Dr. Dragonlady and How I Got FIRED.

Dear Dr. Dragonlady,

I must say, when you first got me FIRED, I actually planned your death and destruction. See, I was so shocked when it happened. Not that I didn’t expect it, nor that I didn’t deserve it. I was shocked that every other physician in the practice caved to your demands. Seems I was the ONLY one willing to put you in your place. That’s what shocked me the most. How everybody else could be so terrified of you, is beyond me, but just proves what a nasty bitch you were. I really thought someone would have taken my side.

Let’s see:
*Cherub (Office Manager)= Nope……even though two days prior to carrying out the firing, she put down on my 90-day review, that I was the best, most knowledgeable, and friendliest Medical Assistant that the practice ever had.

*Dr. Russianjew (Practice owner/Head Dermatologist) = Nope…..even though he always requested that I work with him on your off days.

*Dr. Airheadhotness (Outpost Dermatologist) = Nope….even though she always made a point of telling me how pleased she was with my work.

*Dr. NoBalls (aka Mr. Dragonlady) = Not a chance…..Even though I was probably the closest thing to a friend your husband’s ever had. At least since he’s been married to you and therefore you’ve kept his balls in your purse, that is.

*The four Female Medical Assistants that were also part of our “team” = Not a one (bitches)…..even though they would talk everyday at lunch about how much they hated you and wanted to quit and wished you were dead and how many times that day you had made them cry.

In fact, when Cherub broke the news, she apologized profusely to me. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to feed my family. But I’m thankful NOW.
See, I had never been let go from anywhere before this. In fact, when I would leave a place, they would usually beg me to stay. Cause I’m AWESOME!
I know you were a newer physician, but that gives you NO excuse to treat your staff like shit. I think you actually got off on seeing how mean you could be, and how many times you could make the girls cry in a day. I came closer to punching you than I ever have to a woman in my life. Even your patients noticed you being a bitch, and would often ask your staff if they were “Alright?” after you left the room.
Not only that, but you sucked. Your hands were too damn shaky to be doing all those Derm surgeries. That’s why we had to use so much numbing on every patient. You cut all over the damn place. Good thing your Plastic Surgery trained husband was there to cover your ass and clean up your messes. That’s probably why you married him. That, and his lack of a spine. What a team you made. You’d cut, he’d close . Good thing too, cause your sutures looked like shit. I’ve seen better needle work in a Home Ec class. Is that how they taught you at Duke. Probably, cause Duke sucks.
I am interested to know exactly what it was that sent you over the edge.
Was it cause I told you that, we didn’t like being force to listen to your David Sedaris books on tape while riding for hours in your car on the way to clinics? Sorry, not everybody wants to hear about his homosexual exploits.
Was it because I asked your husband, Dr. NoBalls, if he was a Sadist? I was just trying to figure out why he put up with so much of your abuse.
Was it because I told you that I didn’t want to work with you, and put in for that other job in the office? That must have been it, because that’s what Cherub mentioned. She said when you made your case to the other docs, you said that I shouldn’t be the stationary office medical assistant if I was willing to work with ALL the physicians, since all the physicians had days working in the office.

Whatever. They all got theirs in the end.

Two days after I was fired, you announced you were leaving to take an internship in San Diego. The practice lost all that money they invested in the equipment for “your” special procedure, not to mention having to pick up all yours and Dr. NoBalls’ patients. All of the two-faces bitches of medical assistants that worked for you were let go, since they were no longer needed.

I should actually thank you. If I would have been there until you left, I would have totally missed the posting deadline for my VA job. You actually did me a solid. I went from working a suckass job making $9.25 an hour, to getting a sweet government job for about $38,000 a year, plus kicking benefits.

So, thanks, Dr. Dragonlady.

Love,
Ed

P.S. You totally wanted me too. Don’t think I didn’t catch you checking out my ass. Plus, you were always “accidentally” rubbing up against me.

*names have been changed to protect the guilty, and to avoid potential lawsuit*

Wednesday......Where am I?

Tuesday

11:30 am

Dr. Jacobs Office

Vasectomy Consult

Nurse: (talking)

*blah, blah, blah, shave your bag, blah, blah, tear a hole in your nut sack, blah, blah, blah, cutoff your balls, blah, blah, blah, will not stitch-up the open hole in your bag, but let heal on its own.*

Ed: (thinking)

Does she actually think any of this will make me feel better about this? How is this even legal? They should all be in jail for doing this. I wonder if she enjoys her job. She's probably a lesbian. I bet the whole female staff just sit around at the end of the day and laugh and laugh about all the tiny penises they saw, and all the ball sacks they mutilated, and all the unborn children they killed. They're probably all scorned women, out seeking revenge on all men for some A-hole from their past that wronged them and broke their hearts. I hope the doctor has really small hands. That will make my junk look HUGE.

Nurse: "Afterwards, you should be able to get by with just Tylenol for pain."

Ed: "Seriously?!?! And if that doesn't work?"

Nurse who obviously hates men: "Most patients are able to control pain with just Tylenol. If you're having more severe pain, then something is wrong and you should call the office. Dr. Jacobs may need to see you again."

Ed: "Most of the guys I've talked to said, that is bullshit, and that it hurts like hell afterwards."

Nurse Anti-Testicle: "We never hear that. Usually patients do fine. You shouldn't have that much pain."

Ed: "I'm sorry, but that's a little like a man telling a woman that childbirth doesn't really hurt. None of you ladies have balls, so you really don't know what it feels like."

As an aside:

I know, from working with several physicians, that some docs just don't want to write pain meds. They worry about the potential for abuse, or getting a patient addicted, or having a patient sell the pills and their name being on that bottle on the street which could potentially make them liable. I worked with two MDs that absolutely refused to write ANY pain meds, and would refer all patients for Pain Management.

I've also heard it suggested that this all-female-staffed office gets away with doing this, because if they tell guys that none of the other guy patients request pain meds, then the one who asks for some will seem like a pussy, and therefore won't ask. That's probably why I won't be asking for them, as well. Plus, I have a high pain tolerance cause of my back and all.

On the ride home:

Liz: concerned..."Are you nervous?"

Ed: toughguylike..."Not really. It's already a done deal in my mind. I'm just ready to get it over with. Besides, you've delivered 4 babies, and I told you that I would step-up and take one for the team."

Liz: "You could always ask the doc for meds up front, if you think it's going to hurt."

Ed: "Nah, I'll be alright. I think I've rather have something for nausea. Cause I know that when you get kicked there, it makes you want to vomit, and you get a really severe stomach cramp. Like REALLY bad cramps. Kind of like a girl gets once a month, but WORSE."

Liz: sarcastically..."Yeah, worse only cause it's happening to YOU."

Ed: "Exactly!........Nuts is sensative things!"

Weekend Post....

I would like to share an awesome custom made MS Paint drawing that Allie @ Hyperbole & a half did for me.

She's super funny and slightly crazy, which I think go hand in hand.

Anyway, she's got this thing where if you ask nicely (plus know the secret code), she will make you a custom MS Paint drawing to your specifications.

Here was my request:

"I would like an MS Paint drawing of you making an MS Paint drawing of you making an MS Paint drawing of you making a drawing by hand that says MS Paint."

Being true to her word, and master MS Paint drawerer artist, here is what she sent me:



I think that she captured the essence of my request.

Friday.....Lazy ramblings about important nothing

I skipped TMI Thursday because I’m lazy, and because I am waiting until I hit 100 followers to unleash my biggest, baddest, bestest (screw you spellcheck) TMI postage of all-time. Honestly, even then, I probably still won’t post it because I’m a wimp <----read awesomeousnessest.

I’ve also decided that because I’m super good at being lazy, I should have my own Holiday, which will happen once a week. Everyone will be required to sit around and do nothing in honor of me. I will then reward the person whom I deem most observant of Holiday Lazy with a custom made nothing, because something would require effort and thereby take me out of the running to win it myself. I’m nothing if not a winner.

I love comments. Sometimes I think maybe I’ll quit blogging and just go around leaving comments for other people, because then I don’t have to think of as much stuff to say with my fingers. Usually, I’m pretty good at saying stuff with my middle finger, but my sign language skills are limited. What I’m trying to say, is that if you have word verification on your comments, you’ll most likely get no comment love from me (but I’ll still send you something through the air with my middle finger sign language.)

Also, if I’m not following your blog, it’s probably because you’re not funny, or because I’m lazy, or because you sneaked in here without my noticing. Possibly, all of the above. Still, let me know if I’m not, so I can secretly laugh at your patheticness start following you. In the legal way of course, because gas is too expensive for the other way.

Today is Friday, and it’s payday, and allowance day, and Free Taco night at Taco Bell. Trust me. Just ask for the “FREE” taco. If they say they don’t know what you are talking about, just tell them I said it’s on the house. If they lie and say there’s still no Free tacos, then punch them in the throat. When the police arrive, tell them you want to press charges because they didn’t give you a free taco. Are you seriously still reading this drivel? If you made it this far, shout 1, 2, 3 in my comments and then punch yourself in the earhole for being that gullible.

There have been some really funny news headlines recently. That’s all I have to say about that.

I am posting a MS Paint picture sometime this weekend. Make sure you check it out. It’s a work of art. It’s artwork. It’s rokwart. It’s warkrot. It’s karrotw. It’s arrowtk. It’s fun messing with spellcheck. (Ha,Ha, spellcheck spellchecked spellcheck! That’s Fantasmigorical!)

Basically, what I’m saying is, I’ve said nothing this entire post.

Don’t you feel better about yourself after knowing that.

Wednesday................Veterans Day

Happy Veterans Day!

Thanks to all veterans for your service.

Special Thanks to those guys still serving in harms way.

J.T., that means you, Bro!


Here's my Veterans Day Story:

(This may not be funny. It's more of a history. Feel free to skip it if you wish. I'm writing it more for myself than anything else.)

I enlisted in the Navy's Delayed Entry Program between my junior and senior year of High School. I knew my parents couldn't afford to send me to college, and since I had spent the majority of my school years screwing off, I wasn't exactly in line for a scholarship. I knew that I could go to school while in the service and they would pay for it. This was also right after the First Gulf War, and everybody was feeling all patriotic and gung-ho.
Me and my friend, J.T., decided to join up together. We had seen the movie Navy Seals, and decided that's what we were going to be. We enlisted in the Buddy Program, where they guarantee you stay together for Boot camp and A school. We took the ASVAB and qualified to choose whatever job we wanted. We decided on Corpsmen (medic) cause we were both interested in the medical field and it was also a "SEAL" rated job.
We spent our senior year pretty normal, except for the knowledge that we were leaving for the NAVY 3 days after graduation. We graduated, said our goodbyes and headed to MEPS for processing and shipping out. During refiling of our entrance paperwork, we were held up for a couple days. I had to get a waiver for a legal matter (consumption by a minor) and J.T. had to get a waiver for an old medical issue. My matter was cleared, J.T.'s wasn't. They made me ship out without him. (He was notified about 8 months later that he was clear to ship, but by then was enrolled in nursing school and refused since they had violated our original agreement. He later joined the Army National Guard, and is presently serving in Afghanistan.)
I boarded a plane for the first time in my life on June 9th 1993, and headed for RTC Great Lakes. After eight weeks and three days of boot camp, I finally got to come home for 2 weeks before returning to Great Lakes for Hospital Corpsmen A School. Corps School was 14 weeks of 8-hour days of extensive medical training. After completing 2 weeks of "clinicals" at the VA hospital in Chicago, we got to pick our first duty station based on our standing in the class. I had finished near the top, so I had my pick of pretty much anything. We were just happy to be able to choose, because the class behind us and the class ahead of us were all sent straight to FMSS/FMF to learn how to be Marine Corpsmen and then were being sent to Somalia or someplace. Anyway, I chose Naval Hospital Milington outside of Memphis, Tennessee. It was the closest thing to home on the Duty station board. And since I had met my soon-to-be-wife during my senior year, I wanted to stay close to home.
Millington had great weather compared to Indiana and Great Lakes, IL. I met a lot of good friends, did a lot of crazy stuff, and made memories that will last a lifetime. Some of which I'll probably blog about in the future. My wife (girlfriend at the time) even followed me to Memphis, after she graduated in 1994, and attended Rhodes College in Memphis for a year.
While in Millington, I spent 9 months working in a Pediatric Clinic, 6 months in a Family Practice Clinic, and 3 months in an Immunizations Clinic. Finally, the time came for me to pick my next duty station. I had my choice between the following: Overseas Hospital Duty Station, Shipboard Duty Station, Marine Detachment, or apply to a C school for advanced training. I applied and was accepted to Search & Rescue C School. This was in Pensacola, FL and ran by a mixture of Navy Seals and the Coast Guard. If you've seen the movie The Guardian, then you'll have some idea.
Anyway, around this time, my back problem showed up and I was given a Medical Discharge. I came home and started attending Ball State for Nursing and Pre-Med, using my GI Bill.



The End


P.S. Comments have been turned off to avoid any thanking me for my service crap.

Tuesdays Quickies...

I'm late. (TWSS x 4)





Speaking of...



After an exhaustive search for a qualified medical professional (actually I just polled friends on Facebook)......("polled friends" sounds dirty, I meant I questioned them)



*drumroll*



I have finally scheduled my appt for a Vasectomy! (pictures to follow)



Happy Anniversary Wifey!











I saw this online today...

That's right Ladies!

You no longer have to suffer penis envy!

You TOO can write your name in the snow!

Just buy this convenient snatch FUNNEL for your urinary pleasure!

WTF!

Found this awesome story on Yahoo Odd News:

LONDON (Reuters) – A British man on the run from police sent a picture of himself to his local paper because he disliked the mugshot they had printed of him as part of a public appeal to track him down.
South Wales Police had issued media with the photo of Matthew Maynard, wanted by officers investigating a house burglary, as part of a crackdown on crime in Swansea.
When it appeared in the South Wales Evening Post, the 23-year-old sent the newspaper a replacement photo of himself standing in front of a police van. They obligingly printed it on the front page.
The police thanked him for helping them in their appeal, saying: "Everyone in Swansea will know what he looks like now."

GENIUS!

Is this Future Darwin Award Nominee vain or just being overly helpful?

The more I read that story, the more I laughed.

Then I cried a little, because of what it says about our society.

Then, I mostly laughed again.

Just another fine example of the things I find amusing, and others don't.

The Wifey and I were scheduled to meet with our marriage counselor last night. (No, we aren't having "trouble". He started as my counselor cause I'm crazy but then decided I should start bringing the wife because he wanted a second opinion of my wackiness and wanted to see what a woman who would put up with me would actually look like.) (Plus, good relationships take work and threats of violence which my wife is very good at.)

Anyany,

We were supposed to go together, but we couldn't get a babysitter for the inmates, and my wife wanted to cancel because if we no show they charge $50 which is a lot of cheese and bread and the inmates would then starve.

I was feeling a little blue, aka depressed.

Not little AND blue, like a smurf.

So, I told the wife, I would just go alone, if she so granted permission.

She did.

When our counselor came to get us/me from the waiting room, he said, "Just you? Where's Liz?"

I said, " She left me! It's over dude!"

I thought it was funny.

Turns out I was the only one.

His reaction was more fear, panic, failure, and disbelief.

He eventually laughed, but only after correctly diagnosing my assholiness.

Monday Memoirs: My sweet new shorts

Travis says Mondays are for stories.

Here goes:

I take you back to the scene of one of my most traumatic social fashion fopas.
It was sixth grade year.
Bermuda shorts were all the rage.

Remember those?

Flowery beach shorts that went knee length.
In fact, on this particular day in question, everybody who was anybody (or just people who wanted to be SOMEBODY, like myself), were supposed to wear their Bermuda shorts to school.

Unfortunately, I didn’t own any Bermuda shorts. My parents weren’t rich enough to afford such luxuries.
It was considered a blessing, if I was able to have a new pair of Pro Wings for the first day of school.
This year, my Pro Wings were all black. (This was back when the only people besides Pro Basketball players wearing black shoes were policemen.)

However, my loving mother was sympathetic to my plight.
I had explained to her the absolute necessity for me to show up to school wearing said style shorts.
She found it in her heart to make a last minute dash to the store, in hopes of saving my social standing.

I am pretty sure she sold a kidney on the way, in order to get the funds.

Turns out, there had evidently been a rush on Bermuda shorts.
The store only had one style left. (NOW, the reason for this seems obvious).

She came back with her find, triumphant that the mission had been a success.
I, naively thankful just to have a pair of shorts to wear, never gave it much thought.
I proudly put on my new shorts, and headed off to school, sure I was destined to fit in.
My only concern was that they didn’t seem to go with my black shoes.

I have kindly taken the liberty…

**YES, VIRGINIA! THEY DID HAVE PURPLE AND WHITE VERTICAL STRIPES**

Immediately upon entering the building, I began getting heckled and harassed.

“Nice shorts, BOZO!”
“What are you wearing?”
“Where can I get some clown pants like that?”

I was devastated. I was a social pariah. I wanted to cry.

I had to make it stop!

One of my good friends, and one of the only people not making fun of me, let me borrow a pair of grey sweatpants he had in his locker.
Unfortunately, all this did was create a mystery for the kids who had heard about my shorts, but hadn’t seen them for themselves.

“What happen to yours shorts?”

“Why’d you change out of your clown pants?”

“Why are you wearing sweatpants that say 'Juicy' on the butt?”

Ok, that last one was a lie.

They didn’t have those back then.

But the shorts were real.

And they never saw the light of day again.

My mom’s poor kidney.