Thursday, October 23, 2008


So I'm getting ready to scrub for my case, when the nurse tells me the pt's mom is wiggin' out in the family waiting area, she apparently feels like we're rushing her daughter (who is 29) into the procedure. Never mind that I have had 2 pre-op visits with the daughter, spending the better part of that time talking her out of unnecessary procedures.

Out I went out to talk to mom (while the pt was on the table--too late to cancel) who wanted to talk about natural and organic treatments, as she is convinced that the placement of some "medical device" during a bladder procedure 10 years ago is responsible for her subsequent development of.......(drumroll).......Fibromyalgia!!

"Couldn't we use a laser?" she wants to know.
 What is so fucking magical about lasers, anyway? Do we just point the magic beam at the offending area, then poof, all better now?? no, there is not a laser procedure alternative, and yes there will be absorbable suture and hardware.
"Are we leaving anything in her pristine girl that could leach toxins?" she HATES toxins. toxins, blah blah blah toxins. Are her meridians out of balance? could acupuncture correct the problem?

well ma'am, I do generally entertain these questions with great patience, but baby girl's asleep on the table right now, so let's shit or get of the pot, and girlfriend did sign her consent form (twice, here and in the office) so can I go now?

And the grand finale for this early morning saga: mama was so dang crazed with worry about meridians and toxins, she forgot her lighter, can I help her out cause she's gotta go smoke now. Let's just don't judge, and remember that tobacco is natural, so it can't be bad for you.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

My hurting girded loins

For fun, a picture of some genuine child abusing bullshit, please DCFS, find these people and bring them to justice! I'm sure the kid is still in therapy...or we could be looking at the child version of our very own flappy mouth (see post with same title). If she spends much more time snogging with mullet-man, this is probably what her spawn will resemble. Can you hear the Def Lepord or Whitesnake playing on the 8-track?? Who thinks they are all wearing parachute pants?

Still finding my ownself under the close scrutiny of the DCFS and all, I decided it would not be the best time for the kids to learn to ride motocross. It was a shame to see the one unused bike sitting there all lonely-like, so I girded up my loins and jumped on while the kids amused themselves on the trampoline, a much safer option.
The whole favor that I did for my body by skipping this year's marathon was undone in the first thirty minutes, then I started on the big jumps. This shit is for fourteen year old boys. Next time I go, I'm going to try to be a little drunk so that I don't tense up so much on the falls. Just a thought. Now my legs are so sore I can't even chase the little shits down in order to administer their beatings.

Saturday, October 11, 2008


When the police came today and nearly arrested Nick for child endangerment, and I did not immediately jump to his defense, it was the straw that broke the camel's back; he claimed to want to divorce me!! THE HORROR!! I do not live up to his every fantasy!
Yes, he really said it: "we're getting divorced. I'm moving out." In response I said, "pardon me, I couldn't hear you because the Angels were singing hallelujah to loud for me to hear you."
Anyway, he's since changed his mind. Sheeaat.

To review our family run-in with the law:
Nick decided to take 5 y/o N. to a job which consisted of putting a new roof on a downtown building. After a few neighbors got a glimpse of a little boy running around the non-fenced rooftop, they called the police and related that there was a child on a rooftop who was not being supervised. The police came and told Nick to keep N. off the roof. Nick said ok, and suggested that everyone needs to mind their own business (not always the best approach with the police).

One hour later the police were again called because N. was back on the roof . The police returned to find N. wandering alone and unsupervised through the alley. The cop had to climb up the ladder (which N. had apparently climbed down alone) to find Nick who had not yet figured out that N. had left the rooftop.
Always the diplomat, Nick & the officer begin a discussion resulting in Nick coming unhinged at the suggestion that the above may constitute a lack of appropriate judgment as it applies to parenting.

At that moment I arrived to pick N. up, because I thought he would be getting bored sitting in the storefront shop which is where he was supposed to be playing with his hotwheels . The police officer informed me of the situation, as well as her inclination to arrest Nick; this is when I'm supposed to start belting out "stand by your man" and show family solidarity...instead I threw him to the wolves, agreed that he was and asshole and that a 5 year old child should not be involved in a roofing project.

Nick stewed and sulked and drank and worked out a visitation schedule. Then he went to the police station to inform them that they were WAY out of line, and that he is probably one the very few parents in this world who is actually perfect. With that visit he managed to piss off every cop in the police station; he's just so clever, that man 'o mine.

So for almost 48 hours I felt like a lotto winner, only to have it pulled out from under me when he decided to start kissing my ass and talking about buying me things. DAMN. SO CLOSE.

Next to come: a visit from the DCFS. Due to that upcoming event I guess that I should not opt at this time to go into the woods with whiskey, smokes and a few cans of sardines, not to reemerge until I am visited by visions of an all wise shamen who can tell me how to get that asshole to go away. Maybe later.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Flappy mouth

Yes. That is a banana clip holding back her hair which is lacquered down with aqua net, blue can. remember that shit? Hurricane Ike couldn't move that mess. Also, I think she still drinks Tab. She wears blue eyeshadow and absolutely appalling high-waisted camel-toe ACID WASH jeans. I bet her man's got a mullet.
This is flappy mouth, the most annoying person in my office. Someone musta jacked her in the jaw a while back because she barley moves her mouth when she talks, therefore nobody knows WTF she's saying. All I understand is the final "know what I mean doc?" which she tags on to the end of every sentence. God only knows what I'm agreeing with when I nod in order to get her to go away.
She is not on my payroll so unfortunately I cannot fire her. She spends most of her time trying to get the people who are on my payroll to do her work. She also calls me in when she screws up a blood draw then mysteriously disappears when the victim, er...patient starts complaining about having to be stuck repeatedly. Yup, she's buggin me.

Sweet Maria

N. now has a whole stable of little kindergarten harlots hanging around him. When I pick him up after nap his whole harem runs to give him little hugs. From this, I conclude that he will be either a ladies man or a drag queen, only time will tell...I wouldn't mind having a shopping buddy if it turns out to be the later.

In light of this most recent development, sweet little Maria is now my favorite darling little child. How did she earn this favored position despite some previous reservations I had about her? Well her sweetness and decency just shone through! especially when she told N. that his mommy was SO pretty she could be on TV!! (don't even say she must have meant Cops or Springer, you hurtful assholes). I'm always a sucker for any kind of flattery, and she has been true to her man since pre-K. So my little butterfly Maria, I'm so so sowwy for calling you a skeezer and a skank. And if you do have nits, it just because everyone else does too.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

The line in the sand

Darn. I'm a nagging bitch! My hardworking man can't take it anymore!! He does everything, EVERYTHING for me, and I just want more, more, more.
I have put my foot down and demanded in my evil harpy manner that
1) the garage must be made to accommodate my car
2) there must be a clear path to the laundry facilities
3) clothing that does not get placed into the hamper will not be laundered.

My mate who apparently continues to function a few bars short of a signal, finds these demands absurd because he already does so much work! I guess if he means driving around town picking up shit out of alleys to put in our garage, because he's already filled up his WAREHOUSE with other items that one might find a a flea market, then yeah, he's got his nose to the grindstone. Really though, can one ever get too much busted up shit and empty cans to enhance one's living space? I'm going to end up medicated because he's crazy. Backwards again!! it's a pattern.

I'm happily hiding downstairs in the guest room, because I can see clear evidence of a floor. Sometime during the nights thus far both kids and the dog end up trickling down here, so that all of us are piled onto one twin bed while the Lord of the Manor takes his repose in the massive fancy-mattress kingsize bed. Nonetheless, I like it down here better.
He keeps trying to explain that he's so damn busy being Mr. Mom and pursuing important legal matters that he just can't help me.
That's OK, in fact I'd almost be upset now if he complied, because I like it down here. He can just keep drinking those big cups-o-crazy for now.