Ninapintasantamaria's Blog

Yes, we all sound like Daisy, Bo, and Luke Duke. Enjoy!

{June 22, 2010}   Momma’s duck

Video on next post.
The first two are self explanatory; I just couldn’t help myself. *snickers*
This is an extreeeeeeeeemely belated picture of the Alabama blanket I crocheted following the pattern Kristen created. I’m soooo behind on pics and promises that I got a little photo happy. Sorry!

…of all my dealings with”…my neighbor. Oh. Oho-ho-ho! Yeah, baby! That felt good. This morning, we awakened to an envelope on our front door, containing this:

Dear YCU, Nina, and Fletcher,
Hope you are doing well.
We feel we are being very considerate by allowing you to drive your mower through our yard to enter your backyard to mow each time.
We would like to ask a small favor of you.
Can you possibly move the junk car that is under the tarp and the pink “pepto-bismol” tires car around to the back of your house so we will not have to look at them each time we drive up or each time we leave home.
We do thank you for your consideration of keeping the neighborhood looking nice.
Your Friends,
Stupid Neighbor + Nosy Wife

Uh-huh. Really. Now, we’ve discussed the neighbor before, how he came over on Christmas Day to bitch about the “Driveway War”, about how he was mowing the grass in the rain, erected (hmm…maybe that’s the problem…but I digress) a huge fence (there are pictures here somewhere, but I don’t know how to link) and an ugly shrub (our dog pissed on it while we were cheering him on and it died…bwahahahaha) to keep us from backing onto our own property to back out of the driveway, threatening to sue us if our dog charged him (again, there are pics somewhere of our dog in a party hat, clearly behaving like a Cujo), threatening to sue us again if our friends (who are all grown adults and legally responsible for themselves and their own vandalism) drove over onto their driveway and scraping it with their cars again, and threatening to put up spikes in the grass strip between the driveways to keep it from happening. Also, if he thinks our grass is too long, he’ll start cutting it himself at 0700 on a Saturday morning, without bothering to ask. Hard to argue that except for the time frame, but you get the idea. And they’ve only lived there like, a year. So. You can guess how I felt about this latest party foul they’d committed. I’d had Enough. So, I responded in like manner:
Dear Stupid Neighbor + Nosy Wife,
We apologize for the inconvenience, but you put up the fence, requiring us to drive through your driveway to get to our backyard. Neither of those cars belong to us and are here temporarily only, so please don’t be upset. And while you’re sitting around wadding panties at night, you might consider this: Which do you think is the bigger eyesore, a couple of temporary cars or an unmown grass field behind someone’s house? We so appreciate the attention you pay our yard and property, it is seconded only by a really nosy home-owner’s association president. Oh! Wait! We don’t have one! We will no longer drive our mower through your driveway to get to our backyard, but it will continue to grow up until a ramp can be constructed. Please do not contact us again, as you are not our landlord.

YCU + Nina

It wasn’t 30 minutes before he came over apologizing that he was sorry to have offended us, that we were welcome to come around the fence to mow, he’d be glad to help us if we needed it, etc. Hah. I got out of the car (we were leaving), stood nose to nose with the bastard, and commenced to loudly enumerating all the things that we’d done at his request, that we both worked for a living, we were just as concerned about the neighborhood, and that the cars would be gone July 1. I haven’t laid into someone like that (except the YCU, and we all know how he gets) in a long time. I told him that we want to get along, we wanted to be reasonable, and that I thought we had been. YCU didn’t get out of the car, which was probably best. I’d been wanting to deal with Stupid Neighbor for a long time, anyway, and besides, what was he gonna do? Call the cops? Yeah, they’d laugh at him. He apologized again, and I did likewise, since, after all, I did call them pantie wadders. Hmpph. I probably shouldn’t have, but I felt like being merciful. After all, he probably isn’t used to mouthy, pushy, over-bearing, completely and totally in the right women. We’ll let him start at the shallow end.

{June 18, 2010}   Hee-hee ;)

Hi all, Fletcher, here. I’ve been kinda grumpy lately on accounts that my mouf hurts!!! If I could get both hands in there at once, my life would be complete, I think. Mommy found me sucking my thumb and almost had to be ‘suscitated. I think she’s afraid I’ll get attached. I was so grumpy that I decided to play a joke on Mommy. I rubbed my ear several times over the last two days and she thought I had a mean bad ear. So I went to the mean bad place today, where they said I was perfectly fine! Hee-hee! Wasn’t my joke funny? I laughed as Mommy was saying bye to the ladies in the cages. For some reason, Mommy doesn’t seem to be smiling. There, I put my hand on her mouf while she feeds me. THAT always makes her smile! 😉

Just call me Christopher Robin. Seriously, the OR started raining today. They were constructing on the floor above us today, and it sounded like the Big Bang Theory was being recreated for about an hour. Suddenly, it came a monsoon outside, and OR 11 started raining! So the room had to be evacuated and all equipment displaced and maintenance was called. We walked by and looked in the window only to see some goober hanging from the ceiling while another goober pushed the ladder up under him. And it was a painting ladder, not an extension ladder. He was far above the safety rung on the very top step. I couldn’t help myself, I opened the door and asked the moron if he was trying to create more work for us!

In other news, I’ve been suspicious for 2 days now that Fletcher has an ear infection. I’d noticed him rubbing his ear occasionally the other day, but when I asked the babysitters about it, they said that they hadn’t noticed it, so I didn’t worry. Well, tonight, he was rubbing his ear, it looks red down inside there, and he’s generally angry. I guess we’re off to see the doctor tomorrow. “Weeeeee-re off to see the doctor, the wonderful doctor for ears….” Yes, I can do this all day.

{June 14, 2010}   If he were mine…

he’d be on a different kind of road crew. But I’m just bitchy like that. This is what I told the surgeon this morning about our patient’s boyfriend who broke her thumb for her. He works on the road crew in one of those bright orange tee-shirts and the heavy machinery. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings one iota to have his cowardly, short having ass hauled into jail. I had a patient’s significant other show up and expect to enter her room once. I told him he could leave. Now. Thank you. He told me he could just pick me up and toss me aside. I told him he only had two hands. Did he value his manhood? He didn’t bother me after that. I’m sorry, but if any man ever hit me, he better not go to sleep. I felt so sorry for this girl. I told her as she was leaving that if she needed anything she could call us, but that was as comfortable as I felt addressing it with her. I only hope she comes to her senses soon. She already admitted it to the surgeon when he told her that her fracture wasn’t consistent with a “fall”. He said she just burst into tears. How sad! *sigh* I wish I could right the wrongs of the earth, but the statistics aren’t looking good. I voiced all these thoughts and I think I scared the surgeon. He and the staff all laughed nervously at me and joked about me going out to talk to him with Dr. K, that I’d fix his (the boyfriend’s) wagon. Well, it wouldn’t be for lack of effort, but it’d probably make the girl’s situation worse. *sigh*

Remember when I told you that nothing is sacred in the OR? Well, when you operate (no pun intended) under those conditions all the time, it makes you forget that everyone else is squeamish about subjects you discuss every day. Like man-panties. Or girly parts and their various temperaments. You know. Squeamish stuff. So. Today, I had to go return some car parts (I know, supposed to be his job, but he was sweaty and dirty and didn’t feel like going anywhere. *sigh* Guess who got nominated to return the parts and get other parts? Yeah. Me. So I go in the parts store, girding my loins in preparation to make a total fool of myself by revealing immediately my complete lack of knowledge of anything involving cars except where to put the key. I know where to put the key. And the gas nozzle. But that’s about it. I had to call the hubby anyway to confirm that he had some part already that was supposed to go with the parts I was getting in exchange for the parts he didn’t need. Clear as mud? I thought not. Anyway, I was explaining to these men that I hired him for that, and that I thought it was a fair exchange for picking up his man-panties out of the hallway…cricket….cricket. *face palm* I got a blank stare and an “O….kay. Yeah, so that’ll be X amount of dollars…”. Like I said, I forgot.

My child blew raspberries at the minister. During the sermon. Loudly. That’s my boy! He made everyone around us giggle, and the preacher told everyone that “Well, that may not be a prayer request we understand, but that’s just fine. Just fine.” *shakes head while giggling surreptitiously* He also didn’t get a nap today, so it’s gonna be ON tonight. I’m ec-STAT-ic. (Think Ursula from The Little Mermaid.) Looks like my child did inherit my DNA after all. I promise, by the way, that I’ve not forgotten all of you. I promised a few posts back to get the videos of Fletcher swimming and me sounding like Daisy Duke in the background (I sound sooooooo country, I should be in a video with cutoffs and a top tied around my midriff. Ugh.) downloaded and pasted to my blog for all of you to admire profusely. I have not, however, managed to get the YCU motivated to help me, which, unfortunately, is required if I want it to actually get done properly.

{June 11, 2010}   I don’t understand.

The MIL filed for and was granted custody of my stepson in February. Ok. She’s just now gotten around to filing for child support. Ok, fine. My husband’s wages have been garnished for 11 years now, ever since he and the Manbearpig split. The case is still open between the MBP and my husband, even though she’s not had physical custody of the stepson since August 2009, and legal custody of him since February. I understand that my husband went behind during the great job hunt of 09. I get it. However, shouldn’t that money be going to my MIL? It’s not. It’s still going to the MBP. Who’s not been sending the money, because she lost her job to have fat surgery, and she’s still fat, so she’s spending the CS on food, presumably. So in the petition we got from court from my MIL, it states that my husband is legally required to support the child and has failed to do so. BULLSHIT. We’ve got check stubs with listed deductions to prove it. Where it goes after it leaves his payroll office, I don’t know, nor do we have any control over that. We can’t help it that the MBP is a dishonest, trashy, moronic, fat, filthy, piece of shit who can’t afford to live without the money she owes my MIL for all the months he’s been in her custody. My MIL knows that. Not to mention, the summons only lists my husband, not the MBP. This pisses me off. She’s only going after him for money? What about her? Hmmm. It also states that if he is obligated to pay support for any other children to bring proof of that as well. Well, he has another child, but that money just comes home and is deposited automatically, so do we just bring a birth certificate? How does that work? I hope he calls the MIL tonight and not only gets some clarification, but demands proof. I soooo wouldn’t put it past her to lie to him again about all of it. I tried to call him earlier and he was “at work, I can’t deal with this now. I’ve got too much stress in all this heat.” Yeah. The man installs and services dog containment fields. Yes, hot, yes manual labor, but stress? I don’t think so. Wednesday, I was literally throwing epinephrine and bicarb to some anesthesiologists who were simultaneously hanging multiple units of blood and starting central lines while the surgeon was performing cardiac massage (internal CPR). And this was only the first code on this patient. The second one started when blood began pouring out of the ET tube. I’m sorry. Maybe my perspective on stress is somewhat skewed. Did you say you had a stressful job? cricket……. Yeah, that’s what I thought. (By the way, the patient lived, albeit after they coded him for over an hour. They suspect some mild brain damage. Ugh. I sure don’t want to be involved in that conversation with his family.) *sigh* I’m gonna try not to get worried about it and just help him with getting the paperwork together. It all depends on how big a shit the judge took that morning anyway. It really doesn’t matter what we say or do. I just hope this finally opens up YCU’s eyes to his mother’s complete conniving, backstabbing bitchiness.

Update: Ok, YCU said he spoke with his mother and she had to file separate petitions because they were never married. (Using the accident birth control method at the time) Apparently, she just had to fill out a generic form. I assume she will clarify during the court session. I plan to send proof of payment documentation anyway.

{June 10, 2010}   I pooted.

Hi, all, Fletcher, here! I engaged my inboard motor on the scale at the mean bad place today. That’s what I thought of their mean bad sticky things they hurt my legs with. Hmmmph. But!! Dr M (my Dr M, not Mommy’s) says my crooked neck is mostly all better! And that I’m growing like a stinkweed. I showed him how I can hold things, touch my toes, pull off a sheet covering my face, and smiled like the cutie-pie I am! They think I’m funny.

about how I get hot thinking about men who can hit the hamper, the trash can, and the dishwasher/sink with total accuracy. Made him think, I can tell you. Think about more ways to piss me off. Like walking right by the trash next to the door and me having to holler “Hey, take that on your way out!” Or yell at me (from the room right next to the baby’s) to go take care of him. When I tell him it’s probably a diaper, I’m busy, you do it, getting met with the blank stare of (Kristin’s term) male pattern blindness. *slowly puts knife back in drawer as this would cause even more cleanup* Yeah, he was mad that Fletcher fell over and did a faceplant from the Boppy pillow and I didn’t catch him in time. I was right next to him, did he think I pushed him over? WTF?!!?? I’m interviewing elephant trainers as we speak. Ones with extra long whips.

In other news, we’re going back to the pool tomorrow so that my little duck can swim some more. I should have video and pics soon!

et cetera