Today is my 143rd blog posting.
Hard to believe it since I only started this craziness back in October of 2011.
But my blog stats don't lie man... we'z at the big 1 four threeeee.
So I know 143 is a totally random number, but what the hell, let's have a little stat party here, shall we?
For those of you that don't write blogs and quite frankly have no idea what the heck I'm talking about, your stats track everything about your blog:
Pageviews achieved by all the different kinds of operating systems such as Windows, Mac, iphone, Blackberry, Android etc...
Pageviews achieved by all the different kinds of browsers available such as Chrome, Firefox, Internet Explorer etc...
And of course pageviews by countries.
I've hit 19,940 views overall since I began this shindig, and am being read in more countries than I can keep track of or even, (embarrassingly enough), pronounce. Aside from Canada and the U.S., Best. Resume. Ever. is still most popular in Russia, Turkey and Australia.
Who knew there was such a need for resume knowledge in Turkey? I sure didn't.
All that being said, I seriously cannot believe you people read this shit.
I mean really here. NINETEEN THOUSAND, NINE HUNDRED AND FORTY VIEWS? AND NONE OF THEM MINE? (I double checked LOL). Wow!
Thanks for hanging around and finding some kind of value, or humor, or just will to see the train that's been barreling down the tracks at a high rate of speed for so long, finally crash.
Whatever the draw is, I appreciate you being a reader.
I'm normally much more "blog producing" during the week so I apologize for lacking in my attention to my resume-making-fun-of baby this week. Apparently having body parts removed is tougher than I originally thought, so my typical "Super Woman" behavior that I normally carry on with got me in a little bit of hot water yesterday with my doc. The fact that I've been working virtually all week for my normal job, working on my new resume business at night, helping escrow to finally close on a family property (THIS COMING MONDAY!) and doing a little bit too much ironing didn't impress my doctor, but instead, landed me straight in the dog house. She pretty much forbid me to go back to work (physically) as fast as I had intended, and wants me to just REST.
Heh.
Those that know me well know that this is like a prison sentence to me, and I shiver to think what she would have done to me should I have mentioned the fact that I attempted to clean the 4000' house we live in right before my appointment with her. (Probably would have readmitted me to the hospital just so people could keep an eye on me.)
All joking aside, once she explained in more detail what she did to me in the operating room, I realized I better actually heed her advice and put the brakes on or I'm going to be in a world of hurt like she keeps threatening. So I'm writing this post, IN BED, not sitting up in my craft room/office where I normally do. I'm practically LAYING DOWN, can barely type, and am not sure any of this is going to turn out in a coherent fashion.
So now - I promised you guys a hospital story from my stay, so here it comes!
My operation recovery took place in this semi-swanky establishment affectionately known around these parts as "TOSH" which doesn't stand for the TV show Tosh.O, but instead means "Thousand Oaks Surgical Hospital". Now, I've been operated on at this lovely institution before (yes, I have too many operations), but only for an outpatient event. I was hoping my longer stay would be just as good as my outpatient time I had spent as the nurses seemed supreme. Cream of the crop. Like they really did their homework when hiring for their spiffy pad.
For the most part, the staff did not disappoint. Well, that is, with the exception of Jose.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here.
Let me set the stage first.
I got my own beautiful room, which was really like a hotel suite, including a fold out bed for my poor sweet husband who could have just gone home but chose to stay and help me throughout my first awful night with my necessary blood transfusions and multiple fights with the portable IV tree they hung from. There were 3 nurses on each 12 hour shift, and they were always good about coming in and introducing themselves, writing their names on the board to my left and showing me the call button set up for the 400th time.
I was there for a few days, so I had a lot of nurses. Most of them female, but at times, I had a few males rotating in and out. My surgery took place in my mid-drift, but regardless the kind of surgery, they just seem to put everybody, all nek-kid, in that thin, hideous, pale blue and plaid hospital gown and call it good. I guess they just want easy access all the time? That's SO annoying, and not what I want.
Not a one of them seemed to appreciate the fact that I managed (with one hand only as the other was attached to my IV/drug tree) to bundle myself up with my blankets like a caterpillar trying to turn herself into a beautiful butterfly in my silky, white cotton cocoon. They fought to unwrap me every time they'd come in to check my vitals and push on my tummy and check my wounds and make me scream, but the second they'd walk out my door, I'd re-wrap myself again.
And then there was Jose.
Toward the end of my hospital stay, a short little Hispanic man in his late twenties came in and introduced himself as Jose. He stood over my bed and said he'd like to check on my "nether regions" but said I had a legal right to say no, I'd prefer a female. I glanced at the wipe erase board again and could see 2 other female names written up there for the same shift he was on, so I saw no point in Jose seeing my who-ha and declared my intent to stay tightly wrapped in his presence.
Jose didn't seem to like this very much.
While it's possible he just doesn't take well to rejection by females in general, in a very hostile fashion he immediately turned around and wrote "VITALS ONLY" next to his name on the wipe erase board, and then underlined each word about 17 times for dramatic emphasis.
After leaving in a huff, Jose would come back less often than the other nurses, perhaps only because he was forced to by state law, to make sure I was still alive. He didn't speak to me at all, never asked me how I was or what my pain was on a scale of 1-10, or even to see if my dry mouth desired some ice chips. Nope, Jose just jotted down notes on a clipboard and marched out of the room.
So imagine his surprise when I went with a female nurse on my first official "can she walk around the 2nd floor of the hospital without collapsing in pain or fainting from all the narcotics we've been pumping her with" and I flashed the ENTIRE group of nurses, AND patients, AND floating around family members. Everyone that is except for Jose. He had his back to me at the nurses station and missed the entire show- he had heard the ruckus and turned around just as the nurse had straightened out my little blue ribbon mess that had me utterly confused. (I swear those hospital gown makers do that crap on purpose...how do they expect people in pain or on drugs to figure that shit out? I mean COME ON.)
I was naturally mortified that everyone got to see my who-ha in my fancy white fish net panties they give you to wear (again, WHY do they create this crap? Is this some kind of conspiracy??) but Jose was REALLY UBER PISSED THAT HE MISSED IT ALL, YET AGAIN. You could see it on his face, first crestfallen, then just MAD.
And to further prove to me that he was angry this went down, he refused to come back to my room at all for the rest of my stay and instead, just made a lot of slamming noises right outside my door on purpose.
How mature.
But then there's mature me, who was singing in my head as my female nurses came in to check on me:
Denied, denied, DENIED!
Sorry Jose, but the hospital gown gods were sort of on my side, if only a smidge.
You never know, maybe some other chick will feel inclined to share her goodies with you.
Could happen right?
Keep on hopin'!
Thanks again for helping me hit the big 143!
I'll get back to the resume humor on Monday my peeps. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a nap.
Peace out!
Hard to believe it since I only started this craziness back in October of 2011.
But my blog stats don't lie man... we'z at the big 1 four threeeee.
So I know 143 is a totally random number, but what the hell, let's have a little stat party here, shall we?
For those of you that don't write blogs and quite frankly have no idea what the heck I'm talking about, your stats track everything about your blog:
Pageviews achieved by all the different kinds of operating systems such as Windows, Mac, iphone, Blackberry, Android etc...
Pageviews achieved by all the different kinds of browsers available such as Chrome, Firefox, Internet Explorer etc...
And of course pageviews by countries.
I've hit 19,940 views overall since I began this shindig, and am being read in more countries than I can keep track of or even, (embarrassingly enough), pronounce. Aside from Canada and the U.S., Best. Resume. Ever. is still most popular in Russia, Turkey and Australia.
Who knew there was such a need for resume knowledge in Turkey? I sure didn't.
All that being said, I seriously cannot believe you people read this shit.
I mean really here. NINETEEN THOUSAND, NINE HUNDRED AND FORTY VIEWS? AND NONE OF THEM MINE? (I double checked LOL). Wow!
Thanks for hanging around and finding some kind of value, or humor, or just will to see the train that's been barreling down the tracks at a high rate of speed for so long, finally crash.
Whatever the draw is, I appreciate you being a reader.
I'm normally much more "blog producing" during the week so I apologize for lacking in my attention to my resume-making-fun-of baby this week. Apparently having body parts removed is tougher than I originally thought, so my typical "Super Woman" behavior that I normally carry on with got me in a little bit of hot water yesterday with my doc. The fact that I've been working virtually all week for my normal job, working on my new resume business at night, helping escrow to finally close on a family property (THIS COMING MONDAY!) and doing a little bit too much ironing didn't impress my doctor, but instead, landed me straight in the dog house. She pretty much forbid me to go back to work (physically) as fast as I had intended, and wants me to just REST.
Heh.
Those that know me well know that this is like a prison sentence to me, and I shiver to think what she would have done to me should I have mentioned the fact that I attempted to clean the 4000' house we live in right before my appointment with her. (Probably would have readmitted me to the hospital just so people could keep an eye on me.)
All joking aside, once she explained in more detail what she did to me in the operating room, I realized I better actually heed her advice and put the brakes on or I'm going to be in a world of hurt like she keeps threatening. So I'm writing this post, IN BED, not sitting up in my craft room/office where I normally do. I'm practically LAYING DOWN, can barely type, and am not sure any of this is going to turn out in a coherent fashion.
So now - I promised you guys a hospital story from my stay, so here it comes!
My operation recovery took place in this semi-swanky establishment affectionately known around these parts as "TOSH" which doesn't stand for the TV show Tosh.O, but instead means "Thousand Oaks Surgical Hospital". Now, I've been operated on at this lovely institution before (yes, I have too many operations), but only for an outpatient event. I was hoping my longer stay would be just as good as my outpatient time I had spent as the nurses seemed supreme. Cream of the crop. Like they really did their homework when hiring for their spiffy pad.
For the most part, the staff did not disappoint. Well, that is, with the exception of Jose.
But I'm getting ahead of myself here.
Let me set the stage first.
I got my own beautiful room, which was really like a hotel suite, including a fold out bed for my poor sweet husband who could have just gone home but chose to stay and help me throughout my first awful night with my necessary blood transfusions and multiple fights with the portable IV tree they hung from. There were 3 nurses on each 12 hour shift, and they were always good about coming in and introducing themselves, writing their names on the board to my left and showing me the call button set up for the 400th time.
I was there for a few days, so I had a lot of nurses. Most of them female, but at times, I had a few males rotating in and out. My surgery took place in my mid-drift, but regardless the kind of surgery, they just seem to put everybody, all nek-kid, in that thin, hideous, pale blue and plaid hospital gown and call it good. I guess they just want easy access all the time? That's SO annoying, and not what I want.
Not a one of them seemed to appreciate the fact that I managed (with one hand only as the other was attached to my IV/drug tree) to bundle myself up with my blankets like a caterpillar trying to turn herself into a beautiful butterfly in my silky, white cotton cocoon. They fought to unwrap me every time they'd come in to check my vitals and push on my tummy and check my wounds and make me scream, but the second they'd walk out my door, I'd re-wrap myself again.
And then there was Jose.
Toward the end of my hospital stay, a short little Hispanic man in his late twenties came in and introduced himself as Jose. He stood over my bed and said he'd like to check on my "nether regions" but said I had a legal right to say no, I'd prefer a female. I glanced at the wipe erase board again and could see 2 other female names written up there for the same shift he was on, so I saw no point in Jose seeing my who-ha and declared my intent to stay tightly wrapped in his presence.
Jose didn't seem to like this very much.
While it's possible he just doesn't take well to rejection by females in general, in a very hostile fashion he immediately turned around and wrote "VITALS ONLY" next to his name on the wipe erase board, and then underlined each word about 17 times for dramatic emphasis.
After leaving in a huff, Jose would come back less often than the other nurses, perhaps only because he was forced to by state law, to make sure I was still alive. He didn't speak to me at all, never asked me how I was or what my pain was on a scale of 1-10, or even to see if my dry mouth desired some ice chips. Nope, Jose just jotted down notes on a clipboard and marched out of the room.
So imagine his surprise when I went with a female nurse on my first official "can she walk around the 2nd floor of the hospital without collapsing in pain or fainting from all the narcotics we've been pumping her with" and I flashed the ENTIRE group of nurses, AND patients, AND floating around family members. Everyone that is except for Jose. He had his back to me at the nurses station and missed the entire show- he had heard the ruckus and turned around just as the nurse had straightened out my little blue ribbon mess that had me utterly confused. (I swear those hospital gown makers do that crap on purpose...how do they expect people in pain or on drugs to figure that shit out? I mean COME ON.)
I was naturally mortified that everyone got to see my who-ha in my fancy white fish net panties they give you to wear (again, WHY do they create this crap? Is this some kind of conspiracy??) but Jose was REALLY UBER PISSED THAT HE MISSED IT ALL, YET AGAIN. You could see it on his face, first crestfallen, then just MAD.
And to further prove to me that he was angry this went down, he refused to come back to my room at all for the rest of my stay and instead, just made a lot of slamming noises right outside my door on purpose.
How mature.
But then there's mature me, who was singing in my head as my female nurses came in to check on me:
Denied, denied, DENIED!
Sorry Jose, but the hospital gown gods were sort of on my side, if only a smidge.
You never know, maybe some other chick will feel inclined to share her goodies with you.
Could happen right?
Keep on hopin'!
Thanks again for helping me hit the big 143!
I'll get back to the resume humor on Monday my peeps. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a nap.
Peace out!
I hope you have a speedy and healthy recovery - do take care of yourself! I'm sure it sucks for you to be less turbo-productive, but think of weight-lifting as a non-option for now.
ReplyDeleteNow then, if you're at all serious about this Jose character, it sounds like he's a perv and should be not exactly "reported" but "noted" in case something ever happens to someone else. That guy sounds like a future mug-shot and headline.