So Jared, my Pooncake, came into the shop today and with dismay, stated that I hadn’t blogged in quite some time. I suppose this is the truth… My last blog was about this weekend, so it has been a good 3 or 4 days, which, I know for some of you, is hell without a crazy old Liz blog.
Jared and Liz are going on a date! (Jill would shit a brick/ go into labour. She wants us to do it. Probably just so she can laugh.) We’re going to see Rent the night that it comes out. I wonder if he puts out… : )
bownchickabowown…
So according to Holly Pery, things are good. She and I are going on a road trip this December to suprise the boys. The road trip -happens- to be on a very special anniversary, so I’m making cookies. (I hope Steve doesn’t read this.) I told Holly, and she almost pissed herself.
Speaking of pissing selves, I changed this baby’s diaper today. Newborn baby poop is about ass gross as poop gets. It’s like molasses. Seriously. And my favourite part is when you take the diaper off and they keep pooping and peeing and pooping some more, so you have to change the pad. And when he pees, he gets it all over your scrubs. I love that.
Actually, I don’t mind it, really. I love babies. Old people and babies. And pregnant women.
Wait… I love taking care of pregnant women. I don’t love hanging out with pregnant women. They can be bitches. Jill isn’t -quite- so bad, unless you get her on a bad day. Jessica Keling, on the other hand, whew. She is my friend/ cointern, and can be a raging bitch, and she knows it. But holy crap, when she’s pregnant, I don’t even want to talk to her. She’s ungrateful. Arg. But when I get pregnant, I’ll be like that to her.
However, I’m not pregnant, because I haven’t been exposed to the elements in quite some time.
So Monday, I’m spongebathing this crippled dude. He keeps complaining and cussing me that I’m hurting him (he can’t feel anything below his chest), I’m not doing this right, etc etc etc, and then he saw my nametag, which says “Intern.” Then he freaks out. “Oh GD you’re just an intern, that’s why you don’t know the hell you’re doing. You cant do this, blah blah blah blah BLAH.” I said, “Listen, I may just be an intern, but I think I’m qualified to wipe your ass.” He shut up. I guess he realized I’m no pansy : ) So I continue bathing him, and OH MY GOSH. That’s right. I didn’t even touch it! I just looked down and noticed, my patient got an erection. I just acted like I didn’t notice, and finished up as soon as possible. Here are other peoples’ reactions to the story:
Mum: I’m sure right after you finished up, he did too…
Kristen: Was the erection guy the same guy who’s dead body you moved?
Mark Adam: Well, I’d get an erection too, if you were bathing me.
Brad: Was he old? (no) Oh, well, he should have been old. It would have been funnier.
Jared had a good point:
Jared: It was probably just out of nervousness
Liz: What do you mean?
Jared: Would you want a hot guy to see you naked?
Liz: … chyah…
Jared: In a medical situation like that… You’re hot, he’s naked.
Liz: But don’t you learn how to control that when you’re about 14?
Jared: Nuhuh… I still have to think about fat hairy naked women.
Liz: But I was wearing scrubs!
Jared: Maybe he had a nurse fetish..
As a dancer who has changed in front of her peers for about 14 years now, I don’t get qualms about being naked, but I suppose it would be embarrassing for me for a hot dude nurse to see me in a state like that naked. Funny story:
Most of you know about my horrible sickness last spring. Mum found me passed out on the bathroom floor in a puddle of my vomit, etc. I went to the ER, where some young nurse dude gave me a shot in my ass. Well the other day, this same dude was blatantly flirting with me, and he asked me for my phone number. What do I say? “Sorry, but you saw me naked/ in my duckie robe, covered in my own vomit. I don’t think this could work between us.” I mean, he obviously didn’t remember me. But, wow, how awkward… If we got married, here’s our honeymoon: “Sweetie, remember that night a few years ago, vomit/ duckie robe girl? yeah that was me.”
But that erection story was more awkward than the water breaking story. I saw her in Walmart, by the way.
When Steve, John, Holly, and I went to Paducah Sunday, we went to ToysRUs. The most surreal thing happened. Driving into the parking lot, we saw some kid laying in the grass, playing with his hair. Steve said “He looks like a character from a romantic poem.” I walked over there as they watched. He didn’t notice me upon him, so I said, “Hi.” He jumped a little. I looked at him and said, “Are you a character from a romantic poem?” He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, as I looked at him. After a 15 second period of silence, I smiled and walked back to my comerades. They congratulated me on my feat.
I wish someone would have caught that on film. It was like a scene from a hip indie film. Except it didn’t have a deep underlying meaning. *snap snap*
I got bored at work and put on makeup. Eyeshadow, mainly. Alot of it. I like it. It’s very avant garde/ fairy. Or you could say it was Hillary Duff. I’ll take avant garde.
Some little girl said the other day that she wants to take vocal lessons because she wants to be able to sing like Lindsey Lohan. I told her, “All you need to sing like Lindsey Lohan is a good producer, sweetie.”
Lindsey Lohan sickens me. Even with her producer, she still sounds… bad. Seriously, if she had a nice voice, I would say, ” I hate her, but she does have a nice voice.” She is… bad. And her album is targeted to 8- 14 year old girls. I know someone who has the album, and when one unfolds the liner notes, there is a picture of her in nothing but a white button up shirt in a very suggestive pose. And then on the back, there’s a small photograph of her giving the double deuce…
ugh.
I’m getting my nasty mullet cut off tomorrow.
Mullet head. It is illegal in the state of the United to molest old people.