In My M post I wrote about my famous salsa.
It IS famous, you know.
In the comments were a couple of requests for the recipe.
My seester, Tammy, wrote this little warning:
When getting the famous salsa recipe, the secret ingredients sometime get omitted depending on B's desire or lack of desire to share the love. She is really the only one who really knows all that goes into the salsa. And believe me it is soooo good. Just know, when you get the prized recipe it may or may not be the real deal. She has been known on occasion to keep the secret to herself.Except for me or course, I have the real recipe... I think???
To which I responded:
Dearest Seester, Thanks for letting THAT cat outta the bag!Of course you got the real deal, I only give the fake someitemsareintentionallyommittedrecipe to people who cook better than me or have been snotty to me.Love, b.
Let me clarify that:
I don't care if you cook better 'n me. I really don't. BUT........don't rub my nose in it. When you assign me to bring dessert and I stop off after working the third 12 hour RSV season dayshift in a row and pick up a Sam's Club Cheesecake, don't roll your eyes at me because it's not made from scratch. And, if I happen to put out margarine instead of butter at the dinner table, don't refuse to eat ANYTHING except salad with no dressing because that wasn't homemade either. And if at the same meal I put DreamWhip on top of the dessert instead of Real Whipped Cream, don't make a big scene about how you would NEVER do such a thing and then push yours and your husband's plate away in disgust. (I prefer real butter and real whipped cream too, but BE NICE!!)
You will never be invited back again AND you will have to host ALL of the get togethers from now on. Then, when you ask me for a recipe for something that I FINALLY am better at-I just might pull the Laura Ingall's sweet card of revenge on you.......
Remember the episode of Little House where after Nellie has been a total betch to Laura, Nellie then boo-hoo's about who's gonna cook for her and Manly on their hot date. Laura's pissed that Nellie's going for Manly so she volunteers to cook for them and then she puts cayenne pepper in their food thus bringing the hot date to an end.
In conclusion.....don't be a betch to me or my loved ones and then ask for my recipe because me and passive-aggressive Laura are [likethis].
Monday, March 26, 2007
Fast and Tellastory and preach repentence unto me when it's completely inappropriate for me to stand up and call you on your crap meeting
Father, forgive me.....for I am a jerk.
I spoke unkindly and critically and sarcastically about a few members of our congregation at church today.
But, Father?
Why do some members have to make it so easy to mock them??
I spoke unkindly and critically and sarcastically about a few members of our congregation at church today.
But, Father?
Why do some members have to make it so easy to mock them??
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
M is for March
M is also for Madness.
But apparently, unless you are the NCAA you can't use the two words together.
M is also for Mitch the Machine.
March has many exciting events to celebrate:
Bob and Tom have announced that down at Ernie Furglar's Hardware Store they are celebrating Mulch Madness and Grills Gone Wild! Hurry on down and take advantage of the hot deals and maybe pick up a Hibachi or something.
Yesterday, March 22, was National Goof Off Day!.......I've celebrated that all MONTH long!
March is Women's History Month: Did you know that while Susan B. Anthony and her sistah's were fighting for our right as women to vote, there were just as many women as there were men fighting against that right??
My previous post was sort of written for National Colorectal (cancer) Awareness month-although I don't have the cancer-it did make you think about your guts, didn't it?
There are lots of Birthdays in March:
My nephew, Metamorphose, Mike-my brother in law, mid-century modern's menino -I'm using "the secret" and putting that out to the universe, and my bff, Tracy will be 40 on the 31st.
And now I MUST get back to making my famous salsa......
Mitch, my middle menino, just said, "Hey Mom! If I had to choose between Mashed Potatoes and your Salsa......I'd, I'd.....well, I'd just MIX the two together!"
But apparently, unless you are the NCAA you can't use the two words together.
M is also for Mitch the Machine.
March has many exciting events to celebrate:
Bob and Tom have announced that down at Ernie Furglar's Hardware Store they are celebrating Mulch Madness and Grills Gone Wild! Hurry on down and take advantage of the hot deals and maybe pick up a Hibachi or something.
Yesterday, March 22, was National Goof Off Day!.......I've celebrated that all MONTH long!
March is Women's History Month: Did you know that while Susan B. Anthony and her sistah's were fighting for our right as women to vote, there were just as many women as there were men fighting against that right??
My previous post was sort of written for National Colorectal (cancer) Awareness month-although I don't have the cancer-it did make you think about your guts, didn't it?
There are lots of Birthdays in March:
My nephew, Metamorphose, Mike-my brother in law, mid-century modern's menino -I'm using "the secret" and putting that out to the universe, and my bff, Tracy will be 40 on the 31st.
And now I MUST get back to making my famous salsa......
Mitch, my middle menino, just said, "Hey Mom! If I had to choose between Mashed Potatoes and your Salsa......I'd, I'd.....well, I'd just MIX the two together!"
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The one where my colostomy bag pops....
Dr Mac came into my hospital room after the accident to have a little chat with me.
This was several weeks later. After I was awake and semi-alert and up walking the halls with a walker.
So, Dr Mac comes in, clears out my visitors, and says....."I know that you and your husband are newlyweds. With your injuries (crushed pelvis, broken back) you are going to need to be careful in the "lovin'" part of your relationship." [I AM paraphrasing and/ or using my own words cuz' I don't remember if he used the proper terminology with me or not....I'm sure he was appropriate I just can't look him in the eye when I see him now.]
And then he proceeds to instruct me on positions that may be more comfortable for the lovin'.
I pull the covers up over my head and think to myself......."Dude.....THAT is the FURTHEST thing from my fuh-lippin' mind.....be gone with you!"
And he was gone.
Only to return the VERY NEXT MORNING with the same lecture and instructional hand gestures!
I just laid there with my mouth agape.........whatever!
So, fastforward about a month. After the discovery and attempt to repair more life threatening internal injuries due to the car rolling over me, I was sent home with a colostomy.
That's right.....I was the proud owner of a new hole.
Let me do a quick explanation of what my new setup (not for the queazy) was like.
1. Injury to the bowel
2. Need to let bowel rest/heal
3. Chop bowel into pieces, discard the part that is broken
4. Sew end of bowel shut
5. Make an incision on left side of my belly, about 3 inches to left of belly button
6. Sew other end of bowel with new pooper (medical terminology 101: Stoma) poking out of the incision
7. Give patient (me) a box of poop brown sticky adhesive squares with template circles on it so she can ruin a new pair of scissors cutting it just the size of new orifice
8. Place brown sticky square over stoma, with stoma exposed. Press tightly.
9. Put tupperware type ring thing on it.
10. Get flesh colored colostomy bag with connected tupperware type ring thingy and connect it to stoma tupperware.....thus, creating a wonderlier store and seal -seal.
11. Take the narrow bottom of the bag and place hair barrette looking thing on it
12. Now you're "good to go"
The whole thing looks like this (cartoon-so not so bad!)
My new sh*tty friend took a lot of getting used to.
The thing would fart anytime it wanted to. And not lusty farts either!
One time, a new neighbor (who was kind of a bitty anyway) brought over dinner for us, she didn't know us-we didn't know her, as soon as I said "Hi, I'm b." Colostomy decided to let out the HUGEST phart......loud and long. She looked at me in utter disgust! I avoided her the entire time we lived in that neighborhood!
It would phart in church, at work, at play, at the grocery store, it was pretty much like a 2 year old......or a 12 year old boy, or our farmer neighbor down the street.
We became inactive.......I think God understood.
If colostomy pharted too much the bag would fill up with air, and if you didn't have sweats or something loose on, it could explode if you put too much pressure on it. So I had to discreetly reach in and crack open the tupperware and let out the air.
EVERY HEALTH CARE WORKER OR CARETAKER WHO HAS EVER HAD TO CHANGE A COLOSTOMY BAG WILL TELL YOU THERE IS NO WORSE SMELL IN THE WORLD!!!!
I could ALWAYS smell it. It was stuck in my nose. I was always asking my husband if I stunk, he said, "No." But I'm pretty sure I did.
So one night, after my husband and I had been out together eating dinner at La Ca-puke (or LaCasita.....whatever you wanna call it----pretty much EVERYWHERE I ate during those 9 months is off limits forever) we climbed into bed and snuggled for awhile. I rolled over and tried to go to sleep. I could tell that the bag was full of air so I reached down and cracked the lid at the same time that I rolled a little farther into it to release the air. And POP!!
HOLY SHIT! Does not even begin to describe it.
It was everywhere. I fairly calmly said, "Uh, honey? You awake?"
He said, "What do you need?" I said, "I have a problem-can you very carefully roll out of bed, turn on the light, and help me?"
He flipped on the light, took one look and said, "Ohhh..."
He threw back the covers, picked me up, turned on the shower, and gently put me in the tub.
He said, "You get washed off and I'll fix the bed." And he did. That's when I knew he really loved me.
Thankfully, I got to have the colostomy reversed, and my pooper put back where it belongs.
Aside from finding out who my true friends were, I learned from the whole colostomy experience that carrying around a literal bag of shit was not really what was holding me back from true happiness......it was the years of carrying around the emotional shitbag that almost destroyed me.
Of course I didn't reach this metaphorical realization until way later......because I'm a little thick.
This was several weeks later. After I was awake and semi-alert and up walking the halls with a walker.
So, Dr Mac comes in, clears out my visitors, and says....."I know that you and your husband are newlyweds. With your injuries (crushed pelvis, broken back) you are going to need to be careful in the "lovin'" part of your relationship." [I AM paraphrasing and/ or using my own words cuz' I don't remember if he used the proper terminology with me or not....I'm sure he was appropriate I just can't look him in the eye when I see him now.]
And then he proceeds to instruct me on positions that may be more comfortable for the lovin'.
I pull the covers up over my head and think to myself......."Dude.....THAT is the FURTHEST thing from my fuh-lippin' mind.....be gone with you!"
And he was gone.
Only to return the VERY NEXT MORNING with the same lecture and instructional hand gestures!
I just laid there with my mouth agape.........whatever!
So, fastforward about a month. After the discovery and attempt to repair more life threatening internal injuries due to the car rolling over me, I was sent home with a colostomy.
That's right.....I was the proud owner of a new hole.
Let me do a quick explanation of what my new setup (not for the queazy) was like.
1. Injury to the bowel
2. Need to let bowel rest/heal
3. Chop bowel into pieces, discard the part that is broken
4. Sew end of bowel shut
5. Make an incision on left side of my belly, about 3 inches to left of belly button
6. Sew other end of bowel with new pooper (medical terminology 101: Stoma) poking out of the incision
7. Give patient (me) a box of poop brown sticky adhesive squares with template circles on it so she can ruin a new pair of scissors cutting it just the size of new orifice
8. Place brown sticky square over stoma, with stoma exposed. Press tightly.
9. Put tupperware type ring thing on it.
10. Get flesh colored colostomy bag with connected tupperware type ring thingy and connect it to stoma tupperware.....thus, creating a wonderlier store and seal -seal.
11. Take the narrow bottom of the bag and place hair barrette looking thing on it
12. Now you're "good to go"
The whole thing looks like this (cartoon-so not so bad!)
My new sh*tty friend took a lot of getting used to.
The thing would fart anytime it wanted to. And not lusty farts either!
One time, a new neighbor (who was kind of a bitty anyway) brought over dinner for us, she didn't know us-we didn't know her, as soon as I said "Hi, I'm b." Colostomy decided to let out the HUGEST phart......loud and long. She looked at me in utter disgust! I avoided her the entire time we lived in that neighborhood!
It would phart in church, at work, at play, at the grocery store, it was pretty much like a 2 year old......or a 12 year old boy, or our farmer neighbor down the street.
We became inactive.......I think God understood.
If colostomy pharted too much the bag would fill up with air, and if you didn't have sweats or something loose on, it could explode if you put too much pressure on it. So I had to discreetly reach in and crack open the tupperware and let out the air.
EVERY HEALTH CARE WORKER OR CARETAKER WHO HAS EVER HAD TO CHANGE A COLOSTOMY BAG WILL TELL YOU THERE IS NO WORSE SMELL IN THE WORLD!!!!
I could ALWAYS smell it. It was stuck in my nose. I was always asking my husband if I stunk, he said, "No." But I'm pretty sure I did.
So one night, after my husband and I had been out together eating dinner at La Ca-puke (or LaCasita.....whatever you wanna call it----pretty much EVERYWHERE I ate during those 9 months is off limits forever) we climbed into bed and snuggled for awhile. I rolled over and tried to go to sleep. I could tell that the bag was full of air so I reached down and cracked the lid at the same time that I rolled a little farther into it to release the air. And POP!!
HOLY SHIT! Does not even begin to describe it.
It was everywhere. I fairly calmly said, "Uh, honey? You awake?"
He said, "What do you need?" I said, "I have a problem-can you very carefully roll out of bed, turn on the light, and help me?"
He flipped on the light, took one look and said, "Ohhh..."
He threw back the covers, picked me up, turned on the shower, and gently put me in the tub.
He said, "You get washed off and I'll fix the bed." And he did. That's when I knew he really loved me.
Thankfully, I got to have the colostomy reversed, and my pooper put back where it belongs.
Aside from finding out who my true friends were, I learned from the whole colostomy experience that carrying around a literal bag of shit was not really what was holding me back from true happiness......it was the years of carrying around the emotional shitbag that almost destroyed me.
Of course I didn't reach this metaphorical realization until way later......because I'm a little thick.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
For Seester
This is how I remember him:
Now he looks like a missionary!
I call this one: My Three Sons
And my Loo-Hoo!
Now he looks like a missionary!
I call this one: My Three SonsAnd my Loo-Hoo!Friday, March 16, 2007
Ode to Maybelline
Because I am completely overwhelmed by the behemothic hell-hole that is my house today.....and also because I am not a good enough writer to meet Segullah's criteria for poetic unleashing, I am pouring out my words to express my love for a product that has been around forever:
Oh Maybelline, my maybelline
I've been so mean to my pink and green.
I do not know what made me stray
when you take so little of my pay.
I stayed with pink and dropped the green
Mary Kay's the "other woman" with whom I've been
I am not gay, don't get me wrong
The line just fit better in this song.
My lashes have changed and the older I git
The shorter they are, no longer "the sh*t".
They use to reach clear up to my brow
People would say to me, "Tell me now, HOW?"
They couldn't believe 'twasn't Clinique or Laud-er
But it's definitely you dear, that I still prefer.
So, I'm coming back from my wandering ways
To you drug store mascara, for the rest of my days.
When I see other women with fakes or extensions
Some look like spiders or Tammy Faye or ANS (God rest her soul) a few just to mention(s).
I'm glad I got you babe........just like Sonny and Cher
I think you and me make a fabulous pair.
As my tribute to you and this poem comes to an end
I hope that somebody at your corporate office will read this and send me a years (make that two years) supply or maybe a big fat endorsement check or an honorable mention letter or something like that because I'm your friend.
So....whattaya think? Should I enter this one into the contest? Or maybe this one.
Am I a literary genius or what?
Perspective
I loathe injustice.
I love a thrill, a rush of adrenaline, excitement, and yes....a little drama.
Lately, I've been a tiny bit disgusted with my employer. The hiring of more executives in the already top heavy corporation.......I know this is not exclusive to this company-it happens everywhere-but honestly, HOW MANY EFFING CHIEFS DO WE NEED IN THE TEEPEE??
This disgust was further aggravated when a co-worker came in and gave her two weeks notice because she was leaving the healthcare industry for a home security company that would be paying her several more $$ an hour to "review contracts" in an office somewhere. This co-worker is a patient care technician or PCT, which means she's the one who gets you up, helps you to the potty, and/or wipes your bum when you can't. She's the one who takes your vital signs every 4-12 hours depending on the physician order, she gets your fresh water (and good ice), she sometimes draws your blood for the test that will decide what will happen next, she sometimes sits next to you when you have a melt-down, she offers to hold your baby for you while you leave to take a shower after not having one for several hours or days, she brings your dinner tray-even if it is broth and jello.....again. She's the one who alerts the nurse if/when something just doesn't look or feel right about you/your child/your loved one. She's the Nurse's Aid. The PCT. The hospital bedside caregiver who gets paid squat. It makes me angry. It's probably not going to change. Saying so publicly may get me fired.
I love a thrill, a rush of adrenaline, excitement, and yes....a little drama.
Lately, I've been a tiny bit disgusted with my employer. The hiring of more executives in the already top heavy corporation.......I know this is not exclusive to this company-it happens everywhere-but honestly, HOW MANY EFFING CHIEFS DO WE NEED IN THE TEEPEE??
This disgust was further aggravated when a co-worker came in and gave her two weeks notice because she was leaving the healthcare industry for a home security company that would be paying her several more $$ an hour to "review contracts" in an office somewhere. This co-worker is a patient care technician or PCT, which means she's the one who gets you up, helps you to the potty, and/or wipes your bum when you can't. She's the one who takes your vital signs every 4-12 hours depending on the physician order, she gets your fresh water (and good ice), she sometimes draws your blood for the test that will decide what will happen next, she sometimes sits next to you when you have a melt-down, she offers to hold your baby for you while you leave to take a shower after not having one for several hours or days, she brings your dinner tray-even if it is broth and jello.....again. She's the one who alerts the nurse if/when something just doesn't look or feel right about you/your child/your loved one. She's the Nurse's Aid. The PCT. The hospital bedside caregiver who gets paid squat. It makes me angry. It's probably not going to change. Saying so publicly may get me fired.
*Sidebar: If you've had a crappy PCT or Nurse, I am sorry.....I get that, I've had several crappy ones too. I realize that not ALL healthcare workers are good at what they do, some shouldn't even be doing it. I am speaking about those who ARE great and still get paid squat.
So, if you're my friend and you think I may get fired for posting this (remember I only have about 30 visitors a day.....but it only takes the "right" visitor, I guess.) HURRY UP and comment so I can unpost it. Or not.
Anyway....rant over.
Some of my besties and I were discussing things (not boobs this time) and we were coming up with businesses we could open up together. We talked about going to culinary school. We talked about several options to jump to and leave this all behind. It was all sounding very tempting, freeing, different, new..........
and boring.
The clock hit 1600 (4 pm) and the admissions hit the door. Our team rolls into action with accuracy, urgency, and compassion our mission.
We had 2 emergently critical situations happen at once, requiring lifesaving measures......
Looking back at it on the drive home, I realized......I would never get that intensity and the perspective it brings at a flower shop, a cake and candy store, or home security company.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
March 11.
It was a Sunday, just like today.
The sun was shining when I left the house, just like today.
We sang Hymn #219, just like today.
I cried through it then, just like today. My mom sang every word in a whisper. The cancer in her lung diminshed her voice but it would never take her passion to sing. That was the last time I would sing with her in this life.
It snowed during church. Not like today.
A desire to get home to my new husband and a foolish decision not to wear a seat belt, changed our lives forever.
A Turning Point.
Our lives turned toward the hard and easy, the darkness and light, rebellion and submission, surrender and fight, the greatest sorrows and the greatest joys.
All NECESSARY.
The theme for that day, today in Ward Conference, and always: ".......not my will, but thine..."
The sun was shining when I left the house, just like today.
We sang Hymn #219, just like today.
I cried through it then, just like today. My mom sang every word in a whisper. The cancer in her lung diminshed her voice but it would never take her passion to sing. That was the last time I would sing with her in this life.
It snowed during church. Not like today.
A desire to get home to my new husband and a foolish decision not to wear a seat belt, changed our lives forever.
A Turning Point.
Our lives turned toward the hard and easy, the darkness and light, rebellion and submission, surrender and fight, the greatest sorrows and the greatest joys.
All NECESSARY.
The theme for that day, today in Ward Conference, and always: ".......not my will, but thine..."
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
Before you decide how to spend your tax return...
Pause the Crickets for a minute......
After reading Sue's memorial account of her dad and the late ANS the other day, I really got to thinking.......
What happens to boobs when you die?
I mean, I hadn't really given it much thought.
As luck would have it, I wouldn't have to wonder for too long. My friend BW, also a Respiratory Therapist, ALSO married to a Mortician, also at work with me on Sunday.
So, in the name of education, I offer you the following exchange:
Ring-Ring.
BW: "This is Respiratory."
Me: "This is b. Whatcha doin'? Are you in the middle of something wildly important like a code or something? Because you could totally call me back later if you need to."
BW: "No, I'm good.....what's up?"
Me: "Well, you know.......you know, how when you die......?"
BW: "Yeah...."
Me: "You know how when you die........what happens to your boobs? I mean, like......what happens if they are fake...do they just stay right there? And what happens if they are real? Do they stiffen up where they are supposed to? Or do they stiffen up in your arm pits off to the side?"
BW: (totally serious and professional)"They flop."
Me: "They flop?"
BW: "Uh-huh....rigor mortis does not affect the boobs."
Me: "Wow.....huh.......ok, thanks BW!"
BW: "You're funny. I'll come and visit later."
.............5 minutes later................
Ring-Ring.
Me: "Pediatrics, this is b."
BW: "Just to answer the rest of your question.......when they are fake "they" take them."
Me: "Are you kidding me? Why?"
BW: "Yup. They take them to do studies on them for research. So, you spend all that money on them and then as soon as you close your eyes forever.....OFF WITH YOUR TA-TA's!"
(ok, she didn't say that last sentence because she's wayyy more professional than I am.)
Me: "Weird."
Again, with the crickets.....
After reading Sue's memorial account of her dad and the late ANS the other day, I really got to thinking.......
What happens to boobs when you die?
I mean, I hadn't really given it much thought.
As luck would have it, I wouldn't have to wonder for too long. My friend BW, also a Respiratory Therapist, ALSO married to a Mortician, also at work with me on Sunday.
So, in the name of education, I offer you the following exchange:
Ring-Ring.
BW: "This is Respiratory."
Me: "This is b. Whatcha doin'? Are you in the middle of something wildly important like a code or something? Because you could totally call me back later if you need to."
BW: "No, I'm good.....what's up?"
Me: "Well, you know.......you know, how when you die......?"
BW: "Yeah...."
Me: "You know how when you die........what happens to your boobs? I mean, like......what happens if they are fake...do they just stay right there? And what happens if they are real? Do they stiffen up where they are supposed to? Or do they stiffen up in your arm pits off to the side?"
BW: (totally serious and professional)"They flop."
Me: "They flop?"
BW: "Uh-huh....rigor mortis does not affect the boobs."
Me: "Wow.....huh.......ok, thanks BW!"
BW: "You're funny. I'll come and visit later."
.............5 minutes later................
Ring-Ring.
Me: "Pediatrics, this is b."
BW: "Just to answer the rest of your question.......when they are fake "they" take them."
Me: "Are you kidding me? Why?"
BW: "Yup. They take them to do studies on them for research. So, you spend all that money on them and then as soon as you close your eyes forever.....OFF WITH YOUR TA-TA's!"
(ok, she didn't say that last sentence because she's wayyy more professional than I am.)
Me: "Weird."
Again, with the crickets.....
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