A Christmas Story

I truly have been neglectful of updating lately; this is largely because my new hobby removed me temporarily from the activities of daily life. Mr. Bunker drove me so @**%# crazy that I found solace only in watching SportsCenter. I opted to stay there with my sports-caster TV friends until I got sick of beer commercials & hearing about the kid locked in the shed. It was fun while it lasted, but now I'm all sobered up and ready to take on 2010, tumors, half wits, annoying husband, and all.

Mr. Bunker was off of work for the better part of December. This calamity allowed him time to erect the artwork below, which evokes in me the similar cringeful emotion experienced by the wife in "A Christmas Story" when her husband joyfully displayed the scandalous leg lamp above.

Archie took a month off of work because his back hurt SO MUCH that he couldn't drive around in his truck all day for his job. Of course he was unable to get his mountain of shit out of the garage due to this severe and disabling injury, however he somehow was able to muster the power to conceive of and compose (or shout at Jose and Hector while they composed) his 2x 4 opus which is the eyesore depicted below.
This is a 16 foot tall retarded looking plywood star located in my parkway. My kids make more appealing art out of Popsicle sticks and glitter even with some stay hairs thrown in. And Why?
....Because last year Archie got the church's cast-off 16 foot tree, which he put out front and trimmed in a style sparkly enough to make Carmella Soprano blush with it's glittering excess, and apparently EVERYONE who gazed upon it had some kind of epiphany (or possibly a seizure).

This year all those so profoundly touched by the great beauty of the tree were asking him what glory he would bestow upon the neighborhood this year. EVERYONE!! So you see, he felt duty-bound to present all these many souls with a suitable encore.

At some point when this project was under way, he proudly told me that he was going to create a giant star of David. I mentioned that that was kinda weird being that we're not Jewish, and he went away for a while, but apparently did not abandon the project entirely.
Would someone please come throw a match on this stupid thing??
Mr. Bunker thinks its a smashing success, because "people stop to look at it!"
So does the Bonehead not know that people also stop to look at train wrecks as well as many other types of disasters?

He did take a brief respite from his toils so he could get me my Christmas present. Or presents, depending upon whether a set of tires is considered plural or singular.

So anyway, happy New Year. This is the year that my frog will turn into a prince. I just know it!

Office Managment

Behold, Mary Mother of GOD

That's right, my little cupcake has landed the lead in the Christmas pagent. From Zombie Cheerleader to the Holy Virgin! Get her an agent! The Boy is a lowly shepard, but he wins at the end of the day as he was the Baby Jesus in his first year of life; hard to beat that one...even though he got a terrible crotch rash from the hay that somehow got into his swaddling diaper.
It's not even officially winter and suddenly it's become COLDER THAN A CORPSE'S CUNNY. Pardon the vulgarity, but there is really no polite way to describe these conditions. Zero degrees this cheerful AM, the inside of my freezer is warmer. Of course my car is frozen solid on the street because the garage is still full of busted up lawn ornaments (never mind our lack of a lawn) and a few skids of mismatched marble tiles slated for no apparent destination. This is probably just as well, because if I found it cleaned out at this point I would probably soil myself and ruin my fabulous hosiery.
The good news is that due to the vicious climate, I require new boots and fancy stockings to keep warm because of my delicate constitution. The weather is tiresome but the wardrobe change is good for the soul.
December is the month when chronic conditions suddenly become urgent because everyone who has met their deductible and has a few sick days left needs everything they can get NOW. Clock's tickin' baby, and I'm not too proud to glom on to what I can get before the new calendar year starts and everyone realizes that they're broke & they can live with those chronic conditions for a while longer.
The kids have runny noses and I've only baked one batch of Christmas cookies. I'm buried under paperwork, haven't shopped & my lips are chapped.

I am also the most inept office manager ever. EVER.

I Slept With Tiger Woods!

That there is one big honker of a tumor. It's bigger than an egg. It is attached to a patient from our free clinic. It's been bugging Dr. P.A. and me for ever; that thang has got to go. We've been poking and prodding it for months, tried needle aspiration under local which is about all we can offer at our shelter/clinic. Naturally the patient doesn't have a pot piss in, he's totally uninsured and scared to go to County because they'll likely just hack the entire limb off.

He could be mistaken for a CEO if you spotted him from across the street, but when you get a little closer you can see that the overcoat is little tattered and he smells like bung-choda. He always waits his turn very patiently, reads books about origami, and has a list of well thought out questions regarding treatment options. We're very curious about his past, but we don't generally ask too many questions at our little clinic where all you need for treatment is a signature on a consent form, and it doesn't even have to be your signature. We've had charts for Elvis, Jesus, Osama bin Laden and the Lone Ranger.

Favors were called in, and an MRI was obtained and pathology services secured. Based on the MRI it was a solid well encapsulated mass, which means it should pop out easier than boobies from a big girl's blouse, unless there is extensive investment of tendons or nerves, in which case it could take a little work.
It's difficult to set up a procedure when your patient doesn't have a phone number or a reliable address, but yesterday after much anticipation, the big day finally came. We had to do it in the procedure room in the office because no self respecting hospital or surgery center is going to donate anything to anyone.

Block, prep, drape, exsanguinate, apply tourniquet, cut and SQUIRT right onto my new school marm specs. BLOOD FOUNTAIN. This was not supposed to happen, it was not supposed to be vascular. We checked for this, and you asshole that's sniffing and saying we should have had a venous Doppler, yes you are correct, but you do it better for free. First time I ever saw a pumper with a tourniquet on, I would have been less surprised to find and ectopic pregnancy or a creepy alien. This presented a problem in that we can't have that much bleeding in an office procedure, it's against the rules, and we were flat running out of sterile gauze. It's also bad when it's under local because that means the patient is fully alert on the other side of the drape and you can't swear or even depart from a monotone. The plume of smoke produced by the cautery, the mounting pile of bloody gauze and the calls for ties, ties and more ties might have been a hint that something was amiss, but he just reclined and reviewed his origami manual. For all the ado, we ended up with a large (securely closed, hemostats achieved) incision and a 4mm punch biopsy for path. Damn. More frustrating that trying to get Mr. Bunker to put his socks in the hamper.

And yes I'm positive I slept with Tiger Woods. It was a few years back, but I'm sure it was him. Or I guess it really could have been David Letterman, hard to tell them apart. I'll just wait to see which bunch is getting the better payout and jump on the pile right after my tearful interview with TMZ.