Fun Site

I found a great site tonight in my never ending search for fun cartoons and pictures of assholes doing assholish things.

http://www.nataliedee.com

Okay, they have very funny stuff on this site. The cartoons crack me up and you can use them and share them as long as you share the site address  and understand they support themselves with merch (cool lingo for merchandise). I am a firm believer in paying artist's for their work. Especially in this time of the Intraweb, itunes and all the ways to just copy stuff without paying for it (you know who you are you bit torrent people--only okay if the person who created is okay with you sharing it). You know I have my AMEX card number memorized which makes Internet shopping a breeze. I'm getting this shirt:

http://www.nataliedee.com/

and only 17 bucks!

alyssa-anxiety-133-1.jpg
http://www.nataliedee.com/

I do worry that my boobs will disfigure Anxiety Girl's face...

Play Doh®

I found some in a cabinet today. I am not sure why I had it but I opened it up. It is just as fun as I remember. It smells exactly the same too.

Add 

play-doh.jpg

Jorts

I am safely back from my trip to Lowe's. People, I must ask you...why all the jorts?

JEANS + SHORTS = JORTS

That is some fucked up math. If there is anything that will turn me to a dry gulch faster I dunno what it is. 

Let me lay some photos on you:

This is just sick and wrong. As my friend Amy Jean says, "I think I can see his C and Bs." I think he may have been a neighbor when I lived in the sovereign state of Louisiana. p. fucking s. his buddy to his right is kinda hot.

This poor soul obviously doesn't have a positive female influence in his life. He has nice legs and arms that are completely canceled out by the jorts.

And this just sums it all up:

When to turn the Blackberry On

I turned my work Blackberry off on December 20th. I had taken vacation that week and we had company holidays from Christmas until the end of the year. I needed 2 solid weeks sans bullshit. I left my Blackberry on (yet buried at the bottom of my purse) and glanced at it on Monday the 20th. I saw an email from my boss (aka The Duckwalker). He started with "I hope you are enjoying your vacation..." and then proceeded to ask me a question that required an emailed answer. Tool. My out of office would be his reply. He was leaving to go out of the country on the 24th and his questions was not relevant to business before the end of the year. 

I'm afraid to turn it on. You know when you watch the number of emails calculate and it keeps getting bigger? Ugh. I will turn it on in the morning.

When Work Invades Your Dreams

I've had work nightmares for the last 3 nights.  I suspect it is the winding down of holiday vacation and my anxiety around a work thing that I will hear about this week. I am debating whether I should blog about that.

I always know I am really stressed when I have waitress dreams. 2 Nights ago I dreamt I was back at Chili's, but it was in not the 1980's. It was now. There I was, 45 years old in a Guess™ denim mini skirt, a red polo, white scrunchie socks and Reebok™ hi-tops. I was standing in front of the computer trying to enter the order. I couldn't find "well high ball". I asked a girl for help. She told me to study and laughed at me. I screamed "Fuck You! I worked her before you were born. Show me where the key for well high balls is!" She look scared and showed me the key. I had to get ice and carry it to the front. My back was killing me. I remembered how I used to pick it up without a problem. I went out to my station and all the tables were full. I didn't know table numbers or abbreviations for any of the food. I looked around and I was the oldest person there. It was horrible. I woke up with wet hair. 

My dream analysis: I'm worried about work and getting older.

The night before, I dreamt I was back in the pediatric ICU. That was probably my most stressful nursing job. Babies and kids get so sick and one wrong move can be disastrous. Ironically, it was my lowest paying nursing job ever. I got $14.34/hour with a $2.00 differential for working nights in the mid 90's. I repeatedly got yelled at by cardiac surgeons and one night an anesthesiologist pushed me  I learned a lot and that was when I decided that "doctor" does not equal God. Okay, back to the nightmare. Even though this was a pedi ICU, we also recovered adults from open heart surgery. It was because the hospital across the street did not have a certificate of need to do adult open hearts. It was stupid. In the same  night you could have a 70 year old woman next to a 7 day old baby. It was fucked because you would look at the monitor and see a heart rate of 60 on an adult which was okay and then the baby's heart rate was 150. Same with respirations. At 4 a.m. you had to be on your toes to not mix up the patients. A heart rate of 60 in a baby is BAD.  Again, back to the nightmare. I had gotten report and went in to see my first patient. The first thing you do (especially in ICU) is get to your patients and make sure their vitals are good (i.e. they are alive), the drips are running at the the right rate( and it is the right drug) and that the bitch before you didn't leave you with a near empty bag. I always made sure I got to everyone right away (lots of codes happen at change of shift). I once walked into a patient that I was told was breathing great and her O2 sats were 100%. I walked in and she was grey and not breathing. In my bad dream the first patient was planting jasmine around her bed. People, this was a fucked up dream. She was in the ground and asked me to help her digs holes. She even had one of those little shovels. I started digging and I realized that I had forgotten my stethoscope. I was really stressed out that I had forgotten it at home. I finally got out of the room and realized my other patient was on another floor (this would never happen in the real world). I ran up several flights of stairs and could not find the room. Nurses on other floors wouldn't help me. I saw a stethoscope on a chair. I stole it and kept running. I finally went outside and there was a 737 and I was told I had to get on it by a flight attendant. I said, "but I have patients!" She told me someone else would take care of them. I handed her the stolen stethoscope and go on the plane. I had on turquoise scrubs with the yellow drawstring (yellow strings were on the small scrub pants and back in the day we would proudly have the yellow string out to show that we were rocking the smalls).

My dream analysis: I am going on a flight to somewhere that will take me away from my worries. I will also be thin.

My dream last night was a combo. I was a waitress and a nurse. One of my old friends used to say I was a "Healthcare Waitress." It was funny, yet bitchy. I had ICU patients in a restaurant. There were ventilators and drips and monitors. You went up to the bar to get your I.V.s and meds. I can't remember what the kitchen did. There was even a hostess. It was FUCKED.

My dream analysis: I am wacked. And stressed.

Root Canal at Home Depot

Going to Lowe's or Home Depot (which are interchangeable to me) is like going to the dentist for some people. The parking lot is a maze of contractors with their big trucks that often have the ball things hanging from the back. Is this only in Florida? One moment while I deftly google a picture...yes! "Balls on Trucks" produced this in 10 seconds:

I brace myself as I enter the store with the big lights and blaring intercom. I can NEVER find anything. I look up a the signs on the aisles. They are no help. It never says little stick thingie to tighten the toilet paper roll holder. I now know that is referred to as an "Allen Wrench". There is also the problem of finding someone to help you. The only reason I would choose The Depot over Lowe's is the obnoxious orange vests. I have found that when I go in without makeup, in ripped jeans and a t-shirt I get a much different response rate than I get when I am dressed up in work clothes in full hair and makeup. Which leads me to my trip today to Lowe's. I am going back for the 4th time to get paint to touch up my walls. The first time it was too dark. Then too green. Then too shiny. One of the guys told me just to repaint my walls. Which by the way...when I have sold my last 3 homes I gave the new owners a typed out list of the paint colors, brand and numbers for easy purchasing. Did the mutha fuckas that remodeled and sold my place do that? Hell no. Where is my good paint karma?

I'm going to get up. Fix my hair. Artfully apply makeup and put on a tight, low cut shirt. I will get in the Mini and park next to a Hemi™ in the Lowe's parking lot. . I will block out the blaring lights and sounds. I will walk up to the paint counter with confidence and use my boobs to get quick service. That paint better be right this time.

Ghosts from Christmas Past

On Christmas Eve I got a text from an area code that makes me nervous. I have only saved one number from that time in my life and it is Phil the Attorney (of the "his erections are no longer your concern" fame). 

It was from one of John's boys. One of the twins. I was SHOCKED to get a text from him. Their father (lower case intended) had told them there would be no money for college because of Penelope. Here it is:

Next, (I cut some of this off since it has all their names in it). He is white and I am green:

Some redundancy here--trying to take screen shots.

We always made apple pies on holidays. I had no idea what to talk to him about. I was (am) heartbroken that all 3 boys stopped talking to me because of their father. I  left it with the apple pie. I didn't know what else to say. I showed it to my niece the next day. She told me I left him hanging. So I wrote him a Christmas text. I'm green and he is white.:

I can't help but analyze--why is he reaching out now? Was he fishing to see if I had a boyfriend with the "whatd u get for xmas" question? In the text that I cut out I asked about his brothers and told him to tell them I asked about them and to say hello. I wondered if he told them he texted me. I wondered what they said. The little one (his twin--call him H) sent me some rough texts when things really fell apart when I had to take John back to court. His father told him I was trying to take his money. H believed his dad (which I understand). I took the high road. I didn't point out that they lived in a crappy 2 bedroom rental house before we were married and that they style of living increased dramatically when I came onto the scene. He just kept writing me texts saying, "I never thought u would do this." It sucked. I used to get really stuck in a circle of "don't they know I left tons of things there so the house would not seem different and they wouldn't suffer?, Do they know how I paid for most of their food and clothes at our house? I defended them when John wanted to ground them for every little thing? I read tons of books on being a good Step Parent and I went to a counselor just to get guidance on being a Step Mom?" 

But wait, that's not all! Sulie and I were driving back from our trip south. She turns to me and says, "I can't find my phone." I tell her I will get off at the next exit. I decided to go ahead and get gas. She finds her phone in a bag in the truck and runs into the store while I get gas. When she comes out she says, "That is David W. over there." David W. is a guy I dated for about 6 months back in 2000. He was one of the many maybethisonewillgetmymindoffofDillhole detours. David W. was coo-coo for Coco Puffs. He was really smart, fun to be around and as you got to know him his damage was crystal clear. He suffered a lot of abuse as a child and it was sad. He just dropped off the face of the earth. Left town. No call. No email. Wacko. This was after he spent the week before with me at the beach. He called me 6-9 months after he left. He said he had moved out of state and was seeing a doctor and he needed to call and apologize (obviously doing a 12 step program). He told me he was on medication and doing much better. My reply (and please note Dear Readers, I have done a lot of self work in these last 11 years) was "Crawl back under the rock you came from!" and I hung up. Shit, 11 years later and he's at the same Mobil station as me on the day after Christmas in some little Florida town. What are the chances? He was with a woman who looked older. I think he was about 5 years older than me. This woman looked older than 50. He didn't see me or Sulie. I drove around so I could see his tag. The car was from a town in Tampa Bay. How weird is that? I am all about signs. What does it all mean? Something about forgiveness? I hadn't thought about the rock comment in years. It was not a pleasant thing to remember about myself.

Not sure how to end this post other than I have been a writing fool tonight...

More Meet Up Comedy

Look at this new group:

Double Click and you will see in full screen

At first glance it seems benign. But look at "Jennifer" the organizer. And really read the description. I forwarded this to Polly and told her it sounded fishy. Here is her reply:

I think they are seeking a third to spice things up.

Sent from my iPhone

Out With The Old

It's that time... New Year's Resolutions. I'm not going to get all crazy. Just a few simple, attainable goals. 

Out with:

• AssClowns
• ManGroomers™
• RMFFs™
• Drinking Coke (I mean it this time)
• Eating out all the time

In With:

• Loving what I do for work
• Buying food and cooking it
• Walking Daisy TWICE a day
• A New Hair Dresser
• Trusting my Gut

Let's take about coke. Coca-Cola®. The Real Thing. On Christmas day I went with my sister to visit my niece and nephews.  We got a room at the Sheraton Four Points (I was able to bring Daisy--yes, I AM that person). My sister brought along a 12 pack of coke. She filled the ice bucket and put the 12 pack of coke on the top shelf in the armoire. My niece came over after the boys went to sleep. We were enjoying some vino. I needed to take Daisy out. I opened the armoire to grab a bag. I was assaulted  by coke cans. First, one to the right temple, then the left cheek. At first I thought I was being shot. I dropped to the floor. I kept getting hit. One to the shoulder. Cans bounced on the tile floor as coke exploded everywhere. I saw black. My niece Jackie said I muttered, "What is happening to me?" and then I realized my sister had pulled the flap off the front of the 12 pack. I then said, "Don't ever do this again." I ran towards the other side of the room as Jackie was bent over almost peeing herself as she laughed. My sister was horrified. It was so funny that I couldn't yell at her. We assessed the damage. Coke was all over the closest bed in weird bubbles. The mirror was covered as was the tile in the entryway. We grabbed towels and started cleaning. My sister and niece told me to take Daisy out while they cleaned. When I got back my niece took me over to the bed and instructed me to watch. She said in a weird Russian accent, "Co-Cola, no Co-Cola" as she wiped the beaded up bubbles of Coke. That duvet cover was made of Kryptonite. My sister googled the duvet cover on the hotel website. (You can buy one for $260 if interested...and it's 100% polyester, not Kryptonite). Let's get back to the Co-Cola. Do you know that shit ETCHED the mirror? This was a brand new hotel. It was on the mirror for only a few minutes. Think what that shit does to your teeth and gut. I think every school age kid should have to our Coke on a mirror and she what happens.

You know when you're in a hotel and you're staring at the ceiling and you see one lone brown spot? If you are like me you say, "how in the hell did that get up there?" Now you know.

"Good Hair" at what price?

I'm watching Chris Rock's movie Good Hair. My sister and I were talking about it today. I joke about my hair drama with hair stylist breakup. I still have that Nordstrom gift card burning a hole in my wallet. My appointment every 3 weeks to cover my gray is  is nothing like what a black woman goes through to take care of her hair. That's a whole other blog--which by the way, there are several blogs on black hair. My favorite "Celebrates the Dopeness of Black Hair."

All kidding aside, this reminded me of a story from my nursing days. I worked in the intensive care unit of a children's hospital. A 3 year girl was admitted through the emergency room. She had been badly beaten and was unconscious. She was put on a ventilator and neurosurgery was called in do a craniotomy (drill a hole in the skull) and to put in a drain and a way to measure the intracranial pressures. A neighbor had brought the little girl in. Her mother was a dancer. She had given the neighbor $1,000 to watch her little girl while she went down to Ft. Lauderdale to dance.  I took care of the little girl the first night. The search was on to find the Mom. She was located early the next morning and rushed to the hospital from Ft. Lauderdale. The day nurses told me how the Mom screamed when she walked into the room. She said, "Who put a weave in my baby's hair?" Social Services had found out that the neighbor beat the little girl so she would sit still for several hours while she put a weave in her hair. Pictures of the weave were taken for documentation. The day shift nurses calmed the Mother down and gave her a pair of scissors. When I walked in that night, she had cut all of the weave out. She kept saying to me over and over, "my baby would never sit still for a weave." She also kept telling me she paid her neighbor $1,000. She felt like that amount of money meant her daughter would be cared for and kept safe. It was awful. Meanwhile, the little girl's intracranial pressures kept rising. I worked 12 hour shifts from 7pm to 7 am. The Mom got a bible and started reading it out loud. At about 3 a.m., she got to the word "Zion" and asked me how to say it and what it meant. I said, "Zion" and told her it was a sacred place. I was raised in a house where my Dad was baptized in a creek while wearing a suit when he was 12. He said at that moment he thought, "when I have kids they will never have to go to church." It was a battle between him and my Mom. My Father won. Zion was a place I could't describe to the Mom. I went and got the chaplain (they had one available 24 hours a day--Thank God). He came in and prayed with her. He explained Zion (to both of us). She spent the rest of the night lying in bed with her daughter while reading the bible. We helped her avoid all the tubes and wires. The Mom wouldn't eat and she wouldn't sleep. 

A friend came in the next night and brought a boom box. The Mom said the little girl loved to sing and dance. She thought music would make her baby feel better. A song came on that the Mom said was the little girl's favorite. It was C'mom Ride This Train. I think of that little girl every time I hear it (thanks goodness it is an old song and I only hear it once a year or so). Here are some of the lyrics:

How sad that the song makes reference to a weave. The Mom said the little girl would run through the house and say "Choo Choo!" 

I can smell them tranquil breezes from a mile away
Graduated from Boone up to Alize
Baby, you looking tough to death
Got your weave done right, it's on so tight
Now it's on tonight, yeah, yeah
Right about now it's about that time for me to holler
Girl, I wanna waller in the back of my Impala
Woo, don't need no tickets for this thing
Just jump on in, let me hit them switches on the train
And it ain't no thing, it's all the same
Get on the train tracks
Here we go, so get on the floor
And put a hump in your back
So pack your bags, come on, get ready, say what?
We're coming through your town
Move your arm up and down
And make that choo choo sound, like this

The next day the little girl died. Day shift told me the Mom's screams were blood curdling.