Iko Iko

I was recently offered the opportunity at work to switch from rotating days and nights (7a and 7p shifts, both 12 hours) to rotating days and evenings (11a-11p) instead. I debated for a good while about it because A: I really like the people that work nights and B: Nights (in general) aren’t as busy as days or evenings so that leaves free time for fun conversations, homework, or crochet projects. I ended up taking the offer and switching to evenings because working days and nights I felt like my whole life revolved around when I was sleeping.

I will also miss nights because of some of the bizarre shit and fantastic stories that happen when the world is sleeping.

For instance I was working the other night and about 3 or 4am (4am seems to be a general witching hour I think) a 27year old boy signed in with “palpitations and shortness of breath” He was a thin boy, well groomed and gave off a distinct vibe of gay. Not that that’s important I’m just trying to give you a visual and so you can hear what he sounds like with this ensuing conversation. So one of the other nurses went out to get him and I went to help her get things started. He was sitting in the waiting room in a wheelchair and there were two girls with him.

We brought him back alone and started following our chest pain protocols which among other things involves starting an IV. I was starting his IV while the other nurse was asking him all the triage questions. He said he was feeling very anxious and thinks he might be having an anxiety attack. I was at his bedside opening all my IV equipment and had the tourniquet tied around his arm getting ready to start when he says “Wait wait! Can we talk about something else while you do this?! I’m afraid of needles!” The other nurse says “Sure, what do you want to talk about” and he says “Quick does anybody know the words to Iko Iko?” and the other nurse says “Maybe if you start singing we’ll remember the words” So he’s laying there in the bed, tourniquet tied arm straight out to his side and his eyes clamped down tight and he starts singing in this weak tight voice “your grandma and my grandma were sitting by the fire…” I turned to look at the other nurse and we both started laughing so hard. It was just the funniest scene I’ve ever encountered. Of all the songs to randomly bust out with for a 27 year old but this random 1950s/60s song… and he was so serious about singing it and so scared that we couldn’t help but laugh. (not to worry, he joined in too)

While we were getting him settled another older (creepy) guy signed in and the third nurse brought him back and while she was asking him about his medications he was changing into a gown and came over to “take a look” at the list of medications she had in the computer already for him and proceeded to invade her personal space and bump up against her while wearing only his underwear.

Meanwhile, one of our 27year old’s female companions signed in with “possible abscess” so I brought her back to a room and she was telling me about this abscess she had on her back and how she knew someone who had an abscess and it had to be drained and treated with antibiotics… so I say “well let me see”. She takes off her shirt and shows me this spot on her back that she has covered with one of those small circle band-aids. So I’m thinking “welllll, maybe it’s worse underneath” so I peel it off and reveal underneath a very unimpressive ZIT. No honestly. A zit. I had no idea what to write on my triage assessment sheet because is “zit” really a medical term… no, but that’s what it was “pustule” was way too dramatic sounding for what it actually was. The doctors sheet later was even better. She drew a little black spot on the diagram of the back and drew and arrow with the words “single pimple”. It is part of our standard procedure during triage to ask patient’s about substance use, people tend to be surprisingly honest and it’s hard to impress on you how little the nurses actually care what you’re using at home unless you come in unresponsive. I don’t care if you smoke marijuana every weekend, I don’t care if you experimented with cocaine back in the day… and if you tell me you quit heroin three months ago I’m certainly not going to believe you. Anyway so I’m asking her (with her zit) if she’s ever used any substances, and I always suggest “like marijuana, cocaine, or heroin” just so there’s no confusion. She said “noooo” very slowly (but come on, you were clearly up to something tonight) and then closed her eyes, did a whole body cringe and blurts out real fast “okay, I’ve tried cocaine once!” lol. I told her that was fine and then promptly went into the nurses station and reenacted her response for everyone’s amusement.

We had not had any patients for hours and all of a sudden we had three total nutcases. Someone said “Is there a full moon tonight?” I said “I think what happened was the cloud of whatever these people were smoking has parted and the full moon started shining down on them”


Ashes to Ashes

I just found this in my little folder for potential posts from, ahem, my trip to visit my great aunt in January. -I tried to tell you, school is destroying my brain- She was telling us about after her husband died (probably almost 30 years ago now since she’s 96 this year) she’s blind and weighs about 90lbs but her mind is amazingly sharp. Her husband, Higgy, wanted to be cremated, so she did, but I guess he wasn’t real specific about where he wanted his ashes so she decided she would put a little of them everywhere he loved.

So she was telling us how she sprinkled them around their church in Florida, at their cabin in Pennsylvania, his childhood home in Ohio, San Francisco, and then at the beach and a little here and there on every vacation she took after he died.

Anyway then she started telling us how people thought she was just a liiittle bit crazy for taking the ashes everywhere. Then she told us my grandma (who died at 91 in 2005 and had a wicked sense of humor) said to her: “Well I guess when it comes time for the resurrection Higgy’s going to have a heck of a time finding himself!”

Quite possibly the most disgusting entry I’ve ever written

And that’s saying a lot since when I started this blog I used to chop up monkey vaginas for a living and deal with rotting animals left to decay on the lab bench for the weekend by thoughtless fellows.

And don’t forget the mass bird suicide that took place in our fireplace.

Last night after my shower I was brushing my teeth leaning towards the mirror MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS when I saw this out of the corner of my eye…

At first I thought… Why is there tomato sauce on the upstairs bathroom mirror? But it wasn’t spaghetti sauce, we haven had spaghetti in a long time. Then I thought well maybe hubbin’ washed out his taco soup bowl up here? But that’s a strange splatter pattern… Then like bolt out of the blue I realized with horror it was not food. Any guesses?

Come on, you know you want to guess!

It was teenage acne shrapnel. No seriously. I looked a little closer and was certain, that was definitely blood with the extra acne juices and puss splattered across our $450 restoration hardware mirror. I realize you can’t enjoy it up close and personal and in focus like I did. … I even dragged Hubbin into the bathroom to confirm my suspicion.

Here it is in perspective with a tooth brush for scale…. Massive, splattered down the whole side of the mirror. Don’t worry, its Stu’s I wouldn’t think of holding my toothbrush that close to someone’s zit explosion.

Hubbin says he’s going to discuss with Stu tonight the “appropriate acne storage locations”… lol, totally kidding, well not about that, but we were laughing hysterically (and silently) in the bathroom last night while Stu was sleeping.

Ahhh the joys of being a parent….

Erotic Poultry

I just very nearly had an erotic experience with my chick fil a sandwich and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

So I didn’t weigh in today because I was at work- and it was a very long and trying day (I weighed in on Monday at 125.0 and I don’t want to talk about, that’s a 2lb gain in under a week, and sure I over indulged at the superbowl party but not THAT much, so I’m blaming PMS for my period that should start anyday now.. after yesterday… Period? Hello?)

…anyway at the end of the 12 hour day of work hubbin says oh yeah could you stop at bestbuy on you way and pick up this wire? So there I am.. 8pm, having eaten my diet pizza rollup of 290 calories at NOON.. worn out, cranky, both magnified by my extreme hunger going to bestbuy to buy some damn computer wire when I check my iPhone diet program to see what I can have for dinner. Dismayed by my 280 calories remaining for the day…. When oh wait, what’s this? I never ate that protein bar! Sweet! Now I have 428 remaining for the day! And my program says a chick fil a sandwich is 410 with no toppings! eureeka!

I go through the drive through so as not to be suckered in by sights and smells of French fries -come here you attractive little waffle potato you- and order my sandwich plain and no I would not like to make that a value meal. Then I wait 2nd car in line, and I wait, then I put my car in park and I wait, turn it off, and wait I swear a whole 7 minutes has passed and I’ve nearly worked myself into a frenzy of anticipation. Finally I pull forward and pay the teenager with the food who is apologizing for the delay and I don’t know what I said if anything because all I could think was “just hand over the sandwich before someone loses a finger for crying our loud” I swear to you my blood sugar must have been 40 at that point.

That’s when I had my near erotic experience with the chicken sandwich. It was A-MAZING. Worth every calorie.

Not to fear lest you think hubbin is completely insensitive for sending me on retarded errands after a 12 hour shift I got home and he brought me a left over Boston creme donut from his function tonight… Don’t worry, he assured me it was the calorie free kind.

Guilt as a Parenting Tool

Last night was Stu’s winter semi-formal, Hubbin and I went out and did our own thing and were heading home about midnight. Around then Stu called and asked if we could drop him off some stuff at his after party so he could spend the night (sweats, tooth brush, new socks). I wasn’t really tired yet and we were dressed all spiffy still and whatnot so I told Hubbin I’d accompany him to drop off the bag. Stu didn’t give us the right house number so Hubbin was on the phone with the Mother of Stu’s friend while we were walking up the driveway making sure we were going to the right house and the Dad was out on the front porch asking who we were looking for, when we said Stu he waved us on up to the porch and was holding the door open (beer in hand). He shouted in behind him to Stu and Stu came to the door and stood blocking the doorway to get the stuff. Hubbin said in German “What I’m not allowed to come in? You’re boozing aren’t you?” Hubbin was real angry because Stu essentially blocked us from entering and made it a little awkward at the doorway. We left and Hubbin was fuming on the way home about how rude Stu was. Moreso than the teen drinking Hubbin was fuming about how personally rude Stu was.

Stu came home from the party today around noon and I first saw him in the basement while I was loading some laundry. Then he filled up an empty 2 liter bottle full of water and went back up to his room. Hubbin was ready to pounce, but hadn’t seen him yet and ask me if he was home. I said “Yes, and I could be wrong… but he did take 2L of water up to his room so I *think* he might be hungover” I missed most of the conversation but he explained to him that it wasn’t even the drinking (which aside from being illegal is totally against the exchange student program policy and grounds for immediate shipment back to the home country) it was that he acts all smart and shady like he’s getting away with something and he’s totally not either. I mean Hubbin and I both have above average IQs and we didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday, I’m sure 28 & 34 seems all old and crotchety but we’re not old enough to not be wise to your tricks little man. (it is kind of funny because you can totally pick out the lines his friends tell him to feed us to get away with things)

Anyway so Hubbin had a talk with him this morning and I missed most of it, but I did catch the last couple lines that “I don’t want you to be lying to me, you know I wouldn’t give you a hard time about the drinking, a party with the parents there is different than the keg party earlier this year without parents we wouldn’t let you go to. I don’t appreciate being embarrassed that you’re embarrassed I’m there.” 

Then Hubbin came down winked at me and said he was going to “let the guilt simmer for a little while” and asked how I thought he did. We were giggling quietly in the kitchen. I served up some lunch (Stu declined) and while I was in there Stu came into the kitchen and began emptying the dishwasher (his normal chore). Then when I came back in, the dishwasher had been loaded, the counters wiped down (that never happens without asking) the sink had been wiped out (also never happens without asking) and he had moved everything out of the kitchen and was sweeping the floors (never without asking). I told hubbin I think that right there is the confession of a few beers. But when he carried the mop upstairs to mop the bathroom floor (like I asked him to do three times two weekends ago and it never happened) I said “oooh, maybe that’s more than a few beers of guilt right there”

I can take absolutely no credit for this fine day in parenting, Hubbin seems to be quite a superstar parent already 😉

Oh So Manly

Like previous falls it seems a few young squirrels have found their way into our attic. And like past falls we’re actively setting traps so we can relocate them two miles down the road to the lake/park.

Today I walked into the garage to get something out of my trunk while Hubbin was at work, and I heard a rattling on one of the shelves and saw a spazzy young squirrel had fallen for the old peanut-butter-in-a-trap trick and found himself locked in a metal cage. I sent Hubbin a photo and a text praising him as Hunter Gatherer Man of the year and my how manly and brave his hunting skills are.

I was upstairs folding laundry at the top of the stairs when Hubbin got home and he came inside and called “Frau!” jumping to the third step landing putting his fists on his hips and puffing out his chest “have you seen my trophy squirrel?!” looking side to side chest out with mock pride.

Not to worry squirrel activists, the little guy will be released in the park two miles away unharmed albeit majorly wigged out.

Throw me a drumstick

There is a smallish pet store near our house where we occassionally buy crickets. Most of the time we avoid them because The Cricket Nazi works there. The one who counts every little morsel going into the bag because god-forbid our leopard gecko gets so much as a bonus drumstick. (and never mind the crickets that escaped the tank and are crawling on the floor behind the counter)

Tonight the geckos were in need so Hubbin said get 18. 1 dozen for Dre and 1/2 dozen for little dude (the new gargoyle gecko). Tonight The Cricket Nazi wasn’t working and it was a girl
I’ve never seen before.

Conversation at petstore as follows:

SSFB: could I have 18 large crickets please?

Clerk: we sell them by the dozen

SSFB: okay… I’ll take two dozen then

Clerk: I can sell you 1 and a half dozen?

SSFB: *blinks* that’s 18.

She looked down and grumbled something I didn’t understand in response.