Compassion, where art thou?

I lost a patient today.

When I saw his wife crying I thought “rather her than me.”

I have never felt so guilty in my life.

Just in case you miss me…

I, apparently, am not allowed enough time to write a whole blog post at the moment, just lots of bits of them. If you’re really desperate to find out what amazing (and when I say amazing, I mean stupid, irritating and just plain strange) people I’m meeting, click here.

It’s tons easier to update things when you can only write a sentence or two.

London (part 1)

In London, it was 80 degrees and sunny the whole time I was there, so when I arrived back in New York last night, imagine my “delight” when I was met with this. By the time I got into my apartment, my shoes were filled with water and my bags and everything in them was damp. I suppose that part was my fault… I’d had to dig around in the bottom of my purse while I tried to remember where I’d put my keys so I wouldn’t lose them. It’s always some really obscure place that seems like a good idea at the time. You know, the main part of your purse, for example.

I opened the door to my apartment expecting a rush of paws, ears and fur only to be met with two very exasperated looking dogs. It was as if they were saying “do you realize how long we’ve been waiting here, young lady? We heard you outside, you know” only, obviously it would be in French because Bo, at least, doesn’t speak English. Obviously.

I stepped over the wall of precisely two dogs and left them judging the door instead. I could, of course, have stepped around them but I was trying to make a point… To, uh, a pair of small dogs. Oh.

In London, thankfully, there were no small dogs to judge me when I came home later than expected. I didn’t have to explain why, when I brought a number of bags of shopping home, none of them contained doggie treats either.

I feel like I should explain this whole running away to London. A few months ago, I was in need of some inspiration, for lack of a better word. Perhaps it was more reassurance that moving over there was the right decision but either way, I was doubting myself. Now, having just started a new job, the chance of being given the time off work was smaller than a nano flower so I tried to push it to the back of my mind. I figured that eventually, something would happen to help me decide one way or another.

So, weeks later, everyone was arguing over who got to work over easter. Apparently work means far more to a lot of people than a chance to sit back and relax, you know, doing something like bungee jumping or skydiving. My boss who, by now, was looking slightly… puffier than usual asked if I would mind taking that weekend off. I told him I didn’t have a problem with it at all but then remembered that it was a big deal and should probably seem slightly disappointed so I looked at my feet and, well, acted disappointed. I think he was gone by the time I’d figured out what disappointed looked like but at least I tried.

And that’s how and why I got to go to London. Now, it would have been easy just to go and spend some time shopping or enjoying some English candy, but it wouldn’t really tell me whether or not I wanted to work there. What if their medicine was backwards, upside down and boring? Eventually, after harassing many, many people quite gently over MSN, I was offered a few days following an English doctor, you know, just in case they have three heads over there. Or something.

When I met him, I discovered that he did not, in fact have three heads. I’ll admit I was a little disappointed but also fairly relieved he was normal enough that I didn’t have to worry about leaving alive. He did, however, have a funny accent although I have a feeling that just how English people speak.

One of the first patients was an 18 month old baby with an ear infection. It wasn’t anything I’d hadn’t seen before, but the baby’s sister/nanny seemed to be overly attached to him, as if she was his mother. After they left, the doctor (who will now be known as English Doctor or ED for short) asked how old I thought the girl was. She seemed too young to be his mom but not that young so I offered a guess at 19. He laughed and told me that “mom is 17.” And then my innocence bubble burst.

It’s not that I didn’t know there were 17 year old girls in the world with babies, its just I’ve never met one before. In fact, in the two days I was with ED I saw one pregnant 16 year old, two 17 year olds with babies and one 18 year old with a three year old. I was really surprised to meet so many young people with children. At 19, I don’t think I could cope with having one.

Another patient that sticks in my mind was a man in his 60’s who’d spent four weeks with bloody diarrhea. He explained that his wife had been sick and was very stressed about it so he’d been taking care of her. Instead of worrying her about something “that is probably nothing, anyway” he’d put it off until she went into hospital so that he wouldn’t have to tell her about it.

Despite the fact his clothes were hanging loosely around him, he insisted his appetite was fine and that he hadn’t lost weight. He could have been telling the truth and just liked his clothes that way but I doubt it. When ED told him it was “most likely something bad,” the man seemed far more concerned about who would take care of his wife.

It really bothers me that he felt that he couldn’t tell his wife that he was sick. I mean, sure it hurt her for a while but surely upsetting her and surviving would be better than not upsetting her and dropping dead a few months later.

When I asked ED why he never told the man he probably had cancer, he replied; “A patient only remembers 10% of what you tell them. If you use words like cancer, no matter what the context, it’s likely that cancer will be the only thing they remember. I don’t like my patients to worry until I’m sure they have something to worry about.” I think that’s possibly one of the most useful things I’ve learned in a loooooong time.

ED told me on Friday that the man had missed his appointments at the hospital and that he’d never called back about his test results. If it were me, I think I’d want to know so that there was an answer one way or another. I’d hate to leave something like that to a point it couldn’t be treated only to find that I would have survived if I’d gone back to the doctor. If it were you, what would you do?

In my hospital, we don’t do vomit

I’m shocked to find I missed something so very important in my last post

I don’t DO vomit.

After forgetting to mention that little fact, I spent a week at work where everyone seemed to want to puke on me. Most of the time, they aim for the pants, which is slightly but not hugely gross, however:

I have had someone barf on my uniform, which in itself isn’t all that bad, however, picking carrot chunks out of your pockets, off your pens and whatever else just happens to be in there is more than a little gag worthy. If you must show me what you had for lunch, please aim for the floor.

And when I say floor, I mean the floor. It is equally unacceptable for you to empty your stomach contents into my shoes. Sure, my feet are in there but they just so happen to have a nice open top letting your semi digested sandwich run into them so it sits comfortably around my innocent toes. Aim to the side of you, it’s a much nicer way to barf, anyway…

But when you’re aiming to the side of you, make sure that I’m not standing there. I don’t want your half chewed McDonalds breakfast burger washed down (and back up again) with a diet coke running down into my bra. Attempting to feed my breasts won’t make them any bigger, they’re just not hungry.

Normal posting will resume as soon as I stop coming home from work needing to scrub various patients gastric juices off myself and my shoes.

In my hospital, it works like this

Relatives:
1. You are at the hospital because your child/sibling/partner needs medical care. Now is not the time to tell me about your itchy foot or how you can’t remember what you ate for dinner last night – I really don’t care.

2. Unless the patient is unable to answer my questions for themselves, you should sit quietly and let them speak. When I ask your friend how they are feeling, I don’t want to know that you’re tired or thirsty. The coffee machine is down the hall, take a hike and leave us to it. Additionally, it is equally unhelpful for you to add “but he cut his thumb three months ago” when I ask about any other injuries/illnesses.

3. If your child/sibling/partner needs an IV or a shot and you know you’re not good with needles, leave the room or look away. Standing there going “I think I’m going to throw up” or “I feel kind of light headed” while doing absolutely nothing about it will not help you or your child/sibling/partner. Remember, you are here FOR the patient, not to BE the patient.

4. If you’re going to be concerned about something, at least google it before going wild with the baby wipes. Just so you know, the broken hand your child/sibling/partner has is not going to increase their risk of getting MRSA so the wet kleenex you insist on rubbing all over my patient is somewhat pointless. Besides, hospitals are the germiest places in the world… if you’re worried about getting sick, you’re in the wrong place.

5. Get out of the way when I tell you to. Grabbing at the patient and insisting you hold their hand/sit on the bed/massage their feet is not particularly helpful to me or them.

Patients:
1. If we need you to be naked, we will ask or cut your clothes off. Unless you have specifically been told you need to remove *everything,* I don’t want to walk into your room and find you laying on your bed completely naked – and smiling about it. It is not sexy and I dislike having to maintain eye contact the whole time just so you don’t think I’m looking at your… *ahem* stuff.

2. Unless you can show that you are sicker than we are, don’t bother coming to see us. I’ve had a cold for a month but I haven’t needed to go to hospital, what makes you so special?

3. If you can’t decide what is wrong with you, don’t even bother thinking about coming to see us. I’m sure your headache really did turn into a broken arm and then a heart attack but we can’t treat you for problems which spontaneously resolve themselves. I am sure your shrink would like to hear about this, however.

4. Presumably I’m seeing you because you chose to come here. The least you can do is put down your book/PSP/phone/laptop long enough to talk to me and let me do my job. Yes I know that discussing your sex life at the top of your voice is more important than the gaping wound in your arm but the sooner I can do what I have to, the sooner you can get back to Bruce and his HUGE…

…apartment.

Hula girls, jewel encrusted structures and a whole lot of Percocet

For some strange reason I didn’t want to take a week off work last week but, having spent all night working (and all morning not sleeping), I’m not really sure why… Anyway, a result of this ponderance and many others, I am now sitting at my computer (technically, under it as I use a laptop) blogging for you people. So really, I suppose a nice place to start for this week/month/year is at the beginning, however, the beginning is boring so we will begin with the middle… isn’t that lovely?

My mother, the grupenfuhrer, sent me to the scareport at times when only the insane (or working) are awake to pick up her friend. It might have been her friend but you know, at difficult times of day, it’s easier just to inflict pain on your daughter instead of doing things for yourself. So, into my stinky car (which now smells of bubblegum) for a looooooong drive to JFK… iTrip, iPod, car radio? Whatever.

So, I’m standing around waiting to meet her (with my bright pink hair) and the large, jewel encrusted structure *cough* I mean, my moms friend comes waddling up to me followed by a tall, reasonably plain looking guy dragging what looks like half of Europe packed into cases. I later found out the boy was in fact her son but more about that later…

“Oh Ana… You look [pause] different”
“Thanks, I just got new hair”
“Uh yeah… so anyway, where is your car?”

We walk to the car in silence and the baggage monkey follows. He helps her put the bags in the trunk and jumps into the back seat… Considering that the bejewelled structure, eee sorry again, mom’s friend has failed to even acknowledge him, I find this a little strange. The silence continues until we’re out of the airport and heading back into the city when…

“YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY! I NEED TO STOP OFF AT MY FRIENDS HOUSE FIRST”
“Riiiiiiiiiiight, where is your friend?”
“Near Long Island” she says shrieking at me to turn here. Since when was I a taxi driver? Oh, and she still hasn’t explained the boy in the back of my car!

Eventually, we pull up to a house (after she yells “stop right here”) and she jumps out, rummages around in the trunk and then disappears inside (the house not the trunk, sadly).

“I’m sorry about her… Moms always like that” He speaks!!!
“Its okay” I reply lying though gritted teeth. I get no answer but at least I now know he’s her son and not a kidnapper/keeper/parole officer.

The structure reappears, jumps into the car hard enough that I swear she could have burst the tires and off we go again. At various places she yells at me to stop before running (more of a penguin type waddle) into a number of houses. I finally decide that, after an hour of this, I really needed to get back home. I told her mom was waiting and needed us to hurry up so we couldn’t stop again. Her protests were ignored as I turned the radio up and put my foot down. Sweeeeeeeeeet.

So after breaking a few speed limits and running a couple of stop signs (not really), we’re back in Manhattan and almost at my moms apartment when the beast makes the whole experience even MORE exciting… She tries to set me up with her semi-invisible son. (For the record Stacey, I made my excuses and said no… there may or may not be another boy in the picture).

On another, more positive note, I can just about manage to talk to my father without feeling quite so disgusted. In fact, he bought me the ultimate in gross for my car… A hula girl. I looooooooove her so much! I think everyone should have one. I do, however, worry that he thinks I’m really male (Boys wear skirts too, right David? *wink*) as my gift was accompanied by car shampoo, wax and other assorted car cleaning products. On the other hand though, it was pretty damn satisfying to clean my own car… A little too satisfying if you ask me…

Those two things combined where in fact, the highlights of my week. Actually, when I think about it… spending a few days whacked out on moon juice (percocet) was also reasonablllllly good although not very exciting for the onlookers. In my mind though, my days were full of sparkly horses (unicorns maybe), glitter, cake and most of all loincloths. Stacks of them to be exact… No one to wear them though, sadly.

Realizing I haven’t actually explained the week off work or the moon juice, I’m now going to be very vague and shady with the circumstances surrounding the issue. At this point, Craig, I feel the need to make it clear that all of this stuff was reasonably innocent before you go off fantasising about naked beavers… I will go as far as to say, it involved screws (the kind you use to hold together your furniture NOT the reproductive kind), Nicholas, 10 stitches, three x-rays and an assortment of different flavours of moon juice. Add to that a fungal infection in my mouth (from my inhaler, you dirty thing, you) and I was having quite a party.

As a side note, live yogurt not only causes me to gag but it turns my thoughts to matters of yogurt men living in my stomach. They’d have cities, play drums and run around a campfire… Uhhhh, maybe the yogurt was a little bit old.

Also, I feel I should share last night at work with you… For this week, and this week alone, I have a n00blet following me around. The idea is that she’ll see what I do and then want to take my place when I finally leave next year (yays… more about that later). I remember my first day with Nick. He sent me to look get him “the gloves with spots on.” Being eager to please, I happily bounced off to discover, after 10 minutes of searching, no such thing as latex gloves with spots on. So as this little memory appeared at the most perfect of times… guess what I did.

“Kaydence… could you please go and get me the gloves with the spots on?”

It was a little bit funny but since it had been used, I really felt as though I should create something new, just for her. It worked as follows… As I saw Nick walking up the hall, I commented to her that he didn’t work here although he’d tell everyone he did. He even had a fake ID and really, the only way to remove him was to tackle him first. She nodded and we formulated a plan to “take him down.” It worked rather well, I thought… It was also a great way to introduce her to Nicholas. At least he won’t forget her in a hurry *innocent smile*

I rather like having my own partner in crime.

I hate the place I work right now but I know I only have until next May (or so) until I can go and do something else. My boss has suddenly changed his mind on being nice and has scheduled me to work at awkward times so I can’t go to my EMT classes or have any free time to myself to do other things. I talked to him and all he could say was “we’ll discuss it at the end of the month” when he knows full well that I’ll be away. (I’m going skiing for thanksgiving). Only 7 months, only 7 months, only 7 months….

Oh, and finally, my phone got caught in my laundry pile and ended up going into the washing machine. The whole thing is completely and utterly borked so it looks like I’ll be buying a new, wash proof phone… Any suggestions?

A little slice of my New York life…

It’s about time for another blog post, eh?

The Thursday before last I woke up to find my phone making obnoxious noises at some obscene time of day. It was so early in fact, the handful of people walking the streets must have been vampires – there simply is no other explanation for it. After untangling myself from the sheets Houdini style and much stumbling around in the darkness (and adding carrots to my shopping list) I found the evil little thing and managed to mash they keys until “Check CNN & call me” glowed on the screen.

By now I’m expecting to see my mother being dragged away in handcuffs or a straight jacket. Much to my disappointment, I flipped open my laptop and clicked onto CNN to find an article along the lines of “A plot to blow up planes in flight from the UK to the US and commit “mass murder on an unimaginable scale” has been disrupted.” Much drama ensued as my mom explained they’d cancelled her flight to NY etc etc… I’m sure you’re aware of events. If not you may click here and find out for yourself. Eventually, at the cost of an extra $2,600 and 3 days both her and my sister arrived safely at JFK to find the travel insurance doesn’t cover “acts of terrorism.” With terrorism related delays/inconveniences almost as common as delays due to poor weather conditions, surely it should be covered by even the most basic travel insurance… While I’m on the subject of terrorism, does anyone feel that it’s becoming so common they barely take notice of it anymore? That it’s just another part of life?

And now on to my day in the morgue. There was one case that got to me and I still feel as though it hanging over me. It was the case of a four year old that appeared to have drowned in six inches of water despite the fact her parents were only a few feet away. What gets me most is if her parents hadn’t consumed enough alcohol to intoxicate a whale, they would have seen her fall and saved her but they didn’t. That was strange enough but aside from the usual things you’d expect with a drowning victim, they also found she had a number of fractures at different stages of healing which suggests she was being abused – probably by the oh so wonderful parents. The fact she they were being forceful enough to break her bones and no one knew about it REALLY haunts me.

On Thursday I took a little trip to Greenwich in Connecticut (for all you weird foreign people, I don’t mean Greenwich village, NYC) for a work “thing”. I even have a little map of the journey from my apartment to the place up in Greenwich ’cause I’m good like that! To be honest, the only thing I really learned was how difficult it is to stay awake while someone patronises a group of you in a completely monotonous voice while you’re held captive in a warm room. It was utter torture! On the bright side, the long car journey gave me plenty of time for introspection which, when accompanied by really good music, makes for a rather enjoyable little trip. By the way, everyone should buy Evermores album “Real life” because, well, quite simply it’s awesome.

My boss decided that Friday would be dedicated to “team building.” with a little help from wikipedia I can now tell you that:

“Team building” (or “‘teambuilding’”) refers to the process of establishing and developing a greater sense of collaboration and trust between team members. Interactive exercises, team assessments, and group discussions enable groups to cultivate this greater sense of teamwork. Team building has many contexts, for example in sport clubs and work organizations.

This basically meant my boss planned a morning of, to quote Nick, “buggering around.” Anyway, the big boss man decided we were going to go paintballing (and there was no way to get out of it!). Given my “gun issues” and the fact I’m taking medication which makes me bruise more easily than a banana (I look like crack whore!), I wasn’t terribly excited BUT in the name of “team building” I was willing to give it a shot, so to speak.

After a minute or two of listening to the rules, Nick nudges me and says “I’ll take you to breakfast if you fake a panic attack” so I shoot him a confused look and he continues to explain he doesn’t like paintballing (’cause he’s a wimpy little girl ) and if I had a panic attack about the guns, he’d obviously have to take me home… Panic attacks are really nasty and I felt like I was going to have one anyway so I figured it’d be easier just to fake a small one and go have breakfast instead of running around getting shot at and having a bigger one. …and so I do. We spent the morning shopping and eating before finding out that paintballing got a little too competitive and someone’s cracked a rib. Rather them than me I suppose!

I was on call in the afternoon and when I had a little time to think about what I did, I felt really guilty because, well, I was. I called my boss and came clean about the deal I had with Nick and he actually seemed to find it funny. I’m not sure Nick will ever be able to live down the fact he was too pussy to go paintballing but at least I have a clean conscience!

On Saturday I was on call again but ended up tangled in prank calls. It’s really irritating to be ready to do your job and get there to find the place you were sent doesn’t even exist! In this case, the street address was real but the house number was one above the final house on the street and it took us a minute to realize we’d been screwed over. While I was out dealing with that, there was a real call that I could have been going to which made me really mad. If I EVER find out who it was, I’ll personally cut their fingers off so they can’t call us again. I had some real calls in the evening (and had a kid barf on my shoes and it ran down inside them. Squelch, squelch, squelch…)

And that brings me to today… I’ll let you know when something actually happens!

Cow tipping, a fat kid or two and one sweet ass

Hello all, once again, I am still alive!

Now boys and girls, I’m going to tell you a story, a story of extreme cow tipping:

One day there was an innocent girl called Ana who met another girl called Stacey who tried to corrupt Ana with tales of cow tipping. (yes Stacey, that’s right, don’t think I forgot about the cow tipping!). When Ana didn’t believe Stacey, she asked Iain who told her he’d tried it and that it was really fun (but Ana had to clean that up because Iain has a mouth like a cop. Its FILTHY.). Anyway, as far as Ana can see, it doesn’t involve much more than beer and friends to create the following result:

LETS ALL GO CRAZY AND TIP THOSE COWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A little bit about Nick (’cause he said so…)

Just in case you didn’t know, Nick is my partner at work whose sole purpose is to torment me. Yes, wedgies and all.

So, a few weeks ago, Nick was feeling a little bit selfish and decided to work on his own (not really… I wanted the night off for something but anyway). I suppose you can gather from reading through a few of these posts, some of the people I work with are ones you’d probably rather not meet in a darkened alley…or just on the street… in the middle of the day… while you’re carrying a gun. Now usually, Nick is a big boy who can take care but when competing with a pipe-wielding maniac, he could have used a little help.

From what I’ve been told (by everyone apart from Nick, who doesn’t remember and believes that I kicked him in the head), the crazy beast hit the back of his head with the pipe. Now we’re not talking a little pipe, we’re talking a thicker than my wrist, heavy, metal one. See what happens when you don’t have a crazy girl with you to scare away fellow crazy people, Nick? you’d better see…

Nick wanted me to write this BECAUSE HE’S A BIG FAT ATTENTION WHORE and because Nick is a BIG FAT ATTENTION WHORE, he decided that it’d be too easy just to be knocked out for an hour or so and decided to leave it for four whole days. Yes, that’s right, the hobo spent four days asleep in a nice comfy hospital bed with people cuddling him. Well, maybe he was just too afraid to try the hospital food, was that it, Nick? You didn’t want to try the hospital food? or were you just trying to seduce me? (I was worried and I missed you really…)

Now I get to spend a few weeks without my partner while he’s sitting at home eating ice cream and watching some top quality day time TV. Tell me Nick, who am I going to sit with while I stretch gloves over my head like a chicken crest?

I have HUGE pants this week

• I really don’t like reporters

  I got caught be one of the naughty little creatures for the first time last week. It was shall we say, interesting. He wasn’t one I recognized from any where although he certainly had both the nosiness and the annoyance factor that made me want to punch him in his “special area.” So, I’m going about doing my job and he follows me while throwing as many questions at me as possible. I am, in fact, just there to do my job, not satisfy his curiosity, so, I thought for a second, put my thumb over my name on my ID and held it up so he could see… (I don’t want the naughty little thing having a name for this article, well at least not mine). He looked at it for a second, drooling slightly over the fact I was talking to him and then asked “Could you move your thumb please, I can’t see your name…” Not only was he naughty, he was cheeky too! “He’s cheeky but I can do better than that” I thought to myself as I moved my thumb off my name while I put my ID in my pocket. “There, is that better?” I say before walking away (with a big grin on my face that he couldn’t see!)

  Apparently I wasn’t the only one who found it funny!

• I went on a ride along…

  …and got barfed AND bled on. The barfing was a little kid with what I now know if food poisoning and the bleeding was some cripple who’d “accidentally” managed to catch and cut their hand by accident. This again just proves that my theory of white is correct. It is in fact, the single most cursed color on the planet! the problem with wearing white

• some other fun work related stuff:

  Things I have learned recently

  1. Just because your shift doesn’t start for another 25 minutes doesn’t mean you can’t get a call. Being somewhat unaware of this rule at the time, I found myself leaving for work without a coffee or breakfast. For those of you that don’t know, a hungry Ana is not a nice Ana but I did make it without eating any part of myself or my partner so I think I just about got away with that. Its only one call, right? I’ll have time to eat after, of course… Well actually…
  2. No, I didn’t have time to eat after, which brings me to my second point. If you have something to do after work, naturally something will come up so you don’t have time to do it. In this case, I managed to get home and make my coffee before I got another call and had to leave it on the side. Gosh darn it, I need my coffee! Why won’t people let me have my coffee! When I got back, I was almost prepared to drink the cold coffee just in case I wasn’t going to get a chance to make some more… I did though!
  3. Finally, just because your shift has finished, it doesn’t mean you’re going home. See, a call seven hours before the end of your shift really isn’t something that makes you wonder if you’re going to make it to the party after work however, sometimes, just sometimes, the universe likes to screw you over and give you something that will take as much time as is humanly possible. Yes, I had a call that lasted six hours after I was supposed to be going home. Sometimes criminals are so inconsiderate *rolls eyes*

  Just while we’re on the subject of work, to my co-workers who thought it appropriate to whistle and make comments about my “sweet ass,” it really is a shame none of you will be getting any… Did you truly believe something would come of it or was it just an attempt to “make the girl feel uncomfortable?” Either way, next time, the girl isn’t going to be so nice…

• Children…

  …are possibly the most annoying creatures on the planet. I was sitting enjoying my afternoon of hoboism (watching TV and doing as little as possible) when I hear one of the loudest, most spine tingling screams, ever. One of those screams that makes you freeze while you stop to listen to what’s going on and that I did… I paused and I waited… And I waited… And then I hear another scream. GREAT. JUST GREAT. I think to myself. This is supposed to be a nice part of town and yet it sounds as if someone is being murdered in the hall.

  So I do what any self-respecting mature person would do. I put on my “mean face,” opened my door and looked out into the hall to see a fat, red faced child running along screaming. There was of course, no reason for doing so, just that he was a fat, annoying child that wanted to be thrown out a window. (note: even if I was prepared to throw him out the window, this kid was so fat, he should have been rolling not running so there was no way I’d be able to pick him up). I’m stood there with my mean face and as the kid comes back towards me, I say with my mean “scary” voice “DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE AND GIVE YOU A REASON TO SCREAM!”

  To the parents of the fat rolling child, you should be ashamed of yourselves. If you are going to create a monster, at least keep him locked in your basement so as not to disturb the nice people of Manhattan.

  

• and while we’re on the subject of being both fat AND annoying…

  I met a girl I went to school with this week. It was rather less enjoyable than sticking pins under my fingernails. Now I went to a fancy school where most of the kids were planning to “live off Daddy” for the rest of their lives and this girl was really no exception. We talked for a little while about things that we’d been doing etc… The stuff you have to do to make nice with someone who you’d really rather not be talking to. I’m sure you know the deal. Her only “successes” since she graduated have been gaining close to 100lbs, yes, she’s about 180lbs and very short (a ball of blubber if you will…) and having “Daddy” buy her a new car. She is really aiming for the stars!

  So then, this high flyer decided to look down her nose at me for choosing to work! Not just the fact I chose to work, the fact I chose something other than hairdresser or waitress. After all, as she so clearly told me, choosing such an “un feminine job” means I can never get a boyfriend (choosing to weigh 180lbs means you can never get a boyfriend either but at least I was polite enough to bite my tongue on the matter). I also had a nice lecture about how work was for “common people” and that it was “disgracing my family” by making them look “poor.” Honestly, I’m not sure if she was even joking…

Perverts and Weddings: You love it you minx, you.

Yes, Jenny, your boyfriend is bothering me!

So here’s the deal, I had to go and meet someone I work with this morning and since I hadn’t had much sleep, I walked to Starbucks to get a coffee before I went…
This is New York City, lots of coffee, lots of people… you get the idea. Anyway, a couple of blocks down the street the people that live in one of the apartments are having it redecorated and there are always painter people hanging around. Meh, just more people, right?

After I got my coffee I walked back the same way past that building and someone yelled something at me so I turned to look (I didn’t hear him ’cause I had my iPod turned up too loud) and there’s one of the decorator people standing grinning and waving at me… Ick *shudder*

It was one of those “walk a little bit faster…” moments and that’s just what I did. By the time I got to my apartment I’d pretty much forgotten it *until* I see the same asshole driving past in a truck with his friends and he was hanging out the window whistling and yelling stuff at me.

I wasn’t wearing anything different to the bazillion other people who live in this city, it wasn’t even a skirt… I had jeans, heels and a t-shirt on, I mean for the love of God, I’M OBVIOUSLY NOT WALKING AROUND WITH FLESH HANGING OUT FOR YOU TO OGLE. IF YOU REALLY MUST LOOK, DO YOU HAVE TO FUCKING WHISTLE AND CHASE ME AND MAKE A LOT OF NOISE ABOUT IT?

Next time, buddy, instead of putting those eyes back in your head, you’ll be pulling them out of your butt. kthx awesome.

My Day In London

As I mentioned here, I went to London for the weekend. I managed to get through the airport without causing too many problems because of my metal ribs (I have medical implants to hold me together… I’m a cyborg really!). I did get a few funny looks though but that might have been something to do with the fact I was wearing a bright pink “I’m with the bride” t-shirt in the classic “I’m with stupid” style. Okay, they could have been looking at me or any of the five other people who were also wearing them… After five hours of plane food, in-flight movies and turbulence, we arrived in London.

Just a few random trip related musings:

1. Hyde Park is just like Central Park only without the huge buildings surrounding it. Oh yeah, and it was full of English people instead of Americans!
2. I was standing talking to one of my friends after the wedding and a seven year old child, yes I did say SEVEN, managed to pick me up and run around with me before throwing me on my ass. Correct me if I’m wrong but maybe *I* should have been the one picking him up and throwing him around… I spent the rest of the day with random children attaching themselves to my legs and trying to do the same…
3. Pimms tastes really good. It gives you a really good sugar rush as well as getting you stupidly drunk. Before you ask, no, I wasn’t that bad… just a little bit giggly.
4. If you have a baby with you at a wedding, don’t go and get so drunk you can’t stand up because I don’t want to be taking care of it! As much as I love Ryan, having him barf down my top did make me feel slightly unwell. Surely he should be waiting until he’s 14 and sitting in the park drinking vodka out of a paper bag with his friends before he goes to vomit on someone’s breasts. I guess he’s just starting early… I’m never having children, ever
5. There were some Australian people at the wedding and my accent seems to be peeking out from behind the filthy, dirty American one I’ve developed. Australia > America… As for the English accent… I wouldn’t say no *hint*
6. Walking on grass in stiletto heels isn’t physically possible no matter how dry the ground is. “SOS I’M SINKING!” In case you’re wondering, I left the shoes wedged in the grass for the evening and walked around barefoot. I now have green feet and that’s AFTER an hour in the shower…

The flight home on the other hand, wasn’t quite so fun… Picture this, I’m a little bit drunk, my ribs hurt (flying seems to be a bit uncomfy) and I have to sit in a plane for SEVEN hours. I sniffled and went girly at the check in and I got an upgrade *evil smile* A first class flight for the price of a business class one isn’t too bad, eh?

MY PANTS ARE FULL AGAIN!

• Lets start with a little something from the “mail bag” or as its more formally known, THE COMMENTS PAGE THAT YOU SHOULD ALL GO AND POST YOUR COMMENTS ON
  

  Stacey on 10:33 PM
  I completely agree with the white shirt thing. The idiot(former boss) who decided on the white uniform shirts should be shot. After being barfed on, bled on, pooped on, and pretty much every other thing you can think of I finally decided, screw it I am wearing a blue shirt from now on and if you don’t like it fire me. So needless to say not only did I not get fired but I also haven’t had anyone deposit their bodily fluids onto my shirt.

  First, I think its both fitting AND mature to say “haha, you got pooped on.” Second, I have to admit, as good as white looks, it simply isn’t a practical color in the slightest. Anyone who says otherwise is deluding themselves. Okay well, if you’re treating Aliens with white blood, then maybe, just maybe, I’d change my mind but that’s the only exception I can think of… No matter how many times I wash my lab coat, it always looks dirty. *sulk*

• more comments because I’m wonderful!
  

  Bradley on 9:58 AM
  HEE HEE HEE.
  You had fun picking on that poor model, didn’t you ?

  I’m surprised that you of all people should comment on such a thing. After all, Bradlizard, are you or are you not the kid who said she’d have the perfect face for porn movies? I guess you’d be better informed on such matters, eh?

• While we’re talking about porn, we found around 400 HOURS of porn on some guys computer which all has to be watched. I’m sure there are plenty of people who’re going to volunteer their services – provided hands aren’t necessary *sly face*

The BFG and other stories

Tuesday evening got off to a good start. Nothing like a little exam stress to get things started, eh? As it happens, a trip to whine at my mentor seemed to be just as good as a run although, had I known how my “short” night was going to turn out, I might have opted for the extra end dolphins. Never mind, there’s always chocolate, eh?

I guess a good place to start is with the rather large, drunk guy. Why I always end up dealing with the bald, fat, drunk guys, I’ll never know but anyway, that’s not the point. Without putting too much effort into an explanation, Mr Big Fat Guy (BFG) thought that punching the only person paying him any attention would be a good move. Little did he know, she (me) was wearing body armor under her coat. *little evil giggle* Its also a good thing that I’m deceptively strong… *snicker* Its not my fault if I pull his arm and he accidentally “falls” forward and “trips” over my conveniently placed foot… *angel face*

That was the start of a very long night. Every time I thought that maybe I was finished, someone else would walk in and pass me a ton of other stuff to do. This time though, I managed not to do everyone else’s work as well as mine. Does this mean someone finally got rid of the “n00b” sign on my back? Hmm, I have a feeling it was just temporarily misplaced. Okay, so by the time I finished it was about 7:30 in the morning (I went to work at 8pm the night before!) which was just in time to get caught in the fabulous Manhattan traffic on the way back to my apartment… F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S traffic.

(on a side note, whoever asked me how I did it (worked so long…) the answer is coffee and lots of it… The crazy drunk guy didn’t hurt things either…)

I finally fall into my apartment to find that Jack is in MY shower meaning, I had to wait to wash the nights slime off me. How terribly rude of him. It could have been worse I suppose. I could have used all the hot water too… Before you even think about it Jack, I certainly would NOT be pleased. Any who, I can say with great certainty, I have never, ever been so happy to fall into bed.

Now on to last night. I woke up with some nicely sore ribs… As it happens, the BFG managed to catch my chest where I’ve had my ribs fixed last year. Medical hardware and all… Nothing, NOTHING was going to stop me going on my ride along though. I’ve been looking forward to it since last week. I have to admit, I’m veerrry tempted (probably much to the buddy’s (and Jonathans) delight… Oh and to Brandon’s horror!) to go to EMT classes. I didn’t really have a clue about what they were doing on the call so I won’t even try to explain.

After that, my buddy made me go and get x-rays. As it turns out, the rib that was most badly borked last year is the one that got cracked by the big ol’ ape this time… AND he managed that through my body armor.

I r a bit sore now.