I’m sick

“Yes Aza, that’s more than apparent”, shouts the peanut gallery!

Nooo, I’m actually physically ill. Sorta.

I haven’t felt worth a damn for three days now. Today it became impossible to ignore and or hide so I went to the doctor when I was supposed to go to work. She thinks I have a tummy virus, I think it’s just stress. After all, stress does tend to manifest in weird ways. So anyway, I’m not going to work and I feel guilty as hell. I feel guilty because I feel like I’m playing hooky. I’ve gone to work feeling so much worse than this; I have punched my 8 to 9 hours and had a smile on my face in the process when I should have been in the hospital. Not today, today I’m coddling myself when I should rock up and get my ass in gear. Doc said “You look like crap. Go home, go to bed and drink lots of fluids.” Is she basing her diagnosis on my appearance? If so, 6 days out of 7 I should be in the morgue. I always look like this. The only difference between today and any other day is a tummy ache, chills and my color is a little “off”. And this is what I will continue to do to myself all day. I’ll sit here telling myself what a huge asshole I am for “letting people down” or “pissing everyone off” until I get so discombobulated I get up, throw on some scrubs and go in- which will only make the duration of my stomach virus/stress last longer and make me hate the people I work for/with even more. I fucking hate that about myself.

Why can’t I just lay here, watch espn, sip ginger ale, relax, try to get my stomach in order and not give a shit?

101 reasons I am the coolest person that ever lived

1/ You can call me at 11pm on a Monday night and tell me that your wife (my coworker) is in the Navy E.R. and I will haul ass to get to her and in getting to her I will inconvenience a very close friend who happens to be a member of a local police dept. to get me on base (who I still can‘t thank enough!).

2/ I will drill your wife’s doctors with my limited medical knowledge to make certain she is top priority and well taken care of.

3/ I will hold her hair out of her face while she projectile vomits.

4/ I will work her shifts as well as my own.

5/ I will buy her really expensive flowers and make everyone at work chip in.

6/ I will show you my boobies if you’re having a bad day. Okay, so I’m kidding on that one! (or am I?)

7/ You can call me from North Carolina while I’m at work after you’ve had an appendectomy freaking the fuck out and ask me to go back to the fucking navy E.R. because your husband broke his leg and has no one in the city to help take care of him until a family friend can make it up from Orlando.

8/ I will throw out my fucking back by assisting the staff at said hospital in splinting your husbands leg.

9/ I will not look at your husbands package while said procedure is taking place.

10/ I will consult with your and his surgeons to make sure they know someone who knows what the hell is going on is keeping an eye on things.

11/ I will do all of the above while incredibly ill but you won‘t know it.

12/ I will punch you in the fucking head if you say one word about me smoking again because of all the stress I‘m under. Okay, so that one doesn’t make me cool.

13/ I will fix your husbands IV lines all 800 times the fucking alarm on the machine goes off.

14/ I will make sure that you and your spouse get only the best drugs during your respective stays at the hospital.

15/ I will do all of the above and more with a smile on my face and will not tell you how stressed I am, how sick I’ve been or cry in front of you.


This is going to be longwinded and boring so you might as well just skip it. I sure as hell wish I could have.

Okay so basically the story goes like this…Monday afternoon one of my coworkers (Military Wife- some of you may recall her from prior posts) calls me and asks if I’ll cover her shift- she feels really bad and wants to go home. Sure, no problem…I‘m here to help. Monday night around 11pm her husband calls and tells me she is in the Navy E.R. with severe abdominal pain. She sent him home earlier in the afternoon but asked him to call me so I could tell everyone at work she probably wouldn’t be coming in the next day. Something in my gut twists. I have a feeling the “abdominal pain” is a much larger problem than “Oh, I’m just crampy”. The fact that she’s on a morphine drip later confirms this. I asked him if I could get on base since she was there alone and he said probably not. I convey to a friend what’s going on and that I have to get on base. Said friend calms me the hell down, meets me at the base and is able to get me to her in the E.R. I sit with her, talk to her doctors, make sure they keep her drugged because she is in intense pain and try to keep an eye on things as they perform multiple tests to diagnose what‘s going on.

By 5:30 Tuesday morning it’s official she has and appendicitis and needs to go to surgery. I went outside, called her husband, told him to get back to the hospital so she can get prepped for surgery. At 6:30am I leave assuring her I’ll get everything squared away at work. Later that evening after her surgery I get into a minor fender bender (said law enforcement friend to the rescue AGAIN!) while on my way to take her flowers and food (because the universe not only wants to fuck with me but wants to fuck with my car too).

Wednesday she is released from the hospital and leaves town to go to North Carolina with her mom (a trip they’d planned months before). At this point I am smoking again so I decided to start the Chantix again which ends up making me deathly ill (I should have started at .05mg but I started at 1mg. Yes, I am a dumbass). That day I schedule a doctors appointment for Thursday at 11am since I’m sick as hell because of the Chantix. Still I want to take it because I want to quit smoking again and it works.

Thursday, I’m due at my doctors appointment at 11am and work by 1pm. So along comes Thursday afternoon. I’d taken promethazine the night before to stop puking my guts up so naturally I missed my fucking 11am appointment. They tell me they can get me in at 3, I tell them I’ll be at work, they tell me the soonest they can see me after is sometime next week. What the fuck ever! I am NOT going to be this sick for another 4 or 5 days. I went to work at 1 and saw that we were overstaffed. So I tell my Pharmacist that I’m going to take an extended lunch, drive across the fucking city during the start of rush hour to get to my doctors appointment. I get back at 4:30 feeling like crap with a hand full of scripts from my doc and am ready to get back to work, finish my day and go home. Could it have possibly been that easy? Hell no! Of course not, this is me were talking about here!

One of the kids I’m training shouts across the pharmacy “Aza, you’ve got a call on 101 and it doesn’t sound good!” I answered the phone and it was Military Wife in hysterics. I say “MW, calm down and tell me what’s going on.” She then proceeds to tell me she’s in excruciating pain from the appendectomy, she’s in North Carolina, she’s allergic to the pain meds and I have to go back to the Naval E.R. “RIGHT NOW!!!!” All I could muster for a response at that point was “Ummm, what?” she responds hysterically with “My husband broke his fucking leg and there’s no one to help him but you until I can get my friend from Orlando to come!”.

At this point my eyes were brimming as I looked over at my Rph and shook my head. I told her I’d take care of it and hung up. Sooooo, half an hour later (around 6:30ish) I’m pulling into the E.R. parking lot. I get in, get things dealt with, update MW and wait for the friend from Orlando to come. During my wait a nurse walks in and asks him one of the most retarded questions I’ve ever heard in my life- “So, how’s your pain level between 1 and 10, 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced?” I sat there staring at her for a moment trying to digest what I’d just heard and whether or not I’d heard it correctly. Finally I said “Uh, both bones in his left leg are broken and at the break they splintered into 4 or 5 pieces. I’d have to say, and MW Husband please correct me if I’m wrong here, that his pain level is at about a ’Fuck This!‘. Does that sound about right MW Husband?” he nodded, she stomped out of the room to go get more meds.

10pm rolls around, my lower back and shoulders are killing me, I’ve assisted in splinting his leg, have dealt with his fucked up IV lines, yelled at a bunch of fucking incompetent people, am covered in plaster and am praying I can make it out of there without injuring anyone. The friend from Orlando finally walks in the room MW’s husband is set up in for the night. I explain to her everything that’s happening- what time he’s going in for surgery the next day blah, blah, blah, blah…..ad infinitum.

I come home totally emotionally exhausted and feeling completely numb. I’ve not slept more than a few hours in 4 days, I’m sick and I’ve been pulled in a thousand directions at once. So I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, play around on my cell and try to get my brain to shut down. I don’t actually get to sleep until around 10:30am this morning because as tired as I was I just couldn’t shut down- then I’m back up by noon after being jarred awake by a storm of nightmares and I’m running again. His surgery didn’t go as well as planned and he now has a shit load of new hardware in his leg but at least he made it through and is in recovery.

My plans for tomorrow? I’m going to go to work, come home, try to exist in peace and maybe, just maybe go to the gym. Or kick the ever loving shit out of the first fucking person that looks at me wrong. I’m still undecided.

What the fuck ever!

So I got my performance review back at work. For those of you who don’t know what that is- it’s a yearly assult upon your emotional anus review they make you perform on yourself. Basically you have to tell them how retarded you think you are and how much you think you suck at your job. Then they come back over what you wrote and review the review. I gotta tell ya, it’s one hell of a motivation builder!

I was off work that day but I made a special trip to the pharmacy to get it. I didn’t want to get it back while I was on the clock and have a giant panic attack in front of God and everybody because my superiors agree that I suck. That pretty much sums up my review of myself “I Aza, suck at my job and am a total retard. However, if there is one redeeming quality about me that should prevent my immediate dismissal it is that I make my coworkers and patients laugh. The end.”

It wasn’t what I expected at all. I walked in totally prepared to have my ass handed to me and received quite the opposite. I was told I have excellent patient/coworker relations (LOL!!!) and make the pharmacy a fun place to work. I’m skilled well beyond my pay grade and level of experience (ie, time on the job) and I’m an excellent trainer. I was all like “Yeah man, I rock!”.

So I asked my senior Rph what improvements needed to be made- he said I need to start taking on senior tech responsibilities. My response “Look, I’m state certified isn’t that enough? I mean really! If I’m not going to be paid as a senior tech why should I have to perform the responsibilities (which I do anyway)?” He also said (and I quote) “This isn’t just for you but we need to watch the use of profanity.”

What? Excuse me? Would you care to repeat that for me? I don’t think I heard you correctly.

I NEVER curse in front of patients or my Rph’s. EVER! It’s Princess, Military Wife and The 20 Year Old Boss that sound like fucking sailors! It’s fuck this and fuck that and fuck him and fuck her and fuck the fucking fuckers. That’s all I hear all day! Me? I go out of my fucking way not to curse at work (that’s what my fucking blog is for!). I use terms like the following; “Crum” or "Crud" instead of “Crap“, “Shnike” or "Poopie" instead of “Shit”, “God Bless America” instead of “Goddamnit!”, “Rats Rectum” instead of “Rats Ass”, “Son Of A Biscuit Eater” instead of “Son Of A Bitch”, “Fudge” or “Freak” instead of “Fuck”, you get the point. I guess he saw the total look of shock and surprise that hit my face like a brick- a look that said “What the fuck did you just say to me!?” because he looked back at me as if to say “Hey I know I shouldn’t even be mentioning this to you but I don’t want those sorry fuckers to feel singled out and picked on”. I looked at him as if to say “Fuck them! They should be singled out because they are the ones that do it and no, you shouldn’t be mentioning this to me.” What’d I do? I kept my mouth shut and didn't argue. Our conversation held within looks said everything that needed to be said.

Anyway, I got an awesome review. How’d my coworkers do? Fucked if I care, I rock!

It’s hard work!

As it turns out- raining hell, havoc and chaos in general down upon all those around me and working on total world domination tends to be incredibly time consuming projects. Sadly, I’ve not really accomplished as much as I‘d like given the amount of time invested. I’d love to report more but here’s all I’ve got for the moment…

~ I started a serious mutiny at work (then again, when is a work related mutiny involving me not serious?) I took a coworker in front of my boss, pointed at her and said “Unless, you promote her, I quit. I‘m sick of working under the tyranny of a 20 year old child!” The 20 year old child just happens to be on vacation right now.

~ Possibly (I say ‘possibly’ because she hasn’t returned any of my phone calls since Saturday so I’m not quite sure) really pissed off that same coworker a few days later when taking her and her husband out. Actually, taking them out didn’t piss her off- my husband pointing at her chest and shouting “Titties!” in a drunken stupor is most probably what did it.

~ Told an incredibly hot 24 year old Marine that I didn’t appreciate his physical or verbal advances and wouldn‘t tolerate them- then stormed off to retrieve my drunken husband and go home. WTF was I thinking!!!??? (Actually, in all honesty…if I were going to do something along those lines, it damn straight wouldn’t be with a 24 year old kid. I have more ‘seasoned’ tastes, if you will. Oh yeah, and I love D too- even though he is dangerously retarded.)

~ Speaking of more seasoned tastes…I’ve been wanting to post this pic forever now. It was taken last July when I‘d finalized my decision to dominate the world. I like to call it a “Marine Burrito” or “Aza’s personal Double Mint commercial”. But really it just establishes that I’ve got the Military backing me (well, all of them but a 24 year old douche bag that can‘t keep his hands to himself). My plans for world domination are coming along nicely, slowly but nicely.

Alive- using the term loosely

All month my schedule has sucked!

Suck, suckity, suck, suck, sucks- I tell ya! I’m just not fucking functional working 13 hour shift after 13 hour shift. It will be back from vacation this coming Monday and life may begin to return to normal.

Normal….ba-ring it!

I'll shut up about work sooner or later...

Yawn

So, since I worked all damn day, and it wasn’t a particularly “good” day (and I‘ll be working an entire weekend- that‘ll probably suck too)- I’ve got an idea. How about I hire someone to allow me to lay here in my scrub top (because I was too tired/lazy to remove the entire ensemble when I got home), watch cartoons (or whatever’s on AMC or Discovery- I’m too tired/lazy to reach 3 feet for the remote), get me an icy beverage (with a bendy straw to minimize movement on my part), a lightly toasted bagel (with strawberry cream cheese please), provide a neck/shoulder massage, take down and brush my pretty hair and allow me to roll around and yawn while softly singing to me "When The World Ends"?

No? I have to get off my tired, lazy ass and actually get something done?

So how exactly do you fit two hours of chores into two minutes of energy?

A bittersweet success

The PTCB results were posted on the website this morning at 9am.

I passed. D didn’t.

I’m certain I didn’t pass by much, as I had no idea what the hell I was doing. It all looked like a foreign language to me. I feel like shit over it. If it had to be one or the other I had really hoped it’d have been him to make the grade. I was prepared for that very situation. Ready to sign up for the November test. Convinced I’d failed and he’d passed and I was fine with it. Him passing would have meant major financial burdens lifted (due to a substantial raise and promotion), major self confidence issues lifted etc., etc., etc. This was his second time taking it. He came so close last time (within 20 points)- I was just certain he'd passed.

We won't get our actual scores for a few weeks. All the website provided was a "pass" or "fail" status.

Now he's screwed for fall semester too. He just can't carry a 60+ hour a week job, studying for and retaking the PTCB in November, trying to get major marriage issues ironed out (if that's possible), health issues AND a part time fall term.

For as pissed off and hurt as I am at him/with him (and I'm sure he is at/with me), regardless of where things go (as uncertain as our future is at the moment); I'm still happy and hopeful for his successes and terribly saddened by those goals he attempts to achieve but doesn't.

When it rains, it fucking pours.

Bootstraps- a work related rant- revisited, revised and uncensored

I’m desperately seeking to regain some semblance of peace, patients and tolerance AGAIN. So I’m going to have myself a(nother) good old fashioned (uncensored) fit. I’m going to kick, scream and curse- get it all out of my system and hopefully move the fuck on with my life (but I doubt it).

This is an entry you will want to skip. The countdown to me showing my ass begins now.

Military wife is AGAIN pissing me the fuck off because I got called by the 19 year old boss on her behalf (AGAIN) a few days ago. What wonderful information did she have to bestow upon me? Apparently I will be pulling 6 day work weeks for the entire fucking month of September. Why? Because military wife after much whining, crying and bitching to her parents actually got a fucking plane ticket to travel half way around the planet to vacation with her husband who is stationed in another country. Why? Because much to her dismay, she was informed that the military (and my fucking tax dollars) won’t buy her a plane ticket to fly half way around the planet to vacation with her husband. She was fucking depressed about it and showing her ass; mommy and daddy felt real bad, gave in and bought the ticket. So I have to reschedule my fucking life around her, AGAIN! My other co-workers will hardly even notice the change because they had already signed up for fall term and will be in class while I work her shifts as well as mine.

Now to a few of the repercussions in my world….I will not be able to enroll in fall semester because of having to work her shifts and mine, I will have to reschedule my Monday sessions with Whore-Hey, and every other appointment in my life, yes, because I’ll be working her fucking shifts- and most importantly- all this while desperately trying to hold my home and a 10 year marriage together only to find that I may be fighting a battle I already lost. So, there’s a possible divorce in my midst (that’s another long fucking story).

Here are a few points I’d love to get off of my chest to dear military wife, AGAIN…

1/ FUCK YOU!!!! Men are fucking dying in a desert right now and wives are being notified by the evening fucking news! Your husband is stationed far, far away from insurgents, Osama Bin-fucking-Laden, death and all of the horrors associated with sand, hot fucking climates and war. These poor women being notified won’t have the luxury of seeing their husband in a few months, they just got told he’s never coming home!

2/ The wives of these men at WAR go to fucking work every fucking day. They live, they work, they take care of their families, they support each other. They have more strength and intestinal fortitude in their weakest moments than you do in your strongest.

3/ I’d LOVE for you to meet some of the military women I know, start your bitching about how you only spoke to your husband three fucking times today(!!!), and I’d love even more to watch them kick your sniveling ass (considering some of them haven‘t heard their husbands voice for months).

4/ You need to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get the fuck over yourself, dear child. You’re lucky and you’re a fucking asshole for not seeing that.

5/ Contrary to what you believe YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY FUCKING WOMAN GOING THROUGH THIS!!!!! When this fact is mentioned to you, you fucking ignore it and start whining, tears and all, about how no one could possibly know how hard this is. Did I mention, FUCK YOU!!!?

6/ Now that mommy and daddy were duped into buying you the fucking plane ticket to go visit him and I get to cover your goddamned shifts (AGAIN!!!) I fully expect you to show some fucking gratitude and shut the fuck up when you get back!

And finally,

7/ If hear you whine pitifully “He’ll be home in December, but I’m going to be so mad if it’s after the 16th because I want him here for my birthday!!!” one more time- So help you Christ, I’m going to do something really, really, really beyond horrible to you. December is also when my birthday falls. By then I very well may not have a fucking husband to celebrate it with you inconsiderate, miserable, bratty little fucking shit!

P.S.

Thanks for continuing to fuck everyone and their families (particularly mine) in the ass by making the schedule revolve around you! (for the 50th fucking time)

P.S.+

That bullshit phone call you made tonight to “check in on me” and “just see how I’m doing” was nothing more than that. Bullshit. It was an extremely poor attempt at a fact finding, pump Aza for information mission. I know the 19 year old boss was there listening in to see where I stand on the various work related issues you addressed in such a superficial manner. Next time you try that, do us both a favor and save us both some time; piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining- I might walk away from it with a little more respect for you for at least bullshitting me to my fucking face.

All Work and No Play Makes Aza

Insane

I've got a MAJOR rant in the works. It's gonna be bad, real bad.

Seriously.

I should be featured on the Weather Channel…

I predict the shit storm currently raging at work will continue throughout the rest of the weekend and well into the coming week. Since its arrival early last week it has shown no signs of letting up. If you decided to stay and disregard the suggested evacuation- adorn your waders and flack jackets folks, the time to seek shelter and hunker down is well behind us.

The exact extent of the damages this storm is causing is currently too massive (and still gathering mass) to calculate, we can at the very least expect to see continued: severe depression, homicidal/suicidal tendencies, sleep deprivation (from those 11+ hour shifts), panic attacks, spontaneous obscene outbursts, psychotic episodes, humiliation, temper tantrums, and much, much more.

The upside? Well folks, there is no fucking upside. FEMA hid under the bed as soon as they saw this one coming and clean up crews are not preparing for the storms end- that will be left up to the individual.

In short, you’re fucked.

I took the PTCB exam today...

It kinda felt like a hot poker in the ass, for three hours. There were six different tests (each a different color that specified it concentrated on a different area of pharmacology), D got the red one which is real heavy in math (he got that one last year) and I got the green one which was real heavy on hospital drugs. How’d I do? Out of 140 questions- I’m certain I got 10 to 15 right. Yeah. Oh, did I mention 15 questions on the test are throw-ins? They don’t count. So they say the scores will be sent out in 60 days. Two friggin’ months! I wish I didn’t have such an “I’m retarded so I couldn’t possibly come even close to passing” (realist?) attitude here but I think I should go ahead and get ready to sign up for the November test. Oh, and stock up on more Prep H in the meantime. So the assault on my emotional and psychological buttocks in that regard is over (for now).

Anyway on to bigger things

Kaz is doing great! The vet sent her home for the weekend; she’s due for another recheck Monday. She’s trying to climb all over the place, eating like a piglet and absolutely hates to not be in your lap at all times. I can’t wait to post pictures!

AND!!!


BLOG-A-THON 2006!Saturday, July 29, 20066am Pacific/9am Eastern

We are 7, count em’ SEVEN days away from Blogathon!!!!

Here is my original post about it. If you haven’t gotten involved yet- PLEASE do! If you’ve been watching the news in the last week (and who hasn’t?) you know the Middle East is an even bigger tinder box. I don’t know what this will mean for our soldiers but we really need the facilities and services the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund has to offer. This is not a matter of supporting or not supporting our governments decisions and/or polices, it’s a matter of supporting our troops. So please…

Click The Button To Sponsor These Awesome Ladies!


I have to work this coming weekend but I am so looking forward to going over to Stale Betty‘s every chance I get to enjoy the fun and games!

This soap opera fucking sucks…

A rant about a few things I’ve learned in the last two weeks…

- I think Whore-Hey may be mentally deficient.

- One of my rescues (FeLV positive) is crashing.

- My Great Uncle died….in 2003

- No one was able to contact us because my Great Aunt suffers from severe senile dementia, she was the only one that knew how to contact us. She doesn’t even know he’s dead.

- I’m taking the PTCB exam next Saturday and fully expect to fail. I took a pre-test that was a mirror image of the actual test last night and fucking bombed it.

- The 19 year old boss expects me to work 9 to 10 hours the night before the exam as well as the day of the exam (after I’m done taking it). I see a confrontation on the horizon.

- My home feels like it’s covered in a shroud of ick

- And now my fingers hurt from scratching the tip of the ice-burg.

The list goes on and on and on and on….

An evening at the cuss-capades

Yeah, I bleeped it. I bleeped it because it wasn’t just hurtful, it wasn’t just South Parkesque, it wasn’t just foul. It was all of those things and more. If she ever came across that entry- the message and feelings behind it were harsh enough, the bleeps were just overkill. My intention isn’t to hurt her it’s to vent how frustrated I am. If I wanted to hurt her, I’d print out the below entry unedited and hand it to her with a big smile on my face.

If that entry were about anything other than some poor kid at my job just trying to cope (and unfortunately making life very hard on those around her) I wouldn’t have censored it. But the facts are, she’s having a hard time which has caused a chain reaction.

Why not just delete it altogether? Because if I did that it would rob me of a justified vent. I felt it, I said it, I decided to edit it. In my mind it was a compromise. And that’s it.

*sigh* me and my hissy fits....and the fucking guilt that follows.

Bootstraps- a work related rant

I’m desperately seeking to regain some semblance of peace, patients and tolerance. So I’m going to have myself a good old fashioned fit. I’m going to kick, scream and curse- get it all out of my system and hopefully move the bleep on with my life.

This is an entry you might want to skip. The countdown to me showing my bleep begins now. 5...4...3...2...

Military wife is bleeping me the bleep off. Today I got called by the 19 year old boss telling me I had to add either tomorrow or Monday to my work schedule. Why? Because military wife needs to spend yet another bleeping extended weekend at home with her parents. Why? Because she was informed today that the military won’t be buying her a plane ticket to fly half way around the planet to ‘visit’ with her husband who is stationed for the next 6 months in another country. She’s bleeping depressed about it and showing her bleep. So everyone at work now has to bow down and reschedule their bleeping lives around her, AGAIN! This is not the first time we’ve been through this and I’m sure it won’t be the last. This bleep started nearly a month before he even left. Here are a few points I’d love to get off of my chest…

1/ BLEEP YOU!!!! Men are bleeping dying in a desert right now and wives are being notified by the evening bleeping news! Your husband is stationed far, far away from insurgents, Osama Bin-bleeping-Laden, death and all of the horrors associated with sand, hot bleeping climates and war. These poor women being notified won’t have the luxury of seeing their husband in five or six months, they just got told he’s never coming home!

2/ The wives of these men at WAR go to bleeping work every bleeping day. They live, they work, they take care of their families, they support each other. They have more strength and intestinal fortitude in their weakest moments than you do in your strongest.

3/ I’d LOVE for you to meet some of the military women I know, start your bleeping about how you only spoke to your husband three bleeping times today(!!!), and I’d love even more to watch them kick your sniveling bleep (considering some of them haven‘t heard their husbands voice for months).

4/ You need to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get the bleep over yourself, dear child. You’re lucky and you’re a bleeping bleep for not seeing that.

5/ Contrary to what you believe YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY BLEEPING WOMAN GOING THROUGH THIS!!!!! When this fact is mentioned to you, you bleeping ignore it and start whining, tears and all, about how no one could possibly know how hard this is. Did I mention, BLEEP YOU!!!?

6/ I’LL buy you the bleeping plane ticket to go visit him AND cover your bleeped shifts (AGAIN!!!) if you will do your bleeping job, show some bleeping pride and shut the bleep up when you get back!

And finally,

7/ I will not be held responsible for my actions if you look at another woman who just bleeping said “I’M GOING THROUGH THIS TOO. IT'LL BE OKAY“ and blow her off. I’ve seen you do this twice now and each time I’ve come a little closer to slapping the whining bleep out of you. These people are reaching out to you, bleep. They’re trying to show you what strength is and you’re spitting in their face you inconsiderate bratty little bleep!

P.S.

Thanks for continuing to bleep everyone (and their families) in the bleep by making the schedule revolve around you! (for the 50th bleeping time this month)

I need a break

I’ve been studying for the PTCE WAY too much! I'm starting to get concerned about the possibility of going into total burn out. Take for example Saturday night- at midnight I got a wild hair up my ass and decided D and I would get a ton of studying done at the 24 hour bowling alley. So I called Kira, bought some beer and off to the alley we went. I had to be responsible by making sure I was tucked into bed by 6am, considering I had to work Sunday and all.

Speaking of Sunday! Man, I studied so much I doubt I’ll ever look at a book the same way again. I’m jaded! I got off work at 6pm, came home long enough to shed my scrubs- then off to the beach to study we went! Ate an amazing meal on the beach at Joe’s Crab Shack, had one too many sweet alcoholy things and the good lord knows you can’t eat and drink…uh, I mean “study”, without mini golf, video games and go-kart racing. Arriving home just after midnight I can’t bear the thought of looking at another book!

Now that 2am is rapidly approaching I think I’ll reward myself with a hot shower and some T.V. time. I’ve earned it! I’ve got to go to work in a few hours. Hopefully I’ll have a good day, though my arm is rather sore from holding those books up to my face all weekend (oh, and patting myself on the back for being so dedicated to preparing myself for the PTCE).

Walking dead.....with a check list

Pharmacy pre-test taken and passed: check
Ass officially worked off in the last week: check
Still breathing: check
New scrubs: check
Panic attack over taking the actual test: check

Refill on the Prozac….pending

Oh yeah, they’re cursing my name tonight

Poor kids, not a single one of them can hold a drink without being “wreaked”. They are so going to hate me tomorrow (I was buying)- at least military wife will. Dear child was actually trying to pace me! Ya can’t pace a (former hahahahaha!) alcoholic, hon. Five mixed drinks and two shots later….poor, poor girl.

The worst part? Heh, the 19 year old boss is probably holding military wife’s head while she projectile vomits. The best part? I drank more and feel fine.

Sadly, I’m almost sure bullshit will arise from this at work.

I’m taking Kira’s advice. ;)

A wee bit torn

One of my coworkers is a military wife. A young military wife. A young military wife who’s husband just got stationed in Italy for the next six months. She feels like an atom bomb just dropped on her life. I don’t blame her. So naturally, I’ve been trying to be Mrs. Supportive. One of my other coworkers mentioned something about all of us going out together for dinner or drinks or a girl's night out or something. I was like “Oh yeah, that might be fun” because I didn’t think it would actually happen. Yeah well, the idea took off. I got a call last night at work from another coworker (who happens to also be ‘the 19 year old’ and one of my bosses) saying “Hey, we’re going out tomorrow night and then we're all crashing at military wife's house, you’re invited, please come.” I said (trying to worm my way out of it) “Well, I’m working until 6 and D will be getting off around then, blah, blah, blah.” She wasn’t having any of it. “Aww, come on Aza! We‘re all trying to be supportive of military wife, it‘ll be fun and we’re waiting until you get off- blah, blah, blah.” But, but, but….

So I’m torn. On one hand: I drink with friends, I hang out with friends, these people are coworkers, not friends. I don’t like mixing my personal life with my job. I really don’t know these people. I mean, I know them but not real well. I hardly ever work with any of them because I work weekends and for the most part it‘s just the pharmacist and I. Let me reiterate, I’m like the outsider because I hardly work with any of them and they all hang out together on a regular basis on their off time (while I‘m working). On top of all of that, I’d hate to stick my foot in my mouth (which I tend to be very good at). Oh, and, drinking with minors (which two of them are) isn’t cool (even if they aren‘t drinking but those of us who are of age are).

On the other hand: They’re trying to include me and I kinda want to be included because I feel like “the” old lady (at the ripe old age of 27) of the pharmacy; I’m the oldest tech there (plus, I‘m the ‘outsider‘). I also want to be supportive and it might actually be fun.

In my head I still keep coming back to “I don’t like mixing my personal life with my job.”

But I don’t want to be a stick in the mud.

I'll probably end up going but only for a few hours, just to save face.

*sigh*

An open letter

To the lady with the 'mite' cream script.

Dear sweet elderly three days older than Jesus lady,

I understand now more than ever in the pharmaceutical field that odd, disturbing and at times down right creepy shit is just going to happen. Period. There will be days that TMI is the understatement of the century. There will be times that I will hear someone say something that will make me want to douche my ear holes. Yesterday you won the "Gross Aza The Fuck Out" award. That's no small feat, madam. I hear about rectal ulcerations, "intense" anal itching, green vaginal discharge, and much, much more daily. Yet each day I come back with a smile on my face, holding my composure like a Marine.

Please let me congratulate you on your award. It was truly earned. I'd shake your hand but to be quite honest I'd rather you keep your scabies to yourself. I must say, the best part of our conversation was when you leaned your sweet 90 year old face over the counter and said with your gentle, old lady, well of knowledge smile "The doctor said I've got the infestation cleared up off of my hands pretty well, now we're working on my nipples."

Hon, I have so much respect for you just because of the fact that you've weathered so many years on this planet but I must say, you could have kicked me in the fucking head and gotten a better reaction out of me. No, no, you didn't see that reaction on the outside but trust me, it was there. If you'd looked deep enough into my eyes you would have seen the depth of my horror. That's where the blank (thousand mile) stare and faux smile cemented to my face came from. There are two things I'd like to go over with you so you'll understand where that "I think I just shit myself" look came from...

A/ Infestation. Let's look at that word for a moment. I N F E S T A T I O N. That means there is a colony of creepy crawly creatures residing under your skin.

B/ "Now we're 'working' on my nipples." Well, your 90 year old nipples pretty much speak for themselves. I don't think I, myself could have painted a more vivid picture if I tried.

Bless your heart, dear. May your days be filled with joy, your mite cream be plentiful and here's wishing your nipples (and my brain) a quick and permanent recovery!