Ninapintasantamaria's Blog

{October 21, 2011}   What I’d like to do…

and what I actually did were at war with each other, but it worked, for now. Yes, folks, I’ve had another run-in with the crazy neighbor. He tried to call the codes/restriction department for the city and get us fined for working on a car outside the garage (to the side of the house). We got the letter while I was in the hospital, and initially, I wanted to run out of there in my backless gown and whoop his ass. Personally. Yeah, it was the dope talking, I know. However, after I calmed down, I wanted to go to the H.ustler Hollywood store, buy a footlong d.ildo, and wrap it up with a ribbon and a note:

Dear STUPID NEIGHBOR, You are cordially invited to go f.uck yourself. Here’s a little gift to get the party started! Love, Nina and YCU.

So, maybe it wasn’t the dope talking, but I digress. Anyway, the letter stated that we had to work on the car on gravel/pavement that wasn’t a sidewalk (the whole sideyard is gravel), and it had to be enclosed on 3 sides ( let’s see…rock wall, rock wall, house, check!) and the car couldn’t be unregistered (well, I’m pretty sure that stickers on the license plate that say 2011 aren’t out of date yet, buy who am I to make that call?). Does all this sound stupid to anyone else? My husband confronted the guy and was informed that Stupid Neighbor and our other 2 adjoining neighbors had had a meeting about us and that no one wanted to live around us because we were so trashy. WAIT A MINUTE. HOLD THE PHONE. Just who the HELL you callin’ trashy? How dare he? I’m sorry, but he didn’t have any meeting, cause the other two neighbors wave at us when they see us and ask about the kids. Sorry, jackass, you’re nothing but a controlling, bullying, hypocritical person of suspect parentage, and you don’t get to threaten us. If I want to paint my house orange with purple polka dots, it’s MINE, motherfu.cker!! Anyway, so Monday, when he was mowing our grass (at 8am, no less), I marched out there in my bathrobe and bare feet and ordered him off our property. I also threatened to have him arrested for trespassing if he ever showed up over here again. He started spouting codes and policies, to which I responded: “We’re not in violation yet, so you can leave. NOW!” He then started spouting how Jesus loves me and God will take care of my family…whatever. I informed him he was a hypocritical bastard and gave him the “You’re #1” sign, then walked back in the house. Haven’t laid eyes on him since, but…you know we will again. He apparently has Alzheimer’s where we’re concerned. My next move is to call the police and tell them he’s been peeping in my windows. Which he technically has, since he takes it on himself to push our trashcans up from the road each week and he has to look right in the windows behind the cans…But that’s only if he shows up again.

I leave you with this:


He seems to be adjusting well.

*beleaguered sigh* Last week, I picked Fletcher up at the sitter’s, and he had a black eye. I was properly horrified, however, they explained that he’d tripped over some of his toys and fell head first into some of his other toys. Several weeks ago, I picked him up(after dropping him off early) and they told me he’d slept so long, and they knew I’d be there just any time, so he hadn’t had lunch yet. I dropped him off at 6am, and this was 2:30-3:00. Um. Yeah, that’s a long time for someone his age to go without eating, folks. So then, this past Friday, I picked him up, and he came around the corner and ran to me, while they were all sitting in the living room, not following him around to watch him. Most days, I have to change his extremely wet diaper when I get there. Then I found his sippy cup from that morning, still containing the remnants of his first cup of milk. (I only know this because my husband put a scoop of his protein shake in it. Fletcher likes the chocolate taste of it. I’ve asked politely that he not do this again, as it will likely turn Fletcher into the Incredible Hulk.) Then, there was only one diaper missing from the diaper bag all day. If all these things were isolated incidents, I could see letting it go, but they aren’t. So, today, we dropped him off with a new babysitter. More expensive, naturally, but we’ll just have to rough it. I still have to go over to the old sitter’s house and pick up his toys. When I left this morning, he was happy and playing, so I didn’t worry. But when I got there, his other eye was black, and there was a cut beneath it! I know my child’s a klutz, and can trip over his own feet, so I’m not blaming the old or the new sitter for that, after all, kids are gonna have accidents. But…*sigh*

{January 18, 2011}   Well…

There’s been some nothing happening here. And some nothing, and a little more nothing. *beleaguered sigh* Still in limbo. No positive pee-sticks. No sore boobs. And no period. *more frustrated sighs* I actually went to the doc’s office yesterday, but it was just to pick up samples of my pre-natals, and coupons for them. I don’t know if you can really call them coupons, but they take care of my co-pay for them, rendering them free, so I won’t be getting my equine dentistry license anytime soon. Anyway.

Remember the surgeon that wouldn’t want to dilute his gene pool with me because I wasn’t an athlete? Well, he is really a silver-tongued devil. In his mind, at least. He was discussing how he likes figures that are long and lean, and that if you have overly large a-hems, that you look chunkier than you really are. It was all I could do not to look at him with a mischievous expression and ask “Are you calling me fat?” Instead, I just chuckled and told him that based on several statements made in my presence, he had a specific type of woman that he liked, and that very few of us actually fit that mold. Then he starts back-pedaling and says “Oh, no, Nina, I think you have a very nice figure.” Really? Again, as if I was fishing, but really? That’s the best he could do? An afterthought? Um, yeah. If you’re going to give me a compliment, could you at least make a vague attempt to act like you mean it and aren’t just saying it just to be nice? When I called him on it, he even said that he just didn’t want me to be left out. Wow. What a total douchebag. *massive eye roll* That was as funny as the gene-pool dilution story! I have absolutely no aspirations to be attractive like that at work, I’m just pointing out the total lack of social skills and manners of this moron. Trust me, this does nothing to my over-developed self esteem. I know I’m hot. 😉 Sticks and stones will break my bones, but backward non-compliments by total losers that think a medical degree is the end-all, be-all for the opposite sex will never hurt me!

{January 16, 2011}   What is the deal?

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve peed on at least 8 sticks. All negative. Even the one made out of gold from the pharmacy. I’m almost a week late, I’ve been nauseated and puking off and on for a week now, my boobs are NOT sore, I spotted for a couple of days after the IUD came out, then nothing, I spotted on Thursday, then nothing. I have had some cramping, but it feels just like it did when I got pregnant with Fletcher. (Which, incidentally, is just like it feels when I’m about to be invaded my Mr Monthly Visitor. Unhelpful, much?) I’m tired, and I’ve had a sinus infection from hell where I took antibiotics for 10 days. Now we all know that my ute isn’t the most reliable thing. But really? Does it have to act like this? I can’t take all this drama. I wish I’d just bleed already, and get it over with! Fletcher said ‘Nana’ last night. I don’t know if he was referring to my MIL, or if he wanted to eat ‘nanas. He loves him some ‘nanas.

{January 4, 2011}   What Not To Wear: Nina

This is precisely what I need. Badly. I have no idea how to accessorize. I have no sense of style whatsoever. My clothes are either boring or look like I belong in the Teenage Mother’s Playgroup. AND DO YOU KNOW THAT STACY AND CLINTON WERE IN NASHVILLE??!@!!!!!!#$% I mean, really? Really. Why couldn’t that be me? Do you know what I could do with $5000? I could buy enough clothes to fill this whole house! Although, I’m wondering just how expensive things really are in New York, cause it always looks like the makeoverees don’t get much for their money. What that tells me is I’ve never bought anything but cheap stuff or New York clothes are waaaaaaaay expensive, cause I think I could get a lot of stuff for that kind of money. Although, I’d never get any shopping done, cause I’d be too busy looking at all the places and things I’ve read about. I live vicariously through books. I’ve never been anywhere! Well, I’ve done the Redneck Riviera, and I’ve done various amusement parks, but I’d love to see San Francisco, or New York, or Boston. But I need Clinton and Stacy to dress me first.

Yep. Shitters were full. Anyway, you’ll all be happy to know I survived breakfast with my MIL, and no one had to part with any hard-earned cash to bail me out of the pokey! *insert extended applause here* It was actually a pleasant time. I’m starting to feel the inklings of an out of body experience, here. Surely there couldn’t have just been two major holidays made pleasant by my MIL, right?

In other news, my SIL is pregnant. Yep, my brother is having another rugrat/tricycle motor/yard ape. I’m so excited for them, but they just sold all their baby stuff in a yard sale! I offered my bassinet and stuff for their use. I know where they live.

I had some bleeding last week. Spit spotting for about 3ish days. It would go hours, almost a whole day, then start up again. This was accompanied by twinges from the right ovary. Hmmmm…….Anyway, it was like two, maybe 3 days after I had the IUD out. Surely not…..

Off to cart Grumpy McStinkypants to Grandmama’s for Christmas dinner. *beleaguered sigh* YCU has to go to work. This should be fun. But! But! He can entertain everyone by saying ‘Papa’. So I’ll let you know how it goes.

{December 22, 2010}   On taking oneself too seriously…

Today, I walked to the anesthesia workroom and asked two young ladies there for an item that lived there, I just didn’t know where. Apparently, they were CRNA students. The response I got was “We’re not anesthesia techs.” Ooooo-kay, could you tell me where it is and I’ll just get it myself? I mean, really? What, pray tell, does that have to do with the price of tea in China? What, you’re too good to help me find something, or just hand it to me since you most likely still know where it is, despite your deficiency in manners?


This week, I was asking one of the surgeons about his daughters, how they were doing, what schools they’d been accepted to, and whatnot. He told me, and I asked if it would be for a volleyball scholarship and he stated “No, I pay the school, and she can play on the team if she wants.” Gotta love those politics. So I made the comment that all that grace and coordination stuff had passed me by, and I had to settle for just being a smart kid! To this, he responded: *sigh* “That just means that if you were single, and I were single, I’d have to pass on you, because I just couldn’t dilute my gene pool with someone who wasn’t an athlete.” True story. Straight-faced and everything! He meant it! His general rhetoric is all about how he’s amazing, his wife’s gorgeous, his girls are wonderful, and they’re all better than you, etc, etc. It was funny. I mean, seriously? As if I was offering! Another surgeon today told me that if I was ever to become husband-less, I would need to change my ways if I hoped to ever have another one. Wow. Really? Because I stand up for myself and have expectations that he behave like a grown-up? This makes me an Undesirable? Really? Boys are stupid. I said it in high school a lot, which is probably why I didn’t have a lot of dates, but it really is true. *sigh*

My MIL has invited herself, her husband, and my stepson over TO MY HOUSE for Christmas morning. To cook in my kitchen. And my husband has to go to work at 1pm. And I have to grin and bear it. Wahoo. Would you all mind pooling your resources to bail me out? Great.

Earlier this week, my husband called me at work and was angry that I’d forgotten to bring the diaper bag in from my car. Oops, sorry hon. I told him he could come pick it up, then go to his event. To which he responded “I’m not driving all the way down there for that.” People, it’s a 15 min drive to my work. Yes, really. I know. But I called him back, and reminded him that there was a bigger bag in our closet, he could throw some diapers, wipes, and clothes in that, and still go wherever it was he needed to go. He didn’t want to do that either, because I should have just remembered, etc, etc. I hit the roof. Over the phone, at work. There were witnesses to my disgrace. They laughed. So, I said. What you’re telling me, is that you’re not really that motivated to go anywhere, because you’ve turned down two perfectly viable options. You just wanted to call here and bitch at me because you had nothing better to do. Damn it, fix the problem, grow some problem solving skills, and don’t bother me with stupid shit like that! I don’t have time to deal with it, and if I’d been the one stranded, I’d have gotten my happy ass in my car, driven to wherever you were, retrieved the bag, and been on my merry way without bothering him in the least! Small child! ARRRRRRRRRRGH!

Fletcher has learned to climb on his new toy box and take down all his books! As we speak, I’m trying to figure out how to attach a rock to his head so he doesn’t grow up. I’ll let you know what I come up with.

I started an IV yesterday. IN ONE STICK. I’ve not started an IV in at least 5 years. Someone please jump up and down for me and clap, before I explode and just start tooting my own horn! Loudly! I’m only pleased as punch, a little bit. Just a little bit. Like ridin’ a bike, baby! (Oh, yes, I am a nurse and all, but anesthesia usually does that for us in the holding room, so it kind of eliminates it from our job description. This CRNA needed an extra pair of hands, and mine were the only ones available.)

I hate the dogs that live in my house. Actually, hate is a strong word. They’d be fine if they lived outside and I didn’t have to clean up after them. Unfortunately, if YCU had his druthers, they’d be in the bed with us. Eww. They roll in their own poop, they’re not sleeping in my sheets. So there. The Heinz-57 mutt is still not potty trained (big dogs make bigger messes, in case you didn’t know), chews on everything, is destructive (we had to clean up outside where he dug in the trash and broke glass jars and other dangerous items), and is generally a pest. He does not understand ‘NO!!’ or ‘GIT!!’, or any other commands that generally stop dogs from doing stupid things like eating poop, getting underfoot, or sniffing in inappropriate places. He does all these things with gusto. Sometimes, he even does them all at once. Moving him forcefully (not exactly a kick, and hopefully not painful) is the only thing that works getting him out from underfoot, but it lasts like a second, and he’s at it again. I’ve scolded him more than once that if he trips me and hurts the baby, he’ll be an outside dog for the rest of his days. (Because dogs speak English. Yeah.) I had a dog that lived in a homemade doghouse outside for 10ish years, and she did fine. (My brother was old enough to take care of her himself, and she wasn’t my mom’s or dad’s responsibility. Most of the time.) The other dog, the pug, is cute, and reasonably well behaved, and we’d just gotten him potty trained when YCU brought home this puppy. (I’m talking, like, a week, here.) However, he sheds. Rather, he molts. I sweep, and there is another dog in my dustpan. I was finally rejoicing about not having to clean up after 2 dogs, and he brings home this puppy that we don’t have time to train or clean up after. Does my husband see the wisdom in having not brought him home? No. Does he try to find someone who has time to take care of him? No. So, I refuse to do anything with the dogs except let them out (because I don’t want the smell in the house). YCU can feed them when he gets home. See? Told you. I’m horrible, but I just can’t get past the fact that my husband brought him home, and as far as I’m concerned, he can take care of them both. I’ve never really been an “Animals in the house” kind of person anyway. Lots of maintenance, lots of cleaning, can’t get them clean without getting the whole bathroom filthy (because they have to be bathed, even in the winter, or they smell, which also takes a lot of time), and then they won’t stay still long enough to get dry, so they go and rub their wet, nasty dog smell on everything in the house before you can get them back in their crate or outside. (Yes, I have issues. If I could plastic wrap them, like that commercial, they could live in the house. I would be ok with that.) I like animals, I just don’t like them in the house with me. My horse had her own house. I liked that.

{December 12, 2010}   God, I hate this time of year.

I think we’ve covered Kroger Alerts here before. Or rather, Fletcher has. I tried to get out tonight to get my antibiotics (to fight off a sinus infection [yes, another one]) and people here don’t know how to drive for anything. PSA: You have to creep down the hills (on the brakes, people, no gas involved), and not lose momentum because you’re gonna need it to get up the hill. *sigh* I saw cars off the road, in the ditches, spinning tires, one moron in a truck almost backed into me. I know how to drive in this stuff, but no one else does, and I don’t want to stand out in the cold waiting for some police officer to get there, knowing he can’t drive in it either after some moron in a truck with no weights in the back and no chains on the tires plows into me. Run-on sentence, much? I turned my happy little butt around and came home. Anyway, Fletcher’s birthday party went great. He smashed cake, we ate cake (he had his own, don’t worry)ice cream, and pizza, he opened more presents (and, again, played with the box) and a good time was had by all! I know. I’m a flawless party planner. I should go into business. (Whatever. It was for a one year old who thought his best gift was a paper plate!) He’s got two more teeth, which explains the excessive crankiness, and he’s consistently cruising now. My friend sent me the cutest little pic of Fletcher and his little cohort at the babysitter’s. I present:


{December 2, 2010}   Nothing is happening.

My life is boring. I work all the time, I clean when I have the energy, I watch my son get into everything he can get his hands on while brushing off the dog hair he accumulates at the babysitter’s. I have a puppy instead of a little boy. This is my life. (I’m never going to get away from dogs, am I.) So, this week has been trying for little ole me’s patience. I’ve had to work with my OR husband (who drives me just as nuts as my official one, I’d kill him if we actually had to work together.) who thinks it’s funny to throw stuff in the floor for me to pick up (Yes, I have to, it’s a safety hazard, namely for me.), throws trash in my sponge bucket (we have to count sponges to make sure we leave with the same number we got there with, and it’s real easy for sponges to get wrapped up in trash and get thrown out thereby causing the patient an unnecessary x-ray), and generally goes out of his way to irk the hell out of me. I dropped more than a few f-bombs that day. Also, he and the first assistant in the room were treating me like it was my first day. “Nina, go see the patient!” Already done. “Nina, mix your meds!” Also already done, just waiting for you to get your lazy ass in there and set the table up so I can give them to you. “Nina, go get started on your paperwork!” Really? I can have the paperwork done within 10 minutes of starting the case. So, if you like, I can go sit on my ass and do a crossword puzzle while you two bust ass and get this room ready for the case, but that’s not how I generally like to do things. I actually work when I come here, so how ’bout you let me in on what your “master plan” is, and we’ll get it done that much faster, eh? Seriously, these guys acted like I’d never been in an OR before. The next day, I walked into a room to give a lunch and it was like a chinese fire drill in there! (Am I allowed to say that anymore? I’d hate to think I was being offensive, that’s just the expression I’ve always heard. Maybe I shouldn’t use it anymore. Onwards.) When she finally left to eat, I had the drugs given, the charting done, the room organized all within approximately, oh, say, 7 minutes. My job is stressful sometimes, but really? Not that demanding, thought-wise. You just have to plan ahead and learn the preferences of the surgeon and try to meld them with what’s right for the patient, but that’s another story. I don’t understand this concept of running a room that no one can hear themselves think in, but whatever. Yesterday, I had to contend with a moody, pregnant scrub nurse who was cranky that I opened up the case supplies (yes, they get this petty) and she wanted a break. I apologized, and offered to sit in the room while she took her break, but she was pissy the whole day. Then the CRNA wanted to be all commando and wouldn’t listen, treated me like her maid (‘Nina could you plug this in for me? I can’t reach it.’ She was sitting in a chair with her legs crossed.), got pissy when I called the anesthesiologist (which we’re required to do)before she expressly gave me permission, then when I tried to help her hook up her monitors she acted like I was an idiot and actually took it away from me! I do not feel the need to help her anymore. I refused to call on the next case, and I got my paperwork done while the patient was going to sleep. Her bossy, bitchy ass can call her own damn doc over the walkie-talkie! So there.

et cetera