Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Buffy the Borderline Intern Slayer.

*names in the story changed--duuhh!
"So scram! You know who I am!"

~ Salt 'n' Pepa


On Sunday I was running with my friend and former Grady doctor Jennifer M. We were talking about old war stories from our internships and some of our most miserable memorable moments. In that discussion we both realized something. Every physician, nurse, or person period has a story of some intimidating "mean girl" (or mean guy) during their early days of training. You know--the person who makes things harder than they have to be or who treats you like you're some kind of human speed bump? Yeah. Those. So we agreed that no matter who you are, you have one of those stories.

post run pic  at Stone Mountain with Jen M.

Here is mine. Like to hear it? Here it go.


Cleveland, Ohio
Emergency Medicine Rotation, Winter 1996

"You doin' okay, Draper?"

That's what my attending said as he blew past me with two charts in his right hand. I looked up and smiled bravely. "I think I'm okay, Dr. Luke."

"Well I think you're doing more than okay. You're doing really great. This place is crazy-- especially this time of year. You're really holding your own."

I appreciated the kind feedback. He was completely accurate in his description of the Level 1 Trauma ER in which we were working. There was never a dull moment--ever. But especially in the winter months things seemed to get busier. In addition to the snow shoveling induced chest pain, the viral kid crud and influenza-like illnesses, and the ice-related orthopedic emergencies, wintry weather always brought another type of patient--the cold ones.

No. Not just cold as in literally hypothermic. We saw those patients regularly and wrapped them in those inflatable bear-hugger blankets or infused them with warm saline solution. But I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about the ones living hard lives on the streets with concomitant medical problems that aren't new or emergent. But when temperatures dipped into the single digits and you have to wait in line for a shelter bed or worse, find a space under a bridge? Those things that previously simmered on the back burner got moved to the main serving trays.

So this? This made things even busier--and crazier--than normal. It was hard sifting through what was truly a medical emergency and what wasn't. And for me, an intern who'd become a doctor in the same calendar year, that presented a challenge.

Fortunately, my attendings like Dr. Luke were really kind. Moreover, the upper level residents who supervised us were mostly helpful and encouraging. And on this particular overnight shift, in addition to a nice attending, I also had Asher there.


*insert sigh*

Okay. So this senior EM resident had the kind of good looks that made your head hurt immediately upon seeing him. Tall and fit with broad shoulders. A chiseled chin with a cleft so perfect that one could argue it was aftermarket. Denture-straight teeth from probable middle school braces and a smile that lit up his whole face each time he did. I remember his teeth being white--but not that creepy overly-white white that immediately makes you feel skeeved out in that way that men with clear nail polish or arched eyebrows make you feel. In fact, nothing about this guys suggested that he worked at his looks. Which made every single person in that ER just swoon even more.

But the kicker? He was really smart, really helpful and a really, really nice guy. That was the pièce de résistance. This, more than anything else, made me always feel relieved when we got to work together. And combined with super-nice Dr. Luke? I knew I could survive this twelve hour shift--even in the winter.

The only not-so-good thing about working with Hot-Asher was that he brought out the claws in a few people. In particular, an already unpleasant (to us interns) nurse named Maggie.


Okay, so Maggie. Wow. She was this experienced nurse in what I am guessing was her mid-thirties or so. She'd been working in that Level 1 Trauma Center since she first finished nursing school so she not only knew every single person remotely connected to it, she also knew her stuff. She was smart. She was decisive. And damn, was she opinionated. In many instances, I'd seen those opinions save a patient's life. But I also saw them hinder care a few times, too.

The hardest part about working with Maggie, though, was that she'd just sort of make up her mind to "split" when it came to people working in that ER. I remember one of my co-interns whispering to me during one busy shift, "Jeeze. That woman is textbook borderline personality disorder." We peered around the nurses station  where she stood laughing and smiling with another resident. Only to see her scowl two seconds later when yet another asked her a question.

Maggie was intimidating in other ways, too. She spoke in this booming yet nasal Cleveland-ese voice and never held her tongue. Moreover, she obviously had a penchant for the gym and the tanning bed when she wasn't in the hospital. Her bronzed skin always looked odd in the dead of a Midwest winter, as did her bleached-blonde highlights. But that, coupled with her, okay, really impressive body made her even more bold in her actions. And she always got her share of attention, too. Particularly since she did have a couple of things that were undeniably . . .errr. . . .aftermarket.

Ah hem.

So I'd just finished discharging a patient that Dr. Luke signed out with me and was on to the next person. Without giving much thought to the complaint, I grabbed another clipboard and hustled into the next patient's room.


The minute I stepped around the curtain, the stench filling the space nearly brought me to my knees. The person to which it was connected sat on the gurney covered by a dank, soiled jacket and what looked like some kind of industrial construction jumpsuit. His hair hung in wet, black spindles plastered to the sides of his face. On his lap was an overstuffed dufflebag that he had both arms wrapped around for safekeeping.

"Hello, sir. My name is. . .um. . .Dr. Draper."

"Hello there."

 I glanced down at his triage sheet and winced when I read his chief complaint. "Can't pee."

"So. . . Mr. Murchison. . . can you tell me a little bit about what brings you to the emergency department to day?"

"I can't pee. Well, what I mean is that I try and it just comes out in little drops. And it hurts, too."

"I see."  I nodded and wrote down what he said--more out of nervous habit than necessity. "Can you. . .um. . .like, tell me more about that?"

And so. He went on to explain that for the last few days his lower back had been hurting and that it's been difficult for him to urinate. He also described feeling feverish and  a "paining" in his rectum whenever he tried to defecate.

"Hmmm." I bit the inside of my cheek and did my best to unify his symptoms. First it sounded like some kind of complicated urinary tract infection. But then, what would a man be doing with that? Their anatomy protects them from this problem that commonly plagues women. I thought some more and felt a lightbulb come on.

His prostate.

I continued the dialogue in my head as I started to examine him.

Okay, so he's not so old. In fact, he's not even forty. That means his prostate would have to be infected to do this. Like prostatitis. Hmm. I've only read about it but hadn't actually diagnosed it in anyone. I sifted through my brain to think about what to do next.


He was going to need a rectal examination. Which meant whatever was wafting from out of those clothes would be released even more into the atmosphere.


And before you say it--I know it's unprofessional to think that. But I'm human. So I'm just being honest about what I was thinking. And though I'm not a big fan of putrid smells, I know that I signed up to take care of people. I'm proud to say that I would never and have never let that stop me from doing the necessary exam. Even if I have to kind of dry heave while doing it.


So I took a deep breath and handed Mr. Murchison a gown to put on. After slipping out to grab a male technician to chaperone, I pulled on some gloves, lubed my index finger and gently began to examine the first inflamed prostate I've every felt.

"Yaaaaaahhhhh-owwwwwww!" he yelped the moment I mashed down on the gland.

I gasped. "I'm sorry, sir." Without thinking, I pressed my finger down again.

"Woooooo-hoo-hoo-hoooo!" He tucked his bottom inward and pressed his cracking lips together.

I immediately felt bad for doing the thing that novice doctors always do. Push something that hurts and then push it once more as if the first time wasn't enough. In my defense, I'd never felt a prostate like this one. In fact, most of the prostates I'd felt were on men over 75 or on a plastic manikin. Those were hard like the tip of a nose. But this one? It was boggy and mushy like an old piece of fruit that had gotten lost in the back of the refrigerator.

"Sir? Do you think you can pee in this cup if I give it to you?"

"I could try. But it's been pretty tough."

"When was the last time you urinated?"

"A full one? Like a day or two. But I have had infections before. In my prostate but also my bladder when I was a kid."

I squinted my eyes. "When you were a kid you had urinary tract infections?"

"Yeah. Something about how my insides and my kidneys is since I was born."

"Aaaaah. I see. Have you had any procedures?" I asked.

"Uhhh, I'm not sure. Maybe I did. But I lived with a lot of people growing up. I ain't even sure."

I took a big drag of air and handed him the urine cup. I went to check the board for new patients and popped back in five minutes later. Still no urine. He was going to need someone to get a catheter into his bladder to get some urine. And see if he was truly obstructed.

I looked in my pocket book and saw that for some people with prostatitis, a catheter could make them more ill. I had zero experience so I called the Urology resident on call. After hearing about the patient and the fact that he not only had some prior history of anatomic predisposition to infection but also that he wasn't systemically ill, he confirmed what I hoped he wouldn't. "Get a catheter in him," he instructed. "And don't go let anyone go mucking all around either. See how much he's retaining in there and we'll be down to see him."

"Okay. I had read something about you shouldn't put in a catheter?" My voice was intern-tiny.

"Yeah. In this instance, he's got to have one. We need a urine specimen and you said his bladder is big on exam, right?"

Shit. I had said that, hadn't I? "Errrr, yeah."

"Okay. So have one of the RNs put in like a pediatric Foley catheter. Who's down there? Nurse-wise?"

"Pardon me?"

"What nurse is there? In the ER now?" He was seasoned enough to know which nurses were the most skilled. So he wanted to know for sure whether or not he needed to scrub out of the OR now or if he had time to finish his case and take a power nap in the call room.

"Maggie, I think."

"Yesss! She's amazing. She'll get it in in a snap. Let me know what comes out." He hung up before I could even say another word.


That "uggghh" was for one main reason. There was no way I wasn't going to at least try to get one of the nicer nurses to assist me on this instead of Maggie aka Buffy the Borderline Intern Slayer. Did I mention? We used to refer to her as "Buffy" when she wasn't looking.

But I digress.

Of course as Murphy's law always has it, not a nice-nurse was in sight. I gritted my teeth and looked in a few more rooms. Shit-shit-shit. No such luck. I flagged my order and slinked over to drop in the box for her to see. I grabbed another patient as quickly as I could and went into another room.

That one was very straightforward. Sniffles and kids in the home. Wanting a magic pill for a cold but having to be told that time and rest were the only cures for the common cold. The patient seemed okay with my plan so I headed out to find Asher or Dr. Luke to discuss both that patient and Mr. Murchison before things got any more backed up.

I wasn't even two steps into the hallway before I was accosted by Buffy, I mean Maggie.

"What is this?" She was holding up the chart by her thumb and index finger with the order flagged.

"Excuse me?" I wanted to sound more bad ass but my voice was thread bare.

"This. I'm not catheterizing that man." She began to hand the chart back to me. I took a step back.

"He's retaining urine, I think. So we need to get some urine. I'm sorry. He needs it."

She sucked her teeth--hard like a sixth grader. "He's got a hot prostate. Why in the hell would you stick a catheter in someone with a hot prostate? You wrote it right here in your note. Those patients don't get catheters. Read about it and you'll know I'm right." She started to walk away from me but not before attempting to push the chart on me once more. I guess her plan was for me to cancel the order.

"Umm. Okay, well, yeah, I was thinking that, too. But he has some issues with his collecting system that are, like, congenital. So I spoke to Urology and they said he needs a catheter. Pediatric, like, a really small french."

"I know what a Pediatric catheter is." She glowered at me and then shook her head. "If you want a catheter in him, you can do it. I'm not doing it. Plus I'm busy and that guy has been hanging round in shelters and on streets for months. So now this is an emergency? Please." She sat the chart down on a counter and strolled off.

I could feel my face burning. Partly because I was embarrassed but also because I was angry with myself. I'm from Los Angeles--no Inglewood. Why was I letting this woman punk me?

I was also tired. This was what felt like my twelfth twelve hour shift in a row. And it was the eighth hour of it in the middle of the night. I didn't need this. Not one bit. I swallowed hard and marched over to grab the chart. Making sure she could see me, I plopped it into the "in box" with a loud thunk.

Ha. Take that.

Off I went to speak to Dr. Luke. He liked my plans and commended me for being proactive by calling Urology. I started to tell him that Buffy, I mean Maggie, was being antagonistic but I decided against it. I was a big girl and would handle it.

I went to finish discharging my patient with the upper respiratory infection and close out that visit. I poked my chest out a bit and prepared to check on how much urine Buffy, I mean Maggie, had gotten from Mr. Murchison's bladder. I was proud of myself for standing up to her. Since pretty much no intern did.

That's when I saw it. Mr. Murchison's chart. Sitting back in that same place on the counter. With the flag still up.

Buffy, I mean Maggie, was sipping on a Diet Coke and cackling with a few of the nurses and other upper level residents. "I think you left your chart on the counter." She didn't even hide her snicker. And for those people sitting near her who'd been working there for a while, they knew that this was just the way of the world there. Interns would come. And Buffy would slay them.

I mean, Maggie would.

I calmly reached for the chart once again and quietly placed it back in the in box to signal that it was still an active order. Before I could even make it around the corner to get another patient, it was right back on that same counter. Still flagged. Still not done.

Now. This is the point where I felt the Inglewood welling up in me. My inner Deanna was surfacing and I could hear the seal on the can of WUP ASS being cracked open. I felt my cheeks warming up again as I nervously tucked my hair behind my ears. I wanted to say something to her but every sentence I imagined started with the word reserved usually for female dogs.

Yeah. Not so professional.

That's when I saw Asher coming out of a trauma. Looking all lifesavingly-hot in his hospital issue blue scrubs and approachable as always.


He turned around and smiled. I tried not to melt when he did. "What's up, Draper?"

"Umm. I need some help." And so. In the least messy way I could, I explained that Buffy, I mean, Maggie, wasn't too keen on putting a Foley catheter in Mr. Murchison but that he needed it. And that I understood her trepidation and that he was soiled and malodorous. But that he was obstructed and likely was infected. And that I'd spoken to Urology already who wanted the catheter in before they came down. "I wrote the order over half an hour ago. And I just don't want this to get any more uncomfortable than it is, you know?"

"That's crazy. Maggie's such a great nurse, man. But she's so tough sometimes. I just don't get it."

"Was she ever mean to you as an intern?" I have no idea why I asked Hot-Asher this. Because clearly no one would ever be mean to him unless, of course, they were in need of immediate psychiatric attention. Which Buffy, I mean Maggie, possibly was.

"She was mean to my classmates. I'm not sure why she let me off the hook," he let out a easy chuckle and shook his head.

Ummm, hello? Shall I tell you why, Mr. Hot-Asher?

"Let me take care of it," he finally said.

"You're going to put in the catheter?" I asked.

"No. Maggie would be the best one to do it. Let me just twist her arm." He winked and walked off.

On I went to my next patient and when I reemerged, the chart was in the "order completed" box. Hallelujah. "Thanks for that, Asher. Can I sign out another person to you?"

"Sure."  (Back then the interns checked out their patients with the attending or a senior resident--not just the attending.)

I launch into my spiel on the next patient. I speak up to let Asher hear me over the ambient noise of the ER. A woman screaming. Staff laughing. A trauma being spoken over a speaker phone. And a bunch of other interns discussing their patients with other seniors and attendings.

That's when it happened. That's when I got as close as I ever have to almost going to jail since I've been a doctor.

Midway through my presentation to Asher, Buffy, I mean Maggie, comes whizzing by me like a blonde, overly-tanned blur. In her hand she's holding a specimen bag with a urine cup and is still wearing a glove. Before I could say or do anything else, she outstretches her muscular arm and, literally, puts the specimen bag with the urine bag so close to my face that it grazes me on the nose.

"Here's your magic urine!" she huffed in that nasal voice of hers. "You happy now?!"

The urine bag bonked my nose on the word "happy."

And that? That was all she wrote.

Oh. HELLS. No.

Poor Asher. I could tell he wanted to say something but, when he opened his mouth to stop me from marching off behind her, nothing came out. I was gone in sixty seconds flat. My feet were moving faster than I could even think about what would happen once I got where I was going.

I found her exactly where I thought I would. Putting the urine specimen along with his blood work into the tubing system in preparation for the stat lab. And lucky me--no one was back there but her.

Yeah. Lucky me, for reals.

And this? This is the part where I did what my entire family knows as "pulling a T-Tone." 

A few definitions for clarity:

T-Tone: Yet another nickname for my father, Mr. William Tony Draper (usually known on this blog as "Poopdeck.")
Pulling a T-Tone:  Going COMPLETELY off on somebody. Completely. Without any censoring of f-bombage, insults or below the belt kidney blows. Not physical ones. Just verbal ones. 
Usual result of pulling a T-Tone: No longer being effed with. 

Okay. Now that we have that out of the way, I can tell you what happened next.

I came right up behind her has she closed the sliding door on the tube system. Standing directly in her personal space, I tapped her on the shoulder. Hard. The minute she swung around and met my face, I felt an immediate twinge of fear. It dawned on me that she could probably bench press me over her very tanned head and then throw me behind her neck for a few triceps curls.

But. Afterschool Fighting 101 was a class I aced at Morningside HIgh School. Particularly the part that helps you to avoid any fight at all by putting the fear of Jesus in someone.

Also known as "pulling a T-Tone."

So there we stood. Literally nose to nose. I lifted my right index finger and pointed directly on her forehead. (Not even kidding.) My eyes were like two evil slits and I know for certain spit was already gathering in my mouth just so that I could shower her with tiny droplets of saliva on each f-bomb.

I will censor my words by using caps since this is a family blog. You can insert what you THINK I may or may not have really said. Here we go:  

"Let me tell you one GOSH DARN thing! Now you? WITCH, you got me completely MESSED UP! Don't you know I will kick you MOTHERLOVING BEHIND right here, right now in this ER? Do you hear me? Hold the HECK up. WITCH did you actually just stick a FREAKING bag of MOTHERLOVING urine in my face? My face? Did you?!?!!! Awwww, hell nawww. No, you didn't. You didn't do that." 

My eyes started going all crazy like "Crazy Eyes" on Orange is the New Black. And this? This is when I realized that Afterschool Fighting 101 had paid off. As buff as Buffy, I mean Maggie, was I had scared the crap out of her. She was blinking all fast and stammering. And literally shaking, y'all.

"I-I-I-I. . ."

"Naaawww. Don't you say a MOTHERLOVING thing. I don't know who you think you are but clearly you think I'm somebody different than who I am. WITCH I am not the one. Do you hear me? NOT. THE. MOTHER. LOVING. ONE. You better be glad my attending was standing next to me and that I care about my professional reputation. I was this close to pulling that bag out of your hand, kicking your MOTHERLOVING BEHIND right in this ER and then opening up that bag, pulling out that cup and pouring it straight over your nasty, overbleached, overprocessed hair!"

"I just. . .I just. . ."

"WITCH you just mixed me up with some of these other folks up in here. That's what you did." 

 I stepped even closer to her face.  

"MESS with me again. Just try it and see what happens. I'll mess around and catch a case up in this MOTHERLOVA! I am NOT SCARED OF YOU. You got that? NOT. SCARED." 

I turned away and stopped. When I spun around and looked at her again, her orange face was now beet red. 

"You know what the worst part is? The worst part is that you're a great FREAKING nurse. Probably the best one down here. But you're a FREAKING A-HOLE BULLY which makes you suck!"

Sorry, couldn't come up with a witty replacement for "asshole." And yes, I said "suck." And yes, I used all of that potty mouth language since there didn't appear to be any witnesses. What can I say? I wasn't always the professional person you know and love today.

Mmmm hmmm.

And with that? I marched out toward the patient rooms to finish my work.  But just before I did, I was shocked to see Asher standing there frozen like a statue. He'd witnessed the whole thing.


But see, the thing about pulling a T-Tone is that you get pushed so far and feel so mad that something like being witnessed doesn't matter so much. At least, not in the moment. And so. I walked right past him and got back to my work. My chest was heaving and my pulse was racing. I was too mad to care. Number of damns given in that moment? Zero.

An hour or so later, Asher sat next to me as I was checking labs on one of the computers. "I think you should write Mags up. I'll sign it as a witness. That was awful." His voice was soft and apologetic.

I thought about that offer for a moment then answered. "You know what? I'm okay. I have to still work here. I'm not sure writing her up is what I want to do." And that was true. I knew that the proper thing would have been to get her officially reprimanded. But I would be in that ER many, many more times before I graduated. And I knew how things worked with seasoned nurses and their arch enemy residents.

Besides. I had already dealt with Buffy--NO, Maggie. She would never slay this intern again.


Asher raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to me. "Jesus, Draper. I heard you talking to her. You tore her a new one, didn't you? I thought you were going to punch her for a minute there."

I rolled my eyes. "Hmmmph. I did, too."

"Yeah. That bag of urine hit your nose!" He shook his head. "Bananas."

I felt myself getting angry all over again. I guess it was obvious  because Asher held up both hands in surrender.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hit you."

"I think . . .I think you kind of scared Mags, Draper. She looked like she saw a ghost."

"You know what they call that in the 'hood, Asher?"

He laughed. "What?"

"They call it being 'shook.'"

"What'd you just say?"

I nodded my head and spit a few bars of the eponymous rap song that brought us that slang word. "Son, they shook. 'Cause ain't no such thing as halfway crooks. Scared to death, they scared to look. They shook."

Asher just stared at me and, if I'm not mistaken, looked like he'd just gained a new respect for me. "Draper, did you just quote one of the most grimy, gangster rap groups of all time to me?"

We both laughed out loud. I have to say that Asher being familiar with The Infamous Mobb Deep made him that much more hot. As if him getting any hotter was even possible.

Yeah. So from then forward? Buffy, I mean Maggie, was no longer a problem. As a matter of fact, once she got through being "shook", she did a complete 180 when it came to me. She became super helpful. Complimentary of my work. And . . .wait for it. . . she even offered me some Chinese food or pizza when the nurses had leftovers.

By the time I was a senior resident, I was even calling her "Mags." Ha. We got so cool on my final month down there that once when a bunch of us went out to eat at the end of the rotation, I even told her about how we used to call her "Buffy the Intern Slayer."

I left the "borderline" part out. Hee hee.

Yep. Oh--and, in case you're wondering? I never wrote her up. I didn't. Now that I think about it--I'm still not so sure I would if I could do it all over again. You know? Sometimes the only way to get somebody to back down is to stand up to them.

Oh, and depending on the gravity of the situation? Like if it involves infected bodily fluids being thrust near your face? A covert f-bomb in the back hallway might not hurt either.

I'm just sayin'.

Happy Tuesday. I knew I had a post on "pulling a T-Tone!" Read it here.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . of course "Shook Ones" by The Infamous Mobb Deep and also this--the theme song of Afterschool Fighting 101. Picture me saying the entire thing while pointing in a chick's face and flipping my asymmetric hair in her face. Oh, you didn't know? You had to know every word to successfully make it to Afterschool Fighting 102. Ha.

And okay. . .okay. . . you can hear a somewhat clean version of "Shook Ones" here. I'm too ashamed to embed it. Ha! #dontjudgeme


  1. LOVE IT...I worked in the residents clinic 6 years and I loved it!!! I used it as an opprotunity to mold my residents into treating the nurses WELL...LOL They called me "queen of the clinic" but in a good way! Being older and being a nurse longer than they had been out of school...they looked to me for advice all.the.TIME


    Dee in San Diego

    1. Yeaaaah, Dee. You know what's up. Ain't no such thing as HALFWAY CROOKS! Ha ha ha ha. That Maggie was a halfway crook, man. Ha ha. Punking all the interns and then getting all scared when somebody confronted her. SHOOK!

      I'm glad you were NICE to the interns! But I bet if they crossed you you might have pulled a T-TONE!

  2. Sometimes you just gotta do it. And you did.
    Wish I could have been a fly on the wall.

    1. Girrrrrl. I was about to catch a case. Ha ha ha. Seriously, though, I think writing her up would have been disastrous. The only way to survive that was to do what I did. Yep. Sometimes you just gotta do it.

  3. Dude. I was "leant" all into the screen reading this. You know you can "tell" a story. Your stories are always good, but this was one of your better ones. My mom was an Assistant Head Nurse at a teaching hospital for 25 years and has had many stories about about the residents. Glad you set Maggie straight...sometimes all it takes it that one good T-Tone and people will get themselves together.

    1. Yes, ma'am. Sometimes a good ol' T-Tone is the only thing that works. 'Preciate you reading.

  4. You know Dr. Manning, I've been waiting a LONG time read a post like this from you (maybe you've posted others and I just missed them). As a Black woman in a profession with few Black women, I knew you were dealing with these kinds of issues. And I was waiting to read a story like this one so I could learn something, quite frankly. But I also know as a Christian, that brushing off the negative stuff and focusing on the positive is required to let God do his thing in our lives.

    I also have to say that this is BY FAR the funniest post I've read of yours to date and in your speech to Buffy, I mean Maggie, I could "sense" your sister Deena's influence all up in there, LOL!!! And I don't mean anything negative by that because I think I'm a LOT like her. :)

    1. For what it's worth, Maggie didn't discriminate in her bitchiness. She was a jerk to black, white, blue, green--but she definitely had a gender preference for dudes. That wasn't so cool.

      Ha ha ha. . .I fear I may have let you down on the "learning something" part. I definitely didn't take the high road! Ha ha ha. But it could have been worse. When the BHE read this, he said,"I would've been in hand cuffs getting dragged out of that piece. You're a good one, babe."

      And the Deanna part? Yes. I remember telling her this and she said one of her favorite Deanna sayings: "OH I'M 'BOUT TO COME UP THERE AND HOO-RIDE ON THAT A$$!!" Sigh. Deanna, like Harry, would have left in cuffs, too. ;)

    2. You know, sometimes people just need you to speak their language. :) I know it doesn't seem like you took the high road, but you drew a line in the sand and stood up to her bullying. Is that not what we want to teach our kids to do today? LOL Minus a few fbombs maybe, but we want them to draw a line and say, "NO. I am worth more than that and I'm not playin'. Keep messing with me and it will not go well for you." I had to LOL that not only did you snap at her, but that Asher heard it all.

    3. Ha ha.... I like to think Asher was secretly hot for me after that. My spunk combined with my knowledge of gangsta rap -- soooo appealing, right? Oh yeeeeeaaah.

  5. No judgement here. I love Mobb Deep!!!!! This is one of my favorite stories

  6. I love this story! I read it three times so I could cackle, then cackle some more! 'Somebodys' at my job need a T-Tone but good!



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