RELEASE! If you scan over my blog at all, you will see mostly rants, as advertised, about the mundane. Usually, they consist of the things we want to say but never do. A few things have either happened to me directly or I have been contemplating over this 3 month span that I thought I would bring up, mostly because I can, and minutely because I have a semi-captive audience due to your boredom.
Everytime I see the Drake commercial where he is about ready to bust out his egocentric line "last name EVA, first name GRAYEST," and then backs away from the microphone stating he "just doesn't feel it," I cringe. I know what is coming next. Sprite. Sprite apparently makes you spew out sentence fragments to a beat and makes you rich. It also segments your body in a robotic fashion and enhances memory function. Nothing says refreshing like split facial bones with high fructose corn syrup running through them.
My neighbor right next door recently got a "Labrador retriever" to replace a Rottweiler that had to be put down because it killed a small calf. Yes...it chased down, tackled a small cow. I met the dog once when we moved in. I thought to myself, "that dog is huge! A baby Holstein is gonna get it one day." Sure enough, dead cow, dead Rottweiler. So, they replaced it with this...dog. It was a black dog, but not a Labrador as she called it. It was a mix and she claimed it was going to be used for hunting. First of all, the dog was like a toddler in Toys R Us without a spending limit....or Adderall. It could not sneak up on corpse. It was so bad, it leapt a 6 foot wire fence to check out our yard when they were gone. My dogs went a little nuts. The one time I didn't have a spare jug of anti-freeze. Yes, cruel....terrible of me to say. However, the older I get, the less tolerant I am of stupid people. Secondly, NO ONE in that house should be anywhere near a gun. I don't care if they have taken 8 years of gun/hunting safety classes. I guarantee a Dick Cheney incident the first day out, but on themselves as they point the butt of the gun towards a pheasant. Stephen Hawking would have more luck killing a bird. It's times like these where country living sounds awesome.
I used to think that the people of Walmart website was a joke, a farce created by people with too much time on their hands. I figured some of these pictures were so obviously staged that no WAY could they be legit. Then I went to Walmart at 830AM. They're true...every single one of them. I didn't have my cell phone to capture what I saw, but I saw several people that are painfully color-blind and obviously single. I saw shorts and Santa-laden tube socks pulled up to the knees with mocassins. I saw chainmail armor shawls. I saw Oranges with greens and felt like screaming "IT'S THE GREAT PUMPKIN CHARLIE BROWN!" I actually thought I saw the crest of Xanthia (from the movie Role Models). The Santa sock/mocassin lady was getting her Xanax prescription filled and it all made sense. One of these circus freaks was toting around a snot filled fleshling, complaining that they needed to hurry so it didn't miss its home school lesson. Future generation people. I think someone needs to care IMMEDIATELY.
Gotta go...the neighbor's dog is on my roof....
Everytime I see the Drake commercial where he is about ready to bust out his egocentric line "last name EVA, first name GRAYEST," and then backs away from the microphone stating he "just doesn't feel it," I cringe. I know what is coming next. Sprite. Sprite apparently makes you spew out sentence fragments to a beat and makes you rich. It also segments your body in a robotic fashion and enhances memory function. Nothing says refreshing like split facial bones with high fructose corn syrup running through them.
My neighbor right next door recently got a "Labrador retriever" to replace a Rottweiler that had to be put down because it killed a small calf. Yes...it chased down, tackled a small cow. I met the dog once when we moved in. I thought to myself, "that dog is huge! A baby Holstein is gonna get it one day." Sure enough, dead cow, dead Rottweiler. So, they replaced it with this...dog. It was a black dog, but not a Labrador as she called it. It was a mix and she claimed it was going to be used for hunting. First of all, the dog was like a toddler in Toys R Us without a spending limit....or Adderall. It could not sneak up on corpse. It was so bad, it leapt a 6 foot wire fence to check out our yard when they were gone. My dogs went a little nuts. The one time I didn't have a spare jug of anti-freeze. Yes, cruel....terrible of me to say. However, the older I get, the less tolerant I am of stupid people. Secondly, NO ONE in that house should be anywhere near a gun. I don't care if they have taken 8 years of gun/hunting safety classes. I guarantee a Dick Cheney incident the first day out, but on themselves as they point the butt of the gun towards a pheasant. Stephen Hawking would have more luck killing a bird. It's times like these where country living sounds awesome.
I used to think that the people of Walmart website was a joke, a farce created by people with too much time on their hands. I figured some of these pictures were so obviously staged that no WAY could they be legit. Then I went to Walmart at 830AM. They're true...every single one of them. I didn't have my cell phone to capture what I saw, but I saw several people that are painfully color-blind and obviously single. I saw shorts and Santa-laden tube socks pulled up to the knees with mocassins. I saw chainmail armor shawls. I saw Oranges with greens and felt like screaming "IT'S THE GREAT PUMPKIN CHARLIE BROWN!" I actually thought I saw the crest of Xanthia (from the movie Role Models). The Santa sock/mocassin lady was getting her Xanax prescription filled and it all made sense. One of these circus freaks was toting around a snot filled fleshling, complaining that they needed to hurry so it didn't miss its home school lesson. Future generation people. I think someone needs to care IMMEDIATELY.
Gotta go...the neighbor's dog is on my roof....
Thursday, October 28, 2010
No Solicitation
If you have a front door, then you can relate. Salesman suck. They don't suck as much as crabs, walking in the garage and stepping on glass, 2AM slumber interruptions from your kids informing you that their feet hurt, a kick in the balls, or being ass raped by a grizzly bear, but they suck. I understand we all have to make a living. I respect people that want to make money to pay for crack since they aren't related to the dealer. I admire someone who feels a job should help pay for fellatio from a total stranger. I think it builds character. The job, not the oral sex. But stop knocking on my door....especially when I have a sign that says not to.
The sign is a chance to think about what you are about to do next. You have one of two options. First, you could knock and get an ass chewing by me, made fun of, ridiculed for your inability to follow written instructions, making you UNEMPLOYABLE at such places as....Walmart! Or you could stop, read and move along. Seems simple really. It isn't like we are the only people out in the country. We have other houses around us. We have people more than willing to eat your yummy meat so you can pay some skank to do the same. Adults that come by and sell me shit are the ones that get me. I shouldn't get mad at kids, really, because they don't have the life experience to know better. Who better to teach them but me?
We had a kid from the neighborhood come by yesterday and ring the doorbell, right around the time I was trying to do something important like euthanize an earwig. I went to the door ready to spew my tirade when low and behold a kid was standing there selling me a fucking nest. A nest! Why the hell would anyone want to buy a nest? It was made out of twigs, grass and mud, setting his nest apart from every other fucking avian condo I have ever seen how? My door was open about 5 inches and he was giving me his schpeel about how I could own this nest for just $10 when I wondered why the door was open at all. I heard $10 and was floored. Where did he compare his prices? Was there a market survey about nest prices...USED nest prices in the 99336 zip code? Then I looked him head to toe and he had the hygiene of a crack addict's kid. The term "dime bag" came to mind....and then the $10 tag made sense.
"How was work Daddy?"
"Daddy got fired you little bastard...go sell that nest in the front tree for some crack cash."
I simply said "no," and started to shut the door, and he put his foot in the door and said, "please....its only $10!" Most people would see, "awww.....he is probably hungry or something....poor kid." I don't have the patience for compassion. I said "no, but I will consider shitting in an ALbertson's bag and trading you for the nest. Shit for shit seems fair." He just stared blankly, so I said "Walmart bag?" He shook his head no and made a scrunched up, icky face. I guess he knows Walmart better than Albertson's.
...and we have come full circle...
The sign is a chance to think about what you are about to do next. You have one of two options. First, you could knock and get an ass chewing by me, made fun of, ridiculed for your inability to follow written instructions, making you UNEMPLOYABLE at such places as....Walmart! Or you could stop, read and move along. Seems simple really. It isn't like we are the only people out in the country. We have other houses around us. We have people more than willing to eat your yummy meat so you can pay some skank to do the same. Adults that come by and sell me shit are the ones that get me. I shouldn't get mad at kids, really, because they don't have the life experience to know better. Who better to teach them but me?
We had a kid from the neighborhood come by yesterday and ring the doorbell, right around the time I was trying to do something important like euthanize an earwig. I went to the door ready to spew my tirade when low and behold a kid was standing there selling me a fucking nest. A nest! Why the hell would anyone want to buy a nest? It was made out of twigs, grass and mud, setting his nest apart from every other fucking avian condo I have ever seen how? My door was open about 5 inches and he was giving me his schpeel about how I could own this nest for just $10 when I wondered why the door was open at all. I heard $10 and was floored. Where did he compare his prices? Was there a market survey about nest prices...USED nest prices in the 99336 zip code? Then I looked him head to toe and he had the hygiene of a crack addict's kid. The term "dime bag" came to mind....and then the $10 tag made sense.
"How was work Daddy?"
"Daddy got fired you little bastard...go sell that nest in the front tree for some crack cash."
I simply said "no," and started to shut the door, and he put his foot in the door and said, "please....its only $10!" Most people would see, "awww.....he is probably hungry or something....poor kid." I don't have the patience for compassion. I said "no, but I will consider shitting in an ALbertson's bag and trading you for the nest. Shit for shit seems fair." He just stared blankly, so I said "Walmart bag?" He shook his head no and made a scrunched up, icky face. I guess he knows Walmart better than Albertson's.
...and we have come full circle...
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Your Unemployment Bothers Me
I understand the economy sucks right now. I understand you may not be educated enough to enter data on a computer screen, pronounce AND spell rezoomay, get up early and work all day, or even understand the concept of POS systems. However, seeing you sit on your ass, DAILY, puffing away continuously on Marlboro reds, sipping on yet ANOTHER soda from Sunmart is beginning to aggravate me.
When I ask you how the job hunt is going, be creative. Stating "there are just no jobs out there" is bullshit. There ARE jobs out there. You just don't want to (A) work the hours they are wanting you to work or (B) don't want to take the time to re-train yourself in a new field. Either way, it falls on the fact that you are fine with having garage sales every wekeend to help pay your rent with shit that is being donated by a church. You are probably OK with simply collecting unemployment benefits. Whatever the case, as a tax payer I feel like its my right to inform you that I think you can be doing more to find work. Your kids are old enough to take care of themselves. Your car seems to run fine. You are able to walk to the mailbox and back. Your voice, at least right now, is healthy enough to bellow at me, asking if my place of employment is hiring from across the street. Let's do some math, shall we?
Being I do not know the price of a carton of Marlboro reds, I have to assume they are expensive since they are a brand name. You have to buy a carton, because buying them by pack doesn't make sense. Figuring on the burly, raspy tone of your voice and your hacking productive smoker's cough, I am going to assume, again, that you smoke about 3 packs a day. There are 10 packs in a carton. So, if the price of a carton is $50, and you go through 2 cartons a week, that is $100 a week in just smokes, or $400 a month, almost $5000 a year. I have no idea what your unemployment is but lets guess its $400 a week...$1600 a month. Seems a bit much to me, but whatever...benefit of the doubt I guess. Rent can't be less than $700. So for $1100 a month you have a cush, comfy porch to park your ass while you burn 25% of your monthly state, provided stipend away. This leaves about, estimating of course, $500 for gas, groceries and utilities, not to mention your son's cell phone bill. Maybe it's your phone, but the manner in which he hides his conversations from you, I can only imagine it being his.
I guess I am aggravated at myself for realizing I needed a career change and getting the schooling required to change professions and actually doing it, while working, while making sure my kid's don't miss out on time with me, or making time for the family when I really need to be studying, and working 55 hours a week to make sure I do not have to depend entirely on others...and then watching you do nothing except progress towards cancer and arteries that resemble re-bar. Don't be shocked that I don't waive at you. Your choice to manipulate the system so your life is easier is yours to do with what you choose, as is my choice to be neighborly. Waving, although courtesy, is a sign that I am OK that you sit on your ass all day. I'm not, so I don't waive.
Oh, next week, the next time I see your cat I am going to give him some anti-freeze before he shits in my yard again.
When I ask you how the job hunt is going, be creative. Stating "there are just no jobs out there" is bullshit. There ARE jobs out there. You just don't want to (A) work the hours they are wanting you to work or (B) don't want to take the time to re-train yourself in a new field. Either way, it falls on the fact that you are fine with having garage sales every wekeend to help pay your rent with shit that is being donated by a church. You are probably OK with simply collecting unemployment benefits. Whatever the case, as a tax payer I feel like its my right to inform you that I think you can be doing more to find work. Your kids are old enough to take care of themselves. Your car seems to run fine. You are able to walk to the mailbox and back. Your voice, at least right now, is healthy enough to bellow at me, asking if my place of employment is hiring from across the street. Let's do some math, shall we?
Being I do not know the price of a carton of Marlboro reds, I have to assume they are expensive since they are a brand name. You have to buy a carton, because buying them by pack doesn't make sense. Figuring on the burly, raspy tone of your voice and your hacking productive smoker's cough, I am going to assume, again, that you smoke about 3 packs a day. There are 10 packs in a carton. So, if the price of a carton is $50, and you go through 2 cartons a week, that is $100 a week in just smokes, or $400 a month, almost $5000 a year. I have no idea what your unemployment is but lets guess its $400 a week...$1600 a month. Seems a bit much to me, but whatever...benefit of the doubt I guess. Rent can't be less than $700. So for $1100 a month you have a cush, comfy porch to park your ass while you burn 25% of your monthly state, provided stipend away. This leaves about, estimating of course, $500 for gas, groceries and utilities, not to mention your son's cell phone bill. Maybe it's your phone, but the manner in which he hides his conversations from you, I can only imagine it being his.
I guess I am aggravated at myself for realizing I needed a career change and getting the schooling required to change professions and actually doing it, while working, while making sure my kid's don't miss out on time with me, or making time for the family when I really need to be studying, and working 55 hours a week to make sure I do not have to depend entirely on others...and then watching you do nothing except progress towards cancer and arteries that resemble re-bar. Don't be shocked that I don't waive at you. Your choice to manipulate the system so your life is easier is yours to do with what you choose, as is my choice to be neighborly. Waving, although courtesy, is a sign that I am OK that you sit on your ass all day. I'm not, so I don't waive.
Oh, next week, the next time I see your cat I am going to give him some anti-freeze before he shits in my yard again.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
P is Bad, but F is OK
It's been way too long since I have posted on here. I figured I needed to stay relevant and try my best to relay some humor to those that might need a giggle or two. School has been keeping me insanely busy. Life, in general has thrown some snags my way. I am still alive however, for better or worse.
Doing home care can introduce you to many different things. For example, in the elderly, a simple UTI (urinary tract infection) can cause the patient to become rather incoherent. The urge to pee is there, yet, nothing comes out. Now, as a care provider, I have to answer all requests for care. It would be un-ethical for me to ignore a request to empty a urinal that, 45 seconds ago was bone dry. However, I go. Let me paint a picture for you. Two people, husband and wife, laying in two twin beds adjacent to one another, the husband is VERY hard of hearing, and the wife is....nuts. Not dementia nuts, just....nuts. It is a choice she makes to be weird. She also has no problem stating what is on her mind. She asked me to make sure the window was open 4 inches and to be sure it was 4 inches I should put my penis up there. The husband has hair growing out of his ears, more or less because his ear canals are about as useful as Snooki's vagina. He speaks pretty well, just loud. Very loud. So now you know, husband, my client, has an urge to pee, yet no pee comes out. He is fairly lucid, yet his mind is fuzzy because of this infection. The wife is annoyed because when he calls for help, he yells. She hears just fine. However, she yells back at him, complaining that he doesn't need to yell. From the couch it sounds like this (I will change the names because of HIIPA)
Lloyd - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Rose - Dammit Lloyd, you don't need to yell (yelling)! What do you need?!
Lloyd - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Rose - Do you have to VOID?!
Lloyd - HUHHHHHH?!?!?!
Rose - DO....YOU....HAVE....TO....VOID!!!!?!?!!
I got up at "AHHHHHHHHHHH" the first few dozen times because that is the responsible thing to do. When I get in there, he taps his groin region above the covers, like I needed to hint of why I was being called in. I donned the gloves, pulled back the covers, and removed the urinal. It was as empty as the space between Lindsay Lohan's ears. I shake it in front of him, turn it upside down showing him it was empty. He stares at me, not in bewilderment but as if to tell me he likes ice cream or fuzzy bunnies. I put the urinal back. His wife tells him its empty and its time to go to bed. "HUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!?!!?!?!?!?!?," he says. I walk out and go sit back down with highlighter and Nursing Fundamentals book in hand. Understand, for the first few hours of the shift, this went on continuously, every 5 minutes. The final time, Rose asked me not to come back and just ignore him. OK....so I did. Then I heard this conversation.
Lloyd - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Rose - Shut UP Lloyd....you don't need anything!!!!
Lloyd - AHHHHHHHHH....AHHHHHHH....AHHHHHHH....AHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Rose - WHAT DO YOU NEEED!?!?! He was just IN HERE!!!! YOUR URINAL IS EMPTYYYYY!!!!! GO TO BED, ITS 1 IN THE MORNING! If you don't shut up I am going to put this pillow over your head!!!
Lloyd - PISS-O-RAMA...PISS-O-RAMA.....MR. DICK....PISS-O-RAMA
(this is the part that suprises the HELL outta me)
Rose - I hate that word Lloyd. Do you like that word, Lloyd?!?! Do you like being dirty? Do you like being FILTHY?!?!? I can't stand that FUCKING word!!!
Eh?
So, let me get this straight. It's NOT OK to say 'piss'...but perfectly fine to say 'fucking?' For a minute, I was thinking her conversation was going in an entirely different direction. I anticipated a "Titanic" type porno with a whispy-clad old lady getting nasty. Thank GOD that wasn't the case. I threw up in my mouth a little bit just thinking about it. I could start a blog just from the shit I hear coming out of this house. This is just a taste....sad and comical all at once.
Doing home care can introduce you to many different things. For example, in the elderly, a simple UTI (urinary tract infection) can cause the patient to become rather incoherent. The urge to pee is there, yet, nothing comes out. Now, as a care provider, I have to answer all requests for care. It would be un-ethical for me to ignore a request to empty a urinal that, 45 seconds ago was bone dry. However, I go. Let me paint a picture for you. Two people, husband and wife, laying in two twin beds adjacent to one another, the husband is VERY hard of hearing, and the wife is....nuts. Not dementia nuts, just....nuts. It is a choice she makes to be weird. She also has no problem stating what is on her mind. She asked me to make sure the window was open 4 inches and to be sure it was 4 inches I should put my penis up there. The husband has hair growing out of his ears, more or less because his ear canals are about as useful as Snooki's vagina. He speaks pretty well, just loud. Very loud. So now you know, husband, my client, has an urge to pee, yet no pee comes out. He is fairly lucid, yet his mind is fuzzy because of this infection. The wife is annoyed because when he calls for help, he yells. She hears just fine. However, she yells back at him, complaining that he doesn't need to yell. From the couch it sounds like this (I will change the names because of HIIPA)
Lloyd - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Rose - Dammit Lloyd, you don't need to yell (yelling)! What do you need?!
Lloyd - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Rose - Do you have to VOID?!
Lloyd - HUHHHHHH?!?!?!
Rose - DO....YOU....HAVE....TO....VOID!!!!?!?!!
I got up at "AHHHHHHHHHHH" the first few dozen times because that is the responsible thing to do. When I get in there, he taps his groin region above the covers, like I needed to hint of why I was being called in. I donned the gloves, pulled back the covers, and removed the urinal. It was as empty as the space between Lindsay Lohan's ears. I shake it in front of him, turn it upside down showing him it was empty. He stares at me, not in bewilderment but as if to tell me he likes ice cream or fuzzy bunnies. I put the urinal back. His wife tells him its empty and its time to go to bed. "HUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!?!!?!?!?!?!?," he says. I walk out and go sit back down with highlighter and Nursing Fundamentals book in hand. Understand, for the first few hours of the shift, this went on continuously, every 5 minutes. The final time, Rose asked me not to come back and just ignore him. OK....so I did. Then I heard this conversation.
Lloyd - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Rose - Shut UP Lloyd....you don't need anything!!!!
Lloyd - AHHHHHHHHH....AHHHHHHH....AHHHHHHH....AHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Rose - WHAT DO YOU NEEED!?!?! He was just IN HERE!!!! YOUR URINAL IS EMPTYYYYY!!!!! GO TO BED, ITS 1 IN THE MORNING! If you don't shut up I am going to put this pillow over your head!!!
Lloyd - PISS-O-RAMA...PISS-O-RAMA.....MR. DICK....PISS-O-RAMA
(this is the part that suprises the HELL outta me)
Rose - I hate that word Lloyd. Do you like that word, Lloyd?!?! Do you like being dirty? Do you like being FILTHY?!?!? I can't stand that FUCKING word!!!
Eh?
So, let me get this straight. It's NOT OK to say 'piss'...but perfectly fine to say 'fucking?' For a minute, I was thinking her conversation was going in an entirely different direction. I anticipated a "Titanic" type porno with a whispy-clad old lady getting nasty. Thank GOD that wasn't the case. I threw up in my mouth a little bit just thinking about it. I could start a blog just from the shit I hear coming out of this house. This is just a taste....sad and comical all at once.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
No Sale
I had just come home from a 12-hour shift. My kids weren't eating, my wife was hating her life because of that, the dog had just eaten one of the kid's sausages, and I saw a spider. A BIGGGGG fucking spider about the size of Rhode Island, smoking, and listening to rap. Needless to say, knocking on my door in a sing-song kind of way, thinking it would be a light-hearted attempt at establishing rapport probably wasn't in this guy's best interest. Especially at 9AM, at my address, at this moment. Did you get all that? Essentially, it was a bad idea, a wrong idea. He couldn't be more wrong if he decided to dry hump a lamp shade at Walmart. Just....well, bad idea.
For starters, who usually comes knockin' at 9AM on a weekday? Missionaries, mostly. "I am here to talk about Jesus." OK, shoot. "Well it all started when Joseph Smith peered inside a gopher hole and the Angel Moroni gave him a golden Trapper Keepe..." **SLAM** At least, that has been my experience. If you are Mormon and you just got offended, I won't apologize for religious expression. You have your God and I have mine, and if I hear one more time they are the same, I might go Davidian. I am getting off track. I hate it when that happens. It seems I can never sta...OMG LOOK AT THE BOUNCY BALL!
Last year, I had some guy come by, winded from hauling his cankles around my apartment complex, asking if he could demonstrate a shampooer, one room, free. Sure, I said. Why not. The living room looked like it was part of Pamplona. He said he would be right back. He shows up with a Kirby. This guy was good. He had a great personality. In fact, I was sold on him alone, and sure enough the Kirby was as delivered. Cleanest carpet this side of Lady Gaga. He claimed to have won a trip to Denver with this sale. It took about 90 minutes, his boss came in and played Wii with my kids. It was almost like we were a family. Of course, even though he took my number because he said he and his wife were moving here after the trip, I haven't heard from him. In fact, he probably threw it away right after, just selling me the vacuum. My point is he sold me. He sold me the vacuum, he sold me the attachments, he sold me the possibly phone call down the road. He earned the sale.
I guess I should state that when this guy told me he was doing a demonstration, he handed me a pamphlet that said, in no more words than this "FREE CARPET CLEANING, TODAY ONLY, ONE-ROOM." Here was this 6'4 300lb black man stating he was going to clean my carpet for free. I guess in reality, he could have been casing the joint, which would be fine because I needed a lot of shit gone since were moving soon. When he came in, his first words were, "nice TV." Fuck.
I used to love hearing from telemarketers. I used to point out to them that their script sucked worse than Gigli and that the best advice I could give them is to develop a stutter and then a fictitious family so that pity would warrant a possible 20% increase in sales. I used to mock these poor bastards. They didn't stand a chance. A lot like this tool bag standing at my door. As I side-stepped the 70 pound menace known as Gus and held him at bay with one foot, all I got was "HI," and the flyer. Before he even started in I said, I'm not interested. Why not? Well for starters, your tie is a clip on, and the shirt needs to find an iron worse than a cheeseburger needs to find an Olsen twin. Your slacks either (A) aren't yours or (B) were hemmed by Hellen Keller. White socks and black dress pants don't work, ever. Your diastema can hold Kim Kardashian's ass. The last time your hair saw a comb, let alone shampoo was Y2K. Two words, your teeth are more yellow than a Lemonhead. If that isn't enough, I already have a Kirby. I don't need another one. You are one-year too late and I can't even tell you how many chromosomes. I start to close the door.
"Well, how did you know I was selling a Kirby?" Your marketing department blows more than Jenna Jameson. This is the same flyer that was given to me last year, when I bought my Kirby. There is that, and you are....well, you, standing here at 9AM and you don't have Jesus on the pamphlet so that kind of narrows it down, you jack wagon. "Well, how old is it? You might want to have a backup in case something goes wrong." Seriously? This is what is going to make me keep the door open? It's guaranteed for life, nutjob. If anything ever breaks I can take it to the Kirby store and get a brand new one. Why would I want to spend more money on a backup? You need to try harder than this. Why not try, do you need more shampoo? I have some in the van of felons that can't find employment elsewhere. How about, sorry for my appearance, I just flew in from Afghanistan. You could try, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you would like me to mow your grass and clean out your gutters? No means no, craftsman.
Now go away before I release the Cracken.
For starters, who usually comes knockin' at 9AM on a weekday? Missionaries, mostly. "I am here to talk about Jesus." OK, shoot. "Well it all started when Joseph Smith peered inside a gopher hole and the Angel Moroni gave him a golden Trapper Keepe..." **SLAM** At least, that has been my experience. If you are Mormon and you just got offended, I won't apologize for religious expression. You have your God and I have mine, and if I hear one more time they are the same, I might go Davidian. I am getting off track. I hate it when that happens. It seems I can never sta...OMG LOOK AT THE BOUNCY BALL!
Last year, I had some guy come by, winded from hauling his cankles around my apartment complex, asking if he could demonstrate a shampooer, one room, free. Sure, I said. Why not. The living room looked like it was part of Pamplona. He said he would be right back. He shows up with a Kirby. This guy was good. He had a great personality. In fact, I was sold on him alone, and sure enough the Kirby was as delivered. Cleanest carpet this side of Lady Gaga. He claimed to have won a trip to Denver with this sale. It took about 90 minutes, his boss came in and played Wii with my kids. It was almost like we were a family. Of course, even though he took my number because he said he and his wife were moving here after the trip, I haven't heard from him. In fact, he probably threw it away right after, just selling me the vacuum. My point is he sold me. He sold me the vacuum, he sold me the attachments, he sold me the possibly phone call down the road. He earned the sale.
I guess I should state that when this guy told me he was doing a demonstration, he handed me a pamphlet that said, in no more words than this "FREE CARPET CLEANING, TODAY ONLY, ONE-ROOM." Here was this 6'4 300lb black man stating he was going to clean my carpet for free. I guess in reality, he could have been casing the joint, which would be fine because I needed a lot of shit gone since were moving soon. When he came in, his first words were, "nice TV." Fuck.
I used to love hearing from telemarketers. I used to point out to them that their script sucked worse than Gigli and that the best advice I could give them is to develop a stutter and then a fictitious family so that pity would warrant a possible 20% increase in sales. I used to mock these poor bastards. They didn't stand a chance. A lot like this tool bag standing at my door. As I side-stepped the 70 pound menace known as Gus and held him at bay with one foot, all I got was "HI," and the flyer. Before he even started in I said, I'm not interested. Why not? Well for starters, your tie is a clip on, and the shirt needs to find an iron worse than a cheeseburger needs to find an Olsen twin. Your slacks either (A) aren't yours or (B) were hemmed by Hellen Keller. White socks and black dress pants don't work, ever. Your diastema can hold Kim Kardashian's ass. The last time your hair saw a comb, let alone shampoo was Y2K. Two words, your teeth are more yellow than a Lemonhead. If that isn't enough, I already have a Kirby. I don't need another one. You are one-year too late and I can't even tell you how many chromosomes. I start to close the door.
"Well, how did you know I was selling a Kirby?" Your marketing department blows more than Jenna Jameson. This is the same flyer that was given to me last year, when I bought my Kirby. There is that, and you are....well, you, standing here at 9AM and you don't have Jesus on the pamphlet so that kind of narrows it down, you jack wagon. "Well, how old is it? You might want to have a backup in case something goes wrong." Seriously? This is what is going to make me keep the door open? It's guaranteed for life, nutjob. If anything ever breaks I can take it to the Kirby store and get a brand new one. Why would I want to spend more money on a backup? You need to try harder than this. Why not try, do you need more shampoo? I have some in the van of felons that can't find employment elsewhere. How about, sorry for my appearance, I just flew in from Afghanistan. You could try, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you would like me to mow your grass and clean out your gutters? No means no, craftsman.
Now go away before I release the Cracken.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Adversity
I can't believe how much we bitch about things. This nation is only a couple hundred years old. We forget that sometimes, I think. Two-hundred years ago, a trip from New York to Los Angeles took a couple of years. Six people would leave, and nine would arrive, a couple of those as infants. Now, it takes a few hours. I can't remember the comedian that said this, but he told a story about how he was sitting in a plane,flying from L.A. to New York and he was sitting next to someone who was complaing about the wireless Internet connection not working. YOU ARE SITTING IN A CHAIR....IN THE SKY! For fuck sake, stop complaining. Same thing with cell phones. If there is no instant gratification, IE, your message doesn't go through right away, just wait. It's going to space, for the love of God, give it a minute. We have indoor plumbing. People used to shit in a hole and used plants to clean up as best they could. People used to get syphillus and die (or any other simple bacteria strains for that matter). Now we can cure these things with a simple dose or 5 of antibiotics. So, stop with the whining already.
I think as a society, we are in the phase of "what's in it for me." I know this is not news. We have been here for some time. We are sue happy. Stick it to anyone you can, as long as it isn't me. We are surprised when we get stuck. WHY MEEEEEEEE? Karma, that's why. Help your fellow man. Do things for others instead of yourself. Give, freely, of your time and energy. It will be repaid. Eventually, when its time. Maybe not YOUR time, but IN time it will be. Patience. Find it, have it, hold onto it, and then teach it. Pay it forward. It might happen to you some day, or it might not. However, it isn't a requirement that it is repaid. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do it any way. STOP BEING SELFISH! Service for others. Isn't that why we are here anyway?
If you don't like something, change it. People seem so shocked with being in a rut. Shift your thinking. Move, wobble, change the momentum, both of where you are going and how you get there. Surprisingly enough, you will get where you want to be. But repeating something in the hopes the outcome will be different defines insanity, does it not? I think there is enough crazy in the world. There is also too much whining about not having, not being able to, wishing and hoping that one day....what? We all say these things, think these things and wonder how someone else got where they are. Persistence. Two mice fall into a vat of cream. One mouse stopped trying to get out and quickly drowned. The other mouse kept fighting and, sure enough, climbed out of the butter to safety (Catch Me If You Can reference) Never give up. Never stop trying to be better. The world will eat you alive. You are owed nothing. We all have the same 24 hours in a day. How will you spend yours?
The consequences faced by many are a direct result from choices made. Choices are a constant. I don't like teeter totters. I never have. Up and down, up and down, a lot like the swings in life. Living for tomorrow, or living for yesterday. Choose. Pick one and stick with it, but don't tell me "I remember when." I don't think Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the Sioux, South Africa, Germany, Poland or NASA like to live in the past. Move on, move forward. Life is best viewed through the windshield, not the rear view mirror. It's OK to visit where you have been, but live for where you are going. Learn, adapt, overcome.
God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them, but to cleanse them. ~John Aughey
I think as a society, we are in the phase of "what's in it for me." I know this is not news. We have been here for some time. We are sue happy. Stick it to anyone you can, as long as it isn't me. We are surprised when we get stuck. WHY MEEEEEEEE? Karma, that's why. Help your fellow man. Do things for others instead of yourself. Give, freely, of your time and energy. It will be repaid. Eventually, when its time. Maybe not YOUR time, but IN time it will be. Patience. Find it, have it, hold onto it, and then teach it. Pay it forward. It might happen to you some day, or it might not. However, it isn't a requirement that it is repaid. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do it any way. STOP BEING SELFISH! Service for others. Isn't that why we are here anyway?
If you don't like something, change it. People seem so shocked with being in a rut. Shift your thinking. Move, wobble, change the momentum, both of where you are going and how you get there. Surprisingly enough, you will get where you want to be. But repeating something in the hopes the outcome will be different defines insanity, does it not? I think there is enough crazy in the world. There is also too much whining about not having, not being able to, wishing and hoping that one day....what? We all say these things, think these things and wonder how someone else got where they are. Persistence. Two mice fall into a vat of cream. One mouse stopped trying to get out and quickly drowned. The other mouse kept fighting and, sure enough, climbed out of the butter to safety (Catch Me If You Can reference) Never give up. Never stop trying to be better. The world will eat you alive. You are owed nothing. We all have the same 24 hours in a day. How will you spend yours?
The consequences faced by many are a direct result from choices made. Choices are a constant. I don't like teeter totters. I never have. Up and down, up and down, a lot like the swings in life. Living for tomorrow, or living for yesterday. Choose. Pick one and stick with it, but don't tell me "I remember when." I don't think Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the Sioux, South Africa, Germany, Poland or NASA like to live in the past. Move on, move forward. Life is best viewed through the windshield, not the rear view mirror. It's OK to visit where you have been, but live for where you are going. Learn, adapt, overcome.
God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them, but to cleanse them. ~John Aughey
Sunday, July 11, 2010
There Are No Words....
The People of Walmart dot com is the only 100% accurate website on the entire world wide web. When someone says, "you can't believe everything you see on the Internet," I usually pipe in with that one just to stop the madness. I don't really know where this is going. I may not even post it. But what I saw at Walmart today is something I believe, at least for the safety of anyone who reads this, I must point out so none of you make the same mistake.
I don't know much about women's fashion, or men's for that matter, but I do know that when something fits, you probably shouldn't wear it out in public. Of course, if you are making a trip to Walmart to fill the trough, by all means, wear something 10 sizes too small. Yes, I know your husband finds you sexy. You outweigh him by 150 pounds. If you asked, I am sure he would tell you that you looked great in your shorts, that caused circulatory distress in your lower body, as well as lymph fluid build up between your thighs....or is that a....oh man. "SHOULD I CHANGE?" "Oh no, sweetheart, you look hot in a poncho.....and rope belts are in. I heard that on Project Runway. What's that? Oh I know. Heidi Klum is chubby. But she has had 3 kids. You have 33,000 calories a day, and have never visited Alp de Huez, or the sidewalk. I can't turn off the light honey, that's the sun."
You know those contestants on American Idol who say "my Mom and friends all think I am an awesome singer?" They say that out of respect. Both because family is supposed to build your confidence. Friends are supposed to do that too. As are spouses. However, I believe the saying is, if you think your spouse has a sweat ring around her waist band, it's wise to say something. Sweat will build up wear the mushroom cap rests. Just sayin. I believe I saw a loafer hanging out of there with the initials J.R.H. (yes that is a Hoffa joke).
Oh, and if it looks like you aren't wearing shorts because the upper half hangs a bit low, your shorts are too short, regardless of what your husband says. Gravity tells a strong story. As does the Health Department has authority.
I don't know much about women's fashion, or men's for that matter, but I do know that when something fits, you probably shouldn't wear it out in public. Of course, if you are making a trip to Walmart to fill the trough, by all means, wear something 10 sizes too small. Yes, I know your husband finds you sexy. You outweigh him by 150 pounds. If you asked, I am sure he would tell you that you looked great in your shorts, that caused circulatory distress in your lower body, as well as lymph fluid build up between your thighs....or is that a....oh man. "SHOULD I CHANGE?" "Oh no, sweetheart, you look hot in a poncho.....and rope belts are in. I heard that on Project Runway. What's that? Oh I know. Heidi Klum is chubby. But she has had 3 kids. You have 33,000 calories a day, and have never visited Alp de Huez, or the sidewalk. I can't turn off the light honey, that's the sun."
You know those contestants on American Idol who say "my Mom and friends all think I am an awesome singer?" They say that out of respect. Both because family is supposed to build your confidence. Friends are supposed to do that too. As are spouses. However, I believe the saying is, if you think your spouse has a sweat ring around her waist band, it's wise to say something. Sweat will build up wear the mushroom cap rests. Just sayin. I believe I saw a loafer hanging out of there with the initials J.R.H. (yes that is a Hoffa joke).
Oh, and if it looks like you aren't wearing shorts because the upper half hangs a bit low, your shorts are too short, regardless of what your husband says. Gravity tells a strong story. As does the Health Department has authority.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
No Playing at 9:30PM
When we had a our garage sale a few weeks ago, there was a lady that came over to rifle through our stuff. In tow, she had her daughter, shy as the day is long. Now, I can remember being 7. I was a complete ham. I don't think I was ever the type to hide behind a thunder thigh. However, my wife insisted on making conversation thinking it would be in our best interest to make sure Peyton had a friend in the neighborhood. Being the cynical one, my first reaction was that this mother would treat our house like a pawn shop and let her daughter come over whenever she had a trick coming by. My wife insisted that she was sure this lady was not like that. No? You go to bed before the sun goes down. I want to see our neighborhood at night. She has a red porch light. She talks like Steven Wright. She has the mental capacity of a gnat and full lips. Do the math.
About 9:30PM last night, the doorbell rang. Now, I was working, and heard the story from my wife, but I believe it went about like this.
(Gus barks, wife stirs wondering if she actually dreamt that)
(wife gets up, Gus barks again just as an added nuisance)
(wife opens door, there is neighbor's daughter) Can Peyton play?
Wife says no, she is sleeping, maybe tomorrow. (door closes)
This was handled all wrong. It's like a choose your own adventure book. You buy one for $5 you might as well get use out of all the pages. My wife just went from page 1 to back cover. Boooorrrriiinnnnggggggg. Let's try this...
(I get up, see darkness, Gus barks) Shut up Gus! (dog cowers)
(unlock door. See potential homeless girl standing there) Can Peyton play?
Eli: Seriously? It's fucking dark out. What were you going to play? Steal the Bose?
girl: Huh?
Eli: Why are you not in bed? Reading? Listening to Kid Bop on your iPod. Petting Fluffy, playing with Barbies, bathing, or something other than ringing a doorbell at 9:30 at night?
girl: (stares blankly)
Eli: Is your Mom home? Got a John coming by?
girl: Who's John?
Eli: Not John..."a" John. Nevermind. My daughter is asleep as most 7-year olds are at 930 at night.
girl: but it's the summer
Eli: No shit. You know what you should do? Go get your reproductive organs removed. Yes, please do that. That statement right there says that 3 months out of the year, the copial Olympics occur at your house. First one to get burning urination gets the gold. Am I right? When you begin to bleed for 5 days and not die, you will then have a baby....because it's summer. Fuck sleeping....let's go have random sex. Right? Leave my daughter out of it, OK? She sleeps at night time Dr. Draco.
girl: OK (turns to leave)
Eli: wait....(girl turns to face me, smiling thinking I was going to change my mind) Take these.
girl: what are these?
Eli: Condoms. Have two. One for you later in life..although probably not much later, and one for your Mom so you don't happen again.
girl: but...(door closes)
I like my way better. However, I will miss my wife when she goes to Heaven and, well, I don't. There is a cost for certain types of humor....
About 9:30PM last night, the doorbell rang. Now, I was working, and heard the story from my wife, but I believe it went about like this.
(wife opens door, there is neighbor's daughter) Can Peyton play?
Wife says no, she is sleeping, maybe tomorrow. (door closes)
This was handled all wrong. It's like a choose your own adventure book. You buy one for $5 you might as well get use out of all the pages. My wife just went from page 1 to back cover. Boooorrrriiinnnnggggggg. Let's try this...
(unlock door. See potential homeless girl standing there) Can Peyton play?
Eli: Seriously? It's fucking dark out. What were you going to play? Steal the Bose?
girl: Huh?
Eli: Why are you not in bed? Reading? Listening to Kid Bop on your iPod. Petting Fluffy, playing with Barbies, bathing, or something other than ringing a doorbell at 9:30 at night?
girl: (stares blankly)
Eli: Is your Mom home? Got a John coming by?
girl: Who's John?
Eli: Not John..."a" John. Nevermind. My daughter is asleep as most 7-year olds are at 930 at night.
girl: but it's the summer
Eli: No shit. You know what you should do? Go get your reproductive organs removed. Yes, please do that. That statement right there says that 3 months out of the year, the copial Olympics occur at your house. First one to get burning urination gets the gold. Am I right? When you begin to bleed for 5 days and not die, you will then have a baby....because it's summer. Fuck sleeping....let's go have random sex. Right? Leave my daughter out of it, OK? She sleeps at night time Dr. Draco.
girl: OK (turns to leave)
Eli: wait....(girl turns to face me, smiling thinking I was going to change my mind) Take these.
girl: what are these?
Eli: Condoms. Have two. One for you later in life..although probably not much later, and one for your Mom so you don't happen again.
girl: but...(door closes)
I like my way better. However, I will miss my wife when she goes to Heaven and, well, I don't. There is a cost for certain types of humor....
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
I'm Not Discriminating, I Hate You Equally
My wife and I are in the process of hiring someone to take my son to and from school this fall and provide after school care. Realizing that I am going to be commuting to Toppenish just about every day, or buried in a book any day I am NOT commuting, and also realizing that it would cost about $1000 to have him go elsewhere, the nanny search had begun.
My wife posted an ad on craigslist searching for someone to provide the above services at $400 a month. I expected, well, an epic fail since craigslist doesn't provide much except for moving boxes and chlamydia. Yet, to my surprise she had several responses, and resumes, and follow up emails, none of which promised $300,000,000 in US DOLLARS with providing a DNA sample. Shocked, I remained hopeful that someone would be willing to do the impossible. There was one person in particular that sticks out, and not in a good way. She was pregnant, and was discarded right away since (A) she was due when school started and (B) my kids would not be a priority no matter how much she claimed otherwise. Frankly, that's the way it should be. My wife and I both figured stating those facts, "best of luck, but we are excluding you just from our past experiences with pregnant/new mothers and their ability to do the job." Was that enough? Nope. She felt discriminated against. She felt like we should not disregard her qualifications because she is having a baby just about the time she needs to start. I wanted to email her back, but my wife said no. I had to say SOMETHING. I was going to explode. YAY FOR BLOGS!
I hate clowns. Pennywise from 'It' pretty much fucked up my life as far as clowns go. Sorry Ronald McDonald, but I will not sit on the bench with you, no matter how inanimate you are. I hate spiders, so Charlotte can kiss my ass too. The Colonel is creepy and reminds me of a pedophile. I don't look at watermelon the same after I ate it as a kid while incubating a stomach virus and promptly threw up the watermelon. Not the watermelons fault, but tell that to my memory of seeing the watermelon seeds floating around in the toilet next to the bile. The list can go on, but I think you get my point. Past experiences have made a few things in my life unbearable. Putting up with stupid is just one more thing that is hard to stomach. So having someone feel excluded because they want to breed rather than have a career is asinine. Yes, its your choice to stay open like 7-11, just like its mine to disregard your interest in being our nanny for the same reason.
Now she claims that she always keeps promises and won't be like those other people. Whatever. So, Nostradamus, when you look into the crystal ball and the birth happens, tell me, will my son BE in school already, and who the fuck will pick him up? Just so you know, every birth is different, as are the complications that can accompany said birth. What is your uterus falls on the floor and you bleed out? Then what? What if there are complications and you are in the hospital for a few days? Sorry, but I can't come into work because I had a stroke from pushing this watermelon out of my nostril. Baby has pink eye. Baby is shitting swords so I can't make it. Yes your husband is home and can take care of the baby, making it possible for you to come to my house and care for my kids. This begs the question, what is you get post-partem depression and kill my children? Does he work? If he doesn't work, I can tell you from experience these little people cost bucks to care for and $400 doesn't cover much.
So many questions that need answers but frankly, we don't want to deal with them, so we kindly parted ways, via the Internet. I don't know her story and it doesn't really matter. I am sure she will find another happy opportunity via craigslist. Until then, best of luck. About the only thing I DO know after all of this is that spiders still suck.
My wife posted an ad on craigslist searching for someone to provide the above services at $400 a month. I expected, well, an epic fail since craigslist doesn't provide much except for moving boxes and chlamydia. Yet, to my surprise she had several responses, and resumes, and follow up emails, none of which promised $300,000,000 in US DOLLARS with providing a DNA sample. Shocked, I remained hopeful that someone would be willing to do the impossible. There was one person in particular that sticks out, and not in a good way. She was pregnant, and was discarded right away since (A) she was due when school started and (B) my kids would not be a priority no matter how much she claimed otherwise. Frankly, that's the way it should be. My wife and I both figured stating those facts, "best of luck, but we are excluding you just from our past experiences with pregnant/new mothers and their ability to do the job." Was that enough? Nope. She felt discriminated against. She felt like we should not disregard her qualifications because she is having a baby just about the time she needs to start. I wanted to email her back, but my wife said no. I had to say SOMETHING. I was going to explode. YAY FOR BLOGS!
I hate clowns. Pennywise from 'It' pretty much fucked up my life as far as clowns go. Sorry Ronald McDonald, but I will not sit on the bench with you, no matter how inanimate you are. I hate spiders, so Charlotte can kiss my ass too. The Colonel is creepy and reminds me of a pedophile. I don't look at watermelon the same after I ate it as a kid while incubating a stomach virus and promptly threw up the watermelon. Not the watermelons fault, but tell that to my memory of seeing the watermelon seeds floating around in the toilet next to the bile. The list can go on, but I think you get my point. Past experiences have made a few things in my life unbearable. Putting up with stupid is just one more thing that is hard to stomach. So having someone feel excluded because they want to breed rather than have a career is asinine. Yes, its your choice to stay open like 7-11, just like its mine to disregard your interest in being our nanny for the same reason.
Now she claims that she always keeps promises and won't be like those other people. Whatever. So, Nostradamus, when you look into the crystal ball and the birth happens, tell me, will my son BE in school already, and who the fuck will pick him up? Just so you know, every birth is different, as are the complications that can accompany said birth. What is your uterus falls on the floor and you bleed out? Then what? What if there are complications and you are in the hospital for a few days? Sorry, but I can't come into work because I had a stroke from pushing this watermelon out of my nostril. Baby has pink eye. Baby is shitting swords so I can't make it. Yes your husband is home and can take care of the baby, making it possible for you to come to my house and care for my kids. This begs the question, what is you get post-partem depression and kill my children? Does he work? If he doesn't work, I can tell you from experience these little people cost bucks to care for and $400 doesn't cover much.
So many questions that need answers but frankly, we don't want to deal with them, so we kindly parted ways, via the Internet. I don't know her story and it doesn't really matter. I am sure she will find another happy opportunity via craigslist. Until then, best of luck. About the only thing I DO know after all of this is that spiders still suck.
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