Sorry for a particularly long absence for anyone that likes to listen to me rant and rave over and over again. It was brought to my attention that I was becoming more and more eccentric/crazy so I decided to take a little break. I now return to blogging one appendix lighter. I was pretty sure I was unbreakable until one day at 4am, an enormous pain in my right side got worse and worse. A few hours later I was in surgery and had to have my appendix out. The surgery itself was not really that bad. Three incisions and they just yanked the sucker on out. The worst part came about 5 hours later.
I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I have a debilitating fear of going to the bathroom in public places. Sometimes it's really bad, usually when I've been drinking and have to go the bathroom all the time. Sometimes I just need a stall and a few seconds of quite time to work through all of my mental instabilities. One time, I now know when it is not fine, is when I have been pumped full of normal saline all day and have been given several pain killers. I was able to go to the bathroom once after surgery with a little patience and my iPhone. Finally time to check out of the hospital a few hours later, and things were not going as smoothly. After about 20 minutes of meditating to a running faucet, there was not relief to a growing bladder that was still being pumped full of saline. After a quick ultrasound to reveal a very full bladder(which I already knew), it was time for my greatest fear ever, a catheter. Getting a catheter was the first question I asked when I found out I was going to have surgery. I didn't care about my odds of survival, I just didn't want a needle in my bladder, nor the path it took to get there. But they were not going to let me go home without emptying my bladder, so I conceded.
I asked if they could knock me out first, I even offered to let the nurse just punch me in the face, but to no avail. She assured me it was a simple procedure and I wouldn't feel a thing. WRONG! After about 15 minutes of me squirming and swearing, I convinced her to give up. Not a drop escaped my body. It's a strange feeling, because it felt like I was going the whole time, but nope, not a drop. I then asked for some Xanax of Ativan just to calm my nerves so I could give the traditional method of urinating another try. I was denied that, but they did offer me some Demerol instead. "You can't have one Xanax, so here's a narcotic instead." Thanks backwards logic nurse. I didn't have the heart to tell her this did not make any sense after the ordeal I just put her through, so I said "sure".
I retreated back to the bathroom and turned on the faucet, shower, Pandora on my iPhone, and did a little Facebook stalking. After about 20 minutes I finally started to get small trickle going of the longest, most painful, and most satisfying pee I've ever had. The catheter attempt made going to the bathroom and rather painful experience for the next couple days, but at least I could go again. The moral of the story is I don't like catheters.
An extra long blog to make up for a year's absence.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
I don't want to stereotype people, but I'm going to. Black people have crazy-ass fingernails. I have seen women with 4-inch finger nails all bedazzled up and I have seen them yellow and cracking. Either way I don't want to touch them as you hand me your money. They look like they are going to snap off at anytime, and are probably festering with rabies or some zombie creating virus. The only thing more disgusting than some of the nails I encounter on the women, are the ones on the men. I am pretty sure clippers have not made their way into African-American culture yet. Men just let their nails grow out until they look like Lo-Pan from Big Trouble in Little China. In the spirit of Jeff Foxworthy, "If your fingernails are 3 inches long and covered in grime, then you might be a black man."
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
I've had some interesting names the last few nights. I work near Gary, IN, so needless to say the nearby population has a long history of making up bizarre names. When random foods start becoming commonplace names, that's when I start to get excited. I'll save my favorite for last. The first name I came across was Vanilla. Kind of a boring first a name. (Get it!! I am making fun of it because vanilla is synonymous with boring.) It gives me pause to think that a black person would be named Vanilla. On one hand, vanilla ice cream is white, but on the other, the vanilla you bake with is a brown color. I think Vanilla Ice really sealed the deal by making me think white, though. Okay, here is my favorite one of the last few nights....Lasagna. Even if you were a Jersey Shore Italian Guido, I think you would be the black sheep of the group being named Lasagna, and I am pretty sure this individual was not Italian. What really kills me is I have no doubt that it is probably pronounced nothing like the delicious pasta dish. If I had to guess I would say it is pronounced laz-ag-na. I almost question whether or not the parents knew they were naming the kid an Italian dish at the time. What I see most of the time just seems to be a bunch of random syllables crammed together to form some type of word, and BOOM, that's the name. I really love it when to spice it up, they start throwing punctuation into the mix as well. Lots of unnecessary hyphens and apostrophes have become the style as of late. I'll keep my eyes pealed for more delicious names and keep everyone apprised.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
It was a typical night at work. Just kicking ass and filling scripts, when an interesting question came up to the consultation window, "Yo, do you you guys have any taco bread?" I assume I misheard the question for two reasons. Number one, what is taco bread? Number two, it surely is not a medical question worthy of coming to the pharmacy area. I ask the gentleman to repeat the question and his response is, "Taco bread, where is it? I found the taco seasoning, but where be the taco bread?" He responds while holding up a pack of taco seasoning. Obviously I was hearing the taco part right. My first thought is possibly taco flavored Doritos, since those are delicious, so I ask him if that's what he means. "No!! You know, taco bread! To put the tacos on!" I at this point have figured out what he wants, but my brain is unwilling to accept that he is referring to tortillas shells as taco bread. I say, "do you mean tortilla shells?" And of course is response is, "yeah, taco bread!" I point him up to the grocery isle and that is the end of the interaction. Not sure if we sell tortilla shells or not. I then brought the encounter up with my techs the next night to get their take on it. One tech thought it was hilarious. The other tech did not see why it was funny, she also refers to tortilla shells as taco bread. After a quick survey of my techs, it has been determined that roughly 50% of the African-american community refers to tortilla shells as taco bread. I still cannot wrap my head around this one.
Friday, May 25, 2012
After about a month long search, we are in the process of purchasing our first home. Very exciting...blah..blah..blah. But what I have learned the most from the whole process is that I strongly dislike the show House Hunters International. I found myself watching a lot of HGTV and DIY during the whole house search. Shows like Property Virgins and House Hunters were good to get an idea about what I was looking for, how much things cost, and the overall process of buying a home. I also got caught up in Bathroom, Kitchen, Room, and Yard Crashers, just to get an idea of good projects. There was, however, one show that pissed me off: House Hunters International. The show can be broken down to two possible premises:
1. Rich-ass people in the United States buying an extravagant vacation house overseas
2. People overseas moving to another non-American location
I don't give a shit about rich assholes who have so much money to piss away that they have decided to buy a house that they will live in maybe one month a year. A lot of these people buy houses in South America because it's a little cheaper. Just where I want to move, a land where the chief economic intake comes from drug lords and hiding Nazi criminals.
The other possible plot of the show usually take place when a dirty European person has decided to move from on former Communist dirt hole to another. What do I care about the Eastern European real estate market. I don't even know the exchange rate, these prices mean nothing to me! The houses make no sense either. No closets, laundry in the kitchen/bathrooms, and some bizarre electrical system; just what I want to watch on television. The dirty real estate agents are near impossible to understand, and seem to care less whether their clients are happy or not.
I would rather watch a Rumba floor cleaner bounce around the room than watch House Hunters International.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
I have recently found myself jumping on the bandwagon of popular book series. I have yet to stoop to reading the Twilight books, and it is unlikely that I will. I cranked through the Hunger Games books in about 2 weeks, which seems to be slow after talking to several other people. Was anyone aware of that trilogy before the movies were going to be made? I heard nothing about them before that. There was no big hype or anything from book to book. I never saw or heard anyone excited to hear how the trilogy was going to end. Everyone seemed to have read all three book in one sitting without any delay. I also just finished the first book of the Game of Thrones series. After reading the Hunger Games books, these are much longer and has about 300 characters with names even crazier than the Hunger Games. The first one was a good read though, and I have already moved on to the second book. I am on the fence on whether I want to watch season one of Game of Thrones on HBO though. I am pretty sure season one only covers the first book, so I would not be spoiling anything, but I sometimes don't like to change my view of characters to coincide with the movies. Case in point would be the Hunger Games. For those of you who have read them, I did not picture Haymitch to look anything like Woody Harrelson. I pictured him more to look like Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies. I was much happier with my own delusions on that one, hence my apprehension about watching the show. May the odds be ever in your favor, and winter is coming.