tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89654270074624715052024-03-13T19:15:36.993-06:00Do you mean that literally?Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965427007462471505.post-63987885044451284882011-03-16T01:45:00.003-06:002011-03-16T01:50:24.514-06:00...when you need a helping hand.If I make food on the stove or in the oven, it's considered cooking. And if more than one pan gets dirty in the process, you know it's gourmet. I make Helper (as in hamburger and tuna) at least once a week, and I have some tips for classing it up.<br />
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If you are making the hamburger kind, do not drain after browning the meat. You are just rinsing all the flavor down the drain! Yes, the shiny oily stuff = flavor. If you're going to cook the meat and then throw away the flavor, you might as well declare yourself a vegan and go live on a commune and tell yourself that grilled organic portobello mushrooms really satisfy your cravings for cow.<br />
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Throw a can of vegetables in your pan at the end. My favorite is to make the Tuna Helper Cheesy Pasta flavor and dump in a can of french cut green beans. The green color makes you feel good about yourself, like you're actually eating healthy, because green = vegetable and vegetable = good for you!<br />
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Vary your protein additions. If you feel like spending triple the amount of money for something that tastes just like ground beef, try ground bison. If you want your meat to impart absolutely no flavor at all, try ground turkey.<br />
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While simmering, throw in a week's supply each of Klonopin and Ambien. Fight the drowsiness for best effect.Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965427007462471505.post-53102585141249285992011-03-11T13:10:00.002-07:002012-10-19T18:09:57.755-06:00The Deuce.Everybody Poops. At least, that was the title of a children's book spotted by my friend K at her son's daycare. But it spoke the truth. Everybody does poop.<br />
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Are you a shy pooper? I have worked with several women over the years who will leave work and go to a gas station or drive all the way home to poop rather than just poop at work. (Obviously these women were only shy about the act of pooping and not shy about discussing their methodology.) I feel like I strike a happy medium when it comes to public pooping. If I'm at work, or Target, and I have to poop, I head to the bathroom, get the job done, and get out.<br />
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Aaaaannd intermission. Mom, you asked why I don't blog more often. Because this is what happens whenever I open my laptop to do anything besides randomly troll the internets.<br />
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What really annoys me is when people complain about work bathrooms being stinky. Now yes, of course, if the bathroom is filthy, pass it on to housekeeping. But don't be a whiny bitch about normal bathroom odors. Do you really think the person who made that smell did it on purpose? What if you are unknowingly complaining about the smell to the person who caused the smell? You might give them a complex, they will never be able to poop at work again, get constipated, develop diverticulitis, and die of sepsis. You know, best case scenario. My point is, we as humans do not possess the power to make our poop smell like the first rain of spring or freshly baked cinnamon rolls. <br />
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By the way, I was drinking my before work giant cup of coffee while composing this post and needed to take a facilities break. Here is another delay in getting this post out to you, my wonderful internet friends, ASAP.<br />
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Check out my sweet pedicured toes.<br />
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Obviously I have given pooping a lot of thought. I dealt with a lot of poop during nursing school, but those stories involve old sick people and make me sad and I'm not gonna share those. I have also held a lot of low level jobs that required me to clean public bathrooms. How do you get poop on the mirror? But my most memorable poopcident hit too close to home.<br />
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I was living in Kansas City, on the wrong side of the state line--Kansas. I moved into the cheapest apartment I could find in Johnson County. For those of you in the know, the name of the apartment complex rhymes with Fentley Blace. One Saturday afternoon I was doing laundry in the building's laundry room. I opened up the dryer...to find a large, well formed turd in the bottom. Someone dropped their pants, hopped up onto the dryer, and pooped. Super not funny. Soon after, I got an apartment on the Missouri side (North of the River, woot woot) and while I may have had squirrels in my ductwork and had my car broken into, no one ever pooped in the dryer. Missouri is classy like that.Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965427007462471505.post-16795056413498906912011-03-01T12:31:00.003-07:002011-03-02T00:46:10.020-07:00HGTV has ruined my weekends.So this past Sunday, Zac and I laid in bed for two hours watching a Bath Crashers marathon on the HGTV. This show goes to stores like Lowe's and Home Depot and offers people shopping in the store an opportunity to get a WHOLE NEW BATHROOM in three days, for FREE. And people turn this shit down! "No, not interested" or "I can't talk I need a screwdriver STAT" or "I'm in a hurry because I left my baby at home in the middle of a pit of poisonous vipers but I really needed to pick up some light bulbs." Maybe that poisonous viper pit could use a makeover, ehh? Some stainless steel, wainscoting, a few niches here and there for poisonous viper hygiene products to be displayed tastefully, and an ergonomically correct sling for the baby made of recycled plastic shit/hemp/Ikea products. <br />
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We watch a remodeling project on HGTV and get all energized and say "WE CAN TOTALLY DO THAT." Then we start a bunch of really ambitious projects, get angry and frustrated when our skills don't match TV people skills, and I start to throw shit and Zac takes an X-Box break. <br />
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The one project we did finish was laying hardwood floor on both levels of the house. We ripped out the carpet and vinyl and a zillion nails. We rented one of those huge garbage troughs you put in the driveway and got to throw rolls of old carpet and padding into the trough from our bedroom window. Funnest thing evar. I lovingly selected and placed every floor board where it would go and Zac hammered it in. Two years later our floor job is still functional, but the wood has become *gaptastic* in places as well as dented and scratched all over. Whatevs, right? It's character, yalls. Hardwood floor is totally going to make our house stand out when we have to sell, right? Totally.<br />
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Here is a list of projects which have been started and never finished:<br />
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<b>Painting the interior of the house.</b><br />
Zac hates white walls and I like consistency so we decided to paint the house, but all one color. After buying an endless supply of paint samples, I found the right color--Oatmeal, by Ralph Lauren. I still love this color. It sets off our new white trim and it doesn't ever look pink no matter how the light hits it. So we paint. And paint. And argue. And paint. I realize that I fucking hate painting. So we ran out of paint after doing the first coat which looks super shitty and then we were like, "Let's take a break from painting. You know what we should do? Wood stairs and trim!" So the paint job looks awful because my walls are textured and we got sloppy toward the end and now Home Depot doesn't carry Ralph Lauren paint anymore and I have to special order that shit. Someday I'm going to hire professional painters who will use a paint blower and not get it all over the ceiling and kitchen cabinets like we did and it will look SWEET.<br />
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<b>Installing brand new trim around the bottom of the walls and around the doors.</b><br />
We bought a crapload of expensive trim because I WANTED IT. Zac and I had already pulled off the old trim when we were pulling up the old carpet, so we were ready to GO. Turns out that cutting and installing the long straight pieces of trim is easy, but the angles needed for corners and stuff are HARD. Gave up.<br />
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<b>Installing wood stairs.</b><br />
We still had carpet on one set of stairs, and the basement stairs were just roughed in. So we pulled up the last of the carpet, purchased a ton of treads and risers, and set to work. For a day. Gave up.<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b> </b>Now we decide to bring in professionals. Be prepared to yell at me while I tell you how we did this, but just know that there is no shame you can bring upon me that I haven't visited upon myself.<br />
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<ol><li>We decide to look for carpenters on craigslist. BAD.</li>
<li>We interview them in our home and get estimates. GOOD.</li>
<li>We (Zac) decide to hire the two man team based solely on the decision that one of them is wearing a NOFX t-shirt. BAD. </li>
<li> We don't fire them after the first day of laziness ensues. BAD.</li>
<li>We (I) give them a check for the full amount before the entire job was done. BAD.</li>
</ol><br />
Additional problems include me insisting that Zac be around whenever they are in the house after the first day of their shitty work because I was too scared to stand up to them by myself about their shitty work. Yes, I know, I am woman and I am supposed to roar, but I was intimidated and stuff. I still am. Zac is away a lot, further hindering job completion. So here it is over a year later and our stairways and trim are still not finished. Every time I think about this I start feeling helpless over the situation and that makes me frustrated and then angry and this gives me another reason to have Zac around the next time these assholes show up to finish the fucking job they were already paid to do! Right at this moment I am fighting the urge to text Zac and tell him to call the "carpenters" right now. <br />
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Update. I just texted Zac.<br />
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So we got completely uninterested in home projects for a year. Then just a couple of weeks ago, we start talking new kitchen appliances. Then we bring up other old plans--painting the "golden maple" kitchen cabinets, replacing the bathroom vanities, tiling the bathroom floors with tile we bought over a year ago, and tiling our master shower with *gaspOMGWANT* glass tiles, and pulling out our monster of a bathtub and putting in a smaller one to gain some room. There is nothing master about our master bathroom. I hate taking baths anyway; soaking in a hot bowl of my own filth soup is not my idea of relaxation.<br />
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To me, the worst part of this home renovation situation is that I HATE this house. This was our first house purchase and I had no idea what to look for. And Colorado is definitely NOT my forever home, so this house will eventually need to be sold. We thought ripping out all the old cheap builder materials would make our house more valuable, but I think the most we can hope for in this shitty real estate market is that our improvements will make our house stand out in a neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses.Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965427007462471505.post-3089255243154572622011-02-20T14:20:00.006-07:002011-02-28T02:48:54.894-07:00Why I'm Awesome.Lately, I haven't been feeling myself. My confidence has been dwindling at work. I have been neglecting grown-up responsibilities at home. Family and friends have been neglected due to mindless interwebbing and cartoon watching. If I don't do something about this downward shame spiral, I know how it will end--weight gain, bed sores, and a new prescription. So what I am going to do is something I often direct my patients to do--make a list of things I like about myself. And of course, because I plan to be funny about it and like attention, I am making this list public. <br />
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<b>I would survive a zombie outbreak. </b><br />
I have watched a ton of zombie movies and I know what NOT to do when the zombies come. I won't cry while flailing about on the ground because I tripped over a rock and I'm a helpless girl, or try to tongue kiss former loved-ones-turned-zombies, or try to kill zombies using a pocket knife instead of a gun. Should the zombie outbreak occur while I am away from home, I always have comfortable shoes on so I can run without falling and becoming a zombie snack and I carry a large purse that always contains a bottle of water, a snack, antibacterial wipes, and a clean pair of socks.<br />
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<b>I have good hair and pretty feet.</b><br />
Once I've dyed the greys out of my hair and straightened the frizzies, I like my hair. My toes also look great when I've french-tipped them up. <b> </b><br />
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<b>I am not a hoarder.</b><br />
I may have three cats and want more, but I haven't brought any more cats home, have I? And as far as non-living things, I am the anti-hoarder. You will find only one tchotchke in my house and it is three little owls huddled together which I found in a thrift store and sits on the window sill right over my kitchen sink and looking at it while doing dishes makes me happy. Most people walking into my house (because I get SOOOO many house guests popping by) comment on how bare it looks. That's how I like it. Sometimes I get nostalgic for the days when everything I owned could fit into my car.<br />
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<b>I am a good cat-mom.</b><br />
I love my cats. They get the best of everything--the best food, the best toys, the best health care, the best spot on the bed...because they are THE BEST CATS EVAR. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMRtCzjpxUDyVvbqQOfHvF6oo5mpQTLqdJVekvgd48BvUVRcmtXyvuVBitxPU5xaP8YC19atwoBVeZZMy_FnK62m7LD061BZuqPmnOgu_K-Ph-Sj0y6RvANfDbZ8FLDqNAblpXQ-UoPw/s1600/TeeniesInHamper1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMRtCzjpxUDyVvbqQOfHvF6oo5mpQTLqdJVekvgd48BvUVRcmtXyvuVBitxPU5xaP8YC19atwoBVeZZMy_FnK62m7LD061BZuqPmnOgu_K-Ph-Sj0y6RvANfDbZ8FLDqNAblpXQ-UoPw/s200/TeeniesInHamper1.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beans and Molly.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivwb9bcKDtqqsN4QBGdQ522YIMoiWYftiEGNS0lA4phF6805ZPAPT7mIQKy2wOnY02je-JjuBICY6OzH9Viix98XtDWWetbSLlnRQuggycUGsaBQ7IsAgXdXQ6wOa6Qjxy8sedA_aiilw/s1600/LucyRumpleonStairs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivwb9bcKDtqqsN4QBGdQ522YIMoiWYftiEGNS0lA4phF6805ZPAPT7mIQKy2wOnY02je-JjuBICY6OzH9Viix98XtDWWetbSLlnRQuggycUGsaBQ7IsAgXdXQ6wOa6Qjxy8sedA_aiilw/s200/LucyRumpleonStairs.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucy and Rumple. Rump passed away and it was not awesome.</td></tr>
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<b> </b><br />
<b> I am a Stephen King fan.</b><br />
I have read all his books at least twice, and I bet I have reread my favorites over twenty times. If you ever need a Stephen King trivia question answered, I'm your girl.<b> </b><br />
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I don't feel this is my best blog entry ever, but it made me feel better. I also didn't want you to think I had forgotten about you, Constant Reader. (I totally ripped off that "Constant Reader" thing from Stephen King; that is how he addresses his fans.)<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #e06666;"><b>EDITED TO REACH FULL AWESOME POTENTIAL</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #e06666;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #e06666;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
JulieAnn, thank you for mentioning my snackie skills! I have a new entry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<b>I make great balls.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Whenever I want to wow my friends, co-workers, or a whole freakin' party, I bring my Oreo Balls dessert. Only three ingredients but very time consuming to create, these little gobbets of joy always get me compliments.<b> </b>Sometimes my ball creativity works well--like when I fling melted chocolate from a spoon all over the balls and my kitchen--and it makes them look all artsy and professional. Sometimes my ball creativity can be taken as vulgar (besides the fact that they are called "balls"). For a Halloween party, I once coated the balls with white chocolate that had been colored orange, and then added little green dots on top. Pumpkins, right? WRONG. As my beloved but blunt German friend put it, "Melanie, why did you bring a bowl of breasts to the party?" </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">JulieAnn, next time you're in town, you are getting a HUGE box of goodies for being such a good friend.</div>Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965427007462471505.post-6784520887011626392011-01-10T12:29:00.009-07:002011-02-25T10:32:20.826-07:00New boobs!<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">On December 13th, 2010, I had breast reduction surgery.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is something I have wanted to do for myself for 15 years, and I finally did it! There's not a lot of funny or amusing anecdotes regarding this experience, but I'll share a bit of what has been going on.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something positive--I can see my feet!</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something negative--I can see my stomach.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something positive--I have cool scars and can call myself Zombieboob.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something negative--It's been four weeks and I'm still not completely healed, letting me obsess for hours over any tiny changes.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something positive--I love walking around the house topless.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something negative--I also love having the blinds raised and the drapes drawn.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something positive--I can buy bras right off the rack!</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something negative--In four weeks I've already bought ten bras off the rack...bras have become like handbags and shoes for me.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something positive--I've been off work for a month to recover!</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something negative--It's been a month since I've gotten a paycheck.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something positive--Six pounds removed from my chest has completely eliminated my neck and back pain as well as my poor posture.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something negative--Six pounds removed from my chest has changed my center of gravity and I've nearly fallen going down, and up the stairs several times.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My recovery has gone well *knock on wood* and Zac has been taking good care of me. I am returning to work today and am excited to get out of the house, but nervous about getting too tired, possible jostling of the new boobs, or opening up my incisions.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">And no, I will not be posting any pictures. But take my word for it, they are magnificent.</span></div>Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965427007462471505.post-22444813350449470022010-12-08T20:32:00.016-07:002011-02-28T03:15:07.821-07:00Awareness.<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is an epidemic of awareness. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm seeing awareness spread on billboards, bumper stickers, car magnets, shirts, wristbands…these yellow wristbands which have something to do with Lance Armstrong but otherwise only having a vague idea that the yellow wristband is supposed to make me aware of cancer--brain, prostate? And of course, the pink for breast cancer awareness campaign. Using words like "boobies" or "tatas" to make their campaign more edgy, something the kids can relate to. The other day I saw AA batteries packaged in pink with the Susan G. Komen name all over it. Really, fucking batteries? Sorry Lance Armstrong Awareness, Susan G. Komen Awareness is totally kicking your ass.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I've decided to spread some awareness about things that I find important in my life.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Booger Awareness--More prominent in arid regions like Colorado. Giant boogers coating the inside of your nostril. Blow your nose without being aware of having Colorado boogs and you are liable to painfully lose a lot of nose hair. Zac's Colorado Boogers are the size and shape of cornflakes but possess more interesting color hues. I know this because sometimes when he blows his nose, the boogs miss the Kleenex and land on his chest, where I spot them. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Personal Space Awareness--Can happen at any time, but very common during the holiday season. You're out shopping and a stranger approaches, perhaps to look at the same products as you. They are now less than two feet away and show no signs of passing by. My skin starts to crawl and my spine stiffens. If I'm with someone, I've completely lost track of any conversation we're having and my mind has become completely focused on this person who is TOO CLOSE. If I didn't care about being seen as socially awkward or getting arrested for assault, it would be at this point that I would start to sing, softly at first, then louder, "You're on a highway to the…DANGER ZONE!" and punch this person in the throat. Thank you, Kenny Loggins.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Squirrel Awareness--This usually happens when you're driving through your neighborhood, almost home, lost in thoughts of what to have for lunch ZOMG squirrel! This can also apply to cats, dogs, deer, or anything else alive, in the road, and in the path of your vehicle suddenly.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Vaccination Crazypants Awareness--Yuuuup, you knew I would have to throw some awareness in here that applies to healthcare workers. This is recognizing the batshitcrazy look that comes into someone's eyes when you have asked them if they got the flu vaccine this season, or if their child's immunizations are up to date. These people have done some serious research (googling "vaccines bad" on the interwebs) and are appalled that you would even suggest they pump themselves or their children full of unnatural harmful chemicals. Thanks, Jenny McCarthy, for getting the world all riled up over ONE study that had a total of twelve test subjects and that has now been retracted. So fine, object to immunizations for "spiritual reasons". But just know that the reason your kid doesn't get pertussis or polio or mumps is because other people got their kids immunized, not because these diseases have been eradicated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Cat Person Awareness--This is the warm glow I feel when I learn that a new acquaintance owns one or more cats. Do they like to talk about their cats? Do they want to hear about my cats? Do they have cat pictures with them? Do they want to see my cat pictures? Everything else that I have got going on at the moment fades into the background as I get ready to tell my Cat Stories Greatest Hits and it can take me awhile to get back to work or whatever else I'm doing.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Awareness Awareness--Since you're reading my blog, you are now aware of the Awareness Campaigns out there, and are a part of the socially conscious awareness community!</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">It takes very little effort to be an aware hipster douchebag. Buy a shirt. Give up Facebook or Starbucks or food for 12 hours. Twitter or change your Facebook status about it before you do it so everyone knows. Bitch and moan about the inconvenience but say it's totally worth it. Become tearful when talking about the cause. Make sure not to put in any actual physical work. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">To do my part, I give money to my local animal shelters so I know somewhat where the money is going and what it's being used for (See? I am not a douchebag.). I know that the money spent on bumper stickers and pins and wristbands only goes into making and selling more bumper stickers and pins and wristbands. And I hate hate HATE the TV commercials with homeless and abused pets with big sad eyes looking at the camera through cage bars. I'm already aware that people treat animals like trash but now I have to cry for an hour about the kitty I just saw on TV with a bloody nose. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">And now I've made myself sad so I'm going to go cuddle the kittehs and remind them of how lucky they are.</span></div>Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965427007462471505.post-3598133854080975012010-11-14T14:45:00.010-07:002012-10-19T18:10:34.871-06:00Welcome to the nuthouse.<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am a psychiatric nurse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Psych is my nursing specialty by choice. I've been told several times, by people who are or are not in the health care field, that I am not a "real nurse". It is true that my day doesn't consist of hanging IV antibiotics, doing wound care on stage four pressure ulcers, or participating in codes. But mental health care is still health care, and it is an important part of maintaining a healthy body and mind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My job is less physically tiring, but more mentally tiring than your average nursing job. I spend my days talking to people who are at what may be the lowest point in their lives. And I'm not just having conversations; I have to monitor everything I say in the name of therapeutic communication. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I believe that mental health care is underfunded and overlooked, and that the stigma attached to seeking mental health care prevents many people from getting the help they need. I take my job seriously and am passionate about mental health care.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That being said, let me share with you some key points regarding psychiatric nursing.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u>Bad Ideas That Get You Hospitalized:</u></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">Showing up at your local Emergency Room and telling them that you took an overdose consisting of a bottle of Vicodin when you actually only took ten tablets of Motrin. They will pump your stomach full of charcoal, start IV fluids, put you on a 72 hour hold, and send your ass to me. The ER staff and I will see your toxicology results and know you lied. And if you did this to get the attention of the boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse who just dumped you, you have only given them another reason to breathe a sigh of relief that they are now free from your dramatics.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">In the same vein *HA*, superficially scratching yourself across the wrist with a dull dinner knife, showing up at the ED, and telling them you tried to kill yourself. Once again, you will be graced with my bright and shiny face for 72 hours. I have cat scratches on my arms RIGHT NOW that are more serious than your "injury".</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Ingesting mind altering chemicals. If you decide to go against my advice, then do not proceed to get nude/run onto the highway/hump police cars/think you're the messiah. If you're lucky, you will sober up from your ordinary marijuana high or LSD trip in my company over the next 72 hours, learn a lesson, and go home. If you're unlucky, the marijuana you smoked may have been laced with PCP or formaldehyde. Welcome to your first psychotic break! Your brain is now permanently altered and the rest of your life will consist of crippling audio and visual hallucinations, delusions, and the horrible side effects from the anti-psychotic drugs you will now have to take for the rest of your life.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Threatening anyone's life. Do not tell a co-worker you want to kill your boss. Do not hold a gun to your spouse's face. Do not try to run over your brother-in-law. Do not beat your stepchildren. It will take much longer than 72 hours to convince staff that you're "all better". And threatening staff upon arrival to the psych unit, which may be momentarily satisfying, might just get you a 90 Day Certification. Up to 90 days of ME as your nurse, hooray! </span></li>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">Refusing to remove your shoelaces, belt, and drawstrings, or refusing to allow staff to perform a body search. Congratulations, you now are a 1:1, which means a staff member will ALWAYS be within an arm's length of you. Good luck taking a satisfying shit with an audience!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Refusing to give up any weapons. If you're lucky, staff will quickly take you down to the ground, I will give you a shot in the butt, and you will have a nice eight hour nap. If you're unlucky, staff will call the police, the police will hit you with the Taser, and you will go to jail. Either way, the weapon will be given up.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Threatening to hurt staff or other patients. My staff just drank two Rockstars apiece and are looking forward to burning off some excess energy. Once again, you will be taken to the ground, shot in the butt, eight hour nap. Plus, this little show guarantees extra good behavior from your fellow patients, who just witnessed the event and saw me smile as I gave the injection.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Hurting yourself superficially on my watch. Since you have very limited options in the carefully controlled environment of an acute psychiatric unit, you have probably scratched yourself with your own fingernails, on the toilet paper dispenser, or using the radio antenna. If it was the first two, you will be instructed to talk to staff when you feel like hurting yourself, and then any other attention seeking behavior will be ignored. If it was the radio antenna, your peers on the unit will make your life miserable when we remove the radio from the milieu due to your antics.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Hurting yourself seriously on my watch. To the drug addicts who punch walls or slam hands in doors--was the permanent nerve damage really worth the Percocet? To the suicidal with serious intent--please talk to staff. I'm not being heartless when I take away your bedding, I'm keeping you safe.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Staff splitting. If one staff member tells you "no", do not ask the same question to another staff member. We will find out what you are doing and you will lose all privileges. Say goodbye to your cigarettes and the telephone.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Forming romantic relationships with other patients. This turns out badly in so many ways. And please don't try to have sex on the unit. We will find you during the act. You will be moved to another unit. The only other unit available is for the actively psychotic and it is scary. And good luck with your newly acquired Hep C.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Trying to manipulate me, your nurse, into giving you extra pain medication or benzos. I'm talking to you, detoxing addict who doesn't want help. We call this "med-seeking behavior" and I am charting it on your record right now. I understand that as soon as you are discharged, you will go back to your Oxy/Perc/Xanax/Klonopin abusing ways, but I will never be your drug dealer.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-size: large;">Out-Patient: If you're feeling depressed, go see someone. If you're feeling suicidal, GET HELP. If you're embarrassed, get over it! There is no shame in getting therapy and/or taking medication. Listen to your therapist/psychiatrist and do what they say, no matter how stupid or silly you think it is.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">In-Patient: Play an active role in your treatment. Do our packets and questionnaires. Write in the journal we give to you. Participate actively in groups. Talk openly with staff. We know that this is a hard time in your life, and we are here to help you. But we cannot do the work for you; we can only give you the tools to help yourself. </span></li>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have only scratched the surface on the topic of psych nursing, but I am going to spend the rest of my day off NOT thinking about work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And to the public--stay crazy, I need the job security.</span></div>
Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965427007462471505.post-64551720839390593112010-11-08T22:18:00.002-07:002011-02-27T01:16:58.950-07:00Snoring is stupid.<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before I get to the main topic, snoring, I want to share a conversation I just had with my spouse.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Me: *flopping down on the bed* "I was going to blog something but I'm just not in the zone."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Zac: "You better get in the zone, or you're just going to peter out and never write again..."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Me: "Whatever! I tried, and I have ideas, but I just can't do it."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Zac: "Go blog about how I was snoring earlier."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Me: "What, that you were snoring earlier? That would be one sentence. You were snoring earlier."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Zac: *relates previous snoring incidents I could write about*</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Me: *getting off bed* "Fine, I'm going to go blog about you snoring."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Zac: "Don't force it or you won't be funny." *as I'm walking out of the room*</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Zac's verbal and nonverbal messages to me are always this super consistent. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, Zac snores SUPER LOUD. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I am tired or when I have to be up the next morning, this makes me angry. Not just somewhat ho-hum irritated, but red faced, clench-fisted, hypertensively angry. So I shake him, wake him up, and tell him to stop snoring. After this happens several times, we yell at each other, say we're sorry, and then Zac goes to sleep in the extra bedroom. I used to think that it was bad or unhealthy for married people to sleep apart if they were in the same house, but I think the extra bedroom has saved Zac more than once from being suffocated in his sleep by my favorite pillow that I got at Walmart that is the OPPOSITE of memory foam of which I detest and may be the topic of a later blog post. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">One time, when Zac was snoring super loud and I didn't have to be up early the next morning and therefore wasn't in a red rage, I decided to record him with my cell phone. Zac doesn't understand the volume, intensity, and lack of rhythm to his snoring and it was going to be awesome to have proof. So I recorded it and then played it for my own enjoyment. The recording came out so loud and perfect it surprised me and was super funny and I couldn't stop laughing and my laughing woke Zac up so I played the recording and he said "that's not me you made that up" and went back to sleep.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes the snoring will wake me up, but most of the time I am never asleep by the time the snoring starts. This is because Zac falls asleep five seconds after he closes his eyes. I need at least 30 minutes to flop around in bed, tell my brain to shut up, try to distract myself with thoughts of kittens and cake and cookies and nachos...and then I need a snack so I go downstairs, bring my loot back upstairs to eat, forget a drink so I have to go back down then up again...eat my fud, finish watching whatever TV show I put on to watch while I ate, lay back down, think about all the mistakes I made at work that day or all the socially awkward things I said to acquaintances, beat myself up, tell my brain to shut up, and so on and so on...until I eventually tire myself out enough to pass out from mental exhaustion...either that, or the Lunesta finally kicks in. So we tried to have me fall asleep first, but it rarely works. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Also, sometimes, I will hold cat fur or blanket lint under Zac's nostrils and see if he will suck it in. I'll try and get a video of that next time.</span></div>Mellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14059447601835165039noreply@blogger.com3