I have found myself trying to go off the grid. Stupid winter. Left to my own devices I would wrap myself in my flannel sheets, flannel pjs, sweatshirt, comfy socks, and stay in bed all day with my window open and a jet engine sized fan set at 11 blowing in my face. The blegh/meh is compounded by the feeling that everyone is telling me if I were a better parent, SoS wouldn't be such a challenge. I hate to tell 'em this, but that kid was a challenge in utero and his personality is not going to change. Besides, you do all this shit by yourself and see how much you like it. What may have been challenging with two parents becomes a hair pulling, drug seeking fun fest by your little lonesome, so thanks for the support. Anyway, enough of that.
I had a party the night before Halloween and found a costume labeled "Dramatic Witch." With such a description I had ideas of an Elvira like ensemble (without the cleavage down to my navel) and scrutinized the picture on the front. Black dress, handkerchief hem that came to right below the knee, bodice cut to show scant cleavage...okay, I can do this. Then I put this thing on and the front of it came high-thigh. So, dramatic witch equals trampy witch? I see. Paired with back seam fishnets and earrings I could hula hoop with, I'm sure it screamed "Lookin' to get laid!" But since I am essentially still the chick who was afraid to skip church to go to the beach (although I had no problem changing into my suit at 70 miles an hour down the freeway in a Ford Fiesta) I was a tad uncomfortable. So in my usual fashion I just became louder and told more jokes. I topped this whole rig with a giant feathered witch's hat that had netting and little spiders sown into it. Which seemed apropos as there are cobwebs growing about my person. A friend's husband dressed up as Lt. Jim Dangle and he looked exactly like him. They got pulled over on the way home and the State Patrol asked him to step out of the car because they needed to differentiate her boozed out smell from his. When he stepped out, the cop about peed himself laughing and then called his partner over to look. No idea if they let him off the hook.
I was a tad more sedate on Halloween itself, where I just wore my motorcycle leathers and a huge, curly, black and white wig with dreadlocks. That is the warmest I have ever been on a Halloween. I may have to be a biker chick every year from now on.
Took the kids to their well child appointments and found out FB is 61 and 3/4 inches tall. His mother is 61 1/2 inches tall. He hasn't stopped laughing like a loon since. He wears a 32/30 in jeans. My dad is 6 feet and has the same sized inseam. I told FB to ask Grandpa why he's so much taller if their legs are the same length. Dammit, I'm going to have some fun with this too.
We have changed our visitor policy to only 2 people allowed during labor and no one under 18 allowed on the floor unless they are the pregnant couple. That's gone over like a turd in a punchbowl. We also have to wear masks during patient care until 10 days past our piggy flu vaccination. That's if you can find one. The prison had it before our hospital did. I HATE having my mouth covered...I think it's because I talk so much and so fast that I suck the mask into my mouth and nose and feel like I'm going to suffocate. Not the best feeling for someone who is claustrophobic.
The dog has a squeaky toy he loves. It's a pig. He went through two cows and after the last evisceration, I couldn't find another cow. He found the pig to be an acceptable substitute. FB has named the pig "Swine Flu." He now talks incessantly about Knucklehead McSpazatron having Swine Flu. And then laughing like a loon. He is his father's child.
Had a nice little patient the other day who was, let's face it, a bit of a princess. You're pregnant, not incapacitated. And you're not in labor so, do you really need someone with you in the bathroom? She goes in the bathroom and insists on her hubby coming with her and closing the door. A bit later he opens it and says, "I'm getting gassed out in here." She took a dump and insisted on him staying with her until she finished wiping. Let me just tell you, there are some parts of yourself that should remain a mystery in your marriage! There wasn't a day I left the door open and I refused to let the hubster. Needless to say, I was standing there with my nurse face on when she came out, but on the inside I was screaming, "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me????" She then went to wash her hands (thank goodness, don't get me started on how nasty 99% of my patients are) and her hubby says, "You have a sticker in your butt crack." Her blood band was obviously on the wrist of her "wipin' hand" and one of the stickers had come off. He then proceeds to go after it. To the point he spread her cheeks apart, while she washed her hands, and picked it off! I would have donkey kicked his ass into the next county. But we have already established her boundaries are different from mine.
One of my cute, young co-workers offered some beef jerky to one of our doctors. No big, except it happened to be our Indian, Hindu doctor. Yay cultural sensitivity for us! I about had a stroke trying not to laugh.
I'm trying to figure out how 5 retired nuns and a priest cut through the security fences on Bangor. I bet there are people with "stars upon thars" who are pissed. I love how one of the protesters said they were "hidden in plain sight." Erm....never mind. So they cut through the fences around the Strategic Weapons Facility, get surrounded by Marines and then have the balls to complain about being kept on the ground and hooded for hours. Beats being shot though, doesn't it? Since this is a place where "deadly force" is authorized. That means getting shot for all you nutbars who thought breaking into a nuclear weapons facility was a fine idea. And what would possess them to put their blood in baby bottles? I mean I get what they are trying to say with the symbolism, but yuck.
I made a fine dish called "Shot and a Beer Pork Stew." Now have to explain to the kids why there is beer in the fridge. Never mind the te-kill-ya in the cabinet.
Found a video of some girls from my alma mater getting roughed up a bit
Around the 0:37 mark is where I would have opened a big can of whoop ass. Poor little Molly Mormons need some Molly Hatchet in their makeup. I need to travel back to Provo and introduce them to righteous anger. No, I am not condoning dirty play, but I can guarantee that after that I wouldn't have just lain on the ground. I may have been red carded the hell out of the game, but I'm sure she would have known I disapproved of her actions.
How about pervo Ewoks?