Sandwich Artist...

...my ass.

I have to stop going to Subway. I am so fed up with getting angry over something so seemingly inconsequential. But it does matter. To me. And I really do try not to yell at the Sandwich "Artist" because I know they make diddly squat, and honestly, if I remember back to the minimum wage days, all I wanted to do was force myself through those horrible 6 hours I had to be away from my telephone and tv twice a week. Fuck your Big Mac. But I've always been slightly OCD, so I'm sure that means I was piling up people's burgers so they could enjoy a tasteful combination of all the things they expected on said Big Mac with every single bite.

Such is my problem. This is all I want. Maybe if I didn't actually get to see them put my sandwich together I would be better off. Like any other thing that would be easier if I just did it myself or just didn't watch the person doing it. But if I had it my way, I would narrate my Subway visit.

(Yes I am turning into a crazy person.)

Here would be my conversation points:

1. Have you ever eaten a sub before? (Please see questions 3-8)
2. If yes, do you typically like subs?
3. Could you please cut my sub in half and not shave a 2mm thin sliver off the top so all my veggies fall out and into my wrapper before I get them in my mouth?
4. Yes, by me naming 2 cheeses, that means I want them both, and in turn, that means extra. It also means I like cheese. See 6.
5. No, I normally do not like all of my sub stuffings straight down the crack of my sub. I would go to Taco Bell if I wanted a taco.
6. Could you please put the meat on ALL of the sub instead of just the first 3 inches?
7. I know gas prices have driven olive prices sky high, but, yes, I'll pay extra for more than 1 every 2 inches.
8. Who are these people who come in and order a cup of oil on their subs that make you think it's okay to turn my sub into a soggy turd? I bet they are greasy lipped motherfuckers.

God, I feel my face getting hot just reliving my last visit! But hey- If I'm going to pay a hefty price for these sandwiches, I expect quality. Well. Maybe not quality, but for chrissake, something I'm not gonna just take home and dump in the garbage. So for all of you who were stuck behind me in the lunch rush line at the subway across from Marathon last week, sorry for yhe delay. Maybe you can relate.......

Green Thumb!

My thumb just turned green.

Last year I did it for fun, this year I'm doing it functionally. Neither will be fruitful, I'm betting, but it's all practice for this inevitable depression. (And if not, at least it will help with grocery bills!)I'm reading Mel Bartholemew's Square Foot Garden. It's basically a method of gardening for people like me with little space, not much time and or patience to tend to. But it's supposed to put out tons of veggies. And we love veggies here.

Supposedly one 4'x4' square will yeild enough food for an entire year for one person. I have 3. Since I'm a kindergartner when it comes to gardening, I severely doubt I will be planting all year long, but I'm going to consider it practice, so that eventually I will be able to do that. I'm planting lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli, spinach, onions, beets, radishes, celery, carrots, potatoes (hey, I'm Irish. We can live soley on potatoes in an emergent situation.) cucumbers, squash, peas and beans. Supposedly I can fit all that into just 48 square feet. And hopefully I can freeze/can some of this harvest (that may be 1st grade gardening, not sure...) There's just something about the smell of canning tomatoes that brings back some great memories.

But beyond preparing for the worst, it's therapeutic for the soul, it's rewarding, it's fun, it's exercise, it's outdoors, and it's good for a nice tan. Farmer's tan, but tan nonetheless. Plus the kids can get in on it. The only thing bringing me down is that the more I read, the more I learn about what a pain in the ass it is to be good at this. Last year when birds ate the strawberries, I said oh well, que cera, and didn't eat strawberries. This year, I have to find ways to keep birds, bugs and rabbits out and it's becoming much more tedious (and expensive). Not to mention I'm considering starting a compost heap. That's gardeneese for rotten food in a pile.
But just wait, give me a month and I'll have fresh produce growing out my ears. And a hellatious farmers tan.

Green Thumb

My thumb just turned green.

Last year I did it for fun, this year I'm doing it functionally. Neither will be fruitful, I'm betting, but it's all practice for this inevitable depression. (And if not, at least it will help with grocery bills!)

I'm reading Mel Bartholemew's Square Foot Garden. It's basically a method of gardening for people like me with little space, not much time and or patience to tend to. But it's supposed to put out tons of veggies. And we love veggies here.

Supposedly one 4'x4' square will yeild enough food for an entire year for one person. I have 3. Since I'm a kindergartner when it comes to gardening, I severely doubt I will be planting all year long, but I'm going to consider it practice, so that eventually I will be able to do that.

I'm planting lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli, spinach, onions, beets, radishes, celery, carrots, potatoes (hey, I'm Irish. We can live soley on potatoes in an emergent situation.) cucumbers, squash, peas and beans. Supposedly I can fit all that into just 48 square feet. And hopefully I can freeze/can some of this harvest (that may be 1st grade gardening, not sure...) There's just something about the smell of canning tomatoes that brings back some great memories.

But beyond preparing for the worst, it's therapeutic for the soul, it's rewarding, it's fun, it's exercise, it's outdoors, and it's good for a nice tan. Farmer's tan, but tan nonetheless. Plus the kids can get in on it.

The only thing bringing me down is that the more I read, the more I learn about what a pain in the ass it is to be good at this. Last year when birds ate the strawberries, I said oh well, que cera, and didn't eat strawberries. This year, I have to find ways to keep birds, bugs and rabbits out and it's becoming much more tedious (and expensive).

Not to mention I'm considering starting a compost heap. That's gardeneese for rotten food in a pile.

But just wait, give me a month and I'll have fresh produce growing out my ears. And a hellatious farmers tan.

Fired up

I read this in the Courier today:

DON'T BLAME BUSH FOR THE ECONOMY

It seems that every time you turn around, the Democrats are blaming George Bush and the Republicans for something else. Gas prices, food prices, wages, you name it and it's Bush's fault. If these liberals would quit ranting and start doing some research, they might find the following acts:

On Dec. 26, 2005, the average price of gasoline in the U.S. was $2.20 a gallon. It is now $3.60 a gallon and rising.
On Dec. 26, 2005, the average price of a loaf of bread in the U.S. was $1.20. It is now $1.70 and rising.
On Dec. 26, 2005, the average home heating bill in the U.S. was $87. It is now $145.00 and rising.
What has changed from the George Bush of 2000-2005 and the George Bush of now? I'll tell you what has changed.
On Jan. 1, 2006, the Democrats took control of Congress.
Enough said.
Cyril O'Reilly

Sigh...................

My response:

PLACE BLAME WHERE BLAME IS DUE

Mr. O'Reilly's letter to the editor (dated April 30th, 2008) needed clairification.
The common denominator here?
On January 20, 2001 George W. Bush was sworn into office.
Since then, Bush's tax cuts have reduced annual tax revenue available for the public needs by $300 billion/yr. His occupation of Iraq/Afghanistan has cost us $700 billion ($400 mill/day), and it goes into the trillions when you consider future costs and what we could've used the money for but didn't.He has deregulated the banks to the point of the collapse of investment funds, banks, and the stock value of corporations that depend on them, as well as a steep decline in home values, and what it costs to live in them.

Let's look at it this way: (Then-2001 / Now-2008)
U.S. National Debt: $5.7 trillion / $9.2 trillion
U.S. Trade Defecit: (/yr) $380 billion / $759 billion
Cost of 1 oz. gold: $319 / $892
U.S. Budget/Surplus: + $236 billion / - $354 billion
Corporate profits: $503.8 billion / $1,351.9 billion
Pharmaceutical co. profits: $30 billion / $80 billion
Number of BILLIONAIRES: 186 / 415
Their combined wealth: $816 billion / $3.5 TRIllion
Bush tax cuts on the richest 1% (2001-2007): $546 billion
Median household income: $49,158 / $48,201
Total manufacturing jobs: 17.3 million / 14.2 million
Americans living in poverty: 31.6 million / 36.5 million
Americans without health insurance: 38.4 million / 46.9 million
Cost of family insurance per year: $6,230 / $12,106

I understand that Congress needs a good enema. No matter who has had control. But the presidency is the worst it has ever been; we are staring a new great depression square in the face, thanks to our dear leader and his cronies.
'Nuff said.

Stupid

So I got home from work last night finally at maybe 8, only to find my brand new Honda Pilot (yes, a SUV- sue me) in my driveway. It being 70 degrees and beautiful, I took it out for a nice drive. And wrecked it by 9:30. But when I say wrecked, I mean I backed it over my dad’s Civic. I had to explain all this to Brandon, and explain why it’s the second time in 2 months I’ve backed into my dad’s car. This proved to be slightly difficult, although it is nice to know that if all else fails, crying still works. Sigh....

Skybussed

Well, those of you who caught the Skybus shutdown Saturday, you’ll appreciate my situation.
I’m stuck on my honeymoon!

This is good and bad news. It was bad news when I saw the newsflash on the CNN runner Saturday afternoon while attempting a nap in Destin, Fl. It was bad news when we couldn’t find any other alternative than to spend double what the trip originally cost us just to get home. It’s good news because, well, shit, I’m stuck in 80 degree weather for another day. (It’s also good news because I finally have something blogworthy to write about.)

I was in a slump for awhile; the silly "cry or laugh depending on your mood" situations that always seem to happen to me just sort of weaned down to a slow trickle... But just when I thought my ironic luck was over, this happened.

Whilst we were flying out of Columbus Thursday night, Brandon mentioned how suprised he was that Skybus was able to stay afloat with the ridiculously low fares, you know, with jet fuel costs rising, yadda yadda yadda. Then two days later, we find out via CNN that we didn’t have a trip home.

We rented a local car that had to be returned to Biloxi, so we couldn’t just drive home from Destin, and none of the flights that were offering poor stranded Skybussers rides home for cheap flew out of Biloxi or into Columbus where our car is parked.

To throw a little salt into our wounds, the Findlay floods followed us down here to the sunny Gulf Coast, and it rained almost the entire time. The emerald green waters and snow white sands of Destin were greyed out with storm clouds. The deep sea fishing trip that we had planned months ago; even before we knew we were going to get married- cancelled. They had us get up at 5 am, get on the boat, took us out far enough to make me so completely sea sick in the 25mph winds, and then turned us around because there were tornadoes sighted all along the coast! (*I did catch one fish, though. A baitfish, yes, but still one more than Brandon! And the dolphins followed us around, which rocked!)

So we said fuck it. We just started spending all the money we had left. I ate a $50 lunch today (that I left behind at the next truck stop) and we ate a ridiculously expensive Brazilian dinner tonight that was outstandingly delicious. Brandon is currently at the casino downstairs trying to win some of our flight money back, lol, thus me writing this right now. I mean, this is memorable, one way or another. Might as well live it up!

Tomorrow, we fly out of Biloxi, have a 4 hour layover in Houston, and I think we’ll take a taxi and take in some of Houston’s sights. I’ve never been to Texas before. We’ll get back home just in time for me to be back to work Tuesday! Yippee! Back to real life. Maybe my lucky streak is over and I’ll have more to talk about now!

Well, I’m gonna head down to the casino to see how my hubby is doing. I will see YOU later.

Uncomfortable

You know what is potentially depressing? Taking pride in your uniqueness and striving to be your own offbeat individual and then realizing that in doing that, you have become the same as everyone else. I think it must be a rite of passage into your thirties in realizing this. Maybe for my birthday I'll go "normal" and be unique again. Blah.

Don't look now, it's SuperBitch!

I had an epiphany today: I am one ruthless bitch. I'm using the negativity my mother exudes and has handed down to me (nature vs. nurture?) and combining it with my own personal shot of unrelenting spite. It's the way I talk and the way I write. Although I'm not sure which came first, the bitch-speak or the bitch-write, they, being my more successful personality, have taken over. It may have began when I started writing more regularly. No. It began at birth, with my mother being who she is, I was bound for this dirty road of negativity. But it definitely flourished when I started finding humor in the ridiculous circumstances I plunge myself into. Changing bad to good with humor isn't a bad thing, until it just turns to bitching.

That's where I'm at. It's not necessarily a writer's funk, it's a living funk. There's some crap going on at work that I'm letting get to me, and between that and a few other normal (but crappy all the same) life experiences, I've become this raging she-monster.

So last week I stepped back and pondered myself from a few feet away. Not liking anything I saw, I decided that I would just "turn off" this bad attitude, or I will get positively nowhere in life. The next day, the very first case of my day, I had a run-in with my least-most favorite surgeon, who's always trying to dupe me with his shifty insurance-fraud antics. Not unlike any other time, he completely screwed us, and my "no bitch" flip went right out the window. I proceeded to hand his ass to him on a plate. On the plus side, I did take a moment before doing it, stating that I had planned on not being a bitch anymore, but was unable to keep the promise to myself due to extenuating circumstances.

Then the flood came, and now I'm currently on indefinite "time-out". Then today, as I talked to my bitchiest of friends (who I always considered bitchier than myself), she confessed to me that I am almost an intolerable grouch. It wasn't as much the conversation that took me aback as it was her being the one to tell me about it.

So since I'm awesome at self analysis and criticism, I sat down and started my own personal little therapy session with myself.

I haven't been sleeping well, I can't remember the last good sleep I got. My typical night is dropping whatever pills I haven't taken recently (to keep them working), pass out if I'm lucky by 1, then wake up again at 4 when the pills have worn off, and I'm wide awake till work.

Next off, I've started having these strange little anxiety attacks. Not heart-pouding-tearing-the-wallpaper-off attacks, just antsy-not-sure-what's-going-on-but-something's-not-right-and-it-won't-get-right-no-matter-what-I-eat attacks.

I've been snacking like crazy. I've developed a chin full o' zits, and I'm waiting to gain all my weight back since the surgery 'cause I can't go a day without lemonheads. As a matter of fact, I'm gonna go get some right now. BRB.

And I'm at my ADHD funk at work. Those of you who know me personally, know that I can't stand anything in my life to be "regular" for anymore than approximately 3 months. It's a byproduct of my attention deficit syndrome I haven't shaken yet. Since 3 months is basically the length of time I've been back to work since my surgery, I'm dying for another major surgery or catastophy to occur. (Which is a whole different therapy session that I'll leave to the pros.) So of course, now I've decided that it is the time to, 1) pursue my bachellors degree, beginning this month, 2) get my surgical nursing certification (scheduled to take the test by October), and 3) study for RNFA, surgical assisting. If I complete all that, I will then have 4 sets of letters after my name by next year. Sarah, RN, BSN, CNOR, RNFA. It all adds up to about a $.50/an hour raise. Which actually sucks. But there I go again!

I can't think of anything that could be silently gnawing on my crazy strings in my head, though. Maybe it's just boredom. My kids being home from school is making me nuts. Because right when I thought I was free of them during the day, the superintendent moved back school start a week due to the flood. So I'll blame it on my ADHD funk, which may also be known as Bipolar Disorder. But I'm pretty proud of myself for discovering a new mental disorder in myself so I'm just gonna keep calling it ADHD funk.

You may think I'm displacing blame to avoid responsibility. Maybe I'm just a bitch with no hope of redemption. But I'm honestly trying to get down to the nitty-gritty to fix myself. Maybe I need ritalin. Maybe I'll be alright once I start killing myself with my accreditations. Or maybe I need to construct something. I seem to be good at willing drama to come into my life. I don't like any of those answers though, so I think I may take on some councelling. It seems to help just to talk to someone sometimes, and I think I need validation about certain things. And sleep. I need deep sleep- with no dreaming, and where you wake up completely refreshed and renewed.

Is it sad when you look to reality television for role models? Especially "The Girls Next Door"? I want to be hot and happy. They're sharing the same penis with 2 other girls and you don't even hear a "bitch that's my man!". Maybe the problem is that I'm too cerebral to be happy. I definitely think waaay too much. It's the liberal in me. I can't help it. Maybe I'll just get my boobs done.

HOLY SHIT! I JUST HAD MY SECOND EPIPHANY! I THINK I'M TURNING REPUBLICAN! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! A bitchy republican snob! I think I'd rather be crazy. At least there's a pill for that. (Disclaimer: I like some republicans, just not the bitchy snobby ones, so no offense. Unless you're bitchy and snobby.)

Thus, for at least as long as it takes for the next thing to piss me off, I am going to focus all my energy on the positive. Now's a great time to put myself into some humanitarian work, with the flood and all. Although I don't want to wind up being bitch-slapped by some needy flood person for saying the wrong thing. Maybe I need some fixing first.

Alright, I think it's time to go. "The Girls" are on. I gotta study.

Findlay Flood: August, 2007

Here are a few pictures of the flood, courtesy of SidelinePhotos.com

The bike path along the river

Main St.

Riverside Pool. Sadly, probably not much nastier than usual.

Flyover of Findlay

Main St. looking north at the river

Ace Hardware on Main- next to the river

The Marathon Building

Wal-Mart on 224

Findlay Country Club- a flag, believe it or not

The alley behind my friend's guitar store on Main

Lee's Chicken from Center St.

CR 140 looking towards town

East Main Cross looking at Osborne

The Flood

I think it's time for some flood updating.

For all of you who live elsewhere, I'm fine, and my house is better than most in Findlay, aside from a couple feet of water that landed in my basement. But as for the rest of my lovely town, I can't say the same.

First off, I want to say how heartbreaking it is to finally drive around town and see the damage outside my neighborhood. Forget floodplains, forget the rules, this is a tragedy. It's everywhere. I read that just over $1000 would be available to households from the state since it was named a disaster. That's the second tragedy. A drop in the bucket. For those outside the floodplains, most don't have flood insurance. It's very expensive. My father, for one, didn't purchase it because he's not from Findlay, and wasn't aware of the flooding that happens here from the Blanchard River. He also wasn't aware that some dickhead, trying to make due for a new housing development, took my dad and his neighbors off of a flood plain (before he'd purchased the home) making it not a requirement to purchase flood insurance. So he didn't. Why would he? You should see the housing development. (Now that the water went down.) They should throw the people that came up with building houses on a flood plain (because someone changed the map) in prison.

I took the kids out on a bike ride the other day, because my house is sweltering. Doors are swollen shut or open, my sugar and salt shakers- if the cardboard hasn't melted away, the crystals have turned to muck. You can see where water from the humidity has been running down my cupboard doors. The carpet feels wet and sticky under my feet. Not to mention the smell of the mold that already is starting to take over my basement. I don't mean to complain, because on top of all that, I didn't lose nearly everything. So my children and I got on our bikes Friday to stretch our legs, to (we thought) get some fresh air. We got to Emory Adams Park (2 blocks away) and it's now a lake of poo. It smells that way, and looks that way. The entire length of Blanchard St. is lined with people's soggy, smelly, rotting belongings, some yards are covered in their sewage covered things. Everything smells like shit. There are signs next to two houses- one which reads ,"HOMELESS" the other that reads, "Do we need to drown to get aid?" (I'll get more into that in a sec...)

Emory Adams Park (2 blocks from my house)

Today, I drove to Home Depot to buy a pressure washer and a mop among other cleaning supplies to scrub the rot off my basement, and saw even more damage. I wish I'd have counted the houses that were affected. It's unbelievable. While the water has receded, the worst has just begun. The flood was the easy part, just a waiting game. Now the cleaning has started, and carpet and furniture are piling up in enormous piles. They say the landfills are full; they've been dumping garbage temporarily at the park I mentioned above till they have room. Dump trucks are lined up the highway to get into the landfill, waiting hours to dump their loads.

I keep thinking I should take pictures, like my parents did in the blizzard of '78, but the guilt keeps me from even considering searching for my camera. My children did get to witness this, and they were there when my father put them in his fishing boat, rowed through his back yard, and rescued several elderly people from their homes before the water overtook them. After I picked them up, I saw the water envelop Blanchard from 2nd street to 6th street within an hour. My dad (who lives between 3rd and 4th) stayed with his boat to finish the rescue. That's a man.

Now (true to my nature) comes the bitching, so quit reading now if you're not in the mood for bitchiness yet:

I, believe it or not, think that rules actually should apply during natural disasters. This is my thinking on this one: A level 3 flood (or snow or ANYTHING) advisory is not generally posted (solely) because the "man" doesn't trust your driving abilities. It's posted to keep idiots out of the way of rescue vehicles, AND to keep more people from being rescued from their cars because they didn't have the sense not to drive into a river (which I saw with my own eyes), while rescuers are still trying to pull 97 year old grandma from a sure death at home! Okay, too long winded? Rule of thumb- keep sight seeing on hold till AFTER the disaster.

Last thing, I promise... In this type of situation, that an already cess-pool of a river floods and combines with raw sewage, don't show your hillbilly and tube through it. Or let your kids swim in it. I had to stand up to my ankles in the nastiness to squeegee water into my sump because I don't own galoshes (although I do find them trendy) and I was nauseated the entire time. I promptly showered and soaked them in boiling alcohol afterward. I'll be damned if I put an orifice into it. Much less my children's' orifices. Say hello to e-coli, hepatitis, and those are only the micro-nasties. Don't come crying to me in surgery when you have to have someone's hypodermic needle removed from your heel.

Anywho, sorry bout that but it was building up. Although there are a few little things I found to bitch about- for the most part, I am so happy to see all the cooperation, the comradity of the people who live here, and at the same time heartbroken to see how much was lost. But no one looted, thank god, and aside from a few crazies (where would we be without crazies, anyhow) people are really pulling together. I myself plan on volunteering the next couple days, now that my own mess is under control. I'm at a loss for what to say to those who lost so much, though. Knowing they won't get much from disaster relief, anyway, 'cause money can't replace memories.

For those of you reading that don't live here, would like to help, and don't know how, you can make a secure donation to the Red Cross at http://www.redcross.org/, or to the United Way at http://www.uwhancock.org/.

Chuck Norris

• Chuck Norris tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.
• When Chuck Norris has sex with a man, it is not because he is gay, but because he has run out of women.
• Macgyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Chuck Norris can kill him and take it.
• Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.
• Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
• If you ask Chuck Norris what time it is, he always says, "Two seconds till." After you ask, "Two seconds to what?" he roundhouse kicks you in the face.
• Chuck Norris only masturbates to pictures of Chuck Norris.
• Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter he grew a beard.
• Chuck Norris appeared in the "Street Fighter II" video game, but was removed by Beta Testers because every button caused him to do a roundhouse kick. When asked bout this "glitch," Norris replied, "That's no glitch."
• Chuck Norris lost his virginity before his dad did.
• Since 1940, the year Chuck Norris was born, roundhouse kick related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.
• Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.
• Filming on location for Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by giving it a prolonged beard rub. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck, he taketh away.
• Chuck Norris's girlfriend once asked him how much wood a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. He then shouted, "HOW DARE YOU RHYME IN THE PRESENCE OF CHUCK NORRIS!" and ripped out her throat. Holding his girlfriend's bloody throat in his hand he bellowed, "Don't fuck with Chuck!" Two years and five months later he realized the irony of this statement and laughed so hard that anyone within a hundred mile radius of the blast went deaf.
• Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits. Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.
• Chuck Norris is not hung like a horse... horses are hung like Chuck Norris.
• Chuck Norris was the fourth Wiseman. He brought baby Jesus the gift of "beard". Jesus wore it proudly to his dying day. The other Wisemen, jealous of Jesus' obvious gift favoritism, used their combined influence to have Chuck omitted from the Bible. Shortly after all three died of roundhouse kick related deaths.
• To prove it isn't that big of a deal to beat cancer. Chuck Norris smoked 15 cartons of cigarettes a day for 2 years and aquired 7 different kinds of cancer only to rid them from his body by flexing for 30 minutes. Beat that, Lance Armstrong.
• There are no disabled people. Only people who have met Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris does not have AIDS but he gives it to people anyway.
• Chuck Norris uses ribbed condoms inside out, so he gets the pleasure.
• There is no chin behind Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.
• Chuck Norris once lined up to kick the winning field goal of a high school football game. When the football went flat, he persuaded the referees to let him kick the field goal with a 3 month old child. Chuck roundhoused kicked the baby 60 yards through the uprights and then proceeded to bang every girl in the stadium.
• The original theme song to the Transformers was actually "Chuck Norris--more than meets the eye, Chuck Norris--robot in disguise," and starred Chuck Norris as a Texas Ranger who defended the earth from drug-dealing Decepticons and could turn into a pick-up. This was far too much awesome for a single show, however, so it was divided.
• The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
• Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.
• When Chuck Norris plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from cholera or dysentery, but rather roundhouse kicks to the face. He also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.
• It was once believed that Chuck Norris actually lost a fight to a pirate, but that is a lie, created by Chuck Norris himself to lure more pirates to him. Pirates never were very smart.
• Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.

Psst...

I'm watching my 3 year old nephew right now for a couple hours.

I snuck away long enough to tell you that in the half hour of being plastered to the television with him, I've stimulated my mind more than in the last 3 weeks of being home from work!

Shh...Did you know they teach kids about Dvorak and Monet on Little Einstein? In the same 5 minutes?! It's slightly unnerving, honestly.

I'm Back!

Well, I'm back! I've actually been back since around March 4th, but I'm on drugs, so I actually "arrived" around last Saturday, lol.

My surgery only took about 4 hours. I stayed in the ICU for a night, because they left me with that nasty tube in my throat for an extra few hours due to protocol. For some reason, because the surgery is done with the patient on their bellies, they have a ton of swelling afterwards and have trouble breathing on their own. And by swelling, I mean excessive facial swelling. I looked as though I had received a new kidney and was rejecting it. I'll have to post pictures if I ever get the balls.

On the bright side, I got a toy called a PCA for the first few days of my stay. Full of dilaudid, which I played with a lot. So the pain didn't actually set in till my dilaudid pump went away and I developed a wonderful thing called "ogilvies syndrome," which is something that occasionally happens in response to major surgeries like mine. It's some sort of rush of your fight or flight hormones, which causes a wonderful array of symptoms, such as feeling like I was having heart attacks, and even more fun than that, my guts stopped working.

So when I thought the most fun I ever had throwing up was when I was 8 months pregnant with food poisoning, I was mistaken. Replace it with throwing up constantly right after major back surgery.

The ironic thing about it was that the pain medication was actually making my problems worse. So the doctors basically told me that I needed to cut down on my pain medication as infrequently as possible as well as eat nothing until it resolves itself. By the way, I haven't mentioned that I honestly had 30 different doctors telling me completely opposite things. So I stopped taking my pain medication, and they stopped feeding me. That's when I realized that I felt exactly like anyone would expect me to feel. Like I had a cookie rack down my back.

It took 10 days to resolve itself. I was in terrible pain, and they started a long term IV in my arm to feed me with IV nutrition. Day 7, my surgeon came in and told me I was nuts for cutting down on my pain medication and who the heck ever told me to do such a thing, (his idiot white coats told me to do it). It was like being on bad acid. A different story with every doc. So, with little argument, I went back on my pain medication and I was better in 2 days and home on the third. I felt a hell of a lot better.

There have been constant battles and adventures every step of my recovery, most of which may turn out to be a great blog, but I'm home now, and I feel great. I can definitely vouch for a good bowel obstruction to take some weight off you- I'd rather exercise next time, but hey, I'm skinny again (lost about 20 lbs), and straight. (In all senses of the word.) You can barely even see my scar, my surgeon did a great job stitching me up instead of stapling, and I even bought my new summer swimsuit from Vicki's last weekend!

So since I've nothing better to do, maybe I can work in some of the adventures I had along the way. I have a good 5 blogs or so to catch up on. Peace.

Perverts

I'm not going to be going into great detail here, chances are you'll all be hearing about it on the 6:00 news or Dateline itself, soon. I just need to vent.

I'm having a real hard time staying calm and sane right now. I'm holding in a true Irish rage that I'm honestly afraid of. My only possible salvation is my innate faith in the corrupt legal system, which through experience, tells me to turn away from.

Please, someone tell me, WHY, being a pervert in a huge position of authority and public service is only punishable by a few hours of community service and a slap on the wrist? Why is it not a big deal to rob someone of their dignity and privacy and, thus, only take a slight slap on the wrist for it?

Why is it the person with nothing that pays greatly for the indiscressions of the person with everything, only because they don't have the means to fight back? It's too bad that in America we have no control over this. Law and Order? CSI? Bah. Real justice only happens on TV.

Something had better happen, something big- or I will be forced to earn a degree in law and devote my life to going fucking nuts (pro bono) on these assholes.

Mr. Authority Man, you'd better watch your fucking step. I'm all over this shit, and my rage is fueling me.

I just read the funniest goddamned thing ever. A secret Santa sent me a bag-o-books (hmm...all published by Simon & Schuster...), and instead of folding the 6 giant piles of laundry which have accumulated over the past 2 weeks, I plopped my ass down and started in on one called Mortified, by David Nadelberg.

To summarize the book, it's a compilation of the misery of, mostly, prepubescent strife. Copied directly from diaries, love letters, and the most personal accounts of the most despairing times of their lives, it's a public display of humiliation. And, as it turns out, humor.

Note: I am not exempt from this. I could make my own book out of the 3 diaries I've kept in a footlocker buried deep in my mother's basement. I vowed never to read them again, because it was just too horrifying to have to relive those experiences. But after reading this particular story, I just might have to share.

The story I read was called "The Porn", and it was introduced like-a so:

This is an excerpt from a little something I like to call "The Porn," a forty-plus-page story I wrote when I was twelve.

Obviously all of us go through puberty. But most people handle this onset of new feelings by playing doctor with a friend or learning how to masturbate in the bathtub under the faucet or something. Instead I went the road less traveled and worked it all out...by writing this epic dirty story.

The most interesting thing that I realized about "The Porn" when I reread it as an adult was that I didn't
understand the concept of an orgasm. I got that you'd feel something down there, and I could tell that the feeling would build and build and that ultimately some sort of something would have to happen. But I simply could not conceive of what that might be. And so in my story, at the climactic moments, all the characters just...pee. They just pee everywhere and all over themselves as a means to release.

The lead character, Jenny Wilkinson, spent forty-plus pages wandering around her suburban town getting humped by varying high school boys....

And then I'll stop plagiarizing the book and let you read the rest. But first...my favorite line:

OK. I'll just wear, you know, some lacy underwear and bra and you should just wear some loose pair of shorts. I prefer Umbros. I'll pick you up 'cause I have this car and the seats are great for doing it. O.K., so I'll see you in five minutes.

I'm a loser.

I've been self-absorbed lately, and I apologize.

In my defense, I've been uber busy dealing with some large scale things:


Christmas:

I originally planned for Christmas shopping to be done online, wrapped and shipped directly to me to avoid the terror I witnessed last year called "Christmas in Findlay: The Nightmare Continues". If you don't know what I mean by that, picture a medium-sized town with one general road for shopping, 500 stores on it, and no side roads to take you there. Then picture Every Single Person in such city (and surrounding areas) shopping Every Single Day (at ALL hours) from Thanksgiving until Christmas. I made the obvious mistake of going out the morning after Thanksgiving at around 8:30 to purchase some wine glasses I needed for my family dinner I was having at my house. I didn't even find the ones I planned on buying, but because it took me nearly an hour to find a parking spot, I figured I'd gotten that far and I was leaving with something. I returned home (after waiting in the checkout lane for over an hour) close to 11, which barely gave me enough time to warm my ham up. (I'm thankful for pre-cooked hams.) So needless to say, as much as I did find online, you still have to put in a little sweat, and here it is, the weekend before Christmas and I'm not even close to being done.


House shopping:

We're buying a house. Our lease ends at the end of April, so we decided we'd start looking now, because these things take time. Well, we found the perfect house almost immediately- huge, affordable, and forclosed, so here we are, not even into the new year, and we're making offers and counter offers. Since we're first time homebuyers, I've had to educate myself on all these things, and it's been very time consuming, although we're moving so fast with the purchase of this house. Well, to make a long story short, our offer was counteroffered, but they accepted our price, just putting in a few little stipulations. My dumbass decides Thursday that since they're pretty much forcing us to do all this over the holidays, that they should cough up another $250 to pay for most of the inspection. Brandon thinks this is a stupid idea, but I say that if you had $250 in the bank and it disappeared, you'd probably miss it, right? (I know I would.) So I accepted all their terms, just asking this one small thing. So, today is Saturday, and I haven't heard back. If I'd done the math I'd have realized since they're in California, and maybe this would take us till Monday to find out, and people could actually offer them something better over those 2 little days. I'd actually pay someone $250 right now to remove this rock I have in my stomach. Shit, I'd probably pay them $500 to know we had the house Friday. In conclusion, Brandon was right.


December is a traffic jam of occasions:

Trying to find the right 2 year anniversary present for Brandon while shopping for his Christmas gift is a bitch. I plan on changing our anniversary to July next year. I finally found him the perfect gift: a "discovery pass" that he can cash in on any number of outdoor adventures, such as skiing, whale watching, deep sea fishing, bungee jumping, parasailing, etc. Oh, and a scrapbook of all our adventures to date. What I got? Dinner for two at a local establishment. In his defense, it was the restaurant of our first date. But now I wish I hadn't put so much thought into my gift. I suppose his gift is the house (he's actually buying it), so I'll quit bitching about it.

Also in this category is my little sis's graduation, which didn't cause me any stress, except for seeing her starting this new grown up chapter of her life. Plus I got drunk in front of my mom at her graduation party and tried to fake sobriety. THAT was a little stressful.


Surgery:

Probably the biggest thing of all going on right now. My surgery is actually scheduled for February 21st, in Chicago. (And our closing date is scheduled for January 25th.) I'll be having it done at Northwestern Hospital, downtown. I'll be there for close to a week, so anyone wishing to see me completly snorked on narcotics, this is the perfect time to make fun of me. (But bring presents if you're planning on doing this. I won't remember you were there unless you leave something behind.) I'm having the bionic woman treatment, which will put me out of commission (and work) for close to or more than 6 months. I have come up with a business idea to pay for things while I'm off, so if you're broke and unemployed, call me. I need drivers.


Well, that about sums up where I've been over the past month or so. I'm really needing some "me" time here, so you may see me out at the bars soaking up alcohol. If you do, buy me a beer, 'cause I don't have any money left.

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.