Ojo Caliente, Here We Come!

Much-needed relaxation awaits.
And look, Dad, helmets!



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It's Time For Me to Make Some Funny

Just a little roundup of some videos, pictures, etc. that make me giggle.  Enjoy.

Wal-Mart Clown Commercial:



Some examples of Chindogu (the Japanese art of inventing complex solutions to simple problems):

Jog Strap:



Some Engrish gems (check out Scott's rant on Engrish too...)

Which reminds me, this last, of another parent of the year moment I had a couple of weeks ago.  We were at home, some friends were over, and the boys were playing some kind of cops & robbers, cowboys & indians chasing game.  Gabe comes around the corner from the basement, and we can hear Kyle say, as he comes upstairs after Gabe, "Eat my balls!"  Yup, that's my boy, at the ripe old age of eight-and-a-half.  (Hard to scold him sternly, though, without giggling...)

I Give You...The Miller Family Christmas

I, much like Clark W. Griswold, have a tendency to build up holidays and other events in my mind until they reach "standards that no family event could possibly live up to" (Thanks, Ellen. Good talk.)  Sometimes, that leads to minor disappointments.  But not this Christmastime.

It was a wonderful weekend.  We were both excited for it, because it's the first year since Scott and I have been together that we've both had Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off, and had all five of our chilluns overnight for Christmas morning.  Our boys were still darn excited for Santa...Lots of family would be in town...and so I stubbornly insisted on hosting the big gathering (actually, nobody argued...but I'd have arm-wrestled for it if I'd had to!)

Andrew, Chip, & Scott

Everybody was over for Christmas Eve dinner - and though it was a little bit nutty in the pre-guest preparation phase (just like everything always is for me, given my insane overestimation of my last-minute sleep-deprived efficiency) everything came together fine.  We seven were joined by my parents from Idaho; my brother Brian and his fiancee Kelsey, who live here in town but whom we see far too seldom due to mismatched schedules; Scott's brother Chip and wife Nicole and adorable boys Spence & Chance from here in town also; Scott's brother Andrew and wife Brandy and adorable boys John and Matthew from Frederick; Scott's stepmom Leslie all the way from Boston; and our dear friend Rich who's as much part of the family as anybody.

Dad and Brian brought home-brewed beer... Brian and Kelsey made gourmet Wild Turkey Eggnog which would've kicked my ass if I'd had more than a few sips... There was a metric ton of food... The turkey didn't explode... miraculously we found seating for twenty-plus and through the modern miracle of Chinet and plastic flatware were able to serve everybody at once. Then mass chaos of gifting after dinner, added to the general mass chaos of having six hyperactive little boys in perpetual motion (and accordingly, with said little boys, three plunger-able separate occasions to proclaim "Merry Christmas! Shitter was full...")

And then it was time for Spoons.  I don't know how popular a card game this is out there in the rest of the world, but for Scott's family it's a time-honored institution.  It's kind of a cross between Slap Jack and Musical Chairs, with a cutthroat attitude - basically, a pile of spoons one less than the number of players sits in the center of the table, and players pass one card at a time clockwise until somebody ends up with three of a kind in their hand - and then it's on.  Everybody grabs a spoon, or tries to, but somebody doesn't get one and thus gets one strike...three strikes and you're out of the game.  One might imagine how someone with my slothlike reflexes dreads such a game.  But anyway, it gets ugly, as players lunge, dive, grapple and claw for spoons.  See??

And another...

All in all, it was a wonderful evening...and after bellyfuls of pumpkin pie, pecan pie, cherry pie, coconut cream pie, Nicole's amazing Bailey's Cake, Russian tea cakes and PB&J cheesecake bites, everybody went their separate ways to await the arrival of Santa Claus.

And boy, did he hit our house.  The next morning was a frenzy of delight as the boys ripped into a huge stack of toys and the rest of us got spoiled too.  We ate some breakfast, and then Scott and I collapsed, having been up late the previous night making sure everything was prepped for when Santa came down the chimney...we napped for a few hours, then got up and ate leftovers, and were generally lazy for the rest of the day.  Kyle and Hayley left to go do Christmas at their Dad's; Steph, Maddie and Gabe left to go do dessert at their mom's boyfriend's house; Mom and Dad left to go spend some time at Brian and Kelsey's... and Scott and I snuggled on the couch and took a relaxing jacuzzi bath.

All things said and done, it was an amazing Christmas, everything I'd imagined it would be and then some - and I want to extend another 'thank you' to everybody who helped make it that way.  I feel incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful family; all of those who have been stuck with me since I was born, and all of those who have welcomed me and my kids with such open arms for the last six years.  I love you all so much.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Anxious Wimps, Indeed

Well quoted, by one of my perennial fave bloggers, Not Nurse Ratched, this from epmonthly.com:

We’ve become a nation of hypochondriacs. Every sneeze is swine flu, every headache a tumor. And at great expense, we deliver fantastically prompt, thorough and largely unnecessary care. There is tremendous financial pressure on physicians to keep patients happy. But unlike business, in medicine the customer isn’t always right. Sometimes a doctor needs to show tough love and deny patients the quick fix. A good physician needs to have the guts to stand up to people and tell them that their baby gets ear infections because they smoke cigarettes. That it’s time to admit they are alcoholics. That they need to suck it up and deal with discomfort because narcotics will just make everything worse. That what’s really wrong with them is that they are just too damned fat.  Unfortunately, this type of advice rarely leads to high patient satisfaction scores.  

It's the damn truth.  In this job, we have the opportunity to really, truly help some people.  Make some people's day better.  Maybe even save a life once in a while.  Those are the things that keep us coming back.

Because the whiny shitheads, the screaming douchebags (see a brilliant post by my beloved on this topic: "The Louder You Yell the Less I Care..."), the entitled masses, and those who are certain they know more than us thanks to Dr. Google and WebMD... are what make it a little less than rewarding.

It was put nicely by a physician colleague last night, who commented that he was suffering from 'status apatheticus.'  We all get that sometimes...because we all learned the same lesson right from the get-go: Sick people don't bitch.

You, Madam, Are an Ass.

Dr. J.S., I hereby call you out. How dare you treat one of your colleague's loyal patients that way. How dare you treat anyone that way, really, but someone who's trusting their health to you and your partners?? Nothing in your training, your genes, your clinical experience, or your professional affiliation qualifies you to be such a condescending, judgmental bitch. She called you for help, with apology in her voice and unassuming attitude, she described her symptoms as best she could and then offered the possibility suggested by some fairly savvy clinical friends. And you dismissed her with a single shitty sentence:

"Tell your friend thanks for the diagnosis, but I'm the doctor and there's no way it's ______. You'll have to be seen in the office."

You smarmy asshole. Rest assured that I will do everything in my power to ensure that your douchebag reputation precedes you.

Not only are you snotty and belittling, you're also ignorant and clinically inept. The "DO" you sport doesn't give you long-distance telephone-vision, and you can't stand the idea that three clinical professionals with "lesser" credentials and eyes on the symptoms in real-time might just have an edge. How sad for you, that insecurity.

As it turns out, you were wrong, confirms the doctor she actually trusts.  And the nurse, the paramedic, and the EMT had it pegged from the get-go.

I may be just one nurse, but I personally interact with about a hundred patients a week, and guess what! lots of them respect my opinions and take my advice. And did I mention that most of my friends are in the emergency medicine community, too? Word of mouth is a wonderful thing, "Doctor." And oh, gee, the digital age being upon us, and all... With a single click, there's no telling how many would-be patients this one nurse can potentially reach. Time for you to kiss some serious ass, to balance that out.

You can start with mine.

A Public Service Announcement

If you're doing your Christmas shopping, and you happen to be wearing a red shirt and khaki pants and running shoes...

Don't bother trying to shop at Target. Apparently, it makes people think you work there.

I should have thought quicker, and messed with them all. "Yes, and for the next fifteen minutes, all toys are 50% off!"


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Breakfast of Champions

Look out, Christmas! Today, you're mine.

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Christmas Mayhem

How can you not love Mayhem?
Although my favorites are still the freak storm ("Shakey, shakey!") and the Pink SUV one ("and I'm like, OMG, Becky's not even hot").

Enjoy.


Hee hee.  "Like making love to a lumberjack."  Priceless.

Happy Birthday, Hayley Marie!

Thirteen years ago today, I became a mom.  

Before that, I had no idea how fiercely I could love.

I'm insanely proud of the great kid she's been and the wonderful young lady she's becoming.

So much so, that I forgive her for all my gray hair.

I love you, sweetheart - Happy Birthday!!

Funny Family Guy Clip

So if any of y'all out there don't already watch Family Guy, you really ought to.  It's oh-so-clever, really bars no taboos...which makes for a fantastically funny viewing experience.

This one gives me the giggles every time I sit down to a bowl of Cap'n Crunch:

And I was going to post another few funny clips, but saw a Wikipedia link I couldn't resist that said something about Cap'n Crunch being the lowest cereal in terms of nutritional value... I clicked on said link, and you know how Wikipedia is running those 'please support us' banners?

Do they do this shit on purpose?

 Okay, that is all.

CarDouche of the Day

You know they're out there.  The people with the oh-so-clever vanity plates.  The people with the "these stick figures represent my family and my cat and my dog and maybe the sports we all play" stickers.  Idiots who do or wear stupid things on the road.  Superfans who drive Bronco-mobiles or Earnhardt-mobiles.  People with 62 bumper stickers (choose a statement, Bub).  And that one guy with the big red truck and the huge-ass American flag and all the other paraphernalia.

I have a silly habit of snapping pictures when I see shenanigans like this on the road.  Until now, I haven't really done anything with those pictures, save for the occasional blog post herein.  But, as it was so handily pointed out to me (Matt and Kathy, I blame you) that such a wealth of stupidity warrants its very own page...

I give you CarDouche of the Day.

Enjoy, comment, share... and if you also have pictures of similar crap, send 'em my way.
VikingGoddess999 AT gmail DOT com.

Happy driving!

No Car Bomb This Week...

No, I'm not talking about some kind of happy hour shot.  The way it's going, though, a few of those may be well warranted by week's end.  I'm actually talking about a blowing up, go BLAM, incendiary kind of car that I *don't* have anymore...(I hope).

For the last couple of months my car has been increasingly smelling like gas fumes, taking longer and longer to turn the engine over, and leaking gas drip by drip upon whatever surface I park it.  Babying it along, wincing with every start at the possibility of solving a lot of people's problems with one big BOOM - and Monday morning, I got in to warm it up prior to taking kids to school...and had a dead battery, the frigid temperatures and ten-second start times having finally taken their toll.

And then Scott's phone rang; it was a friend who's a great mechanic, who had taken a look at the car and isolated the issue to a couple of different parts, and who Scott had asked on Saturday when we ran into him, to get us an estimate of what the ugly total would be to have him fix it.  Happily, wonderfully, blissfully even, in researching the matter, he had found that there'd been a recall on the fuel pump module, the VIN fell into the right range...and a free fix was on the horizon.

After a brief phone debate with some ass-clown at Daniels-Long Chevy (my 'official' service location, according to the folks at Saturn), we scheduled an appointment for the following morning.  Upon our arrival, we met said ass-clown, Gerry B., who again debated with us and said there was "a recall bulletin, but no actual recall."  My thugged-out husband then dropped the printout of the "actual recall," GM recall # 090226, on the table and said, "So you're telling me this isn't a recall?  Sure looks like a recall to me."  Sure enough, Gerry looked at our printout and saw that the VIN did indeed match the right range (aye, though we'd already been through this on the phone Monday afternoon when I initially called).  He agreed to "take a look at it" (jeez, that's big of you, Gerry, since that's your effing JOB) and on our way we went.

Later in the day, he'd left a message on Scott's voicemail saying it was finished and "we were able to get that fuel pump module replaced."  Okay, cool.  Arrangements were made for Steph to haul me to Motor City to get my car after Scott went to work.  We arrived in the Service Department and I smiled at Gerry, my usual congenial self, and said, "I heard you got it fixed for me."  Blank stare.  "What's the name again?"  I answered and he motioned me over to the cashier's window, saying "We just need your autograph."   As I signed the paperwork showing a zero charge, the smarmy fuck apparently felt compelled to have the last word, because he said "As it turns out, the reason it didn't show up in our system is that the recall was only in certain states.  But we were able to get it replaced for you anyway, we basically just 'goodwilled' it."  Not sure what else to say, I offered up an equally condescending "Well thank you" and off we went.  In my car that now smelled slightly less like gasoline and slightly more like Gerry's stale cigarette smoke.

Now the condescending, "pat the little lady on the head and send her on her way because she's too dumb to know cars" bullshit has always pissed me off.  (And is one of the primary reasons I have always taken my vehicles to Tire World - even when I have admitted I have no idea what needs done, I've never felt talked down to and never felt taken advantage of by the all-male staff there.)  I may not know much about cars or engines or tires or any of it...but I'm not stupid and I resent the insinuation thereof no matter where it comes from.  So I ranted a little via phone to my now-in-his-good-guy-uniform-on-the-ambulance husband, who promptly got on the line with Daniels-Long and expressed in no uncertain terms to the Service Manager his displeasure at Gerry's douchebaggery.  (See his brief treatise on douchebaggery here.) His point, with which the Service Manager agreed, was that Gerry's only response should have been "Thank you for trusting us with your car."

So this afternoon, as I sit down to blog, I come to find out that even in the cases that weren't covered by the recall, the freaking fuel pump module replacement is covered by the powertrain warranty anyway!  So not only was Gerry a condescending dickhead, he basically lied to me and tried to make himself look like the good guy, instead of the wrong guy!  No!!  You didn't fix my car out of the goodness of your heart, you bastard - GM most certainly covered the cost and you were obligated to fix it anyway!!

There, I feel better.  Here in just a bit, I will venture out and fill up my gas tank in the hopes that I won't lose as much of it on the pavement as the engine burns to get me where I'm going. Y'all do me a favor, if ever you find yourself in the Service Dept at Daniels-Long Chevy...Kick Gerry B. in the sack for me, mmmmkay???

Trust:

When you climb to the very top of a ladder that looks like this, with all four legs on uneven cedar mulch, to hang Christmas lights, with your skinny 13-year old steadying said ladder.



"Mom, I've got you. I won't let you fall."



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