A...B...C...

Our society places a lot of emphasis on the importance of reading. It's one of the first fundamental things that you learn in school. Why do we feel reading is so important? Well it's one of the ways we routinely communicate on a daily basis. We read emails from family about a loved one's health updates. We read Facebook status' to see what the girl who sat beside you in grade ten biology...oh wait, algebra...is doing this weekend. We read signs while driving (if driving in Toronto the mass majority say CONSTRUCTION). The method of communication known as READING seems to work in all aspects of our society...except in the Emergency Department. People tend to regress to their pre-kindergarten days when they enter the ER. There are signs everywhere in the ER. Signs that indicate where to sit to be triaged, signs that indicate to remove your coat while you wait for triage, signs that state only one visitor at a time, signs that say STAFF ONLY and signs that tell those waiting that nobody can tell them how long that their wait will be, as the ER is an unpredictable place. Now when I see these signs, I see them in English. Apparently the rest of the world sees them in hieroglyphics or maybe even ancient Gaelic. There is nothing more annoying than spending half your day directing people to follow the signs or answering questions that could very easily have been addressed had the individual just read the sign!!! OK, venting done. I have to go now. There's someone staring at me through the window with their papers for an outpatient cardiac clinic. I guess they didn't read the signs...

Psst...You Gotta Match?

The G8 and G20 Summits are underway. The leaders of the top superpower countries are meeting to discuss whatever they discuss. How to gang up on North Korea should the Koreans decide to unleash their nukes, how to prevent the hole in the ozone from growing any larger, how to stop economic crashes like those that occurred in Iceland and Greece. Who knows? Maybe they're all just sitting around telling dirty jokes and betting on the World Cup while tossing back a few Alexander Keith's. I admit that my knowledge of politics is not up to par. My ignorance is a bit embarrassing. I suppose I just go with the flow so much because I know how fortunate I am to live in the greatest country in the world. I know that had I been born a woman in one of a plethora of other countries, my life would have turned out so much worse. I've been to half a dozen countries around the world (certainly not a lot), but enough to see what "could have been".

Having said that, I appreciate the passion behind the people who are protesting in Toronto as we speak. I appreciate them standing up for those who don't have a voice...for those who don't even know their voices exist! It ISN'T fair that children die from easily curable diseases around the world. It ISN'T fair that mothers trudge miles for clean water. It ISN'T fair that a father tries to support his family on pennies a day. It ISN'T fair that these problems are the NORM for most people around the globe. Yes - protest these unfair divides. Yes - let the world leaders see that those with plenty need to do more to help those with nothing. Yes - stand together as one voice. But for pete's sake...don't set fires to cars, don't wreck fences, don't induce violence! There are thousands and thousands of people who just want to do the right thing, and their voices of peace and unity are drowned out by the actions of a few idiotic asses.

Do these people SERIOUSLY think that overturning a Chevy Malibu and setting it on fire is going to make Barack Obama and his cronies say "well now...maybe we should consider giving more money to the food programs in Africa. We don't want any more Malibus destroyed!". Of course not! Let's look at the people who have induced that greatest changes in the recent past. Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Nelson Mandela. None of them burned cars. None of them hurled broken glass at police. It was their words and their peaceful actions that lead to change. If I was one of the peaceful protesters at this shin-dig I'd be pretty pissed off. I couldn't even tell you what issues are being raised because their stupid cronies are directing all attention away. Anyways, happy protesting!

Bra Tops And Bedazzled Shorts

The other night a bunch of us from work went out for dinner and then to a pub afterwards. We were fortunate enough to get there early enough to snag a table for all 15 of us. Our table was up against a wall in the middle of the pub, just a few feet away from the main bar. You could see most of the action as well as all the foot traffic as it passed by. It's always interesting to see what people wear out to a bar, especially women. Apparently one girl thought her tighty-whitey bedazzled shorts were hot. Another one looked like bridezilla...literally. I came to a rather poignant conclusion that night. If you ever are feeling down about yourself, specifically about how you look, just go to a bar! You realize "hey - I'm doing pretty well here". I'm assuming that the company that made those sparkly booty shorts made more than one size...and they are all coming to a bar near you!

Clown Vs. Clown

Saturday morning was the first year anniversary of my bank being open (HOLLA!!). Ok, whatever right? Normally I wouldn't care either except that they had a little celebration in their parking lot with an inflatable pirate ship, free food and drinks, clowns, music, etc. A free party for the kids? I'm so there. It was drizzling a little bit on the way but I assured myself that the three of us could suck it up. The drizzle slowly turned into a slow steady rain. Hmmm... By the time we arrived the outdoor pirate ship was like it's own water park. As kids jumped around the spray of water flew around like the spit that might emanate from Daffy Duck as he speaks. So the pirate ship was out. Balloon animals. Safe and fairly dry since the clown was standing under a small tent. That was until God decided to open the heavens and blow the rain directly INTO the tent. After waiting about 15 minutes the parent next to me pointed out that the smart people were going to see the clown INSIDE to get balloon animals made. By the time we made it to the front of the line the clown was grumbling about how he was supposed to be make the balloons - not stilts clown inside.

After getting our balloon dog I had a decision to make. Run to the car or go inside for free cake. Who am I kidding - there was no decision to make. Let's try this again. After getting our balloon dog we went inside for cake. Stilts clown was working away at his balloon creatures when one of the boys realized that we only had ONE balloon animal. Now for those of you who aren't parents, one of ANYTHING is not enough when you have two children. So we lined up...again. While waiting for balloon dog #2 stilts clown then began "commenting" on how he wasn't supposed to be making balloon animals, how it was outside clown's job. The whole time he grumbled, he kept a happy face on for the kiddies. But I'm smarter than that. I know sarcasm like a second language. In fact there are some days where I think I might have even invented it. With a second balloon animal in our hands and bellies full of cake and juice, we headed on our way. And if you need to know, stilts clown made a much better balloon dog.

Happy "You're Legal Now" Birthday

One 26 oz. bottle of Smirnoff Vodka - $22.95

One case of 24 bottles of Corona - $32.50

Package of 4 premade shots of mudslides - $8.00

A new outfit from West 49 - $76.99

Ending up in the ER on your 19th birthday because you've yaked all over your new birthday outfit and your buddies can't wake you up and ending up in a diaper with a tube up your penis - PRICELESS!!!

I Support Pirates, Racists and Mounties

You would have to be living in a hole in the ground not to know that the World Cup is starting. I love how people proudly display the country they support with the little flags they stick on their car. I do have an issue though with people who have more than one country flying. I passed some guy today with the flags of Germany, Brazil and England all flapping in the wind. That's sort of cheating in my mind. He conveniently can remove each flag as the teams are eliminated and still look like he's supporting a winning team. Cheater.

What I find most amusing is the people who are on the street corners and parking lots selling these flags. They aren't only selling the small flags to stick on your car, but large ones to hang from your house, to wave out the window of your car as you drive down the street honking after your team wins a game or simply to use as a toga just in case you run out of laundry. What confuses me are the flags that these people are selling. Sure you can get a flag for South Korea, Albania (aren't you impressed that I even knew what the Albanian flag looks like?...the sad part is that it's from watching a very old Simpsons episode where Bart is part of a student exchange program), Holland or Argentina. But did you know that you can also get a flag with a skull and crossbones? Or a good ole' Confederate flag? They are even selling Canadian flags with a Mountie superimposed over the maple leaf. What I want to know is WHY? I don't think that you will find Captain Jack Sparrow, Hitler or Dudley Do-Right on the roster for any world cup teams.

Origins Of The Word F*ck

So it's been a while but I'm back in the blogging game. Things are a bit different now and I'll get around to all of that at some point. But for now I'm just working away in the ER and living life with my two awesome boys. So shall we start out with something light? Something fun and entertaining?

Picture it: an elderly 88-year-old man has tripped and fallen...and he can't get up. Why? Not because his medic alert necklace button wasn't working, but because he has fractured his ankle. Fractured it BADLY. Dislocated and the bone almost protruding through the skin. Bad enough that I have to cover it with a sheet because it gives me the willies. He's getting set up on our heart monitor as we prepare to sedate him with some Micheal Jackson juice, i.e. Propofol when he proceeds to tell my colleauge as she explains to him why we must put him to sleep (it's to straighten out his ankle) that "I really f*cked it up!". Our response? Loud hystrionic laughter followed by me trying not to pee my pants as he then begins to share the origins of the word f*ck. Apparently it came from England in the 16th century. So there you go.