The Neighs Have it

Let me start off with saying I have a unwarranted fear or horses, probably bought on by cowboy movies and Ben Hur where they kick, bite and roll over on people. On a 6 mile bike ride, I made an unexpected turn into an area of a state park that I didn't even know existed and started to climb up to the top of the hills, I became exhausted and decided to walk my bike up the rest of the way. It was then that I noticed a large group of unsupervised horses off to the side, eating grass. I figured as long as I didn't startle them, they would freak out and trample after me. I slowly and silently walked passed them. And then, one of them (the leader?) gives a horse neigh sound. Suddenly, they all started walking behind and to the side of me, like the Jets, ready to pounce. I managed to keep my cool because, maybe like dogs, they can smell fear. On the trail, separating different area is a barbed wired fence and a metal cow gate for entry. I figured out that these horses think that I'm leading them to exit through the cow gate so that they can go somewhere else and eat more grass. Most likely, this is a routine that their owner does during the day. The top of the hill was a lot higher than I wanted to go so I decided to turn around and go back. Unfortunately, at this time, the horses are blocking my path. Like a scene from the Birds, I cautiously walked my bike pass these gigantic human rolling-over animals.

 Thing are going smoothly until this large white one comes right up to me. Like an alien meeting a human for the first time it examines me and my bike so close that I thought I might as well touch it. I reach out my hand, quite prepared for it to bite it off and  it lets me touch it right between the eyes, then it let's me pet it. I walk my bike around it and it and a few others start to follow me down the hill. The white horse starts licking and trying to eat my bicycle seat. The horses figure out that I'm not some horse wrangler come to liberate them and they trotted off back to where they were before. I rode home vowing to never eat horse meat.

Leia's Outfit

Okay. In Return of the Jedi, Leia gets captured trying to save Han and in the next scene, she's wearing the classic slave Leia outfit. My question is, how did we go from dressed like an alien to intergalactic bikini babe? Keep in mind that Leia has proven that she is tough and is capable of killing. You have three scenarios:
1) "Put this on or we'll drug you and put it on you."
2) "Put this on or these two  Lekku women will force it on you (much wrestling ensues, many men were entertained) and…
3) "Put this on? Gladly! I've always wanted to wear one of these! O-M-G! is that Bantha fur? Do you know how hard it is to work with Bantha fur? This is good craftsmanship. Can I keep this after I escape? I'm serious, after I kill you all, I'm totally gonna keep this. Han Solo is gonna get a raging boner when he sees me in this one.

That's all, E.M.

Fool's Facebook Faux Pas

So anyway. This fellow employee asked  me why I didn't like to Facebook friend people at work who were supervisors and managers. I found his question rather puzzling because it would be obvious why you would not want to be Facebook friends with your supervisors and managers especially if you have a blog like this one. If you're Facebook friends with them how are you supposed to talk freely about how bad your day was at work?

For example: Suppose there's a guy name Jorge. Jorge has a Facebook account and he has stupidly friended his supervisor and his manager

Jorge: "LOL. Shit was so funny what my boss did today. 'There' so stupid sometimes. (note: why do people never use the word 'they're'?)

Supervisor: "And what exactly did I do today, Jorge?"

Jorge:"It's nothing."

Supervisor: "No,  please Jorge, remind me of how stupid I am."

Jorge:"No, it wasn't you man… It was one of other supervisors… Yeah that's it.

Supervisor:"Really, which one? Jennifer that's in the wheelchair because of her polio? Or Margo that's going through a horrible divorce and her father's dying. Which one of us is the stupid one Jorge ? Tell me please.

Jennifer: "OMG! I Can't believe you think I'm stupid, Jorge!

Margo: "WHY ARE YOU GUYS EXPOSING MY SHIT IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE WORLD!!!!!!!!

Supervisor: "It's not me, it's Jorge."

Jennifer: "Fuck you, Bill! Why don't you talk about how you're always starring at my ass, all the fucking time.!"

Supervisor: "Hey! I can look where I want."

Margo: Jenny. Don't worry about it. Bill is so gay he sews his own dresses."

Supervisor: "I AM NOT GAY!"

Mr. Head Supervisor: "You guys. I think we should all have a meeting about privacy policies, tomorrow in my office."

Supervisor: "Shit! Jorge! Your friends with Tom?" (Note: Drives me nuts when people don't use 'you're')

Jorge:"I forgot I friended him. He never post anything or clicks 'like."He must have been lurking for the past year."

Mr. Head Supervisor: "Yes. And I really enjoyed all of those shots of you at a bar, hangng with your hommies and as you said in the photo:  "Try'n to get on some bitches."

Rita: "I knew it! Jorge, you fucking cheater! 'Your' so dead!" (Note: 'your'. ugh!)

Jorge: "Thanks boss. My life is ruined."

Mr. Head Supervisor: "Only half. The other half will be ruined monday morning when I fire you."

Jorge: "WTF? Ahh man well… FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL YOU PUSSIES! I QUIT! YOU CAN SUCK THE AIR OUTTA MY FAT BALLS YOU PUNK ASS BITCHES!

Miss Rodriguez: "I'm so ashamed to call you my son. Such a disrespectful young man."

Jorge: "Ma?  'Your' one of my friends? I thought you were dead?"

Miss Rodriguez: "No, I'm just a lurker."


That's all, E.M.

Clean your Damn House!

I'm not the most anal-retentive person in the world but I do like to have a clean house. Nothing pisses me off more than a house that's so dirty, you are starting to step on important stuff. Don't you just love that sound of cracking plastic of a CD cover or that electronic device that your lazy ass didn't pick up? I think, even if you don't want to have a house or apartment which would be the envy of Felix Unger,  Your house should at least be sanitary, especially the bathroom and the kitchen. Your bathroom is the petridish of the entire house. It has a place for shit. There are no other places in your house where shit should be. If you have shit anywhere else in your house  (exception for TV shows and litter boxes) then you have a major problem and your kids need to be taken away. The bathroom is also where all of the other body fluids should be. Why the hell do people floss their teeth while watching TV? That's crap flying of of your mouth and onto the living room floor! Speaking of living rooms. That's the first place that people see when they enter your house. If the rest of your house is as clean as a hospital bed, it doesn't matter, because if the living room is dirty, you might as well have an old, festering horse carcass in the hallway. There's always this pattern of travel people take in your house whenever the visit and it drives me fucking bananas. It doesn't matter who they are: fist time visitors, in-laws, neighborrhood kids. They always travel the same route in our house so I have to make sure I have these rooms clean whenever anyone visits:

1) The living room is first, like I said, but I've seen in-laws go to the back door first for some strange reason, so make sure that area is clean.

2) They go into the kitchen: The only reason I think they do this is to make sure you're not trying to pull a fast one with the clean living room trick. Sometimes they may be carrying food which would be a good reason to be in your kitchen–IF THEY LET YOU TAKE THE FOOD TO THE KITCHEN. But they want to do it themselves, a clue that they're just spying on you.

3) Bathroom:  Everyone ends up there. Make sure you hide your pills in case they're a drug addict friend or just nosey and want to figure our what medical problems you're hiding. You may get away with a dirty bathtub for friends because they won't look behind a shower curtain, but in-laws will look for mold.

4) Bedrooms: You can close the door to the master bedroom but not the kids room. Everyone ends up there when the brats yell: "Hey! Aunt Bathsheba! You want to see my Barbie Planned Parenthood Clinic?

5) Backyard: If it's not going to rain, clean it. It doesn't have to be sterile but if there are kid visitors, you may want to remove the chainsaw collection and the wasp-nest honey experiment you have going in the back.

6) Basement: "Why the fuck are you going in my basement?" I think, but there they go. I've seen kids do this more than in-laws and friends. This should be danger free for that reason. Also, get rid of the porn collection, at least the fetish ones.

7) Front yard:  If the house had a head, this would be the hair. Everyone sees it and it goes downhill from there. Get the bathtub/toilet planter off the lawn you hillbilly!

8) Linen closet: Why the fuck? Again. Only female in-laws look in there.I remember this one time when a girl visited me and my roommates house. The first thing she said was:  "It's clean." Seriously, you've never seen our apartment. What were you expecting? Just because we're men, doesn't mean we spend all of our time mud wrestling bears in the living room. I decided that the reason some people like to snoop in your house when they visit is to 1) See if your shit is better than yours and 2) See if their chaotic lives are better than yours. If your place is clean, it's like saying:  "In your face! We've got two kids and a clean mother fucking house, bitch!


 I actually say that to the in laws when they visit, usually thrusting my pelvis in their direction. I had a neighbor stop by unexpectedly. We were busy opening birthday presents and so their was wrapping paper all over the floor. The rest of the house was clean. She looked so pleased to see the mess and said how she didn't feel bad about her messy house, now. I resisted the urge to say: " Do you open birthday presets everyday at your house?

After writing all of this, I think I'm going to go clean up, now.That's it, E.M

Brohoof!

What an interesting day I had.

1) It all started in the morning, when I saw a woman in an electric wheelchair popping a wheelie across the street. at first I thought "cool" But now I wonder, hmm, maybe her chair has a short in it and she's zooming out of control. Oh, well, I'm sure we'll hear about it on the news.

2) A woman comes to my cash register. A) She's buying a handful of materiality sized dresses. B) she has a big stomach. C) She's complaining to me that she has to "live in these dresses." So with these pieces of evidence, I assume that she's tired of the lack pregnancy attire and can't wait to slim back to normal. To which she says: "What makes you think I'm fat?" Which of course I say: " Well, after a while, you'll lose all the weight." To which she says: "Maybe I like the way that I am." Which raises my antenna that she's not pregnant! just fat!

Stranger still than both of these, I got my yearly review or as I like to call it: 'here we go again.' But it was actually positive. I don't think it was because I became Mr. super Target team member, go-for-it bull shit. just that I've learned what their tolerance level is for talking to me and I try to stay right above that level. Perhaps they thought that since I'm hovering above shit level like a woman levitating over a toilet in a public rest room,  than I've joined the herd–brohoof!

Ain't gonna happen.

I notice that the drug dealing kid across the street has had a lot of his Bronnies coming and going lately. I actually thought he had quit the whole "illegal" thing. No reason for the air quotes, I just like using them.  Then again, maybe he's not selling pot anymore, maybe he and his friends are setting up an internet company or a baby sitting service, or perhaps a combo–a service that sells drugs and babies over the internet.  As for my business I don't like the fact I have to go back to art to try to dig myself out of another hole. Art should be a journey, not a distraction or the blue pill that fools you into thinking everything is going to be all right. Because it's not. Shit's going to happen (is it shit's or shits?). Sure, I had a good day today, but I'm sure a bad day is right around the corner, holding a baseball bat with nails in it. But so what. It's going to be there one way or another. At least I'll have lots of  pretty pictures in the world with my name on them, even if they don't sell. Whenever they talk about the famous artist that made lots of great art but never made a dime, they always talk about Van Gough. It's like some lesson to the failed artist: "Don't worry, you're not famous now, but when you're dead, you're gonna be rich...in heaven or hell." That's a question, is it better to be rich in heaven or hell? In heaven You really can't have a room full of strippers lying down in a row as you play a sexy game of steam roller, I'm pretty sure the Evangelical god hates that. On the other hand, I'm sure in hell there are no relaxing zen gardens where you can just chill out without somebody bothering you and offering you cocaine or a firey, demon blow job.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Van Gough died and then became rich in hell. Big deal for him. I really have no interest in waiting until death before I sell an art piece, I want my stripper steamroller game now! What I have learned about trying to sell art is it's 5% talent, 35% who you know and 60% attitude. Back when I worked at Binder's Art Supplies in Atlanta, There was this guy I had to work with, let's call him Loud Mouth. L.M was a terrible artist. His paintings sucked and I'm not being petty. But L.M. Was good at one thing. He talked and bullshited about how great he was and was good at selling his awful shit for a thousand dollars a pop. What he would do was do a painting of a non-famous basketball player, take some photo's of that portrait (as horrible as it looked) to a game and show it to the player who would flip because after all, no one ever noticed them when they sit on the bench all the time. So he not only found a market but he was able to sell himself. Brohoof to him for that, negative props for society for supporting bad art. I saw a lot of bad art t that job, Once, a lesbian couple came in with a nice painting of yellow sun flowers on a blue back ground. They had us frame it with a brown mat and a black frame. It looked like shit. Perhaps they did it that way to match their ugly dog-stained furniture at home. I hated that job. I was really bad at framing and this guy that made the frames, called from another location and was complaining about how bad of a framing job I was doing.  By this point, I was moving to California, so I hung up on him. Lick my balls! (I wish I had also said).

 I was also dating a girl at work, I use the term dating loosely because after all we had been doing(stripper steam roller) while her boyfriend was in jail for urinating on the sidewalk (not a joke), as soon as he got out of jail, she let him move in with her. This was after me and my good friends helped her move out of her old apartment in one night, not an easy task because she apparently never heard of closets, drawers or anything else you put your stuff in. Clothes and crap were all over the floor and had to be packed away. So We broke things off and I had to work RIGHT NEXT TO HER! You talk about torture and suffering. Then she started dating this customer. I have no idea what happened to Mr. urine. Can you imagine working next to someone you dated and then they start dating someone that gets paraded in front of you?

There is a happy sequel tough.Because of what she did, I had no reason to stay in Atlanta.I moved to California and have a wife and kids. Without her horrible actions, my kids would have never been born!!! If we had stayed together with our Jerry Springier life, I'm sure she would have repeatedly cheated on me and heaven forbid if we lived together, our floor would have had a 2 feet deep carpet of garbage. Whew! That was a close one!.

Lesson, the red pill sucks but at least you get out of the Matrix.

That's it, E.M.

Mr. Snot

I realized that due to posting so much on FaceBook, I rarely get a chance to update this blog, so, here I go.
 Let's see, since last we spoke, I was working a Target , it sucked and I was feeling sad. Well, I'm still there, it still sucks but, It doesn't bother me as much because I've come to the conclusion that all jobs suck. look at Whitney Houston. career, fame, family. Not good enough; MUST–SNORT–MOUNTAIN–OF–COCAINE! I'm trying to focus on my art because a  shrink told me that it's that thing that keeps me for being on the 6 O'clock news as THAT guy that did the horrible thing with the you-know-what. Every year, right after Christmas, Target cuts your hours because the big rush is over and nobody want  to  buy anything. I mean, let's face it, you can't have a Martin Luther King Jr. sale: "I have a dream...and great prices on flat screen TVs!" Eventually, the closer you get to the next holiday, the more hours you get back. During that down time I started cranking out art and developing an actual plan to sell some shit. Suddenly, my hours went from 2 days per week to 5, What the fuck happened? One minute the mofos are complaining about how non-Target I am and the next they're shoving hours down my throat. I was so surprised by this, that I had forgotten that I listed Saturday and Sunday as being  available days to work. I haven't worked those days,  literally, in years. When I saw them on the schedule, I nearly pit my shants. Wha-wha what? work on a Saturday night. Saturday night is extra horrible at Target. It's like it turns into a football field sized 7-11. Drunks pimps and hoes are all there, getting their miserable purchases for their miserable lives and buying  their miserable breakfast cereals.
I cringe in fear every time I see three large women, in pajama pants  and hair curlers in their hair. What the fuck, THEM! I mutter. I discovered  If I shut my mouth, I have a vague chance that they will do the same and we can all get through this transaction without them flying off the handle like a rusty, broken machete. Worst than the customers, is the supervisor you have to work with. There's this guy, let's call him that Bald Ignorant Guy, Says Negative Offensive Things or: BIG SNOT. Even the most kind hearted people hate to work with him because he constantly criticizes you  and never sends you on your break. On many occasion people have just went on their own breaks after given up on him . Sometimes people have gone on their breaks 15 minutes before going home! I'm pretty sure this is illegal. I have no idea what his problem is but I do know he's very insecure about something out side of Target. Maybe his wife and kids like to tie him up and beat him like a piñata or maybe he WANTS  his wife and kids to tie him up and beat him like a piñata–what ever. When he comes to work he wants to spread it to you like a virus. I HATE MY LIFE, MUST TAKE REVENGE ON WORLD! After I figured this out, I was at least able to keep him from talking to me. If you say anything to him and heaven forbid, it's a contradiction to some stoooooooooooopid shit he says, then it's over, he'll spend the rest of the evening making your life a living hell and trying to get a rise out of you. Bully classic. Big Snot works every damn night which I guess makes him a lifer that has swallowed the blue pill with a Dixie™cup of purple Kool Aid™. I've heard that you should never vote for anyone that want to be president because, immediately there is something wrong with people that wants that much power. I think the same is true with anyone that wants t be a supervisor AND will never be promoted above that. The smart ones get transferred to another section of the store but not the ass hats that stick around for years. eventually, spines curves down, and they turn into charactertures of Montgomery Burns, becoming more bitter with every shift, and indulging in sadistic, emotional masturbation on any, that come  within reach of their 2 inch circumcised egos.  

But enough about Target, I mean really, enough about that stupid Job. Let's talk about something else:

Of the two nuisance houses we have: House #1 with the drug dealing teenager and house #2 with the people that were always on the front stoop yelling as if there was no inside to their house and it as just a facade. House two's occupants got kicked out of their house because they haven't paid their property taxes in three years. I had no idea you could get evicted from your own house if it's paid for.  We were so happy to see them go, but low and behold, in moves a new breed of yellers that had a party which ended in the loud sounds of: "Bitch this!" And  "Bitch that." Is that housed cursed by a very loud ghost? I'm hoping it's an isolated incident or the person doing the most yelling hates them and won't ever visit again. But really, what were they thinking?
"Hey, we got a house, with a roof and a toilet INSIDE the house!"
"Let's have a party!"
"Let's invite Henrietta, your neanderthal, extra loud-mouthed cousin!"
"I hate that bitch!"
"Look at you! Mr. Monopoly guy with the hat and monocle! Bought a house and already a snob!"

3AM there she was, refusing to leave the party, yelling at the host. Don't you love it when somebody drinks up all your liquor and then curses you out? I'm so glad I'm a concerned drunk. you know you have happy drunks, sad drunks and angry drunks, When I get drunk I wash your dishes or want to make sure the girls in the room aren't going to get raped. In collage I actually baby sat 3 girls and kept them for going home with strange creepy guys the whole night, what did I get for it? Nothing! What a sap. Like many guys, I always imagine what my life would be like if I were the creep and had taken advantage of the girls. Having daughters now all I can say is I hope my daughters have a nerdy friend like me, keeping ghetto sperm away from them. The only difference will be, I'll approach the boy, thank him for saving my daughter for marriage if not more high quality sperm and then slip him a hundred bucks: "This is for  your trouble. Keep up the good work. There's more where that came from and if you violate them yourself and they get an STD or pregnant and have to leave school, I'm going to take the rest of their collage fund and pay someone large and smelly to violate you. Maybe you can do something horrible to preserve your daughters chastity. Go on to a FaceBook chat with their friends and say how you heard they have a boyfriend in prison who's going to escape on prom night just to murder her prom date. Or the only reason she's so nice is because of the cup full of meds she takes every morning to curb her obsession, cutting hot dog shaped objects in half with scissors.

Every now and then they mention how they have crushes on boys in class. It's sounds cute but I guess that's how it starts: I have a crush on the boy that eats paste; I have a crush on the boy that collects Pokemon cards; I have a crush on the boy with the car, that snorts glue and plays poker.

One of my girls got a valentine of some type of Lego action figure, lightning bolts coming from it's hand and the words: FACE YOUR FEAR! on it. How romantic I thought. I guess the boys in their class are still in girls, yuck! mode. If only they could keep that up until the girls graduate form college and get a good job and travel around the world, after that, get pregnant all you want. If there is a God it should have made it so woman have a thick, spiky fold of skin that covers the vagina and doesn't open up until they have fulfilled their life dreams. Imagine you couldn't have sex unless you really worked on your life first, and men would be motivated to help them: Porn magazine would be full of women doctors, chemist and other successful women with fully developed sex organs. Everywhere, crys of: "C'mon honey! Study damn it! Don't you want to become a doctor! What do you mean I'm being selfish? I love fracturing my Johnson on that dangerous trampoline thing on you crotch.


That's it: E.M

Still Here

So much to remember since the last time I put anything on this blog thing. Okay, still working at Target. I hit my 3 year mark even tough every year I said: "This will be my last Christmas here." They actually let you get a small gift-thing once you hit 3 years. Everything had a Target logo on it so I declined. Why do I want Target to enter into my world outside the walls of Mordor? There are people who seem to like working there. The Orks and trolls; and speaking of which. The troll Chinese supervisor guy I had, actually got fired for being an Asshole. I'm not kidding. I'm sure it was because he was inefficient or some shit like that but either way, I actually give the upper management mad props for spreading the love evenly. Then there was the Gollum-like Japanese, girl supervisor. She actually transfered to the back of the store. unsure if that was because she wasn't cutting it or if she said, if I help one more customer, I'm going to put foot to ass so fast, It'll take 3 proctologist to remove it. So they bought in this "new" guy supervisor who met with all of the cashiers and was like "I want to make this a fun place to work." and " I don't want people all stressed here I want to be open to talk to" and blah blah blah blah I'm running out of italics. If I had a watch on my wrist, I would have had something to look at as I counted down the seconds of how long his attitude would change to the usual Supervisor bullshit or as I like to call it STD or "Something To Do." style. Meaning, their entire job is for you to look busy, not be busy with actual work because, after Christmas, when it's dead, there is nothing to do, The store is spotless, there are no customers or even anything to put away. So we either stand around and talk or the Supervisors makes up jobs so that THEIR bosses see that THEY are actually doing something by bossing us around with the most asinine task you can think of.

"Could you wipe down the registers even tough these motherfuckers are so clean, you can check a babies CSF (Cerebral Spinal Fluid) on them?"

Yawn! I'm so board with the same old crap, The customers making the same comments. Recently, I was so used to ignoring their negative comments that I didn't even realize that they were insulted until the Black-girl supervisor told me that they had complained about me. "Wha? I thought? If I'd known they were going to complain about me, I should have put some effort into it. The good news is, it was two old ladies, so they'll be dead soon enough.

Harsh!

Okay, fine. They won't be dead, they'll live another 100 years, sucking the blood out of cashiers and babies, lying on the belt waiting for their CFS to be checked.

It takes so much effort to be an asshole to a cashier. Here's an idea. Either: A) Be nice; B) Shut the fuck up about how I Didn't give you 5 cents credit for your stupid shopping bags; C) Shut the fuck up about how I wouldn't change the roll of $24 paper towels to $16; D) Shut the fuck up about how Target checks everybody's driver's license when you buy booze and no, I don't know or give a fuck what they to with your information, or you can; E) shut the fuck up and get your stupid crappy landfill, plastic, Earth-killing garbage, go to your Earth-killing SUV, drive up to the hills to your house with view of God's back yard, drink your wine, yell at the illegal alien cleaning lady, take your pills. ignore your kids with names like Sky, Dakota and Maya as they play 50 hours of Wii and leave me the hell alone.

It's not my fault that you're old!

It's not my fault that you have everything and yet are still unhappy.

It's not my fault you're poor and your credit card is declined.

It's not my fault you hate men. Blacks, Gays, Democrats, Liberals or Peace.

It's not my fault you named your son Travis or Dillon, gave them a mohawk and are surprised that they act like a little monster.

It's not my fault you have no other outlet for your misery except a defenseless cashier, trying to make it to the end of their day and go to that place where you are not.

That's all, E.M.

Give me money. God bless you etc...

Hey! I have T-shirts and shit for sale.

• Show your contempt for "The Man"!

• Be a non-conformist conformist!

• Be that weird person in high school that will be remembered a lot more than that hazing, jock, douche-bag, now a fat, bald, unemployed used car salesman. Or that peroxided cheerleader, now an alchoholic Republican with skin like a leather wallet.

Go here, buy stuff, be awesome!

Rabbit Studios T-shirts

Vote No on prop 69

Okay. I've finally figured out how something works, which is rare because I break everything and never get them fixed. In California, like a couple of other states we have wacky propositions which appear on the ballots every now and then that make you say: "What a stupid, racist homophobic piece of shit legislation, there's no way in hell, people are going to be that stupid and vote on that." A few months later– surprise! Motherfuckers! It's now illegal for Gays to breathe oxygen.

I can never figure out how these stupid laws get passed. I mean, no one I know voted for them and California seems to be a little more enlightened than Arizona or Texas. Yet, we still pass laws against affirmative action, Mexican citizenship and Gay marriage and there are all of these cities in Cal, waving their blue, hypocritical fingers at Arizona.

The people of Arizona seem to have two flawed thought patterns. 50% of the people that voted to kick Mexicans in the balls, said: "Thisouttashow-um!" And the other side, that would have voted against it because it really is just a law to kick Pedro in the huevos rancheros said: "Well, I'm just tired of kicking people in the balls. I want the federal government to step in and do their job...of kicking Mexicans in the balls. Going on that flawed logic of trying to force the feds to do their jobs by voting for a crazy-ass law is akin to voting for child molesters to become school teachers: "That'll show the feds to not allow school prayer!"

But how, how I wondered, do these laws get passed? If every White person were a racist, White, Christian , Republican, Conservative Male with a thing against Blacks, Gays and Mexicans. They still wouldn't out number the Non racist, White, Blacks Gays and Mexicans who should be voting against the racist/homophobic laws. Ahhhh, but theres the rub. If the Ultra right tea wingers put a law on the ballot that read:

Prop 69: Shall the State of California make it legal to kick Black, Gays and Mexicans in the Nads?" That proposition wouldn't even get on the ballot. BUT if you were to take proposition 69 and break it into tiny little evil pieces, then you can get it passed before anyone realized that they'd all been slapped, bent and butt fucked...Except perhaps the Gay guy. "Oooo! Oh No he didn't!"

Example: 1) Law 1 in California (prop 13 I think), that said basically: "Shall we take away the money used for homeless shelters and use it to lower our taxes? "Hell yeah!" everyone but the homeless people yelled. Law 1 passes. Years later, California and especially San Francisco are still dealing with the large number of hobo run-offs. Years later:

Law 2 gets on the ballot that says: "Shall California beat up on illegal Mexicans?": "Hell yeah!" Yell the racist Whites, Blacks and Gays. "Hell no!" Yell the Mexicans. Law 2 passes. Years later:

Law 3: "Shall California give Martin Luther King Jr. the finger and take away affirmative action?". Hell yes!: yell the racist Whites, Gays and Mexicans (who are pissed about Law 2). "Are you insane?" Yell the Blacks. Law 3 passes. Then came:

Law 4 (prop 8): "Shall California create state sponsored discrimination against people who want to put a P in an A or tongue to V?" "Hell Yeah!" Yell Homophobic religious ,Whites, Blacks, Mexicans and Hobos who were promised a bottle of mad dog 2020 if they voted yes. "Wha-wha waaa?" Yell the queers who thought: "Surely everybody loves Will and Grace." Law 4 passes.

Do you see the pattern now? In California, Arizona's law would be just the same old bullshit law taken apart and voted on piece by piece. I'm sure in 5 years you'll see Prop 000: "Shall Blacks be forced to ride in the back of the bus?" "Make sense to me" says everyone else not affected by that law. Those are the key words": Not affected." Just like the story of Anne Frank, if you don't stand up when they come for your neighbor, who is going to save your sorry ass when the jack-booted Tea Party thugs vote to have your rights taken away?

10 other states are already talking about an Arizona type law. I'm curious how many of them are actually on the border to Mexico and how many are just part of the master plan to start whittling away the rights of anyone that isn't straight White, Christian , Republican, Conservative males. The only way to stop them is to vote against any law that takes away the rights of anyone. I mean why the hell were we given rights in the first place? Just to have some Hitler asshole take them away?
Did you know the United States didn't enter WW2 until the Japs (their words) bombed Pearl Harbor. And yet everyone including the congress knew what the Nazis were doing to the Jews, England, France, Poland even Africa was getting attacked and it wasn't cool like that show Rat patrol. But as soon as Pearl Harbor is bombed, then we're all like: "Let's get those Nazi bastards!"; The perfect example of waiting until it messes up your shit until you get all upset. Oh Plllease! Give me a fucking break. We should have been up Hitlers ass the minute he grew that ugly mustache.

That's All EM

"Gang way! Big Melons Coming Through!"

One of the things that blows my freaking mind, and by freaking mind, I actually mean fucking mind, are the rich-bitch customers that come into Target. I mean, really, why are you shopping at Target? Are you broke as all hell like the rest of us or is this some kind of slumming thing?: "Look at me, Poopsie, I'm pretending to be poor, let's go to a monster-truck rally, next." But their presence doesn't really bother me, it's the way they say thank you. I know I shouldn't criticize anyone that even speaks to me at Target, I'll get to those knuckle dragger's later, but when these women say thanks You can't hear it unless you were a dog with a cone in his ear. The only sound you hear is the "s" on the end of the word. So instead of thanks, all you hear is : sssssss. "Holy shit!" I yell, "Look out lady! there's a snake in here or a leaky gas pipe!"
Speaking of annoying, How hard is it, when a cashier says"Hello. or thank you, to return the favor? I mean, I totally understand that before you came to Target, You had an abortion and then your car got a flat and then your boyfriend broke up with you by TXT MSG because he didn't think that the baby was his, even tough the baby wasn't even an issue anymore–But still, all you have to do is repeat what the cashier says: If they say: "Good morning", you can even say the more non-committed: "Morning." Or even "Hi" But Nooo, they just ignore me as if I've just said: "Hi, are you fat or pregnant?"

Speaking of pregnant (nice segue). One of the few perks of the job are the pregnant or formally pregnant women. It's not that they're extra nice. Sometimes they are and other times they look like they want to hurl, I should probably stop eating live baby chicks at my register. But for reason's I have to know, they always like to wear these skimpy low-cut tops. Now I'm not into pregnant women like those weird porn sites that cater to those fetish freaks, but if you know anything about human physiology, when women get pregnant and especially during breast feeding, THEIR BOOBS GET GIGANTOR! And so, when they come up to the register, wearing low-cut tank tops, it's like their boobs are leading the way like a pushy, bodyguard shoving adoring fans out of the way to make room for the movie star. But why the low-cut shirts? In winter ? My theory is: Either their boobs hurt and the low cut things are more comfortable; The low-cut tops are easy for baby access or my favorite, they're saying: "Finally! God has blessed me with the body of a Barbie doll without one dollar of surgery! Read-em and weep boys!" Can't touch this! Do do do do!
The only time I was thrown for a loop was when a 20-something year-old woman had a chest like two bald-headed men under a blanket. But then, I noticed that she wasn't pregnant! Nor had she any body fat which also produces women with 44 DDDs. My diagnoses: Stripper, desperate house wife or mafia moll.

Speaking of getting reamed (not a good segue), They gave us our reviews recently and even tough people worked their asses off, picked up their asses and screwed them back on, they of course rewarded us with raises that make working in a Chinese shit factory look like a up-grade.
I've seen this happen before, when I worked for an art supply store. We worked our asses off, picked them up, polished them clean and kept working, and made the store lots of dollar signs. Come raise time, what do they do? Chinese shit factory! This of course caused a mass exodus of all of the good employees and a year later the place went out of business. You heard it here first. If Target folds, don't say they weren't warned.

Speaking of projectile vomiting.
That's all, EM

Schwooong!

On my way to work on Big-ass, slow, truck getting in my damn way, day; celebrated by having a large, slow truck keeping my car from catching any green lights, I heard a story on NPR or as I like to call it: Not Public, Really. There was a story of how scientist want to deal with the whole global warming thing. Not by building electric cars, low watt vibrators or getting people to stop driving SUVs, but by shooting reflective shit into the atmosphere and having the particles reflect sunlight; therefore cooling the planet a little. I'm going to pause for a second so you can think about this.........................Okay, let us think about this. Apparently, none of these scientist have ever seen the Animatrix. Remember, those series of cartoons based on the Matrix? What? Didn't see it? Neither did a lot of people. Okay in one of the series of cartoons, it shows the origin of the whole fucked-up Earth thing and why the sky is all lightning-smoky. Simple: the robots ran on solar power so the humans crop-dusted the atmosphere with smoke to block the sunlight, causing the robots to start using humans as batteries. Of course we don't have any computers or robots that can come close to world domination, YET! (insert 1950's sci-fi music here) But I rather they bribe coal company execs with NASCAR tickets and trailer-whore blow jobs, or spend trillions of dollars on a SUV buy-back program, before we start shooting metallic dust into the atmosphere–it's like sketching with all of humanity! When you try something stupid, like; say, pretending that the carpet is hot lava and try to go around your house without touching the floor (not that I'd ever do that) and your wife comes in and surprises you, causing you to fall onto that ugly-ass lamp you wanted to get rid of anyway, That qualifies as a stupid-ass thing to do BUT the worst thing that happened is a broken lamp shaped like an elephant having sex with Sarah Palin (or at least that's what it looked like to me). You can easily replace the lamp. YOU CAN"T REPLACE THE ATMOSPHERE. There's no reset button that makes that Apple computer start-up noise; Shwoooong!

Have you ever notice that all disaster movies always have a Black president? Is that why scientist want to try the whacky idea that causes tidal waves in the Tibetan mountains?

Coming soon! What happens when tons of metallic dust is shot into the atmosphere?
Jeff Goldblum, Morgan Freeman and John Cusack star in:
Armageddon the Fuck Outta HERE!

Humans are so lazy (I say that as if I'm some kind of alien or robot): OR AM I! But we always take the path of least resistance. Want to solve global warming? Crop dusting! Flooding? Trailers! World hunger or AIDS? Send them Bibles! War? More war!

One day, my daughters will ask me what we did to end global warming. I'd rather say. Built wind mills, bullet trains and carbon sucking power plants instead of scratching my belly, burping and then saying: "We farted into the atmosphere."

That's all, E.M
NPR story here

Life in Mordor

While I was out gathering shopping carts in the cold rain, today I've came to the conclusion that Target is Mordor. I mean, think about it. You have that big glowing logo like a big flaming eye, watching everything. You have the Hobbits (cashiers, sales floor people) who just want to make it trough the working day and be left the fuck alone. You have the Elves: (office people) who aren't evil or anything but want to make things easy for everyone and are therefore a little uncommitted. The Dwarfs: (disgruntled Hobbits) They hate the job so much that they don't give a shit anymore. Dwarfs are usually fired fast, so as not to spread their influence. Monsters: (customers) Not all monsters are bad, some are quite nice. But anyone that enters your personal space should make you put your hand on your sword and prepare for the worst. Trolls: people who do the shit work: (Janitors, loading dock...etc. ) Usually undocumented workers. Wizards:( Head management) Are they good or bad? Doesn't really matter. Their goal is to destroy other wizards (Walmart, Cosco) no matter what they have to do . It's best you stay out of their way or get hit with a lightning bolt. Humans (Realistic supervisors and managers). Whenever I hear any Supervisors complain about any policy's, or change the rules, I think : "Okay, you still have a realistic view of what it's liker to work at a crap ass retail job. therefor, holding on to their humanity. As opposed to:
Golums (Overzealous brain-washed workers) These are the worst of the worst as far as dealing with on a daily basis. These are the employees who have sold their souls to the devil and without a bit of irony, will use words like: "team member" or brand loyalty" and honestly believe any dribble that comes out of the Target manifesto. There's this girl at work who is soooo much into Target that it's like she has absolutely no other life outside of the store. I mean really? Isn't Target just a job? The only people who have any chance of a career are the Elves and wizards. Golums are very unpredictable because at any moment they'll grab the ring and throw your sorry ass into the volcano.

I've been working so long at Mordor, that I feel like I'm slowly getting my soul sucked out of me by that glowing eye thingy. Getting out of bed is like realizing that : "Shit!" I have to get this god-damned ring off before I start using words like :"Target team building exersise"

It doesn't make matters better when people say: "At least you have a job." As opposed to what? Yes, no job could be worst but that's like losing a leg and someone says: "At least you still have one left." George Bushit really did a number on the economy and yet people act like it's Obama's fault for trying to fix it.

I mean, come on! I can track your circulatory system from your heart trough your entire body. I have graphic art experience and animate my own movies. and here I am, gathering shopping carts in the rain, talking poor people into getting credit cards and having customers argue with me because a bra cost $4 more than the sign on the self said. Here's clue: If you had said hello to your cashier, I'd change the price with no problem. Otherwise I deserve a metal for controlling my foot in ass disease.

Bottom line. I have to get the fuck out of Mordor.

That's it:
E.M

"Knock Knock!"; "Who's there?" ;"Customer!"; "Customer who?";"Customers suck!"

The sense of humor is finally starting to kick in with the girls as they are discovering jokes. m told a knock knock joke which was strangely funny and yet simple:

m: "knock knock"
Me:" Who's there?"
m: "Pig!" Me: "Pig who?"
m: "Snort!"

a's jokes are usually more bizarre. the kind of stuff that makes the cat turn her head sideways and say:" Wha?"

a: "knock knock"
Me:" Who's there?"
a: "birthday party"
Me: "birthday party who?"
a: "It's a birthday party, hurray!!"

Very surreal

But "a" does make me laugh sometimes when she doesn't try at all. Like when we were driving to her daycare and she said:

a: "Dad, your food goes in your mouth and comes out of your stomach."
Me: " Well, actually, it goes into your mouth down your throat, down your esophagus, into the stomach, trough the small intestine, then the large intestine and then out of your body. ( I skipped the rectum part).
a: "Dad?"
Me: "yes"
a: "Okay, Dad, that's enough talking."


Here's a video of "m" in all her insanity:


On my drive home from work, I noticed that there are two houses that still have their Christmas lights up. What is that, like 3 months late taking them down. As much as they keep them up, they still can't touch this house around the corner that has had a deflated Santa Claus on it's roof for 2 years straight! What's up with that? Is it lack of a ladder or are they waiting until their son comes back from Iraq before they'll celebrate another Christmas?
I can see it now. Brown tinderbox Christmas tree, dry as a bell, unwatered since December, 2001, which will explode if the light switch is cut on. Outdated Nintendo video games and the first iPod model, still in unopened boxes, pet puppy, now a taxidermed mummy in a box which didn't even have air holes to begin with. At work, I've noticed more of a pattern to the:

Common top 10 Asshole Target customer awards:

1) The Bag Managers: People who watch and criticize every item you put in the bag and re-arrange them (usually not in any better way). I'm sorry if I got in your way of going to Bag Boy school and achieving your dream.

2) Frantic Disorganized Mother with Out-of-control Kids: ('nuff said).

3) Food Stamp Cheats: I try to duck down and hide when I see them coming. They're always a guaranteed bad speed score on the cash register. They buy tons of wet groceries, use big wads of crinkly cash and get angry when they discover that Twinkies, booze and firearms aren't covered by the system.

4) The Plastic Haters: Similar to the Bag Managers but these are people who complain that I (the one who bags every 5 seconds and knows how much stuff you can put in a bag before it explodes) am giving them too many bags so they take stuff out and trow the old bag at me. Now, I'm not a big fan of plastic bags either and I try to reuse the old ones for garbage cans and shit but if you really want to be an environmentalist, don't think for a second that throwing a plastic bag back at me is going to save a fucking plastic tree or whatever. Guess what? The bag is just going to go to the next plastic lover in line and the next one and even if it's not them THE FUCKING PLASTIC BAG ALREADY EXIST! Your refusal to take if will not help the environment. The bag is going to end up somewhere, and do you really think the Plastic Lover is going to recycle it? And if they do, do you really think the bag is going to decompose into some magical fairy dust and disappear in 100 years? Hey stupid! it's plastic! it will out live your righteous, liberal Berkeley ass longer than your Prius! Dumb ass. Here's an idea if you want to get rid of the plastic bags in the environment, REMOVE THE DEMAND FOR FUCKING PLASTIC BAGS! Bring your own canvas bags. My god I loooooove those things. I can pack the hell out of them and the people that bring them are always nice. If we all use canvas bags, the plastic people may start to make those and how many canvas bags do you see in landfills? Dumbass!

5) The No Speaks: Usually I don't give-a-shit if a customer speaks, but you can at least say thank you for putting my groceries in the cart, or thanks for not slightly opening a container of lotion inside one of my bags so that when I get home it will have spilled all over the new cashmere sweater. Not that I would ever do something like that. I'm just saying.
No, really.

6) Kids: They also use crinkly cash, and spend all of their money on PokemonYugioNoruto trading cards. Pick up a fucking basketball and get outside and play, you pale faced Wii zombie.

7) No, seriously, I have never slightly opened a container of lotion inside one of their bags so that when they got home it will have spilled all over their new cashmere sweater.

8) The "Funny" Guy trying to impress the Laydee:Usually some rich jerk and his trophy bimbo whose boobs cost more than her wasted college education. They never say hello or thank you and he tries to use sitcom"humor" such as how stupid the woman is, and yet she laughs it off. Maybe she's laughing at how later she's going to cut his penis off.

9) No seriously. No open lotion in bags.

And the #10 customer asshole type: (drum role)...................The LMM: Last Minute Morons, who come into the store 5 seconds before closing and then keep us there for another 20 minutes, forcing me to miss America's Next Top Model.

C'mon people. Target is open from 8AM-10PM. Surly in those 14 hours you could have dragged your lazy ass away from the crack pipe, or whatever you do all day and do your shopping?


That's it

EM

Targeted!

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Winnie the Poo. Eats human flesh and snorts coke

I discovered a reason why you should skip the true versions of fairy tales and go for the Dinsneyized version:
m: "Mommy, I want to sing you a song about the Little Mermaid."
M: "Okay."
m (singing sweetly): "Ariel's song, Ariel's song....a sea witch cut out her tongue."

Oops!

You'd be surprised how gruesome some fairy tales are before they were censored. In Cinderella, her step sisters cut theirs toes off in order to fit into the shoes. the transparentness of the glass slippers were easy to spot the ruse. Later at Cinderella's wedding. Birds swooped down and pecked out their eyes.

Hansel and Gretel. They weren't lost in the woods. Their parent's couldn't feed them and stuck them out there!

Rumpelstiltskin. When his name is said, his body splits in half!

Winnie the Poo. Eats human flesh and snorts coke!

The Bible. Daughters get Abraham drunk so they could rape him and have his baby!

Okay, the Winnie the Poo bit wasn't real. But you get the picture. I always heard that the purpose of fairy tales was to help kids deal with fear. Nowadays, all you have to do is turn on the TV and wait for the words: "Today, the president said..."

Every day, after M reads them some books. I usually tell them a vocal version of a story. The top three request are always, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Pinocchio. I got a laugh-out loud review from z when I did Beauty and the Beast. I played Belle as a take no shit, dame who sets the beast straight: "You want me to bring you some food? Motherfucker, I'll slam your ugly-ass face into some dough and make you a batch of gorilla cookies!"
Okay, perhaps not that tough, but she does make him say please.

Speaking of slam. Silly me, I thought once all of those weeks of homework and test were over, The actual sticking and poking part would be easy. It got different and harder. It's one thing to worry about failing a test. It's another thing to think about sticking a needle into a class mate or the teacher without hurting them. By my calculations I logged in about 100 sticks on the fake dummy arms and poked at least 20 times on real people and got poked and stuck at least 20. The worst ones were the hand sticks. Not the finger poke kind which are actually painless with some new click and poke devices, but the venipunctures in area behind your knuckles. I made some stupid mistake, not dangerous ones, thank goodness but ones where I had the vein, I was in there and then I let the needle pull out. That happened at least two times.

The dangerous mistakes would have to go to the two Indian people in our class. Mind you, I have nothing against Indian people. Love the culture; blah blah blah. But these two people just happen to be Indian, right out of India. I was rooting for them because they pretty much failed all of the academic test we had and the teacher really wanted to help them. I could always see the look of pain on her face whenever they wouldn't do their homework or fail a test. When we went from classroom to lab. Their mistakes weren't just bad students. They were dangerous. It finally hit me what the teacher was talking about when she said her job was to make us safe. She wasn't talking about keeping the cootie needles from poking us. She was basically saying that if someone takes your blood, the right way, they are a trained phlebotomist but, if you had a real bad one, or someone that severs a nerve, paralyzing an arm , they are weapons! The woman seemed like she could not speak English. Which is odd for someone trying to get a job in an American hospital: where people yell out: "I need a CD4 a Alpha-fetoprotein and a ABSAG, Stat!"
The Indian guy actually did a finger stick on me and it was perfect. Okay, I thought, this is his time to shine, to show everybody in class that he may not do well in the book part but in the lab he was going to be the mac daddy. Even the Indian woman did well on her venipuncture that day. Then came the day we still talk about. When she was pulling out of this guys arm, instead of pulling straight out, she pulls ...upwards! Ouch. Luckily the guy's arm seems fine. On another student. The teacher told her to pull out because the student was in pain or something. This request was repeated at least two more times while the needle was still in! When the teacher asked: "Didn't you realize you were hurting her?" The Indian woman smiled with this weird vapid look on her face and nodded yes. It was soooo creepy. The guys day of infamy started when he came in, hopped up on coffee (or worst). At one point, he was so excited and weird acting, the teacher actually asked him, 1/4 joking: "What's wrong with you?" Later when he was suppose to stick the teacher, Which, strangely enough in spite of her large size and fat arms, I find her the easiest person in class to hit. She has nice big surface veins. So you just poke a little and bam! You got her. Instead of poking a little, he jabs that needle in like he was trying to thresh a chicken. The teacher yells– ouch! Which I had never heard her say to anyone. She makes him pull out and asked him why did he do that. Basically when you poke someone, you are suppose to feel in your hand something called a "pop" Not a real pop per say. Put a texture change from tissue to vein. Once you feel it, that's when you stop the needle from going pass it. He went pass it, through the other side and right to a nerve. Needless to say when I came back from lunch break, neither the guy or girl were there anymore. After the first test, I got more and more comfortable. By the last test I felt like that horrible nervous butterfly feeling had left completely. It was the first time I actually felt that maybe I can do this.

Next week is the real test. Three weeks in a real clinic. I was suppose to go to Oakland but the women that interviewed me, thought I'd be too timed to work there. Apparently the clients in Oakland are old and angry and wouldn't put up with some bright eyed eager to please Bambi phlebotomist. Not just the patients, but from what the head woman said, or tried not to say but there's no other way to say it; the employees in the Oakland clinic are assholes.

The teacher switched me to another location out in suburbia that's more student friendly. Just as well. the last thing I want to do is spend all day trying to stick some angry old fart who has one foot in the grave and the other one up my ass while an employee yells :"Hurry up, bitch, I got's other people to stick!"

I actually discovered that my teacher intentionally switched my location with the streetwise-mother suer. She actually sent her to a suburban clinc while trying to send me to the belly of the beast, Oakland. I guess as some kind of "learning experience." Perhaps she thought Oakland would toughen me up. And for her, stop her from saying "Muthafuck'a and suing her parents. My teacher really reminds me of those teachers you see in Shaw Brother kung-fu movies from the 70's. You know where a young Jackie Chan (before his nose job. that's right, you heard me) gets his ass kicked by the bad-ass guy with long white hair and beard. He then gets trained by that one crazy/drunk master who it turns out use to be a super bad-ass back in the day. He makes Jackie do all kind of stupid exercises like carry a sack of boulders across a river, while the master sits on the shore, eating a fish head on a stick and smoking opium. That's pretty much my teacher. You may think she's crazy but then you discover she has mad skills and should pay attention to her.

Even when she sits on my back and makes me do push ups over 80 upturned hypodermic needles.

That's it
E.M

Phlebotomy phisting

The girls continue to fight us (mostly me) on anything I want them to do. At the current rate, we may have to put them on an 18 year-long time out.

I made the mistake of showing them a part of The Wizard of OZ.
I tried to show them a witch-free version, to prevent the nightmares and it worked for a while. If there were any shots of green face that I could remember, I would skip to the next scene. I forgot about the one scene when they meet the Tin Man under the mean apple trees. For only a split second, the witch appears and hides behind a tree. For just that one second, the girls forgot all about the rest of the movie and any songs that they had heard. All they want to do is talk about is the "Green Witch." this and "the Green Witch" that.
Big "M" was so mad at me.

This week, I got to see what life is like when you only have one class to work with. It's still hard but at least I can focus on one subject. I also got to know a little bit more about my classmates. Apparently, you are suppose to really get to know the people in your class in Phlebotomy, Why, BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO PRACTICE ON EACH OTHER!. Did you know that? I didn't. That's right. In Phlebotomy you have to practice your needle techniques on each other! We learned this during orientation and there was a collective what-the-fuck? look on all of our faces. It makes since tough. You are choosing a career where you are going to be drawing blood out of an average of 40-100 people per day. Do you really want to be treating them the same way you treat a rubber arm you were sticking during class? The same one used for the 5:30 fisting class?

The teacher Miss Hardass is also a person you are going to have to stick eventually. There are 16 people in our class. Who the hell voluntarily takes a job were every week you get 16 needle sticks? I'm guessing either she's just really dedicated to her job of teaching OR in her spare time, she dresses up in leather, has a iron maiden in her bedroom and steals the fake rubber arms for god knows what. I decided that the former is true.
She really does know her stuff. She started us off with finger sticks. Finger sticks are a lot different than I remember. I remember they would use a sharp piece of metal– probably the same one washed over and over , and they would shove that mother fucker right into your finger, as close to your nail bed as they could get, sorta like listening to Bush giving a speech. The new finger sticks are all automated and spring loaded and you literally don't feel them when they puncture you. This was the first lesson in sticking each other. I think I did good on the girl I was assigned to but it took me 3 days to heal from hers. The next class we got to do venipunctures on the rubber arms: "Hey? Why does my smell like K-Y jelly?" I asked. "Shut your cake-hole, and use it!" the teacher growled at me.
I was teamed up with this one guy who complains more than that guy I once gutted like a fish dwhen I worked for the Yakuza. I understand that he's working overtime at his job and has to do 8 hours of class and then 8 hours of homework, but we're all sucking it up. I was also teamed up with this girl who sued her own mother for $3,000 dollars. On top of that, she did it on one of those TV court shows!! That's right, not only did she have the gaul to sue her own mom (and won) but she went on national TV and did it. Strangely enough I kinda remember her on the show and get this: It was a special "Mother's day" episode. Needless to say, if someone sues their own mother, what hope do you have that they're going to be nice to you? When it was her turn to stick the arm and draw blood from it, she made it look easy. I guess she's use to draining blood. The next guy made one mistake but then he got it right. When It was my time, I was like captain fuck-up of the SS Inept. I couldn't find the vein if it was outside the body with a note that said :"Vein. Put needle in this." While the teacher was getting frustrated with my mangling her favorite rubber arm, Miss Mothersuer is harping on me with such encouraging things as: "Dang! don't you know how to tie your shoe?" or "He's taking up so much time that (the guy who has the job problem) can't get his turn in." Basically I sucked ass that day. It's very stressful because It's a terrifying thought of fucking up like that on a real person. I had no idea that there was so much to giving somebody a shot. There's hand positioning, pressure. sanitation, did you know that when they snap on those collection tubes, they have to go in a certain order or else the test would be ruined? It's called the order of draw. And each tube may have a different substance in it to make the blood do something different. Do them in the wrong order and you could cause cross contamination.
I did learn that if they are taking your blood with a red cap tube, they use that one to test for, among many other things, alcohol. Maybe they should call those test tubes "shot" glasses.

Here is a picture of the patron saint of phlebotomy, coming to kick my ass because of that horrible pun.











That's it
EM

Is it all "in Vein?"

Two weeks ago, we got to send the girls off to grandmas for a few days while I finished my exam stuff. The girls literally did not want to come back I mean literally, "z" cried to go back to grandma's when they dropped her off.
Whatever. They can go for a week if they want, I'll be in Paris.

Blood Week is over.
This is what my wife calls this week. It's called Blood Week because I ended up getting into the phlebotomy class which I couldn't get into almost to the day, one year ago. I guess after all of the people that got pissed from the enrollment process last time, they changed the process to make it more fair. This time you couldn't get in unless you were actually qualified and then it was a lottery system. Lucky me, my name came up just when I was already taking a speech class and a computer class at the college. This meant that the class which is 9-5, overlapped the last week of school. this meant that I had to talk my teachers into working around that last week of their class. This meant they wanted me to take all of my final exams A WEEK earlier then everyone else in the class!!! Not only that, I had to write at least three essays and when the phlebotomy class started The teacher is a total hard-ass who assigns; I kid you not, homework every class that's made up of at least 400 questions!!! It takes you an average of 8 hours to do these monsters. So, for two weeks I've been busting my ass doing papers, exams, speeches and homework.

The phlebotomy class itself is kinda cool so far. I never realised what a fucking dangerous job phlebotomy was. You're like one needle stick from about 80 diseases, 7 of which will kill you. It's like being a cop or a fireman. Somewhere out there is some punk with a gun, ready to plug you, and all you want to do is sit in your car and eat doughnuts. No wonder cops are always pulling over normal people They're afraid of pulling over that one kid with the gun. Shit, If I had a choice, I'd give shots only to virgins from Utah. But alas I'm sure when my clinic time comes up (in the last part of the class we actually get to work in a clinical setting) I'm sure they're going to give me some bass-ackwards clinical site, frequented by people who don't think they can get AIDS, because only white, gay guys get it.

The teacher, as I mentioned is a hard-ass but I can understand why. Do you really want a bunch of goof-offs sticking needles in your veins? "Oops! sorry, that was an artery!" Oops that was a nerve! I bet that smarts." "Third time's the charm!" By the way. No one is allowed to stick you more than twice when they are trying to take blood. After that, they should probably get someone else to do it if they keep fucking up. Another thing I've learned is that when a phlebotomist looks at which test you're getting done on your blood, they can usually figure out (at least the smart ones) what the doctor thinks is wrong with you. But don't ask them, they won't tell you.
The more I learn the angrier I get at all of the bad Injections and blood draws I've had. This one nurse who was drawing blood for a drug test at this horrible t-shirt job I had, couldn't find the vein and kept poking and adjusting, If they can't find the vein they should pull out, not wiggle it around as if trying to snag it with a coat hanger.
I've had some really good phlebotomist, you know the ones that you forgot that they had even poked you and then it's done. That's who I want to be. You remember those shot-docs just as much as that incompetent boob, who whips the the needle around like a porn star's dick.

The people in the class all complain about the homework. The teacher just laughs, she's heard all of this before. She been in the biz for 30 years. As hard as it is for me to get it done. At least I live close to the school. The rest seem to live in Dirt Road California and have to drive an hour to get there. Can you imagine, You drive two hours in one day, take a 9-5 class and then have to do 8 hours of homework? All week long I was staying up to 3 AM! The bags under my eyes made me think I had grown a pair of testicle on my face. It took me back to week three of my girls baby days. Ahhh, week three. We were so tired, I prayed for. Death said: "Fuck you, I'm not working at 3 AM."

This one guy in class actually took a phlebotomy class before but didn't finish it because of some moving thing or another. He said that this one is definitely harder which scares me. If there are people that took a back-of-a-comic-book style class, practicing a job where if you don't know what you're doing, someone dies, that's a scary thought. I'm hoping that if I can get my foot in the hospital door, I can be trained to do the lab part of phlebotomy. At least then, instead of getting stuck with an AIDS needle by mistake, I'll only have to worry about loading a centrifuge wrong, sending valves of Ebola infected shit samples everywhere.

That's better, right?

EM