Let me tell you a little story I like to call "How I Ended up Barefoot and Eating an Eighty-Four Cent (tax included) King Size Super Pop at a Sketchy QuickTrip on the Outskirts of Wichita at 9:30 on a Thursday Night."

What? It's a working title. So shut-up.

My day began at 4 am when rolled out of bed and drug my sorry ass an hours drive to the hospital for a glorious morning and afternoon highlighted by various encounters with the Holy Trinity of nursing care: shit, piss, and sputum.*

And let us not forget the MRSA. Always the MRSA.

Drove home in the afternoon with the remnants of the above mentioned encounters and the beginnings of a headache.

Then some boring things happened that in the movie version will be a 1-2 minute montage including one of those where it shows the girl getting ready for her big date. Only it will occur mostly in the dark because by now the headache is a migraine and the light is not a friend.

My big date is with ST Princess. And Joel. Joel is a mid-nineties issue Plymouth neon with a faulty speedometer, malfunctioning gas gauge, and a check engine light that burns as continuously as the vacancy sign at a by-the-hour motel. To cruise with Joel is to live dangerously, but STP sweetly offered to drive as this would be my second hour long one-way trip of the day.

And I'm a dangerously living kind of girl.

Our destination is the campus of a Catholic university where we will be presenting poster projects at the nursing equivalent of a fifth grade science fair. Six Excedrin and a giant Dr. Pepper later we arrive in dire need of the facilities and none of the buildings are marked. I ask the giant Jesus statue in the middle of campus for guidance, but nothing happens.

We park the car at a randomly selected building. I sarcastically thank Jesus for all of his help. Get out for the mad dash to the bathroom, shut the doors, look at one another and realize that STP's purse is sitting in the drivers seat. With the car keys. And the doors are locked.

And did I mention both cellphones are also locked in the car?

See what happens you run smack on Jesus?

STP runs to the shitter. I try and break into the car with a stick. I stop trying to pry the window down and look casual when anyone walks by. The windows that fall down sometimes on their own when you are speeding down the highway sure are set on staying up when you want them to come down.

STP returns. She found an off duty police officer who is working security at the basketball game. He tells us we should go to our meeting and find him when it is over as it will take a while for someone to arrive to help us get in the car.

Since we're on the wrong side of campus we hike back past Jesus in search of the right buidling. I tempt fate and flip him the bird.

When we get to where we need to be and find our professor she is concerned that our posters are locked in the car.

Seriously?

Now our school will never win the science fair. Oh no!

Call my dad, who is working nearby, from a borrowed cellphone. He agrees to meet us when he gets off work in half an hour or so with a wire coat hanger.

We leave the meeting early, we hike, we stand and wait. We aren't sure we gave very good directions. The heels I have on are killer. Take them off and on while we stand in the parking lot as the pain and cold weather dictate.

Help arrives. Our hopes are buoyed. We cheer.

My dad, in true old school car-thief style, produces a wire hanger and a putty knife. No go. Seems Joel is much harder to get into than his passengers.

We admit defeat and find Officer Floyd. We feel considerably relieved now a man with a gun is involved. He makes some calls and 20 minutes later a slightly shady cab arrives. A man gets out with a larger wire hanger and two putty knives. Joel yields. Cash changes hands.

We stop for gas, caffeine, and sugar.

Fittingly as we drive toward home the last frozen bit of my syrupy wannabe Bomb Pop falls from the stick and slides down my chest into my cleavage leaving a sticky trail of Red #40 in its wake.

*There is an argument to be made for the inclusion of puke in place of the sputum, but personally get up close and personal with the sputum on a much more regular basis.

Becoming a grown-up eats it.

And costs quite a lot of money that I don't have.

Bleh.

A bus bit the dust so am stuck at work. And know you are jealous that I get to man the radio so it's okay to go ahead and admit it.

Am busy putting together a Fourth of July picnic menu. What's that you say? It's February?

My current favorite coping mechanism seems to be focusing in on trivial decisions that are easily and quickly settled rather than obsessing about the logistics of the big things coming up. (Please see yesterday's post for further evidence.)

Things like changing states of residence, becoming a licensed nurse, seeking gainful employment.

Aaaack.

But, back to the picnic.

My love has been commissioned to fry up a mess of chicken. Like his grandmama used to make.

And I just found a recipe for a cucumber salad and one for cole slaw* at Smitten Kitchen. Bonus that the coleslaw recipe is from Ina Garten who I have an minor crush on if only for her coconut cake** and massive tulip garden.

Berry dessert? Yes? No?

Either way if you're planning your days well in advance like I am you are welcome to pencil*** in a picnic in Austin for the Fourth of July.

It'll be hot.

Bring your beau.

Public displays of affection will be encouraged.


*I understand that some people (Boyfriend) may not need recipes for lowly things like cole slaw, but other people (me) do.
**I made a smaller version of this cake last Fourth of July with less vanilla and lots more almond extract and it was almondy, moist, coconut heaven.
***Really do use pencil because yours truly sure better have a job by then so the day may need to be adjusted slightly before or after the actual Fourth.

Important

Got some cash for my birthday.

Want to buy a tote bag for when have a real job and crap to haul back and forth to it.

This or this?

What say you?

My birthday was nice.

My love had to leave and it makes me want to cry.

Long distance is the pits.

I'm so tired of the winter it also makes me want to cry.

I'd really like to boogie back to Texas.

And the 80 degree weather forecast for tomorrow.

And especially my love.

Oh hey. Hi. It's my birthday.

Cunty Pie probably has a new girl baby by now with the same birthday as me.

Congratulations, little mama.

The ground is all icy for the February babies.

Ick.

Shave my legs and try to look like a girl today.

Maybe it'll help me get lucky.

Today my nursing school girlfriend gave me the cutest necklace for my birthday. A shiny silver birds nest nestled full of little pale blue eggs.

Darling.

For the rest of you: three shopping days left, better get busy.

In other nursing school news have been trying to get Lone Boy to throw a "bitch" in at the end of some things he says in an attempt to give him that certain thug appeal that is so popular with the ladies.

He claims it just makes him feel like an asshole.

Really think he should follow my advice as am probably more likely to get play from a chick than he is at this point.

Tragic.

Time seems to be kind of hurtling by and soon it will be time for the big move to the ATX where warm weather and regular sex await.

Hoorah!

Right now Boyfriend is making the roux for my birthday gumbo. He's pretty adorable in the kitchen and it makes me sad not to be there to see it.

Nevertheless gumbo for my birthday is delicious and even more delicious is having a sexy man bring it to me on my birthday.

Rumor has it there may also be delivered a side of good old-fashioned, open-handed, bare-assed birthday spankings.

And for dessert vodka lemon-meringue layer cake.

So it's cake.

A lemon cake.

With a vodka citron syrup.

Gumbo, Boyfriend, spankings, and cake with vodka.

Happy Birthday to me.

All of the election coverage may be starting to get to me.

Last night dreamt was having a three-way with the Clintons.

No, seriously.

Hillary was barking orders from across the room and Bill was trying to get after it.

So pretty par for the course with them.

I would like to request that in the future if I am going to have sex dreams they not be horrifying.

Thanks.

Last night I slept with the bedside lamp on as not to wake in the dark and alone.

It didn't help me to miss you any less when I opened my eyes.

Today I met a man who is watching his wife die and it was utterly, achingly sad.

He straightened her head on the pillow and kissed her just above the eyebrow.

Being there with them felt intrusive and clumsy.

He wanted her to lift her lids and show him her blue eyes. Eyes he has seen hundreds of thousands of times over the many years they spent coupled. Doesn't want to stop seeing.

She didn't.

But I hope she does again before she goes.

Whatever sickness it is that is hanging around my body is hanging on strong.

Today though it feels good to be able to take a couple of deep breaths and not cough.

Expand real big little alveoli!

Applying for jobs is scary and happening and soon it will be interview time.

Someone please hire me, ok?

The two jobs that I have applied for are critical care jobs, and both of these particular hospitals seem to have a really good orientation program for little baby-fresh nurses right out of nursing school.

Called the nurse who will be my preceptor starting next month and he seemed to be not hating that I was calling him so let's hope for the best, shall we?

I'll be in one of the ICUs kicking it for 96 hours and hopefully learning how to start to be a real nurse instead of just pin-balling around here and there for a couple of days at a time and feeling lost and in the way.

Less than 90 days until graduation, folks.

Keep gettin' ready.

Hacking cough, intermittent temperature spikes, and sleep-inducing multi-symptom cough medication thwarted grand weekend plans. Except the naps. That part came true.

This is what I get for pre-emptive gloating, right?

Boyfriend made me oatmeal with brown sugar and plump little blueberries and a big steamy pot of vegetable soup. He also quite happily settled into the role of "the boss of me" in dispensing medication and forcing fluids. I may or may not be slightly difficult when sick.* I could not, however, get him to don the naughty nurse uniform. Not even the hat.

Total bummer.

Maybe next time?

Being sick is no good, but if you are going to be sick having someone around to take care of you is definitely the way to go.

*Well, all of the time, but more so when sick.

Upon arriving home from one of the most mind-bogglingly pointless days in all of nursing school history realize that it seems pretty fucking cold in the house.

Did I turn the heat way down before I left?

No.

It just stopped working. Sweet!

Having heat in Kansas in February (see previous post regarding snow) is really just a small thing. Really.

Sitting here with the cough brought home from fourth grade field trip, Cat who keeps trying to make a jail break, and the space heater while the HVAC man rustles and thumps around in the attic hopefully working some kind of handy man magic that will restore my furnaces warm, blowy powers.

If not will try not to be annoyed that the temperature inside is keeping me from getting naked and taking my newly arrived black-and-blue swirled like an old-school Brunswick sex accessory for a spin.

Either way don't drop by unannounced 'cause I'll be spending the weekend having make-up sex and playing Monopoly. And taking naps.

But mostly having make-up sex.

Guess whose fourth grade field trip got snowed out? For today. Tomorrow is still on so tonight will be huddling down in a craptastic hotel in our glorious state capitol.

There are fresh raspberry splatters all over my ghetto fabulous sweatshirt dating circa 1985. Gonna have to stop wearing it to church now.

The last few days seem to have spanned a few weeks, but it feels like things are shifting back into place. A different place than before, but not a bad one. A storm blew through and instead of leveling the place just knocked out a few windows. And maybe dropped the neighbor’s hot tub in your back yard. (You should ask to see if they will let you keep it. At least for a while.)

I like to read blogs where someone posts something sweet and syrupy about their partner. It feels nice to have someone say nice things about you to other people. The discovery of this feeling is a recent one for me and it makes me all giddy and glowy.

Sometimes I get sucked into the seemingly endless ring of blogs in which people (mostly men) complain about their significant others (mostly wives). They never put out, they don't do their share of housework, they don't shower, shave, and get their hair did. They just can't compare to various mistresses. (Who can?) And so on. It fascinates me. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't like that I keep reading them. It feels horrible to have someone who is supposed to care about you running smack behind your back.

And perhaps the villified wives have their own collection of blogs with posts that start out, "My husband is hostile and unappreciative and I'd just as soon punch him in the eye as fuck him."

Who knows?

This maybe had a point when I started it, but now it doesn't.

It was swirling around in my brain, but now it has all sloshed out.

My new cookbook came in the mail today. Gained three pounds just looking at it.

Dropped twenty degrees and went from raining to snowing in about an hour this evening.

Will be pretty heartbroken if tomorrow's school field trip is cancelled due to the weather and have to stay home in bed where it is warm or something.

Cat has a skin condition and just got done giving him a scrubbing with antibacterial soap.

Need to put away some laundry and wash dishes.

Pretty sexy life I've got working right now, no?

This morning it was storming and would have given anything if someone would have cancelled Tuesday and could have stayed in bed.

There is no one else in our classroom right now and it is beautifully quiet.

This isn't a completely anonymous blog where I spill the details of my orgy going and sex toy reviewing, secret life as a sex worker, or my burning hatred for my spouse and the affair it spawned.

People who are in my life in the real world and read here: Sorry if things written here sometimes make you worry.

But thanks for caring enough to.

The left side of my head aches, to the side and right behind my eye.

That feeling you get in your throat when you're about to cry but are trying not to could go away at anytime now.

You'd think by this stop in the line my frosty little onyx heart would be able to stand up better to a little bit of rough handling.

Splatter

Aw hell.

Shit, meet fan.

Careful where you step until it gets cleaned up.

Breaking News

Purchased at the store:

One container of cat litter and 12 mega-rolls of Angel Soft so that Cat and I can continue to do our business as usual.

Two bags of frozen organic raspberries and a yellowy lemon for a top secret mission that can't tell you about because, um, it's top secret. Duh.

All the snow is melting so when you walk it's slurp, slosh, suck, mushy mud. Cold, wet feet are the pits.

Bumped up the heat two degrees and am going to clean the house in case S.T. Princess stops by later to drink some pink bubbly wine that I found. In Boyfriend's 'frigerator.

If you want you can come too-- but find your own booze.

Last Night

Last night went to Cunty Pie's for dinner, the cheese content of which was such that need to have bran flakes washed down with Benefiber for breakfast. That is if the idea of putting anything else in my stomach didn't make me feel queasy.

There was also some ritualistic burning involving a chiminea, other people's failed relationships, and a fire extinguisher. Yours truly, the least sentimental person alive, was merely a bystander.

Had some other clever things to write, but now they're gone.

Hope you have a nice weekend.