I'm Back

I can't stand it. I can't stay away.


The Milk Maid is back.

And, as you may have noticed I changed my hair a little. I was trying to color it back to my natural dark chestnut brown shade. But it turned black. After a week of being in total shock and screaming at the stranger in the mirror every time I paced by, I grew to like my new shade of locks. I feel kind of powerful and bitchy. I stood up for myself a little bit more. I shot a bird at a coworker who called me Elvira.

I had knee surgery on December 15th for a simple arthroscopic plica resection and a lateral release. My "simple" procedure got infected so I was taken in for an emergency arthroscopic irrigation and drainage on December 29th. I had a picc line placed at the hospital during my 2 day stay and received IV vancomycin until January 13th when my surgeon announced my synovial white count (a measure of infection) was over 100,000. Normal is 200 or less. Yeah... it was bad. So, on the 13th I had yet another surgery to clean out the mess that was festering. Dr. Hottie McGropesalot decided that a 4 inch gash incision on the inner side of my right knee was the way to go.

Tomorrow, after 9 days of a continuous Nafcillan IV pump, I will see what my future holds when I see Dr. Hottie for my post op. (I guess technically my post-post-post op. Or post op-op-op. I dunno- anyways...)

So, now that we are pretty much caught up with me how have all of YOU been?

And RainbowMama, I hope I can make you laugh a heck of a lot starting now!

--The Milk Maid says she may be a bitch, but at least she's the pick of the litter.

Just When You Think She Hates You She Goes And Holds Your Hair While You Puke

Friday night, after closing the satellite location I will call Doodoo-ville, I went to meet my co-workers Margarita, RoxC, and Tiny-Whiny. We met at a little hole in the wall that features a live band, cheep drinks, and a cozy atmosphere.

Being a little late to the party (again I was driving from Doodoo-ville and they were mere minutes away from the locale) I was bound and determined to catch up to their festive mood by imbibing a few quick vodka-crans.

Normally, being the social, and well occasionally not-so-social-drinker, that I am I have no problem holding my alcohol.

Only I'd gone a little light on breakfast that day. And I ate an early and small lunch. And well, sometimes I forget how fast The Vodka can catch up with me especially when I'm slamming back the smooth refreshing taste of cranberry with every drop.

Somewhere between dirty dancing with RoxC and Random Bar Lady Who Helped Herself To A Cheese stick I Was Eating and my buddy Margarita leaving and some more dancing and a whirl and a whoosh of activity my brain and eyes were too slow to follow I remember uttering the words, "I gotta barf!".

Tiny-Whiny held my hand and led me to the bathroom. I locked myself in the stall and starting riding the vomit comet. As I was enjoying my hard-earned hurl RoxC starting banging on the stall door. By banging I mean trying to kick the door off its hinges. I unlock the door, see a boot inches from my face, and return to my business. Tiny-Whiny grabs my hair and starts trying to hold it back or tie it up or something (hell I can't exactly remember what she was doing, I was drunk you know). Then, these words flowed from her mouth: It's ok, this is how we did it in prison!

Note to self and anyone else trying to lend a hand to me as I am on my hands and knees with my ass in the air puking my guts out: Never ever compare that moment to prison.

About that same time a small white object is flung at me. The small white object (that appeared to be a pill of some sort) rolled under the sanitary waste disposal can. Tiny-Whiny grabbed the small object as RoxC was yelling "give it to her". Tiny-Whiny shoved the tiny pill, the tiny pill that had been on the public bathroom floor under the bin where products used to quell menstrual flow are thrown away, into my mouth.

Well oh well Alice In Wonderland- if the one you eat makes you taller and the one you drink makes you smaller, then what does the white one do? It makes you stop hurling (phenergan) and call you husband and ask for a ride home.

The moral of the story?

People who are assholes in your work life may very well be the ones holding you hair as you puke one day, so tread lightly.

--The Milk Maid says sing me a song piano man!

Maybe I should send Tiny-Whiny some flowers a some New York Yankees tickets

The Milk MEAD Does RenFest

MEAD: Honey Wine

After two bottles of this delectable libation at the Houston Renaissance Festival yesterday (shared with my Pal B, of course) I officially declared myself the Milk Mead!

Drunken debauchery, men in kilts taking photos of their bare genitalia, henna tattoos, steak on a stick, Mud Men, and K grounding us from any further alcohol were only some of the highlights of this weekend...

There was also drunk dialing, discussions (in depth) of Brazilian waxing, the whoring of Christoper Titus' comedy on You-Tube, drinking before noon, and the waking up of people who had to go to work today (late last night = getting yelled at).

Tomorrow is back to reality. I fly back home later tonight and leave H-town until a date to be announced much later.

I leave my friends B&K, I leave the city I've come to love, I leave company I am at home with.

-The Milk Maid says party on til next time Garth!

Ninja Phlebotomist Girl Has Wicked Fast Reflexes

This week during my clinical adventures I have moved to the pediatric side of the lab. The phleb that closes down at night will always have to wrap up on the pedi side, so the experience is a must. However, in my book- a book that includes cooties, vomit, urine, and pain in the ass spoiled brats- the experience is bringing in mixed reviews.

I love the kids that come in that are ready and willing to go. I love the kids that are scared of what will happen to them and I take the time to explain what I am doing and why it's being done. I even love the babies that have puked up milk on me (cause God bless them they are so freakin cute, even with sour-milk breath). I even love the kids who squeal and wiggle- they bleed faster and get out sooner.

What I don't like is a 13 year old girl who tries to bite me (yes I said BITE me) while I'm doing a strep throat swab. What I dislike equally as much is the 11 year old who took a fucking swing at me while doing yet another throat culture (I'm beginning to see a pattern here).

I handled biting girl by pinching her nose (ever so gently of course) and forcing her to either open up and let me swab or pass out. Either way works, right?

I handled the knock out kid like this: She swung at my head with her left hand, I used my left to grab her wrist (as her unconcerned mother looked on) and use my fast reflexes to swab just as vigorously as I could with my right hand. I then proceeded to give her a glare that could have melted polar ice. One of those "You picked the wrong bitch today" looks. My Nike Shox are now officially my new bitch shoes.

Starting Monday I will float between offices- the main lab, a satellite location that is 10 minutes from home, and possibly yet another location later on that is south of here but still very close. My application has officially been pulled for review by Head Lab Lady. SB, who is 2nd in command, but my direct supervisor, assures me I have job. Not that I was too worried.

--The Milk Maid says why buy the cow when you get the Milk Maid for free?

Tone up with this fantastic weight equipment... You know you wanna!

I'll Take Peter, Paul, And Mary Songs For $500 Alex!

I'm leaving on a jet plane! No, really!!

A couple of weeks ago- after shutting down their blogs without TELLING me first, giving me a heart attack, making me has a sad, and then bribing me to stop whining- my pals B&K hatched a glorious scheme.

"Come to Houston, Milk Maid!" they echoed in happy harmony.

So, me being the clingy, needy wife that I am- who would never, ever leave her hubby for a long weekend trip to a city far, far away- promptly fooled all the doubters (B included) and booked a ticket to H-ton. Yes, really. Really, really.

So, for the past week or more, every single day (occasionally multiple times) my phone will ring or my email will bleep with the same question: Are you still coming?

Of course the answer is and always has been: Are you still sure you want me?

--The Milk Maid says kiss me and smile for me!

(Does colon cleanser work on commas?)