Friday, July 19, 2013

~I May Have 99 Problems

But I'm pretty fuckin' grateful this isn't one... 

Now if you still don't know what the hell I'm talkin' about, no worries.  I confess;  I am an ol' advertising girl, so noticing oddities about ads is kinda second nerdy nature.  Obviously, the cracked out picture made me think what the fuck? drew me in, but it was the text that made me think whaaaaat the fucking fuck?? wanna scratch my head.

Ok, here's a hint:

I'm a lady chick and I don't even know what they're talkin' about.  (Which is not a great sign in an advertisement.  ...In fact, clarity is kinda an integral part of what makes an ad successful.  Unless, Squatty Potty is gauging success on the number of times "whaaaaaat the fuck" is the initial response to their ad, if that's the case;  Mission Accomplished.) 

Dear Lady Problems,
As the owner of boobs and a uterus, I'd like to express my sincere gratitude that you have selected some other skirt(s) to harass.  While it's true, your vaugeity and mystery does make me curious about you, (no offense) I hope we never cross paths.  Ever.

Other Odd Ad Posts:

- One Of These Things Is NOT Like The Other

- Built In Redundancy


Sunday, July 14, 2013

~A Nurse Like... Me?

So.  My Nana wants me to become a nurse.

Which, of course is reeeefuckingdiculous.  Likely, without hyperbole, Officially The Most Ridiculous Thing Spoken By A Human On This Day.  ...But then I remember there are politicians and I'm forced to resend my statement.

My problem with nurses?  Nothin'.  Don't have one.  Think they're awesome and frequently credit them as bein' the folks who keep doctors from killin' ya.  Much respect, taps chest with peace sign and sends it up.  My mother is a R.N.  Yes.  My used to be a police officer Mom morphed into a nurse.  It was an interesting raising.  I'm not sayin' to a Dansko, scrub wearin' one, they're all saints.  As in all professions there are some bad ass apples.  I recently had the occasion to encounter several.  ...A story for another day.  But I take no issue with nursing, or nurses.


Note my hand awkwardly hiding my sandwich.
Even tipsy I knew it was wrong to still be able to
enjoy my post glug-glug/soak up the suds nosh.
But as you can see this self realization did not
keep me from giggilin' about it.
In some ways I'd be well suited to nursing.   My squeamish sensitivity is practically zero.  I once held a bucket for my friend as she threw up the evidence of that nights alcohol consumption.  ...As I continued to eat my chicken sammie.  I have a vial containing a few of my kidney stones in the pen holder on the BBG HQ kitchen island.  And I can recall being the catalyst for an enormous argument between my Mom and Dad when as a 8-ish year old LBG (Lil' Brown Girl) and my Mom discovered me perusing one of Dad's text books for his Sargent's exam, as I was wont to do.  As I understand it, it wasn't my quest for knowledge that was the issue.  It was the subject matter.  Ya see this particular study guide was chocked full 'o identifying gunshot wounds.  The difference between entry and exit wounds, stippling, powder burns, residue.  How to visually gauge the distance of the shooter based on caliber.  A .22 leaves this size hole at 3', and this size at 6', etc.  Here's what a .45 looks like at a short and long distance, shotgun vs. rifle, type stuff.  And in what may have made Mom flip her fuckin' wig disturbed Mom the most, the section on head wounds.  All up close and in full color was the chapter on head shots she found me reading up on.  I remember being so intrigued, but never icked out.  Explains a lot, doesn't it?  (Please Note:  Intrigued in the, 'wow, that's how our bodies are workin' on the inside' and 'ahhh, I see the difference between the smaller entry point and the skull flap inducin', gray matter scattering blow out point/I know sumthin' ya'll don't know', kinda way.  Not intrigued in the homicidal triad way.)  I never had a bad dream, and at the time didn't really see why leavin' the instructional manual where a kid might find it was a problem.

I'm physically strong.  I'm usually easily able to explain, and have conversations about tough things to/with people.  I have the temperament to care about people, yet not get invested and attached.  And I'm usually trying to assess situations down range while managing the right in front of your faceness.  It might be surprising to some, but for as flaky, spontaneous, and fly by the seat of my pants-y as I tend to run, I'm generally pretty pragmatic, calm and all about TCB in emergency situations.  Hell, I even keep latex gloves, a tourniquet, some chucks (absorbent pads) and a couple of masks in the BBGmobile.  But really, that's just about being situationally prepared.  (In fairness, I also carry, flares, a flashlight and zip ties in case I have to cuff someone up and there's currently a .223 round in my SUV-y catch all tray.)

It's nice to know that Nana recognizes those traits in me.


What Nana fails to acknowledge are a few of my other traits, like;

  • I cannot fathom a scenario where at some point I wouldn't find myself in a hospital hallway having just smacked a family member.  And that I'm not the sort likely to do well in jail, where after such a smack down I would surely land.
  • Nurses don't wear skirts and dresses anymore.  It's all scrub/uniform pants.  And you know who looks good in scrub pants?  Men and small framed chicks who can still manage to look good in a potato sack.  Alas, I am neither.  I would be miserable sportin' pants on a daily basis.
  • I'm a terrible test taker/studier.  I have a great memory for things I never really had any intention of remembering, trivia, factoids, random minutiae, but things I'm told to remember?  Well, somehow I'm wired so that those go to some other brain-y place where it's super pressure-y to access.  Made all the more helpful by the fact that where scholarly details need to be able to stick is seemingly as slippery as a surface sprayed liberally with Pam.  None of which bodes well for someone required to pass State Boards 'n such.
  • At a certain point, I would consider, 'you need to get the fuck up' a reasonable request of a patient who won't get out of bed to start walking and moving around.  A lil' sumthin'-sumthin' I wondered why no one said to a one time hospital roommate who refused to get up post surgery, as for days they [doctors, nurses, family] ]kept tryin', "now, sweetie, you know it's best if you to sit up on the bed and start to take some walks..."
  • My low threshold for when not my own stupidity.
  • I am severely mathematically challenged.  Is it in any ones best interest to have a nurse who's using her fingers to determine your dosage, or pulse?  (Correct answer:  No.  [with extra credit given for:  Oh, hell fucking no.])
...And those are just a quick few off the top of my head.  I'm confident that with a minimum of consideration I could concoct a list as long as my arm.  ...Sooooo, I suppose we can also go ahead and add lazy to the list of non-nurse-y traits too.   While I feel like that's good enough to take the topic off the table, after Nana mentioned this to me she went on to tell me that she was the person who sold Mom on becoming a R.N.  I gingerly poo-poo'd the notion and swear I could hear a silent, 'challenge accepted' from the other end of the line.

All of the sudden it feels like it's gonna be a long ass summer...

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