Well now what?

I'm not sure what to do with myself for the rest of the night. I just got up, but everyone else is winding down. This third shift thing is so sticky. What does one do with oneself in the middle of the night? Nowhere to go, no one to see. Interesting. Maybe I'll read. Or watch a movie. Or try and nap... I think I'm all sleeped out, though.

Any suggestions?

I swear, all elderly people are on crack.

Today at work I was:

1. Told I was beautiful.
2. Told I was a ***damn indian b***h. (It's a real shame how so many old people are incredibly racist, yet unable to distinguish between races.)
3. Peed on. Literally. Just straight up peed on. Whatcha gonna do.
4. Hugged.
5. Scratched.
6. Told to "Go to hell."
7. Kissed.
8. Slapped.
9. Told I was gentle and would make a great mother.
10. Told, "Wipe my damn butt off. And no funny business about it." Can we say awkward.
11. Told, "Don't be scared to wipe my butt, sweetie. Get in there really good." Even more awkward.
12. Told, "I thought you were an angel!" by sleepy old lady.
13. Told, "Go back to Africa!" Different person. Again, racist. Again, unable to distinguish between races.
14. Told, "Scratch my left (butt) cheek, will ya?"
15. Told, "I love you!" At least 20 times.
16. Escaped an attempt at being bitten.
17. Begged not to leave.

Seriously. It really does a number on you after a few hours or so.

Working at Nursing Homes is like being trapped in Oz or Wonderland, but with a lot more butts. I wonder if there's an online quiz that'll tell you what kind of old person you'll be. I think I'm gonna be pretty damn crotchety, just for kicks...

Identify the Butt:

This is a picture of the bum of one of the women who commonly reads this blog.

Is it:
A) Lagartija
B) Krista
C) AsianKP
D) Gypsy Esmerelda
E) Rayna
F) Erin

"Merry Christmas!!" or "We built a Snowman!!"

Okay, technically I don't have much to say about Christmas. It was really good. My family's fantabulous. I wish Phil could have been there. That pretty much sums it up! So I'm just going to say it was good, and joyful, and Christ was born! Everything is how it should be, I guess.

So about that snowman. Today was a beautiful snowy day, so Dan'l and I set out to play:

















We built a lovely SnowMan named Reggie:

Dan'l didn't get along very well with Reggie:





















Or me:





















So I deactivated him.

YAAAYY Snowman Fun!!

Presents!!

Perhaps I'm totally retarded and lame... but I'm really proud of my wrapping jobs this year.

Who cares what's inside, would you not want to open this present?

These are okay, too, but they were after I'd utilized the optimum ribbon, paper etc. on the first one and was just trying to make my materials last...
.
Giving really is better than getting when shiny paper and ribbon is involved.

I have slept 6 hours...

Out of the last 48.

So, anyone up for dinner and a movie this afternoon or evening, perchance? Maybe a little iceskating? A teaparty with my new totally kick*** teaset?

Shingles

Today at the nursing home I'm working at I had to give a bed bath to a woman with shingles, at a point when it's highly contagious (the vesicles, blisters full of pus, are erupting). In case you guys didn't know, Shingles is caused by residual viral tissue or something from ChickenPox that can remain in your body and might remain latent for life, or after decades erupt into a painful rash with or without blisters- namely, shingles. It also can be caught from someone who has it. Although the blisters usually heal within two to four weeks, in some people residual nerve pain continues for months or years, a condition called postherpetic neuralgia. It's pretty nasty, and INCREDIBLY painful from what I can tell. It's symptoms are commonly followed by sensations of burning pain, itching, and hypersensitivity. The pain may be extreme in the affected nerve (the blisters and rash tend to follow a certain nerve on one side of the body). These sensations are often described as stinging, tingling, aching, numbing or throbbing, and can be interspersed with quick stabs of agonizing pain. Lots of quick stabs of agonizing pain.

It was horrible on several accounts. First, because I'm WASHING this ladies agonizing, bursting blisters and she's whimpering and screaming and wailing and it's horrible, horrible, horrible. It's so painful, she can't even wear a gown to bed. That's crazy. Second, her poor roommate is in the room getting frantic and near tears about the whole thing. And third, I've never had chickenpox before, so this highly contagious disease is even worse news for me because I haven't had to fight it off before-- it's supposed to be harder to deal with the older you get. Plus it can last 4-6 WEEKS. So I was supposed to be taking extreme infection control measures. And that really stressed me out. Especially because I'm trying not to let my person or clothes (granted, I had a gown on) touch or be touched by anything, and she's grabbing at me begging me to make it hurt less.

It was pretty crazy. Nursing is fascinating. Fascinating like a siamese twin or a car crash.

I wonder how my 9 siblings (including spouses) feel...

...about the fact that they all voted me as the most likely of us all to become famous on ShabbyChic's blog. It's not like people who don't know any better are responsible for my tripling anyone else's votes and having the 60% majority... only family members even have access to ShabbyChic's blog. I had my money on Chris, personally.

So... yeah. I can't help but wonder what exactly you guys think I'm supposed to become famous for? I have a few thoughts:

1. Constructer of the world's largest snowman.
2. Professional ice sculptor. (I'm also handy with chainsaws. Chopped down a whole grove of orange sapplings with one once. No joke.)
3. Inventor of the "Fresh!" pee-evaporator.
4. Kick-ass gardener with kick-ass trophy-worthy fruits and vegetables at the state fair... like award-winning eggplants and stuff. State Fair trophies aren't grounds for being famous, though. Maybe I should shoot higher.
5. Holding the world record for being perfectly healthy and sleeping the longest without waking up. I'm currently at 16 sweet love uninterrupted hours.

I dunno, guys. I don't want to let you down, but... At any rate, dissappointment or not, I guess it's better to be me than a boring old ordinary sibling of mine... :o)

Locks of Love

Today on an impulse I got a hair cut!! A serious hair CUT. I've been thinking about it for a long time, but today I was doing some errands, saw a shop, and just pulled on over. I donated over a foot of hair to Locks of Love (who incidentally recently upped their minimum to 10" in case anyone was wondering for their own purposes). The remains are around shoulder length and have layered. My hair hasn't been shorter than, say, bra-closure length for over a decade! I feel so free... The rest of you short haired people might not think it's a dramatic change, but I sure do. I'm used to being able to tie my hair in a knot and have it stay. Now I can barely pull it back into a ponytail.



I've been wearing a lot of red lately. Hmm. Anyways, if anyone sees my hair on a leukemia patient's head, be sure to say Hi to it for me.

"Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions"

Recently I've begun reading two completely seperate blogs with the common theme of "flatland." I assumed that this was no coincidence and that they must both inspired by the same book and decided to find it and order myself a copy. I know it's a little weird to be posting about a book I've never even read, but I'm excited!

It's called "Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions," and according to wiki, it's "an 1884 novella by Edwin Abbott Abbott, still popular among mathematics and computer science students, and considered useful reading for people studying topics such as the concept of other dimensions. As a piece of literature, Flatland is respected for its satire on the social hierarchy of Victorian society." Also, there are two independent animated films based on it that came out this last year.

Also of interest was the definition of the perjorative term 'flatlander': a term used, disparagingly, by people living at higher altitudes—typically in smaller towns—to refer to those living at lower altitudes. In the blogosphere it seems to be used to describe not the physical location of where a person was raised, but their intellectual haunts.

And on the subject of flatlanders, there's another book call "flatlanders and ridgerunners" (that's a review by another blogger) and from what I've read about it, it sounds pretty nifty, too. I think I might check that out as well, and perhaps even enjoy it more as a relative flatlander from the midwest myself. However lofty my aspirations, in the end I'm fairly two-dimensional, like a black and white cookie.

At any rate, I'll let you all know how the books go!

How to Prepare for a Starbucks Interview

Take online quizzes comparing your personality to inanimate objects, preferably foodstuffs.

You Are a Black and White Cookie

You're often conflicted in life, and you feel pulled in two opposite directions. When you're good, you're sweet as sugar. And when you're bad, you're wicked!

What Kind of Cookie Are You?

I wish someone would have told me that before I went in to my interview at Starbucks and they asked me what kind of cookie and fruit I was. I totally wasn't into that: "Whaddaya mean what kind of cookie am I? Whaddaya mean what kind of fruit? You guys is crrrazy." But NOW we know how they narrow down their personnel to one distinct personality type: they only hire macademia-nut-and-white-chocolate-chip cookies and strawberry-banana fruits.

That's what I'm gonna say next time I apply-- I wonder if they'll suspect that I'm really a black-and-white cookie/Pineapple and screen me anyway. Those punks. If they do, I'm so gonna nail them with discrimination. I'm on to their dirty little game.

"Oh, so you've got a problem with pineapples, huh?? I suppose next you're going to ask me if I'm a whop, too, and rule me out THAT way! I'm on to you and your strawberry-banana loving coffee club..."

Damn fruitists.

Highschool Poetry Meme

Okay, so quite a bit ago, asiankp tagged me for a meme. The rules for this meme are as follows:

1. Find a poem (or two, if you're ambitious) that you wrote in high school. If you can't find a poem, find a piece of prose. If you can't find a piece of prose, find a history paper or something.

2. Post it!

3. Tag a few people to do the same.

It has taken me quite a while to find something as none of the computers we had in highschool are still in existence, and I didn't put much attention into saving things of that sort. Also, I had a situation where I got all out-of-hand and burnt my huge box full of old journals, letters, poems, stories, etc. in highschool (I used to write a good 2-3 hours every night- couldn't sleep), so not much has survived the years. I did, however, after a good deal of digging around on hardrives and boxes come up with a number of old papers and a couple of poems, including this one from February 23, 1999. I'm a little embarassed about it, but I guess that's what this meme's all about, eh? So here goes:

Dance with the Devil

Tempestuous nature of forbidden fruit
You whisper foreboding whilst attraction takes root
Purity cries out, while it’s pulling me in
Yet dark impulse swirls forth, beckoning sin
The vigilant guard of a conscience arisen
Societal guilt erects ethical prison

To lose the chains truly, you must see them first
Just then can you slake this unbearable thirst
Government quails and imprisons the free
Barring the doors, through which you could once see
The gates to redemption with impulse released
To quieted mind when repression has ceased

This portal still beckons; you’ll then know the way:
By all mores and false gods that hold sway
Think new ideas, dissident thoughts
Curse all the lies that you had always sought
Take trips through your mind, forget all these tears
Realize that society created your fears

You say this to me, with a tilt of your chin
You say “dance through the darkness and emerge free of sin”
Yet when you dance with the devil sin holds the soul
So refrain from these larks and then regain control
You know what is right, the values you hold
Remember the truth and the rest will unfold

I don’t tell you you’re evil, I don’t tell you you’re blind
You say my morals aren’t right or wrong- simply mine
Yet regardless of age, education or class
Ethics should not be viewed through this cold, tinted glass
The glass of opinion, of bias and time
Which labels my beautiful blessing a crime

So, right. That's the kind of poetry I was spewing out as a 16 year old.

I'd like to tag: the Natural Inquirer, Rayna, Krista, and Erin to share their own.

Memoirs of a Nursing Home Resident

Why do so many people in nursing homes seem to be writing their memoirs lately? And where is the need? Is it some sort of Homerian desire to live on after death if only in the minds of people to come? Is it worthwhile for the ordinary, or do we only really benefit from the shared experiences and reflections of the extraordinary? Recently two people in my life in one way or another wrote their memoirs while in nursing homes. His was not published, hers was. I had a very strong reaction to them both, though in different ways.

One of them (which granted, I only was able to spend 45 minutes or so glancing through), seemed really beautiful and incredibly valuable for his family once he passed. He was a WWII veteran and shared stories, photos, and various little anecdotes and things documenting the course of his life. It seemed smart and pithy, but not self-important. It was very beautiful and touching from what I saw: he lived his life to the fullest.

The other made me cringe. It seemed on the surface to be sincere, but what is the point in being sincere with others when you're being dishonest with yourself? I feel a bit strange harshly criticizing the elderly, particularly people I know, but I have never read anything so patently selfish and self-promoting. Clearly she was not familiar with the maxim, "If you can't say something nice..." I can't understand why someone would choose in her memoirs to reinforce bad blood between family members and publically air in a published book not just her own dirty laundry, but that of her close family... and not out of any sort of concern for them, but just in a feeble attempt to present herself as a martyr or a saint. Regardless of it's childish content and horrendous lack of ethos, however, what reinforced its not needing to exist in my mind was how poorly it was written, despite the fact that she was at one point a journalist. Even the most basic of grammatical errors had not been corrected, there was no accurate or discernable chronology in what was presented as a chronological work, and this was a published book. I was not impressed: it more closely resembled the private diary of a young girl, a silly young girl, than it did the reflections and stories of a mature elderly lady looking back upon her life.

Then I got to thinking about the difference between these two people. I can't ignore or fail to mention that the latter woman shared in her writings that she had been diagnosed with dementia, while the man remained alert and oriented up until the point he was put on pallative care (he passed way early last tuesday morning, please keep him in your prayers)- long after he finished his memoirs. I know dementia is a serious mental illness and you cannot afford to take personally or hold them accountable for things people suffering from something like that say or do. But my goodness. I find it so hard to deal with the fact that this woman presented, with such great pride, this unflattering account of her life for her to be remembered by, dementia or no.

But moving away from the problem dementia presents, I've been wondering more about the content and what it is these people at the root of the matter had to offer. Putting aside presentation and personal issues, and even attitude, to just look at the content of both of their lives as they presented it, it seems to me that whatever drama she was able to conjure up, her life seemed more ordinary, and his seemed extraordinary. Her stories dealt with all things personal, while his stories transcended mere troubles and approached addressing issues. However biased a reader I am, I'd be willing to offer a guarantee that most all of you would in retrospect have enjoyed reading the WWII Vet's memoirs more. I don't think it is unfair to apply standard expectations of literature to autobiographical works, particularly those written in a nursing home (that is, while headed "down hill"), and praise it in virtue of it's meritorious content, the praiseworthy accomplishments of the author, and good presentation. Am I cruel and unfeeling for being so decidedly appalled by the selfish, poorly written memoirs of a little old lady with dementia in a nursing home? It still is quite the feat given her situation. I just can't bring myself to in any way praise it.

I'm not doing a very good job presenting the problems with this situation as I see it, so maybe I'll come back to this later when my mind is more clear. Also, perhaps I ought to mention that the woman I'm speaking of is closely related to me. I find it so difficult to try and objectively critique literature not just written by someone you know, but about the very same person. Maybe I shouldn't even bother trying to be objective. My small little mind just does not know what to do with it.

Nothing gives you the heeby-jeeby's...

.. like being in a public restroom and just as you start your business to look up and read "I stubbed my vagina here" on the stall wall.

Nice. Real nice. Asshole.

In reaction to this experience, I've been reflecting on the seediness of public restrooms. They are a blight. As such, I propose that someone invent something small and convenient that goes under your pants and takes care of everything so that we no longer have to frequent such horribles places. Perhaps a device that instantly evaporates your pee while releasing a smell-good, feel-good substance would work well. You wouldn't even have to wipe that way. Anyways, I'm working on it. I'll let you know how it goes.

Bedtime Battles

There's this crazy little 92 year old German lady at work that cracks me up (most of the time). She is the most viciously fiesty person I have ever encountered, even in a nursing home. I have to go in to "change" her adult diaper 3 times a night, but it's quite the challenge.

First off, she rips off anything they put on her body: diapers, gowns, bandages, ANYTHING. So every time I go in there she's completely naked, lying on a sopping wet pad (cloth pad with plastic bottom in case they wet through the diapers-- if they're wearing them) because she's incontinent, often with blood spots on her sheets because the bandages she ripped off were over wounds. Pretty crappy and unfortunate.

But the worst part is it's so hard to do anything to put her in a better situation! She is crazy racist against blacks, and I get the impression most of her aides during the day are black. But every time I've gone in there it's either been alone or with this one mexican lady, and one of the most common things we hear is "Go back to Africa, ***dammit!!" Other favorites include.."Get the hell out of here!" "It's NIGHT! Leave me alone, damn you!" "What are you doing! Get your swine hands (? yeah, I know. Pigs have hooves.) off of me, you filthy pig!" Usually when I come in I have to be armed and ready with wet soapy cloths to wash her with and clean pads... I generally have about a 10-15 second window in which I can do as much as possible before she fully wakes up and goes crazy. She claws and scratches and bites in addition to the verbal abuse... it's pretty crazy hard to try and roll her over to change the pad, much less change her diaper. The part that REALLY got me though is how sneaky she is... sometimes there'll be a lull in her insults and you suspect the storm is breaking and she's starting to calm down so you can change her pad and wipe her off... and she gets really quiet and gently places her hand on your wrist, almost as though she's about to caress it or something, and then RIGHT at the last second her grip tightens like a vice and her other hand comes flying over to claw the hell out of your trapped wrist, cackling insults left and right. It's crazy!! Also, an impressive grip for a little old lady.

This woman embodies the battle I have every two hours to remove soggy, urine-filled linen from her bed every night at work. It's so hard to get done what needs to be done, not just for my job requirements but to improve her quality of life... she's too old to be rotting in urine all night. I'm kind of at a loss as to what to do with her, because it usually only works out once a night where I'm able to change the pad in addition to wiping her off. The nurse is okay with that (she knows what Mary's like)... but it's just so not ideal. How do you soothe such a beast?! And I thought my bedside manner was improving...

My lists of seasonal likes and dislikes

Things I like about Christmas time:
-Garlands of live greens as home decor.
-Lights.
-Decorations that involve scented candles
-Fires in the fireplace, particularly ones built without the aid of matches or a lighter.
-The playfulness of the season: people aren't as lame and boring.
-Giving and getting little presents, particularly when there's a stranger on the other end.
-Burying my cigarette butts in the snow (I hate to admit it but it's true).
-Wassail on a cold night.. mmm.
-Making little snowmen and affixing them to the tops of people's cars.
-Bells. I used to be in a bell choir, you know. I was damn good, little white gloves and all.
-Watching snow fall.

Things I do not like:
-Creepy 2 ft.+ tall little figurines of christmasy characters like father christmas or snowmen, particularly when said creepy figures can be plugged in and made to move. Why is it that old people love those so much?? They scare the crap out of me.
-Shoveling out my car and scraping my windows off every time I have to go somewhere, especially right before work.

dream analysis

I had this crazy high stress dream where someone dear to me died, was killed, and I was mourning their death. The dream took place underwater and I was trying to mourn or cope with their death. One of my brothers lead me swimming deep underwater to see this school of beautiful, delicate, whispy little blue fish with red, plastic-feather like tails. It was very peaceful. But then everything went all awry because they went from being beautiful to look at to swamping me and trying to swim in my mouth and down my throat. And that's where the stress came in because I was totally panicking trying to vomit them up, or rather their tails because their bodies suddenly didn't exist anymore and keep them out of my mouth but they wouldn't stop swimming in and were all dying- being killed by me?-, and I wanted no part of it. It was weird. And as soon as they swamped me I was all alone, and after it was over I was really sad and still by myself.

So since I'm the only one I know awake at this hour and I have nothing better to do, I've decided to try and analyze my dream. I went through what I just wrote and searched what words I could in the dream dictionary, and this is what the different parts of my dream are supposed to represent:

Death- To dream about the death of a loved one, suggests that you are lacking a certain aspect or quality that the loved one embodies. Ask yourself what makes this person special or what do you like about him. It is that very quality that you are lacking in your own relationship or circumstances.
Killed- To dream that someone has been killed, suggests that their actions are disconnected from their emotions.
Mourning- To dream that you are in mourning, refers to your inability to let go of the past. You need clear those old experiences and make way for the new. To dream that you are wearing mourning, symbolizes grief, bad luck, and unhappiness.
Underwater- To dream that you are underwater, suggests that you are feeling overcome with emotions and are in need of greater control in your life. You may be in over your head regarding some situation. To dream that you are breathing underwater, represents a retreat back into the womb. You want to return to a state where you were dependent and free from responsibilities. Perhaps you are feeling helpless, unable to fulfill your own needs and caring for yourself. Alternatively, you may be submerged in your emotions.
Swimming- To dream that you are swimming, suggests that you are exploring aspects of your unconscious mind and emotions. The dream may be a sign that you are seeking some sort of emotional support. To dream that you are swimming underwater, suggests that you are completely submerged in your own feelings. You are forcing yourself to deal with your emotional difficulties.
Brother- To see your brother in your dream, may symbolize some aspect of your relationship with him. It can also serve to remind you that someone in your waking life has certain characteristics/behavior similar to your brother's.
Peace- To dream of peace and tranquility, indicates an end or a resolution to an emotional issue or inner conflict. It may signal and end of a cycle and the pause before the beginning of a new endeavor. It also suggest that you have reached a new level of stability and calmness. Alternatively, the maddening quietness may refer to the calm before the storm.
Fish- To see fish swimming in your dream, signifies insights from your unconscious mind. Thus to catch a fish, represents insights which have been brought to the surface. The fish is also an ancient symbol of Christianity and Christian beliefs. It may also imply a slippery or elusive situation. To dream that you are eating fish, symbolizes your beliefs, spirituality, luck, energy and nourishment. It is food for the soul. To see a dead fish, signifies disappointment and loss of power/wealth.
Blue- Blue represents truth, wisdom, heaven, eternity, devotion, tranquility, loyalty and openness. The presence of this color in your dream, may symbolize your spiritual guide and your optimism of the future. You have clarity of mind. Depending on the context of your dream, the color blue may also be a metaphor of "being blue" and feeling sad.
Red- Red is an indication of raw energy, force, vigor, intense passion, aggression, power, courage and passion. The color red has deep emotional and spiritual connotations.
Red is also the color of danger, shame, sexual impulses and urges.
Tails- To see only the tail of an animal in your dream, signifies annoyances and complications in situations where pleasure was surely to be expected.
Feathers- To dream of feathers floating in the air, signifies a life of ease, comfort, warmth and of financial gains. It may describe your lightheartedness and enjoyment for life. Alternatively, they may represent confusion, hastiness, and lost of dignity.
Plastic- To see plastic objects in your dream, suggests that you are being fake and artificial. You are not being genuine and true to yourself.
Mouth- To see a mouth in your dream, signifies your need to express yourself or talk about an issue that's bothering you.
Throat- To see your throat in your dream, symbolizes the ability to express yourself and communicate your thoughts/ideas.
Killing- To dream that you killed someone, forewarns that heavy stress may cause you to lose your temper and self-control. This dream may also represent a part of you or your life that you wish would leave you alone and stop creating a nuisance. Killing may represent the killing off of old parts of yourself and old habits.
Panic- To dream that you are in a panic, indicates a lack of control and power in your life. You may be feeling helpless in some situation or unable to make a clear decision.
Distress- To dream that you or others are in distress, suggest that things will turn out better than you expected. You will find that all your worries were for nothing and need to lighten up.
Abhorrence- To dream that you abhor a person, denotes a strange dislike for some person, and your suspicions of his integrity and honesty will prove correct. Difficult times are also ahead for you in the near future.
Vomit- To dream that you are vomiting, indicates that you need to reject or discard an aspect of your life that is revolting. There are some emotions or concepts that you need to confront and then let go.
Sad- To dream that you are sad, suggests that you need to learn from your disappointments and make yourself happy.
Alone- To dream that you are alone, indicates feelings of rejection. You may be feeling that no one understand you.

So now I'm sitting here scratching my head not QUITE sure what to make of that all, but definitely wondering if I really have as many more issues right now than I thought I did. Stupid dreams.

Top 10 Reservations About Working 3rd Shift:

1. It's in the middle of the night and you have to stay awake.
2. The light-headed haze that hits around 2 or 3am and doesn't leave until the 6am euphoria.
3. Saying "See you tonight!" to your coworkers as you're leaving work... tomorrow sounds much better, even if the math is the same.
4. Getting caught in the trap of thinking you're somehow cheating the systems beause you're working full time and still have ALL DAY LONG to do whatever you want, forgetting that sleep can only be put off so long.
5. Only talking to sleepy people all shift long.
6. Getting lost in the winding, identical halls in the basement and realizing that in addition to not being sure exactly how many elevator shafts there are in this building and that they don't all go through even if they lead to the right floor, you also don't know if one of those endless rows of doors leads into a morgue or not, and what sort of characters to expect to run into.
7. Security guards are a reason to whip around and quickly walk away in the opposite direction when you're alone.
8. Day time people still expect you to be on the same schedule as them and get selfish about your time.
9. When do you do homework?
10. On the few nights you are off (like tonight, for example), other than catch up on a little homework, what are you supposed to do? Sleep sounds like a trick answer: it's hard enough to change your sleep schedule. And it's not like there's THAT much to do by yourself in the middle of the night... other than blog, I guess...

A Sincere Apology to Readers

Okay, WHY didn't one of you give me a heads up about the title of my last post!! Dear Lord. I was just checking out "stats" for the blog this morning and I noticed that we'd gotten hits from someone seaching "how to kiss a camel." That's a bit random and vaguely disturbing, but many searches are. We were #8 on such a search. But when I was looking at it... I noticed that #6 was "What does 'kiss the camel' mean?" So I thought to myself, "Well look at that... it's an actual expression? Other peoples boyfriends confuse them with camels, too! Haha!!" And then I read the answer. And I must say, I'm truly mortified. I am so sorry guys. No wonder no one commented on that post. How incredibly embarrassing. I swear I didn't know. And thanks to the pervy person from Malaysia or Romania who went to the blog searching for that crap... I would never have known what an idiot I am if it weren't for you. I'm gonna go be miserable somewhere now far, far away from the internet...

**Title Removed by Author**

Now maybe I'm reading in to things a bit too much with this post, but the psychology class I've been taking is causing a few red flags in my mind to go up.

Below you have a picture of my beloved boyfriend Phil with a camel, either in Iraq or Kuwait. While the camel may appear to be smiling, please note carefully the chains it's imprisoned by, it's submissive posture behind Phil, as well as his stance as the the clear figure of authority and control, gun in hand, relaxed and confident in demeanor. Interesting.

When I first recieved this picture from Phil's lovely younger sister the other day, I didn't really think much of it. But then when I was looking at it this afternoon I did a double take. I KNEW I had recognized that damn camel from somewhere!!

When Phil first set up the blog I didn't have a photo of myself for my column right away. So what did he do? He uploaded a photo of a camel to put under "Mags"... I guess he figured it was funny and that it would prompt me to hurry the heck up and fix my photo. It worked. But it just so happens that camel he uploaded as ME was the SAME CAMEL from in this photo! He just cropped it to be only the head! So what does this tell us all about how Phil views our relationship, I ask you? Is the psychology here solid, or is it a mere coincidence that he used the head of the chained, subservient chattel- I mean camel- in this pic to represent his girlfriend...? :)

Somebody's got some explaining to do..

Will ya look at that!

So I've been checking out who visits our blog, and how they find it (ie, referral sites, direct traffic, or search engines). Some of the searches that our blog comes up on are pretty interesting. For example:

"ethical situation work blog"
"no name nutrition"
"living on houseboats blog" (tee-hee! If ONLY!)
"iraq pictures"
"midget tossing in australia"
"dwarf throwing computer game"
""snowblower" "pushing""
Also, we're #6 on google for "sending alcohol in listerine bottles." Had I read the #1 search result on the matter beforehand, however, I never would have done it. Not that I REALLY did or anything... I mean... everyone else's blog posts are totally fictitious too... right?

Ha! Funny the things you get noted for. What makes me sad is that surely none of those people really found what they were looking for on our blog. It blows my mind that there have been 28 new (never before here) visitors in the last 4 days. It's such a family and friends kind of thing that I can't imagine anyone else being interested in what we have to say.

I dunno about Phil, but I'm going to resolve to make posts a little more interesting... perhaps even informative *gasp!*...

It might have been a lack of foresight...

... to have gotten a job working at the nursing home where both of my grandparents passed away. Now any neglect or "abuse" however slight is going to affect me even more emotionally, even if it's not something that can be avoided. It was also difficult caring for the woman who now occupies the bed in which I last saw my grandmother's cold body. I'm glad I won't typically be working on that wing...

Doodley-doo. Calmin' the brain.

Hello, Interworld friends! I'm at school in the library taking a "mental" break from all my papers. My gosh is life hard lately! I've been up many many hours trying to finish these last few papers I have to do for school. Friday is my last day of classes other than 2 exams next week. Isn't that fantastic? Two of my classes don't have exams, just final projects! So all I have to do for those two next week is go turn in my final project and then BAM. I'm outta there. I think we might even be allowed to just email them to her... I should check that out.

So yeah. In an hour I'll go to my two classes, then straight to an interview I'm conducting (woohoo! power!), and then stop and buy scrubs... and then STRAIGHT to bed this afternoon. Because tonight I start working 3rd shift. Maybe I should have waited until after school was over to start this crapper. Oh well. But anyways, I need lots of prayers for this week because with all the crazy of school ending and this new job that I have to kick butt in... well. I need some grace. I have to work from 10:30pm-7am tonight, and then finish these papers I'm doing now, and then go straight back to school again. I have this silly little grin-smile glued on my face already. I hope it stays there.

On a side note, has anyone ever noticed how great anxiety can be? If you can get yourself to flock it all into one little less readily accessable corner of your brain and deal with the unpleasantness of it all... the crazy alert, not-able-to-sleep-because-you're-wound-up-ness of it all can be really helpful. I don't know how I'd be getting this all done without it. Evolutionary survival skills rock. Sometimes, anyway.

Delusions of Grandeur

Me: So do people really actually write famous people and inventors and stuff?
My mom: Yeah, they get tons of mail. Mainly from delusional people who've convinced themselves that they have something brilliant to say that that the famous person will love. They somehow talk themselves into believing that their letter is the one the person will happen to read. Why do you ask?
Me: Oh... nothing...

I mean, come on, people! Is it really that delusional to fantasize about someone brilliant thinking you're brilliant and responding to your letter? Sigh.

This book that Phil and I read together, "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer, planted this seed in my head... I think I'm going to begin a list of famously brilliant people to write this summer and see what happens.

Cha-ching!!

I finished selling my car to a super cool guy named Egor today!! I'm so freaking happy!

It was kinda ridiculous though... pretty much everything that could have been embarrassing was. I told him coming between 5 and 6 tonight would work out great. Then he showed up, but for some reason our doorbell wasn't working so they were out there forever and finally called the house... while we were in the middle of my mom's birthday dinner that I wasn't told was going to happen until after I committed to a time to him. So right, I go get the door and they come in- and someone moved all my paperwork, the title, the bill of sale, and what not. So RIGHT I go searching all over for it like an idiot while they're standing there uncomfortably.

In the meantime happy family sounds and laughter can be heard intermingled with childish squeals of both delight and dismay from my neice and nephew. And THEN they all start singing happy birthday.. and this guy is SO UNCOMFORTABLE. He and his brother (who drove with them there so he could pick up the car) just looked at each other with this pained awkward look and he started apologizing and saying I should have told him. But the thing is I didn't KNOW we're were doing a birthday thing until he was already on his way! So right... what do I do? I lie, of course! Like a total idiot, I go right ahead without batting an eye and lie in a feeble attempt to make them feel more at ease. And it wasn't even a GOOD lie. I make up a family member who's birthday it is like "my brother in law's brother" trying to make it seem more distant and try to explain that I didn't know about the birthday thing until the last minute myself. So then they're slightly more comfortable... but then in walks my adorable little neice! So they strikes up an amiable conversation with her... and she offers that it's her Grandma's birthday... right after I introduce her as my neice. They know it's my parents house. *slaps forehead* What sort of daughter am I, anyways?? So right, I looked quickly down at my paperwork trying to suppress an embarrassed grin and pretending not to notice. Again... squirmingly awkward.

So right! I ran outside to get the odometer reading for on the title, and guess what. I can't get the door open. The car's been just sitting outside the last couple weeks and in the meantime it snowed a few days ago and then rained on top of it and then turned all that snow slush into a thick 5 inch crust of ice on everything. So I'm trying and trying and trying other doors and trying... no luck. Finally I have to go back inside and red-faced explain this to them. So they come out to help. Still no luck. Then I go inside to see if my dad has a crowbar or something we can use to pry it and they tell me I need to use a hair dryer and an extension cord. So just as I'm shamefacedly trudging back outside, gay-ass hair dryer in hand instead of a manly crowbar, he calls out that he got it open. Huzzah!! Close call. For real. I really didn't want to go out there like a girl with a hair dryer. I mean, I AM a girl. But it's a CAR we're "working on" here! And crowbars are manly; hair dryers are girly gay. Anyways.

They had brought lightbulbs for the headlight that was out, and so when he went to change it... turns out it was just in there loose and all I had to do was twist it more! Eesh. Why didn't I think of that? And then we tried to move the car from the ice-covered drift it was embedded in. The shovel was pretty much ineffective because the ice was harder and thicker. We were pushing and pushing and shoveling and pushing and finally got it loose. It was pretty silly and took a full hour for everything all told. But fun. They were damn good sports and made me laugh.

The only problem was it was my mom's Birthday and apparently the reason they were having the birthday dinner was so I could be there to give mom her Christmas-Birthday Present (Bose ipod dock... sweeeeetness!!), and then I ended up missing it afterall.... there was a wee bit of harumphing and unpleasantry about me. I'm such an uncanny bad guy. It was pretty unfortunate that would should have been a pretty quick exchange- sign the title, do a keys-for-cash handoff, and give a friendly wave buh bye-, ended up being such a fiasco. Why does it seem like every time one thing gets done, another gets messed up! Oh well. Do whatcha gotta do.

I'm just so glad that Egor is as happy about the whole deal as I am...

I feel like a muppet

Life is just happening way too fast! This morning I had a paper I turned in for one class, then in my next class I had to give a presentation on a research paper I wrote (much stressful... I goofy smile and nervous laugh and talk really fast a lot when I'm nervous), and then I went straight to the doctor. And then I convinced my doctor (who's really a nurse practitioner) to set up another appointment with me on Wednesday so I could interview her for ANOTHER class that I have to write up a report for based on this interview I do on a healthcare professional and she has to snail mail to my professor this rubrik grading me and stuff (a very detailed one, nonetheless) and I think she likes me so she'll rate me well. So right. One more "Check!" on my to do list. Then I had to go straight from the doctor to "work" where I filled out all my craptonload of paperwork (psssh. healthcare. NO, I've never hit any old people. Eesh.), had more TB injected under my skin, took a drug test, worked out a schedule, and recieved a complimentary gait belt. I start training Wednesday. Wednesday's going to suck. Also, I have 2 papers I have to write tonight due tomorrow (one I have a draft finished already for at least) and another tomorrow due... guess when!... Wednesday. AAHAHHHHHHHH!!!!! Too much. Too fast. I'm all nervous and skiddish and jumpy and muppetesque. At least school will be over for a month in another week or two so I can actually adjust to this job. I'm nervous. So yeah, who wants to go shopping for scrubs tomorrow afternoon?

Are you kidding me??

Seriously, what kind of person decides at 2:15am after it stopped snowing some 6 hours ago that he's going to bust out his unfathomably loud and obnoxious snowblower and then take almost a full hour to do with said snowblower what he could have just shoveled in the same amount of time?? I mean MY GOSH... he's just going back and forth over it over and over and over again! Can't he SHUT UP already! Who DOES that? I wouldn't be quite as annoyed about the disturbance if it weren't also for the fact that he didn't even bother with the little old lady who lives next door to him's sidewalk. If you're going to be inconsiderate, you might as well be considerate about it.

Maybe he's worried that the 4 or 5 inches of snow in his driveway will prevent him from getting to church on time tomorrow morning. I can't even IMAGINE what would make this a necessary task from 2-3 in the morning. You can drive over this little snow easily! There's absolutely no necessity in it! Maybe he got into a fight with his girlfriend and needs to blow off some steam... by pushing a fully-automatic snowblower. Or maybe he's REALLY pissed at his parents he lives with and wants to keep them up all night... and the rest of the neighborhood.

Or maybe he's just an inconsiderate jerk....

A strange math problem...

Phil is deployed.
Mags is employed.

If they were to reproduce, what would their kids be??

(PS: I got the job!! More details later...)

And I Confess to you my brothers and sisters...

That I shamelessly bribed a United States Postal Worker with peanut brittle earlier this week.

She was closing up and trying to tell me I was too late to mail a package to Phil. So I got resourceful on her ass and busted out the brittle. It worked.