Getting a D+ is Still Passing...

Just like my good friend Tom, I passed.

The Adventures of Nursing... or not.

So I am back today to speak of another first. Yes, this story is gross, and this story includes poo. Apparently I am like a magnet for disgusting poo stories. Let us begin...

My shift has barely begun, my student and I are just finishing up on charting an assessment when the call light rings. I answer: Can I help you? Response: Yes, we just need some help in the bathroom. "We'll be right there."

At this point I think calmly to myself, no problem. I can help this guy get off of the pot and back into bed. Even though this is not my patient. I am a nice guy like that. Big mistake.

I walk in to find the pt in the bathroom in the fetal position. This poor man has had a stroke in the past, rendering his left side basically worthless. This means that, as he is laying on his left side, he will needed to be lifted up as dead weight. Oh, and did I mention, there is poo EVERYWHERE. I'm talking floor, toilet seat, patient, tub, you name it.

I hop over the patient into the bathroom, slap some gloves on and, along with some help from a student (what a wonderful experience for her), lift this guy off of the floor onto the toilet seat so that we might begin the clean up process. It is times like these that I would rather be selling pest control solution for my friend in Virginia. See Pest Control VA for more details.

We get the patient onto the toilet and I look down to assess the damage. I see a pool of poo. I also see, to my horror, a large smear of his poo on my left leg. Yes, I have now been pooped on. Wow. I changed scrubs there and my soiled scrubs have since been detoxified. It took about 45 minutes to get all of the poo cleaned up from the bathroom and off of this guy.

So, those of you that are thinking, much like I did, that if you become a nurse you won't have to bother with crap like this, well...

Believe It!

Yes, you are jealous of me. I have been golfing. I snuck in a quick 9 before work. How did I celebrate this momentous occasion? Pre-round I made a trip to my favorite store... Uinta Golf. There I purchased my 2009 UGA Pass and an Odyssey White Steel 2 Ball SRT Putter. Believe it. My wife is already in panic mode as my addiction to golf and buying golf accessories has not subsided, but increased in my absence of playing the game.

The putter is great, by the way, especially if you remember the story of what happened to my first one. Needless to say, I won't be using this for anything but putting.

Why I Became a Nurse...

There is a first time for everything, as they say. Well, today I will not give you details of one of the tasks that are sometimes assigned to nurses. I will just tell you the name of one - Digital Stool Removal. Awesome? Not even close. Let the dry heaves begin. You're welcome.

I remember my login...

It has been a while, I know. However I will not sit here and write how I have changed my ways and how I vow to be more consistent. I don't. On the other hand, I don't know if it can get worse. Anyway... on to the life altering event that has driven my out of the dust to actually post.

I lifted today. Weights. And for the record Ri-Bone smoked me. After having seen everyone, including your mom leaving me in the dust, I thought it about time. I ran a mile this morning, and chased it with a workout of approximately 35 minutes.

I was feeling pretty good until my second set of our first station. By the end of the half hour I felt like I was going to puke. We finished lifting and I had to sit down and rest. I got up after my long rest just outside the gym and walked about 15 feet toward the exit. After those long, arduous 15 feet, I had to take another break. It was pathetic, but it gets worse.

I get home, where my bowels go wild after experiencing what must have seemed to them an earthquake (especially after downing a pack of seeds the day previous). I plan on showering, but still feel like I might puke. I finally get into the shower and find I barely have the strength to lift my hands to wash my hair.

I now realize, again, why I don't workout. I guess it's easier if you do it more than once every 5 years, but we'll see. I have thought about making some sort of worksheet that compares that number of times I workout to the number of posts I write. Should be a barn burner.

Question of the day...

Question: Is there such thing as a stupid question, or just stupid people?

Many of you know how I love Christmas. My cohort in spreading Christmas Cheer (Ri-Bone) has been taking a lot of heat lately, but I am here to back him up with a wonderful Christmas memory to share with all of you. Hope you enjoy…

The month was November, the year 2004, I was young and confused. I didn’t know what was best for me. I was enrolled at BYU. Don’t worry – that only lasted one semester. Because of people like this…

We were sitting in a classroom waiting for our Physical Science lab to start when it started snowing. I can remember the excitement I felt as I was sure that the Christmas celebrations would start early. It was snowing the nice, big flakes. It was beautiful.

I was not the only one in the classroom that was excited. I did not voice my excitement, because I really didn’t care to talk to anyone in the classroom. I did however overhear this conversation happening very close to me…

Girl 1: “Oh look, it’s snowing.”
Girl 2: “Wow, I have never seen snow before – does it hurt when it hits you?”
Girl 1: “No, where are you from?”
Girl 2: “Arizona.”

The conversation continued, but I couldn’t continue to listen. Anyway, there you have it. One of the many fond Christmas memories that I have. If you are lucky, you may be blessed to receive more lovely Christmas memories.

Warning: Contains Michael Scott Humor...

Seriously Mom, you may want to just check the other blogs...

Our last day of class, one of our instructors decided that a big group therapy session was in order. He passed out papers that asked us "The thing that I will never forget about my experience in Nursing 2110 is..." We then wrote what we would never forget and handed them back.

You can imagine the many lame responses that were then read back to us. Think about 40 women at the completion of a two year project - most of the responses included something about either the 'wonderful experiences' had or the 'wonderful friend' that were made. I couldn't believe that this was actually happening.

Not all responses were incredibly lame. Some were pretty funny. I will now tell you of one that was potentially the funniest moments of my life.

My instructor read one response "I will never forget getting a big shot right in the butt by a nervous, shaky, and sweaty student."

My instructor then puts on his reflective face and says longingly, "Oh yes, I remember my first time..." then pauses...

Uh...

Now, many things happened at this moment. One was that in my head I reverted back to a now famous saying by none other than Michael Scott. I was not the only one that this happened to as those gentlemen around me and I exchanged glances and try not to burst into laughter.

My instructor then proceeds to tell the story of his first time... giving a shot that is... Wow.

Who is Lazarus?

No, I am not dead. No, I did not sustain life threatening brain trauma from dominating the turkey bowl... I am actually surprised that I am still living. You all know the depths of my laziness. You must understand that I have been relatively busy of late and thus have put blogging on the back burner. There were many a day that I felt I might actually collapse from having to actually work. I know, I know, blah blah blah... waa, waa, waa, but I am working around 60 hours a week and doing school another 15, so I have a decent excuse.

But none of that matters. I have neglected the updating of my blog for long enough. I am currently at the residence of Ri-Bone because Payson is gay. By the way, Comcast and Dish Network are gay as well. I will not even begin to explain... long and freaking stupid story. Oh, and insurance companies are gay too. Just so you know.

Bottom line is this, we have dish network at home. Awesome. We do not have the Internet, lame. I have one more paper to write that is due Friday and a final to take on Monday. I have done a little math and found out that I can still pass the class if I get 10% correct on the final, so no stress there. It really feels pretty nice.

This may be the single worst post of my career, but it is a post. If you would rather, I could post about super awesome stuff like girls soccer or about how I can now tell people "your mom" in sign language. But I won't. This post is over, I am back... for now.

Learned or Inherited?

Today’s post is about an epiphany I had recently… Let me just put a couple pictures in your mind…

1. Me, on the tee box with Driver in hand and a tee sticking out of my mouth.
2. Me, sitting on the porch passing the time.
3. Me, not having cable or the internet.

Ok, so there are a few problems. I still have not reverted to calling water ‘rocky mtn. punch’, nor have I begun to manually signal a left turn while entering the freeway. But I do continue to live in the Stone Age. My old man now has caller ID and HDTV. He also enjoys the luxury of the World Wide Web (even though he still just plays solitaire). The point is that I have limited access to the internet and I have not really done anything about it.

So, you can call this an excuse for not blogging. It does increase your blogging potential by having the internet in the confines of your home, so that will be coming soon, thanks to Comcast. Also, school sucks and it takes a lot of my time these days – have you ever taken out an NG tube – it’s gross. And who would blog instead of embarrassing JROD and Tikes on the course?

Anyway…

The Christmas celebration begins in a mere two days. That is something that we all can blog about.

War me plugging the blogs to the nursing staff that I was working with yesterday.

My Fatness, er... Fitness Program...

There are a couple things that need to be brought up before this post gets going too far. 1- I am fat. There are many levels of fat, from slightly overweight to Jabba the Hut, but rest assured… I am fat. 2- I like football… a lot. I think football is my #1 sport both to watch and to play. Just for the record, co-ed softball ranks around 47. Just behind cross country and just before NASCAR. Anyway…

You may remember that last year during this time I was known to many as Benedict Hub. I bailed on the football team I had played with for years for the promise of fame and fortune as a member of the Iron Pigs. We were a good team, but we could not get over the hump. Our quarterback situation was one that was not conducive with winning it all. Alas, we fell short.

Fast forward, or rewind, to my last post about football entitled "Called Out Of Retirement." I was brought back to ensure a championship victory. I have since gone back to the origins of my flag football career. Yes, I am once again a member of a dynasty. The team formerly known as Pirate Motorsports has me on their roster playing D End full time.

So, I hope that I can get into better shape. It is pretty bad right now. I cannot sprint for two plays in a row. Now, if the football doesn’t get me where I want to be, I have a sweet backup plan. I have signed on to play P-town league basketball with none other than Kid Rock himself. I am pumped. League starts Nov. 10th. I am almost as excited at the blogging prospects that surely will present themselves during the games as I am about actually playing. But for now, the drama of Flag Football will have to do.

My Battle Against Boredom...

As a student nurse I have learned many things over the years. The important things I have, of course, forgotten. But I do remember some of the ‘interesting’ stuff. Now when I say ‘interesting’ I mean knowledge mostly concerning the bowel. So, I have built up an immunity to feeling the least bit embarrassed or grossed out when discussing poo, the formation of poo, or the elimination of poo. On that point…

I like to take my sweet time on the throne. Think what you may. Some people take long showers, I take long growlers. Don’t worry about it. I always have some reading material handy as well (you can’t just sit there). Usually it is the Reader’s Digest or a golf magazine. The other day, however, I came to a figurative wall. I had read both these two sources, leaving me alone and exposed. What could I do?
Quickly the idea came to pull out my phone and play a quick game of whatever game the phone came with. Unfortunately, all of the ‘games’ were just demos. Gay. I could play for like 30 seconds and then it would ask if I wanted to purchase the game. No, thanks. I knew that, eventually, I would have to break down and buy a game on my phone.

I did and you all wish you had my phone right now. I am rocking Guitar Hero 3 on the LG. I have already passed the normal difficulty 5-staring every song and am well on my way to doing to same in expert mode. I guess my legendary skills from the real GH3 combine with my above average texting skills to create a god-like power to melt faces with just my phone.

Note: The actual game isn’t that good, but good enough - And GH3 blows Rockstar out of the water.

I once was lost, but now am found...

As yet another golf season is coming to a close, and a Christmas season is fast approaching (less than 1 month until the celebrations begin), I need some closure. I think it necessary to ‘come clean’ about my secret bout with OCD.

It all started around 2 months ago, I was in prime golfing shape, and I was going 3-4 times a week. It was an addiction that could not be quenched. Many of you know that I am not really good at the sport I so love, therefore, I was losing a lot of golf balls. Usually what I would do when this happened was go the Wal-Mart (they got your back) and buy some used Titliest golf balls that would last me another couple weeks.

I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but I was on the course, and I was running low. I thought to myself, “I can just buy some more, no big deal” but I continued, “or I could just look for some in the weeds and scrub oak where I have lost so many and then I could use the money I would have spend on balls, and buy another round.” I committed then and there. I was not going to buy another ball.

I had always thought that if I lost a ball that I would go look for it and find an extra, thus preserving my count and adding to it. But I kind of had a mental break at that time. It was on hole 8 at the local course. I hit one into the really rough stuff to the west of the green. I parked the cart and headed in. I found my ball and others, I kept looking, and something snapped. I couldn’t stop. It was addicting, I not only searched there, but on the other side of the fairway. By the end of my search of around 20 minutes (luckily it was not busy that day), I had nearly 40 golf balls. Ya, it was on.

Not only was my addiction changed from playing to looking for balls, but I had to clean and categorize each individual ball. My wife can attest that I should have taken some anti psychotic meds. Don’t believe me? I can prove it. Here is my current inventory of golf balls by brand…

64 – Titliest
56 – Top Flight
30 – Callaway
26 – Nike and Maxfli/Noodle (52 total – 26 each)
11 – Precept
8 – Taylormade, Wilson, and Dunlop (8 each)
7 – Pinnacle
5 – Alien
3 – Slazenger
2 – Srixon

10 – Colored balls (red, blue, yellow, etc… these don’t really count)
10 – Random (currently in my bag) I know there is a lazer in there, for what it’s worth.
29 – Old PRO V1s and Nike ONEs. (Used for when I am feeling lucky)

303 – Total

So as you can see, it was bad. I have since lost my craving for more balls and am living a more mentally healthy life. I am, however, on constant alert, weary of signs and triggers of relapse. So the moral of the story is this, you don’t need to buy any more golf balls. I have plenty, of whatever brand you would like. You are all free to come and take as many as you need. Consider it for my own good. I fear that it is like when you move old people that have crap that they never use and never will, but can’t part with it – You may need to work out something with Ash… just have her sneak you out some.

Note: Most of the balls in my inventory didn’t actually come from a course, but from surrounding areas. For example, across the road from Hobble and the park near Spanish Oaks, etc… This is embarrassing.

My Recruitment...

Yes, I am being recruited. Neither Bronco nor K-Witt have come to my house and said, “You are old and fat, but we want you to play football for us.” No secret agents from Tikes’ dreams have asked me to leave my old life behind and serve my country as a CIA operative. This time there was no trade show exhibits convention to recruit me to a school. This recruitment is for less stressful.

I am a nursing student and as such, many people want my services in the future. This is why I am being recruited. Now, the decision on where I work comes down to more than just how much money I will make, or where I will actually be working. I am far shallower than that. That is why Mt. View Hospital has unofficially become my next home away from home.

Some representatives from Mt. View have recently visited our nursing class and bribed me with such extravagant gifts as chap stick, carabiners, pens, and the best yet – muffins and juice. Yes, they had me when they handed me my free super cheap carabiner. It is now an essential part of my keychain.

The representatives from the hospital talked to everyone in the class, but I know that it was just so that the other students wouldn’t feel bad if they had talked to me and me alone. So, I have decided to apply sometime in the recent future to begin work as an LPN at said hospital. Future details are forthcoming. Just know that I am important and I got some seriously sweet stuff and you didn’t. Oh, I almost forgot to mention their biggest bribe… 4 grand in cold hard cash over the last 4 semesters. I am contractually obligated to work for Mt. View, Timpanogas, or St. Mark’s for around a year post-graduation.

None the less, they continue to shower me with gifts and plead for my services.

Note – the U.S. Army has also recruited on 4 separate occasions. They provide pizza, but no carabiners. What does that mean? No deal... Sir.

Not so update...

Yes, it has been a while. A long while. I knew that something had to be done when your mom told me that I could “come over anytime to use [their] computer to blog”. When your mom is telling me to blog, it is bad. That is like your dad telling me how to pass someone on the freeway. And now that there is an Amber alert out – I knew today was the day.

You may all be wondering about the picture. I guess it could have two meanings. You could say that my favorite actor ever represents me and my inability to type freely. However, I have chosen this picture not to represent myself (no picture is that awesome) but to represent my college experience so far this semester.

I have done a clinical rotation at the Utah State Hospital. I know that this is a very popular place to take pictures as there is a ‘castle’ behind the hospital that is a very pretty place. I now have peeked into the depths of the beast as it were and am here to report…

Let me start by telling you that I know, as do most of you, two employees of the hospital. One is much better known than the other; he is my age, his name in Mike, and his older brother is my land lord’s brother-in-law. Clear enough? Anyway, he has been bitten, yelled at, threatened, scratched, and yes, kicked in the gonads while at work. I knew this going in. I was pretty nervous.

I am happy to report to you that after 33 hours with mentally ill patients, I was never in physical danger. I did witness a "take down", a patient ‘changing the oil’ on the benches in the hallways. I also saw a patient sprinting up and down the hallways and lifting imaginary weights while grunting as if he were in the Olympics, all to ‘release aggression’. I also saw a pt pushing on the walls exclaiming “I can hear it cracking, I’m busting out of this place.” Now, I don’t mean to make light of their condition. Mental illness is serious and deserves understanding and respect. This whole post seems more like a response paper than a decent post, but, I thought that I needed to post on something pronto, or my family might have me admitted.

From Rags to Riches, or Vice Versa...

Yes, it has been many a day too long since I have updated in the Hub. There has been a pressing issue on my mind the last couple weeks, though. I believe that you all deserve to hear it…

My wife and I have decided that it is time to move back to the land of our forefathers, or at least back to the land of my childhood. You read correctly. P-town, the most awesome person to ever grace your streets is returning to his old domain. I wish I could tell you that we found a house, but when I asked our income if that were possible he just started laughing. After he finished, he asked if that was a serious question. I just let go at that point.

But we are moving in the coming weeks and I expect all of you reading this to give me a call and be there for the big day. I am thinking it will probably take around 3 hours as there is not a whole lot of junk to move. The distance between our future residence is also pretty close, so that helps. Of course, if you are not there to help I will understand that you hate both my wife and me and that you hope never to see us again. For those of you who are there, I believe a round of golf on me is appropriate as payment.

FYI, this place is located 2 blocks from your mom’s house. Just up the hill. The landlord used to live next door to your mom’s house before the shirtless leaf blower moved in. Maybe you know the place.

Some benefits of the move include, but are not limited to:

Cell phone reception
Electricity
Civilization
Stores within 10 miles
Natural Gas
No animals

Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned...

The first annual family migration to AZ is almost upon us. This trip will be filled with awesome stuff including, but not limited to; 18 holes of golf in hell, good food, GH3, dunkball, pool lounging, and the Braves vs. Diamondbacks game.

I now have a confession to make. I do not follow the Braves as closely as I should, I don't own a Braves jersey, the only Braves shirt I have was given to me by Ri-Bone (thanks). You could say that I am a Braves fan by default. However, due to a terrible season and a devastating and contagious something or other, the team has been riddled with injuries. Now, that is not my fault. "I did not break the pace car" (Rome). But my problem now is that I only know the name of 1 player on the team without looking it up, and I don't even know how to spell it - Frenchy. I know that they have a new cf because the dough boy has been traded to LA. I know, it's ridiculous how little I have learned.

Now, I am excited to go and watch the game and I will cheer on the Braves. I am just asking for guidance from those who know more than I, and that have been there through thick and thin. I need to know what to watch for - if there is anything left. So I ask you, faithful Brave loving blungle members, to teach me to walk in the light of Bobby. Who is decent? Who is fat? Who even plays? Can any of them hit? I now am going to do a little research as it is the second step of my repentance process.

I found it. The next big thing is almost within my reach. I have been shopping the last couple days in order to find my next putter. I am currently borrowing Tikes old one, and it has treated me well, but I feel the urge to plunge myself deeper into golf debt.

The winner of my putting affection is…. the Odyssey White Hot Sabertooth. It is money, it hits the ball smoothly, and it looks cool (maybe its most important feature). I figure that if it is good enough for Rocco, then it is good enough for me.

There is just one catch… It retails at a cool $169.99. I saw the price tag and started thinking…

Birthday – no, just passed.

Father’s Day – nope, also just passed.

Christmas – no, too far away.

Half birthday – no, again too far away.

Since I have 0 excuses to buy it and 0 dollars in the ‘buy more golf stuff’ fund, I am in a pickle. But I don’t give up so easy. I get to thinking again… I can perform slave labor for someone that could use my (relative) youth. I ponder for a bit, and Boom, Ralph Ricardo is the answer to my predicament. Yes sir, he always has something going on in one of his two yards. And right now is no exception. His latest leveling/sod laying project is already underway… and I am a part of it. The very same man that funded buying my Rams is going to come through in the clutch and hook me up once again.

Now when I eventually (it could be days, weeks, or even months) buy my sabertooth; I can really say that I paid for it with blood, sweat, and tears. Tears of joy, of course.

The End Of An Era

I guess it was bound to happen sometime… As you know, I own a pair of golf shoes. You also know that I don’t ever stay strictly in the fairway. If you put those two bits of knowledge together you can understand that I get a bunch of mud and gunk stuck to my shoes. Anyway, today just so happened to be one of those days; and by ‘one of those days’ I mean holy I am terrible.

So we get to the 18th green and I pull out my putter to putt for bogey. I then notice my shoes. I think back to earlier in the round as I left the sand that I gave a swift wedge chop to my shoes to clean them of any residual sand. This chop was much like you see baseball players do to clean their cleats.

So, without thinking I decide that a couple swift putter chops to my shoes might clean them… it didn’t work. I then decide, again without thinking, to chop again – only harder. This time a bit of mud and some grass come off. I then decide to continue this action until I feel the majority of the crap is off my shoes. My putter had other ideas.

Pretty much I busted the head off my putter. Yes, I am a retard. Yes, I have learned my lesson, and yes, I am accepting any Scotty Cameron putters that you may have lying around the house. Consider it a charitable donation. It will go to a worthy cause.

War Tikes and Ri-Wie owning extra putters.

Another Small Peeve...

Many ‘guys’ have been spoken of in the blungle. There is ‘softball guy’ and even worse, ‘likes to walk in softball guy’. There is ‘biker shorts guy’ and ‘jogger guy’. There is even ‘white trash no undies cook guy’. The list goes on and on. A couple days ago something happened to me that opened my senses to not another guy, but a lady… ‘Way too much grandma perfume lady’. Let me explain…

The other day I am walking down the hall (not at home) and as I pass by the drinking fountain ‘WTMGPL’ walks by in all her glory. She is apparently unaware that the entire building can smell her coming. Are you kidding me? What is going on in her head as she is getting ready for the day? Does she stink really bad because she has hairy pits? Does she like the sound the little perfume bottle makes? Or does she just lose track of time as she sprays herself down for 10 minutes prior to exiting her home?

The worst part is that the perfume doesn’t even smell good unless you are above the age of 70 when the chemoreceptors in you nose start to deteriorate. Now, I don’t have a problem with perfume, cologne, candles, potpourri, peach air fresheners for your car, flowers, or any other pleasant smelling substance, I just have a problem with any lady that puts on 6 times the legal limit of perfume that belonged to her great grandmother. You can’t tell me that it doesn’t bug you too.

Shown Up By A Girl, Again...

Ashley is a stud mini golfer. I don't know where her massive skill comes from, but I have never beaten her on a miniature golf course. I haven't even come close. Now, my putting skills are terrible, but that is besides the point. Some of you reading this may recall Fiesta Fun in St. George a while back (maybe 2-3 years ago?) when we went couples best ball and Ashley smoked you all to bring the free dessert our way? I do. It was awesome.

Fast forward to yesterday. We went golfing. A co-worker's wife wanted to take him for his birthday and we got the invite. Basically, I was forced to go golfing again. I know, a sacrifice that had to be made. Anyway, Ash had told me beforehand not to make her swing a club at all - she was just the cart driver and caddie.

So we went out the back and I was not even good. I three putted the 10th green starting with a double bogey. I pretty much 3 putted a lot. So I finally start picking it up on 15. A sweet tee shot and a decent approach leave me with a birdie putt that I shank - of course, and another sweet tee shot on 16 get me to the green in regulation. I then 2 putt for 2 pars in a row. I am feeling it. 17 comes along - after taking a quick bath, my ball is on the front fringe about 10 feet from the hole.

At this point 1 of 3 things happen inside Ashley's head. She either thinks 1- Holy moley J-stew if I have to watch my husband 3 putt one more time I swear... 2- This has been fun, I would like to try my putting skills, let's have a go, or 3- I dominate with the putter; let me show you how it's done.

She walks over to where I am standing with her hand outstretched - doesn't say a word. I say "are you putting for me now?" "Yep." "Ok." I stand back, watch, and wait. Ashley then asks, "how do you hold the putter?" I coach her, "however feels comfortable." She then lines it up, looks at the hole, and sinks it. Just like that. At this point I am thinking about just turning my clubs over to her and watching her golf on TV. It was awesome.

18 comes along. Another sweet tee shot, another in the water (going for the green it two - sliced it right, so another putt from maybe 15-20 feet - I just give the putter to Ashley - no questions asked. She again lines it up, looks at the hole, at putts... perfect speed, downhill by the way, she leaves it about a foot left. Taps it in. I am hoping for some lessons at a discounted rate sometime next week. I've got to get my pride/manhood/ego back.