You know you're Irish if...

For Harachis, back 'atcha.... (Pass this to Kevin, he'll enjoy it.)

You know you're Irish if...

• The condensation on your pint of Guinness takes the shape of shamrocks.
• You don't believe there is a God, but you are damn sure of the infallibility of the Pope.
• You believe that to forgive is divine, but you don't excercise it yourself.
• You won't eat meat on Friday, but you'll drink a pint for breakfast.
• You consider any Irishman who has become successful a traitor.
• You have great respect for the truth, and you only use it in emergencies.
• The further you get from Ireland, the more Irish you get.
• You eat homefried taters for breakfast, potato bread for lunch, and potato stew for dinner.
• You cry at sad movies, but you cheer in battle.
• You will never play professional basketball.
• You swear very well.
• You think you sing very well.
• There isn't a huge difference between losing your temper and killing someone.
• You're strangely poetic after a few beers.
• Many of your sisters are Catherine, Elizabeth or Mary and one is Mary Catherine Elizabeth.
• You can't wait for the other guy to stop talking so you can start talking.
• Much of your food is boiled.
• You are, or know someone, named "Murph." If you don't know Murph, then you know Mac. If you don't know Murph or Mac, then you know Sully, and you'll probably also know Sully McMurphy.
• Your parents were on a first name basis with everyone at the local emergency room.
• There wasn't a huge difference between your last wake and your last keg party.
  You drink beer from a longneck bottle because your doctor told you to distance yourself from alcohol.
  You think St. Patrick's Day is THE major holiday of the year.

Well shit.

For some reason I found myself in an awesome mood all day today. It was a good day; I drank heavily on a Thursday night with my co-workers and then spent the day working together hung over together. I went home excited to think the kids were going to spend the weekend with their dad (at their grandma's under strict observation) but nonetheless gone, and I'd have the weekend to myself.

Well, I've been trying to get ahold of Asshole since I got home from work (he was supposed to meet me ASAP) to no avail. Which usually means he is full of worthless promises (big suprise) and I won't actually have that wonderfull weekend to myself afterall. (Big suprise.)

Then there's this neigborhood kid who spends every waking moment at my house tearing up my house. She seems like a good kid for the most part, but I can't keep my house clean when she's here. She gets here as early as humanly possible and doesn't leave till late. (Her mother has NEVER called looking for her.) She rides the same bus as my kids, gets dropped off one stop before mine do, and today she is here ringing the doorbell 5 minutes before they even get here. I don't answer the door, just to make a point. She wants to come in. I say the kids have to pack 'cause they're leaving tonite for their dad's (I thought.) She wants to know if she can spend the weekend with their dad too. I say no. She leaves. She's back in 10 minutes wanting to know if she can play with them after they're done packing. I say no. She finally leaves after 15 minutes of negotiating. GO AWAY!

Then, I read a very disheartening blog of my dearest friend that very nearly made me cry.

Oh, and did I mention that I scheduled an appointment with a neurosurgeon in Chicago for like next week? For life-changing, dangerous, expensive, old person-making back surgery? Oh yes, a whole new blog. Someday.

P.S. I hate the fall. It's shitty outside, cold, and it's been raining so much that the dogs are covered in mud. And they forget that they're not allowed to jump on you when you're wearing your nicest clothes.
Well, shit. It appears I've gone and put myself into a crappy mood.

You know you were an 80's kid if...

You know what "Sike" means.
You know the profound meaning of "Wax On Wax Off".
You know that another name for a keyboard is a Synthesizer".
You can name at least half of the members of the BRAT Pack.
You know who Tina Yothers is.
You wanted to be a Goonie.
You felt ashamed when Rob Lowe got into trouble for sex with minors and videotaping it, because you liked him.
You know who Max Headroom is.
You ever wore Flourescent, neon clothing.
You could breakdance, or wish you could.
You wanted to dress like the Hulk at Halloween.
You believed that "By the Power of Greyskull," you HAD the POWER.
Partying "like it's 1999" seemed sooo far away.
You thought that Transformers were more than meets the eye.
You wanted to be on StarSearch.
You remember what Michael Jackson looked like before his nose fell off.
You have worn a Banana Clip, or knew someone who did.
You owned a doll with "Xavier Roberts" signed on its butt, or knew someone who did.
You knew what Willis was "talkin' 'bout".
You HAD to have your MTV.
You hold a special place in your heart for "Back to the Future"
You know where to go if you "wanna go where everybody knows your name."
You thought Molly Ringwald was REALLY cool.
You actually thought "Dirty Dancing" was a REALLY good movie.
You have heard of "Garbage Pail Kids".
Punks actually "shocked" people
You knew "The Artist", when he was humbly called "Prince".
You actually saw Ted Danson as the MacDaddy he played "Sam" to be.
You remember when ATARI was a state of the art video game.
You own any cassettes.
You were led to believe that in the year 2000 we'd all be living on the moon.
You remember and/or owned any of the CareBear glass collections from Pizza Hut, Or any other stupid collection of glass they came out with.
Poltergeist freaked you out.
You carried your lunch to school in a Gremlins or an ET lunchbox.
You have ever pondered why Smurfette was the ONLY female smurf.
You wore biker shorts underneath a short skirt and felt stylish, or know someone who did.
You ever had a Swatch Watch, or three.
You had a crush on one of the Corey's (Haim or Feldman). ORYou had a crush on Bo Derek or Heather Locklear.
You remember when Saturday Night Live was funny.
You had WonderWoman or Superman underoos.
You know what a "Whammee" is.
You had a crush on Jon BonJovi, or knew someone who did.
You thought eating Reeses Pieces would attract your own Alien.
Your name is Jennifer or Ja(y)son.
You have ever called 867-5309.
You had a poster of Rob Lowe, Kirk Camron, or Michael J. Fox on your wall.
You held the top score on PacMan.
You had MALL Hair or know someone who did.
You owned a T-Shirt that said, "I shot J.R." or know someone who did.

I got a promotion! I got a promotion!

So now I'm actually telling the truth now when I say I'm BVH's new "General Surgery Specialty Coordinator Nurse".

And, no, I won't be abbreviating that. The funny thing is, all it's really good for is a nice title for another resume, not that surgery jobs are hard to come by- I think they turn over nearly as fast as the fast food industry. Why, you ask? Well, being able to survive surgery is mastered by perfecting the skill of taking and giving out perfect balances of shit, and being on your toes at all times. Ok, sure- and you have to be able to look at a person's insides, but none of that matters if you don't have that skill.

General surgery is actually pretty gravy once you get the hang of it. And I can come home and say, "Oh Gawd, I had such a terrible day at work, we had a guy with dead bowel come in coding, we took out 400cm of small bowel, half of his colon, his gallbladder, his appendix, and left him wide open so we could come back tomorrow and put him back together," and if I get to the end of that story (which I usually don't) I can usually pull off an easy, "get me my dinner- I'm parking it for the night" type of a thing, and there's no questions asked. I even sometimes get a good backrub out of the whole thing.

Honestly, though, this is a pretty cool deal, and if I hadn't just posted the whole story an hour ago and had it deleted mysteriously, it'd probably be a lot more interesting to read.