rude!

Why do people have to be so rude at the gas pumps? Its already a bitter pill to swallow that my car insists on being fed the uber expensive gasoline. Must they add insult to injury by being pigs at the pumps? Especially those special few who drive big truck-ish like vehicles, for example, a popular tree trimming type service truck? With an unpronouncable name? They park in the worst positions imaginable at the pumps. I think its a contest to them to count how many people they can prevent from getting to the other pump. And bonus points are given if the one trying to squeak in bangs their car against the brightly hued cement surrounding the pump. Who the hell named those things 'islands', anyhow. Doesn't look like any island I want to go hang out on. Beside's, it would be no fun watching the jackasses in the giant trucks monopolize all the choice real estate, anyhow. Boo, hiss. Can you tell I've been up all night?

Because its Sunday

This week, the Head Gardener is to be decided upon. Celtic Rose's husband has a gift with all things green, but she has already claimed him. Since she's had him for the last 20 some odd years, I suppose I have to capitulate, and choose another.
Now, I am thinking my choice is going to surprise some of you. Hell, it kind of surprised me. But, I chose this man for the creativity he would give to my garden. Also, I think he would be just well, fun to have around. This choice isn't for looks, its for the energy he would put into things. So, my Head Gardener? Flea, from the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

parking lot, revisited

my hometown, Main Street, inundated.


its almost too pretty, isn't it?


the long, sweet lines, and fins of this one. . sigh


Everyone loves a good Challenger. . .


This was one of my favorite cars!


Ford Anglia? Or Stormtrooper? You tell me. . .


1926 Ford

They paved paradise, and put in a parking lot

But its just for today, and I'm not complaining! My tiny little town has gone crazy. Car crazy. Every year, there is a huge car show, with somewhere around 700 classic cars parked everywhere. Everywhere you turn, a beautiful car, and usually at least four men drooling on it. For the last seven years, since I moved up here, I have never made it to this car show, I'm always out of town for one reason or another. This year, I happen to be home, so I got up early, and hit the car show. I know, girls aren't supposed to like muscle cars, but as long as I don't have to build it, or work on it, this one does. I can appreciate whats under the hood, and there were a few cars there that I would have liked to have driven away in. I only lasted two hours before my vision started blurring, but I saw, and took pictures of some awesome looking cars. Ran into a few people I know, talked with a few I didn't, then high tailed it back home, where I am guzzling iced tea. The weather decided to play nice today, but it is a tad warm.

Psychic's and Ferrets, what more could you want?

I hate to keep picking on BW's neck of the woods, but lately, things are happening in the Philly area. I read an article in the news today that there has been a law on the books for thirty years that bans Fortune Telling in Philadelphia. No Psychic's, No Tarot cards, nothing. Apparently, this law was just re discovered, and so, Philly's finest are running around town, shutting down all the places in town that offer such services.
I have a few questions. Shouldn't any psychic worth their salt have "seen" this coming? Who made the thrilling discovery that this law passed 30 years ago, and why is it so important to uphold it now? Did the police commissioner get a bad reading, or something? Are the psychic's of Philly going to unite, and curse the baseball team? (Uh, wait, that might have already happened. . .).
I have never personally sat down for a psychic reading of any sort, and I really don't plan on it. A foreign exchange student from Italy "read" my palm, once, and told me I was going to die in a car crash before the age of 30, unless I only drove in a blue and yellow car. Oh, and that I would never find love. I am 37 and I drive my red SUV with glee, and I have found love. (It went away, but it was love. Sigh.)I think she was angry because the Belgian foreign exchange student was flirting with me. But I digress. Psychic's, love them, hate them, or indifferent? And, now what are the unemployed Psychic's of Philly supposed to do with themselves? So, BW, next time your out driving around, if you pass any homeless psychic's that are holding signs that say "will read Tarot for food", let me know will ya?
Oh, and I can pick on California, too. Did you fine people know it's illegal to own a ferret in this state? Celtic Rose and I want to start a "legalize Ferret's" campaign. You can own a snake, or a spider, hell, you can even go leap frog's in a competition, but one little ferret will land you in jail. Unfair!

Mixed bag

Just to clear something up.
Its not just the name of the Philadelphia stadium that I don't like, its most of them. And the reason they all annoy me is because some giant corporation has taken them over, and tacked their name right onto the stadium! I mean, come on. What was wrong with "Candlestick Park". It has (had) carried that name for ages, and now, you want us to call it what? I Refuse. So, its not just Philly. And, even the games carry logo's now. "Tostito's Fiesta Bowl". Sounds like a Taco Hell menu item. I am sure that some sports junky somewhere went off in his blog in more detail about it, and so I will stop at this. Now for my regularly unsponsered blog.

******

The walls in my house move. I swear they do. Just like the rocks moved on my Grandfather at Lake Almanor. Just ask my toes. I swear I should wear steel toed boots for life. (Yes I walked into the corner of a wall, are you happy? It hurt like a SOB). I stayed awake many hours yesterday, on purpose. Usually, on my "friday", I take a short nap when I get home, and make myself wake up and function for awhile, so that I can sleep during my nights off like normal people. Yesterday, I got an extremly short nap, because I needed a haircut desperately, and my stylest only had a morning appointment availiable, for a long time. So blearily I went to the beauty salon. Has anyone else noticed that when your tired, sound magnifies by at least ten thousand? Especially gossipy women in a salon. I swear the only peace I got in there was at the end, when she was blow drying my now, much shorter hair. During the haze that was my haircut, the window washer man was washing their windows, and my mind started wandering into the strange zone. He must see into a lot windows, this man, and by the void look on his face as he did the windows, I would hazard a guess that he really doesn't "see" into the windows,anymore. Is he just burned out? Or does he think he's "seen" it all in people's windows? What would it take to surprise him, or make him laugh, or even notice? He is the true definition of being on the outside, and looking in, but when he comes in to clean the inside, is he on the inside, looking out? I told you it was strange. Then the peaceful buzz of the hair dryer turned off and I got forced back into the bright land of chirping, happy women. It was almost painful. The only thing that saved it was that I did get a good haircut out of the deal.

I almost forgot. . . its wordless Wednesday! Duh

A Knight to combat Celtic Rose's Dragon

One Ringy Dingy

Yesterday, we were sitting in the report room, waiting for our beloved overview on the patients we would have the pain-er, pleasure of caring for during the night. Suddenly, amidst my eye rolling at Amaretto Nurses tales of her "baby" (an unfortunate yellow lab puppy she's named 'katie') a cell phone goes off. Tinkly, ballerina in the jewelry box music. Instantly, we knew to whom the cell phone belongs to. A very sweet, perhaps, not jaded enough day shift nurse who always has a pat on the back and kind word for anyone. (And I do mean anyone.) This got us to discussing the choices that people make for their cell phones. What do they say about us? (Those of us that have them.)
If, say, we all lived close enough to do this, what I would love to do is toss all our phones in a bag, then have people call them, to see if we could pick out who's phone goes to who just by the ring tone. Sadly, we don't live close enough to play that game. My cell plays the theme from Hawaii 5-0 at the moment, because I was longing for summer. Usually, I have it set to play the theme from the Pink Panther. I know that Celtic Rose has hers set to play different tones depending on who is calling her. (OOOOH, Fancy.). Do our ringtones give a fair representation of who we are?
On a different note. If I have one more person ask me for their "pain shot" I may go stark raving ballistic. Enough said. . .sigh. Thank God today was my Friday, and finally FINALLY I have a nice stretch of days off. Celtic Rose will be returning to Podunk Memorial on Thursday night, though, and I know she will keep me posted on the current misery residing there.

The most fun I've had at work since last night

My pirate name is:

Dirty Grace Kidd

You're the pirate everyone else wants to throw in the ocean -- not to get rid of you, you understand; just to get rid of the smell. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

My dear goddess Kali

Start a blog! Come on, girl! Join the happy crowd! Look through all the lovely comments you have been leaving in my blog, and see that the people want to hear your voice! I have not seen you at Podunk Memorial this week, so I am putting the heat on you through my blog voice.
You are a funny, strong, independant woman with lots of great stories and opinions. Having a blog will be a great outlet for those stories and opinions. Som come on, please! Create your blog today. I promise I'll be your faithful reader and post lots of fun comments on yours. If you need help send me an email through my blog, and I will be happy to assist!
Your silly friend and co worker
Mielikki

always listen to your inner voice

So I was sitting at home yesterday, about 5:15, and the phone rang. It was a nursing supervisor at Podunk Memorial. "Wanna stay home on call?" she sez. Thinking about it, and considering my upcoming trip to NY and DC, I sigh regretfully, tamping down the wee voice in my head thats yelling "YES! YES! Just say YES!. I have to work sometime, and I do enjoy my job. So, off to work I go. Only to see, when I get there, that the census of the unit is so low, that its me, and Amaretto Nurse. No one else. No buffer to keep her away from me. No Lap Dog to do all her work. Just me. And Her. Oh shite.
Quickly, I run to my car, and get some knitting, and my CD's. I can zone her out with the lovely red yarn, and play some music (quietly). Maybe she'll get the hint.
She didn't even show up to work on time. When she came in, she offers this lame excuse about meandering through the grocery store, and losing track of time. If I was a day shift nurse, I would have been pissed. They don't get to go home until they give report, and nothing is worse than a nurse showing up late after you've worked your twelve hours. So, day shift abandon's me to my fate,and I am not keen. I duck into my patients room, and spend as much time with the hallucintating, dying old man that I can. When I come out, she is shoving chocolate/raspberry almonds down her pie hole and telling me that she and her boyfriend broke up and that she thinks she needs therapy. The little voice is taunting me, now, in my head, SEE! You could be at home, you twit!. Shite.
Less than an hour later, a Code Blue was called. This means that someone is actively trying to die in Podunk Memorial, and as an ICU nurse, it is my job to go and try to prevent it with the many drugs and shocky things in my arsenal. So up a flight of stairs I go, into a room with a blue, seizing patient, thinking "Well at least this gets me away from Amaretto Nurse. Flash forward at least three hours. Another nurse that was on call has been called in,(so I would have been called in, anyhow) and is dealing with other things whilst I take care of the very sick patient. I have been to the CT scanner, through her intubation, and, am in the middle of assisting one of the grumpier doc's with a lumbar puncture. And I couldn't be happier. Big grin on my face. Grumpy Doc, who I get along with well has been quietly bashing Amaretto nurse here and there. "Send her back to where she came from" was Grumpy Doc's advice. I couldn't agree more.
This morning, my patient is still alive, and doing better. Amaretto Nurse was so carefully watching her patients (not) that one of them climbed out of bed and fell. The sun is shining, and I am finally home, my work done. But I have to go back tonight. And so does Amaretto Nurse.
Shite.

Watching paint dry

Watching the cement harden. Watching the water boil. What to these things have in common? They are mundane, boring things we probably send children to do when we want them out of our hair. Yesterday, I was watching the food network. I frequent this channel, Alton Brown is one of my favorite people ever. However, I hate Rachael Ray. She really bugs me.
Anyhow. I caught the tail end of their first "awards show." Portland, Oregon won for city with the best food, btw. Go Portland. And the Phillie's stadium won for the best ballpark food. Go Phillies. I hate the name of your ballpark, but that is another blog alltogether.
After the show ended, I was sitting at my computer nattering on about something, so the TV stayed where it was. Giada came on. She bothers me a bit, too, but I can ignore her perkiness. However, whatever show this was, had a full segment on barista's, and the art of making a latte. It seems the latest latte craze is that when you finish pouring the milk into the expresso, you jiggle the cup, and make a design in the top. Some guy even made an elephant.
Do we really need designs on top of our coffee?
Yes, this is coming from the girl who is pleased when the bartender puts a shamrock in the foam of my dark beer, but I maintain that thats different. The foam on my beer is asking for it. Its an irish beer, for crying out loud. Did the latte ask for an elephant? What would happen if he put an elephant on top of a full figured woman's latte?
As I continued to watch this, it evolved into the filming of a barista competition for the best design. Someone won 1,000.00 for a rosette on the top of a latte.
So, if I ever need something to do, I don't have to watch the paint dry, the cement harden, or even the water boiling. I can go out and find a latte artist.

Jeeves

Ok. Its Sunday. So. Lots of good pool boys were running around out there. Now, the question is, who should the Butler be? George Clooney is a strong choice, but, yet, I cannot perpetuate the 'Batman theme' in my fictional mansion. So after careful thought, and consideration, I am going to go with Patrick Dempsey as my butler. No, he will not answer the door in scrubs, and act like a neurosurgeon. Instead, I think I will have him in tails. Black ones. And I will refer to him only as 'Dempsey'. (Dempsey, fetch my kahlua!). He is dark haired, and seemingly very charming. He should do well as a butler in my fictional mansion.
I go back to work tonight, (thankfully, however, Amaretto Nurse is not scheduled.) I look forward to seeing who any of you would have as your butler, if you wish to respond!

Running With Scissors

Borrowing a bit from CamiKaos, I have to tell you about the movie I watched tonight. It was great! Bizarre, and twisted, but great. Annette Bening plays a seriously mentally ill woman, and does a great job. I am not normally a great fan of hers, but the acting chops she shows in this movie? Uncomparable. Alec Baldwin plays her alcoholic husband. These two are trying to raise a child, Augusten. And the 'family' psychiatrist, played by Brian Cox? I cannot even describe him. At one point, he tries to tell his family that his shit is a message from God. I kid you not. This movie is LMAO funny, but sad, at the same time. If you like twisted, dark humor, watch it. You won't believe your eyes, or ears!

I opened the Kahlua!

And it is very, very good. The taste is more 'coffee like' than storebought. Smoother, in a way, kind of rich. I can't wait to taste the one I made with the Mandarin Orange vodka in it. It also has more of a "kick" to it, I can 'feel' the alcohol quicker. My laundry will probably not get finished today. Oh well... thats the way my day has been. The things I wanted to do have all fallen by the wayside. The things I really didn't care to do, (oh, say, the litterbox?) I managed to accomplish. hmmm. But now, I am going to sit back and sip on my kahlua and milk, write a bit, and see what happens. . .
Tomorrow I am going to be looking for the butler for my household. All suggestions welcome!

Oh, and I finally sucked my sister-friend into blogland. Go check her out, her link is right there, to your left! Around the bend. . .

I am opening the Kahlua!

Today is the day I get to sample my kahlua that I made, thirty days ago. Its been taunting me daily, sitting on the counter. The orange flavored one won't be ready to sample for another week. But today, the regular one is. I have some good coffee, Peet's Major Dickason's blend. Its a cool, rainy day, and though I am forced to do laundry, I can be drinking kahlua and coffee as well!
Later, I will do an update on the taste, and whether or not my kahlua making was a success or not.

Who done it?

This is Jack the Ripper

This is Audrey Hepburn, occasionally, but lovingly referred to as either the bowling ball, or Ursula, depending on her mood

And this is Angus McTabby

So if BW put cat pictures up, I will, too! Its a game with me and my cats, you see. I got called into work last night, (My On Call Fairy must have gone on the fritz at Midnight, when they called me in.)It was a good shift, Amaretto Nurse wasn't present, which is always a treat. My patients were the friendly, yet sleepy type, (perfect) and yummy radiology hunk was the first face I saw as I approached the hospital (Wonderful!) I even found about an hour to sit and chat with him this morning. Until we were so rudely interrupted by a patient going into V-tach, a rhythm of the heart that is SO not compatable with life. Silly patient. He came out of it ok, though.
When I got home, my reward was two fold. Someone got the soda crackers I accidentally left out, and has been eating them under the table. Someone puked up a whopping hair ball mixed with cat food in the bathroom for me. I am sure the third someone has left me something somewhere as well, and I haven't found it yet. Good thing I keep the furry's out of the bedroom. So, play a matching game, if you want. Which furry did what? Who puked, who ate crackers, and who is innocent until I find the guilt?

drunken dialing

The last man I dated with any regularity turned out to be a really drunk looser. I think I have told bits and pieces of that. When I broke off with him, I had to change my cellphone number, because he was texting me all these foul messages, a lot. So, I changed it, and the only people that have my cell number are My mother and sisters, work, and Deb. Its not that I won't give it out, its just that I haven't needed to. All the men that are currently toying with me are using my landline, for the moment.
I was sitting here the other day, and noticed I had a message on my cell. From 1:55 in the morning. Here is a general replay of said message: (person slurring, obviously drunk.)
-Using my first name, twice (my voice mail message id's me. Maybe I should change that.)"Right now, right now! M-f'in' Bob, Bob, Water, we was Wheelin' Bob, hits a wall, wheelin' M-f'er Goin' home, Goin' home, we got it done, done. comin' home. Comin home. Did I tell you how beautiful you are? M'f-in Stuck. I Love You- Goodbye".
Or some such nonsense. WTF? I laughed so hard I cried. Some fool drunk dialing, more than like. Hopefully I won't read a newspaper today, about some fool named Bob and his cousin Jethro who were out 4 wheelin' somewhere, hit a wall, ended up in a puddle, and died, after making one, last call on their cell phone.

On Call Fairy

This is my On Call Fairy. She insisted that she be put here today, as well, especially, because I am on call. She is a kind fairy.
This all started as kind of a joke back and forth between me and Deb. When there aren't enough patients in the ICU, sometimes nurses get to stay home "on call" on their work nights. If there is a rush of patients, we get called in. (And make time and a half.) If we don't get called in, we still make a percentage of our pay. For staying home. Deb and I used to tease about the "On Call Fairy" being kind to one or the other of us. It evolved, and now we both have On Call Fairy's of our very own living in our houses. She doesn't ask for much, general bowing at her feet, the occasional feline sacrifice, and, apparently, to guest star in my blog. I don't want to piss her off, so here she is, in all of her glory.

Wordless Wednesday

Check your manners at the door

I swear to Heaven there is an invisible rack outside of each and every grocery store. On this rack, are the manners of the people who shop there. I even find myself getting 'feisty' in them. Gaggles of women, parked in aisles, chatting for hours on end. Harried looking men in a hurry who crash their carts into yours without a word. And the little, tottering old people. I usually love the elderly. They tell such sweet stories about life in their day. In grocery stores, though? I think they forget everything they ever knew, including what they're shopping for! They are usually steering a cart bigger than they are down the center of the aisle, because their vision is so poor they worry about crashing into the food. And the ones that drive in the wee mechanical carts? Don't even get me started. I try to go shopping after work, because no one is in the stores usually, at 0730. Except all the night crew, with boxes stacked everywhere. Its like a grocery shopping obstacle course. Sometimes, its fun, but keep in mind, I have just finished a 12 hour night shift when I navigate said course. I can be dangerous. I have found, though, that if your one of the few in the store, things get almost too friendly. The people working seem to seek you out to say hello and ask how your day is. My day is over! And no, I don't want to talk about it! If they ever unbend enough to open a grocery store into an all nighter here, I am going to start shopping with the freaks at midnight. It could work.

What's in a name?

Names are funny things. Ages ago, in many countries, your name was directly based on what your father's name was. Scandinavian's used the names of farms, or family properties. Russians added 'eva, or 'ova's on to the end. Last names, during history, at times have been, well, kind of, optional. (But, our ancestors didn't have 2 million Jennifer's running around, either.)
Names were a thing of pride. Families advertised who they were. Standards and Banner's were made, so that wherever they went, people knew who was coming. They had a battle cry specific to them. Plaids were picked, and still associated with clans and families to this day.
If we considered people to be "less" than us, we took away their names. (Think, slavery.)In a way, we still do this, with prisoners.
Does your name make you who you are? Most of us reading this are adults, and over the years have accepted, and even come to like the names our parents gave us. But, we creatively find other ways to rename ourselves. I have tons of stuff with the name Mielikki on it. (She was a forest goddess in the epic Finnish poem, the Kalevala.). At work, when I am in a 'mood', my friends call me "Buffy", the LVN, or, in some cases, the Nurses Aide slayer. (Another story, I'll save that one for later.) We hide our names, most of the time, in this big wide world of internet. Because people might steal our names, and by doing that, they steal our identities. Is your identity really all tied up in your name? It appears so.
I still carry the last name of my ex husband, left long ago. I grapple with this, wanting to change my name back to my father's, but knowing that the world will get so confused if I do so. My nursing liscence is in a name not my own, my discharge from the Military, my passport, my life. All to a name I feel no connection to. People constantly ask me if I am Italian because of this name. Half the time I just say yes, so that I don't have to explain.
Where am I going with this? I don't really know, maybe I already got there. This is what my brain, with no sleep, looks like. And work is already calling, asking if I can work an extra shift. Mielikki and Buffy both say NO!

Amaretto Sour

Whoo hoo! I'm home! Before I get into the bitchy details of Amaretto Nurse, let me just tell you, sometimes, you get what you wish for. (No, she didn't die. . .). There is this man, who works in my Podunk hospital. I see him, now and again. Sometimes more frequently than others, depending on what kind of patients we have in the unit. I have drooled over this man for the seven years that I've lived here. Beautiful, good smelling man. Dark hair, blue eyes, dimples. Just, YUM. Always smells good. Nice teeth, friendly. This man was married when I moved here, and I do not poach. Poachers should be shot. BUT, this man has been single now, for awhile. And this beautiful man asked for my number this morning. AFTER about 10 hours of working on a sick, poopy ICU patient. Not bad! We are just going to go "hang out", and have some pints. Yum, just, yum. Even if I just sit there and look at, and smell this man, I will be a happy girl. Am I still interested in the computer men? Of course. I'll meet them, too! Boy, do I like spring.
Alright. Now, Amaretto Sour. Let me describe this woman child who should not be bothering me. She is short, with bottle blonde hair, bad roots, and skin that has seen too much sun, and cigarette smoking. She curls her hair, but doesn't brush the curls out, so the back of her head looks like these big, dry sausage curls that she used Aqua-net to maintain. Resembles a blonde sheep, in a way. Voice? Think the Nanny in a higher octave. And she has poor grammar. She sounds ignorant when she talks. She constantly tells other nurses what they can do for her patients, because, her idea of us helping her, is to do her work for her. She follows the male nurses around, mostly, manipulating them into being at her beck and call. Men can be such followers. She has this one nurse so well trained that he is, for all intents and purposes, her lapdog. So Lapdog and Amaretto nurse stuck together last night. She followed him wherever he went, 'do this, do that'. He said 'No' to her once, this morning, and I thought she was going to bitch slap him. I merely stood back, snickering, wishing I had popcorn for the show. She seems to have gotten the message from the night before that I won't tolerate her machinations. Lets hope thats a message she won't forget.

I have an idea. . .

Ok. This idea is coming from a tired brain, and my avoidance of 'amaretto nurse'. (who, btw, is not messing with coffee tonight, unless she wants to be shipped home in her box of amaretto coffee.)Yes, Sybil, she is, once again, sitting less than five feet from me. At any moment, she could glance over here. Then, I might just get Slappy.(frowned on at work, though. Sigh, I never get to have any fun.)
Anyhoo. My idea. It is either good, or it sucks, and I am just to tired to care. I may abandon this idea later, but for now? Why not.
Here goes. I want to make a list, of men, specifically, that I would like to have in my home, as my "staff". Lets start with 'pool boy'. (While he's at it, he can provide the pool, as well.) For me, Christian Bale, preferably with his batman suit. (Could you see batman outside, cleaning a pool? I'll strip him of the suit, really I will.) Who would your pool boy be? Leave suggestions in my comments, maybe I'll reconsider my choice. Personality doesn't matter, I guess. Why would I want to talk to the pool boy? He should just be nice to watch.
If I decide to follow this post up, maybe, each Sunday, I will be picking someone else for my staff. A girl can dream, can't she?

Oh, and I will be posting about the Amaretto nurse, but from home.. . because, you know, its safer that way. .

Don't mess with the flippin' coffee

Remember when I told CamiKaos that one of my quirks was always wanting to make the coffee at work? Well. . . We have a vising nurse here now, a traveler. She snuck in there and made Amaretto coffee. YECH YECH YECH! And yes I am sitting right next to her as I type this! She also talks to herself constantly and is annoying the crap out of me with repeated questions. I promise you I am going to be crazy when this shift is over. Amaretto coffee. AAARGH. If it had real Amaretto in it, maybe I would consent. But not this crap. I wonder how long I have to wait to toss the shit out and make a new pot. . .

Friday the 13th

I am mildly superstitious on Friday the 13th. I have had a car accident on this day, and other assorted junky things happen to me. I try to ignore this day. I am concerned, though, that I am working tonight. The potential for catastrophe is strong. If, by some chance, tonight is a full moon, I'll be screwed. Another thing? I am going to be working with two very unlikeable nurses. I love and respect almost everyone I work with. These two? Not so much. I plan on staking out a corner in the nurses station, and keeping my head down. I hope its a smooth night.
Yesterday, on the other hand, was great. I got a new tree, a 'red dragon' Japanese Maple. Small, suited for balcony living. My other tree needed a friend. I also found two beautiful silver and amythist rings. I couldn't decide which one to get, so, I got them both. Amythist is my birthstone, so I am entitled, right? Of course right. So, I am going off to nap now, in preparation for my Friday the 13th, in a small town ICU. Midnight can't come soon enough.
Meanwhile, if any of you readers feel like it, and want to give me something to read later while I am hiding in my corner, comment to me about your superstitions.

Malbec love

last night I opened another one of the wine's I had delivered right to my door courtesy of Wine.com. Once again, I am going to use their name, becaue I liked their wine (a lot). If they have a problem with it, they can try and find me! HA!
Anyhow, the wine of choice was Terrazas de los Andes Reserva Malbec, Reserva, 2004. It is from Argentina. And it was lovely. Much too good for its own good. I actually had one small glass the night before, and last night, because it was so good, I finished the bottle. (Thank God for deep red wine glasses). It has a really nice, deep fruity taste. The bottle mentions that hints of violets should stand out. I must order another bottle (or two, or three) and research that more.
Halfway through the first glass, I decided to sit down and write for a while. Then the phone rang. Before I expound on that, I should explain something to you few readers, first.
I live in a tiny tiny town. I love that. I moved here for a reason. But, men here? Scarce. The one's I meet in the hospital? Usually old, or mentally ill. Bars? Plenty. Men in said local bars? Scary. Especially the ones that are my age, or in my "age range". So, I am doing the internet men shopping option. I have to tell you, its kind of fun. Due to my standards, I have only met a few of them, though. One was a very sweaty man who only wanted to get laid. The next one, I dated him for almost four months. By the end of the four months, I felt like I was nothing but his designated driver that he could treat very disrespectfully whenever he wanted. All he ever did was come up here, and drink until he passed out. Not what I am looking for. That, and he got pissy when I beat him repeatedly in the football pool.
Recently, I have been e mailing with a guy who lives one town over, two miles away. He seems, (should I say it?) Normal. Nice even. Just as I sat down to write last night, he called me. I usually don't like to be interrupted when I write. I didn't mind so much this time. We spoke for an hour, and I still think he is nice, and dare I say, normal. He has a normal job (the last one didn't,) and he wasn't drunk, and he didn't ask if he could come over! Hope springs eternal. In the middle of talking with him, my e mail fired off another guy, this one lives about 20 minutes from here, and he was "requesting communication". Uhm, well, ok, sure! Why not? Spring has sprung. We shall see if I get flowers, or ragweed. But the wine, it was Excellent!

CamiKaos interview

1. “I really wanted to ask you about the silverware drawer as well, but seeing that you have answered that: What do you think is your biggest quirk?”

Believe it or not, this was the hardest question for me to answer! My biggest quirk. I can think of so many. I make my cats wait, out of the kitchen, while I put the food in their bowls each morning. (I hate to be butted and crowded and ‘meowed’ at incessantly while they wait for their food.) If I make a simple mistake knitting, I can’t rest until I pull out the mistake, sometimes multiple rows. Even if its something small no one will probably see. Making a blanket for Grandma has been one of the seven circles of Hell, because she is such a long time knitter, she will be able to see any imperfection! Oh, I’m a procrastinator, is that a quirk? And I have to be the one to make the coffee at work, everyone else makes toxic coffee. But my biggest? Ever since my friend and I started writing a book together, the characters seem to “talk” to me. No I don’t hear voices nor do I need an institution, I just have these characters, in my head, and I know the story they want to tell. Strangely enough, so does my friend.

2. “You recently wrote a post about nursing, what was it that drove you to become a nurse?”

Harassment by my Mother, LOL. I had just come back to California, after my marriage went down the tubes, and that was so difficult. When I left him, I had no job skills, no money, (my parents flew me home) and I was living back in my parents house. It was an all time low for me, I felt. I am fiercely independent, and needed to regain my independence. It really stuck in my craw. I swore that I would find a way to ALWAYS be able to take care of myself, after feeling like that. I had originally wanted to be a teacher, but realized, sadly, that most teachers in this country can barely make ends meet. Its pathetic. My Mom was constantly reminding me about nursing, since that’s what both my sisters do. (Pecked at me incessantly.) So I looked into it, just to get her off my back, and decided I could try the nursing program, just to see if its something I could get into. To my shock, I loved it. And I am a teacher, in my own way, we teach our patients every day, and they teach us as well. So, thanks to incessant pecking by my Mom, I have a job that I love, and I am able to support myself.

3. “In your post, homesick for Paris, you touched on your love of travel, well I assume it is a love of travel since I know a bit more of your background than most, aside from Paris, where would you most like to go or go back to?”

Ok, for those of you not in the know. I spent four years in the Navy. For two of those years, I lived in Yokosuka, Japan. It was incredible. Then, I was assigned to a ship, and went out to the first Persian Gulf conflict, in the early 90's. On that ship, I saw Hawaii, Singapore, Thailand, Hong Kong, The Phillipines, Bahrain, Abu Dhabi, and some obscure port in Saudi Arabia that I always forget the name of. Jebal Ali, or some such thing. On to the question.
I am a travel freak. If I won the lottery tomorrow, I would be on a plane the next day. I want to go everywhere! Back to Japan would be wonderful, someday. But my next big trip is to England, Ireland, and Scotland. Me and two friends are going in 2009. I am most exited to see parts of Cornwall and Wales, actually. Especially Cornwall. The trip is in its planning stages, and England is the country I am planning. (Deb is doing Ireland, Nancy Scotland). While I was doing my research I discovered how beautiful and nice Cornwall seems to be. Cute little villages, clean beaches, lots of history. I am also looking forward to a certain place in Ireland known for its brewing of lovely, dark beer. You can tour the plant, and drink. Oh, and I know Scotland is going to be lovely as well. All those kilts. Sigh. I could answer this question forever. I better stop.

4. “Why did you start your blog, and what do you think you are getting from it?”

I have made attempts through the years to keep a journal, so that when I am old and forgetful, I can look back and remember some of the detail of my life. It didn’t work so well for me. So, I started a blog mainly to see if I would keep up on it. What I have gotten from it, already, is a lot. My journal keeping was so inwardly focused, me me me, more boring me. The blog, it pulls in things everywhere. Odd things going on in the world, (like the Robert Smith/Cure thing), recipe’s, rants, I can toss in pictures. And it gets response from people. Positive, or negative feedback. Its cool. And years from now, when I go back to look, I can see not only me, but things that were happening around me, and the world. Its kind of like the voices that want me to tell their story. I “know” what my blog wants, in a strange way. It is the big picture, not a journal page. So, it broadened my horizons, in a strange way. Plus I can toss in really strange things I find, like the whales in Italy, or the porn star and her bleached butt.

5. “Is there a goal you have for yourself that you haven’t met, something you really feel would make life more complete for you and do you think its attainable?”

Hmm. A goal. I don’t know if I should call this a goal. My main goal, really, was to be self supporting, so that I would always be able to live on my own. I can do that, now. However, I really would like to find a man to share my life with. I say that, knowing that I run the risk of sounding like millions of single women everywhere. But it would be nice. However, I am not willing to settle for any man that just walks in the door. I have standards. I am often accused of being too picky (my Mom, again.). I need to have a genuine friendship with that person, trust, and companionship. Its not that easy to find. But, yes, its attainable. I am sure of it. When its supposed to be, it will. Meanwhile, I have fun looking. I have met some really nice men.

Ok, the rules:
1. If you want to be interviewed by me, (and I encourage perfect strangers to take me up on this, it will be fun) leave me a comment saying "Interview Me"
2. I will respond by asking you five questions of my choice.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to my questions
4. You will include these rules, and offer to interview someone else in the same post
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Not So Wordless Wednesday

Here is my contribution to Wordless Wednesday for you to ponder over whilst I ponder over CK's questions to me!

Thank You

My last post got quite a reaction. I really want to thank all of you for your positive postings about both the stupidity of people, and your support of nurses. I do my job, because I love it. And, thank God, most of my co workers do, too. I have had the joy of watching some true miracles walk out the doors of the hospital, the sadness, but priviledge to help some die without pain, and with dignity, and the pure, well gut wrenching-ness of telling families that their loved ones have not survived whatever event have led them to my doors. I have held hands, cried, laughed, and tried to help every person I come across. Sometimes, I struggle with that, because the person in the bed doesn't offer me the respect I offer them. I know how to deal with that, though. But its nice to see in your comments that you recognise the hard working nurses in this world, of which I am proud to be one! So I just wanted to say thanks.

Sense of smell take two

** Alright you sissies, here is the disclaimer. You probably want to put your lunch away before this one. I worked last night and its a nursing story. Could gross you out. ****

So, I waxed poetic about Lake Almanor, and the smell of books. Well I was wishing last night that my sense of smell would just fade away into nothing. I just want to say, that even if you hate the ground your mother,( father, sister, whomever)walks on, still, before you bring them to the hospital, can you at least bathe them? Especially if they have long hair and have not showered in three weeks related to all the vomiting and OTHER foul things they are emitting out their other end. Have some pride! Show some respect! Do not stand there and gasp when I take your mother's dirty socks off and reveal feet that are noxious enough to make a nurse want to cry! I am a trained professional, and still, I wanted to cry for this woman. Then, I had to clean the rest of her and I can tell you, it wasn't pretty. Her family sure beat feet when I did that chore. I couldn't wash her hair, though, didn't have the time, (I was too busy trying to save her life, she was very sick) and I didn't have the right equipment (huge bottle of shampoo and detangler, and a thick plastic comb.) It was sad, and the lady just kept laying there saying "I'm sorry." Its her family that should be saying that to her.
OK, I am finished with that rant. I just had to get it out of my system. Sorry.

sense of smell

a few weeks ago, I wrote about how different foods can trigger memories, of places, and people. I was eating brie during that post. Today, I cracked open a new to me book that I had sent away for, and oh, the smell!
We used to go to Lake Almanor every summer for vacation. Even if my parents were broke as broke could be, they found a way to get us up there. My grandparents lived up there for about 5 months of the year. The car ride was long, and as a child, I was prone to car sickness, and in the last bit, the road was so darn curvy I would always be sick, dying in the back seat. But the minute the lake came into view, all would be well. We stayed at Lassen View Resort. When I was little, the place seemed HUGE. As I grew up, it shrank. I still think I could find my way around that place blindfolded. The public showers always smelled like Pine-Sol, which was funny, because the rest of the resort smelled like the natural pines that inhabit that area. I would get splinters all the time when we went down to the dock so that the kids could swim, and the mothers could bake themselves in the sun. A very nice old man named Brownie used to take the splinters out of all the kids, and give them candy to bite on while he was doing so. Sometimes, it was worth it. Anyhow, back to the smell of the book. The resort had a tiny store, where every night, after dinner, Grandpa would take us to get an ice cream. If he tripped over a rock, he would always say "they moved that one, I know where every rock is at in this place." Next to the store, was a small room that had books in it. FREE books. I have been a reader all my life, and nothing was better than FREE BOOKS. I would go through that room with a fine toothed comb, searching for what I wanted to immerse myself in. I could always find things, too. Never did I leave without a book. It was heaven. And those books had this smell. I can't describe it. When I opened this new to me book, it was only almost the smell I remembered. But, at least I remember the smell.
Lassen View Resort closed a few years ago. I heard the owners sold it to a place that wants to put condo's there. My little slice of heaven is gone. But I have the memories.

Its not the thing you fling. . .

Its the fling, itself.
I just finished watching another Northern Exposure re run. I don't think I saw this episode the first time around, I would have remembered it. Maggie's mother came to visit, and promptly burnt down her house. And Chris? He spent most of the episode building a catapult. His plan? To 'fling' a cow. Yes, the mooing animal. People kept bringing him cows, he was looking for that one special cow to fling. Then, Ed told him Monty Python already flung a cow. Oh, heartbreak! He almost gave up, until someone pointed out to him that Michelangelo wasn't crying over the Sistine Chapel, and he layed on his back 2.5 years to paint it! Twisted reasoning, but sadly, I understood it. So, inspired, our hero Chris went to Maggie's burnt down house, played "as time goes by" on her burnt piano, then, in the end, flung the piano instead of a cow, saying those fateful words, "Its not the thing you fling, but the fling, itself." Words to live by, people, words to live by.

Pulla takes over the world

Like CK, I am having a sunny day. So, I stayed home and made bread. And boy, did I make bread. My loaves of Pulla turned out gargantuan. Must have been some hopped up yeast, thats for sure. And now, I sit here double fisting the pulla, because I don't make it very often, and I (stupidly) haven't eaten yet today. My mouth was ready for Pulla, only. It will probably be dinner tonight, as well as my late lunch right now. The problem with the loaves rising so much when they bake is that it kind of messes up the aesthetic of the braid. But as long as it tastes good, I don't care. And its good. OOh so good. I'm going to get more.

Blueberry Morning

In response to all the freak out over the poisoned cat and dog food, I have decided my cats are going to get nothing for the next month except Blueberry Morning breakfast cerial. Oh, and water. We all know milk is not so good for cats digestion.
This was brought on by my mother casually commenting to me that she'd heard THREE days ago that the brand of dry cat food I feed them is contaminated. Um, Mom? Ever heard of the phone? We talk pretty frequently. My father, in the background, with his usual twisted humor is saying "she has too many cats, anyhow." I have three. (And the fat black one doesn't even really count, because she just lays around like she owns the place until the young black one chases her through the house. I think he has decided she needs exercise). My dad loves animals, and I know he is just kidding, so in that same vein, I told him I would never bake cookies for him again if that happened, and he mentioned he just might have to take me out of his will. A good time was had by all. I am still baking cookies, and still in his will, as far as I know.
Anyhow, after an exhaustive internet search aided by a nice glass of wine, I discovered that my brand of dry cat food is not on the ever growing list, (yet). I will not be one of those people making my own pet food, either. I plan on buying some organic dry food very soon here. They can ride out this crises on that.
Oh, and that plastic bitch Ashlee Simpson? Also doing a project with Keane, AND John Legend. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo.

homesick for Paris

Two years ago, I went to Paris. My friend Nancy, whom I have known since 1979 went with me. It took us two years to plan and save the money to go (Europe is expensive, people...). But we spent 9 glorious days over there. We went everywhere! Our hotel was within walking distance of the Eiffel Tower,(we refer to that now as our own, personal, landmark). We took 2 day trips, one out to Versailles, and another to Normandy. And the people? Fabulous. Not a snub was received. We got along with all of them. I think it was because we are fearless, and we showed major appreciation for their city. And, we went at the beginning of tourist season. They weren't sick of us, yet.
The Louvre was amazing, and the Tuileries? Never have I seen such a beautiful garden. The tulip's in France are huge, beautiful flowers. Makes our tulips look anemic. Notre Dame was one of my favorite places, impossible to describe. The Champs Elysee? Very expensive.
Paris stole a part of my heart. I was ready to come home when I did, missed my little town. But I dreamt of the streets of Paris for over a month after I came home. I still have dreams about Paris, frequently. And I miss it. I want to go back. All by myself, and just soak it all in again.

Wordless Wednesday

I saw this idea, and I liked it. So here is my first tribute to the not quite "wordless Wednesday."

Your Hidden Talent

You are both very knowledgeable and creative. You tend to be full of new ideas and potential - big potential. Ideas like yours could change the world, if you build them. As long as you don't stop working on your dreams, you'll get there.

What's Your Hidden Talent?

Whales in Italy

Wonderous things are about in the world this week. They found a 4 million year old whale in the Tuscan Countryside. (My question? Why were they looking for a whale in the Italian Countryside?. But they found it. We can all rest easy, now.) Evil things are also happening. I refer to the fact that The Cure, whom I love, are going to do a project with (Gasp, can I even type it? I'm scared! Ashlee Simpson. Yes, the plastic girl who is sister to the other, possibly dumber plastic girl! I will have to cry, and consider sending a hate mail, at the VERY LEAST to Robert Smith. What is he thinking? Does he want lipstick tips from her? How to acheive those perfect, pouty lips. . .I must ponder this, and decide the appropriate action to take. . .

apartment living

I live in one of the greatest apartments. It has vaulted, pine ceilings, a fireplace (gas) its own parking spot, a dishwasher, AND a washer and dryer. For those of you that have apartment dwelled before, you know there is nothing worse than schlepping your clothing to a laundromat, where all the wierd people hang out at any time of day and hover over your dryers. HATE IT.
I have done the unforgivable and painted my apartment, too. They told me I could. (They, being management.) I don't live in a boxy too white structure. It also has tons of windows, and a very nice sized balcony. The balcony overlooks two tree's, and a four way stop that people love to run. I sit out there upon occasion, and count all the close calls. The kitchen is a wee bit outdated, avocado green floor, counters, and refrigerator, but I have embraced the kitchyness of that. Why not?
It is a less than five minute walk to the historical downtown area, or, in the reverse direction, a great park with lots of tree's, a pond with ducks and geese, and a playground for when my nephews come to visit.
So, whats not to like?
The Neighbor factor. CK kind of made me think on this. I have no choice but to know my neighbors. There are only four apartments in this complex, so its not so complex (ha ha.) My neighbors are varied, from the later stage middle aged bottle blonde who lives in the end unit, who FINALLY let her husband, the garbage man, move back in with her, to the family in the middle with two boys with the foulest mouth I have ever heard one moment, then out there building a shelter for the outside cats the next moment, then, back to a middle aged curly black haired woman who has a maid, but washes her own car. Huh?
The ones on the end I leave alone. The only time they bother me is when they fill all the trash cans with their beer cans. (yes, cans. Gross.) but they finally started recycling, I'll let them live in peace.
My beef with my middle neighbors is that they have no apartment complex manners. They know I sleep during the day, so what do they give their kids for Christmas? Karaoke Machines, a drum kit, and someone recently took up the clarinet. Now, I love music, but hey! Trying to sleep over here! The karaoke is what disturbs me the most, surprisingly.
Now, the elusive downstairs neighbor. Many conversations with friends and relatives have been focused on her. She snores loudly, loud enough for me to hear. She also is a screamer. (you know what I mean, wink wink.) Half my friends think she is a lesbian. (She isn't. Bi, maybe, but not a lesbian.) She also thinks its ok to tell me that if I am having sex up here, either me or my partner can scream HER name. (Its the same as a major European city.) SOOOOO NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. Yesterday, she had friends over for March Madness, so my attempt at an afternoon nap was punctuated by either cheers or booing. I don't even know which game. I don't care.
She runs hot and cold with being friendly. One night, she came upstairs around 10 pm to complain to me that my cats play too much at night, and because she is menopausal, it keeps her awake. (So, what am I supposed to do, restrain them?).Then, a few weeks later, she invites me to go out to dinner with her. (Uh, No. Thanks. Go Away.)
As much as I love my apartment, I think, next spring, I am ready to move on. To find the perfect rental house. And maybe, someday, a house I can call my own. Who knows? I just know it will be nice to be able to avoid the strange neighbor's I seem to have accumulated here. (And don't even get me started on the neighbors in my old place. Hideous, they were.)