Just A Little Rant

Once Upon A Time, some people pissed GunDiva off ...

At the beginning of the year, I posted about the 28 day FAST Metabolism Diet.  Y'all know I *hate* numbers, right?  So I'm still refusing to engage with them.  After our first round with the diet and the numbers (I did lose some inches, BTW), I decided I still hated the numbers and if I was going to repeat the 28 days I was going to do it because it is good for me, not because of some numbers on a scale.

People at work have noticed my drastic change in diet - I haven't tried to hide it - and I'm a lot better about not joining in on the impromptu "let's go to lunch" stuff. 

One of my well-meaning, but probably orthorexic, colleagues told me a few weeks ago, "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."  I call bullshit.  I've been skinny.  You know what it feels like?  Guilt.  It feels like fucking guilt.  Every missed work out, every bite of "forbidden" food equals Guilt.  That is no way to live a life.

I've been skinny and I've been fat, and I'll tell you what: I'm much happier living my life now than when I was skinny.  Did I look better on the outside?  Yep.  Did I like the way I looked in pictures?  Yep.  Was it worth it?  Even just a couple of years ago when I was working out like a beast with The Little Bastard?  Maybe, at the time I thought it was worth it.  Now?  No way. 

Just last week, as I was shoveling down my salad, I mentioned that I was being really good with my diet because I had a cheat day planned.  A different co-worker piped up and said, "how on earth to plan on losing any weight if you schedule cheat days?".

Um, excuse me, but just because I'm fat, do NOT assume that I'm trying to lose weight.  I'm eating cleaner because it makes me feel better.  I could not give a flying fuck what the scale says.  I lived my life by the scale for far too long and I'm not going to chain myself to it any longer.

And yet another co-worker, when he noticed me eating my salad and drinking my ONE Coke for the day, told me he'd rather see me eating the greasy cheeseburger and fries that my other co-workers were eating instead of drinking that "poison".  The one thing I refuse to give up, and I've said it for years, is my Coke.  It's not going to happen so people need to back the fuck off about it.  I have very few vices, other than my foul mouth and my love for Coke.  I don't smoke, rarely drink, and don't do drugs. Look, dude, I know you're a personal trainer, but you're not *my* personal trainer and unless I'm getting drunk or shooting up at work, what I put into my body is none of your business. 

What I would really love is for the people at work to stop assuming I'm eating healthier to lose weight.  And I really wish they'd keep their damned opinions and comments to themselves.  God forbid I do something like work out - I can only imagine the "help" I'd get then.  I do plan on being more active as the weather continues to warm up, though I won't call it "working out".  My whole goal is to be healthy enough to do what I want to do.  If I want to go for a hike, by God I'm going to go for a hike.  If I want to take Skeeter for a walk, I'm going to take Skeeter for a walk.  But I don't need my armchair quarterback co-workers being "helpful".  I need them to shut the fuck up and mind their own business.

The End.

Rant

For those of you who don't know, I'm an Associate Dean at a for-profit career college.

There, I laid it out, you all can gasp over the fact that I work for a 1) for-profit, 2) career college.  Sadly, they've gotten a bad rap, mostly because we threaten the hell out of the State Colleges/Universities.  But that's a rant for another day.

Oh, I suppose I should tell you to look at the disclaimer on the right side of the page that says that I don't speak for my employer.

As an Associate Dean, I carry a full teaching load (if you ask my hubby or kids, they might tell you it's more than a full teaching load - it's more like working two full-time jobs) in addition to my administrative duties.   One of the things that drives me absolutely bat shit is students who put ZERO effort into their education.

School's expensive, especially a specialized school like ours, though we haven't seen nearly the tuition hikes that the State schools have.  We sat down once and figured that for every F a student earns, it costs them approximately $1,800 in additional tuition.

As I was entering my grades tonight, I was dismayed to see that I have four morning students and one evening student who have earned 'F's.  FIVE!  Know what the common denominators were? 

Attendance and failure to turn in work (funny, how if you don't come to class, you don't know what the assignments are and since I don't accept late work, if you're absent the day it's due you're screwed).

Every. Single. Student who failed did so because they didn't come to class or turn in their work.

That's not to say that the students who do attend are being "given" grades - they earn every point they get.  I am not an easy teacher; I have high expectations and I hold them to it.  These students are going to be medical assistants and healthcare administrators who have a good chance of giving care to me, my family, or my friends in the future.  I want them, at minimum, to be competent.

All I can say is it's a damn shame when the instructor puts more work into the students' education than the students do.

The Cranky Bitch Is Home...

...finally.  I've definitely become more of a homebody and any stretch away from home brings out my inner cranky bitch (as opposed to the outer cranky bitch who is always present).

I was starting to feel my inner cranky bitch slipping back into her hiding place as I got closer to home.

I could almost feel myself stretched out on the couch.

I could feel my eyes getting heavy in anticipation of my nap.

As I approached my street I noticed a "Road Closed" sign.

I turned the corner, slipped around the sign and saw this...

Right the fuck in front of my house.

There is no place to park in front of the house now.  My entire front yard is blocked by whatever the hell it is they're doing.

Inner cranky bitch lost her damned mind.

I parked in front of my neighbor's house, slammed some things around and flopped on the couch.

Four hours later, I've corralled inner cranky bitch and am starting to feel human.  I'll be back to my (semi) regular posting as soon as I've wrangled her back under control.

A Pissed Off Momma and Lots of F-Bombs

Consider yourself warned.

Digger is a legitimate dumb ass.  I know that's not surprising since he's 19 and living in Wyoming in what is essentially a frat house.

But he got really stupid last night and he and his buddies thought it would be a good idea to brand themselves.

You heard me:  Fucking Brand Themselves.

That's a legit hot iron brand.

Let's just say it's a good thing he's a LONG way from me right now, because I'd knock his fucking head off.

Here's how I found out:

Digger (on FB): So. . . judge me if u must. but i may or may not have legitimatly branded my ass. . it may or may not sting about right now

So I went to my "mole" Ashinator who takes pics of everything and found the previously posted picture.  My comment to Digger:

Dude...I just saw the pics. You are a dumb ass. Bet you didn't remember that you tend to lean toward keloid scarring, did you? Yeah, that brand will look great. Time for your ass to quit drinking, the IQ of 12 doesn't become you.

I seriously cannot believe he'd do something so stupid.  I'm all about a tattoo or two that mean something to you, but a BRAND that you got while drunk with a bunch of goddamn redneck fucking hicks that you'll lose touch with in a year or two is about as dumb as you can get.

I am so angry I'm shaking.  I want to take my pocket knife and carve that burned ass flap of skin right off his useless body.

I hope it gets infected.

Wait...no I don't.  Because then I'll be footing the bill for his dumbassery.

Ima kick his ass when I see him.

The Man Cold

I don't get sick often, which is probably why I am such a baby about it.  The last time I was sick was October 16, 2009.  How do I know that?  Because I blogged about it.  That's how rarely I get sick enough to turn into such a man baby about it.



I try not to be a baby, I really do, but I hate being a mouth-breather due to the tons of concrete snot inside my face.  I hate the fact that I can hear the fluid move in my eustacian tubes.  I hate not being able to get comfortable.  See the pattern here?  Being sick makes me unhappy and when Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

RockCrawlinChef has been sick for two weeks.  He's been coughing up multi-colored lung cookies all night long.  Has he whined about it?  Nope.  He's a much better woman about being sick than I am.  Just went to the store one day and bought himself a bottle of NyQuil  dosed himself up and went to bed. 

How many of you started singing Denis Leary's NyQuil song when you read what RCC took?  It's thanks to Mr. Leary that I can properly spell it, "Big N, little y, giant fucking Q", and then I have to mentally sing the whole NyQuil song in my head.  Thanks a lot, Mr. Leary, I'm going to be singing that stupid song all day long.

I'm going to curl up with my Advil Cold & Sinus and snot rags and take a nap.  Mostly because it's too much effort to get out of bed and go to the couch...

Oh, and it just dawned on me that this is my 400th post!  That's like a milestone or something.  My mucus-infested synapses aren't firing well enough to think of something to do to celebrate this post.  Hmm...

Random Meeting Thoughts

Warning: Foul language post today.  If you don't want to read bad words, click the little red "X" in the upper right-hand corner.  Also, if I work with you, this is totally not about you, it's about all those other idiots in the meeting.  If you're a co-worker reading this, I totally love you.

Here's a quick sampling of the thoughts that run through my brain at meetings:

• Good Lord, if that woman doesn't shut the hell up, I'm going to swallow a bullet.
• Oh. hell. no.  I'm not going to swallow a bullet, but I just may kill her with it instead.
• Will my co-workers help me post bail if I go up for homicide?
• Seriously, is there an abundance of stupid today?
• That's it.  I'm going to fucking kill her.  Who gives a damn if my co-workers won't pitch in for bail?
• Will she ever shut that big mouth?
• Well...I see someone is fond of flaunting an uneducated opinion.
• Jee-sus Christ if he would let someone else talk, he might learn something.
• Didn't the mediator just clarify that point three times?  Oh, that's right, she couldn't hear the clarification because she was flapping her gums.
• Can I dig my eyeballs out with this pen?
• No, I'm going to stab this pen in my ears instead, then I don't have to hear that voice.
• I wonder if I could hire that guy who came to enroll with the 20 year-old felony for throwing Molotov cocktails to kill all these people who are pissing. me. the. fuck. off. 

Obviously, this was one of those days when just the fact that there were other people being allowed to breathe got on my last nerve.  Mostly, I have a good time in meetings.  Today, I was homicidal.  And I wasn't the only one.  At one point, two other people were arguing so loudly we thought they were going to go to blows. 

I put a stop to it before it went to blows and then instantly regretted it. 

It might have been a fun diversion.

How Dare You!

I've been trying to figure out how to post this blog, as it's still painful for me, so if it doesn't flow or even make any sense, please bear with me.  This looks to be a long one, so pour yourself a drink and settle in.

Asheebutt and her boyfriend, CJ, have been together for eight months.  In high school years, they're an old married couple.  I adore CJ and am forever endebted to him for suggesting Dashurie as a pet instead of another dog.  As with any high school romance, theirs is by turns perfect and awful, but that's how we learn how to deal with "adult" relationships, right?  High school's just a proving grounds for what you want out of a relationship as an adult.

The morning of their eight month anniversary, CJ's mom texted Ash while she was in class.  Did she say anything nice?  Nope.  She started in with how my daughter's not good enough for her son and how there are so many other girls out there that are better for him.  Pretty upsetting stuff for a seventeen year-old to have to put up with.  Ash was angry, but basically told CJ's mom to get over herself and grow up (have I mentioned that I love this child?).  This was literally an attack out of nowhere.  Completely blindsided Ash. 

Later that day, during lunch, Ash told CJ what happened and CJ showed her all of the texts his mom had sent him.  Basically, they all said that he could find someone better and that Ash was cheating on him and was no good for him.  Again, completely out of nowhere and completely unfounded.

Now, CJ's mom, let's just call her Crazy Narcissistic Bitch, CNB for short, is unlike any other single mother I've met.  Most have been like me; just working their butts off to make life a little bit easier for themselves and their families.  Not CNB.  No, she's a stay-at-home single mother (not that that's bad, i just don't understand how she can afford to be a SAHM) who feels like she has to control every move her son makes.  Not that he's her only child, mind you, just that he's the one she's formed an unhealthy attachment to.  To hear CNB talk, CJ's the only child she's got.  I've never heard her acknowledge her daughters, one of whom lives at home with her and CJ.

There is so much wrong with this woman, I don't even know where to start!

So, after she managed to ruin their eight monthiversary, she got a little less hostile toward Ash, but that was temporary.  We're talking a day or two.  Now, Ash has been telling me for months that CNB is nuts.  Silly things like, they may lose their electricity because they don't have money to pay for it, but CNB went out and bought a Wii.  CJ has lettered in lacrosse for the last two years.  The kid wants a letter jacket.  That strikes a chord with me, because when I lettered in track, my mom did everything in her power to make sure I got my letter jacket.  They're not cheap, I know that.  CNB can't afford one because she'd have to do without something.  I can't even remember what it was she bought in place of the jacket, but it was a high ticket item for herself.  Her mis-management of money drives Ash up a freaking wall, simply because all CNB would have to do instead of whining about being broke is get a job.  (Yeah, I know the economy sucks, but there are jobs out there, it wouldn't kill the bitch to flip a burger or two.)

A couple of times, Ash has come home from CJ's upset about comments that CNB has made to her about how she was raised.  Now, my daughter will take pretty much anything, but you attack any aspect of her family and it's game on.  We talked about it and decided that CNB can pretty much believe anything she wants about how I raised Ash, but we know the truth, which is I worked my ass off to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies.  Yes, it meant I worked long hours and didn't see the kids a whole lot, but they know how much I love them and that I'd do anything for them.  We did without, but you can be damn sure we didn't lose our electricity because I wanted to buy something for myself instead.

Anybitterbitching, CNB's hostility has been escalating towards Ash, to the point that I wasn't comfortable letting Ash go to CJ's.  In fact, the last night that she went over there, we had a discussion about the excalating hostility and I warned Ash that if CNB laid a hand on her, I'd throw her ass in jail.  (What I would really like to do involves and empty lot and  many shovels full of dirt.)  Just as I dropped her off, I asked again if she wouldn't rather have CJ over to our house.  She declined, seeing, as I would have, that to do so would mean that CNB had won.

I dropped her off, went back home and was working on the computer when I got a phone call from Ash  Jokingly, I answered the phone, "Do I need to call the cops?"

What I got was my daughter sobbing, barely holding herself together long enough to say, "Mom, please come and get me."

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Just please come and get me right now!"  Her desperation reached through the phone and slapped me.

I jumped into my shoes and made the best time I've ever made getting to CJ's house.  I called her on the way to let her know I was coming and could hear CNB screaming in the background.  "Does CJ need to come home with us?" I asked.

"He won't leave.  Mom, she won't stop.  She won't stop."

I had no idea what CNB wouldn't stop doing, but whatever it was was scaring the everloving shit out of my daughter, so I asked, "Do I need to come in and get you?"

"No.  Just let me know when you're here."

I pulled up in front of CNB's house and called Ash to let her know I was there.  A giant part of me wanted to bust down the bitch's front door and run in to rescue my daughter, but the logical part of me reminded me that going to jail wouldn't help the kids out at all.

Through the enclosed front porch I could see CJ and Ash in the entryway, clinging to each other and sobbing.  CNB was nowhere in sight, which I took as a good sign.  A few minutes later, CJ walked Ash out to the car and they stood outside the car sobbing as though their lives had ended.  My thought was that CNB had forced them to break up, because they obviously were distraught (an understatement) and whatever had happened hadn't been by their choosing.

Ash collapsed into the car seat, buried her face in her hands and let loose.  I thought she'd been crying hard before, but that was nothing compared to the anguish that poured out of her.  I watched CJ trudge back up the driveway to his house, and collapse just inside the porch door.  CNB appeared at that moment.  She didn't even glance at CJ curled up in the fetal position at her feet, crying as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest.  No, instead she fixed her glare on Ash.  She stood in the doorway of the house, arms crossed, illuminated from behind and gave my daughter the death stare.  I've never, ever seen anyone as scary as that woman.  Hollywood's got nothing on CNB.

I let my car idle in front of her house for a few minutes, giving her a death stare of my own, before telling Ash to buckle up so we could go home.

I still haven't gotten all of the story out of Ash, but I can pretty well piece it together.  CNB had given permission for Ash to go over to the house to spend some time with CJ.  She then allowed them a half hour or so of time by themselves before she sprung the trap.  Just like her text attack on Ash, this came out of nowhere.  She came screaming into the room and started in on Ash, literally inches from her face.  When she ran out of vileness for Ash, she started in on CJ, but just for a breather, because before Ash knew it, she was back to attacking her.  Ash said that at a couple of points during the attack, she was sure that CNB was going to physically attack her and that she almost wanted her to, because then Ash could throw her in jail and CJ would be out of the situation.

Ashinator admitted to fighting back with some not very nice words that maybe I'm not so sad about teaching her after all.  My kids know that they have to be respectful towards adults, but they also know that I'll back them up every time in a situation like this.  I'm damn proud of my daughter for standing up for herself against that mad woman; I'm not sure I could have at her age.  Wait, I know I couldn't have done that at seventeen.

Throughout this whole thing, what was Ash upset about?  CJ being stuck in that abusive household.  She was upset about what CNB said about me, but she was devastated that CJ had to live with her.

I know this post has gone on forever, so let me wrap it up (which may still take a little bit of time).  I got Ash home and safe.  CJ went to his dad's house, where his dad welcomed him with open arms.  They were both terribly upset - and rightfully so - so I took Ash over to CJ's dad's house for a little bit.  The man is delightful, despite what CNB had said about him.  He managed to calm both of them down and made sure Ash was home at midnight.

A couple of days later, I got a friend request on FB from CJ's dad.  We've been talking back and forth; my main concern is for CJ living in an obviously abusing household.  My daughter will never return to CNB's house - and she's the one who said it (I agree wholeheartedly) - because I may be a lot of things, but I won't allow my child to be abused by anyone.  This is what he had to say in one of the posts...

During our divorce I ordered a custody evaluation. CNB flunked her psychological evaluation. I believe she is suffering from a variety of personality disorders, if not outright bi-polar. She was shown to have extremetly unrealistic views of her own virtuousness (i.e. narcissism), and attempted to lie her way through the psych questionaire. The cocktail of prescription drugs that she routinely overuses certainly can't be helping. Despite the evaluator's conclusion that she had a very unhealthy "care-giving" relationship with CJ, had major issues regulating her anger, and was emotionally manipulative with those around her, the evaluator decided that, given his age, it was in CJ's best interest to let him decide where to live.

This breaks my heart, because the very next day, CJ moved back in with his mother.  This is a cycle of abuse (I refuse to pretty it up and call it a "pattern of behaviour" it's abuse, pure and simple) that he's grown up with and it's what he knows and is comfortable with.  How sad is that?

Crazy Narcissictic Bitch - How dare you do this to your own child?

He's a sweet, gentle-hearted soul. 

You are killing him a little more every day. 

Bitch.

Thank God Friday's Over!

I didn't dare bump the Ashinator's post just to whine about my Friday, so you're getting it a day late.  Keep in mind that my Friday wasn't nearly as horrible as Dual Mom's.

This morning, I just. could. not. get. out. of. bed.  Yeah, it was one of those mornings.  So when Ashinator came screaming up into my bedroom, we had 5 minutes to get out the door.  I jumped into my jeans, pulled a shirt over my head and shoved my feet into my shoes.  While I was jamming my contacts into my eyes, I told Ash to start the car.  She asked where the keys were.

What do you mean, where are the keys?  They should be hanging up.

Guess what?  No keys hanging up.  RockCrawlinChef drove last night, maybe he left them in his sweatshirt pocket.  Nope.  Well, maybe he put them on the bookshelf.  Nope.  What about his bedside stand?  Nope.  Kitchen table?  No ma'am.  Still in the ignition?  Guess again.

During all of the panicked run-around looking for the keys, I noticed that Allie-bird maybe should have asked to go outside, 'cause she left a very large puddle on the living room carpet.  The GunDiva was not a happy woman, but, lucky for Allie, was unarmed.

A phone call to RockCrawlinChef..."do you have my keys?"

"Oops" was the answer.

Ash arranged another ride to work and I threw a pile of paper towels down on the carpet.  That's about the time that yesterday's very, very yummy lunch decided to bite back.  The next two and a half hours were spent in very, very (let's call it intimate) contact with the toilet.

Finally, the demons purged, I get ready to jump into the shower.  I turn on the water, wait for it to warm up, get one leg into the spray and the water changes from luke-warm to ice cold.  Son of a motherless goat, we were out of propane (my step-dad hooked me up with a propane water heater a couple of years ago - it's awesome and so much cheaper than electric or natural gas).  I knew that we had a full tank in the garage, but it needed to be changed.

I was muttering some of the words that the Ashinator obviously learned from me as I wrapped myself into a towel and slipped my bare feet into my obnoxious cowboy boots...

Had to give you an idea of how obnoxious they are.  Imagine them coupled with a small beached whale wrapped in a tan bath sheet.  Dead sexy, I'm telling you.

Still muttering those words that I maybe should not have taught my daughter, I head out to the garage, grab the new propane tank and step through the backdoor to the patio...or shall I call it the poopio?  Her highness, Allie-bird, can't be bothered to go out in the snow during the winter and chose to use our patio.  We knew she was doing it, but when it's buried under a couple of feet of snow, it's easy to overlook.

But guess what?  The snow's gone.  And that dog can shit.  A lot.  A lot, a lot.

I picked my way across the poopio, glad that I'd worn my shitkickers, hooked up the propane and finally took a hot shower.

The day eventually got better, but I was ready to crawl back into bed and call it a day all by 10:30 Friday morning.

Adventures of Ashinator

She's beautiful,

Bold and opinionated,

The GunDiva's daughter:

She's the Ashinator!

"People piss me off,"

The Ashinator

I was in the self check-out and the guy looked at me scanning my cough drops and asked if I was sick.

Really, dude?

~~~~~~~~~~

Ashinator, shaking her fist: "Never again, I say!  Never again!"

GunDiva: "Or what?"

Ashinator, shrugging: "I don't know, it just sounds cool."

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm gonna be such an angry driver when I have my license.

GunDiva in:  Fair warning for all of you Colorado drivers.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ashinator: "Aaarrrrgggghhhh! F*ck me!"

GunDiva:  "Hey!  Pot-ty mouth!"

Ashinator:  "Yeah.  I must be your daughter."

GunDiva, hanging head:  "Shit."

GunDiva:  I have been chastised by the Ashinator, who told me that I "mommy-ize" her quotes and from now on, she will be writing the Adventures of Ashinator.  Lord help us all.  It'll be a fun time.

While I'm On A Roll...

I promised K. Erickson over at Preachers and Horse Thieves a profound post about healthcare.  I'm not sure how profound this will be, but I hope it give you food for thought. 

I've been thinking a lot about President Obama's Proposed Healthcare Reform.  I've heard lots of opinions about it, both pro and con, but I hadn't really paid much attention.  So, since I promised K. I took a look at the President's plan and let me tell you something...it's pretty much the same thing as HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1986).  Go ahead, click the link that will take you to Obama's plan, read it, and then compare it to this:

HIPAA, (Public Law 104-191) amended the Internal Revenue Code of 1986, has several aspects, but the one patients are most aware of is the aspect pertaining to patient privacy and protected health information (PHI). In addition to patient privacy, HIPAA also intends to:



• Improve the portability and continuity of health insurance coverage in the group and individual markets by:


o Limiting exclusions for pre-existing medical conditions;

o Prohibiting discrimination in enrollment and premiums against employees and their dependents based on health status;

o Guaranteeing availability of health insurance coverage for small employers and renewablity of health insurance coverage in both the small and large group markets;

o Providing credit for prior health coverage and a process for transmitting certificates and other information concerning prior coverage to a new group health plan or issuer;

o Providing new rights that allow individuals to enroll for health coverage when they lose other health coverage, change from group to individual coverage, or have a new dependent; and

o Preserving, through narrow pre-emption provisions, the states’ traditional role in regulating health insurance, including state flexibility to provide greater protections.


• Combat waste, fraud, and abuse in health insurance and health care delivery;
• Promote the use of medical savings accounts (MSAs);
• Improve access to long-term care services and coverage;
• Simplify the administration of health insurance;
• Create standards for electronic health information transactions;
• Create privacy standards for health information; and
• Create unique identifiers for providers, health plans, employers, and individuals.

Seems to me that Obama's plan and the one already enacted as law are an awful lot alike.  Wouldn't it just be better to enforce what's already in place rather than re-inventing the wheel?  Again.

Now, I know that there are things in Obama's plan that HIPPA doesn't address.  Like healthcare for uninsured Americans.  Hello, Medicaid.  Problem is, Medicaid is broken.  And I mean B-R-O-K-E-N, but that's a post for another day.

A Personal Pet Peeve

I've got lots and lots of pet peeves, but there's one commercial that is really pushing my "set the GunDiva off" button.  I don't even remember the name of the medication because I'm in such a blind fury by the time they get around to saying the name that it just doesn't register.  Don't judge - everyone has pet peeves that set them right the eff off.

A little lesson in the difference between a sign and a symptom.  A sign is, essentially, anything quantifiable; anything that can be seen or measured.  A symptom, on the other hand, is anything that the patient feels or reports.  To clarify: if a patient complains of sinus pain and green boogers, the symptom (what the patient feels) is sinus pain, the sign (what can be seen or measured) is green boogers.  One more example: a patient complains of nausea, vomiting and diarrhea.  The patient has one symptom, nausea, and two signs, vomiting and diarrhea. 

Pretty simple, right? 

One would think that advertising agencies could figure that out and quit advertising that their cold medication alleviates the signs of a common cold such as headache, stuffiness, and sinus pressure.

Those of us in the know - you now included - know that their cold medication alleviates the symptoms of a common cold.

And that seemingly small thing drives me absolutely, completely batshit.  Just ask my students.

I'm Not Really Feeling It, But...

...I'm going to try to improve my mood.    Yesterday was an absolutey wonderful day spent with the RockCrawlinChef at the National Western Stock Show and Rodeo.  A visit to the Stock Show is a tradition for my family, but it was the first time that he and I have gone together.

I didn't work out officially yesterday, but I'm going to count the hours we spent walking around looking at the exhibits as my exercise.  During our wandering we came across this...

and this...

Now at the risk of pissing off people and losing new followers, I have to tell you that the Purell displays really and truly pissed me off.  This is the Stock Show people!  Let your kids get freakin' dirty for once.  Has anyone ever thought that the reason we have so many illnesses/allergies/general wussiness is that we don't allow our immune systems to do their job?  And has anyone ever thought about how the over-use of hand sanitizer will affect us in the future?  I see hand sanitizer and I see nothing but a new superbug in the making.  Didn't we learn our lesson with penicillin?  The fact is that hand sanitizer only works if it's used properly and more than 90% of the population mis-uses it.  By not following the directions and mis-using it, we're just killing off the weak antigens and allowing the strong ones to flourish. 

Mark my words: it won't be long before we have 1) newly developed allergies to hand sanitizer and 2) sanitizer-resistant antigens.

Plain old soap and water is still the best thing you can do for your health.

*Stepping off the Soapbox and returning to the regularly scheduled post...*

We also saw this...

Now that's a smoker!  I tried to calculate how much meat could be cooked at once on it and promptly gave myself a headache.  I think that I've just found my grill's new significant other!  Doesn't matter that we'd never have a need to cook that much meat at once (in addition to the grill's capacity), I just love it.

The only thing we had planned when we left the house was to attend the Dog Pulls.  The Chef just loves them and I'm amazed at how much weight a dog can pull.  The conversation taking place behind us, though, was more interesting than the pulls.

Man to family:  I think the hay's kicked up my allergies.  It's seven o'clock and we haven't eaten yet. Me thinking:  Really?  Look around, we're surrounded by food.

Wife:  I've never seen this, wonder what it's all about.  Is that an Irish Wolfhound?  Me thinking:  No, it's an Alaskan Malamute.

Daughter:  I can't believe they're making their dogs do this.  It's torture.  Me thinking:  Poor city kid.  She doesn't get it.

The crowd starts cheering as a dog bears down and scrambles down the track.  The announcer reassures everyone that the dogs will not hurt themselves and that they will stop pulling before they get hurt.  Wife and Daughter get caught up in the excitement. 

Man:  It's seven o'clock and we really need to leave so we can eat.  (It's obvious that he has no intention of eating fair food like the rest of us.)  Me:  WTF?  Grow a pair.

Wife:  Just let us see three.

Man (two pulls later):  That's three.  Let's go this is ridiculous.  It's seven o'clock and we won't get home before bedtime and we haven't even eaten yet.  Me:  Seriously?  Where do you live that you're not going to be home by bedtime?  And what's wrong with fair food?

Wife:  That was just two...

Daughter:  But I want to see this...

Man: We're leaving.  Me:  Really.  Man up and grow a pair.  Your wife and daughter are having a good time, it's the weekend, let them have some fun.

RockCrawlinChef and I thought this was a fairly ridiculous exchange ourselves and took a look at Man as they leave, wondering why the heck he was hungry when we were surrounded by food.  One look and it's immediately apparent.  Accidentally outloud from both of us at Man's retreating back:  "Grow a pair and man up."  This boy was city, through and through.  Probably vegan as well.  And, from his attitude with his family, a control freak.  So wouldn't be surprised to find out that his daughter got "a little discipline" for voicing her opinion about wanting to stay and watch.  Poor kid.  He had the chance to actually educate her about where her food comes from and some of the other agri uses of animals, but since he obviously found the Stock Show distasteful and dirty, he lost out on a good teaching opportunity.

We left the Dog Pulls shortly after and headed over to the Rodeo.  It was a great time, and though I feel for the cowboys, the animals won almost every event.  We got home well after bed time, but since we weren't afraid to eat at the food tents, we didn't go hungry.  Man, I love fair food!

WTH Monday

I know it's early on a Monday to already be posting a "WTH?", because there are still hours and hours left for the day to go to crap. 

However, I just found out that my one eight-ounce cup of hot chocolate has as many calories as my one twelve-ounce can of Coke.  Too bad I didn't figure that out until after I'd already made it!  No wonder my scale's not been budging.  I've been cutting out Coke by adding in other drinks, including hot chocolate, and inadvertently increasing my caloric intake, what with drinking three to four hot chocolates a day instead of my one Coke.  Don't know why it didn't dawn on me earlier to check the calories in hot chocolate, but I'm going to savor this one, which will be my last for a while.

A Cragislist Rant

Note:  A friend of mine from work found this on Craigslist and thought of me...

To the Thug Latino Guy With the Dumb Looking Mustache Who Tried to Mug Me in Downtown Miami night before last:


I can only hope that you somehow come across this rather important message.

I was the guy wearing the black Burberry jacket that you demanded that I hand over, shortly after you pulled the knife on me and my girlfriend, threatening our lives. You also asked for my girlfriend's purse and earrings.

First, I'd like to apologize for your embarrassment; I didn't expect you to actually crap in your pants when I drew my pistol after you took my jacket. The evening was not that cold, and I was wearing the jacket for a reason. My girlfriend had just bought me that Kimber Model 1911 .45 ACP pistol for my birthday, and we had picked up a shoulder holster for it that very evening. Obviously you agree that it is a very intimidating weapon when pointed at your head ... Isn't it?!

I know it probably wasn't fun walking back to wherever you'd come from with that brown sludge in your pants.. I'm sure it was even worse walking bare-footed since I made you leave your shoes, cell phone, and wallet with me. [That prevented you from calling or running to your buddies to come help mug us again].

After I called your "Mami" as you had her listed in your cell, I explained the entire episode of what you'd done. Then I went and filled up my gas tank as well as those of four other people in the gas station, -- on your credit card. The guy with the big motor home took 150 gallons and was extremely grateful!

I gave your shoes to a homeless guy outside Vagabond, along with all the cash in your wallet. [That made his day!]

I then threw your wallet into the big pink "pimp mobile" that was parked at the curb ... After I broke the windshield and side window and keyed the entire driver's side of the car.

Later, I called a bunch of phone sex numbers from your cell phone. The phone company just now shut down the line, although I only used the phone for a little over a day now, so what 's going on with that? Earlier, I managed to get in two threatening phone calls to the DA's office and one to the FBI, while mentioning President Obama as my possible target.

The FBI guy seemed really intense and we had a nice long chat (I guess while he traced your number etc.).

In a way, perhaps I should apologize for not killing you ... But I feel this type of retribution is a far more appropriate punishment for your threatened crime. I wish you well as you try to sort through some of these rather immediate pressing issues, and can only hope that you have the opportunity to reflect upon, and perhaps reconsider, the career path you've chosen to pursue in life and the kind of crap that you put other people through every day.

Remember, next time you might not be so lucky.Have a good day!

Thoughtfully yours,

Alex

P.S. Remember this motto ... An armed society makes a civil society!

Location: Miami

GunDiva's Note:  Boy, I hope that I remember the whole take his shoes, wallet and cell phone thing if anyone thinks to mug me.  That, my friends, was a stroke of pure genius!  Possibly, calling the DA's office was over the top, but you gotta give Alex an A+ for inventiveness.

Dear Crazy: A Rant

Dear Crazy Ex-Girlfriend of My Darling Oldest Son:
I know you've never been told "no" in your life, and I'm proud of my son for being the first to do so.  Now, never having heard the word "no", I understand that maybe you don't know that "no means no". 

It means that you can't have whatever it is you want.  In this case, my son.  Nope, can't have him.  He doesn't want you.  In order for a relationship to work, both parties have to be interested.  I realize this is harsh, but true.

If showing up crying at our house at all hours of the day and night didn't work.  And texting my Darling Youngest Son non-stop didn't work.  And telling him you're pregnant when you're not didn't work.  Why the hell did you think that permanently marking yourself with a tattoo of his initials on the palmar side of your finger will work in your quest to get him back?

Seriously?

You're nuttier than a fruitcake and you're right to be hiding that tattoo from your parents, 'cause they might just knock your head off'n your shoulders and they'd be right to do so.

Girl, I'd tell you how much you're going to live to regret that decision, but you'll find out soon enough when you have to explain to your next boyfriend why you have your ex-boyfriend's initials permanently engraved into your finger, which you're currently hiding by wearing the ring my son gave you.

Really, just grow up and get over him.  He's over you and has moved one, without permanently marking his body.

Sincerely,
Disgusted Mother Whose Son Is Over You

Parenting in the Movie Theater

My sister and her husband also attending the movie last night with their toddler and how they handled her made a big difference in the movie-going experience.  For Stupid B!tch from last night, I offer my sister's guide for taking a child to the movie theater in three easy steps:

1. Don't pay full price for a kids ticket!  You won't see the movie anyway.
2. Pre-planning will ensure that you sit at the edge of the aisle so that you can get up and leave if your toddler gets loud or restless.
3. Leave - take your child to the hallway, outside of the theater - if he or she gets restless.  You can do it with a minimum of fuss if you just follow rule number 2.

If those three easy steps don't sound appealing to you, I offer up two words: Benadryl. suckers.  Let the little one take a snooze while the rest of the adults enjoy the movie.

My husband was seated in front of a child last night who initially started kicking the back of his seat.  You could maybe take notes from this kid's mom as well.  When this kid's mom saw what he was doing she leaned over and told him, in a stage whisper loud enough for Jay to hear it, "you keep your feet off that chair."  She said it with enough menace for the kid to believe it and for Jay to believe that if it happened again, someone was going to go to the bathroom for an butt whoopin'.  The kid stopped.  Jay was happy.

Dear Stupid B!tch, A Movie Rant

Dear Stupid B!tch,
I know that you and your lovely husband waited until later in life to have a child.  Though I would have thought with your advanced age, you might have learned a thing or two about movie etiquette and small children.  I'm thrilled that you think that your daughter is about the cutest, most precocious child on the planet. I really am.  Every child should have parents who think the sun rises and sets on their every move.  For a while, that is.


However, I am not thrilled that you thought it was a good idea to drag your toddler along to a grown-up movie.  I'm not talking the X-rated kind, but the kind that carries a PG-13 rating that kind of implies that toddlers shouldn't attend.


I'm also not thrilled that you insisted on repeating everything that your toddler said as though she was the smartest child on the planet (I'm sure you think she is, anyway).  Truly, it was bad enough hearing your toddler babble, but a grown woman repeating the babble... Well, let's just say it took all of my will power not to shove your precocious child down your throat.


Be thankful that James Cameron created such an amazing movie that I was able to (mostly) block out you and your child's incessant babbling, otherwise you'd still be belching up whatever was in your precocious baby's diaper after I crammed her down your throat.


Next time, hire a sitter.  Really, it's worth the investment.


Sincerely,
Homicidal Mom Who Was Smart Enough To Leave Her Children At Home


P.S.  I didn't find out until later that I'd inadvertently pissed you off by saving my seat, but I'm glad I did.  Just wish I'd known it sooner.
P.P.S.  If you were dumb enough to pay full price for a toddler, you deserved to lose her seat; she would have ended up sitting on your lap anyway.  And who honestly pays full price for a toddler? (Sorry, just can't get past that one).

Random Rants

I hate Hollywood.  Well, not hate hate, but I'm pretty irate with them right now.  My car was overheating, so I pulled over and popped the hood to take a look at it.  The problem (besides the overheating car) was that I chose to wear my hair down today and didn't have an emergency hair tie in my car or on my wrist.  What, you're asking, does this have to do with Hollywood?  Let me tell you.  Long, silky flowing hair on a Hollywood actress working on a car is H-O-T.  Think Angelina Jolie in "Gone In 60 Seconds" or Megan Fox in "Transformers".  Case in point:  I just asked Jay and Devon what the hot actress' name was in Transformers and they didn't even have to think to pop out "Megan Fox."  WTF?

Now, let me tell you the reality.  It effing sucks!  My long, silky flowing hair was nothing but a pain in the ass today.  Every time I bent over the car to take a look, it fell in my face.  Or a breeze would come up and blow my hair across my eyes.  Or worse, it would blow my hair into my mouth.  Gag!  And there's nothing sexy about trying to hold your hair back with one hand and poke around the engine with the other.  At least nothing sexy enough for anyone to stop and help.  Maybe being a size zero with double D boobs is also a requirement, not just the long, silky flowing hair.  I hate Hollywood.

And while I'm totally on a bitch, let's talk about iPods.  I'm the only one in the house without some sort of music player, so I whined at my boss and told him I deserved one for all of the referrals I've gotten for the school.  He gave me one.  Now I want to shove it up his arse!  I got brave, dug it out and plugged it into the computer to start putting some music on it.  Let the cussing begin.  I got it plugged in, registered it with Apple and tried to set up my library.  It took me exactly TWO songs to decide it's not f*cking worth it.  I found the music on my computer that I wanted to put on it, but can I just click and drag?  NO!  Can I choose more than one song to load at a time?  NO!  It was all I could do to keep from chucking the effing mess out the picture window, including the computer.  One of the kids is going to have to load my iPod because just the thought makes me homicidal.  I'm sure once the damned thing is loaded, I'll like it just fine, but until then my boss better not turn his back to me or I may just pull a "Man On Fire" on him.