I painted the dining room, kitchen, and the upper base cabinets today - because a week from tomorrow there is a huge, very heavy, solid oak antique sideboard coming from my father's place, so I need to be ready for it. It is much easier to paint with less furniture in the room, duh. So, I patched holes yesterday (thanks again, GroomLeader, for helping me remove the ugly wood cabinet) and today I washed down with TSP, then rinsed, and painted. The walls around the laundry area and bathroom doorway I left for Tuesday, since my hands were starting to go numb and stay that way.
I will be contacting the student painting service to see how much they want to pick up the paint and kitchen cupboard doors, paint the damned things, and return them to me. Really, I haven't the time, space, or patience for such picky work. If it's less than $200.00, it's a deal. I'd like to have the place together for my sister's visit mid-August, but I'm not holding my breath. If I can get the door work expedited, it's no biggie to remove the 6 lower cupboard doors and paint those base cabinets. New hardware for the doors, and once they're painted and re-installed it will be like having a new kitchen.
If anyone makes it to the end of this post, I will be really shocked, since this is a very boring subject. Does anyone care that I plan to leave the cupboard where I have all my spices, oils, and sauces doorless? I though not. Maybe I'll have something more interesting to write about later this week - Dragon Boat practice is on Tuesday, and for once I'm not on duty that evening!
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Color Me Really Pissed Off!
Okay, first, with the new 24/7 coverage of our position here at work, my weekend day shifts now start at the ungodly, inhuman, no-one-should-be-up-and-functional-this-early hour of 0700. Not my nice 0900-2100 shifts, oh no. 7.in.the.fucking.morning.
I was awake before the magpies this morning, damn it! Then, while driving to work, someone who turned out to be another staff member here was tailgating me. Grrrrrrr, not a wise move. While parking my car in the parkade, it was almost hit by another cow-irker who wasn't looking where she was driving. And then when I was walking through the parkade, yet another employee sped up the ramp and almost ran me down. Just a peachy start to the day.
Don't even get me started on the lack of staff and beds right now. And the reluctance of certain staff members to do their fucking jobs - no, they'd rather foot-drag and stonewall and come up with (totally bogus) reasons not to accept admissions or transfers. I have always believed a hospital to be a 24/7 functioning site. If you don't want to accept patients, don't work here!
*twitch twitch* I feel a new rant coming on - one about people abusing the health care system............
Right then - here's what an ER is for: EMERGENCY CARE!!!!! Not to get a cough that you've had for two months checked out. Not for getting your MMR booster shot. Not for prescription-hunting or drug-seeking. Not for having a minor boo-boo that could be treated with a bandaid and a lollipop assessed. Not to complain about your constipation. For the eighth time this week. When you're a heroin addict. Not to get the wax syringed out of your ears.
And, for those of the common-sense challenged persuasion, here's what constitutes an emergency: Loss of consciousness, particularly if accompanied by the head banging on the floor. Copious amounts of blood coming from a place blood doesn't normally issue from. A fever that makes you glow like a hibachi on high heat. Inability to breathe to the point where you're turning blue. Chest pain. Really, pain in the chest. Breathing so congested or labored you can be heard from another room. The forcible separation from one's body of a limb or a digit. Being stabbed deeper than 1 inch with any sharp object, especially if accompanied by lots of blood. Being shot. Sudden blindness. Broken bones. Getting the picture?
Oh, and if you're without transportation, and feel that the ankle you twisted a week ago need immediate attention in an ER, DO NOT call an ambulance to take you there. Pay for a cab you cheap bastard. By occupying an ambulance when you're not in dire need, you may be sentencing a TRUE emergency patient to death.
I was awake before the magpies this morning, damn it! Then, while driving to work, someone who turned out to be another staff member here was tailgating me. Grrrrrrr, not a wise move. While parking my car in the parkade, it was almost hit by another cow-irker who wasn't looking where she was driving. And then when I was walking through the parkade, yet another employee sped up the ramp and almost ran me down. Just a peachy start to the day.
Don't even get me started on the lack of staff and beds right now. And the reluctance of certain staff members to do their fucking jobs - no, they'd rather foot-drag and stonewall and come up with (totally bogus) reasons not to accept admissions or transfers. I have always believed a hospital to be a 24/7 functioning site. If you don't want to accept patients, don't work here!
*twitch twitch* I feel a new rant coming on - one about people abusing the health care system............
Right then - here's what an ER is for: EMERGENCY CARE!!!!! Not to get a cough that you've had for two months checked out. Not for getting your MMR booster shot. Not for prescription-hunting or drug-seeking. Not for having a minor boo-boo that could be treated with a bandaid and a lollipop assessed. Not to complain about your constipation. For the eighth time this week. When you're a heroin addict. Not to get the wax syringed out of your ears.
And, for those of the common-sense challenged persuasion, here's what constitutes an emergency: Loss of consciousness, particularly if accompanied by the head banging on the floor. Copious amounts of blood coming from a place blood doesn't normally issue from. A fever that makes you glow like a hibachi on high heat. Inability to breathe to the point where you're turning blue. Chest pain. Really, pain in the chest. Breathing so congested or labored you can be heard from another room. The forcible separation from one's body of a limb or a digit. Being stabbed deeper than 1 inch with any sharp object, especially if accompanied by lots of blood. Being shot. Sudden blindness. Broken bones. Getting the picture?
Oh, and if you're without transportation, and feel that the ankle you twisted a week ago need immediate attention in an ER, DO NOT call an ambulance to take you there. Pay for a cab you cheap bastard. By occupying an ambulance when you're not in dire need, you may be sentencing a TRUE emergency patient to death.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
This Blog Is Due For An Update
That's what Ms. M., the Divine, told me yesterday. So, for the benefit of those of my friends who crave cheap amusement, here goes. Today's topic is drivers.
I have been a licensed driver in Alberta for more than 35 years, a vehicle owner for 28+. I drive pretty much every day, and I have my own pantheon of annoying drivers. Bear with me while I list them, in no particular order.
The Half-Ton Halfwit: This is the rube, usually in a vehicle fueled by farm gas, who has never before driven in a population center larger then Broken Fan Belt, AB, but who now finds himself tooling along on the streets of this big city. Rubbernecking his way through the bewildering maze that is our thoroughfares, he is driving at a speed that fluctuates between dead stop and way too fast, such niceties as lanes, turn signals, and pedestrian crosswalks lost on him. His war cry - "Whar we goin' now, Ma?"
The SUV Shithead: Identified by its vehicle, this critter is unmistakable. Also unmistakable is its driving habits - high-speed, aggressive, with a don't-you-understand-the-laws-don't-apply-to-me-because-I-have-all-wheel-drive! attitude. Red lights? For the peons who don't have the vehicular capability to traverse swamps. Signaling lane changes? Puh-lease, don't you know all mankind MUST give way to their superiority. Stopping to allow a pedestrian to cross the street? Listen, Bub, if it can run over a deer, a senior citizen won't cause half as much of a bump. You can hear them now - "Get outta my way, I have an SUV!"
The Entitlementzilla: This is the driver who feels that he has the right-of-way, all the time, any time. You often encounter them driving the wrong way in parking lots, glaring and giving the finger to those drivers who can read directional arrows painted on the ashphalt. To them belong the very closest parking spots, the front of the traffic queue, and woe betide the lesser driver who dares to usurp their due. It is not unusual to see The Entitlementzilla's vehicle parked at an angle across two parking spaces, thus ensuring no one else parks too close to their precious possession. Their whine is loud and cringeworthy - "But I w-a-a-a-a-a-nt it!"
The Penile Deficient: Who hasn't spotted one of these? The middle-aged (or older) male who, with jaunty motoring cap carefully positioned to cover the bald spot, swans around in his deplorably over-priced and over-powered sports convertible. You know by looking at him that he is deluded, he really thinks he can attract a hot woman less than half his age simply because he drives an expensive car. You also know that he's dumped the woman who patiently supported him while he amassed the bucks he spent on said car. And it's a given that he is, sadly, driving his penis-substitute, because you know his real appendage is only one inch long. He can be identified by some variation of - "Hey, baby, want a date?"
The Gangsta: Ear-splittingly loud, earthquake-level vibrating stereo is the trademark of this driver. It's always a male, aged 16-25, driving anything from a muscle car to a mini-SUV to some rusted-out POS. This wanna-be bad boy wears the ball cap turned sideways or backwards, has a cigarette burning at all times, and treats the traffic laws like they are, at best, mere suggestions. He usually has the car filled with the maximum number of self-clones, each vying to be the baddest boy around. Hear them? - "*(&$#&%&_+)__)^*%$ you!"
The SpeedmeisterTailgater: Perhaps Dante, if he were alive today, would add a special circle to Hell just for this one. This is the driver who insists on staying a mere 6 inches from your back bumper. The posted speed limit simply isn't fast enough for them, and God help you if you dare to indicate that they're following too closely - they will close the gap between their grill and your tailpipe even further. They simply do not understand why you wouldn't be ecstatic about garnering yourself a speeding ticket just to satisfy their need for speed. If they do get an opportunity to pass you, they do it with a hair's-breadth of clearance, flipping you the time-honored one finger salute as they do. Their refrain is - "Get the lead out!"
The Old Dead Person: Although retired, thus free to do his shopping and run errands any day of the week, this old crock chooses to do so on weekends, when the rest of the workday planet is attempting to do the same. Senile dementia has rendered this driver incapable of remembering what he had for breakfast, yet he still possesses a valid driver's license, if only because his family physician is too soft-hearted to report his unsuitability to be behind the wheel. He drives a good 15-20 km. below the speed limit, doesn't recognize stop signs at all, and can sometimes be spotted driving the wrong way down a street. Of course, when this dangerously befuddled oldster causes a collision that results in death, his family cry loudly about how he is being unfairly blamed. If he is heard, he's most likely saying - "Is it suppertime yet?"
Don't get me wrong, I also hate the drivers who are simultaneously eating, smoking, doing their nails and making cell phone calls while on the road and moving, as well as those who drive about with children bouncing, completely unrestrained by such mundane things as safety devices, in the front and back seats of the car. Oh yes, I am an equal-opportunity grouch. I just can't come up with catchy-sounding names for the last two categories. Besides, my fingers are getting tired.
I have been a licensed driver in Alberta for more than 35 years, a vehicle owner for 28+. I drive pretty much every day, and I have my own pantheon of annoying drivers. Bear with me while I list them, in no particular order.
The Half-Ton Halfwit: This is the rube, usually in a vehicle fueled by farm gas, who has never before driven in a population center larger then Broken Fan Belt, AB, but who now finds himself tooling along on the streets of this big city. Rubbernecking his way through the bewildering maze that is our thoroughfares, he is driving at a speed that fluctuates between dead stop and way too fast, such niceties as lanes, turn signals, and pedestrian crosswalks lost on him. His war cry - "Whar we goin' now, Ma?"
The SUV Shithead: Identified by its vehicle, this critter is unmistakable. Also unmistakable is its driving habits - high-speed, aggressive, with a don't-you-understand-the-laws-don't-apply-to-me-because-I-have-all-wheel-drive! attitude. Red lights? For the peons who don't have the vehicular capability to traverse swamps. Signaling lane changes? Puh-lease, don't you know all mankind MUST give way to their superiority. Stopping to allow a pedestrian to cross the street? Listen, Bub, if it can run over a deer, a senior citizen won't cause half as much of a bump. You can hear them now - "Get outta my way, I have an SUV!"
The Entitlementzilla: This is the driver who feels that he has the right-of-way, all the time, any time. You often encounter them driving the wrong way in parking lots, glaring and giving the finger to those drivers who can read directional arrows painted on the ashphalt. To them belong the very closest parking spots, the front of the traffic queue, and woe betide the lesser driver who dares to usurp their due. It is not unusual to see The Entitlementzilla's vehicle parked at an angle across two parking spaces, thus ensuring no one else parks too close to their precious possession. Their whine is loud and cringeworthy - "But I w-a-a-a-a-a-nt it!"
The Penile Deficient: Who hasn't spotted one of these? The middle-aged (or older) male who, with jaunty motoring cap carefully positioned to cover the bald spot, swans around in his deplorably over-priced and over-powered sports convertible. You know by looking at him that he is deluded, he really thinks he can attract a hot woman less than half his age simply because he drives an expensive car. You also know that he's dumped the woman who patiently supported him while he amassed the bucks he spent on said car. And it's a given that he is, sadly, driving his penis-substitute, because you know his real appendage is only one inch long. He can be identified by some variation of - "Hey, baby, want a date?"
The Gangsta: Ear-splittingly loud, earthquake-level vibrating stereo is the trademark of this driver. It's always a male, aged 16-25, driving anything from a muscle car to a mini-SUV to some rusted-out POS. This wanna-be bad boy wears the ball cap turned sideways or backwards, has a cigarette burning at all times, and treats the traffic laws like they are, at best, mere suggestions. He usually has the car filled with the maximum number of self-clones, each vying to be the baddest boy around. Hear them? - "*(&$#&%&_+)__)^*%$ you!"
The SpeedmeisterTailgater: Perhaps Dante, if he were alive today, would add a special circle to Hell just for this one. This is the driver who insists on staying a mere 6 inches from your back bumper. The posted speed limit simply isn't fast enough for them, and God help you if you dare to indicate that they're following too closely - they will close the gap between their grill and your tailpipe even further. They simply do not understand why you wouldn't be ecstatic about garnering yourself a speeding ticket just to satisfy their need for speed. If they do get an opportunity to pass you, they do it with a hair's-breadth of clearance, flipping you the time-honored one finger salute as they do. Their refrain is - "Get the lead out!"
The Old Dead Person: Although retired, thus free to do his shopping and run errands any day of the week, this old crock chooses to do so on weekends, when the rest of the workday planet is attempting to do the same. Senile dementia has rendered this driver incapable of remembering what he had for breakfast, yet he still possesses a valid driver's license, if only because his family physician is too soft-hearted to report his unsuitability to be behind the wheel. He drives a good 15-20 km. below the speed limit, doesn't recognize stop signs at all, and can sometimes be spotted driving the wrong way down a street. Of course, when this dangerously befuddled oldster causes a collision that results in death, his family cry loudly about how he is being unfairly blamed. If he is heard, he's most likely saying - "Is it suppertime yet?"
Don't get me wrong, I also hate the drivers who are simultaneously eating, smoking, doing their nails and making cell phone calls while on the road and moving, as well as those who drive about with children bouncing, completely unrestrained by such mundane things as safety devices, in the front and back seats of the car. Oh yes, I am an equal-opportunity grouch. I just can't come up with catchy-sounding names for the last two categories. Besides, my fingers are getting tired.
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