I'm really not that busy

Finding hilarity in the mundane since 2008

Monthly Archives: January 2011

Wire hangers, tequila, and boring perfect families

On Friday I had a great post worming around in my head, but no time to write it.  The idea was born very early Friday morning, with this:

Clearly the post title would have been some play on “No Wire Hangers.”  I was leaning toward “Wire Hang-ups.”  It was going to start as a rant then morph into a sweet post about my husband, our marriage, and how our relationship works.

Then I went out with friends Friday night and Mr. Tequila erased most of the post from my brain.  All that’s left is the rant, and I’ve completely lost all perspective on that now that the hangers have been removed from my drawers.

Wait!  It’s coming back to me…

No, just gas.  Sorry for the false hope.

Keep your finger’s crossed that Tony pisses me off again or I may have nothing to write about.  Seriously, Jack has been completely normal.  Cooper has been sweet.  The cat’s not even pooping under the bed anymore.  Damn perfect family, where’s my fodder?


Brace yourself

Jack got braces today.  How is it possible that he is old enough for braces?  Yesterday he looked like this…

Today he looks like this…

If anyone was worried that braces would damage his ego, take heart.  When I walked into the orthodontist office he was grinning into a mirror.  I looked at him and said, “What do you think?”  He replied, “I think I look even cooler than I already did.”

I really don’t want to understand this

I took Cooper to McDonald’s for lunch today.  When I took off his shoes so he could play on the slide, he asked if he could take off his socks too.  I said no at first, but he became quite insistent (read: began working up a hysterical fit).  So I assessed the cleanliness of the floor: adequate for a fast food restaurant; the cleanliness of the play equipment: visibly clean; the cleanliness of the other children: not very, which was good because the parents of clean kids would have objected to my kid being barefoot.  With all the variables considered, I let him take off his socks.  Once barefoot, he cheerfully hopped out of his seat and pulled down his pants.

I think I yelled something like, “Gah, what the fu-udge sickles are you doing?  You have to keep your pants on!”

He replied, “But they get in my way when I play with the other kids.”

Boys are gross

Cooper loves those frozen pancakes you get in a big bag at Wal-Mart.  Lately he has begun eating them actually frozen.  Yes it’s weird; however, is that the battle you want to fight at 7 a.m.?  Yeah, me neither.  Plus it saves on dishes.

Today he either lost his pancake, or decided he was finished and couldn’t be bothered with walking to the trash can.  He laid it half-eaten on the chair in my bedroom where it sat unnoticed for twelve hours.

Around 7 p.m. Jack found it, picked it up, and ate it.


So I have a part-time job now.  I’m working a few hours a week at a local chiropractic office.  Helping them collect on overdue accounts and other officey-type things.  The work is easy, my co-workers are swell, and I get to wear scrubs.

Holy shit, why did no one tell me about scrubs before now?  I’ve spent the bulk of the last three years in questionably clean sweat pants and fuzzy socks.  Scrubs are better.

I got scrubs for Christmas and was tempted to wear them the rest of the day.  Christmas.  The day you wear your pajamas all day.  I wanted to change into something more comfortable.

Since I discovered scrubs, I’ve had one question playing on an endless loop in my head: Why don’t women wear these things everywhere?

College girls who go to Target in Hello Kitty fleece and Uggs, get some scrubs, they have Hello Kitty prints.  Eco-mommies who wear yoga pants to the farmer’s market, get some scrubs, they make them in organic cotton and recycled polyester.  Grandmas in holiday themed turtlenecks from Wal-Mart, get some scrubs, they make some really ugly (but comfortable) holiday styles.

Yeah sure, they make scrubs for men too.  But let’s face it, when you see a guy walking around in scrubs, you assume he’s an x-ray tech who wants you to think he’s a doctor.  Not cool.

But when you see a woman in scrubs, she’s automatically a nurse.  Case in point…

Thursday after work, I swung by the house to get Jack and we went to the grocery store.  We were making our annual junk food run for New Year’s Eve.  When we hit the snack cake aisle I knew it was going to take him a while to decide.  Twinkies, Ding-Dongs, Swiss Cake Rolls, Nutty Bars, it’s a life changing choice when you’re eight-years-old.  So I left him pondering and skipped ahead to grab chips and salsa.  When I got back to his aisle, he had not moved and no snack cakes were in his hand.  So I parked my cart and headed toward him, ready to pull out the “choose or go without” speech.

As I walked down the aisle, another family turned up the aisle and started in my direction.  Then something horrible happened.  The little girl in their cart started to choke.  I don’t mean coughing like she swallowed wrong.  I mean red faced, no noise, panicked eyes, CHOKING.  I froze right in front of them.  The mother said, “raise your arms above your head” and kept shopping.  The little brother started to cry.  The dad, jerked the girl up and started pounding her back.  Then she gagged and out came a mint.

The dad then looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Thank you for coming to help.”  Then he turned to his daughter and said, “That lady is a nurse and she was coming to help you.”  The little girl looked up at me and said, “Thank you.”  The mom said, “Come on, we need cereal.”

The first thing I thought was: Why I gotta be a nurse?  Why am I not a doctor?  Next was: Damn, I’m glad I didn’t have to fake my way through the Heimlich.  Third was: I totally understand that mom’s reaction (or lack thereof).

Since that incident, I’ve decided to limit my scrubs to work and home.  That babysitting course with bonus CPR training I had when I was twelve does lend a bit of credibility to my scrubs, but not enough to actually make me a trained medical care provider.  I’d hate to be faced with a real emergency and have to say, “Sorry he’s bleeding to death, got any medical records you need copied?”

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