*SNARL*

Feb. 13th, 2008 07:46 am
rubykatewriting: (The Office: Crotch Shot)
Apparently, researchers are looking into a "sweet tooth" gene. In the immortal words of one Mr. Chandler Bing, I KNEW IT! *raises angry fist at sky* When I get up there, great-grandpa Schmitz (and great-grandpa Mayer, too, apparently - SUGAR IN YOUR VEGETABLES? REALLY?), you and me? We are gonna have some words.

Also, Universe, I'd like to have a chat with you as well. So yeah, I had a MAJOR HUGE RIDICULOUS EMBARRASSING thing for Adrian a million and a half years ago but must you continue to have him pop up most unexpectedly like that? MUST YOU DANGLE HIM LIKE THE PROVERBIAL CARROT? SERIOUSLY? This is not helping in my ongoing quest to continue not liking his not-stupid ass self, okay? OKAY?

NOT ON, UNIVERSE.
rubykatewriting: (Little Stars)
Our online charting system has been acting up the past couple of days. Really, it's been on the fritz since they upgraded to version 2.suck last summer, but lately, it's been especially difficult. We spent most of yesterday on the internet, bored out of our tree, so that by the end of the day we were a giggly, nonsensical mess. It was not pretty.

Today, it's back, sort of. We have to login with our usernames but with this blanket password and even then, depending on the patient I'm viewing, there are some gaps. Like on patient A, I can see everything, but then patient B (my newest, the one I'm still collecting background) I can't access his pathology reports. It's ridiculous, but I was downright giddy when I was able to get some queries my monitor gave me done this morning.

Now I am eating Starbust and working on patient B again and trying to avoid hitting refresh on the flist for the the millionth time. I've just about hit full on Heath because everytime a new post pops up it hits me all over again how truly awful this whole thing is and how much I wish it had all turned out to be a hideous joke.

Sometimes it still surprises me how much life can suck so very much.
rubykatewriting: (Little Stars)
Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday.

I am verklempt, people.
rubykatewriting: (HIMYM: The OTF)
I always forget that Dr. Cutie McSnootie gives great dictation. Like fantastic, and in a coordinator's world, it doesn't get much better than that.

And yes, I'm back at work. Only one patient left to go, and then I'm carrying myself off to home (after a quick dash over to the grocery store for the staples). My URI is back, which is unsurprising since Cat had it week before last. Mom has noticed in her clinicals that she has had a lot of repeat patients, one lady presenting with Influenza A AND B. Per Mom's doctor this rotation, this means we didn't have a hard enough winter, apparently. Blegh.

*sniffle*

*cough, cough*

Back to work...
rubykatewriting: (Crotch Shot)
I may be going out on a limb here when I say I think our excitement about this coming weekend in Vegas may be hitting a fever pitch. Today The Peon sent out a group email with a detailed forecast of the weather he'd copied and pasted from weather.com. Um, yeah. Thanks?

Of course, my excitement is tempered by the fact that I'm sickly. My sinuses have decided that this unusual Houston winter is, in fact, too much, and I'm currently popping Chlor-Trimeton like it's candy and flashing as my temperature fluctuates like a fucking bouncing ball in those ridiculous sing-a-longs. FYI, the accompanying sweats are the bestest thing EVAR! I dressed warmly since it's not supposed to hit above 65 today (I'm a southern wimp, okay? THIS is why I will not be moving to Chicago. Have you SEEN the weather up there?! JesusMaryandJoseph), but now that I'm all breaking fever and shit, I'm getting that damp feeling in the pits. *rolls eyes in disgust* God, I hate it when my body decides to conspire against me.

Grr.

But I did manage to finally wander my way over to Borders to pick up a copy of American Gods this past weekend. I showed it to Mom. The only thing she gets fangirly over is books, so she was immediately, "AS SOON AS YOU FINISH, GIVE IT TO ME!" I didn't have the heart to mention she won't have any time to read it in the next few months between school, clinicals and work. She was simply too excited.
rubykatewriting: (Venkman: I Feel so FUNKY)
Gross fact of the decade: I'm walking down the hall to the elevator the other day and I notice that there is something in the wall crevices. Turns out, it’s dust and has to be at least several years worth of build-up. When I take a gander at other crevices along the way (hoping in vain that it’s a fluke), I see that the build-up is EVERYWHERE.

For fuck’s sake, it's a wall of long uninterrupted sheets of natural marble, with all the imperfections that come with that type of material. Why does it occur to no one that they may need to clean those every once in awhile? I mean, seriously.

In other news I'm still sick. I haven't been able to breathe through my left nostril for the past four days. On top of that, that same nostril, whilst plugged to the point I can’t breathe) is dripping like a fucking leaky faucet, which hello, how does that work? (My mom, ever the nurse, explained it to me last night, but I feel like I’m in a losing battle with the snot in my head so it really didn't stick.) BUT I'm here to say that Advil PM is the bestest drug EVER. Of course, anything that contains 76MG OF BENADRYL is A-OK in my book. Needless to say, I was OUT all night and slept in until seven this morning.
rubykatewriting: (Default)
LaLa left me a present. I now have her cold, which could not have come at a worse time. I signed up for OT this week to help out another group in our department catch up one of their protocols. While I want the extra cash like a fat man wants a twinkie, I feel like hammered shite, and I would rather just be home, curled up in bed, gorked out on Benadryl.

Sigh.

So in a bid to force myself to stay (and avoid a repeat of yesterday when I ducked out of here just after six), I road in with Mom so that I would have to stay until at least seven. Unfortunately that meant I was stuck in Il Divo HELL. I love her, but her penchant for over-produced opera-light schlock just kills me.

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