Kind of always knew I'd end up your ex-girlfriend

Let's just say that I had my doubts about this concert after watching them perform on American Idol.

So concert day arrived yesterday and I practically grew old and died right there in the car because traffic sucked balls. Not only that, but my concert buddy drives a standard. Girl who's had a few drinks already + same girl who gets car sick incredibly easy + a shitload of traffic + having a friend who drives a standard in a shitload of traffic who apparently also has VERY TOUCHY brakes = grumpy Candice on the verge of puking.

The best part? It smelled like a fucking fart by the concert venue downtown. At first I thought my friend was secretly blowing ass. I mean, maybe she was nervous due to the traffic or something. I didn't know! Finally she spoke up and said that the putrid smell was, in fact, NOT her. I was relieved to know that bit of information. Then I began wondering where in the hell the smell was coming from. I mean, was there a fart refinery in the area? Jesus Christ it was horrible! I was freaking out thinking that the people around me at the concert would think that I shit my pants. Or maybe they would think I smelled like second hand fart. Regardless, it was very distressing.

We finally got there only missing one opening act. I had never heard of them anyway, so no big deal. We made it just in time for Paramore, and they were pretty good. However.....

No Doubt put on a freaking AWESOME show even though our seats kind of sucked.

I really need to get a lime green bra...

Gwen's arms are amazing. She's the reason I've done 100 push-ups today already. Well, they were done "girl style" but still.

They sounded awesome live!

I would risk puking and smelling like a giant fart to see them again tonight if I could!

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Legible handwriting. A must when working in the ER

The following conversation took place between myself and "Mensa RN" at work tonight.

MRN- "Hey, I just put a pt in room 17 for you.

Me- What I wanted to say "Thanks alot ahole!"

Me- What I said "Cool. What are they here for?"

MRN-Points at the chart and whispers "penis congestion"

Me- What I wanted to say "Who is the retard that triaged this guy in? PENIS CONGESTION???? I'm confused. Is his schlong sneezing? Does it have a cold?"

Me- What I said "How long has he had the sustained erection and is he on Viagra or something?"

MRN- *crickets* *crickets* "Uh, I didn't get that bit of information. Let me go back in the room and ask."

So several minutes pass and MRN comes back to the nurses station.....

Me- "So did you ask the guy in 17 about his "little" problem?

MRN- "Oh yeah, it's not penis congestion. It's CHEST congestion."

Me- BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAA
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

inhale

exhale

BWAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Please tell me you didn't go in there and ask that man how long his junk had been at attention?

MRN- "I sure did."

Me- BWAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"That's hilarious!"

MRN- "I can tell."

Me- "I was wondering since when we used something as stupid as "Penis congestion" as the primary reason for being seen. You know, like did his penis have a bad cough or what?"

MRN- "Well, it could have had some drainage."

Me- "Gross. So what in the hell did the guy say when you asked about his penis, when in reality he had freaking chest congestion?"

MRN- "He said that he wished he was in for that reason."

Note to self... MRN can't read for shit.

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Dear HOA members

We've got a serious issue on our hands in our neighborhood, and I feel that it needs to be brought to your attention so that some action may be taken.

I tend to walk my dog at night (so that I don't have to pick up his dog shit during daylight hours, but that's neither hear nor there) and what I have noticed has disturbed me greatly. To put it bluntly, we have got a serious rabbit population issue. To say they have been fucking like bunnies would be stating the obvious and it's also a slight understatement, so I won't say that. I will say that they have been fucking like bunnies on Viagra, and that's way worse than bunnies just fucking all of the time like they normally do since they have the capability to sustain an erection for much longer while on Viagra.

We need to get a handle on this before we are over run by these little creatures. Would you like to know how many rabbits I spotted on my walk last night? Twenty freaking SIX. It was really easy to keep count, as my dog tends to want to pounce on them, so he yanks my shoulder out of socket when he spots one. That in turn makes me want to put the business end of my foot up his ass. This is supposed to be a relaxing time for me and my dog. Now it's nothing but frustration due to the explosion of rabbits that we are now dealing with.

The worst part is that they don't even keep to themselves. They used to run off when we would get close. Now they just sit there and stare at us as we walk by. It's almost as though they know the take over is almost complete.

I demand that you take action. I recommend that we implement some safe sex teaching for all of the little whore rabbits hip hopping around here. I saw 4 rabbits all huddled together on the corner of XXX and X last night. Who knows what kind of tomfoolery they were up to. We've got some Hookers at the Point bunny style type shit going down, and I'm not going to stand for it.

Another issue I have is that they all want to have an after sex snack. I guess due to all of the physical exertion and whatnot. Vigorous humping can make you hungry after all. Guess what they eat? My goddamn plants! It's really a travesty!

So we really need to come up with some ideas that will address this issue. As you may have guessed, I do have a few thoughts on the subject. Instead of the safe bunny sexual education, perhaps teaching abstinence would be an angle to approach. After all, it works so well on the kids.

Or maybe we could hand a few of these out to the little bunny floozies to curb their sex drive a bit.

Just let me know what you think. I'm totally willing to head up any sort of bunny love control board so that we can take back our neighborhood from these oversexed little beasts.

I'll be waiting.

Candice

P.S- Can you also do something about the jack ass that puts hideous decor in his front yard? Is it really necessary to have a windmill, big ass wagon wheel, and little tractors displayed out in the yard for everyone to see? Jesus Christ this isn't The fucking Oregon trail here. I think those people really give Texans a bad name.

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Pssst. I'm talkin' to YOU Mr. Ice Cream Man

Yeah. Hi.

Just thought I'd stop you since you were passing by and all of that.

Look. I sort of have a request. I want you to keep away from our street. Not only that, but please stop playing that cheesy little tunage you've got going on. At the very least, keep it on the down low when you are within a one mile radius of my house. This causes my kids to go apeshit when they hear you, and they run out the house screaming like their asses are on fire. Then they come back inside demanding money for your overpriced goodies.

Speaking of which, $3 bucks for a freaking ice cream bar? I'm feeling slightly violated at this point. That's an automatic $6 bucks every time your butt drives by my house, and for what? That lame ass wall-eyed Sponge Bob, or the phallic chocolate bar that my son was inhaling earlier? Thanks for that visual Mr. Ice cream man. Now I need more therapy than I did before you came around.

I told my kids that today was the last day. It's over. You've been by every day since the temp reached 70. Now I've turned to prostitution, and we just put a second mortgage on our home because of you. Not to change the subject, but are you even wearing pants? I can't see below your waist in your creepy van, and that bothers me somewhat. Your junk could be blowin' in the breeze for all I know, while you proverbially ass-rape the children and parents of our neighborhood with your overpriced crap.

In these tough economic times it makes more sense for ME to drive to Wal-Mart and buy a whole box of decent quality ice cream bars for less than what you charge for 2 shitty ones. On second thought, I've gone to the store for ONE thing before and left with $400 dollars worth of stuff, so I'm not sure if my particular plan is the right way to go.

But anyway, nevermind that. Look at that Sponge Bob ice cream bar and tell me he doesn't look like he's got something BAD wrong with him. He resembles a rabid, rotten, sponge with Graves Disease and a side of strabismus for good measure. It's just fucking gross. Did you get those things imported from Mexico on the black market or something? Because I'll tell you what, they certainly don't look like this.

Regardless, keep away. We have a metric ass load of freezer pops that just so happened to cost $2.50 thankyouverymuch, so you're no longer needed around these parts.

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I admit it because there is no shame in my game

Just a couple of my admissions for 5-27-09

I may or may not have washed and rewashed one load of laundry 5,398,293,287 times before I finally remembered to put them in the dryer. So much for having a high efficiency washing machine. I'm fairly certain that I could have supplied five months worth of water to a third world country for what I wasted on the colored clothes. By the way, when you forget to put said clothes in the dryer over and over and over again, they really begin to get pretty ripe. Which is the reason you have to rewash them. Unless of course, you want to walk around smelling like a cross between ass and Downy. I did not.


I went and played golf today and managed to hurt my wrist. Who the hell hurts themselves playing golf? I mean, seriously? How embarrassing. I'll tell you what happened. I tried to go all Tiger Woods and beat the crap out of the ball, and to be honest, had I hit that little bastard, it would have been an impressive drive. Instead, I dug holes the size of the Grand Canyon in FRONT of the ball. Now my right wrist hurts to the point I can't cut my own dinner, or do other things that I enjoy doing with my right hand.

During my brief trip to Wal-Mart for booze prior to my golf outing, I had to use the bathroom and I ended up going into the mens bathroom. Not only did I piss in the mens bathroom, but I didn't even realize that I had walked into the wrong bathroom until after I was finished. Now to be fair, I did think it was odd that they only had one stall in the ladies room. I even made a smart ass comment to myself about that. Then on my way out I noticed the 3 urinals attached to the wall. My internal dialogue changed a bit after that.

What. The. Fuck?

Aww hell no. Say it ain't so!

Candice, you are the biggest douchebag ever. You totally just pissed in the Mens room. No wonder there was asswipe (aka toilet paper) all over the floor. Men are such slobs.

No I didn't. Surely I did not make such a mistake.

Yeah you did. Total JACKASS maneuver right there blondie. Good job.

No. I would NOT do something so stupid. This must be a "family" bathroom.

As I exited the bathroom, the cleaning lady waiting outside of the bathroom had this to say.

"Chu know chu went into da wrong bano?"

What do you say to that? Well, I don't know what YOU say, but I shrug my shoulders and haul ass while pretending not to understand espan-english. Then I proceeded to laugh at myself all the way to the car.

By the way, the Wal-Mart urinals weren't nearly as cool as this establishment. WTF??

You're turn to admit it. Help me feel better about myself. Please!

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Saturday ramblings - bitch fest edition

I'm gearing up for the mother of all garage sales next weekend. I've totally cleaned out all of my drawers, closets, etc and I've got shit piled up in my living room all ready to go to a new home. Anyway, I feel good about cleaning out the clutter. Now I can hang up the "heap" of clothes that's been hanging out in my room that I've been putting off hanging up since it actually wouldn't fit in the closet. Which in itself is pretty pathetic considering the closet in my bedroom is about 3 times the size of the closet in my last house. Oh, and Brent's shit occupies about a space wide enough to fit 3 winter coats.

During my clothes purging process, I heard this loud continuous thundering sound. long story short, our air conditioner is screwed up. This is a relatively new house and we've had to call someone out 3 times to fix our AC unit since we've lived here. Apparently we've got the dollar store version of AC units. The first time, there was an aluminum can rattling around in something or another making all of the noise. Fine. It was an easy fix. The second time it began making noise, and I was afraid we were going to get blown to kingdom fucking come because it was so loud. Turns out "something" was just loose. So that was apparently another easy fix. NOW it's making a similar noise, but the issue is that it's a holiday weekend (go figure) so now I'm stuck surviving on only one AC unit, and the functional one just happens to be upstairs and my bedroom (queen cave of solitude) just so happens to be downstairs. I know, suck it up right? No! Screw that. The AC asshats will be here on fucking TUESDAY to fix it and I'm pissed. I hope they enjoy their BBQ and end up shitting their brains out the whole weekend while I'm sitting here wiping the sweat off my brow off in my own house. The current temp downstairs? 73 degrees. I will be unfit to live with by Tuesday because I like it to feel somewhat like Antarctica in my crib. Seriously, I usually have to walk around with a light jacket on during the summer. Now I'm going to have to limit any activity that might bring my core temp up even slightly. All lights must remain OFF, and I need to be stationary in bed so that I can at least enjoy the heavy breeze of the fan. Anyone that comes in close proximity of me is at risk for getting their head, or at the very least a limb completely chewed off, cause hot mama is a BITCH. Sort of like hungry mama, but different.

Oh, and to make matters just all the more interesting guess what else is fucking up? That's right... My new Vizio television that was replaced for a third time. You may remember my previous posts about Vizio being the biggest piece of shit TV that you could ever THINK about buying. My opinion remains steady on that subject. But the best news of all about this sonofabitching television is that we have no other options. You see, I told Brent a couple of weeks ago that when you turned the TV on it buzzed louder than a cheap vibrator on high speed, but he failed to act in a timely manner because when he finally got around to calling yesterday, he was told "Too fucking bad. You are 6 days past your 60 day warranty, but we will be glad to send someone out to your house to repair it. Which means they will fuck it up way worse than it is now, and the newly repaired TV may or may not burn your house down when you turn it on."

So now Brent must pay for being a slow to react dildo. He's currently holding pressure to his unit because I've been filing away at that bad boy with an emery board. I figure I can be the new age Lorena Bobbit, with the distinct difference that I'm not nearly as stupid as she was. If you want to inflict pain on someone by cutting their junk off, you certainly don't wait and snip it off in an instant while your significant other is sleeping, run like a bitch after the deed is done, and then toss the evidence out the window of a car. Hell no! You take your time with it. Enjoy it. Relish in it. Believe you me, I will relish in it.

I will also most likely fan myself off with it when I'm done since my AC is jacked up.

Happy fucking Memorial Day weekend!

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Oh my Daddy, what a large nut sack you have

Just when I think I've seen it all, I go to work and I'm proved totally wrong. I have not, in fact, seen it all. I've come to the conclusion that I haven't even come close to seeing it all. That's some pretty scary shit right there, folks.

There are all kinds of people out there, and I guess that's a good thing because that's what makes this world go 'round, so I hear. It also gives me some material to blog about when I would otherwise have nothing. I suppose I should be thankful.

So allow me to explain my title to this lovely post.

I ended up with a patient that I will refer to as Albert, that had a slight weight problem. When I say "slight weight problem", what I really mean is that if you were to take a photograph of him, you'd have to do so by way of Google Earth images. Dude was HUGE. He was visiting us because he was having blockage issues with his foley catheter. School yourself if you don't happen to know what that is because it's sort of an integral part of the story.

Anyway, Albert had his ADULT DAUGHTER along for the visit, which wasn't out of the ordinary until we started having to go digging through all of the layers of adipose tissue to find Albert's stuff so that we could take his blocked up Foley out, in order to replace it with a new one.

So there he was, all splayed out on the bed that was SO not meant for someone his size. His DAUGHTER was at the foot of the bed giving Daddy's junk the eye the whole time. Did I mention that it was his DAUGHTER at the foot of the bed??? Okay, just making sure. Throughout this process I had a running commentary going on with myself inside of my head that went a little something like this.

Sweet Jesus, what in the hell is going on here?!?!!? Seriously, I think I'd much rather give birth to a donkey before I sat at the foot of my Dad's hospital bed while I stared longingly at his tackle while people attempted to stick plastic tubing up the damn thing. As a matter of fact, I will be able to live out my entire life not feeling the least bit slighted that I never saw my Dad's Chief of staff. I mean, as far as I'm concerned I need to go to confession for even thinking about this shit. Not to mention, my Dad doesn't even have reproductive organs. He's hung like a Ken doll. It's true!

Okay, so scratch that last statement. Since when did Ken have a goddamn bulge anyway? Back when I had a Ken doll he simply had legs attached to a torso. Now all of the sudden he's been spending all of his spare time with a penis pump and probably gives Ron Jeremy a run for his money. Lovely. Anyway, my point is that I love my Dad and all, but I draw the line at being in the same room while his bits and pieces are on display.

I mean, assuming he even had them in the first place.

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What would Brian Boitano do?

What I've noticed over the course of my life is this. No matter what situation you are in or what people you choose to surround yourself with, it is a given that you will find at least one person that takes themselves WAY too seriously.

Right or wrong, I tend to take the opportunity to make fun of this person/people. Most of the time it's just banter that I have with myself internally. Boy, Candice and I sure do have alot of fun together. All we've got to say is that it's a damn good thing we don't have those annoying little thought bubbles floating above our head. We would get our ass beat on a regular basis if that were the case.

Anyway, Brent and I decided to take the kids out for a little ice skating adventure today. Last time we did this I blazed up the skating rink so fast they had to bust out the Zamboni every 10 minutes. I was rather impressive if I do say so myself. This time I opted out of skating in order to take pictures (and sneak off to shop) and really, thank goodness I did. I would have missed out on all of the people watching if I had to concentrate on not severing my head off with a rogue ice skate most likely attached to my own foot.

You can find various levels of ice skating ability at this particular facility. You have your kids who have clearly been skating since they exited the womb. Then you have those folks like myself that consider it a good day if you make it off the ice with all of your bones intact. You also have the other people who suck, but they don't realize they suck. Prime example of the latter would be my buddy who was channeling Brian Boitano/Stevie Wonder simultaneously.

Let me tell you, he was ALL ABOUT the form. Fingers perfectly pointed, and arms out to his sides as though he was fully planning on taking flight. He also had all of the appropriate safety gear in place. Most likely had a cup on as well, but I couldn't tell due to his jeans that were pulled up to his nipples. The shades just completed his overall look I thought.

Here he is gearing up for his triple lutz. Or he's about to plow over my son. I'm not sure..

The bright side of all of this? My attention was taken away from Brent, as he was not the biggest asshat on the ice at this point. "Brian" won the gold medal hands down.

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Patience. Try getting some.

The following conversation took place via text while I was shopping in Target when I evidently should have been home cooking dinner. Also proof that I married someone who is just as inappropriate as I am.

Brent- "When is dinner?"

Candice- "Soon. I'm leaving now and I'm headed to the grocery store."

43 minutes later

Brent- "You may not recognize us when you get here. We'll be piles of bones with flies in our eyes. . . STARVING."

Candice- "Ha! Shut up. (note the sympathy) Find something to eat if you're that damn hungry. You are an adult after all."

25 minutes later

Brent- "Bad news. Aidan is walking around with a jug of water on his head- Turning into a starving African village up in here."

Candice- "You're fucking nuts. Do you want some ETOH?"

Brent- "What's ETOH?"

Candice- "For someone who is supposedly smart, you sure are proving otherwise. ETOH = ALKIEHALL, fool.

Brent- "A chemical formula? I don't do chemistry."

Candice- "Not to change the subject, but I get all ADHD when I come to Target. I think I need help."

Brent- "Well, I get a bad case of starvation when I eat dinner at midnight."

Candice- "Not to worry. You have plenty of reserves. You'll be fine."

25 minutes later

Brent- "I'm about to make taquitos."

Candice- "Good. Make them and shut up. I'm trying to shop for shit I don't need at this point."

19 minutes later

Candice- "Good Lawd. Who do I have to blow around here to find some green onions!?!?!"

Brent- "Uh......"

8 minutes later

Candice- "Man, some kid is screaming like a banshee. Evidently doesn't get his ass beat enough. Perhaps we will stop at 2 offspring. I'd hate to end up with something like that."

Brent- "Foooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood!!!"

11 minutes later

Candice- "Just ran into "soandso" Never know who reads this stuff Her husband is fugly. Just thought you should know."

Brent- "Sorry. Can't text any longer. Too..... weak...."

Candice- "Hold on a little longer. I'm done, but I picked out the slowest motherfucking cashier alive. Now I know why they have food at the register. It's so you don't starve to death while your slow cashier is taking 2 weeks to check you out. She had the nerve to ask ME how much the pretzels were. Uh, hello. There is a bar code on the damn bag for a reason there Corky."

10 minutes later

Candice- "Hello?"

*crickets*

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How about a little story from the Candice is a convict chronicles?

I know what you're thinking. How could this even be possible? Candice, a convict?!? There's just no way! You probably think that I used that catchy title just to pull you people in to read about the insipid details of my life, but would fail to deliver on the topic at hand. I mean, I'm sure my Mom will wish that were the case, unfortunately I really am what my husband lovingly refers to as "A convict". Sit back, relax and prepare to be amazed by my sheer stupidity.

Thinking back on my younger years, I'm actually surprised I'm still alive. It's more than safe to say that I made some really stupid decisions back then. My first stupid decision regarding alcohol happened the summer before my 8th grade year. Me and my friend thought it would be a good idea to raid her Mother's beer stash. I want to go ahead and speak to any younger readers that I may have acquired. First of all, don't repeat anything you read on this blog. It will get you in trouble. Secondly, Never..... and I mean NEVER drink Olympia beer mixed with Lemon Gatorade. It will damn near cause you to never pick up another alcoholic beverage again, and that would be a tragedy.

Fortunately for me, I was not swayed by the beverage that tasted like ass. I knew I could improve on that experience, and I spent alot of time doing so throughout High school. Once I turned 18, I was able to head off to the bright lights of Abilene Texas and venture out to one of the shittiest clubs I think I've ever been to. It was a breeze to get in and drink as an underage individual until you accidentally run into a cop and spill your drink down the front of his uniform. That little experience right there? MIP (minor in possession) number 1.

I wasn't arrested, but I was written a ticket, and I was specifically told not to ever return there again. Yes, I got banned from the shittiest club I had ever been to. Fuck you Cactus Moon! It was really no problem, as I knew there were plenty of other shitty clubs to go to. So I went there, and I ended up with MIP number 2 about a week and a half later. Note to self. Don't pregame it in your parked car outside of the bar.

I decided to be smart and lay low for about 2 weeks. Never one to take a hint, I decided that since it had been a month since I had received my first MIP and subsequent banishment from Cactus Moon, I thought that the odds of them remembering my face were slim to none. So guess what I did? That's right. I went back with my crew, and not only did I go back, but I ended up drinking enough to inebriate a medium sized elephant. Later on that night my friend came up to me and told me that some random guy was walking around with a copy of my license asking him if he knew who I was. My "friend", not realizing that the random guy in question was a cop, proceeded to give detailed instructions on where to find me, what I was wearing, and probably what I was drinking at the time.

So at this point I was brought back into an office and was handed out MIP number 3. That was the good news. The bad news was that I was going to be arrested for criminal trespassing. My mother failed to teach me that you can catch more flies with honey apparently, because I began spouting things such as...

Me- "You've got to be fucking kidding me! Arrested for coming to this place? What a goddamn joke!"

Barney Fife- "Well, we'll see how funny you find it ma'am. Stand up, turn around, and place your hands behind your back."

Me- "For real?"

Barney Fife- "Stand up... turn around.. and put your hands behind your back now."

Did I mention that this all went down about 4 months before my 21st birthday? Did I also mention that I was completely shitfaced? I went on to berate an officer of the law the whole way out to his car. Then I began to beg him to let me sit in the front seat of his squad car so that I wouldn't be humiliated by the increasing crowd that had gathered around outside to watch the drama unfold. I thought that by telling him that I get motion sickness really bad when sitting in the back seat even when sober would help win me some points, but Barney wasn't hearing it. I was stuffed in the back like the criminal I apparently was, and I was taken to jail.

Needless to say, I was crying like a little bitch and I began visualizing what my mug shot would look like.

Once we got to the jail, I was greeted by a lady officer for booking that looked like she may or may not have been packing meat. No, that wasn't a typo. I meant MEAT not heat. I wasn't sure if dude looked like a lady, lady looked like a dude, or if I was just really drunk. Regardless, she was a first class bitch. We went back and fourth for 15 minutes about me taking off all of my jewelry. At the time, I had one of those nifty little navel rings in that was impossible for me to remove. Well, she REALLY wanted me to take it off and I proceeded to tell her that I could not get it out, and that she shouldn't worry about me making a fucking shank out of it to kill myself or anyone else. She didn't find the humor in that comment, so off to the drunk tank I went for a little solitude.

I don't know how long I was in there, but it felt like a lifetime. Once I stopped bawling I was moved to a general jail cell with 1 other convict. She looked like a total hooker with her fake hair, skirt that barely covered her pubes, and knee high skank boots. I was still shitfaced, but I had a little more sense if that was at all possible. I knew better than to make eye contact with her or open up my big mouth. As I was sitting there wondering to myself how my life had turned into one bad ass Cop's episode, it happened. I heard someone ask "So, what are you in for?" in this deep ass Bary White voice. Turns out it was my hooker friend wasn't a woman after all. I asked if I could go back to the drunk tank, but it was around this time that I was bailed out of the pokey by one of my crew.

I never called my parents. In fact, they never knew anything about it until I got some junk mail from the Bail bonds company. My mom was somewhat curious as to why I was getting magnetic cards with a bail bonds number on it, but I figured what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

I guess it's all out there now. I know you must be so proud Mom!!!

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Aidan's gift

One of my favorite things about Mother's Day is the cute little projects the kids' come home with that they lovingly made for me at school

Aidan is particularly bad about keeping secrets, so he clued me in on the 2 Mother's Day projects he had in the works about six weeks ago. He could barely contain his excitement. And that? Is one of the many reasons I love him.

I now present you with "My portrait" fill in the blank style.

I will also be adding some translation since my little genius isn't quite on point in the spelling department. I will cut him lots of slack since he's in kindergarten.

My Mother's name is Cadis - Candice ( I was wondering which mother he was talking about at first. Then I realized that he meant ME.)

She is 29 years old - (This is another reason why I love him. He thinks I'm younger than I really am. Either that, or he lies for me. Regardless...)

My Mother is 80 feet and 20 inches tall. (I'm apparently a string)

She weighs 10 pounds (What he really meant was that my left boob weighs 10 pounds.)

Her hair color is blod (blod. blonde. You know, it was close)

My Mother plas the flaurs (plants the flowers- True enough, then I kill them by not watering them enough.)

Her job is at the ER (no translation needed here)

My Mother's favorite drink is a smoothe (I laughed my ass off on this one. Let me just say my "smoothies" come in the form of Bacardi mixers, Bacardi 151, some fresh strawberries and whip cream on top, but his teacher doesn't need to be privy to that information.)

Her favorite thing to eat is bes and ris (Beans and rice- This was a total ass yank on his part.)

My Mother's favorite TV show is soopr nany (Super Nanny- Clearly he's asleep when all of the good programs comes on.)

She likes to cook chicin. (Chicken- but I would rather be cooking pizza.)

My Mother likes to sugol with me. (Snuggle with me- I sure do, baby)

I love my Mom because she likes to hug me (Awwww!)

I think I'll keep him! However, I totally plan on saving this so that I can show him this during the teenage years when he wants nothing to do with me.

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Banter with Brent - Happy Day??

This conversation went down today while placing an online order for flowers.

Me- "I hope those flowers come with free cunnilingus on the side cause they aren't cheap!"

Brent- "It's Mother's Day. What do you expect?"

Me- "Not to take it up the ass whilst I order flowers, that's what."

At this point I took 30 minutes going back and forth on which flowers to get, and I tried to decide which vase would look the best. Then I realized that I'm slightly indecisive today. Brent gently reminded me that my failure to make up my mind was taking up time for his "real job", but clearly that wasn't as important as figuring out if the vase would clash or compliment the flowers. I also wanted the arrangement to match my Mother's decor. There is an exact science to this kind of stuff.

Brent- "Okay, order is in. Are you sure you have what you want?"

Me- "Hmm.. Maybe we should go with the other arrangement and the clear vase."

Brent "JESUS!"

Me- "Okay fine. Leave it how it is. Quit your bitchin' and place the order for your Mom."

He spends significantly less time picking out the flowers than I did, but at the same time managed to pick out something that didn't look like it should belong on a casket, so I was proud of him. Then he filled out what he wanted the card to say.

Me- "Brent, please tell me you aren't serious? "Happy Day"?? Are you shitting me? Is that really all you're going to put on the card? "Happy Day?"

Brent- "It's straight and to the point, is it not?"

Me- "What the hell is wrong with your sensitivity chip? Were you abused as a child or something?"

Brent- "Oh, this is coming from the woman that put on her Mother's card "Thanks for spitting me out of your vagina. Happy fucking Mother's Day", and you're asking about MY sensitivity chip?"

Me- sigh "Whatever."

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Some changes need to be made 'round here

Let me preface this post by saying that I really do like my job. I mean, nursing in general. I bitch, moan, and whine about it here because it's my blog. Nuff said, right? I also firmly believe that it's good to vent and let off a little steam from time to time. If all of those postal workers would have abided by my rules, then we wouldn't have the term "going postal" now would we? Although, it does sound better than "going all nurse on your ass" but I digress.

So I worked last night, and as usual it was extremely busy, in addition to the fact that we just went from paper charting to having to do everything on the computer. Sounds like a no brainer except it's not. Imagine all of the staff sitting around looking slightly retarded, constipated, or thoroughly confused and you'll see where I'm going here. In my mind, it was a cluster fuck of epic proportions. First of all, I'm not a real big fan of change. If things work one way, I would prefer to stick to it even if it's more of a pain in my ass in the long run. Luckily things don't work that way or else I'd probably be pretty screwed in life in general. Change is good. Forward motion is good. Still, I don't have to LIKE getting there, ya know?

So I've known about this big change at work for months, and I've dreaded it for equally as long. Imagine knowing you were going to have a huge, red, inflamed, and painful hemorrhoid hanging off your ass on a specific date, and that's how I've viewed this paperless charting system. To say it's been a source of concern for me is an understatement. If you worked in the ER where you were used to a certain system, and chaos in any part can totally screw up patient flow leaving you exposed to all of the random bat-shit-crazy patients (or family members) for hours longer than you typically would have, then you would totally feel my pain.

So last night WAS as bad as I anticipating it being. Once again, I could have had a positive outlook on it, but then I would have been sorely disappointed in the end. Luckily I can sit here knowing that I was right.

Anyway, I was slower getting everyday tasks done because of this computer change. All of my patients needed everything and they all needed it right now! Seriously, RIGHT NOW! I couldn't follow through on anything because as soon as I would try to, I would get bombarded by family members of patients that weren't even mine, and I would get wrangled into doing some random bullshit task that put me even further behind on my zone. I was pretty close to writing "I"M NOT YOUR FUCKING NURSE" on my godamn forehead in magic marker. It must be my sunny disposition that causes people to seek me out at the nurses station when I'm clearly in the middle of something and their nurse is standing 2 ft from me. I do have some suggestions that would possibly make my work life a little more manageable, however.

We have a suggestion box at work and I'm about to fill that biotch up. Since I don't want to blow my wad all at once, I now present you with only a few of my suggestions

1. I think you should seriously consider enclosing our fishbowl nursing station in black bullet proof plexiglass. This would keep me from having to look at all of the pissed off patients or family members pacing the hall that think that just because they are giving us the stink eye, that it will some how get them out of the ER even faster.

2. Speaking of which, family members should NOT be allowed in the ER at all unless they pass the "normal and decent human being test" which I fully plan on inventing. (I also expect a raise when it's implemented)

2. The consumption of alcohol needs to be allowed at work.

3. We should be able to wear black scrubs. I think it's a fashion forward move, and my ass would look smaller because of it.

4. I specifically, should never be subjected to a patient that is shitting, pissing, or vomiting all over themselves. Especially all at once.

5. I should be allowed to kick people in the balls at work. Patients, family members, co-workers or otherwise. There also should be no reprimand for it.

6. Please quit hiring the fucking creepy ass ancillary staff if you don't mind. I've already given Brent the heads up that if I end up dead or missing, who he should suspect first, second, and third.

That's all for now. Why don't we make this a bitch fest extraordinaire? Tell me what pisses you off about your job.

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DEDICATION

All I want to say, is that I'm willing to bet that Michael Phelps never played his computer games with his swim goggles on.

Aidan's goin' places. I just know it.

In other news, I've discovered that my girl child has taken it upon herself to grow shit in a (dime bag) Ziploc bag on her window. Upon finding out about this new hobby, I asked her exactly what it was that she was growing. My baby botanist went on to tell me that she's growing a popcorn plant from the single kernel that she plucked from Mr. Orville Redenbacher's stash.

I know this is probably a gateway plant growing. I must remain diligent in keeping a close eye on her. One day it's "popcorn plants" and before I know it she'll have a whole hydroponic system set up in her closet.

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I got your tarot card reading right here bitches

I may have been told once or twice that I can be a slightly pessimistic person. You know, perhaps I should have a brighter outlook on things and whatnot. I like to believe that I've got my head on straight, and I'm a realist. I know that if I'm going to have a craptastic day, it's going to happen regardless if I wake up and pretend that it's all going to be all rainbows and sunshine shooting out of my ass.


Oh, and if I have this gut instinct of doom and gloom, then I'm almost ALWAYS right about it. I should open up my own psychic hotline or something. You can just go ahead and refer to me as Miss Cleo if you'd like. Except I'm not going to fake a Jamaican accent for you. That's about the ONLY difference between me and the real Miss Cleo.

Since I'm all psychic now, I'm thinking that you're really wondering where I'm going with this post right about now. Fine. I'll tell you.

When I woke up yesterday I knew that certain aspects of my day would blow. True to form, I was correct. It all started when Brent decided to ambush my palm plant with bitter apple spray in an effort to keep the cats from dining on it. Apparently he's been cleaning up puddles of cat puke with palm leaves in them, so he was motivated to put an end to that since I'm not going anywhere near feline puke. My point here is that he sprayed a metric ass-ton on my plant causing some noxious cloud to envelop the whole first floor of the house.

Tip of the day. This stuff not only works on animals, but humans as well. I was gagging, coughing, sneezing and most definitely cursing. The kids had to retreat upstairs in an effort to breathe. Brent of course was acting like he wasn't affected whatsoever, but his face was beet red. I wanted to kick him directly in the balls, but I was busy gasping for air as I packed my lunch for work that I knew that I wouldn't even get to enjoy, as usual. I told Brent this, and once again I get a comment like "Well, with an attitude like that...."

My attitude hasn't got a damn thing to do with it. It's pretty much how it goes every time I work. Just as I predicted, it was so busy at work last night that I never even got to take a leak, and I'm guessing since I didn't need to void, it's also a no-brainer that I didn't even have the chance to consume anything to eat or drink in almost 12 hours. It was constantly packed in the ER thanks to the fucking swine flu and the folks coming in with bogus abdominal pain that really only wanted to just be swabbed to see if they had the flu. I was also lucky enough to start the shift off on the right foot with Satan's grandmother. I told Brent if I ever get old and crabby like that he can feel free to smother me in my sleep. Then the rest of the night I got my very soul sucked dry by various demanding patients who apparently didn't get the memo earlier in life about how to act like a decent fucking human being.

So there you have it. Glass half full be damned. I'll stick with my gut from here on out.

My next prediction is that I will be full of liquor, pizza and cracker jacks by 7:00 assuming Brent ever makes it home from the store. Which brings me to my next post. . .

Never send your husband to the store without a shopping list!

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