~Poop On Jelly~

Our Family's Bitter/Sweet Life

Monday, September 29, 2008

Mr. Nurse Boy Here

It has been a long time, so here is the down and dirty.

I started school in August. I was ready to take on the world. I took two classes: a nursing class and a stats class. The stats class took me about 18 hours a week to do the homework assignments. That is not an exaggeration. Not only did I have to learn the math, but I had to learn how to use advanced forms of Word and Excel. Actually, I had to buy those two programs for my computer first, and then try to learn them. So I got office 2007. My professor uses 2003. I'm telling you, from my perspective, they are worlds apart. I am telling all of this to give my excuse in advance. I am ashamed, but I dropped the class. That was the first time I dropped a class in my life. It was shameful, yet liberating. I could see how people could make a habit of it. Your class gets tough...drop it. Your car breaks down...leave it under a bridge. Your wife gets lippy...drop her. Your kid gets lippy...leave him under a bridge. Its great. Anyway, I am down to one class and I am still busy. But manageable busy. So that's the update, now why I really blogged tonight:

I am ashamed, but my wife saw some commercial about grass on steroids. It can grow anywhere. I doesn't need water, sunlight, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, or any other component all other plants need. You just need to shake the bag where you need grass, and it will grow until Jesus comes back. The wife really wants grass in our backyard, so she talks me into purchasing it. So, I order a bag about the size of a taco seasoning packet. She wants to use it on our dirt floor we like to call our backyard.

So, we get this grass and I start to doubt the claims of the commercial. Especially when the seeding directions look very similar to the directions on a bag of grass not on steroids. I bought some regular bags of steroidless grass seed also. Lets just call that Brad's grass. (I know I just opened myself up to loads of cyber stalkers, but I'm living on the edge tonight.) So, I seed with the wife's grass on the patches in the front. The wife then chastises me for not using the "good" grass in the back where we need it. I am sorry honey, but that bag is going to cover about 3 square inches in the back, so I used it in the front. (Insert huffy sigh from the wife.) Since I am the one blogging about this, I bet you can't guess who's grass grew. That's right! Brad's grass! I don't know why I let her talk me into that stuff. She must have a spell on me.

Here is story number two, and no, this post is never going to end. I have six weeks angst built up in this post. Today I went to get my new scrub pants taken up. The wife tells me to go to to a lady by her parent's house that is always reasonable. So, when I go to take the boys out to lunch, I leave early to go there. There is a sign that says temporarily closed, gone to Dr.'s appointment. I decide that I will not make it out there again until next Thursday, so I should find someone else. I go to some sweat shop in OP. I think the women that got busted in the "more than massage" ring around town all opened up alteration stores. I go there and drop off my pants. They did not ask me if I wanted a happy ending, thank goodness. I call the wife and tell her the price. $9 per pair of pants. She thinks the first lady will be cheaper. So I take my cheap self back to the sweat shop after lunch and lie to the worker saying I found pants that fit, could I please have my pants back. She complies and I take them to the first shop. It is still closed!!! Since she was gone for a Dr.'s appointment earlier and now just closed, I have her diagnosed with terminal cancer. I feel little empathy or sympathy. I return home frustrated. The wife tells me I am an idiot I shuld call around before I go driving around all creation. So we call around. Her lady is back from her appointment now and answers. $10 per pair of pants. Another store is $12. I go back to the sweat shop and drop my pants off AGAIN. Thank God the same woman that I dealt with before was not there. Here is the moral of the story:

I have no moral, I'm just rambeling. See you in six weeks. Thanks to the wife for filling in the bare patches on the blog.


Imperfect Mom said...

Just roll the pants and be done with it. Better yet, tuck them in your socks. That keeps the hems clean.

Nobody will notice. I promise.

Nurse Boy said...

Yet another example that I am NOT a seamstress, nor a gardener...

Mrs. Nurse Boy

Sir Nottaguy-Imadad said...

Have you tried to find duct tape in the same color as your scrubs? Roll up the offending leg, slap the duct tape on, and presto, hemmed pants.

Chaos-Jamie said...

Oh. My. Goodness. I laughed until I bawled like a baby. Ask Hubs. You are hilarious.