Stream of conscious rambling from a sleep deprived nurse with English degree leanings. Either that or the psychological trait known as flight of ideas...it's a toss up.
The thing about working in labor and delivery is that we are extremely open to talking about lady parts. And where I am now at Small Military Hospital, we talk openly about lady parts even when the poor 19 year old corpsman are around. Hey, this openess will more than likely make them more sensitive to their future significant others' needs, so really, we are performing a community service. Don't ask me how this came about, but one slow day we were talking and someone asked, "Well, have you seen that vulva jewelry?" I thought she was talking about Vajazzling, which has been around for awhile, but I think is kinda dumb. And ouchy. But no, she was talking aboutthis on Etsy. Holy crap.
From the page:
Celebrate your own beauty. Each piece is an original, one of a kind, hand sculpted image of its owner to remind her that regardless of what the world and the people in it may tell her: she is beautiful.
So, apparently you send this person a picture of your vulva and she makes a 1.6"x1" pendant that you can wear for a night on the town or cleaning stalls, the choice is yours. My favorite part is where she says that if you are not comfortable sending a picture, you can just describe it. I'm thinking anyone who is buying this hand sculpted image of their vulva to wear, isn't going to have a problem sending a picture. And if you don't send a picture or a description "you will receive one of our beautiful flesh-toned Vulva pendants." So you could just be walking around with some anonymous vag around your neck. I guess that could be less embarrassing for some.
"Is that an original, one of a kind, hand sculpted image of your vulva on a chain????"
"Well, no, it's not my vulva. I actually don't know to whom it belongs. I'm just wearing it "
So, I survived my great Middle Eastern adventure. Not that I had concerns regarding my destination, it was more that I wondered if I could survive 18 hours in the air without hurting myself. Or my fellow travelers for that matter. Why do some women dress for air travel as if they are running a special on massage services at at "gentleman's club"? I can think of nothing more uncomfortable than being wedged into a coach seat next Skippy The Incredible Snoring Fat Man unless it was being wedged there in a micro mini, 4 inch stilettos and showing off the twins to the extent everyone knows them on a first name basis. But that's just me. Personally, I had on a pair of capris, a lightweight shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of Keens. Given a chance I probably would have worn my damn jammies, but contrarty to popular belief, I do have some social graces. The hoodie happened to be FB's because as I was scurrying around trying to get out of the house and to the hotel before the airporter left my ass (and I made it by *that* much only because I pulled in front of him and frantically waved, refusing to let him leave without me), I could not seem to locate my dignified, adultish hoodie. I grabbed FB's and spent my trip hunkered in this thing with the punk ass graphics. Ah well, at least I was warm on the plane.
Dana Delaney, when she was filming China Beach went to Viet Nam for a visit and said the heat "just hit you in the crotch and all you could think about was sex." Obviously a different heat from Bahrain because that heat hit me with a full body slam and all I could think about was air conditioning. Of which there was plenty. Usually set at 45 degrees below the coldest place on Earth. So, despite being in the Middle East with temperatures in the high 90s to low 100s, my punk ass hoodie and I spent some quality time together.
About a week before I came home we had gone to bed and my cell phone rang. What? I looked at the display and it read "FB's Middle School." What, what what??? Answering cautiously, the man on the other end introduced himself as the 6th grade counselor and he would like to speak with me regarding FB. I informed him of where I was and he replied, "Oh, then I will send you and email; would that be okay?" Yes, please, because this short minute is going to cost me $300 dollars. I got up the next morning, wrestled the Nav away from the Drudge report, and logged on to my email. 6th Grade Counselor had done what he said and so I opened said email and read, "I would like to talk to you regarding FB." That was his message in its entirety. Unfortunately, I had gotten that much from the 14 seconds on the phone the night before. And it's not as if I thought he wanted to discuss some other 6th grader. I took a cleansing breath and sent a reply requesting a little more detail, if it wasn't too much trouble. Apparently, the school was concerned regarding FB's academic progress. When I got home this is the conversation FB and I had:
Me: "So, how is school going since I was gone?"
FB: "Great!"
Me: "Good, good. So getting your homework done?'
FB: "Yep!"
Me: "Getting good grades on it?"
FB: "Yep!"
Me: "So, no problems then?"
FB: "Nope!"
Me: "Your guidance counselor called me while I was gone. Why do you think that was?"
FB: *crickets* "I don't know."
Luckily, there is this wonderful thing in our school district called Parent Portal where you can log on to the school website and, not only see your child's assignments, but their grades as well. And his were, in a word, DEPLORABLE! He was getting A's in Global Adventures (sounds like something in special ed) and PE. The rest were Cs and below including, (are you ready? because I wasn't) an F in Language Arts. Do you want to know how bad it chaps the ass of a mother with an English degree for her kid to get an F in Language Arts? There isn't enough Boudreaux's Butt Paste on the planet! Now all of these grades are the result of his lazy ass not doing, or not turning in, his homework. His in class classwork show As; he's just being a turd. So we had a fulfilling discussion about grades and his future (including such inspiring phrases as "I don't even care that you're crying! You SHOULD be crying!") and he and his phone have parted ways until I see some serious improvement on them thar grades. Jeez.
24 September 2010
This working thing is really puting a wrinkle in the ol' bloggin'. There are a few posts that have been running around in my head for a while, and if I don't get them down, they will just float off into the dark, cobwebby corners of my mind, and then forget it! No way I'm going over there without a MLB regulation sized bat! I went to get the Glittery Hoohah electrocuted the other day. I just realized I shouldn't call it the Glittery Hoohah, lest readers, all 2 of you, think that I've been engaging in some Vagazzling. Fear not, friends! My September issues have not grown to such proportions that I would stick crystals on my girly parts, thereby rendering the Glittery Hoohah a GLITTERY Hoohah. I can't see where there is anything comfortable, or aesthetic really, about this for anyone. They have to get in the way. Although the dragonfly was cute. But if they are going to post pics, they might want to stick to chicks without razor burn and stubble. That's all I'm saying. Anyway, back to the electrocution.... We were well into said torture(that I willingly pay for. I know: shut up whiner), when I felt a rumbly in my tumbly. Oh, this can't be good. Really, can there be a less opportune or socially acceptable place to float an air biscuit? I think you would be more readily forgiven for cutting one loose on a first date in an enclose car, or ripping a loud one in the middle of your wedding vows than during an aesthetic procedure such as this. And due to the nature of said procedure, there is no way to tighten your cheeks to keep it in until the feeling passes. No, you lay there, praying and sweating like a supplicant in front of the volcano, promising all manner of behavioral and lifestyle changes that you don't intend to keep, if this moment will just faaaaaaddddddeeeee awaaaaaaaayyyyyy.
It's been nine years. In the ensuing nine years, since our view of our world and ourselves changed, have we gotten a little removed from the event? Do we look on it, even in the little time that has passed, as an event as remote from our daily lives as Pearl Harbor? A tragic event that shaped us, but is so far in our history as to not effect us? I believe it continues to shape us; it's an event that causes our future to be incredibly fluid, more so than it might have been otherwise. The images from 9/11 are harsh and still shocking. Seeing them again is like being back on that Tuesday morning, in tears and shaking that such a horrific tragedy could happen. Not just here, but anywhere.
I wish they would make Ground Zero and the field outside Shanksville national monuments. I love the pictures of the twin pillars of light reaching high and brilliant into the night sky. I wish we were not violently changed nine years ago, but since that is futile, I hope we never forget.
I saw this on in a patient's room on network TV at 1130 in the morning. It's almost uncomfortable to watch...I kept thinking I was going to get busted for watching pr0n!
02 September 2010
My friend posted this on FB and I had to repost it everywhere because it made me laugh. Mostly because the Cat from Hell is named Sylvester and this is the same attitude I get from him every freaking day.
