Monday, February 4, 2013

Weak Week Mash-Up

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Walking by a bunch of Negative Pressure Rooms for the past several days, I figured it's probably not a good sign if they put you in one in a hospital, but for those of us that get to leave, it seems finding one would be a dream come true. Negative Pressure. No beeping, no ringing, no rushing. Just breathe. No health problems. No quitting employees. No more bellyaching, just learning to go along to get along (even with nurse Evelyn), focusing on the positives like finding real love at Grassroots, getting in a half of a book club, coming home one night to a hot bubble bath waiting for me, scoring a pair of new (to me) bad ass Vera Wang black boots at My Sister's Closet for a steal and thankful that the too-many-mojitos-at-The-Phoenix-Open daughter happened to be snuggled under my roof while some South Scottsdale flasher perv crawled through a window somewhere in her apartment complex at 2:30am. Moving on to a pressure search for a new office partner since everything and everywhere isn't in my job description, reading resumes, more than a hundred (complete with typos) and mostly two-pagers - people, most of you are haven't accomplished much yet, so if you make me scroll down just to find you worked at Wal-Mart last year and can operate a fork-lift, I'll be clicking delete. After a dozen interviews (one in flip flops, one had the flu, a wadded up Kleenex in her hand and a husband with urological problems, one was at least seven months pregnant and one didn't know anything about computers and had a forty-seven year old son that lives in Michigan with some kind of really bad disease. I passed on the the smart, bubbly one around Shana's age with kid(s) when she mentioned she needed Fridays off to work on her nursing degree. I need long-term and you can't get a nurse for fourteen bucks an hour. So I hired hope-she's-perfect Krystal with a K, to go along with front office Kris with a K, feeling a bit Kardashian-y. With no Negative Pressure room in sight, I'm learning the back-office ropes, crash course style - need an EKG, labs, the definition of Diabetes or clean instruments for a surgery? Look no further. I'm your gal. Ready to train anyone.
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Bunhead shot in the pressurized office Bat Cave.

But things are turning around. No more hospitals as of today, Mr. Wet Birds Don't Fly At Night is back on his own turf, thankfully, passing out wisdom about instruction manuals that will save us all in the long run. And in week five of a cool Tai Chi class and an awesome teacher, I stood up straight, took a big breath, looked around, whoa, here I am, in a Negative Pressure Room.

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