Until I get to leave and go pick up my boy for baseball. This will be the first time I'll have seen him since I dropped him off at his gramma's house last Wednesday night. He's probably like 5ft 7in now. o_O
So it looks like I'll be on this 7 days a week thing until, at least, the second week of July. The hospital hasn't approved the job openings for dispatch yet (which, really? They're already vacant. What the hell is there to approve?), which will take a couple weeks. Then it'll take, like, another 2 weeks for the jobs to be posted. But see, they have to be posted internally (which means strictly with in the hospital) first, so that's another 2 weeks. Then they can be posted to the public. Then there's the interview process, which could take however long they want it to. After that, there's at least a month's worth of training. All that crap will put a new hire in and ready to go in about 4 or 5 months. >_< In the mean time, it seems my boss and the girl who does QA have been reassigned to dispatch. I think I'll still be on 7 days a week, but I think that my hours won't be quite so long. (I have four 12 hour and three 9 hour shifts a week. Except this week. Two 12 hour shifts, one 16 hour shift, one 9 hour shift and then three 12 hour shifts. Then I get to have my precious paid time off I put in for oh so long ago.) I dunno, we'll see how it plays out. In the mean time, I'm paying off EVERYTHING that I can and just going from there.
my stimulus check should be in my mailbox any day now, according to a letter I got from the IRS last week. Once I get that bad boy, I'm buying a stationary bike and an Ab-Lounge. Cuzz I want them. And I will use them. Even Greg said he'd use the Ab-Lounge, so that'll be awesome. He thinks he's getting fat cuzz he's gained like 30 lbs since he moved in with me. Um... Yeah... I think he's a big fat liar cuzz he's still ultra skinny. He likes to grab his tummy and tell me it's a fat roll. And then. THEN. I chuckle at him and tell him that until his tummy can become two tummies while wearing pants, he has no room to talk. And then he rubs my tummy and tells me I'm not fat and then I yell at him to stop rubbing my belly cuzz I AM NOT A TREASURE TROLL DAMN IT YOU ASSHOLE! It's a vicious cycle we repeat once a day when we see each other.
I'm seriously considering getting a pedicure. This is HUGE for me since I am so weird about feet. I've been thinking about getting one for, like, 3 months, but whenever I go to get my nails done and try to write that I want a pedicure, too, I have a mini-panic attack cuzz HOLY SHIT THEY'LL TOUCH MY FEET!! And then I sit down with out writing pedicure cuzz I am a chicken shit.
And I'm out of ideas. Nothing else has been happening. Well, I did try to fight this douche bag with a mullet and a purple shirt at the Iron Maiden concert in Ohio Thursday and I may or may not have spent the 2 HOURS we sat in the parking lot waiting to fucking move screaming "I FUCKING HATE OHIO THIS PLACE SUCKS!!!" out the window in an alcohol induced haze.
But that's not exciting...