This life is a gift. It is a present. No matter how rich you are or poor you are. No matter how pretty you are or ugly you are on the outside. No matter how perfect or imperfect you are. None of this superficial shyt matters. None of it.
All that matters is that you take everything you got and use it to the best of your ability for all the best possible reasons.
The sins or wrongs come into play when you deprive someone of their joy. Their life. Their needs. Their purpose. Their evolution. Even if the person you are depriving is yourself.
I think the right to pursue life, liberty and happiness isn’t just a citizen of the USA thing. I think that is a human right.
I think I am about to change my life.
*tips ice tea glass at monitor*
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
What I love about being a woman
*flips over on stomach and grabs laptop*
The fully developed female breast is awesome. Yeah, I am going to start right here.
I was lying on my back here in bed topless as is my way during the summer. I happen to look over in the bedroom mirror and catch my reflection. And I am amazed at my side profile.
My cinnamon chocolate skin was bare except for a pair of black thigh high panties. My right leg was bent at the knee and swaying to some internal rhythm even I wasn’t aware of. My lumps, dimples and love handles had settled into a rather attractive pose. I could see the subtle indentation that is my waist. My waist isn’t as small as it use to be but it is still here!
Then sitting up rather perky for a 42 year old breast was Jasmine, the right one. I wonder should I really consider them to be 42 years old or should I just count the years they’ve been noticeable. I watch Jasmine rise and fall as I breathe.
She is this mound of cinnamon chocolate flesh sitting atop my chest. She is capped with a dark chocolate ring topped by a flat little button. I examine the breast with my eyes only. She is no mountain, at least not to me. Mountains are tall pointy things. Jasmine is round and soft and she jiggles outside the confines of a bra. Those aren’t mountain like characteristics at all. That’s ok. I like her soft like that.
I had taken a shower earlier and my skin was still damp. I was just relaxing on my day off. Then the air conditioner kicked on. A gush of cold air hits me and that flat little button transforms into a hard pebble completing a picture that I didn’t know was unfinished.
In that moment, I looked at myself and thought for the first time in a long time:
Damn, I look hot!
*chuckle* Now on twitter they would say take a picture or it didn’t happen. Well, consider this my snapshot. My snapshot in time for the day when my breasts are doing things that I am dreading. Or worse yet, they aren’t even there. *shrug* Who knows what the future brings? Not I but I can face it a little braver knowing that I have a memory stored here about a time when Jasmine and Jocelyn were awesomeness and I looked hot to me.
*shimmy shake and a chuckle*
The fully developed female breast is awesome. Yeah, I am going to start right here.
I was lying on my back here in bed topless as is my way during the summer. I happen to look over in the bedroom mirror and catch my reflection. And I am amazed at my side profile.
My cinnamon chocolate skin was bare except for a pair of black thigh high panties. My right leg was bent at the knee and swaying to some internal rhythm even I wasn’t aware of. My lumps, dimples and love handles had settled into a rather attractive pose. I could see the subtle indentation that is my waist. My waist isn’t as small as it use to be but it is still here!
Then sitting up rather perky for a 42 year old breast was Jasmine, the right one. I wonder should I really consider them to be 42 years old or should I just count the years they’ve been noticeable. I watch Jasmine rise and fall as I breathe.
She is this mound of cinnamon chocolate flesh sitting atop my chest. She is capped with a dark chocolate ring topped by a flat little button. I examine the breast with my eyes only. She is no mountain, at least not to me. Mountains are tall pointy things. Jasmine is round and soft and she jiggles outside the confines of a bra. Those aren’t mountain like characteristics at all. That’s ok. I like her soft like that.
I had taken a shower earlier and my skin was still damp. I was just relaxing on my day off. Then the air conditioner kicked on. A gush of cold air hits me and that flat little button transforms into a hard pebble completing a picture that I didn’t know was unfinished.
In that moment, I looked at myself and thought for the first time in a long time:
Damn, I look hot!
*chuckle* Now on twitter they would say take a picture or it didn’t happen. Well, consider this my snapshot. My snapshot in time for the day when my breasts are doing things that I am dreading. Or worse yet, they aren’t even there. *shrug* Who knows what the future brings? Not I but I can face it a little braver knowing that I have a memory stored here about a time when Jasmine and Jocelyn were awesomeness and I looked hot to me.
*shimmy shake and a chuckle*
Friday, September 17, 2010
Doctor shot at Bmore area hospital
So yesterday the local media and law enforcement were all busy with a gunman over at JHH. I use to work over there and still have friends who work there so of course I was concerned. I immediately sent out emails and texts checking on everyone.
BUT...
When I first heard that a JHH doctor had been shot in the Nelson building I immediately thought of this bastid that I once had the misfortune to work with. My thought: Somebody finally got sick of your shyt and shot your evil azz.
*titter*
I know. That wasn't a nice thought at all. Then he isn't a very nice person. Only people like him bring out thoughts like that in me. Then when I heard that the doctor's specialty was ortho I realized it wasn't the same bastid at all.
See this is what had happened...
Back when I was young and full of piss and vinegar as well as living at home so I could afford to piss off superiors, I worked as a patient registrar in one of the outpatient clinics.
One fine day I was in the middle of checking a patient out. The patient had just handed me their copay, cash mind you, when said Dr. Bastid walked up to my cubicle with a group of residents on his heels. He totally ignored the patient at my desk and dropped a chart on my desk and said: Copy this!
I had the cash in my hand and just looked up at him like he had lost his mind. He stood silently glaring down at me. Before I could say anything the coworker beside me said that she would finish checking my patient out.
I thanked her. I apologized to the patient and handed the patient their cash back. The patient threw him an evil look or two but they got up and went to the next desk.
Without a word, I picked up the chart, walked into the records room where the copiers were and proceeded to have a lovely 15 minute chat with the records girl. *snicker*
So at the 15 minute mark one of the other women working in patient check out came running in asking where are Dr. Bastid's copies. I said, I'll make them...when I get ready.
She gets all nervous. She starts telling me that I can't do that to him. Blah blah blah blah. I stood patiently while she explained. When she was done I asked her a few questions.
1) Did he get promoted to dept chair? Her answer: No.
2) Is he now second in command after the dept chair? Her answer: No.
3) In the event that the chair and his second in command are away is he next in command? Her answer: No.
4) Is he connected in some way? Her answer: No.
Our dept chair makes his own copies (this man has a physical disability) when in the clinic. He is/was a very nice doctor. The second in comman makes his own copies, another nice doctor, when in clinic. What makes Dr. Bastid so special? Her answer: Silence.
I'll make the copies when I'm ready. She goes back out to patient check out. The records girl is now nervous and won't talk anymore so I turn to the task of making his 1 copy.
I put the copy in the chart. Walk out to patient checkout where he is still standing now red in the face with his residents. I drop the chart on the desk the way he did to me. I picked up a new patient chart and called the patient's name so that I could check them out. He snatches up the chart and walks away in a huff without another word.
*chuckle*
He never did that mess to me again or had me do anything else for him either. He did, however, continue to treat the rest of the staff like shyt. Every time we would pass each other in the halls we would roll our eyes at each other. *smh*
All he had to do was ask nicely and I would have done it. Lincoln, whether he wanted to or not, freed the slaves. Dr. Bastid should have paid better attention in history class.
Anyways, the doc will recover and the gunman killed himself and his mother. Apparently, he was angry that the surgery his 84 year old mother had just had was not successful and she would not walk again. *smh* She was 84. She got to walk! There are people in this world who have never walked at all! *smh* I don't get it. I guess I never will. I hope not. I never want to feel that intitled to anything in this life.
Kinda like Dr. Bastid. He thought he was intitled to treat people like shyt.
*sits back and sips mango margarita*
BUT...
When I first heard that a JHH doctor had been shot in the Nelson building I immediately thought of this bastid that I once had the misfortune to work with. My thought: Somebody finally got sick of your shyt and shot your evil azz.
*titter*
I know. That wasn't a nice thought at all. Then he isn't a very nice person. Only people like him bring out thoughts like that in me. Then when I heard that the doctor's specialty was ortho I realized it wasn't the same bastid at all.
See this is what had happened...
Back when I was young and full of piss and vinegar as well as living at home so I could afford to piss off superiors, I worked as a patient registrar in one of the outpatient clinics.
One fine day I was in the middle of checking a patient out. The patient had just handed me their copay, cash mind you, when said Dr. Bastid walked up to my cubicle with a group of residents on his heels. He totally ignored the patient at my desk and dropped a chart on my desk and said: Copy this!
I had the cash in my hand and just looked up at him like he had lost his mind. He stood silently glaring down at me. Before I could say anything the coworker beside me said that she would finish checking my patient out.
I thanked her. I apologized to the patient and handed the patient their cash back. The patient threw him an evil look or two but they got up and went to the next desk.
Without a word, I picked up the chart, walked into the records room where the copiers were and proceeded to have a lovely 15 minute chat with the records girl. *snicker*
So at the 15 minute mark one of the other women working in patient check out came running in asking where are Dr. Bastid's copies. I said, I'll make them...when I get ready.
She gets all nervous. She starts telling me that I can't do that to him. Blah blah blah blah. I stood patiently while she explained. When she was done I asked her a few questions.
1) Did he get promoted to dept chair? Her answer: No.
2) Is he now second in command after the dept chair? Her answer: No.
3) In the event that the chair and his second in command are away is he next in command? Her answer: No.
4) Is he connected in some way? Her answer: No.
Our dept chair makes his own copies (this man has a physical disability) when in the clinic. He is/was a very nice doctor. The second in comman makes his own copies, another nice doctor, when in clinic. What makes Dr. Bastid so special? Her answer: Silence.
I'll make the copies when I'm ready. She goes back out to patient check out. The records girl is now nervous and won't talk anymore so I turn to the task of making his 1 copy.
I put the copy in the chart. Walk out to patient checkout where he is still standing now red in the face with his residents. I drop the chart on the desk the way he did to me. I picked up a new patient chart and called the patient's name so that I could check them out. He snatches up the chart and walks away in a huff without another word.
*chuckle*
He never did that mess to me again or had me do anything else for him either. He did, however, continue to treat the rest of the staff like shyt. Every time we would pass each other in the halls we would roll our eyes at each other. *smh*
All he had to do was ask nicely and I would have done it. Lincoln, whether he wanted to or not, freed the slaves. Dr. Bastid should have paid better attention in history class.
Anyways, the doc will recover and the gunman killed himself and his mother. Apparently, he was angry that the surgery his 84 year old mother had just had was not successful and she would not walk again. *smh* She was 84. She got to walk! There are people in this world who have never walked at all! *smh* I don't get it. I guess I never will. I hope not. I never want to feel that intitled to anything in this life.
Kinda like Dr. Bastid. He thought he was intitled to treat people like shyt.
*sits back and sips mango margarita*
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