Archive for February, 2009

When Shaniqua’s Attack, Part 5

Well obviously I did breathe. How do I know this? Because I’m here writing this blog. duh.

Seriously, I apparently was having some difficulty coming to and had stopped breathing a few times. Probably from the anesthesia. So the first time I stopped this nurse was trying her best to get me going again. Luckily I did start breathing but only long enough to satisfy myself that this bitch was not going to climb back on top of me. I never did get into being boarded by a woman. Now if the nurse had been a hot guy I might have drug it out a little longer. But I was a good boy and breathed like she told me. At least at first.

The second time I stopped breathing I don’t remember. I do remember waking up with something cold being blown in my face. It was an oxygen mask. They had placed it on me after I refused to keep breathing correctly. (Turns out I might have a bit of sleep apnea). So this was there way to help me get my oxygen levels up I guess.

The recovery area was a hub of people all seeming to have a different job to do. One of them was there just to check my vitals and push drugs. THANK YOU, YOU SWEET WOMAN. Another was to keep an eye on my breathing and another was there, well I suppose, just to find out what the other two wanted for lunch. That seemed to be all she was interested in. So much for me to interrupt. So I just went back to sleep.

I woke up the next time in the ICU. My wounds had caused me to lose quite a bit of blood but more than that Shaniqua had gutted me like a fish. She had cut my intestines which caused yucky stuff to ooze out. Apparently when you ooze yucky stuff it can cause lots of problems. So they kept me in ICU for a couple days to make sure I didn’t get an infection or that the yucky stuff didn’t settle somewhere and do something bad. As you can tell I’m not a doctor and I don’t have a clue what they really told me, but the nurse dumbed it down for me and called it “yucky stuff” and said it could “do something bad”. I understood that explanation.

I was then transferred to a regular room for another two days when I didn’t die in ICU. I do however think that some of the ICU nurses were a bit upset at the fact that I survived and didn’t give them a reason to call CODE BLUE ICU or whatever else such nonsense. My room was the typical hospital room I suppose. I had never been in the hospital before so I don’t know how to compare it other than what I have seen on TV. It was very much like Charlotte’s room in Sex and the City: The Movie except bigger. Which leads me to believe that I’m a bigger star than she is. Of course I didn’t shit my pants like she did so maybe that is why I got a better room.

Well they decided to let me go after 4 days in the hospital. They let me leave with one of my friends which I found a little odd. I could have just pointed to someone in the parking lot and said “yeah, he’s here to pick me up” and they would have let me go with them. But alas it was my friend and I had him drive me home. He stayed with me and played nursemaid since I don’t have a spouse to take care of me. Between him and Justin I was well taken care of. After a good day in bed, I was restless and wanted to get up and at least walk around my apartment for awhile. The glory of Percoset allowed me the ability to do just that.

I got up, walked into the bathroom and saw this in the mirror:

to be continued…

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When Shaniqua’s Attack, Part 4

After they had poked and prodded me, xrayed and done the rest of their western medicine voodoo on me, they wheeled me toward the operating room. I remember the young lady that was wheeling me telling me about her day at work and how I was the most exciting thing that had happened so far. I didn’t really have any pain at this point, I am assuming this is because of the great advances in pharmaceutical science. THANK YOU MEDICINE MAKERS.

When I finally arrived at the operating room they lined my stretcher with the operating table. A few people gathered around me and lifted me by various parts on to the table. They then placed an arm rest on one side of me and told me to place my arm on it. The young lady that transported me then walked around me and inserted another arm rest on the opposite side of the table and she helped me place my arm on it since this arm had several tubes coming out of two or three different places in my body. I had little sticky pads on my chest with wires coming out of them and I wondered to myself if those wires went into my chest or what. If they don’t go in, how do they work?

I heard a voice from above me. (OK,  so it was actually from around the end of the table but at that moment, it was God speaking to me) It was my anesthesiologist. He told me that he was going to put some medicine…  And that was all she wrote. Right before I went under I remember seeing what looked like a white cloud go by my left side and I turned my head to look at it.  That was the last thing I remember until some incredibly rude woman was pounding on my chest saying “Tyler, I need you to breathe, breathe for me Tyler” and I remember laying there thinking “Bitch, I don’t want to breathe and get off me”.

to be continued…

When Shaniqua’s Attack, Part 3

When I came to the second time, there was a group of people around me. People who I didn’t know were on their knees around me telling me to relax, telling me that I might feel a stick, asking me if I felt this and felt that. I remember them wrapping my stomach up. But before that I remember one of them saying “make sure you put it back inside”. I wasn’t sure what that meant but it certainly didn’t sound good. Made me think of a doctor saying “oops”. Might mean absolutely nothing but you still don’t want to hear it.

They get me on a stretcher and wheel me out of the office, down the aisle, to the corridor and wait for the elevator. How many times I have walked this same path but have never once done it quite in this manner. It’s a little off-putting to see your coworkers, as white as ghosts, looking at you while you are wheeled out of your workplace. Not something that you expect to encounter on a Wednesday morning.

The elevator arrived, the paramedics wheeled me in and the doors closed. I felt the blood pressure machine start to blow air into the cuff around my arm. I heard the paramedics talking to each other, double checking that they had done everything they needed to get done. Then the doors opened but it wasn’t the ground floor. As I heard the paramedics say “sorry we’re full” I also heard someone gasp. Now I’m sure they probably didn’t know it was me and they probably didn’t know I had been attacked by a former employee, but I’m sure they new this couldn’t be good. We have had people wheeled out before after losing their breath or getting light headed, but I’d like to think that the buzz around this particular incident was in full force around the office.

So I finally arrive at the ambulance and we start our trip to the E.R. I don’t remember much about the ride since by the time I got to the ambulance I was ready for a little nap and since there was no reason for me not to take one, I did. Ok, in hindsight, it was probably the pain medicine they gave me that made me sleep but I’ll take credit for choosing this time to take a little siesta all on my own. 

The E.R. was a whirlwind of activity from the moment we arrived. I don’t remember all of it since I was pretty much out of it by this time but I do remember thinking “wow, this is just like on E.R.”. I heard the word STAT a lot which made me feel important. Seems silly now that I actually felt important at this moment in my life. This moment when they are cutting off my clothes, sticking needles in my arms and hands, covering and uncovering the wound to let other people have a look.

The one thing I remembered thinking that actually made me laugh out loud in the middle of all of this was “Thank God I wore clean underwear”.

to be continued…

When Shaniqua’s Attack, Part 2

So when we left off, Shaniqua was breathing. Yes, she was definitely breathing. I could hear when she inhaled that she was nervous and was shaking.

“Is there anything else?”, I asked, like an idiot. DON’T EVER DO THAT by the way.

Shaniqua quietly stood up. She turned toward the door and started walking as if she were leaving. I stood up and followed her. I thought “as soon as she walks out the door I am slamming this thing shut and will probably have to send out for a change of pants since I will surely have wet mine”.

Just then Shaniqua turned into some sort of “The Matrix” ninja thing and seemed to turn in slow motion toward me. As she turned, the light reflected off something in her hand. I stopped in my tracks and then I saw it. I saw the blade coming at me, still in slow motion, but unlike Neo in The Matrix I was not able to turn myself into some sort of slow motion black belt and will the blade to curve around me.

No, indeed this did not look like it was going to be a good day for me.  I started to open my mouth to yell for help. Yell for anyone. Yell like I have never yelled before. But before I was able to get the sound to come out I felt a pain shooting thru my gut. This was a pain unlike any I had ever felt before. To say it felt like I was being stabbed was not entirely accurate. Yes, I knew I was being stabbed, that much was pretty clear. But the feeling was such that it took my breath away. It was not like it is portrayed in the movies. It’s not one of those “oh my, OUCH, that smarts”.

This was extreme pain, unforgiving pain, grit your teeth cause I think the baby’s head is crowning pain. Or as close as I could imagine the pain of child birth being. I have had several kidney stones pass thru my woohoo, so I think I qualify to discuss that type of pain.

After my head got caught up with the situation and I realized I had indeed been stabbed. I fell to my knees in front of the person who stabbed me. Shaniqua quietly turned around and placed the knife back in her purse and left the office, being sure to close the door behind her. As for me, the lights went out and I don’t know how long I laid there on the floor of that office.

Finally I came to and managed to bang my hand on the door loud enough that someone finally got annoyed enough to walk over and open it. The scream that Jennifer let out said more to me about the state of the situation than anything else and I passed out again.

to be continued…

Mortgage Bailout, Car Bailout, Bank Bailout

Who the hell is gonna bail me out? Oh wait, I’m a responsible adult who didn’t do anything to get bailed out from. Guess that’s the difference between me and the millions of others out there. I didn’t buy a house that was waaaay out of my league just because they said they could get me financed. I KNEW that adjustable rate mortgages ADJUST. Go figure.

I just got done reading an article about the plan that Obama has put forward and how it won’t help everyone. Well of course it won’t help everyone. Nothing will ever help everyone. What should we do just GIVE you your house for free because you were too stupid to realize that you probably can’t afford this house if the rates ever go up. ARMs adjust, deal with it. Think about what you are doing and make sure that you can afford to do it. It really is that simple.

Car companies are failing. What about the millions of small companies that fail each year? Where is their bailout? Everyone says “Oh no, if GM fails then everyone under GM as in their suppliers will fail too”.  NOT. Here’s how this works people…

Let’s say Americans by 10,000 cars a year. (I know they don’t, I’m just making a point). If they buy 10,000 cars a year from GM and Chrysler and Ford and Toyota and Nissan and all the others and GM and Chrysler go under… Guess what happens…  they will still be buying 10,000 cars a year. They will just move over to buy the 10,000 cars from Nissan and Toyota and Hyundai and all the rest that are still in business. Do you honestly think if the big three go under that Americans will just stop buying cars? NO.

The suppliers will then take their parts and widgets to Toyota and the others. Toyota and Nissan and the rest will have to make the same amount they used to make plus enough to cover the 10,000 increase. That means the suppliers will still be needed. It’s that simple.

Most cars sold in the U.S. are built in the U.S. Alabama has a damn Mercedes plant. All Toyota pickups are built in the U.S. Along with Nissan and Hyundai, etc. Subaru is built in the U.S. Let’s get over the fact that only Ford, GM, and Chrysler are built in the U.S.  Most of Chrysler’s parts are NOT made in America. They are made overseas and shipped to plants here. So I say FUCK THEM.

Stop giving my tax dollars to companies and people who obviously don’t know how to take care of their finances. That means the big three (and bravo to FORD for not taking Gov’t Bailout money) or Joe Shmoe living in the McMansion down the street and works at 7-11. Like he should have EVER been able to buy that house. Now that the economy has tanked and his house is now worth half what he owes he’s all like “It wasn’t my fault, it was the big bad mortgage people who put a gun to my head and said SIGN IT BITCH”.  Whatever princess. It WAS your fault. My economy tanked to but I planned ahead with my finances. I didn’t go out and buy a house that I couldn’t afford in 10 years.

And don’t get me started on the banks. Why shouldn’t we just let them fail. Americans will put our money in another bank. It’s that simple. We aren’t going to put it all under our mattresses despite what anyone says. And now that we give them the money, they STILL aren’t loaning us any money to buy these overpriced houses. Well OK, maybe that’s a good thing.

It’s time for Americans to stop trying to out-do their neighbors. It’s time for all of us to start living at or maybe even below our means. It’s time that we all learn what it was like back in the 70’s to have to scrimp and save and do without that new phonograph or that new Shawn Cassidy album just because our friend had it. You know what we did in that case? We went to our friend’s house and listened to theirs. Imagine that. Actually relying on your neighbors and friends for entertainment and support.

I can remember my parents having dinner at different friend’s houses each night. They all took their turn and made a big dinner and everyone came over and ate, talked, laughed, played board games (yes bitches, I said board games). Life didn’t have to be 10 different people all getting in their SUV’s and driving to a restaurant to pay $50 for spaghetti and meat sauce just so they could brag about how well their kids were doing in school.

In the 70’s, no one was doing any better than anyone else. So everyone just came together and supported each other. It seemed like the thing to do. You couldn’t afford to take your family out to dinner and a movie every night, but you could throw some more green beans and carrots in the soup and have your neighbors over for dinner. And you got to know your neighbors, they became your friends. Your kids hung out with their kids. When you saw their kid doing something wrong, you told them to stop it. Then you told their parents about it that night. Everything was simple then. It can be that way again now. But it’s up to us.

Stop trying to live in the biggest house in the neighborhood. Stop trying to drive the largest SUV on the block. It doesn’t do a thing to make you a better human being. Instead try inviting your neighbors over for dinner. You never know what great people they might be. Maybe you could start something great. It’s time.

When Shaniqua’s Attack, part 1

The day started as any other. I woke up at my usual time, got dressed in my sweats and t-shirt and went to the gym for a run on the treadmill. I came back, showered, got dressed for work and proceeded about my day with no intention of it possibly being my last.

I arrive at work and find a large number of things in my to-do list. But one of them stood out. Stood out probably because it was in bright red lettering – FIRE SHANIQUA!!!  With 3, count em 3, exclamation points. Well who am I to question the highly overpaid God’s in the great glass-walled offices in the sky. So off I go to find the victim of my termination and do the deed.

“Hi Crystal, would you please send Shaniqua to see me? Thanks”

A few minutes later Shaniqua arrives, takes a seat in the chair on the other side of my desk.

“Shaniqua I have called you in here today to discuss your performance over the last few months. As you are aware you have recieved many performance warnings and your supervisor has talked with you previously about the fact that you are not meeting company standards. Unfortunately because of these warnings and the lack of a change in your behaviour I am going to have to terminate your employment. I need to collect your keys, credit card, books and manuals and ask you to clean out your belongings and leave the building as quickly and quietly as possible. Please make sure to drop off your Security ID with the security guard at the front desk.”

Shaniqua doesn’t say anything. Nothing. She doesn’t even seem to be breathing. She is just staring at me. A stare that curdles my blood. The type of stare that I would imagine a serial killer would have just before they eat the brains out of some victim.

She reaches for her purse and begins to place the requested items on the desk. Keys, check. Credit card, check. She then stops and just freezes in place. One hand on her thigh clinched in to a fist, the other still in her purse.

“That will be all, you can leave now. You can just leave the books and manuals in your desk and I will be over shortly to inventory them and I will give you the returned items checklist to give to personnel.”

Shaniqua begins to breathe. A sound that seems to be saying “faggot you better run” but being a man I don’t show fear. I mean, come on, I’m a man, I’m supposed to be macho and manly and I wouldn’t dare let ’em see me sweat. One bit of advice for all of you out there…

LISTEN TO YOUR INSTINCTS WHEN THEY TELL YOU TO RUN!

to be continued…

Doctor, Heal thyself, quickly

Sitting in the salon waiting to get my hair cut. Flipping through a magazine doing my usual “I’m acting really bored but I’m really listening to everyone’s conversations” routine.  When I hear this interesting conversation:

The father is a well known doctor in town and the child was unfortunately HIS CHILD. Poor kid. Since the doctor is almost 50 and the kid is maybe 7 I assume this would be the result of his second or possibly third marriage to his “trophy-wife-dujour”. But I digress…

FATHER: Turning around almost backwards in his seat to be able to look out the window with huge interest in what appears to be happening outside.

SON:  “Dad, what are you looking at?”

FATHER:  “I’m watching this lady that parked beside my car”

SON:  “Why?”

FATHER:  “Because I want to make sure she doesn’t hit my car with her car door”

SON:  “Why?”

FATHER:  “Because she doesn’t look like she is paying attention and will hit my car with her door and ding my door”

SON:  “OH, well what would happen to her car?”

FATHER:  “We don’t care about her car”

DAMN! There’s a good attitude for ya. You arrogant prick, you have more insurance than anyone probably needs so why don’t you shut the hell up and maybe for once teach your child that every one matters. Instead of teaching him that just because you have more money than God you are superior to every one else.  Because trust me, it doesn’t make you a bit better than anyone else.

Oh, and by the way…  your wife comes to this salon too.  With her boyfriend.


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