The Son of God is a Hamster.

And he fights with God alot.

Okay, so this post is going to be devoted to a lot of stuff, including explaining my enigmatic blog title.

First of all, Ruby, our companion rabbit for Flip flop, our lop ear, got all Psycho Killer the other day and decided she'd lke to eat Flip flop for a snack or something.

Rabbit fights aren't pretty, plus you end up vaccuming enough fur to make King Kong a sweater. And I hate vaccuming.

So Ruby had to go. Now she lives next door, with three other rabbits. I've visited her, and she looks very pissed off about her new out door ghetto digs. Oh well. Shouldn't have tried lagomorphicide, bitch.

Second of all, I fucking hate work, but we all knew that. The only thing I want to say is that I am having a lot of fun dreaming up ways to show my utter fucking contempt for a CEO whose enterprise a) builds a 15 million dollar cancer center to compete with Big Name Hospital down the street b) then pleads poverty when nurses beg on bended knee for more nursing staff and then c) sends unsolicited mail to their employees asking to come join the hospital. For a sign on bonus.

Uh, excuse me, but last time I checked, isn't it kind of retarded to get hired to hospital for which you already work, and in fact one that routinely lies through their fucking teeth during each and every staff meeting and says they don't have a budget for more nurses?

This is also a company that seems to relish fucking over their employees any way, like making employees who have been working at this hospital for well over a decade, pay for their vacation time. Yes I'm serious. You get to work for the hospital, for free, for as long as you want to take your vacation, even though you've earned three weeks of vacation. Paid vacation. Which apparently in [community hospital of hell] means "You pay us and then we'll let you have vacation. Maybe. If it's convenient staffing-wise for our nefarious purposes."

It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase modern day slavery, doesn't it?

This is also a hospital where, at a recent staff meeting, someone in management actually called a specific employee "scum of the earth" and said s/he hated this person.

I'm am not making this up, even though it totally sounds like it, I know.

Besides, I'm getting burnt out with shit like the following:

I actually had a patient the other day, as I was wheeling in IV fluids say to me, "What the hell is that crap?! " I wanted to say, "Poison, you rotten assmunch fuckhead."

The next time someone says something like that to me I'm calling them an ungrateful son-of-a-bitch fucktard. I don't care if they fire me, I'm already quitting, but as long as I can't lose my license, I"m going totally postal on the next SOB who dares to use foul language and screams at me for no good reason.

I didn't go to divinity school, get a masters in theology on a full scholarship to wind up in a job where people hand me used kleenex, swear at me, and piss all over their bed out of spite (I'm not talking about demented people who can't help these behaviors. I'm talking mean bastards who are just as alert and oriented as you and I.)

I told my husband my ideal non- job would be to sit at home, write angry missives about the state of nursing, play with my dog, and knit sweaters for Bosnian refugees, or whoever needs knitted goods.

Fuck work. Fuck the CEO and his cronies. Fuck it all. I don't care any more. Who cares if I default on my loans I'm in so much debt I"ll never be able to buy a house any way, and welfare sounds kind of relaxing at this point. As a I think I'd actually enjoy a much higher social class than being a nurse.

I'm at my breaking point. I can't go back to work. I just can't. I'm going to lose it, and end up throwing expensive equipment around, screaming, and then break out into gospel hymns. That way I can blame it on a religious state of ecstasy/screaming in tongues.

I've so had it with work yesterday I spent the entire day screaming at everything. It was a little scary. I nearly got us killed about half a dozen times in my new car because I was too busy bitching about how shitty the world is, blowing my horn and giving death ray looks to vehicles trying to cut me off (which I never do normally) rather than pay attention to other, non threatening, law abiding drivers in traffic. My husband, Lord love him, didn't ask for a divorce, pack up, and head to Vegas, which is why I love him the most of everything I have, on the same level as my dog (not to diss my husband, but I have a long history with my dog, and I love him just as much. I'm sorry, it sounds horrible, but it's true) and my bed, which is comfy as hell and which I would never leave if I didn't have to.

Then , I was babbling about just "driving across country." He was like, "Where would you go?" I said, "I don't know! I just need to drive, dammit!' And he was like, "That's gonna be kind of expensive, you know." then I ranted some more. I was still yelling at 12 a.m. this morning, but a little less.

Then I started actually begging him to have a kid we could sell on the black market. i was trying to convince him how quickly I could pay off my car and student loans, buy a house. For some reason, he got really upset about the whole ide,a nad refused to talk to me about it. I was bewildered, but persisted until he told me he wasn't going to speak to me until I changed the subject.

So then I started asking about selling illegal drugs, and besides the whole prison thing, like, would it be feasible? Could we make a lot of money? It wouldn't be a permanent gig, I rationalized, just enough to makke me wake up in the morning and realize I don't have to go work because I'm in six figure loan debt and have to get stool samples out of freshly shat-in bedpans for a living.

M husband humored me and said he check into it, but later on I found out he called my mother in a panic because he thought I had truly lost it.

I even made up a pros and cons of suicide the other night. It was more a philosophical exercise then anything, but it was cathartic, and educational, because I realized my problem isn't that I suck or that my life sucks, it's my job that sucks, and that can be changed. Besides, who the hell wants to be remembered as "That Suicide Girl"? Because you know they'll never remember your name, you'll just be The Crazy Ass ChicThat Offed Herself and people will laugh and make fun of you when you're dead.

I'd much rather be remembered as "Scum of the Earth" although secretely I'm hoping to piss off management so much I get called "Whore of Babylon at the next staff meeting.