Wednesday, March 23, 2011


Photo from HERE

I'm one of those people who, when there is a shit ton of stuff stacked in front of me to do, I shut the frick down. I can't make to-do lists, because the list is too daunting, and I quit before I even begin.  When the house is a wreck, instead of tackling one room at a time, I get overwhelmed, and I don't do shit.  

It's not an efficient way to be.  

As much as I remind myself to take one day at a time with this nursing school gig...I have a really hard time not seeing all of the next 2.5 semesters worth of days, all piled on top of one another.  And you know what?  If you pile up a shit ton of mole hills, you know whatcha get?  Well, it's not exactly a mountain, but it sure as hell looks like one.  

I don't do well with mountains.  I like my mole hills few and far between.  So few and far between that they can never be misconstrued as anything remotely resembling a mountain.  

You know what else?  

Who's bright idea was it to get off the happy pills just a few short months before starting nursing school?  Idiot!  If I met that person in a dark alley...I'd...I'd...score her some happy pills.  That's what I'd do!!  


Sunday, March 13, 2011

Two thumbs down...

A movie review.

We went to see Hall Pass today, and even though the trailers alluded to the idea that a week off of marriage for a 30-something suburban dad might not exactly be what he expected...I had no idea this movie was a chick flick.  None.  It had some of the ingredients of a Hangover type flick...raunchy comedy, sexual obsession, T&A, drugs, boys gone wild, full frontal male nudity of two different peni, varying in shade and size.

Those parts of the movie, I enjoyed.  The crux of it?  Notsomuch.

Totally unrealistic.  Too unrealistic.  The Harry Potter movies were more realistic that this flick.  These dudes got a week off of marriage.  What did they do?  Went to have ribs at Applebees.  Played a round of golf.  Joined a gym.  Talked the talk without walking the walk of all the tail they wanted to pursue over the next seven days.  That's it?


I just happen to cohabitate with a 30-something suburban dad, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what would really happen if he was given a week off from marriage, with no rules, limits, or consequences.  I can say with 100% certainty, that not once would he go to Applebees.

You know what he absolutely would do?  He would round up a few good men, hop a plane to Vegas, and ride off into the desert in search of "strippers and cocaine."

But, noooooooooo...these douche-nozzles couldn't close the deal.  They decided that their wives were too important to them, even though they had a hall pass.

I'm sorry...I ain't buying it.  I call bullshit.  I will go on the record to say, that if given clearance by the control tower to land their plane in any old runway but mine a strange and exotic runway...a HUGE majority of hot blooded American, 30-something suburban dads are gonna land that plane, take off, and land it again.  And again.  And again.

The rationale behind my assumption?  The wise words of one six year old little boy sum it up quite nicely, I think..."Boys have a penis...and girls have a brain. Right, Mom?"  

Yeah...two thumbs down from me!  

Sunday, March 6, 2011

A story that is likely untrue...

For argument's sake, and those pesky patient privacy laws, this story is likely untrue.

Long absences around here mean only one thing...I'm eyeball deep in the shit of old men who have lost the ability to 1) control their bowels and bladder, or 2) have lost the sensory perception to be able to tell that they have lost control of their bowels and bladder.

Truth?  Being eyeball deep in the shit of an old man who has lost both of those abilities, is the most intimate moment I've shared with anyone on this planet, for as long as I've been on it.

He was helpless, he was incapable...I was not.  He was apologetic, and humbled...I comforted him.  And wiped his aged ass.  It was disgustingly beautiful.  Something I still don't quite understand, really.  Odd.

The dude repeated over and over, "This is disgusting...I don't know how you do this...they're not paying you enough."  To which, I wanted to say..."Dude, I'm paying them for the opportunity to do this, believe it or not!"  But, what I said instead was, "'s okay.  Everyone poops.  I'm sorry that you're not able to get up and take care of this yourself.  I'm happy to help you, sir."

That relaxed him a little, and he reminisced about his younger, glory days, as my classmate and I rolled him side to side, cleaning him up and changing his linens.  It was nice.

I had dreaded this moment since I'd started the program.  In fact, I'd made it through my first semester without a "code brown," and was beginning to think that I could possibly make it through the next three unscathed.  That wasn't the case, and I'm glad for it.  I learned far more about being a nurse while wiping the  ass of that old man, that I ever will from any textbook.  And felt more like a nurse doing it, than I likely ever will starting any old IV.

I'm really starting to think I got the chops for this gig.

You know...if any of that story were true.