The Second Wives Club

Pissy and I have discussed this and we have decided to ride on out. Ever heard the phrase:

“You can never have too much of a good thing.”

So not true.

When we relocate, we will holla. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.

So yesterday because I needed a damn break am a really nice daughter, I offered to take my mother across the river (we know I don’t “do” across the river) to visit her friend that just moved over there. She briefly mentioned that she wished Lydia still lived nearby and she would go visit. I, being quick of mind and greedy of heart, offered to take her over because my work day had been a big old bust. Work was super slow and I was about thiiiiis close to giving up for the day. I figured I could have some much needed “me” time and I could give hubs the ultimate gift:

Open door sex.

That’s right bitches. I am a woman who plans, ok? So mom calls Lydia to see if she minded a very impromptu overnight guest (yes I had to pick her back up today but I was over near there anyway as today is Sunday and that’s lunch with Karen day) and Lydia said sure. Let me backtrack briefly.

For those of you who are new or have a memory like mine, let me refresh. My mom lives with me. I am neither insane or a glutton for punishment but really the jury is still out on that one. My mom, on any given day, drives me batshit. I have, several times, lost my patience with her to the point that I have to walk or drive away and then call my husband (who is always at work) to scream in his ear while he repeats over and over “I know, hon….I know.” It is a delicate balance particularly as I work at home. Uh huh. We are together a LOT. I love my mom and she has a fab heart but the woman can make me into a blathering idiot with a twitch faster than you can say “Bingo!” So I am all happy that I should have several hours in the afternoon to myself (ahhh, Calgon, take me away) and then an evening with my hubs that will involve watching an LSU game (also known as foreplay in our house) and then the aforementioned ODS.

I finally get myself presentable. The beauty of working from home? Showers? Not so much a prerequisite for putting in a full day. I digress. I got myself ready and we head out. I tell mom to give Lydia a ringy dingy to let her know we were on our way and would be there in about 30ish minutes. Lydia did not answer but as much as my mom can be a damn dingbat, Lydia is 50 times worse. “Oh, what is that ringing? Is it outside? Oh, it’s the phone!” As the person is now rolling over to voice mail. Gah.

So mom left a message and we set off. Mom has the address. I know where we are going. I am T minus 30 minutes to having some time to myself and all is right with the world. We get there. No Lydia. Lydia no answer phone. Lydia send SFG into stratosphere of pissed. Oh and she failed to mention that while she is in Unit 122 of her condo complex, there are four separate Unit 122’s. Stab. Neck. Ya feel me? Well none of this would be a problem if Lydia would yank her head out of her god damn ass answer her phone but she still is not answering as we pound on all of the doors marked with 122. Luckily I did not just drop off the Momenator as I had thought about briefly. Once we got there I reconsidered because something told me this would not be a smooth delivery. Well, fuck a DUCK. So I look at mom and I am like “Yeah, I hate Metairie like it is a giant pus filled boil on my ass, so if I am over here, I am getting something done. We are off to the mall.” I had to get my wedding ring inspected so I figured I could run over there and do that and then try Lydia again on the way back.

I am so fucking industrious. I stagger my own God damn self. (Yeah it’s Sunday and I just let fly with a GD. Fucking sue me, ok?

We zip over to the mall that is somewhere hovering around the 9th stage of hell for me. The only thing worse would be Chuck E. Cheese with the screaming masses and zombified parents desperately wishing they sold vodka by the gallon. I loathe the mall. Especially this mall. I literally left mom in a loading zone with the car still running and my cell phone at the ready in case Lydia called back and hauled ass through the mall at a dead run to the jewelry store, inspection completed and back out without killing anyone in the process.

It is the small victories that get me through the day. I was out in roughly 10 minutes. That was with the trainee bitch trying to get me to buy yet more coverage for my rings. “But ma’am, while yes, your diamonds are covered, you would have to pay to SET them should anything happen to your rings.” Seriously, darlin, I realize it is your job to spout off about this bullshit but if you have to replace every single fucking diamond in my wedding set, the least of my worries is getting these bitches, set, mmmkay? She was still talking as I waved from the rapidly growing distance between us.

I get back out and sadly my mom was not doing the sign language thing from the car to indicate that Lydia had indeed called in my absence. Well, fuck. In fact, she looked rather surly. I was never so proud. We have never resembled each other MORE. So I get in and thank the heavens above for whoever invented a/c and tell mom that we will try one more time but at this point, I could see my dreams of unstifled sex just going up in smoke. I was not hopeful. We drive back over to Lydia’s condo and mom tries her again.

SCORE. Her daughter picks up. They are indeed there and cleaning up a huge mess that some of her son’s children had made. (Her son is a whole other post. I want to roast him and his pathetic balless wonder of self over an open fire on a spit.) They tell us which Unit 122 she was in (stab again) and I manage to drop mom off. This was a trip that should have taken me one hour. I made it back home 2.5 hours later. Uh huh. Tell me I don’t love my damn husband. Fucker better appreciate the SHIT outta me. And by appreciate, I mean change the GOD DAMNED TOILET PAPER ROLL ALREADY. It’s not rocket science, honey.

I stop to grab some food on the way home and am on the very skinny bridge making my way across to my neck of the woods when I see something that made me laugh so hard, I snorted and ended up almost snotting out some diet coke. Half way across it began to rain. Well, there was a man in the throes of a huge midlife crisis an older gentleman in the tiniest of sports cars that happened to be a convertible. In the rain. Hehehehe. That made me laugh but did not send me into convulsions of laughter until I saw, what I thought was his hair, but was really a gross rug go FLYING off his head and over the side right into the water.

That, my friends, is high quality entertainment and proof that God loves me because he knew I had a day that put me to the absolute EDGE of my patience and he put that man in my path so I could get a good chuckle at his expense.

What? God totally knows I’m a bitch, ok? That’s how we roll.

***UPDATED TO ADD***

(Snagged with absolutely no permission from Perez Hilton. I heart him and all his gayness.

Really, Brit? This was all you could do? Man, I’m sad for you.

PS - Put down the medication and back away.

Yeah, as you may have noticed my birthday was Friday. I turned…..old. But in exchange of that, I got some really fucking cool gifts. Miss Piss sent me this cute-astic “Live, love, laugh” dealio for my desko.

(OK, this picture came out HUGE, so I gotta take it out. Go look at Flickr. Stupid fucking internet.)

She also sent me this hiliarious book but I did not take a picture because it is back THERE and I am up HERE and well, I’ll let you do that math.

And just in case you all have not paid adequate attention, I am a little bit of a…..what’s the word? YES. Right. A nerd. Well, Kami and Tammy are girls who pay attention and realized that the perfect gift for a nerd is a gift card to Am*zon. Can you say bookgasm? Uh huh, I had one. Multiple actually because I had one when I received it and then one each time I clicked “Add to Bag” as I shopped with that gift card. It was good, girls. Thanks!

THEN, because I am a spoiled whore, I got the two cutest damn things from Patti. Behold.

(Again. Huge. So go look at Flickr. I promise you - cute as hayull.)

How is it that I have yet to meet Patti and yet she knows my tastes so very perfectly? HOW? I think she has cameras set up in my house. I love them.

I had a very low key birthday. Very. I love it like that. Parties and a big like ta-do? Yeah, so not my thing. It might be shocking to find this out because I tend to be, um, loud, but I HATE being the center of attention. Loathe it. It makes me wanna PIMMAL (puke in my mouth a little). So I worked (more on that later) and then I had promised that I would go watch my friend’s daughter dance at her very first high school football game. I have known this girl since she was 6 so seeing her all friggin TALL and with make up on and with those really odd white cheerleading/dance boot deals on was so cool. She was also very excited once she saw we were there. Her mom got stuck at work and could NOT get off which sucked. So I took some pictures and made sure I got a program and stuff for her. I think my lil chick was so pleased to know someone was in the bleachers all for her.

Anyways, about work. My work computer went belly up and I managed to not work on Tuesday or Wednesday this week. Score. I mean, what a bummer and not working made me feel all empty inside. I came to a realization while on this broken computer induced hiatus. I no likey to work. I always thought that I’d be bored if I did not work before we had children. Um, maybe not so much. Well, I have to get that thought out of my head because my hubs works for a fucking piece of shit firestation
very cost efficient fire house and we will never be able to afford adding me and/or any kids on to his insurance plan. Not to mention his blood sucking money grubbing whore of an ex-wife other bills. Yeah, so any blissful thoughts I have about lolling around the house and having the time to make wonderful meals with several ingredients, none of which have come out of a box, have to be crushed down. Never gonna happen, my friends. Crap. Thankfully, I am so marrying for money next time I married for very unshallow reasons like love.

I have made an attempt to broaden my horizons a little and I joined a few things at church. One is right up my alley - a book club. (See a few paragraphs up - I’m a nerd.) The other has me stepping outside of my comfort zone a little. I joined the Hospitality Committe.

Quit laughing.

I can be hospitable, God DAMN IT. Fuck.

So, anyway I will just ignore your snide comments about me being mean and hating people (mainly because they are true and I am more of a stick-my-head-in-the-sand kinda girl) and just let you know how it is going. So far, so good. It’s weird for me because while I can pretty much talk to anyone, I really feel like I still have to sorta hold back with these people. I tend to pepper my speech with several “You gotta be fuckin kidding me” and “Who the fuck cares?” Really not what one would consider “church talk.” Let’s not forget that you are reading the words of a girl who, in her first confession which was FACE TO FACE, said the following to her parish priest:

“Craptastic”
“Yeah, am I going to hell?”
and my favorite…….
“Oh, premaritial sex? Yeah, I had a lot of that.”

So I joined the Hospitality Committee. Please think good thoughts that I will not embarass myself horribly. We have a huge function at the end of this month in which the Archbishop of the New Orleans Archdiocese is coming to our parish. How friggin cool is that? (See, I said friggin. I’m trying, God damn it.)

So anyway, I really gotta rein it in because when I first met him, Archbishop Hughes, it was at the Rite of Initiation at St. Louis Cathedral in the French Quarter when I was doing my RCIA classes. He is like this tiny little man. Y’all know I have the weak spot for old men. I heart them. I just wanna like bring them all home and make them coffee and pastries. So when I walked up to meet him with Aunt Regina, who is now my godmother, I seriously wanted to go “Oh my GOD, how fucking precious are you. I just wanna put you right here in my pocket.”

So my goal is to land somewhere in the middle of THAT girl up there and the one who would burst out of the meeting room in assless chaps and pasties going….

WELCOME MUTHAFUCKAHS!!!!!

That? Is one slippery slope, my friends.

Most of you already know but today is Liz’s birthday!

Happy Birthday you TRAMP ASS SLUTASTICAL BFF.

I heart you.

Hope all your birthday wishes come true.

I emailed many of you to let you know that my friend, Tanya, would be on the Oprah show. For those of you that are busy with your own lives or really just want to forget (I can’t say as I blame you), today is the 2nd anniversary of Katrina. People magazine did a story about the reopening of a school in the lower 9th ward that was a long time coming. Three of Tanya’s children attend that school and were featured in the story. Somehow, Oprah’s editors were made aware of their story and she was followed by a camera crew and Gayle King (for those of you with heads up your asses, that’s Oprah’s BFF) and was just now featured on the show. They did not go into her health problems but mainly focused on the fact that they applied for and were given aid almost a year ago and have yet to see a DIME. They are dangerously close to having to move out of their FEMA trailers and despite Tanya’s husband having to work two jobs (Tanya is now not able to work due to Crohn’s disease which causes her excrutiating pain.) they can not afford to move elsewhere while waiting to rebuild their home.

I sat and cried for my friend. I cried out of sadness, horror, and memories of what it was like leaving and coming back to this city. Over everything else, I cried out of shame. This girl is my friend. And I did nothing. I knew when she got back to the city last summer and I knew she was in her trailer and I naively thought “Oh, well, she’ll be back in her house at some point and I’m sure they are fine.” They are NOT fine. They have not BEEN fine. I shoved my head in the sand and blocked out all the noise. I ignored someone who I am sure could have used a helping hand but would have never asked due to pride.

There is so much that I find distasteful of this area. So much ignorance. So much to be disgusted over. So much that makes me wish that I lived anywhere but here. I was so caught up in looking down my nose that I lumped my friend in with “all of them.” You know who I mean. The people who defrauded the system. The idiots who came back to town after 3 months of no crime and have sent our murder rates skyrocketing. The people who got their insurance checks and spent it acting ghetto rich for a month until they were once again faced with having nothing and now a roof that probably leaks on their heads at night.

That is not Tanya. It never was. She was a hard working girl who worked much longer than she should have with her disease because, well, that is what you do. You provide for your kids and if you are in pain, you suck it up. I am quite certain it chaps her ASS that she can’t work now. Her husband works seven days a week. In her own words, they have gotten ahead a few times just barely only to have something happen to send them right back down.

How many of us have known how that feels? That has happened to me more times than I can count. And yet here I sit. In my home that is warm and dry and free of mold. I am healthy, my hubs is healthy (even has mobile sperm, doncha know), our pets are DISGUSTINGLY healthy and spoiled. We are blessed in millions of ways. And yet, I did nothing. How absolutely abominable is it that it never fucking occurred to me to fucking CALL HER. How sickening is it that people like her and her hubs and many others are being treated the way they are.

I have always thought I was a good friend, but this has shown me otherwise. I have a lot of work to do. We all do. Do something. Do anything. Do it for all the Tanyas in the world who should have been treated better. Please look outside your own tiny box of problems, ok? I didn’t. But I will now. I owe it to her.

We ALL owe it to people like her.

So yeah, I am finally doing the vacation post. I know, I suck, but damn it, I have a day job and obligations and sometimes stuff has to go on the back burner. But y’all love me anyway, right?

RIGHT?

Shut up.

So anyway. Yeah, Miss Piss got in on Friday evening. I worked and then was planning to leave here about 7ish to go grab that stank ass up and while at the fire station trading my itsy car for the truck, I got a text from her that she was on the plane. I was a tad early so I hung with my hubs for a while being that the next morning I was leaving his ass at home gonna be missing him greatly since we were set to leave for Gulf Shores at about noon the next day. Pissy ended up being late getting in but she was kind enough to text me this info so my dumb ass did not have to sit at the airport for 90 minutes annoyed with myself for not bringing a book to read. (I ALWAYS have something to read with me just in case something like that happens.) I finally scoop her up and we head out to eat because we are both starving since at this point it was about 9ish.

Next day, I had a bit of work to do in the AM but it worked out fab because that gave Piss some time to sleep in and then shower and all that while I clickity clacked away at work.

An aside: My computer is in the guest room. So I had to burst in on her while she slept. Complete with the Pooper who WAS DYING to go up to her face and give her kisses but after many hushed “Come lay down right HERE” he relented and finally found a spot at the end of the bed to snooze. He did, however make sure to face her since at the first sign of movement, he was planning to make a break for her face for some serious lickage because clearly she had not been loved enough by him. Damn dog. We got on the road and made it to our place by about 4ish. We stayed here.

It was FAB. There were 4 towers that were right on the beach, a clubhouse, places to eat on the site, and detached little cottages that people also own. Amazing. I absolutely loved it. Our condo was right on the ground floor which means we could hear the waves. I was in HEAVEN. Nothing calms me like the sound of water and especially crashing waves. Let me just say that I have always bitched about the Gulf because there are not waves down here. Yeah, there is that little tide crap y’all have that goes whoosh up on the beach. I want waves bitches. Well, I guess due to Hurricane Dean out in the Gulf, it stirred some shit up because they were larger than I’d ever seen down here. Granted the surf was hardly what I would have seen in my youth growing up out West but it suited my purposes. Soooooooooooooooooooothing. Loved it.

That night, we grabbed some dinner at the Mellow Mushroom. OMG. I heart this place. Damn Pissy had one in the town she lives in. Uh huh, never knew it. She’s special, ok? We may have gone back again. And got the exact same thing. Uh huh. Sho did.

That night after a quick trip to Wally for some crap we forgot, we made a rather early night of it as we were both wrecked. I was tahred. I had a busy week and had just been going going going and it so caught up to me. We crashed and hard. I woke up the next morning at 11 God damn 30. Bitches, I don’t do that. EVER. I am up normally at 6 or 7. I am not happy about it when I am up that early but that’s how I roll. I so needed that sleep. I looked in the mirror and I had nary a dark circle. HELLO. No concealer needed. Loved it. We lolled around for a bit and then made our way to the beach. OK, I know Kami called Arizona hell hot, but um, no. Try 105 in Alabama. With probably, ohhhhhhhh, 80-90% humidity? Uh huh. Why even do your hair? OH YES. I must say. My hair? While in Bama? I have no clue WTF was going on - but it either loved being on vaca, loved that water, loved that I slept a kagillion hours but my shit was soft, no frizz (even with that insane humidity) and fab. I have not been a fan of my hurr for quite some time but it was the best I’d seen it look in forevs.

I digress. So we go lay on the beach. Rent us some fab chairs with a very necessary umbrella and parked it with our adult beverages, crap magazines and my book. It was BLISS. In my head I was laughing at the people there with their children. I mean, I love kids and am actively trying to create my own spawn but do you have any clue how nice it was to do whatever the hell we wanted without having to chase some kid down the beach because he would not just sit and build a damn castle? Yeah, I may or may not have been laughing in my head at those poor parents. That will be me one day and karma is a bitch. I’m cool with that though.

The next day, we did the same damn thing. Lather rinse repeat bitches. It was just so chill. By then, the kids were gone and there was just us, some other fams with smaller children and peace and quiet. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh…….When I tell you all that our goal was to spend as much time as we could chilling at the beach with no discernable plan of what to do 4 hours from then or the next day, I am so not kidding. There was NO itinerary. We’d finally be like “Hmmmm…..guess we should eat dinner” and go back to the condo, shower, dress and be out to eat later that night for some grub.

On our last day, we reluctantly checked out and made our way back home. On the way, we had an insanely unhealthy lunch here…..

Carb Central, bitches. That shit was good too. We had shopping to do and needed some fuel. Foley has some awesome outlets and we hit those up first. We both scored some fab finds, I am pleased to report. After finishing up there, we began our drive home but there is another outlet Mecca in Gulfport, MS so we hit that one up too but only briefly because we wanted to go here.

So your next question may be…..So did you pull the trigger? Pop the cherry? Get your Coach on? And I am sorry to disappoint but no.

Girls, here is the thing. I love me some handbags. I do. But seriously. There was nothing in there that I could justify spending a couple hundred bucks on AT LEAST. At heart, I am a middle class girl and spending that sort of cash on a HANDBAG is insanity at my current level of income/debt ratio. It would have been grossly irresponsible and frankly, that ain’t me. So I passed. Luckily there was nothing that left me panting and licking the glass on my way out. That would have been difficult. And embarassing.

We got back here and unloaded all of our CRAP. It was staggering. Lord. Our shit multiplied. Pissy did not have to leave until the next day which was fab because if I am anything, it is a selfish whore and I was not ready for her to leave me yet. We hang that night and watched a movie. I did have to work the next day but we did the me work/her sleep combo again which had worked really well a few days prior. Gage, again, did not understand how someone could be so very close and not realize she was in desperate need of dog love, but with many whispered “Park IT” he finally relented and eventually left the guest room. He can’t take rejection. Gay dogs are delicate like that.

We did a quick lunch out and then that evening I had to get her to the airport. Sigh. Some crap about her wanting to see her kid or sumfin. Whatever. All I know is we had big fun. She was the PERFECT vaca partner. I am all about relaxing. I don’t want a minute by minute detailed plan. I don’t wanna decide where to eat over the next 8 days and allocate time for this, that and the other. I live my life like that 24/7. I don’t wanna roll that way on vaca. Ya hurd?

Oh, I forgot the best part. The following may have been uttered by someone (not me) while on vaca. I do believe that we reached a new level of friendship after this one.

“You GOTTA come see what just fell outta my ass.”

And I actually went and looked. Uh huh.

Cause that’s how we roll. Bitches.

I am trying to work and can’t because I have all this crap in my head that I want to scream at people, so here goes:

-There are bigger problems than yours in the world. AND guess what? If you did not create at least half of the drama in your life, you’d be flat out amazed at how stress free your life could be. But then? Yeah, you could not ask for (and receive - it really fucking slays me) the copious amounts of sympathy that you get on the regular. Gag me, ok? Quit being an attention whore.

-You are just like all the rest. I seriously thought perhaps you were a tiny bit different, not nearly as shallow and pathetic, but yep, I was wrong. I am disappointed. You will go down the same path that you claimed to be so against. What-the-fuck-EVER. Save it for someone who is buying that bullshit.

-You are such a cool person and I have yet to figure out why you feel the need to act in the way that you do. Seriously. Find some confidence and your own identity. Quit trying to be something you are not.

-You? Seriously, just stop. You have tried twice now to get into my business. I will block your stupid self every time too. I was not born yesterday, fuckrag.

-I am only gonna say this once. If you are miserable, change your situation. Jesus damn Christ people. Please quit belly aching about shit if you do absolutely nothing to change it. If you were at least trying, I’d be there for ya with some support but fuckin’ A, enough.

-I expected more from you. I have heard from you a total of, what, twice in the last six months? Thanks for that. If you can’t be there for me the way a friend should, then seriously, just don’t be there at all. I am tired of counting on people that don’t have time to be there.

-Oh and you. Jesus. You GOTTA be fucking kidding me with this shit. Am I supposed to feel pity for you? HELLO, fuckwad. I don’t feel pity. Not one tiny iota because guess what? All this was preventable. And seriously? Go elsewhere with that shit. Oh, and yes, please - GROW. THE. FUCK. UP.

-Turning your children into people that can’t think for themselves? Yeah, that gets you both mom and grandmother of the fucking YEAR. Congrats. Dumbasses.

-Guess what? Wait, this is mind blowing. Wait for it. Hold on. Here it comes. The world? Yeah, it does NOT revolve around you. So when you hear something that you need to pass on that is very important, PASS. IT. THE. FUCK. ON. TO. THE. PROPER. PERSON. Don’t take the tiny bit of information you were told about YOU and then sit on the rest. This was shit that people needed to know. I thought perhaps you had grown up slightly. Uh huh, wrong again. (I am sensing a theme.)

-Quit dressing like a whore. Apple didn’t fall far from that tree, did it?

I am too irritated today to do a proper post about my vacation. Maybe tonight after I get home from a meeting, I’ll be in a nicer mood. I will at least try to get the pictures on Flickr though.

Maybe I can fucking concentrate on work now.

Yeah, I’m here. Whoop-dee-fuckin-doo.

I have been reprimanded by someone (Kami) about getting my damn post up complete with pictures and funny comments and stories about my road rage (which Miss Piss has seen first hand now and even heard me bust out with a C. U. Next. Tuesday. comment) and I promise - that is all coming, but I have this really annoying thing that I really wanna fucking get rid of and if you all would do a little dance for me tonight, I’d appreciate it.

It is called the “Please Allow SFG to Win the Motherfucking Powerball” dance. It involves a lot of flailing of legs and a very Elaine from Seinfeld type vibe to it so my whitest of white readers can partake. Yeah, I’m fuckin kind that way.

So I have a job and I can’t ditch it and blog full time until I win that bitch. Oh, and I need a volunteer to hold my money in a trust for approximately 20 more child support payments because I’d sooner shove my left tit in my garbage disposal than give that fucking whore one more damn dollar.

Word.

Sorry - last post is gone. I don’t think too many read it anyway which is fine.

I need this vacation because I am in a seriously pissed off God damn mood and am ready to fucking kill a bitch. I am tired. Annoyed. Completely not sympathetic and ready to tell just about everywhere where the fuck to get off.

So see ya when I get back. Let’s hope I have a nicer outlook when I return.

Son of a BITCH.

OK, one would presume that in order to get into medical school, one would posses at least a working general intelligence, right? Probably top of your class, right? Probably got through, oh, let’s say, high school English?

Then, DAMN IT. Allow me to vent.

Dear New Residents:

Yes, it’s that time of year, fuckwads. July 1 means new residents in hospitals. Yeah for us. You get to find out that Grey’s Anatomy is not what your life will be like. You won’t find your true love is some really really really hot guy (hold on, I have to think about Denny a moment…..ahhhhhhhhhhh) and lie in his arms in your Cinderella prom dress when he dies. That also means that hospital activity goes waaaaaaaaaaaaay down because anyone with half a head knows that July 1 is New Resident Day and therefore elective procedures? Yeah, those bad boys are put right the fuck off. Because me? I am alllllllllll about waiting to get my kid’s ear tubes in until after you have popped your surgical cherry. Ya feel me?

So please. In the interim. Do me and every other damn medical transcriptionist a favor. Go to any book store. Find a book on grammar and sentence structure. READ IT. Then, find a book on public speaking. Read that bitch too. Because guess what, Dr. McFuckface? Every time you say “ummmmmmmmmmm…hold on……….lemme find the page” and then spit out a few words and then RESTRUCTURE THE ENTIRE SENTENCE FOR THE FOURTH GOD DAMN TIME…….it costs me money. I work on production. So the clearer your speak, the faster I type. The faster I type, the quicker you get your report back and the more money I make. And the happier I will be which is only good for you, son of a BITCH.

And YOU. I’ll just call you………..Eddie…because that is your name. You and me? We gotta have a sit down. First of all, slow. the. fuck. down. And hey, find a template. I know that hospital has them. Some of the residents discovered them and when they do their dictation, the heavens part, light shines down, birds sing and I TYPE. Once. I do not type, backspace two lines, start over, type some more and then listen to them go “uhhhhhhhhhhhh…..hahaha….uh….wait, lemme start over.” Seriously, Eddie. I have your name. I know the hospital you work at. I will drive up there and hurt you.

So one day, if you are on the phone calling in your dictation, and you see this streak of fury come barrelling at you screaming that she has not bought a purse in FIVE FUCKING MONTHS because she has been dealing with residents who do not understand sentence structure (hint: If you have a subject, find a motherfucking predicate or I will cut you.) and when she has to deal with them, her money suffers, then please don’t be shocked. After I rip the knife out of your neck, I’ll put tabbies in a grammar book for you on all the needed pages.

Because I am just fucking nice like that.