Cooking with Style!!!

I have to say that this Christmas was a total coup in terms of the bounty we scored from the parental units! Mostly I asked for kitchen stuff (since I have decided to learn how to cook a few more things!). One of the items I asked for was a GIANT fry pan. My friend has one... so I HAD to have one too. As you can guess I was super excited to break it in. So I put on my apron (this is the hand towel that matches... how cute is that???) and fired up the stove. I was going to make a version of PF Chang's Mongolian Beef! Yummers!

I used one pot to make the sauce, and the other to cook the beef!

I am a freaking genius on the kitchen!

Do you see the steam? Do you see the bubbles?

BAM, baby!

If you ask reeeeal nice, I might just give ya the recipe!

Let it snow!

ok, ok, so I thought I'd come back for a little more action. Honestly, I just lost the will to blog. Maybe if I just get started again I will find my muse. I don't have a clue what to write about... so I'll just leave you with a few pictures of the day it "snowed" at our house.

It was raining first...

Then the "snow" (hail) started to fall...

and stick to the roof!

We couldn't build a snowman, so Randy did the next best thing!

Nothing new here...

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Nothing new going on around here! Just school, work, school, school, work, work, and destroying the occasional dinner and feeding it to Randy anyway. Hopefully I will have some good stories in the near future.

Oh, and for you bibliophiles out there with a little extra time on your hands... I found this website: Daily Lit it is a site that will send you pieces of a book at your convenience. And it's FREE! I subscribed to Wind in the Willows... and I'm already three days behind! Dang!

Another Reason to Hate Bank of America...

Christmas is comin'...

Probably not this year... but I think a Bulga Handbag is a great way to say, "thanks for being my wife!" or even, "thanks for doing the dishes this month" but somehow I suspect that I'm the only one thinking that!

Oh... and by the way...

I have been blogging for an entire year!
Happy Blog-Anniversary to me!
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And thanks for all the blog-love.
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After one year online, I have posted 165 blog entries and received over 2800 hits with over 5700 page views! Not too shabby!

I had thought about doing a "first year re-cap" but seriously... it seemed a little pathetic to do an entire tribute to myself (ok, actually I just didn't have the time!)

But if you'd like to re-read a few of my favorites... well, here they are!

The time Randy made hard apple cider or the time I told a Marine he was getting a sex change operation. I think we all loved Camel Toe
and my Muffin Top and the time I pissed of the computer geeks, but my absolute favorite is the time I ate a dead lady's cookies and brought in the fire department!
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Can't wait to see what another year of blogging brings!

Retirement Savings Calculator

I just googled the words "retirement savings calculator" for the first time in my life.
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I am officially old.
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According to my internet calculator, I need to have $1.4 million by the time I'm 65.
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I wonder how much I could sell Randy for?

The Race

I accept that sometimes people don't get my sense of humor. Occasionally I have been known to make a joke that was hysterically funny to me and, unfortunately, only me.

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Case in point: Today, I was walking from my car to my front door and the neighbor's kid ran right past me like a burst of wind while hollering something about being the "winner". He is one of those goofy (borderline pathetic) kids who has a very vivid imagination (usually because no other kid will play with him) and creates all sorts of scenarios in his "world". Today he was racing his mom to their truck. She, however, was not participating. She was carrying a very big box and trying not to trip over anything. As she passed me, I pointed out that she was about to lose the "race".

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Mom: "I just don't think he realizes that I can't run while carrying all of this stuff!"

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Me: "Well, I'm not above knocking him over and letting you run for it. It's never too early to teach kids this kind of thing.

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Mom: she didn't really say anything. I think her look was one of disgust and pity for my future children.

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Whatever. I'm funny. (and no, that is not the kid, it's just a pic I found online of some geeky kid!)

I'm in love!

With a scarf!

How beautiful is this?

Happy Halloween, Charlie Brown!

Kissing a Fool.

This looks like something that would belong to me.

Another Fine Birthday Gift

This is awesome! Tesco (a grocery chain) in the UK has pulled a pole-dancing kit for kids after getting complaints from parents. The kit sells for around $100 and includes a chrome pole, a garter and a DVD that shows girls some sexy moves.

Here’s how it’s described: “Unleash the sex kitten inside…simply extend the Peekaboo pole inside the tube, slip on the sexy tunes and away you go! Soon you’ll be flaunting it to the world and earning a fortune in Peekaboo Dance Dollars.” Tesco has removed the product from its kids section, but will sell it in its fitness section.

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Quite possibly the worlds worst gift for a 10 yr old. Unless of course you are Jenna Jameson, then it might be a good idea.

I told you so...

Christina Applegate (on the right)

Mary Kate Olsen

Jessica Simpson

All have dark nails. Just like I said!

Told ya so!

Love this story...

I love this story... and my favorite line is: It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think?

[From Sports Illustrated, By Rick Reilly]

I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay For their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots. But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.

Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in Marathons.Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a Wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and Pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars--all in the same day. Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back Mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. On a bike. Makes Taking your son bowlinglook a little lame, right? And what has Rick done for his father? Not much--except save his life.

This love story began in Winchester , Mass. , 43 years ago, when Rick Was strangledby the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him Brain-damaged and unable to controlhis limbs. "He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life;'' Dick says doctors told him And his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. ``Put him in an Institution.'' But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes Followed them around the room.

When Rick was 11 they took him to the Engineering departmentat Tufts University and asked if there was Anything to help the boy communicate.``No way,'' Dick says he was told. ``There's nothing going on in hisbrain.'' "Tell him a joke,'' Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain. Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? ``Go Bruins!''

And after a high school classmatewas paralyzed in an accident and the School organized a charity run for him, Rickpecked out, ``Dad, I want To do that.''Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described ``porker'' who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he Tried. ``Then, it was me who was handicapped,'' Dick says. ``I was sore for two weeks.''

That day changed Rick's life. ``Dad,'' he typed, ``when we were running,It felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!''And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly Shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.``No way,'' Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quitea Single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few YearsDick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then They found a wayto get into the race Officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the Qualifying time for Boston the following year.Then somebody said, ``Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?''How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick Tried.

Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans inHawaii . It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud Getting passed by an oldguy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you Think?

Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? ``No way,'' he says.Dick does it purely for ``the awesome feeling'' he gets seeing Rick withA cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon,in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best Time? Two hours, 40minutes in 1992--only 35 minutes off the world Record, which, in case you don'tkeep track of these things, happens to Be held by a guy who was not pushing anotherman in a wheelchair at the Time.``No question about it,'' Rick types. ``My dad is the Father of the Century.''

And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a Mild heartattack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries Was 95% clogged. ``Ifyou hadn't been in such great shape,'' One doctor told him, ``you probablywould've died 15 years ago.'' So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved eachother's life.Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick,retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass. , always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreakingrace every weekend, including this Father's Day.That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.``The thing I'd most like,'' Rick types, ``is that my dad sit in thechair and I push him once.''

Lincoln Park After Dark

I'm so excited that my new nail polish came in the mail today! I just painted my nails with my new bottle of Lincoln Park After Dark (yes, that is the color) and I couldn't even wait to for them to dry properly before I started to blog about it. You have no idea what a talent it is to type with wet nails while avoiding any nasty smudges!

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Lincoln Park After Dark is this season's must have item. Well, not exactly. Chanel's Black Satin is this seasons must have, but there has been such a run on the nail polish, that it is now going for nearly $40 a bottle online! Seriously! It's a dark maroon, almost black. I loooove it. So, LPAD is the closest thing to Chanel, except it's around $5. That works, right?

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You see, I suffer from a terrible affliction. I have the fashion sense for a size "0", but not the body to match. So where I would be wearing skinny jeans, brown leather cuffed boots, and a giant bag (obviously not all together!). I am forced to wear old navy cargo pants, a hoodie and flip flops. But, I suppose we all have our burdens in life, right? At least my nail polish is haute!

Uh Oh

Randy is making beer again. I will let you all know if anything blows up in our "laboratory".

Crocks and white socks ROCKS!

By now I am sure you are all aware how painfully over-stretched I am in regards to work and school. Because of my time constraints, I rarely, if ever, get to spend time with the friends I really care about. I have a drawer full of invitations to baby showers, birthdays, anniversaries, and other festivities, all of which I longed to attend but was continually unable. The few moments I have to myself are usually spent staring at a large pile of dirty laundry mentally willing my clothes to clean and fold themselves. So this afternoon was a special treat!

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I got a phone call from a dear friend, and we spent over an hour catching up and encouraging each other with our life endeavors (and, of course, making fun of other people!). It was a great time. Unfortunately, it was mandatory that my hour on the phone was also spent multi-tasking. While we chatted I started getting my stuff together for tomorrow. (I'm finally learning that 4 AM is not a good time to look for my stethoscope!) Eventually I sat down on the couch, let my hair down (literally) and put my feet up. Nearly 45 minutes into the conversation, I realized that I needed to find something for dinner (Randy is at work tonight). So I grabbed my keys, found my ATM card, slid on my comfy work shoes, and walked out the door. All while on the phone. I planned to drive through El Pollo Loco and get some chicken and rice, so it really didn't matter what I looked like, right?

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The conversation lasted as I drove up the boulevard and parked near the restaurant saying our goodbyes and promising to chat again soon. It was at this point I somehow forgot that my initial plan was to DRIVE-THRU!!!

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Standing before the register, I began my order:

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El Pollo Loco Register Guy: "Welcome to El Pollo Loco, what can I get for you?"

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Me: "Um.... well, I guess I'll take the chicken and rice....um.... bowl"

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It was at that exact moment, after the chicken and rice but right before the bowl that everything hit me. .

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In that little pause, the "um", a million thoughts were rushing through my head. It was one of those perfect Oh Shit moments. I looked like I had just crawled out of my own butt hole. (Click Here to get an idea of what I look like when I'm "lettin' my hair down").

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My first sin was the Crocks. Those ugly plastic shoes that are OHHH SO COMFORTABLE! Although I am sure my subscription to Vogue magazine would be canceled if they ever found out, I love wearing my crocks to work. And sometimes places other than work. But normally they are hidden under a wide leg cargo pant, so I find it somewhat justifiable. Today was not the case. Underneath my black crocks were a pair of white gym socks, the really short ones that cut my ankle at the absolute thickest part. (thanks mom's side of the family!) Above the crocks and the socks, the landscape really went downhill. I was wearing a pair of gaucho pants (I know, I know... so WRONG!) and an old thin t-shirt that did not match, yet allowed the color of my bra to show through (orange. bright freaking orange. hey, it was on sale). My hair was sticking in a million directions, and I WAS IN PUBLIC! I was mortified. That cashier could have charged me $50 for my chicken bowl and I wouldn't have noticed! I was wearing Crocks with Socks! I wanted to die!

Domesticating Myself, Day 2...

Pot Roast. Or roast of some sort. After 3 hours of cooking the meat, I have added the veggies and sent it through for another hour or so. I sliced off a piece for Randy. His response?

R- "Not bad"

Me- "Not bad- as in you'll eat it?"

R- "Yeah"

Me- "Would you eat it twice?"

R- "Maybe."

Me- "I'll just order a pizza."

R- "Can we get an order of Hot Wings too?"

Me- "I was kidding about the pizza, you ass."

R- "Ummm... yeah, I was too"

Edit: 10:00 pm, we should have gone for the pizza the roast-of-some-sort was NOT good. Maybe I should try something more useful. Cross stitching? No... I am not a quitter. Therefore I will make my husband another disgusting meal tomorrow as well. You know, get back up on that horse...

Pho! Whaaaa???

My stint as a modern twenty-something girl is coming to a close in the next few months. As my thirtieth birthday looms closer, I realize that it's time to learn a few skills. Primarily cooking and cleaning. Up until now, Randy has been the sole provider of all things domestic in our home. If I ever decide to sweep (Randy is much better at it anyway) or mop, I usually have to call my husband and ask him where to find all of the cleaning supplies. On the rare occasion I decide to make something from scratch in the kitchen, it is traditionally prefaced with Randy, again, finding all of the gadgets and utensils I will need. I think it is time I faced the inevitable. Eventually I will be a mother and have children who rely on me for sustenance. The time has come where I need to get in touch with my inner Martha Stewart, minus the whole criminal conviction thing.

Attempt #1 at domesticating myself:

I have fallen in love with a Vienamese dish called Pho (pronounced "fuh"... like DUH!). Basically it's chicken noodle soup, with a Vietnamese twist. Normally I order it to-go from the local ethnic restaurant, but the last time I went I noticed a "B" rating. I decided it was time make it myself. I found a recipe this morning and headed down to the local asian market. It was a little intimating to walk up and down the rows without knowing what 99% of the items were, but I managed to find what I was looking for and now I've got my pho on the stove! (Actually, it's in the crock pot).

To make Pho I cook two chicken breasts in broth with garlic cloves, coriander seeds, star anise, onion, and cilantro. It cooks for 5 hours in the crock pot and then I strain the seasoning, veggies and chicken away from the broth. After cutting up the chicken I place it in a bowl with rice noodles, fresh mint and basil, and a wedge of lime! I spice mine up with some hoisin sauce and a little hot sauce! Perfect on a cold day.

I hope Randy gets home from work early. Somebody needs to clean this mess up.

Must be an acquired taste.

Last night around 9:30, Randy ventured forth into the world of Vons to find us some dinner. Among other things (like cat litter), he brought home two dozen cookies. For dinner. It hit me that our dietary needs are probably not being met and that our choices may need to be re-vamped.















While I am sure most normal people would just go buy some chicken breasts and broccoli, me, being anything but predictable, headed off to Trader Joe's to find something new and healthy. I passed up our usual fair of traditional Americanized versions of dinner and went for the Punjab Choley.



As it turns out, it tastes much like it sounds.

I'm hoping it's an acquired taste.

I bought four boxes.

They were on sale.

I think I found the problem...

This is my way of dealing with midterms. Does it help that I only had 3 strawberries for breakfast? I skipped lunch because I was so tired that I just wanted to take a nap instead?
Probably not.

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It's almost 9 PM.

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Not good.
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Not good at all.
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I wonder how late the gym is open?

I will, however, applaud myself for the bottle of water in the background.

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Or maybe I'll just blame it all on my crazy professor!

Welcome to my personal hell.

Job Offer

I was offered ANOTHER job on Friday. It was the coolest moment of my week. In fact, I'm still feeling pretty snappy about the whole situation.

I was at Arrowhead Regional Medical Center, in the middle of my clinical rotations for school. ARMC is San Bernardino's county hospital. This hospital sees the worst of the worst in terms of patients. It is, however, the best of the best in terms of medical care. The facility is only a few years old and routinely allows hospital administrators from around the world to tour this site, so that they can model the foreign hospital after this one. It is an incredible place to work.

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Friday's rotation was a bit nerve-racking! I was the first student to present a current patient's case to the lead pulmonologist. I arrived around 6am and found the patient I would present. I had to run a number of tests on this patient, look over the lab work, and research the patient's history. All before 9am. Just as I was finishing up with all of my chores, it was decided to change this patients ventilator status. Basically all of my information was now worthless. I had 20 minutes to re-group, re-write and be ready to present. In addition, the pulmonologist I was presenting my case to is NOT known for his tact. He is one of those characters that we dread at school. Conversations about him traditionally go something like this: "Oh MAN! You had to present to Dr Robinson? How bad was it?" Rarely does anyone come out unscathed!

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9:05 Not only does Dr. R. arrive so does every therapist on duty for the day, as well as the supervisors and the DIRECTOR of cardiopulmonary department! If I was going down, I was going to go down in front of a crowd! 9:06 I began my presentation. I presented the information as best I could and tried to sound like I had done this a million times. No problem, right? As I finished, I stood there and waited for the aftermath. As Dr. R slowly turned to look at me, I resisted the urge to give him a begging look for mercy.

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He said: "That was an outstanding presentation. I am quite impressed".

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Quietly I said, "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate that." On the inside, I was singing "Neener Neener Neener!!! I didn't make an ass out of myself... and now all of the OTHER students have to follow my lead! Neener Neener Neener!" Once everything was finished, I was congratulated on my "outstanding" job by numerous therapist. Yeaaaah my team! But as with every great accomplishment, it was soon over and I had to run back to a patient's room and continue my day's work.

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Ten minutes later, the director of the department came into the patient's room with me. She said that "I've had a good feeling about you since I met you last year. You really impressed Dr. R. and that just confirms what I thought. I want to offer you a position here once you are finished with school in the spring. Don't bring me a resume, just walk into my office and you have a job on the spot". My clinical supervisor said to me later that job offers like this are quite unusual.

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I am sooooo awesome.

Pick-A-Part-athon

Over the past few weeks my car has been running really rough. Anytime the engine was running the smell of gasoline would flood through the vents in my car. Unfortunately the windows don't roll down... yes the car is THAT bad! So whenever I'd drive anywhere, I would tend to get dizzy and a little nauseous. After enough complaining (actually the car was overheating AGAIN, and it HAD to be fixed) Randy finally went out and looked at my car. He found that I had a leak in one of my fuel lines and it was actually squirting gas all over my engine when I drove. I still wonder how I avoided blowing myself up on the freeway. Over the weekend we thought he had fixed the problem, only to discover yesterday that it had actually gotten worse. After no luck at the auto part store and being outrageously over-charged at the dealership, Randy suggested that we head on down to the local Pick-A-Part to see if we could find a replacement fuel line. Since I (ok, Randy) didn't think it was totally appropriate for me to watch TV in my underwear while he was out fixing my car, I decided (it was strongly suggested) that I should go along.

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We arrived around noon at the Ontario Pick-A-Part. It was instantly obvious that I had the only matching set of chromosomes for 10 square miles. In addition, flip-flops were clearly a poor fashion choice for this particular event. (I made sure to mention both of these facts about every five minutes.)

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After paying our entrance fee I asked:

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"So, Randy, what exactly do we get for our entrance fee?"

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"We get to walk around and look for the part" He informed me.

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"Are you freaking serious? That's it? Do they at least give us a map and a soda? You'd think they'd put a churro cart out here or something. Maybe sell a few snacks. What does that entrance fee go to anyways? New dirt flooring?"

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"Just shut up and look for a Dodge Neon" He grumbled.

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What we failed to notice upon our arrival was the lovely piece of cardboard taped to a stick with a hand-drawn map of the facility. Evidently they sorted all the cars by brand. We, however, just started walking up and down the rows of cars, like complete idiots would. My tactic was, as usual, to indirectly annoy my husband so that he'd never suggest my participation in the Pick-A-Part-athon ever again.

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After ten minutes of searching (and complaining... mostly me) we were still unable to find any Neons. So I decided to have a little fun.

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"OOHHHH... I see one... over here!" I'd lie

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"Nope" Randy would state "That's a Honda"

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"Oh, sorry.... wait, I see one way down there"

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"Nope" Randy would state, "That's another Honda, and you are an idiot"

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This little charade went on for another 10 minutes. Just as Randy was about to blow, we managed to blindly stumble upon the Neon department. Quickly Randy reached into his back pocket to pull out some thin plastic gloves (the kind we use at the hospital) I had to hide my giggles. Randy is totally a manly man. He can fix cars, repair appliances, build homes, and all of that other manly stuff, but he absolutely HATES to get dirty. It irritates him beyond words. Dirt is the kryptonite to my Superman. So here we are in an extremely dirty environment. Surrounded by sweaty, dirty men crawling into car engines to retrieve the perfect part. And then there is Randy. Delicately gowning up, careful to avoid any dirt on his hands! I had to walk down a few rows to the Ford department where I could finally laugh out loud!

Going back to bed

I was up at 6am for an Asthma walk but around 9ish I got a call asking if I would work. So it's back to bed for me. Tonight/tomorrow is another long one! I work from 6pm tonight to 3pm tomorrow. 21 hours! Why didn't I do this crap when I was younger?
My new saying: "The rent aint gonna pay itself!"

Why?

This woman hasn't cut her nails since 1979.

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Clearly she hadn't changed her hair style either.
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However it does not go without notice how skinny she is. So I will no longer be cutting my nails either. It's been three days and despite my efforts I think I may have gained three pounds.

Too Tired For Words...

I was up around 4am this morning. Had to be at the hospital by 6am. (San Bernardino County Hospital aka the Knife and Gun Club of San Berdoo) After a day of hospital work I managed to fight my way through Friday afternoon southern california traffic to arrive home by 3:30 pm. But my day didn't stop there. Noooooo. I took a 45 minute nap (most sleep I've had all week) and then put my scrubs back on and headed off to ANOTHER hospital to work a second shift. It is now 3am, I just got home, and I am tired.

However, whenever I want to feel sorry for myself, I think about the woman at county hospital who was forcefully taken out of her home by her boyfriend, who then proceeded to call 911 to say that a woman had been shot. He held his girlfriend against her will until he could hear the ambulance near by. At that time he shot her in the back of the neck and fled the scene. He didn't want to kill her, he just wanted to make sure that she suffered the rest of her life as a quadapalegic. As it turns out, this is not an isolated event. Lately the hospital has been getting a string of this type of crimes. Because the ambulance is close by, they rarely die. They do, however, suffer tremendously. It is just unreal what people can do to each other.

All in due time...

Sorry... this week has seemed to pass by me faster than I could blog. I have a few internal blogs in my head, but no time (as of yet) to get them online. Give me time.

Whore-ably Wonderful

Have you ever looked at something and not been able to immediately recognize what it was that you were looking at? So you scrunch up your face, squint your eyes, and turn your head just a little to the side. All to get a better look? In a sense, that is how I see the world every single day. I suspect my perception of life is a little different than the rest of the world. I'm utterly convinced that I am genetically incapable of conforming to the social norm. But somehow it works for me.

Case in point: this week. While in the middle of a job interview I actually used the word "whore". According to my husband, most people don't do that.

Over the past few weeks, I'd been hearing rumblings that my current employer just happened to be the lowest pay in town. I figured it would be wise to check it out, so I tossed my resume online to see if there were any takers. Evidently there were. I had an interview on Friday afternoon. After the first round of questioning by the department director, he deemed me qualified for round two and promptly ushered me down the hall his bosses office, where the three of us would endure the usual pre-employment formalities. Or so they thought.

Halfway through the interview I still couldn't tell if they liked me or not. I had only managed about two and a half hours of sleep the night before, so I may have not been in top form. Whatever the case, for the life of me I could not get a read on these two men. While I was doing my best to reset my internal radar, the "big man" asked me something about my current job (I wasn't really listening, I was working on my radar!). I explained to him that in my department, everything we do for a patient (that we can charge them for) is worth a certain amount of points. We are required to have a specific number of points at the end of each shift. "Big Man's" hospital does not yet have a way to quantify the productivity of his employees, so he immediately got defensive:

"That can certainly lead to some abuse of patient care" he stated.

My response?

"Well, it's not like we are whoring-out the patients or anything"

I have one week to decide if I will except their offer of employment. (With a $7/hr pay increase from my current job.)

Twenty Nine and counting!

I just wanted to welcome my beloved friend to her 29th year!

We met over eighteen (holy cow!) years ago, and I am very blessed to still have her in my life today.

Congrats, Sarah! Hope you have a fantastic day!

I love you!!!!!!!!!!

My happy dance.

Today I worked my very first 18-hour shift. You. Have. No. Idea. I think I was able to sit down from 3:45-4:15. That's it. My feet hurt. And I signed up for another shift tomorrow. Why do I do this to myself? One word. OVERTIME. I just found out that I made more money in ONE hour than Randy did bartending all night. For some reason he doesn't want to to the happy dance with me! Boys can be so strange! Hopefully this will only encourage him to get through school this year.

Ten Points For My Team!

This time next week will mark the 1/3 point of the fall semester. 1/6 of my year. Trust me, I didn't think I'd make it this far. I know I said that last year too, but last year was different. Last year I wasn't sure if I could do it. I wasn't sure if the bills were going to get paid. I wasn't sure if the car was going to handle nearly 500 miles a week. I did. They did. It did.

This year is different.

Every single day is a painful lesson in tedium. Don't get me wrong, I am eager to learn new things! But answer me this... where is the logic when I, an actual Respiratory Care Practitioner, licensed by both the state of California and the National Board Of Respiratory Care, an individual who provides life-saving patient care every night I work, must be forced to sit through nearly 50 hours of class time learning how to do things like, say, GIVE A NEBULIZER TREATMENT!!!! Hello?!? That is analogous to forcing a licensed contractor to take a class on hammering in nails! Painfully pointless.

I know that I have many days ahead of me that will serve a greater purpose. I have faith that I will eventually be rewarded with more knowledge and experience, but right now, on a day when I didn't get much more than three hours of sleep before crawling out of bed and speeding to class, I am soooo over it.

So I raise a toast to me! 1/3 of the way through this semester!

Ten points for my team!

They need this sign in America!

Have you ever spent time praying that God would give you a "sign"?

Apparently the sign is out there.

Unfortunately it's in Japan.

Handicap? No! Handicapable? Yes!

I just loved this story so much I had to put it up on my blog!

NEW YORK (AP) -- Margaret Johnson might have looked like an easy target.

But when a mugger tried to grab a chain off her neck Friday, the 56-year-old Johnson, while riding in her wheelchair, pulled out her licensed .357 pistol and shot him, police said.

Johnson said she was in Manhattan's Harlem neighborhood on her way to a shooting range when the man, identified by police as 45-year-old Deron Johnson, came up from behind and went for the chain.

"There's not much to it," she said in a brief interview. "Somebody tried to mug me, and I shot him."

Deron Johnson was taken to Harlem Hospital with a single bullet wound in the elbow, police said. He faces a robbery charge, said Lt. John Grimpel, a police spokesman.

Margaret Johnson, who lives in Harlem, has a permit for the weapon and does not face charges, Grimpel said. She also was taken to the hospital with minor injuries and later released.

Champagne anyone?

Just off the 15 freeway, between Orange County and the Wine Region of Temecula Valley lies a little piece of heaven. Nestled in the foothills of southern Corona is the Glen Ivy Hot Springs and Spa (not to be confused with Glen Eden, the nudist colony one exit further. While I have not actually experienced Glen Eden, I have taken a peek through the fence as I drove by. don't judge! You know you would too). Today Glen Ivy is a high-end spa catering to the many OC transplants, with the increased fees to prove it.

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While I don't partake very often, I still try to go once in a while to sit in the warm mineral baths, play in the mud pit, and relax in the underground grotto.
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Last time I went to the hot springs, I decide to splurge. The brochure promised a "relaxing journey" of exfoliation and moisture restoration followed by a Swedish massage. At that pont in my life, no price was too high for a stress relieving massage.
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Unfortunately, my tension only increased as I entered the The Ivy Massage Building. Despite the elegant decor highlighted with freshly cut flowers, gurgling water fountains, and the minty-fresh scent of lavender and rosemary in the air (all obviously designed to inspire relaxation) , I was overcome with tension. The usual bout of insecurities and concern began to fill my brain. "What if my massage therapist is a man? Even worse, what if my therapist is a really skinny woman? Do you think she has ever seen thighs like mine? No. Probably not." Maybe I should have been more specific when I made my appointment. Could I have asked for a "fat one"? No. Probably not. Dang!

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I decided that depending on how skinny she was, I'd have to tip more. I tip on an inverse sliding scale of fatness. The fatter I am, the more I tip. The skinnier they are, the more I tip. Unfortunately when my therapist finally called my name to come back, I was so busy trying to calculate the immeasurable amount of possible tipping quantities, I didn't even pay attention to what she looked like. I just remember walking into my little room and being told that she'd be back after I was on the massage table and under the sheet. Double dang!

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So there I was, face down with no way to see the person that was delivering my "relaxing journey of exfoliation and moisture restoration". After a few minutes I was able to get a peek at her feet and ankles. She appeared to be a size nine shoe, with less than normal ankle thickness. Things were not looking good. I'd probably have to tip her more than expected.

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Somewhere during the treatment I resolved to give her a nice big tip and then just try to enjoy my massage. Fortunately there was no snickering, not even a little. I managed to relax for about ten whole minutes! As the treatment time came to an end, she invited me to spend some time in the "relaxation room" at the end of the hall and said there would be complimentary hot herbal tea and crisp fresh fruit to enjoy.

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I wrapped my soft fuzzy robe around myself and shuffled on down to the relaxation room. I had no idea that the woman sitting across from me would soon be the answer to all of my tension. She appeared comfortable in her swimsuit, drinking hot tea. She smiled at me as I sat there sizing her up. I estimated that she had more than 50 lbs on me! This was great news! Apparently the massage therapists see beefcakes all the time. But she seemed a little more comfortable with herself than I did. So I decided to make mention of this. "You look like you are quite relaxed!" I said. "Well" she responded, "After that first bottle of champagne, I didn't care what other people though of me in my swimsuit. By the second, I wouldn't care if the massage table crushed under my weight! I'm havin' a great time!"

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Turns out she was totally right! I'm now a two-bottle-of-champagne spa girl too.

Playing with Acetylcysteine.

I set off the fire alarm at work. Not just the little "beep beep beep" kind. Noooo... I set off the fire alarm for the entire hospital. There I am, in the patient's room, and suddenly over the intercom to the entire hospital (all five floors), "CODE RED, THIRD FLOOR, ROOM 3212. CODE RED, THIRD FLOOR, ROOM 3212." The pathetic part is that it took me a few seconds to realize that yes, I was on the third floor, and holy crap, I was in room 3212! OH NO! Within sixty seconds, people were everywhere in my room. Some were standing in the entry way with fire extinguishers (three in total) and some standing in the doorway trying to get a peek at the fire. Mostly they were watching a big dumb therapist (me) climb over my bedridden(Mr. I Can't-Run-Away-From-The-Fire) patient while wearing a pair of big plastic goggles to protect my eyes, a mask over my face, a giant yellow gown tied over my scrubs, all while making a feeble attempt at waving a washcloth around in front of the smoke detector. That's what I usually do when I burn dinner, I figured it would work at the hospital!!! I can only imagine what my patient was thinking. Would it be worse to die in a fire or to have me, currently on tip-toe, tumble off that chair that was propped up against his bed and come crashing down on top of him? I am not so sure that the odds were in my favor.
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Fortunately, there was no fire. Not even a spark. And really no smoke either. It was more of a mist, really. Mucomyst to be exact (also known as Acetylcysteine). It's a drug that when aerosolized creates a smoke-like-mist that can really irritate the lungs and eyes, thus my protective covering. It is used for patients with pneumonia.
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As I stood over my patient waving that white washcloth (mostly in surrender!), suddenly a few memories came back to me. The first was from last year when the director of the respiratory program warned us about Mucomyst. "It can create a smoke-like cloud that can be mistaken for real smoke by the sensitive smoke detectors in a hospital, so be careful with it." Oh yeah, now I remember! The second memory was when our pharmacology professor told us, "Every so often, some idiot will use Mucomyst without any ventilation in the room and set off the smoke alarms!" Ummm... I guess that makes me the, "IDIOT, party of one"!

Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty is a real word, folks.

My class was told at the beginning of the semester that 90% of being successful consists of just showing up. So here I sit. In class. And you can count on the fact that I'm taking that 90% to the bank! Obviously the two people sitting next to me are as well! (Love that camera phone!)
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In a fortunate turn of events, I managed to score my sister's old laptop computer. The ultimate hand-me-down. Not quite as cool as those red acid-washed corduroy slacks back in '87, but still pretty cool. I mean, with the cords I could make that vvvvwrrrp noise when I walked (at least until all of the corduroy material rubbed off) but with the laptop I can blog in class. It beats taking notes. Really. Right now our white board is covered with words like choanol atresia, oxymatozoline, haloprosencephaly, and pyriform... hello? I can't wait for May.
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(this is not the post that I was referring to before... still need to type it up again)

Stupid Computer

I wrote a wonderful post today. Twice. The computer (at school) froze up on me. Twice. Maybe I shouldn't be blogging during class. Whatever... I'll try again tomorrow. Third time's a charm, right? It's great.I promise... I even made myself laugh.

Check me out!

Clearly I am not much of a computer programmer. However, I managed to figure out how to get my picture on the top of my blog. I am quite proud of myself! Not the best, but pretty darn good for me!

Quote for the day...

When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say, "I used everything you gave me."

You are not going to believe how my day went...

Tonight while I was in the ER some nasty old woman spit a giant wad of snot in my face. I was just inches away from her when I noticed that she was getting ready to spit. I said, "Are you going to spit on me?" And she took a deep breath, made that nasty throat clearing noise and fired away. RIGHT. IN. MY. FREAKING. FACE. My first reaction was to cold-cock her regardless of the fact that she was in her 60's. But after I calmed down a bit and rubbed germicide (not intended for contact with skin) all over my face and neck, I managed to think a little more clearly. We (me and the nurses) tied her down, and strapped a mask on her. I smiled when I realized that she now looked like Hannibal the Cannibal from Silence of the Lambs. I had to resist grabbing a sharpie marker and drawing the little lines on the front of her mask. I did, however, return to find that somebody else drew a smile with some fangs on the front of the mask. Priceless. Now let's just hope she didn't give me any disease.

My Anchor In The Storm

I have spent my life responding to anxiety by running from it. Maybe that's why I went through 10 jobs from the age of 18 to 21. Could be why I've relocated 17 times since I moved out of my parent's house at 19 years of age. When my options become limited and I am forced to deal with my anxiety head on, I have always had my refrigerator to keep me company. (I think we can all do the math on that one)
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Recently, with all of the big changes in my life, I thought that I had kicked the habit. For the first time in my life I was going to be consistent where I was. Funny how old demons creep back up.
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With the time needed for both work and school, I have been utterly overwhelmed. I feel like the old cartoon character, the Tazmanian Devil. Just spinning and spinning everywhere I go. Right now, my only option is perseverance, but I fear that eventually it just might lead me to a rooftop and an AK-47. It seems that all of the stress and anxiety has brought back my strong need to run. Find something new, find something different, and do it fast.

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My sensible side tells me that I need to stay, persist, and overcome. My other side wants to pack up (I am very good at it by now), move away, and find something that will make me "happy". But what is it that will make me happy?

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So today, over lunch at a cheap Mexican restaurant, I told my husband what I was anxious about. I explained to him that being the new girl at work is really hard. Nobody asks for my opinion. I just don't offer much value yet. He brilliantly pointed out that moving to another hospital or state or country or planet would not fix that feeling. I'd just have to wait it out. Funny, I had never considered that. So obvious.

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I asked him, "What if I don't want to do this for the rest of my life... what if sucking snot out of old, almost-dead people isn't exactly my calling?"

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"Then it's a stepping stone to something better, Jo. Now just use it to follow your dream, whatever it is. If you want to be a writer, then write. If you want to own a winery, we'll find a way. But right now, you need to finish this program."

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After lunch, he drove me back to school and dropped me off near my classroom. Walking to class I did my best to clear my head and shake off my angst. As I looked back towards the parking lot to see our little white Ford Focus pull onto the street and head back home, I whispered a prayer of thanks for anchor that he is to me.

Just a joke...

Fried Chicken & The Pope

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After watching sales falling off for three straight months at Kentucky Fried Chicken, the Colonel calls up the Pope and asks for a favor. The Pope says, "What can I do?"

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The Colonel says, "I need you to change the daily prayer from, 'Give us this day our daily bread' to 'Give us this day our daily chicken'. If you do it, I'll donate 10 Million Dollars to the Vatican."

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The Pope replies, "I am sorry. That is the Lord's prayer and I can not change the words." So the Colonel hangs up. After another month of dismal sales, the Colonel panics, and calls again.

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"Listen your Excellency. I really need your help. I'll donate $50 million dollars if you change the words of the daily prayer from 'Give us this day our daily bread' to 'Give us this day our daily chicken.'" And the Pope responds, "It is very tempting, Colonel Sanders. The church could do a lot of good with that much money. It would help us to support many charities. But, again, I must decline. It is the Lord's prayer, and I can't change the words."

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So the Colonel gives up again. After two more months of terrible sales. The Colonel gets desperate. "This is my final offer, your Excellency. If you change the words of the daily prayer from, 'Give us this day our daily bread' to 'Give us this day our daily chicken' I will donate $100 million to the Vatican."The Pope replies, "Let me get back to you."

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So the next day, the Pope calls together all of his bishops and he says, "I have some good news and I have some bad news. The good news is that KFC is going to donate $100 million to the Vatican." The bishops rejoice at the news. Then one asks about the bad news. The Pope replies, "The bad news is that we lost the Wonder Bread account."

I know it's impolite to brag...

But I got my first "I'm a grown-up" paycheck.

Hell yeah!

Perspective.

It's nearly 2:30am. I was up at 6am for school this morning, and I have to be up again at 6am. Class gets out around 4pm and I head to work at 6pm. I've done the calculations and between school and work, I am committed to over 80 hours a week. Currently I only sleep for about 3 hours a night on half of my weeknights, and weekends I will be working 12 hour shifts. Yet all of that is so meaningless and petty in comparison to what I experienced tonight.

I worked with a team trying to save a man's life for nearly 2 hours. By the time his wife was able to make it to the hospital, things were looking very grim. So there I stood, at the head of the bed. As I was giving this sweet man his final breaths of life, his wife of 60 years came into the room to say goodbye. She held his hand and thanked him for everything. She reminded him that he was the love of her life for all of those years and still would be.

I miss comments...

Sooooo I changed my blog back to the way it was before. ANYONE can now leave comments. Fortunately I was able to tweak it a bit and now I will be able to catch any spam!

Can't wait to hear from you!

Jo

One more reason to hate me...

When a patient is about to "pass", my hospital will place a tray of fruit, cookies, muffins, lemonade, and iced tea inside the patient's room. Apparently this is for all of the family members who are coming in to say goodbye. Personally, I wouldn't want to be munching on macadamia-nut-white-chocolate-chip cookies and enjoying a cool glass of lemonade while granny was gasping for her last breath, but clearly the hospital sees things differently.
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Last night I was asked to drop by a patient's room to give a quick breathing treatment. Upon my arrival, I saw the large tray that I secretly refer to as the "Continental Breakfast of Death". I found it really pathetic that I was supposed to give this woman a breathing treatment, but I suppose we gotta make money one way or another, right? I spent the entire time in her room saying to myself, "Please don't die on me. Please don't die on me..." More than once I thought we were close. Fortunately, I managed to wrap things up and get out of the room before the end.
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About an hour later I was downstairs in my department when a co-worker came through to tell me, "Hey Jo... looks like you killed that patient on the 4th floor."
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"What??? Are you serious? She's dead?" I asked.
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"Yup" he replied, "Dead as a door nail"
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"Oh man... do you think it would be ok if I went up and made myself a plate of cookies?"

To whom it may concern,

To the woman who was screaming out of her car window at 5:30 AM this morning while I was driving to work:

Seriously, it's too early to be that angry. First of all, it was just a lane change... do you need to get that pissed? Second, I saw your middle finger the first time. When you started swinging your arm up and down with you finger in the air, YOU were the one looking like an idiot, not me! Finally, you simply are not attractive enough to be that nasty. Based upon your looks alone, you might consider compensating with niceness. Just a thought.

To the woman who made me stuff a pillow under her naked butt this morning at the hospital:

I case you hadn't noticed, that is gross. When you said, "Can you help me adjust my pillow" I didn't understand the exact location of said pillow. For future reference, my professional title is Respiratory Care Practitioner, not ass-pillow adjuster. Also, have you considered wearing underwear? Might help.

To the person who decided that 6 am - 6 pm shifts should be the industry standard:

Screw you. Nobody should have to get up at 4:30 am and then not get home till nearly 7 pm. It's just wrong.

Like Night and Day!

Tomorrow I head over to my sister's place to help her pack. While this may be totally normal for most people, this is really an event in both of our lives. Saying that we have never been close is an UNDERSTATEMENT. Somehow my parents managed to produce three completely different children. Not a similar one in the bunch. We have spent most of our lives tolerating the other person and generally disagreeing about how life was supposed to be. But recently we have both made some very big changes in our lives. I finally grew up and she has finally regressed. (Becky came out of the womb as a 40 year old woman). Somehow we have found eachother in the middle.

I am super excited to see her move to Indiana (Go Hoosiers! whatever that is...) to become a doctor... of education (I got her some surgical scrubs anyway). But I am sad that she will be so far away from the family. Often I wonder if we will eventually end up in the same town, raising kids together or if life will just get in the way. Either way, I've already checked on plane tickets to the mid-west and I can't wait to see what life holds for her. As long as she gets packed in time to move...

I gave blood!

So today we had our monthly blood drive at work. And tonight I really feel the need to be honest with everyone. I didn't do it because it was the right thing to do. I didn't do it because I was able to go lie down for 20 minutes then eat cookies and drink punch ALL WHILE STILL ON THE CLOCK. (Although that was fun!) I did it because after we donate four times, we get an entire day's pay! The hospital I work at will credit me my full hourly wages for an entire day. Unfortunately I learned that it wasn't exactly going to be free.
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After numerous attempts to locate a vein by various workers, one guy managed to stuff a needle into my arm. It felt like he was throwing a dart right through me. I was in so much pain, but I just sat still and thought about the cookies, punch, and my free paycheck! When he was finished I stood up, stumbled to the recovery table and nearly fell face first into the tray of snacks. The cookie monitor said quite loudly, "OH MY! ARE YOU NORMALLY THAT PALE?" To which I responded, "How pale am I... I'm supposed to be pink. Don't you see any pink?" Within seconds all of the blood donation workers circled around me just in case passed out. (The feeling was similar to having just pounded multiple shots of alcohol at once... at least that's what I've been told it feels like!) Anyhow, they all kinda convinced me to move over to the "rescue cot" to lie down. I just wanted some cookies. Why didn't anybody understand that? I don't want to lie down on the cot, I want a cookie. But it was not to be. Some lady made me drink warm water through a straw while she elevated my feet with a cardboard box. For a few moments, I really wanted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep. (Again, much like that 2 AM bar-haze... that I've only heard about ...where you gently lower your head onto the bar with your eyes half closed). But I fought the urge, and convinced the workers that I was just fine. I managed to stumble back to my department, where I sat at the computer totally spaced out of my mind to work on some patient charting. I couldn't even remember how to spell the word "wean". I tried it a few different ways... wien, wein, ween... after a few minutes I just gave up and asked my co-worker. So much for my big payoff, huh?

My Ring...

Lately my hands have been hurting. Actually most of my joints have been hurting. My elbows, shoulders... anyways, I just ignored it and figured it would go away. Last night was terrible. Finally my fingers felt like they were swelling up. So I yanked my wedding ring (literally... ice cubes and soap to get it off) from my finger because I figured I'd rather get it off now than have it cut off!

My assumption is that the drastic change in weather is causing the pain. Often when it rains I find that my joints hurt. And I think my hands were swollen because I went to the movies last night and ate popcorn and jellybeans and whoppers. Just enough salt and sugar to retain a bit of water. But, of course, being the hypochondriac I am, I am sure it is something much worse. Fortunately I can't get too far into my delusion because I just had some blood work done at the hospital and everything is normal. Cholesterol... perfect, HDL and LDL... just fine, blood sugar ... where it should be! My heart is perfectly normal and strong... (I did an EKG while I was bored the other night and then asked my favorite Cardiologist to look at it). Of course, if they tested how fat my finger is in compared to the circumference of my wedding ring, I might have a problem. I hope I can get it back on in the near future!

Editor's note: I just took a hypochondriac test online (clearly it's VERY scientific) and it said on a score of 1-100 I was a 75! (There were 10 questions) ALso it said: You appear to have some signs of hypochondria, but not to any extreme point. You worry about unusual symptoms a bit more than the average person, and occasionally blow normal aches and pains out of proportion. You may want to keep your hypochondriac tendencies in check so they don't get the best of you.

I'm so excited!

Only 41 more days...

'Till the LA County Fair!!!

I know that it's totally ghetto there, you can't stay much past sunset because there is a good chance you'll get shot by a gang member, and people have been know to die on those rides (I am working on the lie I will tell my children one day so they won't want to go on those rides) but darnit I love the fair! Here is a picture from last year...

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Our long lost friends, Robert and Ryan. You'd never guess that Ryan speaks Chinese (on the left) and Robert (right) can barely spell "burrito" ! Kidding! Love you, Robert.

Ran into a random friend...

Robert also met some new friends

Randy and I shared Dr Bob's ice cream!

I know I am such a dork... but I am counting the days until the FAIR! Randy took me for the first time back in 2002, and we have gone every year since! SO MUCH FUN! He spends most of his time at the Beer Gardens, while I manage to find everything and anything that they will put on a stick, dip in batter, and F-R-Y! I'll always be trailer-trash at heart!