Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


With apologies to Julie Andrews

These aren't a few of my favorite things.

1. A&P teachers who will post grades lightning-quick one week, then drag their feet the next. Just tell me if I passed the test, homeslice, so I can stop crashing blackboard with my obsessive-compulsive logins. Mhmkay? Thanks.

2. The skeleton. All of it. With a test in 2 weeks. Hello Gray's Anatomy (not the fucking show) flash cards. May you be worth the 35 dollars I spent, so that I don't have to make them myself.

3. Brain Injuries. Now I'm sure that all 2 people that read this are not going to get all het up about this, but in case someone else who wanders in and gets their panties in a wad... I AM a sensitive caring person. But I also have limits. And when I put the blood pressure cuff back on for the 12th time in 10 minutes, ask you to lay back down, and have picked your feet back up into the bed for the 3,000th time in the past minute and a half (it's called hyperbole, people) it starts to wear on ya just a tad. Oh, sure, I'll keep that sunny, patient disposition the entire time I'm in the room, but believe me.... I'm just waitin' till I'm outside that hospital so I can bitch. Or I'm beggin' the nurse for some drugs. For the patient or for me, I don't really care which. (No, I wouldn't condone diversion, people, it's called humor, and it's called appropriate medication according to a physician's orders. I'm not advocating gorking people out if they've got a frontal lobe injury, no matter how much simpler my life would be.)

4. My damn internal alarm clock. Because I know full well that I will wake up at 0630 tomorrow, even though I don't have an 0800 class. Damnit.


The sound you hear

Is either my arteries hardening, or me jumping up and down with glee.
No, Fiber, not THAT kind of glee. We didn't get a ring. (Though it could have been in the creme brulee.)

It is really nice to have a boyfriend who likes to cook. Especially when you've totally had the shits of cooking, and you'd really rather not touch a pot. It's doubly nice when said boyfriend cooks really great food you'd never attempt to cook, because you don't have the time/effort to invest.

Saturday he made pesto focaccia to go with a killer lasagna (yay! I got my lasagna wish) that his mom's friend made for her. (Homemade sauce, three meats and all.) I contributed a storebought marscapone and sponge cake (it was bitchin'.)

Sunday he made a kick-ass spaghetti squash toss (green pepper, onion, tomato, olive oil, garlic, salt/pepper and fresh mozzarella) that I can replicate. But the kicker was dinner. Homemade alfredo sauce on crab/lobster ravioli, and chai creme brulee. That sound you hear is my ass getting wider. But dear sweet Elvis, it was worth it. Once you eat homemade alfredo, you want to just kick someone in the nards down at ragu. Because seriously- it's the closest to heaven you're ever going to get in a saucepan. YUM.

The other giddy noises were because I got the exact class schedule I wanted, thanks to my magic scheduling-fu. (And the fact that I was sitting, reloading the window, and waiting for it to be 5:59, so I could get the LAST seat in the A&P 2 class I wanted. So next semester's schedule will run thusly:
Mondays and Tuesdays 8-11, A&P II, lecture/lab. Mondays and Tuesdays 12:30-2:20 Microbiology Lecture/Lab (P is in this class too) Wednesdays 9-12, Sociology. I'm also taking an online nutrition class. The two lecture/labs are going to be a lot more difficult to manage, which is why I'm dropping hours. I'm going to try to take off Mon/Tues evenings, to make my life a little more bearable.



I'm Zippin' Through The Days at Lightnin' Speed

Yep. That about sums it up. This day went entirely too quickly. Class at 11, got grades (good, yay!) on my last 2 quizzes, and took our exam, which I think went well. Got out early, and skulked home in the rain (forgot my umbrella). In all, that was a wash, but the good part was to come.

Got to my mom's and not only does she have fresh bread baking, but she's got cheesy potatoes going (my favorite) and a pork roast in the crock pot. We stayed in, watched obnoxiously bad Zombie movies, and Bucket of Blood (Ah, Corman...) I took a nap with a purring cat blanket, and ate like it was going out of style. Damn, it's nice to have someone ELSE take care of you for a little while.

This weekend, P and I are going to his place, and cook. I know pesto focaccia is on the list, and I may lobby for some good ol' lasagna too. Or something with a tasty bolognese. I want tomato-y fall food.

Hope you enjoy your weekend, whatever you decide to do. Lets hope the next few days don't zip by at lightning speed.


This says all you need to know.

lolcats and funny pictures -

Yep. I'm gonna feel that way at 2330 when I end this $*(#!)*# 8 day stretch.

Damn, but I love the folks at I Can Has Cheeseburger?

Go pay them some love.

Aside to Slacker Co-Worker who never shows up, and "had to go to the ER the other day"

Stop sucking up to the girl who works over on THE UNIT. You will never get to transfer there, you're gonna get fired for "being sick all the fucking time" before your year's up. Even if their aides do dick-all compared to us, I'm pretty sure that "showing up when you're scheduled" is still a pretty important job requirement.


A little experiment

This is something I wrote for English class. We were assigned to write in groups and had to individually come up with a chapter in a novella. Our group decided to make up a story about the funeral of a boy named Heath, who was killed in a drunk driving accident. The other members of the group wrote the sister, girlfriend, and best friend pieces- I took the mother's angle. (formatting's a little funky, because I'm rusty., and honestly forget how to make this stuff indent, so use your imagination, 'k?)

(And remember, this is fiction. No real teenagers were harmed in the writing of this piece.)


There is strength in numbers, they said, but Beth drew no strength from the callers at the visitation that morning. In fact, the only numbers running through her head were seven and three. Seven days since the accident that crushed Heath’s body; three days since they took away the machines that kept her boy alive.

She collapsed into the stiff funeral home chair, her red-rimmed eyes barely taking in the room, as she desperately wished she were anywhere else. If she could just go back to the warmth of her bed the week before; if she could avoid the agonizing middle- of- the- night call that changed everything.

When the phone rings in the middle of the night, it’s never Ed McMahon, or a long-lost relative wishing you well. It was fitting she answered the phone. Beth was always there for Heath— went to his football games, listened to his frustrations, helped him with his homework when she could. It wasn’t that his father wouldn’t or couldn’t care. Their relationship just needed a few more years to come into its own.

“What hospital again? Do you know anything at all, officer? No, it—it’s ok. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Thank you.”

In retrospect, she couldn't imagine how she remained so calm. Maybe she thought Heath would pull through. It was just another obstacle for him, a problem to be broken down and eventually overcome. “He was always so good at that,” she thought. It’s how he became the star quarterback for East High, how he got a full ride to Penn State. It’s how he handled his life…

She sighed, and looked at the arrangements of flowers surrounding the coffin. Anger, grief, and the overwhelming desire to run away competed for supremacy within her. She knew she needed to stay strong, if only in appearance, for Megan. At 16, Megan idolized her older brother, and despite their differences, Beth could tell Megan still hung on his every action. His death devastated the girl, who was sitting quietly on an uncomfortable chair, staring blankly at the wall.

Beth felt a hand on her shoulder and nearly jumped out of her seat.
“Hey, how are you holding up?” a soft voice asked
It took her a moment to realize it was Sarah, another “football mom,” and she responded;
“As well as I can, right now. I guess. I mean, Ed’s a mess. Megan won’t eat- she just stares, and cries, and to top everything off, I have to go clean out Heath’s dorm room on Monday.”
“You’re kidding!” Sarah gasped.
“Something from the housing board about a waiting list or something… Maybe the housing board should have been paying attention to the damn parties the kids were having," Beth spat.

She began to cry again. Rage fought with the grief this time, as she thought back to the morning viewing. Heath’s best friend Jason had the audacity to come, as if he didn’t know he wasn’t welcome. As if he didn’t already know he was the reason Heath was in that coffin in the first place. He walked in with his arm in that cast and tried to offer halfhearted apologies.

“That little drunk bastard runs his car into a pole and only breaks an arm, and my son is dead. ‘Sorry’ isn’t going to make things better,” she angrily sobbed, as Sarah put her arm around her. Beth shrugged off her friend’s attempt at consoling her, and offered a sobbed “just give me a few minutes” by way of apology.

She thought of Jason again. She had liked him when Heath was a boy, she had to—the two were inseparable. She never had any reason to think he’d do anything this stupid once they went off to college. She figured out from Heath’s other friends that the boys went to a Greek party on Friday night. Jason, taking advantage of his newfound freedom, got drunk. Heath didn’t have anything to drink; he had a game the next day. When it came time to go home- Jason drove, Heath couldn’t—the car was standard, and he’d never learned to drive one. Instead of finding someone else to take him home, he trusted Jason. In the middle of a curve that shouldn’t have given the average driver any difficulty, that decision cost Heath his life.

Beth took a deep breath and tried to remember what the hospital’s grief counselor told her. She needed to allow herself to feel this, but not to dwell on it.. She tried to make herself think of other things, like the other people who got a second chance at life because of her son. She thought of his strong heart beating in someone else; his powerful lungs helping someone breathe, and his good kidneys helping two people get off dialysis. Beth tried to remember that this wasn’t the end for everyone.

When she looked up next, she saw Heath’s girlfriend, Amber, enter the room. Amber had stepped out between viewings to spend time with some of Heath’s former teammates. Beth still felt terrible about the way Amber found out about the accident—the poor girl had tried to reach Heath all morning, but his phone had been destroyed. Desperate, she called us. In our rush to get to the hospital, we never thought to call her. She had to find out after the fact that Heath was in intensive care and the reason why.

If Amber was back, it meant the second viewing would begin soon. She wanted desperately to be at home now. To not be on display for these people. More than anything, Beth wanted to spend hours in Heath’s chronically messy room, allowing the smell of teenage boy to permeate her pores, so she could just have him with her a little while longer.

She walked to the coffin, looking down at her son, and remembered the first night he spent at home. “Somehow he still looks a little angelic with just a little bit of a smirk. Of course, he always slept in a sprawling mess, and never kept this still,” she thought with a bit of a smile.

Then, Megan joined her mother.
“It’s almost like he’s going to get up soon and say ‘Dude, why the long faces?’ isn’t it?” Megan asked.
“It is- I think it’s the half-a-smirk there. Are you OK? Do you want something to eat? You haven’t eaten at all today.” The mother in Beth took over.
“Nah, I really can’t. I’ve been drinking Pepto. I’ll be ok.”
“Watch out, that’ll make your tongue black.” Beth chided, and went on—“Look. I know that it’s probably the last thing that either of us will want to do, but let’s go out for breakfast tomorrow. Neither of us is going to sleep, and it’ll be good to get out of the house—just you and me.
“Well, OK… what about Dad?”
“Uncle Jimmy’s staying, and they’re going to go to Coach Novak’s. They’ll be fine.”
“OK. Here come Kacie and Janelle. I’ll be back.” With that, Megan slowly went to greet her friends.

Beth was glad that she made an inroad with her daughter. She knew Megan was in agony. Now she just needed to come up with the words to tell her daughter her feelings were normal. That her world didn’t stop because of this—that it couldn’t.

Well, she could work on it during this sleepless night, she thought. And with that, Beth took a deep breath, stepped away from Heath’s side, and went to join her daughter and husband as the second wave of mourners came to pay their respects.

Who rocks?

Well, aside from WXPN, that is.

I am thrilled to death, that I got a 48.5 out of 50 on my A&P lab exam. I was sweatin' this one pretty hard (cranial nerves, spine, ears, eyes, and a whole bunch of other crap), so I am ecstatic.

In other news. Began tutoring today, that was fun. Put in my request to become a .6 (3 days a week) at work as of 1/14, which should be approved. I will begin living even more broke-assed now, though, so I can save every penny for when I'm really destitute.

Otherwise, it's a beautifully rainy day here, and it's finally beginning to feel like Fall. The trees are just sort of giving up, though. The leaves are saying "I'm done" and falling, without turning pretty colors, and we're all sort of ready for sweaters to come out of the closets. (Not obscenely cold- just cool enough to warrant a sweater for evenings.)

I've done pretty much no cooking lately, though yesterday I did make some pretty bitchin' french bread pizza with some mushrooms and peppers on it. This past weekend it was pierogis, sauerkraut, and kielbasa. Good times, mingling in that pot, there.

Also: A little note to one of my thinly disguised coworkers. If you have to go to the ER because you "hurt yourself" at work and are "nauseous, dizzy, and have injured your arm so badly you can't work" and are "called off by the ER for the entire weekend and Monday too" and given a sling to put your precious arm in, you should probably totally wear that sling to class Monday. That probably changes to definitely, if several of your co-workers (who had to cover your ass on Sunday) are going to be there, and know that the only reason you "went to the ER" in the first place is because "you're a total fucking slacker who has worked only one of the past four weekends" and "is on a written warning anyway" and "we're running a termination pool for you and another employee" though it'll suck because you're at least a "warm body when you decide to show up."

Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, slacker.

Wow. Sorry about the quotation marks there...


Holy McMoley

So I'm entering into an 8 day stretch here for work (Oh, we have to make up for that sweet 2 days off, 1 day on, 2 more days off spin somehow....) and if the rest of it is like yesterday, I'm signing myself into the mental health unit NOW. Seriously. I had my last in-person English class from 0800-1100, had a class for my job from 1100-1530, and then immediately had to go upstairs and begin working at 1530 for my regularly scheduled shift (which was supposed to begin at 1500, and be over by 2330.)

Now... it wouldn't have been so horrific if one of the people I was supposed to work with didn't call in sick. And perhaps, legitimately so. I hope he feels better if he was. But it doesn't change the fact that it meant I had to run after 9 people instead of 6, and sometimes that makes all the difference in the world.

I'm sure they'll bitch on Days because nobody got bathed, but you know what? I spent my night running after Frontal Lobe Injury guy who kept peeing the bed and himself, and is a total bitch to turn, whose nurse wouldn't help at all the last time at 2300 when he had gotten his gown off, his O2 off, and was up in bed... (bed change #4) and the 2 admissions, and the guy at the end of the hall on a colonoscopy prep who is fighting tooth and nail about using the bedpan- I'm following protocol- I can't force your passive aggressive nurse to come in here and face you, and she's afraid you'll pass out if oyu use a potty chair.

Also: Note to the float pool person who replaced me. I really, really like you. BUT, when you come up to the floor 35 minutes late (For an ostensibly good reason, but I can shoot holes in your story), do NOT sit there and tell stories to the other nurses. I have been at this since 0800. It is now well after the time I should have gone home, and I still need to give you report on 9 people. Sit down. Shut up. Listen, so I can go home. (And it was still well after 12 till I left, because everybody's damn call bell went off at once.)

And to top all that shit off? I didn't get a frackin' lunch. Thank goodness we got to eat during class, an someone brought pretzels in, because I'd have probably croaked. Heh

So, seriously. I have a 12 hour class/work day today. If it's this bad again, I'm going to beat someone. Also, we need to find a solution for the bedwetter. He won't keep on a pair of depends or a texas cath, and the docs took out his foley (jackasses). Maybe I could page them to come help change his bed...

(There, I feel a little better. Maybe I coul do what my other co-worker did. She's on a shorter stretch than me, taking far fewer classes than me, and she whined to our manager and got a day off.... pansy.)


And the Lord said, "Let there be 'net."

And there was. And it was good.

And a special shout out to whomever it is in my neighborhood who isn't locking their connection. You're a broke-ass student's hero, man.

'specially on a Sunday, on a laptop with a shifty "D" key, which has the unfortunate byproduct of making most things I type look gangsta, quite accidentally.

This? Means I can blog more. Unfortunately, it means I'll be blogging about school and wiping asses. But it means I can start brain dumping, posting recipes, and generally being an egotistical wanker who thinks someone gives a shit and a half about what I write, too. Yay me.

It also means I can do my graded math homework from HOME instead of trottin' my sorry butt up to the computer lab. I can spread out, and take my time. Hoooray.
(And I can obsessively check my grades, too. Who has a B- in math an couldn't be happier? This guy.)

(Being broke-assed is a theme today, even though payday was Friday. Trust me, that money? Doesn't last long.)

Other things that make a broke-ass student happy, Fall Break edition:

1. The Wire on DVD from Netflix. Daaamn, that first season rocked- and yes, I'm way behind the times on this, but hey. I haven't had HBO since Shrub's first term, and I haven't had cable in over a year, 'mhmkay?

2. A fat pot of ham and green beans (If you have all day, you make it with a ham hock, if you want fast and easy, take a pound or a little more of fresh green beans, trim them, and cut in half, set aside. Take about a pound or so of little red potatoes and cut into large dice, take some nice big ham cubes [my grocery store sells packs of 'em by the ham slices], a small onion- diced medium, and some celery- sliced medium, and put it in a pot with a box of chicken broth, and some pepper. Boil the hell out of it till the potatoes are almost done, add in the green beans, bring the heat down to a lower boil, ans when the beans are done, add in enough cornstarch mixed with water to make the broth velvety.) Fast, easy, makes a lot, and it's nice comfort food.

3. Cold weather means knitting season. Knitting season means socks for me this year. They're portable, inexpensive, and I stand a chance at finishing them. I'd also like to make a scarf for myself to match P's famous cabled number, but I don't see myself having time. A pair of socks, though, is potentially do-able.

Now, if anyone's out there, I need some advice.

My place of employment (The Giganto-Mega-Hospital) will pay for my education 100% once I am in a clinical program. However, I am electing not to enter the clinical program until September 2008. (Due in part to the number of hours I work/week.)

That being said, I procured loans for the first year of school- I will be receiving a reimbursement check for about half the tuition (which is what was covered by the loans anyway- the rest was a grant) Now. Here is my question.

Do I take the reimbursement check and send it in to pay down on the student loans immediately OR...

Do I take the reimbursement check, and whip it into my savings, add to it any extra money I make during christmas break, and use the funds from both to make up the difference in my check if I were to drop my hours at work. I'm going to be taking the same number of credits, but I'm taking harder classes, and I want my GPA to be excellent (I've got all As now, except for that B- in Math, which I'll live with.)

Anyway... that's the dilemma. Any suggestions? Y'know where I am.


So. I still wipe butts.

But now I wipe asses, and I may also be a tutor. AND I don't have to go to the Pot-Smokin'-Hippie's* English Class as often anymore. Bitchin'.

School? Is going well. I've gotten over the massive lecture exam that brought my anatomy grade down to a B (despite being 20 points higher than the class average), as I'm back up to an A again (barely), and we're finally doing shit in Math that makes sense, and has bearing on my major- to wit- dosage calc. Haleluia.

Oh, and the whole English class thing? I get to help pioneer the online program, b/c I am not being "challenged" by the material in the current course. Also, I get to help edit the college journal. Cool. Tutoring is for Psych class, which is actually ridiculously easy I've got greater than a 100 in it right now- (mostly because I read the material, and he pulls the test questions directly from the material, and bonus questions from the class discussions...) I like the prof's style, and I think I'm going to tap him for my letter of recommendation for the major program.

Now I'm sweatin' getting into the classes I actually need for next semester so I don't get dicked for work, and get into the classes I actually NEED for credits...

And lest you think that my life is entirely school... (it is, but that's irrelevant) we had a guy this weekend at work, with the last name of... well, I can't give you his real last name, but lets just say it was slang for female genitalia. We'll call him Mr. Twat. Close enough. How would you like to marry INTO that family name?

*Note, I don't think my English prof has ever smoked the hippie lettuce. I just think that he has to have been high to have come up with some of his assignments.