As predicted, said doctor was a complete asshole today. So, now I want 15 Tequila Fannybangers with a Klonopin chaser. I'll settle for the Klonopin washed down with some Pepsi Max; my total drug of choice.

I was speaking with Senior Chief's Wife about my day (read: venting unrestrainedly) when I mentioned I was going to buy a rototiller on Monday. And a tool bench. Because, most women buy clothes for retail therapy and I get wet walking into Home Depot. I said as much to SCW and she says, "And meat. Don't forget a freezer full of meat." To which I had to reply that I had no idea why no one wanted to marry me, I'm the perfect woman. I buy power tools for retail therapy and I have a freezer full of meat! What more could a guy want? I crack myself up!
It could be worse; I could be like this on a date:

Last night I made A Chicken and 40 Cloves

and, while I didn't eat any of the chicken, I did eat about 30 cloves. Did you know after eating 30 cloves of garlic, roasted or not, you will ooze garlic from every pore? That your mouth will taste like the inside of an old boot that has been buried in a compost pile and fried in castor oil? That your GI system, aged and cantankerous as your disposition, will crankily and with great malice aforethought, let you know it is most severely displeased? Because all this will happen. Conversely, I can't help but to have shaved a few points off that old total cholesterol. So, I got that going for me; which is nice.

FB is snow cave camping today and tomorrow with the Scouts. And when I say that, I don't mean they will discover some geologic formations that are cave-like in flavor and pitch their tents in said cave-like formations. I mean they are finding snow drifts, digging caves into them, and then sleeping in these caves. I, despite my outwardly calm acceptance of the circumstances, am freaking out. I have visions of avalanches, cave ins, frostbite, and all manner of mayhem. I'm sure everything will be fine. I plan to drink heavily.

While I was vacuuming today, SoS said, "Mom? Did you know it's a true fact that a man has to buy everything his wife wants? It's a true fact!" I had to cross my legs to stop from peeing while I laughed. I assure you, he did not get this idea from me, but I'm pretty positive he'll make some woman extremely happy with this attitude. He better find a damn fine job.

I will be working with one of my least favorite doctors for the next three days. *sigh* This man barely has the medical knowledge of your average ocelot. He can't pass his boards. He's tried three times. If I couldn't pass my boards I would be waiting tables, not practicing my preferred profession. He not only gets to practice but he gets promoted. Whatthefrenchtoast?? The last time he gave turnover to the oncoming docs and talked about ordering antibiotics on someone with normal WBCs for a postpartum surgical patient and wanted a catheter for Is&Os, because he thinks that's the only way you can keep track, after he left one said to me, "What are we treating?" My only response was, "Fuck if I know." Which isn't professional but I had already been dealing with this nonsense for several hours and I couldn't take much more. His own partner closed the door after he left and said, "What was that all about?" So, basically, what I'm trying to say is my weekend is going to suck bawls. I should go to sleep, but I'm actually watching The Three Amigos in an effort to retain some semblance of humor.

Happy Valentine's Day

If I ever get to have sex again, this will be my theme song. Well, except for the part about "my penis inside of her." I'd have to change the pronouns a little.

I was standing at the nurse's station the other day, minding my own business, checking out Facebook on my phone, lending half an ear to the TV in the waiting room with pundits spouting off about Iran and Ahmydinnerjacket, when one of my corpsman queried,"I thought we pulled out of that country?" What the actual fuck? I, being struck incapable of speech, had no response, but my co-worker, she of the no longer active duty by one month, said, "No. We have never been in that country. We just got out of Iraq." To which the clueless wonder replied, "Oh. I must get those two countries mixed up." At this point, I looked horrified at my co-worker and then had to look away so I didn't start laughing hysterically. I don't know if I was more horrified that this little corpsman didn't know how to tell Iraq and Iran apart when these two slices of baklava have been pretty much front and center in the collective conscious of our nation her WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE, or the fact that she's freaking ACTIVE DUTY and active duty corpsmen have a tendency to get shipped off to places like that. Good lord, girl, there is no excuse for that kind of dee-dee-dee!

Today, I went into the natural food store in town looking for sweet almond oil.  Why?  Because I had this wild hair to make some massage oil.  What for?  Who the hell knows?  A vague desire to massage and no opportunity to do so.  Thwarted in my all desires physical and mental.  Bummer.  Nice tangent.  Anyway, as I'm paying for my merchandise, and perusing all manner of vegan and organic treats at the front counter, it strikes me that it is a trifle incongruous to be in a natural food store and pull your wallet out of your big leather purse.  And when I say big, I mean BIG.  I could smuggle midgets out of the circus in this thing.  I mean, it's like throwing half a cow up on the counter.  I may have offended some sensibilities.  Ah, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

Living with boys is so bizarre.  They smell.  They do incomprehensible things.  They smell.  How can someone come out of a shower and smell as bad, if not worse, than when they went in?  How can their bedroom be fresh and clean smelling when they go to bed and smell like the mouth of hell in the morning?  I keep a can of air freshener beside FB's room, so that, if I have to enter, I can hose it down first just so I won't keel over from the boy smell.  We've been going through a period here where they can't seem to lift the ring on the toilet to go to the bathroom and then end up peeing all over the seat.  Now, first of all, I demand that the toilet lids be shut at all times because I hate the look of the inside of a toilet, and do you know what gets aerosolized and floats onto your toothbrush???  Yuck.  And whether it's true or not, just yuck.  The point being, they have to lift the lid anyway, how hard can it be to lift the seat as well?  Especially since I've been drilling it into their heads since they were potty training.  So, now I make them come back to the bathroom, completely clean the toilet, and threaten them with sitting down to pee for the remaining time they live in my house.  You'd think it would sink in a little better than it has.  They are usually better for a few days and then I start to see some backsliding.  Usually when there is important video gaming is to be done.

When we came on shift this morning there was a drawing on the white board in the physician's room depicting a rather large laceration and repair that had occurred during a recent delivery.  In order to put everything into perspective, all landmarks are represented; i.e. anus, vulva, tears, umbilicus, etc.  This same white board is in full view from any position in the nurse's station.  The particular tear that was being discussed was a midline laceration that extended bilaterally into the sulcus.  Or sulci, perhaps in this case.  I am orienting a nurse to our unit who has OB experience, but not recently, and she mentioned she had never heard the term "sulcus."  So, I took her into the physician's room and explained the repair, pointing out the landmarks as points of reference, as in "The little starfish looking thing is the anus."  Several hours into the shift, I wondered aloud if maybe it was time to erase the illustration as I was tired of looking at that anus all morning, and my orientee volunteered to be the one to clean up the board.   A few minutes later, I noticed this:

Yeah, she left the anus, just for me.

Today was an incredibly slooooooooooooow day.  Six postpartum couplets and not one triage.  Not even a triage phone call.  None.  Nada.  Zero.  Zip.  Nolla,  Nothing.  Knitting runs rampant at the nursing station and one of our female corpsmen was teaching another how to knit, when she stated she couldn't remember what was "knitting" and what was "purling."  So, I clarified by stating, "knitting goes in from the front (meaning of the stitch) and purling goes in from the back."  Which wasn't a problem until the 17 year old boy living inside me kicked in and I started laughing hysterically.  When relaying this story to the night shift crew, one said, "So if you don't have a partner, does that mean you're crocheting?"  Hilarity ensued, much to the horror of the young corpsmen at the table.