I can pretty much sum up the ER in three little words: chaos, carnage, and a whole lotta crazy. Clocking into work is sorta like stepping onto a high-speed train in a war zone. You go from zero to 60 as soon as you pass through that bulletproof glass, and you don't slow down for like 12 hours straight. By the time your shift is over, your head is spinning and you can hardly believe you made it out alive. Trust me, the ER is sooo not for sissies.

But even though I sometimes have to listen to hard-core gangsta rap just to mentally prepare myself before a shift (shut up -- it totally gets my adrenaline pumping), I'm realizing more and more that I'm pretty freaking good at my job. And not only that, but I'm loving every minute of it. What can I say? I guess I'm cut out for Crazy Town after all.

So as I find myself with less and less free time on my hands, this whole blog thing just doesn't seem to be working out for me anymore. Don't get me wrong -- it's been so much fun gushing and griping about my day-to-day ups and downs, and I've loved feeling connected to a cyber community. But I kinda feel like I'm starting a new chapter in my life, and unfortunately I gotta turn the page on this blog -- at least until things settle down for me a bit. So thank you for joining me on my little blog adventure, but for now it's coming to a close. Feel free to drop me a line here if you want, and wish me luck as I step back onto this crazy roller coaster ride!

Okay, we all know it's bad manners not to tip. Anyone who mixes your mojito, refills your garlic bread, answers your late-night room service request or drives you from Midtown to Soho deserves a little somethin' extra for the effort, right? Besides -- good tips totally equal good karma.

But what about the person who sorta does all those things at once? The person who mixes your medicine, refills your ice chips, answers your late-night call button request and drives (okay, wheels) you from Radiology to Inpatient Surgery -- all while tending to a million other requests from a million other patients at the same time? I mean, isn't nursing a kind of service job, too?

It never really occurred to me until today, when I went waaaay above and beyond the call of duty for one of the doctors I work with, and he offered me a tip. (And by "offered," I mean he threw it in my face and vanished into the night like some sketchy wannabe Batman -- but hey, a tip's a tip.)

I was totally shocked, but it got me thinking -- why NOT tip nurses? We could tack on a dotted line at the bottom of a bill where patients could add in some gratuity based on the service they received. Your pain was properly monitored and your nurse slipped you seconds on dessert? Twenty percent. Had to wait for hours before anyone brought you a blanket? Ten percent, tops. Or we could just set up a tip jar at the nurses' station and let people throw us a few bucks if they felt like it... although, knowing the kind of angry nut-jobs the ER tends to attract, we'd probably just wind up with a jar full of stool samples and hate mail.

Alright, guys, tell me I'm not alone on this. Do any of you work your butt off to serve other people, only to be overlooked in the tip department? Let's hear it!

OK, so I just started working in the E.R., which I've already learned in two short days is guaranteed to contain two things:

1. Crazy people
2. CUPCAKES!

Um, can I even begin to tell you how much I adore cupcakes? The (rather genius) E.R. nurses take turns bringing in a variety box from Happy Cupcakes every single week. We're all still in winter hibernation mode, and bikini season is but a teensy blip on a distant horizon, right? Besides, this whole cupcake craze is probably just a massive trend that will soon go the way of the Krispy Kreme glazed donut, so I better get my fill while supplies last. Logic says eat cupcakes.

Let's discuss these fluffy morsels of happiness, starting with the mind-blowing variety of flavors out there. Mint chocolate chip. Coconut lemon drop. Pancakes and bacon -- YES! -- I said bacon. And, naturally, you can get your cupcake in most any form: mini, jumbo, in a jar, on a stick... and let's not forget the cupcake truffle: an evil little lump of cupcake scraps smushed together with icing to form a ball of PURE BLISS. You guys are familiar with Cupcake Math, aren't you? It goes like this: Teenager in V-Fib + Construction Worker With Compound Tibial Fracture + Crazy Lady Who Keeps Coming in Demanding We Operate on Her Pretend Cat x Hangover = 2 cupcakes.

Alright, keep me company up here on my cupcake soapbox. What's your favorite cupcake flavor? And once the cupcake ship has sailed, what do you think will be the next big on-the-go dessert trend? I vote for whoopie pies!

Have any of you guys been on Chatroulette? Because apparently I'm like the last person on the planet who hadn't heard of it before today. One of my patients could not stop talking about it this morning in the ER, so I decided to give it a whirl when I got off shift.

The idea's pretty simple: instead of videochatting with people you actually know, Chatroulette randomly connects you to total strangers. The weirdest part? If you don't like what you see, you just press Next and somebody else pops up. It's TOTALLY surreal - like a human slot-machine.

So, I press Start and suddenly I'm staring at some really tan dude donning heart-shaped sunglasses and what I'm pretty sure is a Magic Marker mustache. Um, Next? I'm starting to wonder if I've entered into some creepy den of online freaks, and maybe I should stop before I pass the point of no return. Too late!! I can't help myself and click Next anyway. Instantly I'm looking at the very picture of suburban normalcy: a gaggle of teenage girls with braces, giggling hysterically. They're huddled around their webcam, probably in someone's parents' basement. Ahh, middle school, I remember you well. I say "hi," surprised at how weirdly nervous I am. More giggles, then "Shh, shh, she can hear you!" I'm guessing these girls have about as much experience with this whole Chatroulette business as I do, but too bad - NEXT!! Now I'm in a college dorm watching some guys play Beirut. They smile and wave at me, and pretty soon we're debating whether it's actually called "Beirut" or "Beer pong." After I totally school them on East Coast vernacular, I click Next again, this time coming face to face with some weirdo wearing a Nixon mask and eating a powdered donut. Okay, World Wide Web, it's time for you and me to take a little break. Whew!

So, basically this website is utter craziness - and I'm warning you ahead of time that you'll probably have to shield your eyes half the time. But it's also weirdly addicting, and I might just log back in right now for one more minute... or twenty. Thoughts? Funny stories from the Chatroulette frontlines? Do tell.

Hey guys! Quick post today, as I'm blogging from the break room at work. It's been snowing like crazy here in New Jersey, which sets the perfect mood for... THE 2010 WINTER OLYMPICS!!! I'm so excited that I can almost forgive the fact that my favorite shows aren't on for two weeks. Let me tell you why.

You see, while I'm all about Hannah Kearney, Apolo Ohno, and Lindsey Jacobellis (and her very rad hair), nothing gets me going like Curling. YES. Curling. You know, that wintry brand of shuffleboard that some might call "ice sweeping." For a quick tutorial on the basics of this noble sport, go here:
www.nbcolympics.com/curling/

Still not sold? That's OK, because THIS guy can singlehandedly make up for your lack of enthusiasm.

Um, and did you guys know that one of the Canadian curlers is 5 1/2 months preggers?? That's just straight-up bad ass!

OK -- I'm off to start an IV. But first, tell me... what's your favorite Olympic sport, and which USA athlete do you most look forward to watching?

GO, TEAM USA!!!

Have you ever had an idea for an invention sooo good that you wonder why no one's cashed in on it before? I'm not usually a "get-rich-quick" kind of person, especially since I used to date a guy who was, and things didn't exactly end well. (I was seriously impressed with his idea for a self-cooling pillow for hot summer nights, which, in a stroke of pure genius, he dubbed The Chillow. But when I saw the exact same product in a Sky Mall magazine, including the catchy name, I realized my boyfriend was less prodigy than plagiarist, and we both agreed the relationship just wasn't the same without the web of deception.) ANYWAY, despite the skeptic in me, today I came up with a BRILLIANT idea I know would be a hit at hospitals around the country.

Let me start by telling you that there is a stench in the Mercy Hospital ER like nothing you have ever smelled before in your life. Imagine a slab of hamburger meat left out in the baking sun for three days, then throw in a porta-potty at a carnival with particularly nausea-inducing rides, then top it off with a healthy serving of unwashed feet and B.O. Now do you understand the real reason doctors and nurses wear surgical masks? My invention would absorb ALL noxious odors with the simple flip of a lid. All you'd have to do is open a container of my 100% guaranteed Stink-B-Gone (patent pending... okay not really), and within minutes, any smell would be completely neutralized. Can't you just picture the infomercial?

Okay, so maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself, since I'm not quite sure how the actual science part of it would work, but whoever cracks that nut is seriously going to be a millionaire. Don't be surprised if you see it right there beside The Chillow next time you're bored enough to flip through an airplane catalogue.

Anyway, it got me thinking. What's the weirdest invention you've ever heard of, and did it actually do the job it said it would? Have you ever been tempted to buy a ShamWow, or a Slap Chop, or a pair of dust mop slippers? Have you ever dreamed up an outrageous product, like this lovely hat that doubles as a toilet paper dispenser? C'mon, 'fess up!

So, like everybody else in the United States of America, I'm totally smoking the crack rock known as The Jersey Shore. Fist pump to the nicknames alone. I mean, Snooki? JWoww? The Situation?! Nicknames tell the world who you are, and I'm not messing with a bitch who calls herself "Snooki" any sooner than I'm giving myself a mullet and attending a Kenny G concert.

I've decided there are two rules to nicknames. One, you can't give yourself a nickname. Two, it's the particularly un-cool ones that stick with you like a Lady Gaga song. Example: In third grade, Karrie Wolfe cut her finger on a can of Van Camp's pork and beans and bled all over the school cafeteria. She was known as "Beanee Weanee" all the way through high school. And then there's that ginger-haired Olympic snowboarder Shaun White -- a.k.a. "The Flying Tomato" -- who's been trying to shake the moniker for years now. No dice.

Well, Flying Tomato Shaun White, I feel your pain. In 2007 there was an unfortunate incident involving me, a hideous, tulle, bubble-skirted bridesmaid dress (yeah for the three minutes THOSE were in style), and a bouffant updo that was straight out of Steel Magnolias and took an ENTIRE can of Aqua Net to create. You guys, I looked like the Poof Fairy. The result? Three years later, everyone -- even the bride's 80-year-old grandmother! -- still calls me "Chlo-Chlo Puff."

So... all in all, I guess I haven't had much luck in the nickname department. I think I'll leave that to the guidos and guidettes.

Tell me... do you have a nickname? Who gave it to you, and do you like it?

So, the washing machine in the basement of my building is on the fritz again. SHOCKER. Which means I have to load all my laundry into my ginormous rolly-suitcase and haul it six blocks to Chico's Laundry Land, through the disgusting brown slush that passes for snow in Jersey City. Which is SO MUCH FUN, you guys, that I've gotten into the habit of waiting until the LAST POSSIBLE DAY to do my laundry before running out of clothes to wear. Last night, I showed up at Chico's wearing a pair of bathing suit bottoms under some pink footie pajama pants and an Ace of Base T-shirt from middle school. But luckily - or unluckily - I wasn't the only one dressed like a crazy person.

Now, I know it's hard to believe that a 24-hour discount laundromat located between an abandoned gas station and a White Castle would attract any unsavory characters, but you're gonna have to trust me on this. Yesterday I met a woman wearing what appeared to be a hospital gown underneath a men's tuxedo jacket, who claimed to be married to Tiger Woods. (True, it didn't seem like much of a stretch until she also claimed to be the reincarnation of Betty Boop... who is neither real nor dead.) Also present: a kid selling bootlegged DVDs (Squeakquel, anyone?), an old man defending his two "personal" washing machines with an ivory cane and a litany of curses, and a woman who sorted whites with one hand while clutching her Persian cat with the other. (Needless to say, the cat was not pleased with this arrangement.) Sigh. So much for my initial hopes of making witty banter with cute single guys as they folded their boxer-briefs. Oh, and in case you're wondering if I tried to escape while my clothes dried, think again:

Um, gross. Alright, anyone else have any laundromat horror stories? Or maybe you lucked out and actually met the man of your dreams over a box of Tide? Speak up!

You know how there are people out there who think they're Cleopatra reincarnated, convinced that they belong to another time? Or how others have an obsession with, say, the Victorian Era... or the Hepburn-esque styles of the 1960s? Well, people, I'm an '80s junkie. Sure, the '80s were halfway over by the time I appeared on the scene, but there were Care Bears and Swatch watches floating around the Payne household well into the '90s.

So, adopting nostalgia for that great decade, here I've ranked my fondest pop-culture influences from the days of Koosh balls, Popples, and jelly shoes:

THIRD PLACE... Movies that you watched over and over and to which you knew every last word. Sixteen Candles. Footloose. Back to the Future. "Jumpin' Jigowatts!"

SECOND PLACE... Cabbage Patch Kids. And, of course, the rebel spin-offs... Garbage Pail Kids. I once traded Potty Scotty to Jenny Wiseman for a Twinkie.

AND FIRST PLACE GOES TO... Super Mario Bros. Yep, the original. I love the pixilated graphics, the weird Koopas, and especially the "doop-dee-doop" music. Just thinking about it gives me blisters on my thumbs!

(Honorable Mention to The Cosby Show, Pound Puppies, and slap bracelets.)

Alright, let's hear it... what's your favorite bit of '80s pop culture? And which moments made you want to "Just Say No"?!

P.S.! Update on last week's post: Mike Duffy -- all-star point guard from my high school -- accepted my Facebook friend request!

Okay, let me give you a little tip, faithful readers. After knocking back a few after-work drinks with the girls, DO NOT, under any circumstances, return home and convince yourself it would be a good idea to get on Facebook.

Yup, when I checked my sent messages this morning I had the pleasure of discovering that I'd somehow stumbled across my old orthodontist (wait, what?!) and sent him a rambling message all like, "Wow, Dr. Steel, so nice to be back in touch. I think enough time has passed and I can admit that I used to have a total crush on you. Maybe because you told me I had a nice jaw line. Or maybe it was after you taught me how to use my head gear. That was a very intimate moment for a 13-year-old. Anyway, I'm doing well and so are my teeth. Bye!"

PLUS, I apparently friended the entire boys' basketball team from my high school class and reminded them that I was that awkward girl who sat behind them in Math and occasionally let them cheat off my pop quizzes. (So far, none of them have approved my friend request.) Oh yeah, and I also joined three Susan Boyle fan groups and changed my profile picture to a webcam shot of myself winking creepily. WTF??? I am never coming out from under my bed, EVER again.

Okay, peeps, I'm counting on you to cheer me up. What mortifying missteps have you made online? Or have you ever been on the receiving end of a humiliating Facebook drunk-dial? Do tell.