Ninapintasantamaria's Blog











{January 7, 2009}   Men are like extra children. Really.

My YCU is really pitiful.  I hope I’m never unconscious.  He really would let me die.  Not from being a maniacal bastard, or anything.  Just from being completely ignorant of anything health related about our lives.  I had to make his doctor’s appt. for last week, cancel it when he couldn’t go, reschedule it for today, THEN lay out the paperwork he was supposed to take with him already filled out (wanna lay money that he started filling it out when he got to the office?), THEN list all of his allergies, encourage him to spell them correctly, fill out the paperwork completely (and honestly) and I actually had to tell him that he couldn’t go with his friends to lunch and have beer because of legal implications for the doctors if they were to consult with him while he was under the influence.  Wow, what a run-on sentence.  Mrs. C would whoop my hiney.  (High school english teacher.  I still have nightmares.)  On top of all that, I had to call him repeatedly and remind him what time his appt was, galvanize his blessed soul out of bed, and that he had a map of the entire hospital campus to show him where to go.  I should’ve just let him suffer with his hiatal hernia and subsequent heartburn and pointed and laughed at him in his plight, but I’m just too damn nice.  What is it on the Y-chromosome that prevents men from being even remotely responsible for themselves and their own health?  I want to do a research study.  Really.  I want to take random double blind samples of men from all around the world deprive them of wifery for 3 months, and see how many of them we find in rotting corpse form when we return.  From ingesting something, lifting something, having an allergic reaction to something, etc because of complete pig-headed ignorance.  My bet is the majority of them would starve and go nekkid from sheer lack of industry to do cook or do the laundry themselves.  Ladies, how many of your husbands are under the insanely delusional notion that little gnomes run through the house at night, magically levitate their man-panties (knickers?) into the hamper, wash them, fold them, and get them to walk themselves back into the drawer each night before they wake up?  Come on, be honest.  I bet they even think the floor, bedpost, lampshade, kitchen table, etc is the appropriate place to dispose of them.  Maybe large neon signs on the hamper promising XXX galore!  One pair for a lap dance!  would get their attention.  Will have to think on this some more.  I’ll get back to you.

My boss is the moodiest woman on the planet.  My case didn’t start till 0900 today, so I went to have breakfast in the hospital cafeteria this am.  She started throwing the biggest fit because I wasn’t in my room getting ready.  I soon figured out that she was taking her frustration from another room out on me.  Now who’s frustrated, huh?  She also can’t leave well enough alone.  She started doing my job, as well as hers, although I’m perfectly capable of doing it every other day of the week sans help, and just generally getting in my way, because since she didn’t communicate that she’d already done it, I ended up following in her footsteps and wasting time.  I sooo wanted to tell her “You scrub, and I will circulate.”  But you can’t tell your boss who does your annual review that.  You might never get a raise again.  She then was just in a piss-poor mood the rest of the day.  She’s one of those people that you can’t turn your back on.  Now, she’d do anything for you, but you can see her, say hi and get a cheerful answer, then 10 minutes later she scowls at you for asking how her morning’s going.  I never know if I’m coming or going with her.  I’d rather be around people who always let you know what they’re thinking.  (Like myself, perhaps?)  You can trust those people.

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