Best Girlfriend Ever

It is official, shiny seal included. I am the best girlfriend ever.

Now for some back story. Duane is the most impossible person to buy for. Christmas, birthday, etc. shopping for him is horrid. I can only buy the guy so many whitty/ obnoxious shirts. Originally, I was just going to get him another watch since -ahem- somebody broke last year's. But no matter, it allowed me an extra year of life out of the same gift... I thought. Then Duane informed me that "Santa" was bringing him a watch and my hopes were crushed. Back to the drawing board I went.

That is where the title of Best Girlfriend Ever was proposed. While browsing through some random sites for gadgets (Duane likes gadgets and small trinkets to amuse himself with, lol.), I discovered a USB, desktop-controlled foam missile launcher. That's it! I thought. Sure, I'd be dooming myself to be shot by said missiles countless times and well, poor daisy will never have a peaceful nap again, but nonetheless, I'd found the perfect gift. That, of course, meant I had to share my joy with someone, and since it was at like 3:00 in the morning, Justin got to share in the joy. He then declared that if I got that for Duane he would declare me the best girlfriend ever and even throw in a shiny certificate.

And so here we are, I have my shiny certificate and it was signed and authenticated by Duane last night at Justin's. And I haven't even been shot by any missiles yet!

Darwin Award

In case you are not familiar, Darwin Awards are handed out to people...posthumously, of course... to people who kill themselves in such ridiculous ways that they deserve some recognition and thanks for removing themselves from the gene pool. Like, say, the fellow in California, I believe it was, that rigged his car with a jet engine, hoping to go reeeally fast, only to shoot himself into a mountain side about a mile and a half away, leaving only some lugnuts and a charred spot on the rocks. I'm fairly sure I almost won one myself once... but that is a story for another time. And, well, I'll keep my dignity, thank you.

But why am I talking about Darwin Awards, you say. Well, I worked today, which is sure to supply many, many almost Darwin nominees. This patient had no intention of harming himself, however, he is positively too stupid for that plan to hold up. You see, my new friend Bob is 79 and has emphysema, for which he requires oxygen. You'll surely never guess how he got the exploding lung disease. Why, smoking, of course. And smoking, as it turns out, is something Bob just couldn't quite give up after being given at-home oxygen. (Sidebar: If you don't see where this is going, you're as dumb as Bob.)

Yes, you guessed it. The moron blew himself up. His face is nice and crispy, as are his left hand and his nostrils. The best part, however, is not that he blew himself up...even though that's certainly hilarious--seriously, how dumb can you be?! They give you explosion hazard signs!!..but that we had a nice long chat both about how that hasn't happened any of the other times he's smoked with oxygen on and that he had no idea oxygen could cause explosions like that. Ya think?!

Oh well, fortunately for Bob, he assured me he cannont remember a thing. "I reckon that fireball knocked me right out and on the floor!" You don't say, Bob, you don't say.

Up All Night

I'm one step closer to being a man. Haha. I spent all night--well, until about 4:00 this morning--playing Xbox with Duane and Justin. Ian and Joe were there for a while but neither stayed. That's cool though; there are only 4 controllers anyhow.

First, we, of course, played a variety of killing people games. Now, I haven't played any of those...or any games, for that matter...on a regular basis since the granddaddy of them all, Goldeneye, back in the day on N64. You could control James with one stick; now there are two. I certainly have no mastered the two stick system when it comes to walking/running, shooting, aiming and trying not to die all at the same time. Fun times. However, Call of Duty (I think that's which one it was) has some lovely vehicles in it. Those are my favorites! Hop right on in, drive it around all willy nilly and mow everyone right on down. Plus, I'm pretty good at driving stuff since Mario Kart was always the way to go...and I've had to play hours of it on my cousins' Game Cube, which does have two sticks. w00t! Well, until Justin got pretty good at shotgunning people out of them. Boo. :-(

Then it got good. Took a break from all the killing to do some boxing. Fight Night, I believe. First, I must explain my fighting game stategery: furiously mash random buttons and giggle the joy stick. I adopted this for all wrestling games my idiot brother made me play. Only Mortal Kombat was worth learning what buttons did. Anyways, back on track. Did myself some boxing. Good boxing, I might add. I kicked Ian's ass and he was actually trying to hit the right buttons, throw specific punches, etc. Justin beat me though, but it was a pretty even fight. Took a while to get me outta there. Certainly longer than it took me to annialate Ian. mwahaha! And then to round out the night's gaming we played some sort of fighting/fantasy game. Now this thing kicked ass. There were several reasons: I was a lumbering ogre-like creature with a ginormous axe of death, the ogre and his axe had some pretty sweet combo moves, and it didn't involved a significantly more skilled Duane killing the rest of us.... and oh yes, I was the "combo master!" Gotta love games that I actually have some skills at, lol.

The night was not all gaming, however. We did take one little break to watch the greatest move ever! Well, not really ever, but it's hilarious nonetheless, especially since everyone watching could assign some other people we know to each of the characters. The movie, of course, is Saved! Hilarious, I say, HILARIOUS!

Ornaments

This very well could be included in the last paragraph of my previous post but it's special and deserves it own.

In addition to the penguin and necklace/earrings set, Duane also got me a pretty "Kailey & Duane 2006"(instead of "Season's Greetings") snowflake ornament. Whoop-dee-doo, you say? Now my "Christmas problem" aside, his ornament idea is brilliant enough, but Christmas problem considered, it really doesn't get any better. You see, last year--in an OMG WHAT DO I BUY HER PANIC, I'm sure--Duane had himself a very excellent idea. He bought me two ornaments: one that says "Our First Christmas Together, 2004" and then a "Kailey & Duane 2005," with the intention of buying a new one every year.

So eventually we can have a whole tree of ornaments. And--every guy's dream, of course--Duane has at least one "sure thing" gift idea every year.

CHRISTMAS!

So, um, I have a small Christmas problem. Duane and Jamie have both pointed out...numerous times...that while I might be all mature and grown up the other 99.99999% of the time, when it comes to Christmas, I'm about 5. But really, what's not to love?! Presents, light/other pretty decorations, 150 nativities taking over the house, etc. And the prospect of snow, of course. (Aside: Snow and I have a relationship similar to what I have with Christmas.)

Anyways, today is Christmas, the greatest day EVER. Until, that is, I open Tony's awesomely bad gift of the year. Recapping several past years, I've gotten such thoughtful gifts as a spindle of CD-Rs (most of which HE USED), a Weir hoodie he got that was too small, and MEN's fleece pants from Aeropostale. So obviously, there's no much to be expected. This year I got massaging house slippers. They're hideously pink, have obvisouly been worn and returned by someone else already and well, they don't really massage, just vibrate, which feels weird. And oh yes, let's not overlook the big red clearance tag. Its cool though. While ordering his present, I had to spend an extra $10 to save $10, so I got myself some ice skating accessories and deemed those his present to me.

The other boys in my life do not disappoint, however. My dad is good at Christmas shopping for things my mom would be like "WTF? Why should we get her that?!" Like, say, my singing Rudolph and Santa. Or my Rudolph figurine collection. My mom thinks those are all useless clutter and I'm sure she has dreams about tossing them. I, however, very much enjoy them, which is why my dad's Christmas problem (worse than mine) is handy. And then there's Stevie. He doesn't buy me "diamond jewelry" at Santa's workshop anymore though. :( But its cool, we hide in his room while the rest of our idiot family talks in their living room. Finally, there's Duane, of course. All of my hints were correct, unlike last year. Pft! That's not plaid! Heh. Although, he did get a little tricky and said there was a 3 piece set but the box only had two of the 3 pieces. I was momentarily confused until I realized the singing/dancing penguin's box opened. Yay for pretty jewelry!

Kailey's Foot Funk Scale of Craziness

In the past 9 months or so, I've discovered quite the trend: Crazy people have disgusting feet. The crazier they are, the grosser the feet. It's uncanny; foot nastiness is an excellent predictor of how much my shift is going to suck.

Now, I'm sure someone out there is thinking: "Wtf, Kailey, all feet are nasty, how can you tell someone's mental state from their toenails?" My response to them: You've never seen a crazy person's feet. Take Norm, for instance. God knows he takes the cake...and probably the pie, too... for craziest patient. His feet were beyond words. But "beyond words" only works for me and the other unfortunate people that encountered those feet, so I shall try. Lemme paint you a little picture...and have the puke bucket at the ready. First of all, his feet were purple-ish and sprinkled with an oh so wonderful layer of cheesy dry skin. Gross? Certainly. The worst part? Oh no, we're just getting started. What really puts Norm leaps and bounds ahead of anyone else is his toenails. They were gnarled, chipped, about 3" thick and all sorts of strange colors. And oh yes, we can't forget the little chips that he cracked off...resulting in some awesome bleeding...while he flailed to try and get out of his restraints. And, of course, we can top off all this foot fun with an odor that, well, let's just say that I work at a hospital so when I say something reeks, that really means something.

On the flip side are my many other, much less crazy patients. They've all had feet that were nasty to some degree. The crack head last week was dry, scaly and had nail issues but he was fairly coherant and other than that whole crack problem, wasn't such a horrible guy. The hallucinating lady this evening had gnarled toes and 6" long nails; however, if she takes her medicine, she's apparently very nice. And, well, I'm sure if I'd have seen Oviraptor Man's feet, they'd have been just as icky as his fingernails, placing him just behind Norm on the Foot Funk Scale and certainly in craziness.

Ok, so there's the gold standard and some comparison for crazy person feet. And now I present my scale:

• 0-- Normal, hygenic feet. As feet go, they're not so bad. You are likely normal.
• 1--Manual laborer and ballerina feet. They've been abused and are probably a little deformed. See Rebecca's feet. You might be a little goofy sometimes.
• 2--Old people feet. Ask Grandpa to take his socks off after Christmas dinner. They're horrible, and let's face it, old people start to get a little crazy.
• 3--Diabetic old people feet. #2 but worse.
• 4-- (here is where true mental illness sets in) Very dry and scaly. Toenails are a little gross but nothing a bath, some lotion and nail clippers couldn't handle. You are probably a little depressed.
• 5 through 9-- The dry, scaly awfulness gets progressively worse. Toenails begin to discolor and gnarl. Also, the stench ramps it up. You are probably biopolar, schizophrenic or otherwise nutty.
• 10--Norm's feet. You are officially the nuttiest person ever. In fact, you propose to several girls 1/3 your age, love your birds so much you pierce your nose with their leg bands and just can't seem to escape those voices. Even Charles Manson has prettier feet.

Home!

Hooray, I'm home for Christmas break. FINALLY! Boo, Duquesne and its extra long semester this year. Well, actually we started a week late, which caused a lack of Christmas spirit. Oh well. Its over. No more art, no more horrific biostats. Gee, I hope I passed that final. -rolls eyes out of head-

And now the boredom begins.

Oh boy, o-chem!

Caption: I wish I were an SN2 reaction so then I could attack your backside.

Nothing like a good chemistry joke to make your day. Ajit is my hero for posting that on his Facebook.

Anyways, Saturday morning was the O-chem (Duquesne for Organic Chemistry for any mentally challenged folks out there.) final. It was at 8:15, technically we didn't have to show up until 8:45 but that would incur icy stares of death from everyone else. And, well, Jamie was going to go at 8:15 anyway, so its not like I could have slept. Oops. Back on track now. Final Saturday morning. Grades posted this evening. Oh how I love PJ and his army of TAs.

Now for the important part. Due to the extreme gayness of the point distribution and my knack for failing to read directions--"if the answer includes resonance, you must draw resonance to receive full credit"...guess who didn't draw any resonance..--I had to do pretty damn well to even get an A-. Farewell, 4.0, I mourn for you. :'( But all is well in the world since I got exactly the grade I needed for said A-. Not a point (or square, of course) to spare. -whew- If only I'd drawn the resonance, it would be an A. -tear- And yes, shut up, I realize that the A- makes my QPA like 3.98 now so its not the end of the world.

So next semester has two goals for O-chem II:

1. Read directions. This one is also knowns as don't lose like 12 meaningless points on various tests/quizzes because I failed to read the giant, bold type DRAW RESONANCE STRUCTURES part on the cover of the test.
2. Count correctly. 1, 2, 3, 4, 6... Forgetting the number 5 is bad. I should not do it when trying to name things--especially when the whole naming system is based on said numbering...

Bored²

It's finals time here at Duquesne and just about everywhere else. College students across the country are holed up in their little study closets in the library, studying all day and night. With the help of some Adderol and a tripple shot of espresso from Starbucks every few hours, of course. Meanwhile, I have done such exciting things as played Text Twist to about 150,000 points, whacked a penguin around on YetiSports (sorry, Jamie) for a few hours and checked Facebook and random people's blogs about 934850934850324958304 times. I AM SO FREAKING BORED!

But don't you have to study? you ask. Well, I did study you see. I spent several whole hours on Ochem Monday afternoon and a similar amount of hours on Cell Molec Tuesday afternoon. And then I spent the remaining part of the day calculating what grades I need to keep an A (A- in Ochem's case). Other than Ochem needing a pretty good performance, the highest grade I need to keep an A in any class is an 82 and this is mostly due to the very small amount of points we have overall. Everyone else, meanwhile, is going: "HOLY SHIT! I'M GONNA FAIL!!! -PANIC, PANIC-" Thus, I have no one to play with and have grown rather bored.

There are, however, two very good things about this boredom: SLEEP and work! Although most of my finals are 8:45s (blech!), they are all on different days, allowing me to take a nice, long nap after each. And the final that's not at 8:45? It's not until 1:15 so I can sleep 'til noon...maybe later. And as for work, all the extra time translates to me working several days. Thank goodness! In the aftermath of my Christmas shopping, my back account is on life support. Well, not really, but it's a lot lower than I'd like it to be, so alas, I work!

Party!

Today was the Camp Quality Christmas party. I love seeing my Tyler!! Even if it does mean driving 2.5 hours...way over the speed limit...

Anyways, the party was lots of fun. Santa came and all the kids got gifts. Nothing spectacular, just the cheap crap (bouncy balls, little cars, styrofoam airplanes, etc) that kids like. Although, poor Ty is just too shy. He tolerated, we'll say, sitting on Santa's lap. Nate, however, was probably laying down a Christmas list for the next 10 years. And then we opened the presents we got for each other. Nate was all about his Spongebob DS game and Ty was pretty darn thrilled with his Aquadoodle. He told me he was going to hold it all the way home so he could get a good look. Haha. He's soooo cute! Then I opened my presents from them. They picked them out themselves and oh boy, were they proud of that. When they walked in to give them to me, Ty got all smiley, lol. He got me a teddy bear (wanted to get me a necklace but diamond necklaces are a little out of the 5 year old price range) and Nate got me a picture frame ornament. Its now holding that top picture. I love them!

I'm a little sad they didn't bring the baby. But I did get pictures and she's adorable, of course! Now I just need to figure out when I can visit again...

Original Recipe or Extra Crispy?

I finally got to work a few days this week, after having been cancled about 14,000 times in a row. Shortage of crazy people! And this evening, this man was my patient. So obviously, he's a little crispy.

Nice guy though. All the suicide attempts are. Certainly better than my crack addict Sunday night. Anger. Adivan. Anger. Adivan. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Finally, he told the nurse she should just give him "the shot." That means he got jabbed with Haldol in the ass, in addition to the rest of his bedtime meds, which included some IV Adivan and a sleeping pill. Within 5 minutes, he was snoring and never moved again. Good stuff.

Anyways, back to poor Patrick. He was quite a nice guy and so were his brother and dad, who were both there visiting. His roommate was an entertaining, VERY belligerent old man. He'd let off the loudest, longest string of obscenities whenever someone would come tell him to do something. However, there was plenty of silence to be had. Especially the awkward kind. We were sitting there watching the news when a report came on all about what the police are considering charging Patrick with. -cricket, cricket- Awkward. Awkward.

Luckily, the next story was about Paris Hilton wanting children soon. Nothing better to break the silence than that piece o' crap.

Oviraptor Update

I'm sure everyone has been told about "Oviraptor Man," my uber-psychotic patient that reminded me very much of the evil, conspiracy-minded egg-eating dinosaur. This dude was scary.

Well Duane and I went to the Museum yesterday to do my art assignment. However, that didn't take so long and art isn't very thrilling to look at, so we went and looked at much more exciting things--dead stuff!

Most of the dinosaurs are put away while they remodel the main portion of the musuem. I stuck my head behind all the "Exuse the Dust" construction blockers and it's looking pretty awesome. But anyways, there were a few dinos on display. One, of which, was this here oviraptor. Note its long, frightening, I'm going to stand here and plot your demise claws. Welcome to "Oviraptor Man's" hands.

Also, there was a giant Christmas display. There were some huge trees that were kinda nice but the best part was obviously the ginormous nativity, especially the hanging angels. I really like it. My dad would steal it. This pic is really only about a third of the whole thing, although it's the important part. The middle is just random people standing around talking and the far right is the inn with no rooms in it.