Monday, November 29, 2010

He hearts boobies…

This is your fair warning…this is a rant!

*climbs up on this soapbox that someone conveniently left here*

Three weeks ago, my 11 year old boy asked me for an “I heart boobies” bracelet that are all the rage right now.  One like his friends have.  His 11 year old friends.  His 11 year old friends who, apparently, have parents that are cooler, hipper, and more into saving boobies than his mother is.

boobies  Photo from here.

I answered the boy with a resounding…hell to the niz-o, and later, his father and I had a discussion. 

I expressed that I think the “I heart boobies” slogan…for lack of a better word in my vocabulary to accurately portray my feelings…is BOO-SHIT! 


I should rephrase that.  The slogan is cute.  It’s catchy.  My problem lies in the fact that it’s also catchy to the younger crowd.  Boys teetering on their “coming of age” who are just starting to find interest in the femalian fun bags, are now finding it cool, fun, and trendy to “heart boobies.” 

Don’t get me wrong.  I heart boobies.  I do.  They attracted an exceptional mate for my ass.  They fed my babies, and grew them to be healthy and rotund.  They make my shirts fit nicely.  They don’t cause me trouble.  And they’re errogenous, to boot!  I heart ‘em just as much as the next gal. 

I don’t, however, “heart” that my 11 year old finds it socially acceptable, (because of an inappropriate marketing ploy, IMO), to advertise and proclaim, that he, in all his pre-pubescent glory, “hearts boobies,” too! 


In this little discussion I had with my “booby hearting” mate, I told him that I thought the slogan and the bracelets, when worn my young boys, was an invitation for sexual harassment.  IMO, it opens the door, for a young boy to say inappropriate things, possibly (read: probably) to a girl, with the convenient cloak of “I said it for the cause,” to cover his ass. 


I remember pre and pubescent boys.  They don’t need any excuses, or green lights, to be inappropriate with young girls.  They come up with plenty of ideas on their own to talk about, look at, oogle, and lust after boobies. 

They’re male mammals.  They have virtually one track minds. 

Fast forward to today, and me on this fucking soapbox…

I received a phone call from the Assistant Principal of the school, letting me know that my boy, and some of his friends were threatening girls, saying that they were going to “grab their boobies, because they heart them.”

Am I blaming my son’s misconduct on the campaign for “The Cure?” 

Hell no. 

It’s my job as a parent to teach my boy what is and isn’t wildly inappropriate.  I failed on this one, for sure. 

However, I do think that the bracelets did EXACTLY what I expected they would, right under my own nose.  They fanned the embers of a fire that will soon enough be raging, amongst those boys.  Those boys, just beginning to feel the twinges of becoming young men. 

“I heart boobies.” 

Innocent enough for you, or I, I suppose.  Notsomuch for the young girls who were threatened (thankfully, only threatened, and not assaulted) by my son and his friends. 

I firmly believe that those bracelets should be banned in schools.  I also think the gimmicks and marketing for something as serious and personal as breast cancer, should be chosen more carefully. 

More importantly, I should be a more vigilant parent, and use this as a way to teach him about those bracelets, what they mean, and what “hearting their boobies” means to the women who’ve tragically lost theirs to cancer. 

Boys…if they had boobies, they’d understand!

*soapbox dismount*

Sunday, November 28, 2010


Cliché and corny, I know, but, I am. 


For these three kids here with me, who, I’m convinced, are the cat’s pajamas.  For real.



For the one who’s not here with me who taught me more about life in the 11 short months that I was given with him, than I’d have ever been able to learn on my own…in three lifetimes. 


And for The One, who works hard at a job that I know he doesn’t love, nor is he passionate about…so that his wife and kids (whom he is passionate about) can pursue their dreams. 


He’s amazing. 

So incredibly thankful, I am. 

For all of them. 

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

The Age-ed...

[Image from here]
I haven't thought too terribly much about what kind of nurse I want to be when I grow up.  I've always said that I just want to play the field before I settle down somewhere.  I don't want to be one of those people who swears that every single type of sick person in the world is the most fun to take care of.

Because one semester in, and pretty much one whole clinical rotation under my belt, and I can almost say with certainty that I don't want to work with the age-ed population.

It has nothing to do with their piss or their shit, either.  I can deal with that.  Piss and poo is a part of life, and I have no problem managing the biproducts of these patients' bowels.

It doesn't really have anything to do with that "old person smell" either.  That doesn't bother me so much.  It's funky, and it makes me wretch a little, but, I can handle that.  I'm a professional.

It has a little to do with the fact that they will never get any better.  That they have seen their "better days" and that it's all downhill from here, for many of them.  That's a tad depressing.  But, even that isn't something that I get hung up on.  I can forget about that.  I can even resume my life when I get home and continue taking it for granted.  And likely, when I am their age, and some hot shot student nurse is standing over my hospital bed, feeling a twinge of pain over the fact that my glory days are over, I'm sure I might regret that I didn't enjoy those moments of my life more.  No matter how crazy, or stressful, or endless they seemed.

C'est la vie...

They can be stubborn, they can be irrational, and they can be improper, but, those are actually my favorite things about the olds.

But, the thing that gets me about them...and what will likely keep me from working with them when/if I have a choice?  Is the fact that some of them are the most racist buncha mo-fo's I've ever been around!!

They have no problem saying that they're "used to having colored's take care of them" when the black lady that checked their blood sugar walks out of the room.  They see no shame in butchering the Spanish expression of gratitude, "grah-see-us" with their very white Southern drawls.  TO THE HALF PHILLIPINO PREGNANT CHICK, WHO JUST FINISHED A TWELVE HOUR SHIFT, SWOLLEN, AND TIRED, AND CONTRACTING, YET, NEVER BALKED ONCE AT ANSWERING THEIR EVERY BECK AND CALL ALL THE DAMNED DAY!!!  And they don't think it rude to ask the lady with the badge and thick Eastern Indian accent, "You're not from around here, are ya?"  Then proceed to yell, loudly, slowly, and offensively, "DOOOOO YOOOOOOOU EVEN SPEEEEAK ENG-LIIISH?"

They just leave me speechless sometimes!

They are so seasoned, and they tell great stories, they are walking history books, they have fewer teeth to brush, which I totally dig about them, and they've lived circles around my piddly ass...likely earning them the right to say whateverthehell they want.

But, damn.  They can be real assholes, the olds.

But, then again, can't we all?

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


Tuition:  $1500

Time spent away from the family:  40 hours/week

Antacids (likely needed for a developing ulcer related to stress):  $5

Being capable and qualified to handle the
piss and shit of the area’s sickest citizens?