Things were a bit lightweight today (avoiding the word that dare not speak it's name, you see.  I still have to go back tomorrow), so I thought I'd actually indulge in trying to update my training record.  Which contains exactly two items.  My refusal to bow to the demands of the man continue!  One item I needed to complete was "Immunization Training."  Apparently, nursing school and twelve years of direct patient care holds no water with the DoD when it comes to believing that I am competent to give an immunization.  But hey!  I get 15 Continuing Education Units when I finish!  Yay!  Totally not worth it when it took 7 hours to complete four out of the eight pre-tests, modules and post-tests that I am required to go through and place in my training record of suffering. 
Here's a verbatim quote from module on anaphylaxis:

Most people who have esperienced an anaphylaxis reaction will want to prevent it from happening again.

MOST people??  So there are people out there who love the thrill of anaphylaxis?  The swelling, the rash, the the difficulty breathing is as good as a bungee jump to these people?  (Reminds me of that bastard 10th dentist who doesn't recommend sugar-free gum.  Is he trying to pay off his Tuscan villa by promoting dental caries?)

During the influenza module I was reading about transmission and the following conversation ensued:
Me: "Children spread disease like wildfire; they're bug factories."
Anonymous Resident: "Especially those immunocompromised kids.  Those little bastards can shed forever."
Me: (maniacal laughter) "I have to write that down.  That might even be a blog post.)
Anonymous Resident: "Can you refer to me as 'an anonymous resident'?"

We all have our light and dark, our yin and yang. I'm just not sure if everyone else's are as wildly divergent as mine. I can swing from borderline freakish OCD at work, to horrifyingly stereotypical Gen-Xer slacker-from-hell once I hit the sweet, sweet chaos of home. If I have a patient with more than one IV line, I look like a squirrel on crack gathering the last known nuts for winter as I untwist, untie, and un-macrame. I am completely focused on each line being separate and identifiable from bag to hub, including labeling every pump and port. And then, then I can relax.

My slacker-from-hell persona usually shows up during sone kind of cleaning activity. Specifically, my broiler pan. I have a love/hate relationship with my broiler pan. I love the ease of broiling, but it can be a pain in the ass. If you spray the pan with nonstick spray, you have to be careful not to spray anywhere else because then you broil the spray into a sticky mess that is hard enough to cut glass and requires a sand blaster to clean. And if I don't use cooking spray, the meat us pretty much spot welded to the broiler by the marinade, sauce or it's own tasty juices. So, I'm then stuck soaking, scrubbing and swearing at the broiler until it's clean. Sometimes, I scrub until it is as smooth and shiny as the day I first laid a piece of succulent beef on it. (mmmmmmm succulent beef.) The flop side of this is that I think to myself, "Self, these suckers are 15 bucks max at Target." And then I go dump it in the trash in blissful satisfaction without the need to clear the SOS soap out from under my nails.

Where am I going with this? I broiled up Bamabi the other day and have finally decided that the broiler has soaked long enough. I just need to decide which me I'm going to be. Tough decision. Perhaps I should sleep on it some more.

He just got his Tenderfoot badge in Scouts. And this is what he wore to his Court of Honor.  Obviously, I was at work or this shit wouldn't have happened.  It's like only wearing your thong and push-up bra during your wedding.  Jeez.

Okay, one more!

Those are some screaming little chickies!

I've been working like a dog non-stop, my house is trying to implode on itself and I have a tweener who still can't grasp the concept of turning in his homework on time.  Is it any wonder I forgot to send my niece a birthday card (with moolah!  Oh, well, she'll forgive me.  Because there will be moolah!) and forgot to write a post about Elvis' birthday!  Good grief this is becoming a habit!  So here, another of E's songs from that luscious '68 comeback special.  Yum-O!  (Put any connotation on that "O" you would like, there!)

So Tuesday I didn't have to go in to work until 1100.  It was an actual sunny day here in the PNW (quite rare in the winter, you know) and I thought it was going to be a good day.  SoS missed his bus and I had to take him to school, a dog got out and I had to chase him around the neighborhood, I was then running late, hurried out to get in the car, twisted my ankle on a kid shoe that wasn't put away, fell and hit my head on the furnace.  By the time I got to work, I not only had to park by the helipad (which is so far from the hospital that you have to call an ambulance to ferry the patient from the actual hospital to said helipad.  Seriously.), I had to park so far away by the helipad I thought I was going to be in the Sound with little wavelets lapping at my running boards.  And that's before I set foot on the floor.  The rest of the week has been equally disturbing.