Friday, March 9, 2007

Anxious people

Nooooo I'm not talking about gas!!! I'm talking about those annoying people, like certain co-workers of mine, who can turn ANYTHING into a crisis. I work in Occupational Medicine...we deal with work comp injuries, OSHA and all that gloriously boring industrial shit. zzzzzzzzzzzzzz Trust me, there is no such thing as an Occ Med emergency...I'm talking clinic wise....not like the type when someone in a factory gets their head caught in some piece of machinery. Ya gotta be a special kind of stupid to do some of the crap we see. I was a family practice nurse for 2o odd years and we always had our "frequent flyers." The people who basically supported all of our bad habits and vacations for many years. The ones who cough or sneeze and have to be seen's never just a headache, it's a brain tumor. It's never just a cold, it's pneumonia...those people. Now, where was I? Forgive my Chardonnay induced brain fart. Oh yeah... Occ Med. My job share partner, can seriously turn anything into a HUGE crisis. She LOVES meetings and likes to involve lots and lots of people. Anything she undertakes turns into a GD Dog and Pony Show. She has never adhered to the theory of the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. She travels in a constant circle. The slightest change just sets her off. For example, one time, the nurse I always work with and I decided to "redecorate" the office. We moved a few things, including the coffee pot. We moved it to the left exactly 6, yes SIX as in half a foot, inches. Jeezy Peesy you'd a thought we'd torn out the walls!! She called me, practically hysterical ( which is her per usual state) " Did you move the coffee pot? I keep walking over to the spot it USED to be in and it's not there. I feel like I'm spinning!!" Spinning? We moved it six fucking inches you stupid bitch!!! We also had the audacity to throw out the phone call logs she had kept for the last SEVEN years. These are just her non-legal daily entries into a Mead notebook. I had to hear about it for the next two weeks. When she orientated me to the job, I should have run. I set a pencil down on the desk and it wasn't exactly perpendicular to the edge of the desk. I watched her break out in a sweat before she finally reached out and straightened the pencil.. I spent the first two weeks watching her check, recheck, and re-recheck her emails. She is incapable of writing an email without having at least two other people check it before she finally sends it. I shit you not. This woman is the poster child for OCD. Me, being the resident "bad girl" takes full advantage of this by purposely leaving the work area in a state of disarray at the end of my work week. Crumbs on the desk, pens, etc...all over...just to get a rise out of her. I also write illegibly in her famous "notebook." Drives her nuts. The other thing she does is calls me incessantly.. for someone who professes to be the Occ Med Queen, she sure friggin calls me alot with a million questions. I can write out the most explicit explanation and she STILL doesn't get it. The other day, she told me one of the doctors yelled at her and said " Why do you always have to make everything sooooo difficult?" I simply replied " So, why do you?" She didn't answer. Oh, she also keeps a "tattletale" notebook. She honest to God keeps track of other people's mistakes and writes them down in a notebook. What the ???? Who DOES this kind of thing? I should add one of her sons has an OCD. Before he leaves a room, he has to make a pattern on the door with his finger. Gee, wonder where he gets that? This woman is close to 60, has had a heart attack and TWO bypass surgeries...her hubby is a bank president, her children are grown and doing well. Now, you tell me why she is working???? If my employer would pay her to stay home, I'd be in heaven. All she does is screw up things...I'm starting to feel like I'm the "clean up crew." There are employers who call me at the end of each month to get my work schedule for the next month, because they don't want to deal with her. She's sooo dumb. HOW did she EVER pass her nursing boards?????? She's never actually had much hands on nursing experience. She freaks out if she has to help the LPN's because she doesn't feel comfortable due to her lack of experience. Oh my God.....I have to take a blood pressure? She's clueless and lazy. I welcome any and all suggestions for getting this woman to retire. Oh, some of her bypasses are already clogged. Golly, that's too bad. LOL LOL

The One and Only Nurse Ratchet

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Living Large While in College

My girlfriend, whose son allegedly attends a state University, is constantly handing money to her unemployed student. This kid drives a new car, takes fantastic Spring Breaks, and parties hardy all on Mom and Dad's dime. She sighs as she reaches yet again into her pocketbook to fund his latest escapade. She admits she doesn't really know why she does this, and by the way, the majority of monetary transferring is done behind her spouse's back in order to avoid the " You're coddling and spoiling that kid" speech. I've just finished reading an email from her which detailed yet other bank transfer. My reply to her is as follows:

I'm convinced that somewhere, there is a class, probably in the back of a bar, called "How To Milk Your Parents Dry 101" This is taught, no doubt, by some scraggly 28 year old "professional student" who after 8 years at the University, is no closer to his degree than the first day of his freshman year. However, this dude has perfected the art of living high on the hog ( no pun intended to all you Iowans out there) while remaining unemployed. He owns not one, but two snowboards, a motorcycle, mini-bike, car, expensive rollerblades and bicycles as well as a closet full of designer clothes that would impress even the likes of Calvin, Ralph and Tommy. His fridge is always stocked with the best imported beer and wine. No Schlitz or Annie Green Springs for him!!! By now you're probably asking " How can this be?" It's easy. Mom and Dad are just so %$#%^ing glad he's not living at home, that they have suffered the equivalent of a frontal lobotomy, thus making their hands go from wallet to junior in 6 seconds flat.

I must admit I've engaged in the bank transfer "dance" more than once. And yes, without benefit of my husband's knowledge. It's just better that way :) However, my kid does work and my transfers consist of 10 bucks here, 10 bucks there, to tide him over til payday. Nothing compared to the HUNDREDS, and no I'm not exaggerating, of dollars my friend gives to her son. Oh well....not my problem. But it was a good excuse for a blog!! Peace :)

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Does anyone know how to do their job???

I am getting extremely fed up and totally pissed off at dumbass clerks, newspaper carriers and postal workers. Today, Saturday, I went up to my post office to buy a book of stamps. Easy, right? Fast, right? A resounding NO to both. As I entered the post office, I saw the waiting line snaking out of the sales area and into the mailbox area. The reason? Two idiots with 23, yes, 23, boxes of varying sizes all needing to be mailed. One postal clerk...23 boxes and two fucking dumbasses. As I joined the line, the "fortunate" ones in front of me all turned and looked at me as they simultaneously rolled their eyes. Gaovernment efficiency at its best :) After what seemed like an eternity, which for me, I must admit, is about 5 minutes, I finally said " Oh come onnnnnnnn. There has GOT to be a better way to do this, people!" Focusing my attention on the clerk I quizzed her " Don't you think it would be a better idea to help all of us first and THEN start in with the big job? Are you the ONLY one working here today? Can't someone else open the other window? All I want is a book of stamps!" She looked at me as if she were trying to come up with some snappy comeback but failed and instead bellowed for "WINDOW HELP!" At last, relief on the way. My joy was short-lived as the "help" shuffled her 90 year old feet up to the counter. As she fumbled her way through mailing labels and sheets of stamps, it was finally my turn. As I turned to leave, I tapped Ms. 23 boxes on the shoulder and said "Ever heard of UPS?" and walked out. My stamp buying journey lasted 30 minutes!!!!

Next stop: Walgreens for a box of Sudafed, which in Iowa, AKA Meth Capitol USA, requires a photo ID, signature and your eye teeth. I HATE doing this... law abiding people are being penalized for the deeds of drug addicts who appear before a judge for meth possession, receive a slap on the hand and are sent off to engage in the same behavior. Gee, go figure. Call me stupid. but I'm thinking maybe some rehab or a year or two or three in some lice infested correctional facility might be more effective than making me sign my life away for a fricggin' box of decongestant! And to make matters worse, I stood there and stood there and stood there, while some overly endowed twit who took her makeup cues from Priscilla Presley's early days with Elvis, stook a few feet from me pretending to know what she was doing. I clanked my keys on the counter...nothing. I cleared my throat. Still nothing. I finally resorted to " Excuse me." to which "Priscilla" finally responded with a question it must have taken all three of her brain cells to compose. " Did you need something?" WHAT???? I just stood there with my mouth open...incredulous at her stupidity. I replied as nice as pie " No dear, I just thought I'd stand here and gaze at you all day because I have nothing better to do." Of course, this made my husband extremely nervous ( see Hockey Mom story) and he made a quick exit. Priscilla sashayed over in her stiletto heels...always comfy when working on one's feet and stood in front of me. " I'd like a box of Sudafed please." "Which kind?" "The kind that when I wash it down with a glass of wine it'll make me sleep like a baby and forget I was ever here." She glared at me and reached for the 12 hour stuff. Good doggie, Priscilla!!! Again, what should have been a 5, 10 minutes tops errand, turned into a 20 minute ordeal.

And now, the newspaper. For some reason, and I swear it wasn't me, really, our route has had more newspaper carriers than people change their undies. We are once again without a carrier. So, the newspaper company has been delivering the throwing it from a speeding car. So far, I've found it in the bushes, in the neighbor's yard, and in the middle of my driveway. Oh, I almost forgot...they also like to toss it into the huge snowbank out in the parking. After enduring weeks of donning my snowboots and parka so I could go outside in the dark and hunt for my paper. One morning, I couldn't find the paper at all so I made a phone call to report the missing paper. The rudest, most obnoxious "customer service" rep proceeded to tell me that "The paper was delivered and you just can't find it." I assured her I had looked and it was not there. She actually said "Yes, it is." and KEPT saying this despite my protestations otherwise. I figured out I wasn't getting anywhere with this harpie and asked to speak with her supervisor. He was not any more help. I finally convinced him that I actually had some education and I could assure him, the paper was NOT there. He agreed, grudgingly, to have someone deliver it. I also mentioned I would really appreciate it if they could please deliver the paper by the door. About an hour later, some surly chick with an eyebrow and lip ring delivered my paper...said not a word to me but handed me the paper and got back into her Chevette.. If i had to drive a Chevette I'd be surly too. Next morning, my paper was not on the doorstep but was instead, neatly laid at the bottom of the steps. There are only three steps up to my front door. They could have easily just tossed the paper up by the door. Apparently they were making a statement. Whatever. I believe in karma....I LOVE karma. I paid the next bill by placing my check and envelope in the snowbank outside the newspaper office. I went inside, said I had my payment and asked for a receipt. She stood there and looked at me waiting for me to hand her the payment. Finally she asked "Didn't you say you wanted to make a payment?" I said " Oh I already made it." She looked at me quizically. I then had her accompany me to the front door, pointed at the envelope perched in the snowbank and said "That's my payment. I'd like a receipt, please." I told her since that's the way my paper is delivered then I had to assume it was also ok to make my payment in the same manner. I only felt somewhat bad as she slodged thru the snow to get the check. I said SOMEWHAT. That'll teach her to not wear boots!! I got my receipt, said thanks and left. Next morning and every morning since, my paper is right by my door. I WIN!!!!

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Hockey Moms

It's snowing....again. I shouldn't complain because up until a few weeks ago, we had unusually mild temperatures for this time of year. I don't like being cold. I HATE being cold. Yet, I endured many years of cold "bleacher butt" while my son played hockey. It wasn't so bad,other mommies were also suffering from the affliction. Besides, we had our post-game drunken soirees to look forward to. Hockey dads didn't suffer from Bleacher Butt because they refused to sit with us, the hockey moms AKA Pit Bulls of the Arena.
Yes, it's true. We were the Clark Kents of the rink. Walking into a rink suddenly turned mild-mannered Martha Stewart wannabees into an even meaner version of Rosie vs Donald. Everyone was fair game for our scathing verbal repertoire of insults... Rival hockey moms, referees and the occasional coach. Did I participate in these revolting, disgusting, hateful activities? HELL YEAH!!!! It was fun!! An outlet for all the hours I spent at work biting my tongue, putting a smile on my face when I really wanted to choke someone.

I have compiled a short list of some of my favorite hockey mom sayings either said by my "posse" or by other hockey moms. They are as follows:

"Get off the ice, you piece of shit!"

"Hey! That little jerk is MY kid! Ya wanna go at me, lady?"

" Ref!! You watching the same friggin' game I am?" usually followed by
removing glasses, holding them up in the air and yelling " Ya wanna borrow these?"

" If ya don't want your kid getting hit, then maybe you should
sign him up for ballet! "

" Oh yeah? And who taught YOU to wear brown shoes with black pants?"

Ah yes, hockey. I miss it. I watch it on tv but it's not the same. No more "meals" consisting of arena staples like hot dogs and nachos washed down by Miller Lite. No more hotel rooms reeking of dead animal due to stinky hockey equipment laying over the heater. No more road trips through blinding snowstorms. No longer do I carry safety pins, extra skate laces, and a cooler the size of a steamer trunk, in the back of a humongous SUV.

The boys have various scars proving they played. Our scars are invisible, laying deep within us. Longing for the days of buying Power Ade by the caseload, the sound of laughter as they played hall hockey in the hotels or swam in the pool, phone calls from the manager imploring us to "keep it down," carrying equipment bags the size and weight of a baby elephant.

We've attended a few of the high school games trying to recapture the past. Something's missing though. I think they switched to all beef hotdogs. It's not the same. :)

Friday, January 19, 2007

The grocery store

I loathe shopping for groceries. All the choices are overwhelming and throw me into a semi-panic attack. Do we REALLY need 10 different brands of toilet paper bundled according to roll size, number of rolls, with or without ripples, some have aloe....for the love of God's ASS wipe!!!! I highly doubt my posterior knows or cares if the toilet paper has ripples!!! It's not a bag of potato chips for cryin' out loud!!! No matter what time of day I shop, it always seems to be the day the social security checks arrived. 90% of the customers today were 80 and over. Shuffling along the aisles, stopping whenever and wherever without regard to who might be behind them or trying to get around them. They have a permanent look of bewilderment and I can't blame them, really. Most of them probably grew up using the Sears catalog in the outhouse. Now, they have to decide what's better......aloe or ripples???? I actually kind of, I said KIND OF, feel sorry for them because they seem to use the grocery store as their social outing. As I was throwing in can after can of Friskies Prime Select Chicken in Gravy cat food into my cart, a woman with blue hair and Sally Jessy Raphael glasses had the audacity to reach into my cart to scrutinize the cans of cat food. She picked up a can and in her nasally, whiny voice said " Your cat must like this kind." Gee, Einstein, ya think? She then tried to engage me in a conversation about cat food!!! She asked me some off the wall question to which I screwed up my face and said "What?" I took that as my cue to get the hell out of that aisle. For the next 20 minutes I dodged, darted and slithered through the store trying to avoid "Cat Food Lady." I finally made my way to the checkout line only to get behind some dumbass who kept sending the clerk back for different cigarettes. I'm too tired to even start in on that whole scene. I'll save it for a rainy day.