Open Letter to Seasonique

Dear Seasonique,

I know it's pretty funny that I am on your birth control to begin with, seeing as how my ovaries ride the short bus. However, the real reason I got on you was for four periods a year. Who the hell wouldn't want only four periods a year?! Sign me the fuck up! So I made an appointment with my lady doctor and told her I needed a prescription. She laughed and said, "Why? You just spent like $15K at the fertility clinic across the hall." "Well yes, but if I can't get pregnant I may as well not have to deal with the bullshit of 12 periods in a year!" So she agreed and wrote me the prescription.

So we have established the fact that I wanted your product for the simple reason of having less periods, right? Then can you please tell me why the fuck I've been bleeding like someone put an icepick through my jugular (if said jugular was in my vagina)? Is this some kind of sick joke Seasonique?! You're a man, aren't you?

And then, to top this mass hemorrhaging off, I finished my last pill four days ago expecting to get my normal period so I can get off your godforsaken drug and guess what? It never came! The bleeding has stopped. Haha, seasonique, haha! Asshat.

Signed,
Nearly Anemic in Texas

So, they offered me the job

They offered me the job at the hospital. Two drawbacks. One, it is $4 an hour less than I make now. Two, it is for the night shift - 7p to 7a. I would only work three shifts a week, that is considered full time in hospital land. This should be an easy decision for me. Super-bitch has pushed me over the edge this morning and it took all I had to not quit on the spot when the hospital called.

However, I have financial obligations that I need to think about. Can we afford for me to take a cut in pay? I have no idea. I'm having lunch with BD today to discuss it. I don't do well with change, so this is very scary territory for me. I do know one thing. I'm not happy here. Not here so much as here working for that thing next door to me. She texted me yesterday to "make sure I know I'm expected at work tomorrow." Yeah, I'm very well aware of my schedule beast. What.the.fuck? I don't text her and say "hey, just making sure you know you're due in hell in ten years." Duh, it's obvious.

A Tuesday Meme

I found a meme on Calicobebops page and decided to tag myself. I know, loser. Whatever. It is a small cure for my bloggers block, and gives you guys something to read!

So here are the instructions: Go to your sixth picture folder then pick your sixth picture.Pray that you remember the details. Post it on your blog.

And here is that picture:



It is baby boy two summers ago at my in-laws house. They live on the lake so we spend a lot of weekends up there in the summer. A pool, boat, ,fishing, moms home cooking...what more could you want?! I think we had gotten out the craps table that night to play some family casino. Baby boy got into the chips and I just happened to catch him with the camera when he looked up. Usually anytime he sees a camera he hides his face, so this is a rare picture. He is, by far, the best accomplishment of my life.

Still no word

I've been waiting patiently by my phone since Monday, but still no word from the hospital. I'm assuming they are negotiating my kick ass salary as we speak and that's why they haven't called yet. Or they are acting like a man and don't want to call too soon so as not to seem desparate. Whatever, I just wish they would call!! She-bitch called me yesterday to complain about, are you ready for this??....her towels in the hotel room were too wrinkled. I know, you think I'm making this shit up. I wish I were. Everything that happens while she is traveling is my fault. That's just the rule. Her bed in Rome was too small - my fault. The limo was late picking her up in Rio - my fault. There was a smelly man next to her on the flight to London - somehow also my fault. But the towels being too wrinkled? This is a new complaint I've never had before. Yet it's still my fault! Today is my Friday, that is the only thing that is keeping me going.

Tomorrow I'll be working in the ICU again. I'm really excited. It's like my respite away from the craziness that has become my life. I get to do my thing and take care of patients and it's all about me. No one is screaming "mommy!!!" four thousand times. No one is bitching about wrinkled towels. It's just me and my patients, who may or may not be conscious.

Saturday we are heading home. Sidebar - isn't it funny how we still refer to 'home' as our parents house? Well, I do anyway. I haven't lived at 'home' in well over a decade, but I still call it that. Anyhoo, we are going to visit my family. Everyone lives about two hours away in a quaint little southeastern texas town. I haven't been back since hurricane Ike hit. I admit I've been avoiding it. Seeing the destruction after Rita was bad enough. We will visit with my parents and grandparents, and we are also going to meet my baby brother's new girlfriend. Judging from previous girlfriends it should be a real treat. And by treat I mean freak show. Who knows, maybe he'll surprise me.

Saturday night we are going to the carnival, and that is causing me quite a bit of anxiety. You see, I was involved in a freak carnival accident when I was about 5. It was a beautiful day, and my dad's union was having a carnival and bbq type thing. They had a ride called the scrambler. (Ironic, as it would later scramble my brains.)

There were about 6 cars, each attached to an arm. Each car would spin and the arms moved them around in a circle, and up and down. I kept begging to ride it and finally got my turn. I climbed in with another little boy. (I would later cushion his fall.) The ride began and all was fun and games until the bolt holding our car to the arm started to shake. It shook and shook and the last thing I remember is that damn bolt flying out of its hole. Our car then became airborn and flew through the parking lot, skidding to a stop on the concrete. I flew through the parking lot as well, and broke the little boys fall. Because I'm nice like that.

I ended up with a bald patch on the back of my head and a nasty concussion. I remember my mother waking me up every time I would fall asleep and it really started to piss me off. (See, I've liked sleep ever since I was little.) I now know she was just making sure I wasn't dead. She was a good mom like that.

Ever since then I've been terrified of any kind of carnival rides. I mean, if you think about it, you're putting your life in the hands of a carnie. Come on, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that is probably not a good idea.

Things I shouldn't have to say

BD is 31 years old. Some people might even consider him a grown adult. I am not included in "some people." Case in point. Last night he took BB upstairs to give him a bath. I didn't even have to ask him so he gets extra points for that. By the way, no one ever asks me to bathe BB?? Hmm. I just assume the parental role and get it done. But then again, I do have a vagina, and BD does not. There must be some sort of penis chemical receptor that blocks common parental duties from men's brains. I digress.

So he takes BB upstairs and I hear splashing around. Good, I think to myself, he is actually going to give him a bath and I can relax! That's what I get for thinking. After about fifteen minutes I go upstairs to get ready for bed and he is getting BB out of the tub. I notice his hair isn't wet. I don't see the soap anywhere. I sigh and ask a question that you should never have to ask your adult husband.

"Did you use soap?"

"Well, no, but I rubbed bubbles on him."

"You have got to be shitting me. I shouldn't have to ask you to use soap when you bathe him! You are a grown man for God's sake!"

"Well he didn't play outside today because it was raining, and it's not even my night to bathe him."

I could feel the vein protruding from my forehead. I was chanting in my head...choose your battles, choose your battles, choose your battles....

I walked out of the bathroom and didn't say another word about it even though I was fuming. Until this morning. Apparently having a vagina also means you lack the ability to let things go. He was brushing his teeth and shaked his wanker at me...his normal morning routine. And apparently I was still mad about last night because I looked at him and screamed "Do you know how many times I've bathed him when it wasn't my night?!?!" He gave me that whoa-you-just-went-all-crazy-bitch-on-me stare, and then all was good. I'm over it. Until it happens again. And I can assure you it will happen again.

All I have to say is that man is lucky he is so pretty.

Keeping My Fingers Crossed

I had a job interview today at a hospital near my house. Actually it is the same hospital BB was born at three years ago. The position is for a 'professional student nurse', which means you can do anything that you have learned how to do in school. Which also means I know enough to kill you, but probably not enough to save your life :) The best part is that it is for the labor and delivery department! L&D is where I ultimately hope to end up when I graduate so this would be perfect for me. Not only that, but I will finally be able to tell my BITCH ASS boss to FUCK OFF!!! I hate her. No, I loathe her. I want to scratch her fucking eyeballs out and tell her that everyone thinks she is a cold heartless bitch. But I don't, because I still need a paycheck. The day will come though, mark my words. She will rue the day she started treating me like a second class citizen.

So my interview was fantastic. I met with HR for about an hour, and then he took me to meet the head nurse in L&D. She interviewed me for another half hour and showed me around. She kept saying how excited she was to see my resume come across her desk. When I left I thanked her for speaking to me and she told me to expect a call from HR very soon. I'm totally taking that as a good sign. You people have no idea how much I want out of corporate America. The backstabbing, the brown nosing, the paper pushing...I can't take it anymore!

On another note, I know I haven't written much lately but that's because I've had major bloggers block. Nothing very interesting has happened to me this past week. We went to the renaissance festival on saturday. It is the biggest gathering of white trash I've ever witnessed. Women were dressed in chain maille with nothing on underneath. (Did I mention I had BB there?) And let me just say ladies, dimples are only cute on your face. Please don't go out in public in a thong if it looks like someone beat your ass and thighs with a bag of nickels, okay? Nobody wants to see that.

That is all for today. I'll leave you with this....I asked BB what he wanted to be when he grows up, he puts his finger on his chin, thinks for a minute, looks at me proudly, and says "a tree!"