the blog with no name

"In the Border"

2009-12-30T16:03:00.003-06:00

So Phil 'n' I will be going to Canada this weekend to follow the Admirals around for a few games. Just a fun lil 2010 roadtrip to ring in the new year. Which is awesome. We're hoping to meet up with DitchDoc as well, God willing!!

So naturally I gave T-mobile a ring this afternoon to find out how much I'm charged per minute for Canadian calls because I really don't know other than that it's something. What a joke that was. I called, explained that I would be driving to Canada, and politely asked my customer service rep how much I'm charged, per minute, for calls made to Canada and calls made to the US from Canada. His response? "Oh, you're driving there? Well you're just charged for normal minutes, cuz you're in the border." That... did not make sense to me. "In" the border? What the? So I acknowledge that I do not know what that means and asked for clarification. So he responds "Well you know, if you're calling either the US or Canada from in the border there is no additional fee." Still got nothing. I'm confused... is this coming up because I live IN a state that borders Canada? Don't see how that should matter... so right. I ask again. "No, no. That doesn't matter. You just don't pay any additional fee so long as you're in the border." He's not cute anymore: "Where IS in the border?" He starts faltering, then comes out with "You know, the line. Between Canada and the U.S...."

I'm a little disgruntled. So basically he was telling me that I just spent 10 minutes of my time having him totally misrepresent how "I'd only be charged normal minutes" during my trip.... by leaving out the part that it's only AS I'M CROSSING THE FREAKING BORDER. I finally got him to spit out a number and that it's 20 cents per minute extra for when I'm either in the U.S. or Canada, but whatever. That's just ridiculous. What a slime ball, with his tricky prepositions.

Why I don't smoke outside my apartment

2009-12-13T07:49:00.004-06:00

Me: *puff puff* *puff puff*
CreepyDude: Hey. You got a cigarette?
Me: No, sorry. I roll my own and only brought one.
CreepyDude: Well then give me a drag of yours...
Me: Uhh. You want me to give you the cigarette that was just in my mouth, let you put it in YOUR mouth, and then take it back...??
CreepyDude: Yeah
Me: Yeah, that's not going to happen.
CreepyDude: Well why the hell not? The F***'s wrong with you? (getting disproportionately pissy)
Me: I don't share things I put in my mouth with random men off the street.
CreepyDude: *protesting as if it's open for discussion*
Me: We're through talking here. (partially turns away, while feeling in pocket for pepperspray)
CreepyDude: *grumbletalkingtohimselfashewalksaway*

I do not like how mean I am with strangers around here. But I like even less being taken advantage of by bossy creepy dudes who feel entitled to what I have. Screw that. So I choose aversion: no more smoking out front.

I have a blog

2009-10-25T05:41:00.004-05:00

yay. (like)
I also have a facebook account. (unlike)
I stopped liking it.
heh, silly facebook.

anywho, The Admirals won, woooo! that's the minor league hockey team of Milwaukee and they scored with under a minute left in sudden death overtime. We had an excellent view of the game winner which more than made up for both of the Ad's other goals being scored at the far end of the rink. It was an altogether excellent home opener and I'm glad hockey season is back.

Also, I would like to know what is up with the almost overwhelming impulse to tell someone - anyone or everyone- when you are in pain. How is that helpful? It's not, that's how. Yet still it is always there (at least for me... but I think I am not the only one) urging, pressing, begging me to say something to whoever I'm talking to.
"Hey, my back hurts. I know that's irrelevant since you are not asking me to pick up something heavy. Also I am aware that you cannot make it stop hurting. Just file it under 'B' please."

so file this post under "at least it's something" and we'll see if I can get back into this thing.

Shooting Range

2009-09-23T05:01:00.006-05:00

The other day Phil took me shooting at the range. Well. Actually, I didn't initially want to go. At all. We bargained: I'd come along to the range with him- "just to watch"- in exchange for him making up a story to tell me that was at least 5 minutes long. I love being told stories. It's like playing pretend or daydreaming without all the exhausting planning.

So we went to the range. I was crabby. And then of course at one point he offers to let me shoot his pistol. (Men are so tricky.) But oddly enough, for the first time I really WANTED to shoot. Don't get me wrong. I love the idea of being able to shoot. I really like the idea of going shooting. But the reality is I grew up with absolutely no experience with weapons. ZERO. And gleaned about as much from movies and what not. It's not something I ever really thought about until I fell in love with someone who was in the Army. I like the idea of being able to defend myself. I appreciate the usefulness of weapons in that respect. But the fact of the matter is guns have always been to me a scary hunk of metal that can kill people. Very scary. Sure I've shot before a few times with Phil and I WANT to learn to be comfortable enough with a gun in order to be competent with it... but it always seems that I don't really want to go shooting when the occasion arises. But I guess after a year of living in the same place as Phil and him having guns at his apartment and watching him fiddle with them and clean them and having explained how they operate and how they are to be handled DOZENS of times it finally sunk in enough that I don't panic as much when I actually have one in my hands.

It probably sounds silly enough to anyone reading this that is familiar with guns (thinking of you in particular, Jack), but my past experiences at the range have consisted of me trying to stuff down panic and not really understanding how to clear the weapon and that I shouldn't put it down until I clear it and how to do that and being weirded out by my clumsiness with them and how much- to me-, handling them seems to be much more a matter of force than finesse. That's not really how I do things in my line of work. You don't FORCE a catheter in. You finesse it. Or people scream.

But at any rate, I was pleased because for the first time I actually felt like I knew what I was doing. It had finally sunk it how the pistol operates. I didn't forget the second I picked it up and need to look to Phil every 10 seconds. I remembered what to do and I did it. I was able to focus on actually shooting instead of dreading when I'd have to put it down and trying to remember what to do when that time came. I didn't have freaked out anticipation of every bang every time I squeezed the trigger. I was no longer scared that I'd drop a loaded weapon or do something stupid.

It was kind of a big deal for me. I felt in control. I need a LOT of work... but at least I was in control. It was really cool.

We should bargain more often.

Also, Phil even mentioned letting me keep his 45 caliber Springfield Armory 1911 pistol at my house for the first time. I feel so honored and Responsible. Maybe I'm a Hound after all.. hehe...

"Men" and "Ladies" is quite sufficient. We don't need to make it all cute-sy. And other things.

2009-09-23T04:19:00.007-05:00

So this last Sunday Phil and I went to Holy Hill for Mass after I got off of a 12 hour work shift. It was pretty cool. On the way up we passed a hand-painted sign out in front of a house saying:

"Eleven kids. No Health Insurance. And we do NOT want help from the Government."

Rock on. We hung out up at Holy Hill for an hour before Mass. Got to remember stuff from over a decade ago when I'd walked there on a pilgrimage. Things are much further apart on foot. Strolled the grounds. Checked out the view. Admired the windmills from 25 miles away (location in relation to Holy Hill verified by Phil on googlemaps after the fact cuz he rocks like that). Mass was fantastic. Father Jorge with the awesome beard translated for a visiting priest from Nicaragua. His impressive hand-gestures and accent alone had us sold. The beard sealed the deal. Managed not to doze off, as it commonly our problem on Sunday mornings because we work 3rd shift. I've largely become an afternoon/evening churchgoer as a consequence.

At any rate, on our way home we stopped at the Fox & Hounds Restaurant for Sunday brunch. Had a mojito. Some good food. Good conversation. Excellent company. Coffee afterwards. It was great. But I'd been having some stomach problems (sigh.) the night before and had been up quite a long time at this point and was getting tired. We were about to leave when I felt that horrible gurgling in my tummy that meant I had to get to a bathroom fast. So I make for the restrooms which were conveniently located down a flight of stairs. I get to the bathrooms and there are two doors. One says "Foxes," the other says "Hounds."

Now I realize for a normal person there wouldn't be much question as to which restroom they were intended to use. I just get a little funny-off in my head sometimes. I somehow COMPLETELY forgot that bathrooms are separated according to sex. The panicked internal conversation I had as I did my little dance standing dumbfounded outside these doors went something like this:

"Well that's just great." (vague remembrance of there being some crappy situation like this at outback steakhouse, quickly abandoned by being unable to remember what the heck to word those aussies used for ladies was) Then refocusing, I tried to determine which door was meant for me, knowing choosing the wrong one would go over badly. "Foxes are clever, and so am I. I must be a fox. But I'm pretty respectable, too (glancing longingly at the Hounds door)... sometimes..." But then, "But wait... liberals are clever. Maybe it's a trick. I'm a conservative Hound. darn liberals and their tricky doors." Scoffing. But then, "Hold on... Hounds are brown and foxes are red. Brown's a boy color and red's a girl color. Maybe I've got this all wrong." With that I chose red over brown and rushed in on account of another, much more pressing gurgle. The crazy part is I didn't ACTUALLY fully get it until I was already finished up in my stall... and it dawned on me, "Ohhhh. 'FOXy lady.' Right." The whole thing was rather distressing.

I could just acknowledge personal ridiculousness, but I think the more important issue here is that these places need to stop trying to make bathrooms all cute-sy. It's not cute. And the use of facilities can be a pretty pressing emergency. These are hardly times when one wants to be trying to compare themselves to random animals to figure out which one they're more like. The room men use should be labeled "MEN" and the room women use should be labeled "WOMEN" or "LADIES". Either will do. But none of this fox and hound garbage. There is nothing "foxy" or glamorous about peeing on a seat. Or worse. So give it a rest.

Other than that it was nice place for Sunday brunch, though. They had little old men drinking beer out of small glasses. There's nothing not to like about that...

Classy

2009-09-23T04:17:00.002-05:00

There was a sign posted on the entrance to my apartment complex saying they were looking for "hot girls" for their escort service with a number to call.

Classy.

Dear Matt

2009-09-14T01:00:00.002-05:00

Nudism may be gross, unattractive, immodest and impractical, but it sure does have its upsides and appeal

2009-09-13T14:30:00.004-05:00

So here I am. Not wearing much clothes. Because I really need to do laundry. And being stressed. Because I'm going to have company soon. So clothes are no longer optional. And he'll be here soon. So I don't have time to do laundry first. Oh, and I should probably straighten up and do some dishes. Thus compounding the clothes crunch. AHHHHH!

Is anyone else as pathetic as me by the end of the week?

I vote "yay" for nudism. Save us all time, quarters, decisions, and stress. Who's with me??!?

(and if you are with me, meet me at Bradford Beach in Milwaukee, WI next July)

Friends

2009-09-10T21:56:00.002-05:00

Please note the updated links in the sidebars... Matty G and Jack, the newest and the brightest members of our blogoburb.

Life After Matt

2009-09-04T12:59:00.003-05:00

My household has been in shambles lately.

It started with the oatmeal incidents. My cupboard I've been keeping oatmeal in has shelves too short for the canister to stand upright, so I've kept it lying on it's side. Well that cupboard happens to be above the stove, so while I was cooking rice one night, I reached up to get something out of that cupboard, and as soon as I opened the door the oatmeal came spilling out all over the stove, into my rice pot, and onto the floor. I had rice-oats for dinner that night.

But due to a couple glasses breaking while washing dishes on account of my not having a dish rack because it takes up counter space, I had broken the vacuum and was unable to clean up the oatmeal right away. It might seem like a nonsequitor, but after (I thought) picking up all the large glass chunks I had vacuumed to double check, and a large piece of glass had migrated into the living room and I hadn't noticed it and it broke my vacuum. So right. The oatmeal wasn't going anywhere fast.

The next day I decided to pot my plants in the living room on top of some brown paper bags I'd spread out on the floor. That didn't work, and so dirt, literally DIRT, was all over my living room floor.

The next day I was making mac&cheese quick before I left for work, and the SAME EXACT THING happened with the oatmeal, which I had not thought to move to a safer location. So I ate some mac&cheese-oats quick and left.

So then I'm coming home to an apartment, and there is literally dirt and oatmeal tracked/blown all over my entire apartment. Eventually I borrowed Phil's vacuum and took care of that, but it was quite the blow.

Now this week I've been having trouble with my toilet not flushing right. Two plungers (yeah, I borrowed Phil's. Surprise, surprise.) and three days later I'm still a little iffy about it, though it's getting the job done. Eventually.

Oh, and the last... I don't know, say, 6 times?... I've made cookies, I've burnt the hell outta them. Also, I've been microwaving tortillas and bagels. Which apparently is a domestic sin.

Sigh. Someday I WILL have a respectable home life. Mark my words.

BLEEP

2009-08-27T22:40:00.003-05:00

I totally just set my bangs I'm trying to grow out on fire lighting a cigarette on my gas stove burners.

Might be time to quit cigaretting.

Maggie Musings

2009-08-27T21:17:00.003-05:00

The other day while dozing off on the couch, my dazed, pre-sleep brain was contemplating how to wrap my birthday presents for Phil.

At first, I was thinking to wrap them all separately... but then I had vague apprehensions along the lines of it maybe coming across as too much cuz I know he's not that into the whole birthday thing. But then, all sleepy and what-not I thought, "But if I put them all in the same box, and he shakes it, then something might break." But then another me countered, "You dork, nothing in that package is breakable!" Chimes another me, "But if I put an egg in it, THAT'D sure teach him to shake his birthday presents. Hehe... sucker."

Then I forgot all about Phil and his upcoming birthday, and got lost in wishes of having a friend who compulsively shook all of his/her presents. As a practical joke I would wrap a box with dozens of loose raw eggs in it, JUST so that when they shook it I could jump in and say, "AHA!! That'll teach YOU to try an' count your chickens before they're hatched!" And then I peacefully dozed off with a smile upon my lips.

Malt-O-Meal Party!!!

2009-08-27T16:54:00.002-05:00

Today at the Vandenberg residence in Milwaukee the first documented Malt-O-Meal party was hosted with guest of honor, Maggie Gordon. Great times were had, Magic Muffins were consumed to excess, and the undisputed queen of Malt-O-Meal was crowned. I'd love to say more but you really just had to be here.

A Group Shot (Minus Camera Man!!)

Malt-O-Meal Malt... a surprisingly sweet treat

Suicidal Bunny Literature... for the socially responsible members of the party

The Spread

Magic Muffins! Betcha thought no one had ever made that recipe on the box...

Long Live the Queen!!!

For those of you wondering who came up with such an ingenious party-theme, and moreover are concerned for posterity's sake as to who to credit in the origin of this party, said individual remains disputed. It is clear that either Phil, or his sister Lil, came up with it when passing Miller brewery and noticing the distinct aroma of Malt-O-Meal originating from the complex. Whether it was Phil or Lil who suggested with a laugh that someone was having a Malt-O-Meal party, it remains undisputed that it was Phil who when discussing the stakes of a poker game suggested that the winner would be the reigning guest of honor at a Malt-O-Meal Party thrown in their honor. And this is the history of the first Malt-O-Meal Party, thrown in the honor of Maggie Gordon, the winner of said Sunday-night post-family-volleyball poker game.

If we both cut our hands, the same depth, the same length... whose will hurt more?

2009-08-23T03:15:00.007-05:00

There's something that's been troubling me for quite some time now. Since I'm working on a predominantly (and technically) surgical floor, prior to surgery patients will commonly ask how much it will hurt afterward. And fair enough-- it's a legitimate concern when you're about to submit to a complete stranger cutting you open and fiddling with your insides. I usually give a safe and appropriate response which is that there will of course be pain, but that we're usually very good at keeping it under control with appropriate pain medications as ordered by their doctor. What they hear is they'll be drugged and not feel anything. But really what I mean is just that-- under control. Mitigated. Diminished. But not always (usually?) eliminated. There will be pain. How much? I have no clue. I've never experienced it. And even if I had, I still couldn't tell you. I understand why people insist on asking about something so ridiculously subjective and relative, but why do they insist on asking about something so ridiculously subjective and relative?

I don't mean to be insensitive. But removed from the situation of another person in distress or pain, the sensitivity feelings don't come so readily. I'm a reactive person. And there's no stimuli to react to right now. I'm just trying to be upfront about a tricky topic called pain. And pain straight up sucks to begin with: and it's a nightmare when you get all emotional about it.

But back to my troubling. One thing I've pretty much universally observed is that young people are way more intolerant of any shadow of pain than older adults. A 90 year old wisp of an old lady can have the exact same surgery as a prime, sturdy 28 year old man, and yet she'll be smiling and thanking you, and he'll be sobbing and using you as his verbal whipping-boy, hating to his core every fraction of your being simply for being present and a representative of the institution that has traumatized his innards (despite the necessity, and overlooked life-preserving qualities of the procedure). And then of course later on when he's at the max dose of vicodin and a morphine drip he'll still be whimpering, though pretending his earlier abuse never happened.

Now my question about that is this: Do younger people in general just have lower pain thresholds due to higher physical sensitivity (pain receptors presumably encounter some degree of deteriorating with age like the rest of the body), greater general use/abuse of pain killers, or what have you, or are they just more self-consumed and less capable of gratitude towards others or being aware of themselves as being part of something bigger, rather than a whole unto themselves?

Don't get me wrong. Gratitude is not a requisite for me at work as a caregiver. Most of the time I couldn't care less; it makes my job easier on a personal level, but doesn't change all that much in terms of what I do or what I need to say. I have to set more boundaries with ungrateful people-- mainly because they tend to be more abusive and needy to their detriment. But I still need to do the same things regardless of their attitude, because that's my job. I have clearly defined responsibilities and standards of care. (Ugh. When will I stop "being careful" and feeling the need to explain myself when talking about this stuff. WHEN will my readers stop doubting my professionalism!! ;))

But that being said, does anyone else see how ingratitude and being self-consumed, self-pitying, could play into this whole pain relativity thing? It just sets the standards so high, and therefore the pain threshold so low. If that makes any sense. But yeah. Just something I was wondering about in relation to how older adults are so much more capable of handling pain than younger adults. The more I observe it, the more it seems like it's not just a matter of the physical (pain receptors, drug ineffectiveness due to overexposure), but a matter of attitude. And well, older people in general just seemed to have learned that there's more to the world then themselves and their tribulations, and reflect that in their attitude-- not just their attitude towards others, but their attitude when thinking about and perceiving themselves in the context of that greater world.

A two-fold point.

2009-08-23T02:38:00.004-05:00

The other day Flatlander mentioned a post I wrote over a year ago. Looking at it again and thinking of that time in my life really brought a lot of memories back. I miss this blog. Back when I was living in my parents basement, going to school, and working at the nursing home, when I wanted to post on the blog I would go outside, smoke a cigarette, reflect on my day, and identify 1-3 things I'd been thinking about or of note that happened that day. Then I'd retreat back to my cave in the basement, sit down in front of the computer and write about them. Easy-breezy.

I miss that luxury.

Looking after my own home and overscheduling to the point of insanity has left me shell-shocked and brainless. Well not brainless, but it's hard to make my brain delight about something random or reflect on something past for more than 5 minutes any more before I start reviewing what I need to do in the future. And that's a crying shame.

After of summer of recuperation and just recently getting to a point where I'm comfortable with my routine of JUST holding a FT job at the hospital and looking after daily cooking/cleaning necessities, I have to admit that I have fleeting regrets that I haven't made recreational writing more of a habit again while I had the time to. And now school is starting again. Granted, at a much lesser rate as I'm only taking one 7-credit clinical, but it's still a good 12 hours of face time between lectures and clinicals at the hospital, plus all the papers, projects, readings, and prep that goes with it. Plus 40 hours of work a week. Planning out my schedule I was somewhat horrified that THIS was cutting back. What was I thinking last semester.

At any rate. The point I wanted to make is two-fold: one, I want to blog more because it's good for me. It makes me reflect. It decreases worrying and anxiety because the focus is on the past and present, not the future (except this post). And that's good. That's healthy. And two, .... Okay, there isn't really a two. Twofold points sound more impressive, though... so... right. I'll try again: And two, please feel free to harass me if I'm not posting enough. Man... writing socially in a coherent manner is harder than I remember...

Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.

Self Defense

2009-07-06T20:16:00.005-05:00

So Phil and I went to the shooting range today-- weren't able to shoot (range was closed), but he got me some pepper spray. I chose the pink one. Not because I like pink- I rather hate pink generally-, but because it amused me. Light hearted is good. Especially about things you're naturally heavy hearted about. Like the distinct possibility of needing to use pepper spray. At least now I won't be quite AS scared coming home at night.

domestic violence

2009-07-02T11:29:00.006-05:00

So I had an incredibly traumatic experience this week. I moved into my new apartment which I LOVED, and things have been going pretty great. Yes, the new place is not in that great of an area (sigh. I know, heard this before), but the price was TOTALLY right, and the apartment itself was in pretty good condition. I just figured I'd keep to myself and save money on rent. This is my first place I've had by myself in a very long time. Brother Matt and I got a roommate divorce and it seems to have vastly improved our relationship. Oddly we spend more time together while living apart then when we're sharing a one bedroom apartment. Strange. At any rate, the new place has been great so far and I've been really happy with it.

And then Monday night happened. I was fast asleep when I woke to the sound of a woman screaming her head off and the intermittent blows of a man beating the living shit out of her. I sleep holding my cell phone as it doubles as my alarm clock. So I immediately called 911, even before I could get to the peephole to try and confirm what my mind automatically recognized the sounds to be. It went on FOREVER. Grunt, sickening thud, more screaming, and repeat. I nearly went mad. Maybe I did. The whole time I was on phone with the 911 dispatcher and a good 7 minutes after... no exaggeration. It went on FOREVER. The only reason it came to an end was because a neighbor finally managed to grab her and drag her into his apartment and lock the door while the psycho was winding up. So then the perp grabbed her kid who couldn't have been much more than 5 years old, who also was screaming throughout this, and dragged him off down the 8 flights of stairs with him. The police sirens (thank God) were nearing by this point and he left the kid behind, realizing a screaming child wouldn't help him try to escape. The woman was pretty badly hurt; he had been using a fire extinguisher he ripped off the wall to beat her. The kid was physically alright. Blood on the walls, her ripped off weave on the floor. The whole thing was insanely disturbing and messed up. Savage.

When the detective came round to talk later I found out that this was (from what she said) all because she had tried to break up with him the other day. I've gotta assume there was a bit more to the story, but still pretty ridiculous. The child was not his. They had never lived together. He was not a tenant of the building. She did not live on that floor... but was trying to run to the safety of a friend of hers' apartment on our floor. The next day all the mess was cleaned up like nothing had happened, save the dented fire extinguisher still lying broken at the end of the hall. I wouldn't even have known it had happen had I been at work.

And now here I am, less than a month into my year lease, living in this place. Sure, domestic violence CAN happen anywhere. But my God. I'm terrified. I haven't been able to sleep there since. Yesterday I finally broke down at napped at Phils... I'm sure the fear will fade. But I'm scared. And just all mixed up. I know being unarmed and defenseless myself going out there would have been ridiculously stupid given the crazed bestiality of this very large man. But my gosh. The helplessness... of someone MANIFESTLY NEEDING HELP, and just not being in any position to do so... it's the most nerve-wracking experience I've ever had. I'd almost rather be beat down myself and hospitalized or crippled than have to experience that again. The frenzy of impotence and powerlessness in a critical situation is unbearable.

Regardless of whether I find a way to get out of this lease or not-- I'm still researching my options both financially and legally--, I'm finding myself no longer resistant to the idea of being a gun owner. I never want to feel that kind of fear and defenselessness for myself or another again.

Summer T-Storms

2009-06-20T12:42:00.005-05:00

The thunderstorm the other night was AMAZING. Cracks of lightening that make you fear for your ears, howling winds, raindrops like hail stones. I tried to drive home at 3am and it was ridiculous. I know this area like the back of my hand, and still ended up driving 3x the necessary distance to get home because there wasn't enough visibility to see landmarks much less lanes, curbs, or street signs. It was OUT OF CONTROL. Just sheets of slated water, my windshield wipers on crazy high might has well have been off for all the good they did. Two + inches flooding the streets at all times. In dips in the road it was shin-deep lakes we faced where if you stopped your car was going to die on you...

It was so dang fun!!! I was parked directly in front of the building yet in the 3 seconds it took to run out it was still as though I dumped a pitcher of water on my seat cuz there was so much just ON my body.

Matt was at work doing deliveries and recounted an added complication of people running around naked in the streets everywhere... Haha... I love the violence and energy of Summer Storms in Milwaukee!!!!

Reality check

2009-06-17T17:20:00.003-05:00

So I was a sitter at work the other night. When the Old Lady I was keeping an eye on 1-on-1 woke up in the middle in the night and was clearly disoriented, I asked her a couple questions to determine just how much so. Her responses were as follows:

M: Do you know where you are?
OL: Halloween.
M: ... Do you know what year it is?
OL: .... *long pause, trying very hard*... the year 32 hundred...
M: Do you know what month?
OL: Christmas!
M: Can you tell me your name?
OL: Mary.

Her name was not Mary. Straight up 0 for 4. She was cute, though.

My Grievance Against My Life

2009-03-12T23:21:00.002-05:00

Lately I feel like I live in a whole separate shadowy sleepless world apart from everyone else. Operating (or trying to anyway) at all hours. Just trying to get as much done as I can and trying not to be quite so upset about what I can't and work around it. Just a hazy existence full of looming deadlines and responsibilities to be juggled. Either I'm on the spot at school, 100% invested in other people at work, or I'm at home with Matt or at Noah's- being near them but not with them. We're all just too busy to be with each other.

Frenetic schedules are bad enough... but when you're finally in the presence of the people you ache to be in the presence of and neither of you have the time or energy to be emotionally present? That kills me.

Bitterness and Grief

2009-02-24T11:56:00.004-06:00

Call me shallow, but I'm really upset about how my roommate (I try not to focus on how he's also my brother... makes it too personal...) murdered my daffodils the other night. I was so proud of myself. It's the first plant I've ever had that I've remember to water. They have a really nifty "vase/pot" that's a like a fish bowl but open at the top with a downwards slant, cool little rocks and foilage stuff in it, and it had two beautiful blossoms that became three thanks to my nurturing. I'm trying to prove that I can nurture plants because if I can nurture plants I can probably nurture pets and if I can nurture pets I can maybe nurture babies. Maybe I've got something to prove here.

But regardless, the point is that he sabotaged my attempt at proving I could nurture by opening the window upon which sill my plant was resting (for optimal sunlight-- it was not left there out of negligence!!) and exposed it to freezing temperatures, crippled it with frost, and thus made me a failure. It doesn't look like she'll recover, though I still have faint hopes.

And I'm very upset about this. Even bitter. Possibly in the first stage of grieving.

Sigh.

Firsts

2009-02-23T01:43:00.005-06:00

Since this is my First post of '09, I think I'll dedicate it to this year's firsts so far:

I spent the first minute of this year (and beyond) supporting a whispy leukemia patient while he puked his frail little guts out. Then after he recovered he looks over at me sidelong and says "well happy new year anyway", completely flat affect.

I took my first formal vacation in a LOOOOONG LOOOONG time. Just nothing to do but spend time with My Favorite, swim in the pool, soak in the jacuzzi, and shudder in the snowy cold on the way to the bar and grill.

I went to Door County for the first time. It was great. See above.

I had my first real in-the-hospital clinical as a nurse (-ing student). And a bunch more since then. And they're awesome. This semester I'm working with new mommas and babies for the first half, and then psychiatric patients for the second.

I went to my first hockey game. And I am SOLD. I never thought of myself as a potential sports fan, but I'm really digging going to Admiral's hockey games. Milwaukee fans are total hams. (rhyming's fun. :)) And Hockey is the manliest sport ever. Our boys really should play hockey.

I gave an infant her first bath for the first time at the hospital during clinicals. It was fantastic-- babies love a good soak. So do I.

I witnessed my first surgery-- a C-section. We got all dressed up in surgical scrubs and booties and caps and masks and everything and were watching just a couple feet away from the gaping whole of gore that was her tummy. It was INTENSE. I'm still in shock and awe from it. And the baby was absolutely perfect...

I touched a placenta for the first time. What an amazing organ. The arteries are as big as my pinky!! No wonder there's so much bleeding...

I performed my first Assessment on an actual patient. A post-op (c-section again) momma. It was smoothly executed, thanks to the litany of prayers I said prior. :) (My second assessment was on her 3-hr-old newborn... dreamy sigh)

I was slapped in the face and shoved against a wall by a patient for the first time (at work, not clinicals). He was very confused and aggressive from all the medication. So I'm not too bitter.

I watched a patient die of lung cancer for the first time. Massive amounts of blood, and blood clots, were coming out of his mouth... I guess an artery burst in his lungs or something... it was pretty horrific. His wife was present. Called STAT team, but it did no good.

Saw someone intubated for the first time. It didn't help. See above.

I took someone to a morgue for the first time. (Also, same man.) It was a long hall that you had to call on a phone to be let into. Once in, there was absolutely no one there. Just a long empty hall with Autopsy rooms lining it. At the end of the hall there was a walk-in cooler, suspiciously like those in restaurants, with another phone where you call someone remote to ID the body, check correspondence of toe tags and bodybag tags and whatnot and be buzzed into the freezer. It was creepier than I would have expected.

I was referred to the ER by a doctor for the first time. I didn't go. I'm no wuss. (And I don't believe in wasting medical resources unnecessarily.)

I worked/schooled my first non-stop (no breaks) 26 hr day... just straight from work to class to a work again. (Sadly they're recurring far too often...)

I washed 5 simultaneous loads of laundry for the first time. No sense wasting time.

I heard Christopher West speak about Theology of the Body for the first time. Theology of the Body blows my mind. And fills me with unspeakably shy joyfulness. Guess I'm not there yet.

For the first time I have a specific doctor I can call "my doctor".

I have awesome health insurance for the first time ever. It's so nice not to have to worry about doctors bills and copays and whatnot. I just make an appointment and go. Plus aurora has all these online profiles of their doctors so I can read up on them on their specialties, look at their pictures, see their mini intro-clip and whatnot. "No, I don't want the UGLY doctor with a lisp! Let's see that other one again..."

For the first time I'm actually doubting whether or not I can pass a class. I mean I know I could if it was all I had to focus on... but in this context... with this much going on.... I'm really not sure if I can do it all at once.

I got my first Littman stethoscope (thanks mom!).

I bought my first pair of Crocs (despite DESPISING Crocs) because it's easier to wash blood and pee and bile and whatnot off of them. It's a purely practical move on my part. And don't worry, I have the "medical version" without the holes. No one's bleeding on my toes.

And yeah. That's about all I can think of right now...

Who is your role model?

2008-12-18T17:03:00.002-06:00

Yeah, I know. I hate this crap too usually. But math is cool. Try it without looking at answers.

1) Pick your favorite number between 1-9

2) Multiply by 3 then

3) Add 3, then again Multiply by 3 (I'll wait while you get the calculator....)

4) You'll get a 2 or 3 digit number....

5) Add the digits together

Now Scroll down ..............

Now with that number see who your ROLE MODEL
is from the list below :

1. Hillary Clinton

2. Nelson Mandela

3. James Brown

4. Audrey Hepburn

5. Bill Gates

6. Gandhi

7. Brad Pitt

8. Abraham Lincoln

9. Maggie

10. Barack Obama

hahaha. Sucker.

Earnin' My Keep

2008-12-18T15:33:00.003-06:00

This one old man at work really cracked me up. He was in his 90s, a WWII vet, former B17 Bomber instructor, and incredibly disoriented after his surgery. He needed a "sitter" (someone who stays in the room with him 24-7 to prevent him from pulling out his IV, catheter, etc.) so I got to spend a lot of time with him the week he was there.

Despite having a sitter, he also needed wrist restraints, because he was so nimble- and good for him considering his age. This was particularly unfortunate, though, because despite how soft our restraints are (padded wrist bands with straps attached to them), it's always still incredibly frustrating to be restrained, and especially so if you're disoriented.

On my first night there, he had no idea where he was. He would just yell "NINE. ONE. ONE." at the top of his lungs and at 5 second intervals. FOR HOURS. Granted, it got confused. Sometimes it would morph into "STAR. NINE. ONE. ONE." And occasionally you could coax him into talking about his life, so long as it wasn't anything recent. Like talking about B17 Bombers. I found if I said B19 Bombers by accident that would provoke conversation in a hurry. I also got him to tell me what year he was born in, and that changed the chant to "NINE. TEEN. ONE. ONE." Occasionally it would be "STAR. SIX. SEVEN." I asked him who he he wanted to call once, and he said he needed medical assistance and they should send an ambulance. I told him he was at a hospital- the same hospital the ambulance would have taken him to. He turned to glare. Silence. Then, "I meant the police. To arrest YOU, ya damn broad. Keepin' me shackled in here. What'd I ever do to YOU??" 911 chant resumes. All night. That was the most conversation I got out of him. He never stopped his chanting for more than 10 minutes. Later I asked who he was trying to call again, simply cuz I was starting to go insane from the chanting, and he responds, "uhh... EVVVERYONE!!!"

On my second night with him he had been on a hunger strike for 3 days. He thought he was in some sort of prison at first while he was really out of it on the meds, and not eating was his only way of 'fighting back.' But he caved my second night. He asked me for a ham and cheese sandwich. So I went and ordered him one from the kitchen 11 floors beneath us. It took forever to come, which is really sad cuz it was just ham and cheese slapped on some bread, y'know? But anyways, when it got there I heated it up for him because he made a huge point of insisting that nothing he ate or drank could be cold OR hot- it had to be "precisely room temperature." Okey dokey. So I brought it to him, he takes a bite, and then spits it out all over himself and says "you damn broad, some wife YOU'LL make, lady! Ya can't even make a decent sandwhich!!" and refuses to eat anymore. I tried switching up the temp, but it was no good. He'd already decided anything I did was worthless, and that set the tone for the that night.

Aside from "my cooking" another thing he was particularly displeased with were the hand restraints, that he referred to as his "shackles." He would oscillate between cursing me for shackling him, and imploring me to release him. At one point, he softly started calling out to me:

"Hey, lady. Laaaady. Lady?"
"Yes, Philip?"
"Why do you have me shackled like this?? I'm willing to cooperate with you"
"Well, your doctor ordered them because he kept pulling out your IV and catheter tubes--"
"But I'm not!! I never did that! I mean I wouldn't. I'm ready to cooperate with you now. Please, lady! Please let me out! Ya gotta help me!"

So I called his nurse and got permission to "unshackle him" temporarily so he wouldn't panic, as long as I stood immediately next to him ready to restrain him again should he go for his tubes.

So I "unshackle him". There's a moment's pause as he confirms his freedom. Then..

"SHACKLE ME WILL YA?!?? I'll teach YOU a lesson, Lady!! No one holds ME down!!" As he starts punching me in the side as hard as he could.. hahaha... I won't lie, I actually had bruises on my side from a man in his 90s, but damn was it worth it... it was bizarrely humorous, PLUS he got out all his angst.

I restrained him again.

Philip: Why'd you shackle me again?
Me: Uhh... you were just hitting me, Philip!
Philip: Hahha.. yeah. I showed you.
Me: Yes you did.

After that, we got along famously.

The next night the nurse repositioned him in bed at one point. He'd been insisting that his arm was completely numb and he couldn't feel anything in it-- but then he would complain about how icy her damn hands were. Once she left he started moaning, so I asked him what was wrong. He wouldn't answer. Minutes passed. Still moaning. Still wouldn't identify the source of his discomfort. So I asked him where it hurt again.

Philip: Down there. *nods towards groin*
Me: Is it internal, or how you're sitting?
Philip: HOW I'M SITTING!
Me: Do you want me to--
Philip: NO. No, no.. just move me, lady.
Me: Okay, how do you want me to move you?
Philip: Uhh... push on my feet.
Me: ? Err... okay.

As I push on his feet, he tries to raise his hips and free himself, something which I could have done in an instant, but he clearly was uncomfortable with that, so okay. He is wailing in pain. It's not working. And he starts SCREAMING "AHHH!!! MY TESTICLES!!" He gives me permission to "free" him. I do. Then, as he gasps for air, he goes "You're a damn fine broad. A damn fine broad." Nice.

We often asked people who are confused basic questions, like if they know where they are, geared at determining how alert they are.

Me: Do you know where you are, Philip?
Philip: *states full name of medical facility*
Me: That's right.
Philip: But can YOU tell ME this?? Who FOUNDED this hospital? Everyone knows what it's called, but not ONE of you people can tell me who founded it!!
Me: 'Fraid I don't know either.
Philip: *shaking his head in disapproval* No respect...

The next night he's out of restraints and eating when I come in.

Me: Hey, look at you!! You look like you're doing much better!
Philip: *smiling broadly* Yup! They took off my shackles!! (lowering his voice, in confidence) I'm earnin' my keep now!

A Winter Prophecy

2008-11-24T16:07:00.004-06:00

Sitting on the sofa. Minding my own business. Researching. Silent clickety-click of computer keys.

Matt's voice.

"It's coming you know. The hour of apocalypse."

Glance over at him with awkward skepticism.

"The snow parking disaster. The snow parking apocalypse.

I don't know what we're going to do.

In those bleak days young men will see visions. Old men will dream dreams. Many of those old men will not survive the journey back to their apartments from their parking spots.

Look out there. It's bleak."

I look. We look.

"Look out there. Way out there is probably where we might be able to find parking."

Silence.

Matt's voice.

"Do you have a window scraper?"
"yeah."
"Do you have two?"
Exchange of a glance.
A sigh.
Silence conquers.

The word of the day is...

2008-11-07T05:55:00.005-06:00

Defenestration.

That's the act of throwing something (or someone) out of a window. The term originated shortly after a group of Protestants defenestrated two Catholic Imperial governors along with their scribe at Prague Castle for alleged infringements on the right to freedom of religious expression. (The somewhat obscure disclaimer "Don't defenestrate the scribe," also has its origins in this event.) The three survived for reasons disputed along religious lines: Catholics claimed that divine intervention played a part in protecting them; "Horseshit," said Protestants. Admittedly, the mental image of angels descending from heaven to mercifully guide the men in their fall from a castle window onto a large pile of horse manure is a bit pythonesque. (Which is not at all to say I find it unbelievable.)
Good times.

All lifted from wikipedia of course. Anyone else care to admit to thinking "Meh, it's a cool idea but it's not like it will really catch on," about wikipedia a couple years ago?

Overheard while waiting at a red light

2008-11-04T01:28:00.002-06:00

"Hey, if you get hungry on the way home, I put some food in your jacket."

2008-11-04T00:21:00.006-06:00

Well, in an awesome display of self-restraint, I have refrained from posting any more election related crap. Nothing to do with laziness or lack of inspiration. Seriously.
Now that the day of doom has finally arrived, I can clean up that sidebar and get back to neglecting to post for the usual reasons.

Meanwhile, I give you: miniguns.
That's right, miniguns. From helicopters of course. Have I ever mentioned that miniguns make me go all teary-eyed? If you can watch that clip just once, I think there's something missing from your soul.

Also I've arbitrarily decided that all future posts must have a minimum of three labels, using only those that have already been created. Good thing "mislabeled posts" is one.

To whom it may concern

2008-10-04T01:10:00.003-05:00

It turns out that "gam" is in fact slang for "leg" so I was wrong there.
Much more importantly however, it can also mean "1 : a visit or friendly conversation at sea or ashore especially between whalers [or] 2 : a school of whales." ^{(M-W online)}
You can't make this stuff up. And it can be used as a transitive or intransitive verb. I'm sure that that just goes to show you something but I have no idea what.

more of me telling you what you should read

2008-09-23T02:47:00.008-05:00

First, somebody hopes to change your mind with a little online community organizing. Read about it here because this surely isn't "newsworthy" enough to make it into circulation on TV or in the papers. An exellent example of pajama wearing morons stepping up when the mainstream media won't do its job.

Meanwhile, the good folks at newsbusters remind us of another reason that a story can fail to be newsworthy: the sick abusive perverts work in the state school system not the Catholic Church. No, that's not news, "these things happen." I mean, these guys are just teachers and administrators in the schools your children are required by law to attend being paid by your tax dollars, it's not like they're priests.

update: The McCain campaign weighs in on bias and BS news.

Funny

2008-09-17T17:12:00.003-05:00

If it's not, that's probably because you haven't read much H.P. Lovecraft and/or you haven't spent much time on this site. ..neither of those being particularly bad things with which to have found yourself better occupied than to become familiar.
But if you are amused, you can feel just a little better about the time you've wasted. As to the lolcats- I hate cats and would like to think I'm not especially susceptible to cutesy, silly picture funnies but I have to admit that I was drawn in by teh funny of teh kittehz. So if you click on the link, expect to waste some time.

The iron finger

2008-09-13T09:12:00.004-05:00

President Dmitry Medvedev, ultra classy and marvelously diplomatic tool and mouthpiece of the ruler of Russia, decided that the day after our commemoration of the deadliest act of terroism in history would be a good time to trot out this line of I don't even know what to call --
"The world has changed and it occurred to me that 8 August 2008 has become for Russia as 11 September 2001 for the United States. This is an accurate comparison corresponding to Russian realities."

So what exactly is Russian reality? And what mind altering substances do you have to use to get there? I mean, a government using military force to try to regain control of territory within its borders vs. a terrorist group destroying one of the most prominent landmarks of (arguably) our most iconic city and attempting to destroy the seats of our top military command and (presumably) excecutive branch. Not seeing much in common there, Mitya.* To be fair, of course, I should mention that the death tolls were about the same... if you multiply the current official count (from the Russian government. source:Wa.Post) by 5 and then add it to the 2000 Ossetian civilians killed according to earlier Russian, um, reports (read B.S. propaganda lies).
So as not to waste too much time crushing that fucktarded comparison into the dirt, I'm just going to accept Russian reality as having it's own rules and move on to further correspondence from that magical realm. Dima* also wanted us to know that he didn't like invading Geargia, Georgian president Saakashvili and US Sec of State Condoleezza Rice made him do it. He also points out that NATO membership for Georgia is unnaceptable. In case, we thought he didn't mean that in a nice way, he encourages us that even is Georgia was a member of NATO, he wouldn't hesitate to follow the same course of action if provoked again by Ms. Rice.

So this isn't actually on a level with what you'ld expect from, say, Saddam's Minister of Information. I'm seeing it as pretty frighteningly close though. And a lot more frightening because he's got a lot of force at his disposal to try to make the world fit his Russian reality.

Added note: to be clear on the casualty numbers- Russia's casualty figure(197) represents Russian military(64) and South Ossetians(133 of the 2000 first claimed)
Added note about my grammar: just don't worry about it, alright? I was tired.

*common Russian diminutives of Dmitry.

hope*

2008-09-10T14:38:00.005-05:00

After a couple of failed attempts to post my reactions to the the articles linked below, I think I've found the key distinction that the community organizer issue highlights. My earlier efforts just weren't coming together in any meaningful way; there wasn't a unifying theme. I knew that, on the one hand, I find idea of effective political action on the neighborhood level very compelling. I am inclined to admire the ability to actually harness and use power in such an unlikely setting to get things done. I was partly just awed by the possibility - I mean, I don't even know any of the people who live in this same apartment building as I do. On the other hand, if someone knocked on my door and asked me to help pay him to organize my community, trust would not be very high on the list of my feelings. Power corrupts, but power and a salary? And there are other reasons to be wary- the very democratic (in the sense of mob rule) tactic of using strength of numbers to demand what the majority wants and the self-interest principle on which they appear to operate. (I have to make a side note here because I'm not against self interest as such. I think that the problem is immediate or short term self interest which disregards moral and societal law. My argument would be that those who appear to act out of self interest actually endanger themselves by tearing down the structures which protect them).
I alluded to a vital distinction at the beginning of this post and I will now attempt to describe it. Active participation in political and social life is good and praiseworthy, especially among one's immediate neighbors where you are personally known and can influence others to become better people. The departure from this wholesome and natural sociopolitical norm has led to a widespread disinterest toward modern politics. Today's typical "activist" bears little relation to the laudable politically active citizen. There is very little one can do as a part of the federal - or even state - government to inspire internal change but instead of taking this as the limitation it naturally is, politicians (by the mandate of activists) try to force the issue by legislating external change. Instead of trying to convince our fellow citizens to look out for their own safety we pass laws against driving without a seat belt (and of course make those who do pay a fine). It's easier to pass laws against smoking in public buildings than to help someone you know quit (and of course make smokers pay extra taxes). If you think that your fellow man is uncharitable, just ask the government to take money from everyone by threat of force and give it to the deserving (and of course.. wait, hold on...).
My conclusion is that community organizing brings the perverse politics of power and coercive change down to a local level. In the general absence of local political activity this can appear to be the missing personal participation in public discourse but, being built on corrupt foundations it cannot bring about any real good. What is needed instead is a genuine (stay with me here) self interest in the common good. OK, no, I can't really prove that there is any justification for that apparent perversion of language. I think there is, but despite the facts that I don't seem to have covered half of what I set out to say and that this post has been in draft status for a good couple of days now, further progress is not immediately forthcoming. Besides, I've is already gotten pretty epic for me. I will, therefore have to hope *that this makes some sense(minus the final paragraph) and has some value as it stands. More as the story develops.

Power, community and change

2008-09-05T02:01:00.002-05:00

If you've been wondering what the hell a "community organizer" actually does or wishing that you were more informed about the presidential race, these articles are well worth your time. I'd say they're worth it even aside from the upcoming election.

COMMUNITY If you only read one of these, go with this one; informative and to the point.
POWER Celebrating Obama's use of these methods(as linked to at the end of the first article)
"CHANGE" From Obama himself
TEH FUNNY I would have loved to put this one at the top but only read it first if you're going to read the rest.

I should have more to say here... I think I do somewhere but I'm weak on words right now. I'll try to sort it out and post some thoughts later.

NObama '08 (keep the change)
yeah, I stole that. thoseshirts

this post would be much better with a clever title

2008-08-25T19:29:00.002-05:00

As I was working on learning the Russian alphabet today, I noticed that the Russian word for I (Я) is pronounced "ya" and the Russian world for yes (дa) is pronounced "da." The image that immediately came to mind was a Russian bride and groom at the altar during their wedding vows answering -- "ya da, ya da, ya da."
and yes, I realize that that's not at all accurate and so on, but I thought it was hilarious. Hopefully I'm not the only one.

Suicide Base Jumping

2008-08-21T13:24:00.003-05:00

So Mattface were on the roof of our 8 story building smoking a cigarette on the deck when we noticed a man on the roof of the building next door with his leg up on the ledge, peering contemplatively over the edge. Having put much discussion into the eminence of certain death (or probability thereof), we were vaguely concerned by this sight. So I yelled across, "Don't do it, buddy! We can talk this out!!" Sadly, either he ignored me or my sound waves were washed away in the chaotic confusion of construction work being done across the street.

Oh well.

Biting Gum

2008-08-21T12:18:00.003-05:00

So one of my Dementors bit me this morning. I still have a mark HOURS later. I mean, I know she's usually unpleasant in the morning (an unfortunate side-effect of her dementia), but seriously, I did NOT see that one coming. I was helping her get dressed and she just CHOMPED down on me with no warning, and HARD. I was so suprised I was laughing before I even managed to get her to release her bite. I'm sure part of that was being surprised, but I think the main reason was because of this stupid "Orbit Gum" commercial...

... All I could think about was targeting those deep dark fears of the baby boomers, "For stronger teeth, so you can better fend for yourself when your friends are dead, your children have abandoned you, and you're all alone in a nursing home!"

I know, pretty terrible. And it's REALLY not that bad. But you know the stereotypes. And exploiting the fears based on shaky stereotypes (are there any other kind?) can be oh-so-entertaining... entertaining enough to mask the pain of a set of dentures chomping down full-force on your wrist, even...

Mentoring

2008-08-21T11:47:00.004-05:00

Earlier this week I got to play mentor when a 14 year old boy named Demetrius escaped from a group home for boys and was outside knocking on my resident's windows while I was performing cares. I went out to investigate and he made these weird animal clawing/waving motions in the air at me from his little spot in the bushes. So I said, "Hey, woah there! How 'bout you come inside and have some juice and crackers and we talk about it." I'm not sure what possessed me, exactly (seeing as how I was at work and all and he was clearly a delinquent and MUCH taller than me, etc.), but I think I was subconsciously inspired by a short story by Willa Cather I'd read recently about a country school teacher who was only 14 years old teaching all these kids bigger and older than her.

At any rate, the juice and graham crackers seemed to have a calming effect on young Demetrius, so we got to talking about how he'd busted out of the group home. Apparently they had confiscated his PS2 because of some disciplinary issues. I wasn't sure exactly what a PS2 was, but I suspected/gathered it was some sort of video game type deal. He was pretty upset about it. So then I asked how his nose got all messed up, cuz it was red and had abrasions... turns out it was a severe rug burn from a restraint they had put him in during the PS2 confiscation ordeal... they'd forced him down to the ground and told him they weren't going to give it back even unless he worked out his behavioral problems. I didn't bother asking what those were. Anyways, we kept talking. Well, he kept talking, I just listened... until we got to the part where he explained how his PS2 was so important because it was HIS, and because it made it easier to be there without being there. Now THAT I understood. I asked him how he felt about reading and I think was piquing his curiosity on that one as a readily available (and effective) pastime.... and then a couple of cops showed up in the lobby where we were chatting. Demetrius bolted. Seriously, he was just GONE, in a flash, down the halls of the nursing home. The cops took off after him (trying to retrieve him for the group home), but they weren't particularly motivated. A few minutes later an alarm went off as he found his escape out an alternative exit on the opposite side of the building.

Two hours later the cops were outside again. They said that apparently he'd liked whatever I'd said to him cuz he came back again, and that's when they nabbed him. Poor Demetrius. So desperate for someone, anyone, to listen to him over some juice and graham crackers. I wish I'd have thought to have given him my book, but he took off so quick when the cops showed up. Maybe some literature would help him escape into a more pleasant and inspiring world and ease the loss of his PS2... his only distraction from reality. Buuut I didn't, and it was Phil's book anyway (though I'm thinking he'd have empathized with the cause), so I guess I'm just gonna have to hope that our chat and the suggestion were enough to get him to pursue it on his own... seriously, I pray he does. I never met anyone so unknowingly starved for the fruits of good literature before...

Groping for what cannot be touched

2008-08-09T14:43:00.003-05:00

Like the man who, having lost his sight, moves to a new home.
He becomes familiar with the objects that surround him - learning their shape, their place, their function. But he cannot know them by these alone. Images of his former life cannot be forgotten, though he may often try. He imagines a darkness that is bearable because it never knew light, but imagination is not so easily turned to his own ends. The memories force themselves into his new world and demand their former places. He is certain that the bed on which he lies looks nothing like the phantasm he has unwillingly created, but finds rest impossible until he allows himself to see it. So the things that are his only comfort become his great torment as he gives them colors which he knows they are not in his broken mind.

and the deep crimson stain that grows, creeping across his sheets will not be seen by any other

Crack Coffee

2008-07-13T08:36:00.012-05:00

I cannot believe how much coffee Matt and I must drink.

To save money, we've been buying those big tubs of coffee that Folgers sells... it's nowhere near as good as the name brand cool beans stuff, but costs the same amount for like twice as much. So right, I actually LOOKED at this tub today... it's supposed to make 270 cups of coffee. Ummm... yeah. The two of us went through our last one in less than 3 weeks. Generous estimate. What on earth?? That's 135 cups each, divided by 21 days... supposedly 6.4 cups of coffee a day? But let's say my memory is flawed (it's not. trust me on this one.) and it was actually 4 weeks ago we bought our last tub that I used the last grounds of this morning... but that's STILL 4.8.... almost FIVE CUPS OF COFFEE EACH EVERY DAY.

I'm sorry, but this is just not true. Some days, sure, it's probably true. But I don't always drink coffee every day! I KNOW this for a FACT because I REMEMBER the frequency of the caffiene headaches I've been having. And Matt's not even HOME enough to drink that much!

And yet the coffee is gone. Puzzling.

So I've been reflecting on this, trying to account for the missing grounds. Does Matt have some mysterious other use for them? I don't. I wish I did, just so I could feel sneaky and mysterious about it. But I don't. And I doubt he does either. I concocted some deleriously entertaining fantasies on these lines trying to think up other crazy uses for coffee grounds that had to be kept secret, and how I'd go about it. It was a totally free 10 minutes of entertainment. But then I got bored and refoccussed on the puzzle.

And then I had a moment of clarity. Actually, it was a memory of an occurence that's happened so many times that the one memory actually represents a conglomerate of memories all nearly identical in substance. It's of myself, pouring a steaming cup of coffee that Matt has just brewed for me, darling boy that he is... and I put the mug to my lips... and find myself recoiling and making a face. "A face?" you inquire? What sort of face? I don't have a name for it exactly, but it's damn near identical to the same face I make when I down a shot of tequila. And this, mind you, is AFTER having added around 150cc of milk to it. (Yeah, shaddup. Kitchen measurements aren't my thing, I'm more of an eyeballer, and I can't recall the conversion from cc's at the moment. Though it is disgusting that the estimate I just gave for milk was derived by my mentally comparing it to the graduate I use at work to measure urine output.) But basically what I'm trying to say is I SOLVED THE MYSTERY!! Matt makes crack coffee, nearly 5 times as potent. (Judging by the figures earlier, probably only 2 or 3 times as potent, but I'm claiming artistic license for hyperbole here.) So we DO drink that much coffee! But qualitatively, not quantitatively, due to Matt's obstinate inability to brew a sane cup o' the good stuff.

Crazy. Maybe I should start watering mine down to save on milk instead...

Maggomaly Mouse

2008-07-08T11:23:00.004-05:00

Since all the flooding we've had a minor mouse problem. By that I mean one rainy morning Matt and I were sitting at the kitchen table over a cup of coffee, and Matt coolly inquires, "Is that a mouse on the counter by the sink?" So I look over. "Yep. Most definitely a mouse." We turn away and continue sipping our coffee and discussing our plans for the day. No, kidding, we actually bickered because it was MY book he picked up to smash it's skull with and I most definitely object to mouse-blood on my books. In the meantime the little bugger scampered off to safety. That afternoon Matt launched his attack, and the next morning we had mousage (portmanteau--> mouse + sausage) with our eggs and oatmeal.

The landlord in the meantime purchased several expensive noise-emitters that are supposed to keep away mice, spiders, and things like that. Okey-dokey. We plugged those suckers in, and haven't had any problems since. Until it rained wayyy heavy yesterday. Now all of a sudden the "fixed" roof is leaking again, and one of the "leftover" mousetraps we never deactivated had a dead mouser in it. This occured between the hours of 9am and 10am this morning while I was cleaning. I SWEAR it wasn't there at 9am when I was cleaning up around the apartment, but it was most DEFINITELY there at 10am when I went to vaccumm.

And this brings me to my Maggomaly (portmanteau--> Maggie + Anomaly). I not just move, but touch, clean and do all sorts of things for dead HUMAN bodies at work all the time... but I absolutely could NOT bring myself to dispose of this piddly ol' dead mouser. I didn't even have to TOUCH it, and I couldn't do it. Like, we're talking total hysterical breakdown just crying about this stupid mouse, all the while inwardly scoffing at myself with embarrassment. I even went so far as to humiliate myself by paying my sister Becca $80 to come remove it, which she did. Okay, fine, I OWED her the $80 to begin with, but still. It was pretty shameful that I got her to drive over to do this simple task for me. Especially seeing as how I'm the girl who kept mice around to feed to her snake on a regular basis! Grab the sucker by the tail and throw him in to be destroyed! I'd also watch with fascination as my constrictor snake sssssttreeetcccchhhheeedddd out their little bodies and wiggled it's neck as it swallowed them to audibly crush all their bones and aid digestion. I still think that's pretty nifty about constrictors and have no problem watching it. So what is my hang up with this darn mouse?? I feel so lame. THIS SHOULD BE NOTHING FOR ME.

And I just couldn't do it. Man. What a Maggomaly.

That'll be 5 boogers, please

2008-07-07T10:14:00.006-05:00

Dementor**: (gravely equivalent of screaming)Mo-ther! Mo-ther! Mo-ther!

Maggie: (briskly walking into room) Dementor, what's wrong?
Dementor: Mother, there you are! Here, take a look at this! (holds out something invisible in her hand)
Maggie: Okay, let's take a look..(discreetly slipping on glove and holding out her hand to recieve the invisible something, fully prepared if necessary to play Adam and name it if it turns out to be a nothing)
Dementor: What IS it??
Maggie: Ummm... well, it looks like a booger, Dementor.
Dementor: A WHAT?
Maggie: You know... a booger... from your nose?
Dementor: you mean... (pointing at her nose)?
Maggie: 'Fraid so.
Dementor: Oh, Heavens. (pause, pause) Boy, and I thought it was money.... (trailing off)

Man. The day my boogers become a form of currency will be a blessed, blessed day. Think what a cash-cow getting a cold would be!!!

** "Dementor" as being used here defined under the heading "Dementors" on this post.

Act 4 Scene 4 of "Keepin' The Love Alive Long Distance"

2008-07-02T12:18:00.008-05:00

Late, late in the wee hours of the night the heroine slaves away, pen in hand, rapidly scribbling frantic words on excessively girly stationery, trying her hardest to keep the oppressive glitter off her freshly cleaned and pressed scrubs. Did she say it right? Will he understand the full weight of her words? Will he care? You're damn right he will. If he recieves it. The blessed end to their long distance romance is looming on the horizon. She dots her i's and crosses her t's with confidence. As the sun rises she finally manages to finish inbetween long stints of adult diaper changing at work. The day has arrived, and soon the postman will also.

The question that's on everyone's minds now should be: Will the heroine's last and final military-letter reach her beloved before he checks out of the military? Or worse, will he not remember to check his mail prior to leaving and hence never recieve full long-distance-letter-lovin' closure? And should she bother to enclose fresh-baked cookies and the CD he wanted?

To Be Continued...

I chose to intentionally hit someone with my car last night

2008-06-28T22:09:00.000-05:00

SPEAKING of thugs. The other night during my break at work... around 2:30am... I went to a 24 hr gas station to get some coffee and a pack of cigarettes. It was a stressful night. Coworker tension, another death, general unpleasantness. You get the deal. So I do that. It's really alive for that time of night, which was surprising-- lots of VERY drunk people walking the streets, which apparently was because this is right after all the bars and clubs close in that area. So I finish up at the gas station and leave, but as I'm driving away...

Five or six young punks (late teens early 20's) who were very clearly drunk and MESSED UP surrounded my car in the middle of the street when I was trying to turn at a light and were giving me trouble. One of them had a long blunt object and was making it clear he was putting some serious consideration into smashing one of my windows. They're talking a lot of racial crap. They're black. I'm white. I'm pretty freaked out on the inside, but pretty sure that freaking out on the outside would turn me into a victim pretty damn quick. That whole self-fulfilling prophecy crap. So I don't respond to any of their bullshit, but crack my window and say, "Either you move, or I run you over." This ellicted a wave of crowing and "excitement" as expected, and also as expected most of them moved out of the way. Except for one, who was particularly messed up and aggressive... annnnnd, I hit him with my car. Yeah, I know right. I keep having to repeat that too, "I HIT him with my car...??!?!" Granted, not hard or anything... this was from a standstill, mind you, and I was trying hard not to hurt him, but yet to accelerate fast enough that it was clear I would hurt him. And well... I really would have. He certainly could have gotten out of the way had he wanted to-- he just chose to play chicken and lost. He was fine and all from what I could tell afterwards. It did knock him down, though I think part of that was just cuz he was drunk. He got back up immediately to canter after a little ways and shout some obscenities with his friends amidst their laughter, but yeah... it couldn't have been pleasant. Pretty unfortunate, all and all. Pretty crazy.

Soooo yeah. That's my story. I think now I'm gonna try and forget it ever happened. I just hope no one in the future ever happens to ask me if I've ever hit someone with my car... that'd suck...

New Apartment!

2008-06-28T21:38:00.003-05:00

Yeah, so we're moving again. A mere 3 or 4 months later, you inquire? What the? Yeah. I know. I feel the same way-- talk about a whole lot of work. But I think we need to be someplace where the noises of the night don't routinely involve excessive sirens and gunshots. It's worth it.

My tone lacks fervor, I realize... we ARE really excited about the new place, it's just that all the work, finances and details involved in yet another huge life transition are still a bit daunting. This new place in addition to having heat included, onsite laundry, fun local places to go that you feel comfortable walking to, a fantastic view, and a deck on the roof besides for more viewing pleasure (all of which this current place lacks), it will also save us some time (it's alot closer to work/school for both of us), and likely money too. Oh, and we've never observed any thugs over there.

It's located downtown on the east side, two blocks from Lake Michigan near the Marina. We're on the 7th floor, and there were fantastic breezes up there when you open the window, plus it's way brighter because the brick of the neighbor's house a mere 5 ft away doesn't block the light like with our current residence. Nice. Also, it's less than a mile from Columbia St. Mary's Hospital, where I'm in the application process for several positions including in the Med/Surg, Labor and Delivery, and Burn units. At least one of those positions also would enable me to work the same amount of hours (with higher pay), but in 3 nights a week instead of 4... which would be the difference between night and day next school year. I'd be NOT working more nights than I would be. HELLOOoooo SLEEP!

So basically my present future is bursting with opportunity, potential, and brightness... it's just up to me to get the rallying energy together to go for it. I'm quietly optimistic at present with brief flashes of doubt, worry, and indecision. But I suspect in the near future I'm likely to get pretty damn fired up and excited about everything as things start happening... and I can't wait.

Scramble

2008-06-28T21:15:00.004-05:00

Lately I've been OBSESSED with playing Scramble on Facebook. Yeah. I know. Facebook applications SUCK. But seriously... Scramble is... sigh. So nice. It's like a generic, online version of Boggle. I love zoning out into the world of words and just getting all intensely focussed on one thing. One thing that doesn't have a myriad of "what ifs" and other possibilities attached to it. Either you see a word, or you don't. No life-altering decisions. No consequences. Just friendly competition, and the possibility of winning (unless you're playing Krista.. she routinely skools me).

Day before yesterday I even discovered that I don't have to be hindered by my lack of a mouse. You can just type the words in and press enter! That really helped my scores. Also, they have "live games" with random people you can just jump in at any time, no strings attached, and practice. I like to refering to it as my "training." But really it's just another excuse to focus my mental energy that would otherwise be expended on worrying into something less.. destructive... when it's not my turn with the friends I'm actually playing with.

I recommend Scramble as a piddly activity to kill stress for anyone going through a rough time with minutes to spare where they want to turn their brain off. Plus, I'd be willing to assert that it's far more productive/less damaging than a more passive form of killing time or distraction like TV viewing or something lame like that.

So yeah. That's all I have to say about that. Scramble. Just do it.

my new favorite thing to say:

2008-06-03T13:33:00.001-05:00

Pain is weakness leaving the body.

Goofy Ghetto

2008-05-23T09:47:00.004-05:00

I might have shared this, but it was making me giggle again. There's this woman at work- she's totally ghetto and a drunk- and usually she's totally negative. But every once in a while she's in a good mood. Mainly when she's been drinking too much before work. (I will refrain from ranting about the problems associated with this.) And then she starts talking about men.

When she's in a good mood she talks about Men.
When she's in a really good mood she talks about Mens.
When she's in a really really good mood and lonely she talks about Menses and gets crazy animated and excited.

And it CRACKS ME UP.

Bright Idea

2008-05-22T08:36:00.002-05:00

Tonight at work they had to turn off the electricty and switch to generator power... which only is supposed to have enough power to vaguely illuminate the halls. Seeing as how I work 3rd shift this meant that we'd be doing cares for people in their rooms in pitch black by flashlights. This also meant that people who have those pressurized air mattresses (to help prevent bedsores), NG feeding tubes, or oxygen tanks needed alternative source of energy.

So we went around hooking all that crap up, extension cords criss crossing halls everywhere, filling portable oxygen tanks, and what have you. And then we had to do something about the call lights so residents can get a hold of us if they need something. Our solution? Noisemakers. You know, like for new years or birthday parties. Speaking of which, I want those at my next birthday party. But right, so I have to go around waking people up, explaining to them their purpose, and giving to them. Of course this is a ridiculous idea because none of these oldies have the lung capacity to go crazy on a noisemaker (least of all those on oxygen tanks!!). In fact, the most I got out of them was the feeblest of toots that could hardly be heard from 5 feet away. It was pretty pathetic. And it got most of them all anxious and stressed out-- they could die and no one would know. But right, we "covered our asses," I guess. Or something.

And then after spending an hour getting this all worked out, the call lights ended up being powered by the emergency generators after all. Which meant that EVERY FREAKING resident we'd woken up had their call light on when the lights went out because they were scared and needed to be reassured they'd be taken care of-- and also just to see if they'd work. But I mean... any one of those lights could have been the real deal, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" or needing to be toileted, or what have you. So I had to answer every freaking one and spend FOREVER on each of them reassuring them everything was going to be okay. Sigh. Had we not bothered with that bogus crap and woken them all up they'd all have slept right through it!

Whatta joke.

Solitude be gone

2008-05-20T18:26:00.003-05:00

It looks like my last two months of solitude and relative isolation are nearly over. Chronologically:

1. Matt's back from Utah/Spain! He arrived in the states yesterday. No more living alone, baby. Or worrying about having borderline sketch people over, talking coworkers into helping me move heavy things, not bothering with clothes, smoking indoors (just foul... I blame exam stress), drinking out of the milk carton (I'm such a rebel), being scared at night, having to call a friend to help me with my flat tires, drinking my morning coffee alone, or talking to myself.

2. Phil's going to be in Milwaukee a week from tomorrow(ish)!!! This will be the first time we've seen each other since his leave ended July 5th, 2007. Prrreeetty crazy. My brain can hardly register it as reality... I'm getting all squirrely: why is it so much harder to wait a week than it was to wait a year?

And will he be more comfortable on the sofa or a cot?

summertime...

2008-05-20T18:11:00.004-05:00

... and the living's shitty.

So I'm done with classes for the semester! I've been looking forward to this moment for so long but now that it's come I just don't know what to do with myself. Get a new job, I guess. But wow, I just can't come down off of this crazy anxiety. This was by far the hardest exams week I have EVER experienced. I did not sleep for 4 days straight. Not because I didn't have time to. But because I COULDN'T on account of being so stressed out about making the grade. Which I did, by the way. But that's over now.

In other news, I've had time to do a few life assessments and I've made several unpleasant realizations:

1. I'm poor.
2. My job sucks. LOTS of work. VERY LITTLE pay. MINIMAL on-the-job experience (I've maxed out what I stand to gain education-wise in this environment). TONS of drama. INSANE amounts of stress. Granted, in return I have complete awareness of how much of a difference I'm making in dying peoples lives. But then again, I also have to stand by and helplessly watch the at times excruciatingly painful process of them dying. It's a toss up.
3. There are much better jobs in the field out there.
4. My car needs (MORE) work.
5. I still suck at budgetting. And all my savings for the "unexpected" were eaten up by the unexpected this last month. Frickety-frick. NO MORE UNEXPECTED EXPENSES! I have this sickening feeling that I'm kidding myself even hoping.

Is there like some saying about how once one huge source of stress is eliminated fifty others will present themselves? There should be. Maybe something like "be happy with your present battle because once it's gone you'll remember the fifty others you need to fight." Or something. That could probably be hella-more concise. But whatever. You get the point.

Venn-egram

2008-05-13T21:53:00.001-05:00

crazy

2008-05-13T07:22:00.001-05:00

I just sneezed so hard my back cracked. It was a triple. And vertebrae I'm not usually able to crack...

Sweet.

Word for the wise...

2008-05-09T17:13:00.006-05:00

Baking cookies in a breadpan (as opposed to cookie sheet)= no go.

In other breaking news:

1. I had a double candle melt-down (you know, where the liquid wax melts the surrounding stuff unevenly and it busts forth like a miniature dam exploding, extinguishing your "mood" lighting and making a mess).

2. I suspect that there's something not-right about how the gas line is connected to my oven. I think it was the smell when I turned it on that tipped me off. Either that or my cookies smell FOUL. Unless you're into that whole gas station aroma thing wafting through your kitchen...

3. I am allergic to a certain "parfum" in lotions they have at work and it makes me MASSIVELY break out within minutes. Of course lotions never identify their particular scents either, so that's really helpful to know. So for now I guess "blue bottles=bad" will have to be my operative maxim.

4. My mom is like 50 times cooler when we're not living together.

5. She's so much cooler that when I woke up the other night at 2:30am and my left arm was numb and called her convinced that I was ABOUT to have a heart attack she talked me down. I even managed to fall back asleep afterwards, despite the paralyzing fear that I might die in my sleep and not even know it. I did however have to change into cute panties first-- just in case. Grandma always advised to make sure you always have nice panties on in case you had to go to the hospital. Better safe than humiliated.

6. I keep getting into weird situations where I make cool friends, but not the kind that you can mesh with your other cool friends. Unfortunate.

7. I'm two papers, 4 exams, and 4 work shifts away from sanity and new projects. I like new projects. I also like sleep. Mmmm... sleep.

8. This is a little naughty, but I've realized why exams are so much harder for me this time around. In the past I've usually had a boyfriend around to makeout with. As HORRIBLE as it may sound, it's excellent stress relief. And endorphins are good for studying/alertness/etc. Pity. Guess I'm hitting the gym.

9. I absolutely abhor when professors assign busy-work. I'm way too cool for that shit.

10. I'm coming down with a cold. Don't share anything with me, and keep your Purrell handy.

11. Bubble baths don't solve everything.

12. Trucks going over potholes in the middle of the night might sound like an intruder opening your front door. But don't be fooled. Cuz you'll look like an idiot.

13. Little I say in the first 10 minutes after I wake up can be trusted. Especially if it has anything to do with cornmeal, the song "Good Vibrations," or scooters.

14. Pussy willows are an excellent substitute for baby's breath in a bouquet on your kitchen table in the spring. For real.

15. Living alone=increased cell phone minute usage.

16. Bubblemix is not an acceptable substitute for hand soap.

17. Bubblemix is not an acceptable substitute for dish soap.

18. Bubblemix makes furniture sticky. ... and is not an acceptable furniture cleaner.

19. Febreeze is not an acceptable substitute for laundering clothes.

20. "Ironing" dresses by hanging them up while you take a sinfully long shower has its distinct limitations.

annnnnd that's about all I got.

Sanitization Elimination

2008-05-05T11:09:00.002-05:00

Yeah. Maybe this is a little backwards. It's good to be cleanly. Real good. I'm just starting to think I'm getting a bit obsessive. I purell most EVERYTHING. Purell has become almost exclusively a verb for me. I actually think in my head, "I so gotta purrell that bitch," as I size up the sink in the bathroom, planning out the order in which I'm going to touch what. It's like the cleanest game of chess EV-ER. Toilet seats, grocery carts, MY OWN STEERING WHEEL, the keyboard on my laptop, everything. Purelled. It's just too much.

So as of today I'm cutting myself off. I'm only sanitizing my hands at work. I'm still allowing for handwashing, but I can't be carrying sanitizer anymore. I'm NOT OCD. There is no excuse for this crazy...

Racial Dialogue

2008-04-28T11:24:00.006-05:00

Lately I've been learning some interesting tidbits from my black coworkers at the nursing home about things that are culturally different between us. For example:

1. Black women wear brown, black, or purple panties underneath white pants/skirts so that their panties don't show through. Makes perfect sense. But that NEVER would have occured to me. Please don't ask how it came up.

2. When a black woman says "He favors so-and-so," don't be confused and think that it's a matter of social preference, because then she'll think you're an idiot. (Sigh. I'm such an idiot.) "Favors" in this context means "resembles."

3. Black hair is incredibly difficult to style, but once styled far easier to maintain. Also, it needs to be washed WAY WAY WAY less. Apparently this is because it's easier for oil/grease from your scalp to slide down a relatively straight/finer hair shaft than it is down a kinky-curly/coarse hair shaft, making split ends and moisture deficits more of an issue for them, and greasy hair more of an issue for us. This I knew. I guess I'm not really communicating the new knowledge I've learned, because I just realized it's too hard to explain hair styling for someone with as limited experience as I have. I'm not really into all that girly crap. I'm on top of things if I remember to brush it. I bought my first bottle of hairspray in around a decade a couple months ago and have hardly used it a half-dozen times. So much for that.

4. White girls often interact by talking lovey or flirting with each other. At least this is what I have observed, and what has been my experience- maybe I have creepy female friendships. This is not appropriate with any of the black women I work with. I've attempted to bond with some of the ones I'm closer to in this manner and they looked at me like I was crazy and I had to very frankly explain, no, I am not in fact a lesbian or in any way posing a threat to your sexuality-- I was just messing around and trying to bond with you. Then they thought I was even crazier.

5. The black women I work with seem to be vehemently opposed to interracial mixing, to the point where I would never DARE mention to the majority of them that I've dated black men in their presence for fear of being shunned or causing tensions in the workplace. I don't know if this is common, but it's incredibly pronounced with the women at work. I was talking to one woman who I'm closer friends with and it came up, and she told me point blank that she found interracial mixing offensive and even went so far to admit that it wasn't just on a sexual level, and when she told her sister she was going out to breakfast with me after work, her sister was affronted and asked her what the hell she thought she was doing hanging out with me. She said it was hard for her not to be embarrassed when her family all saw her being dropped off by her white girl friend. I was baffled by this. And honestly, it kinda hurt my feelings a little. Whatcha gonna do.

6. Okay, I don't know if this one is normal either, but let's talk about those head scarves that some black women wear. I had no idea, but apparently it's not just a fashion statement-- it's quasi-"political," kind of a flashback to how female slaves used to wear them on their heads in the fields. Our black supervising nurse said something to a black coworker about how she should not wear her headscarf in the building because it was inflammatory. I didn't see how it was in any way an issue- it was a floral print scarf, for goodness sake!- and asked her what on earth she meant. And apparently it's supposed to be reminiscent of slavery days, reminding people of the oppressiveness of their cultural heritage. She explained it as kind of like a "fuck you" (sorry) to white supremicists. I guess that while the younger generation (I'm assuming I'm not the only naive one) isn't aware, it's a bigger issue for all the racist old people at the nursing home and they find it offensive as there are lots of very racist old people (though some of them remember to try not to be openly). It was weird. I felt naive.

Okay, that's all I got. I wonder if this is a weird post. Is it not PC to talk about cultural differences? Hmmm. Dunno. Don't care. I thought it was interesting.

Documentation of Phil's last combat patrol in iraq

2008-04-28T08:06:00.004-05:00

Eeeeexcellent.

Won't be much longer now.

FRUSTRATION

2008-04-25T15:46:00.003-05:00

So here I am. Lying in my insanely comfy bed. I'm insanely tired. Only slept 5 hrs when I last slept. Already have had a long day what with lectures and labs and homework and what have you. I'm freaking tired. I'm going to be up ALL NIGHT LONG at work, then I'm going straight to school, ON A SATURDAY, to take a stupid CPR refreshment course. Plus Matt gets home tomorrow and so I'm not going to get much sleep before I go straight BACK to work TOMORROW night.

But I can't sleep.

Why can't I sleep? Because there's so much more that COULD BE DONE. I could be updating my resume. I could be applying to even more positions at even more hospitals in order to cash in on the whole tuition reimbursement programs the offer (which, incidentally, would account for 3/4 of my personal payments), not to mention the higher wages. I could be cleaning up in my kitchen. I could be smogging my car and heading over to the DMV-- like I've been planning on doing the last 3 consecutive days. I could be doing laundry over at my parents and completing my move over here. I could be writing any number of papers. Preparing for any number of classes. I could be straightening up my planner and clarifying all my upcoming obligations so I don't miss anything. I could be taking care of all of next months bills. I could be planning out my budget for next month. I could be solving any number of minor crises in my life before they become major ones. I could even be putting on some freaking chapstick so my lips don't chap. All these stupid little (and not so little) things come back to haunt me the second my head hits the pillow.

ALL I WANT IS TO FREAKING SLEEP.

But I can't. So I'm gonna get up, shower, run over to the smog place/DMV, head over to my mom's, update my resume while I'm doing laundry, and start chipping away at some of this crap. Why? Why would I do this when I still have a good 5.5 hrs I could actually be sleeping before work? Because it's impossible to sleep the sleep of the just when you haven't crossed out 2/3 of your to-do list. That's why.

Man, I'm pissed...

Blog Elitism

2008-04-23T02:56:00.004-05:00

I think it's a shame that some blogs, like say, "http://lanctoninhonduras.blogspot.com", are invite-only. What's so secret? How does one get to be cool enough for an invite? I hugely protest this!!

I was very curious to read this blog, as given my interaction with the author I have a strong suspicion that it would be an incredily interesting, even diverting, read. However, since I discovered my inability to access said blog, my desire to read it has been heightened 10-fold. Perhaps it's some sort of marketing ploy they teach you when you're in school for business. It certainly works.

But little does lanctoninhonduras know... I am privy to lagartija's passwords. So once my curiosity peaks I'll probably cave to unethical behaviors and do a little spying...

I wasn't born like this lanctoninhonduras. You made me this way by withholding and not inviting me to be a member of your secret community of the elite...

You could say I dropped the Ball...

2008-04-21T09:25:00.004-05:00

If by "the ball" you meant a 375 lb. woman. Yeah. That was not a high point tonight at work.

I was trying to get this woman washed up and dressed this morning. Normally we use an EZ-Stand contraption pictured below. It also has a blue harness, but in order to put it on around the resident and then attach it to the red handle hooks (again, refer to illustration), the person has to be close enough for it to hook in.

Buuuuut... this woman had these hugie blue plastic boot-things on to protect her bum ankles. Normally this is no problem, but they were impeding our ability to manuever the EZ-Stand close enough to her. The bed height needed to be adjusted. At this point, however, I had already hoisted her dead-weight into a sitting position and was physically holding her there (she's pretty much immobile save some minor to moderate upper body strength)... consequently it was quite the reach. So as I'm reaching around full stretch trying to get the bed down a mere 4 inches or so, she starts panicking a little and pulling with her hands on the EZ-Stand... resulting in pulling her weight FORWARD... resulting in the beginning of her descent to the floor.

I really thought I could stop it. So I grit my teeth, abandoned trying to adjust the height, and focussed on throwing all my weight against her sliding body.

And then there was a flash of clarity where I realized, duh Maggie, you can't stop the fall of a 375 lb. woman. It's just not happening. So, true to my training, I changed my objective to "easing her fall." Old people's bones seem to be made of porcelain and their skin tears like tissue. I was DETERMINED not to have either of those scenarios.

So I "eased" her down. But what really ended up happening in the process was in easing her fall, I mainly just broke her fall.

... and took all 375 lbs. on my inner thigh, trapping a leg and an arm beneath her. It was soooooo painful and hard to get my leg free. My leg is... not happy. BUT! On the bright side, she was completely fine. It was incredibly embarrassing, though. I mean, come on. I dropped an old lady. I know accidents happen-- I just don't want them happening to ME. Poor old lady. I must say, the whole thing was a rather undignified and an unfortunate way to start the day.

Creepy or Kind?

2008-04-18T16:00:00.008-05:00

So as anyone who read the last post may have gathered, I'm functionally moved into my new apartment (though I've by no means completed the process). I'd been sleeping on the sofa, but yesterday I got a (sweet deal on a!!)mattress and so I slept in my new, great bargain, queen-sized bed for the first time. It was huge and kinda scary, actually. I'm so used to twin beds pushed lengthwise against walls, not spacious, open to the room queenies... I felt so vulnerable.

And then at 2:30am I got a call from my landlord. He has security cameras set up on the parking lot that you can check online (www.fubars.net) and had noticed that I had left the dome-light on in my car... for hours. So he was calling me so my battery wouldn't be dead when I got up in the morning to drive to my exam. Pretty dang nice of him, really. Though a little weird... because he clearly seemed uncomfortable, either with calling me that late or admitting he was watching the camera like that. Don't get me wrong, I was INCREDIBLY grateful for the call... it just made me uncomfortable that he was uncomfortable. No harm no foul right? (Did I use that expression right?) But whatever-- pretty dang nice of him!

Then this afternoon while I was at school they moved in a new stove. When I first came they had a small-sized stove, and small-sized fridge. In our 2+ hour conversation when I was first checking the place out I had mentioned to him and his wife that I wanted to get into bread baking. So in the meantime they decided I needed a stove without a pilot light (particularly one that goes out a lot, whatever that means), and a full-size one at that. Which is incredibly nice of them seeing as how I don't have any idea how pilot lights work. Certainly not anything I ever would have expected or even regretted not having, but am very happy about. So he told me they were doing this and he was going to sell the old one on craigslist and it would be all happening on Friday (today) a while ago, but then when he called later to confirm he mentions he decided to get us a new fridge too. Which again-- I'm not complaining about. While they are larger, I suspect that the older ones we had were not particularly energy efficient to begin with. Pretty cool deal.

So they moved everything in, and when I came home I had a brand spanking new fridge and stove. Woo hoo! What's more, I noticed he set the clock for me. And he had brought down a table/chairs (pretty nice ones, too) from the attic, and assembled it for me to use. And when I moved it slightly to accomodate a wooden microwave cart, I noticed he had also cut out a number of little squares of cardboard under one of the feet of the table to perfectly balance the table for me. And then I went into the other room. I had gotten two standing lamps at Target the other day (woohoo! 2 for $15!) because there aren't any overheads other than in the bathroom and kitchen. I had assembled one of them- but I'd done it wrong because I hadn't bothered with the directions and hadn't had the time to fix it. Well he fixed it. AND assembled the other one, AND arranged them tastefully in different areas of the living area to maximize lighting. Clearly well thought out, because he didn't even leave the one I had in its original spot. Oh, and all the garbage from these and the plastic garbage from my bedding? He took all that out for me. Basically he came in like an elf in a workshop and totally made things nicer for me-- it was delightful discovering it all. Oh, and he indisputably vaccuumed, as well.

But.-- I hate saying "but" there.-- But I'm fretting about it. Maybe he's throw-back to the good old days when people did nice things for each other. I'm very hopeful that he is: I never got any creepy vibes in person with him. But then again, in the world I've come to know such behaviors from a man towards a female living someplace alone are highly suspect and creepy at best. And I HATE that about myself. Why the heck am I being paranoid and unsettled about this? Why are red flags going off because my landlord was thoughtful and attentive? Is it just because I'm alone here and there have been some other sketch things so far? (Not with him, though.) I don't know. My voice of reason is helplessly putting up its hands and shrugging.

I'm a terrible person for doubting his kindness at face value. That's no way to live your life. Then again-- how stupid would I be if I ignored my instinctual concern and it served to be right?

Then again? Pssh. I'm just being a loony. If Matt was here and Phil was around, I know it wouldn't phase me at all. I'd just be raving about how sweet my landlord is. So yeah. I'll just lay low until I'm not a free radical anymore.

In the meantime, however. I've had priests strongly recommend, even insist (that one was Fr. Michael...hehe... who'd have guessed?) that I obtain some sort of weapon if I was going to live by myself or without any related males around. Granted, I didn't take his advice because I simply couldn't see myself resolving a conflict in that way... but lately I'm wondering if I'd have a lot more peace of mind if I did. When push comes to shove, you'll resolve a conflict however you need to (within moral boundaries). And no, Phil, I'm not talking about guns here even though Fr. Michael was. Hmmm. Maybe I don't really know what I AM talking about either, though... I can't decide. But yeah. Whatcha guys think about such things? I have to be honest, this neighborhood is not quite as safe as I thought it was. Between the empty hard-alcohol bottles deposited practically on my doorstep, the drunk young punk hooligans hollering and stuff in the street after dark, the police raid on my immediate next door neighbors involving shutting down the whole street for a couple blocks, and the cops "hiding" parked in junker cars I've been noticing lately, "peace of mind" is not exactly a given at the moment. It's fine during the day, it's just once dark hits that it becomes an issue really. Anyway. It's just been on my mind.

Sectional Sofa

2008-04-10T08:15:00.003-05:00

Here is the new addition to my new apartment:

That's not my apartment, though. It's the lady I got it from's; I haven't taken pictures yet. But I'm still pretty happy about it. It has some damage and it's actually more of a cream color than that white, but it's incredibly comfy and I'm hoping to rejuvenate the leather in time after I've done the appropriate (and necessary) research. I just slept on it this afternoon-- Mmmm. Not bad. Not bad at all. Certainly much better than our green floral one with cushions that slide off every which way such that you're practically surfing in your sleep. Also, it's not green floral. Looks like I'm getting over the granny phase.

Sharing some of Phil's pics from this deployment without his permission...

2008-03-31T16:17:00.013-05:00

Okay, maybe it's just me... but the level of suggestivity for most militaryesque pics just makes me giggle uncontrollably sometimes. And even more so given that it's my boyfriend depicted. For example.

And then there's always THIS:

Hehehe... WooHoo!!

Self-Restraint

2008-03-30T09:06:00.010-05:00

Given the nature of my work as a nursing assistant, I am continuously placed in (and placing others in) what under normal circumstance would be very awkward situations. Sure, they're still awkward- but you get over it quicker when it's a matter of necessity. I've also developed a calm, confident, comfortable, considerate, and undaunted can-do demeanor (CCCCUCDD) to assume when necessary to put my residents at ease. This invovles enormous self-restraint at times when stifling a wide range of very natural responses to unideal situations.

A few examples of my work-situations that require unusually high levels of self-restraint:

Not being embarrassed by complete nudity, bodily functions, or the most pitifully unfortunate modes of existence.
Not wrinkling my nose or gasping when I turn away due to the obscenely foul odors originating from the resident I'm cleaning's body.
Not cringing when someone accidentally urinates on me.
Not rolling my eyes or getting exasperated when an evil old lady verbally abuses me and threatens to have me fired for letting her pillow fall to the floor ("..and get covered in bacteria!") when she kicked it.
Not showing my disgust and rage when an ornery old man deliberately knocks his bed pan over and says to me, "Now get down on your hands and knees and clean it up."
Not showing that I'm startled or caught off-guard when I first realize that the person I'm undressing is in fact unbeknownced to me an amputee.
Not panicking (or freezing) when I walk into a room to discover that the reason why my resident (with thighs the thickness of wrists who cannot walk on her own) is not in her bed is because she's lying face down in a pool of her own blood out of sight on the other side of the bed.
Not tearing up in desperation when my recently deceased resident's eyes WILL NOT stay shut.

Individually they're doable. But add them all together in one night and it can be REALLY HARD to stay in control of yourself. Honestly, that's HOW I stay in control of myself-- by reminding myself that at least I can modify my behaviors, and that's not necessarily the case with all of my residents. And the craziest thing at this point is that there are a number of things I'm presently restraining myself from sharing because they're just too horrible to share, even without identifying the person in question. I guess some things are better off never mentioned again. I hate to say it, but sometimes I'm actually relieved that certain people have dementia-- because they won't have to be ashamed of themselves for what they just did later. It must be really hard to get old. But I gotta say, it's not exactly easy caring for the elderly either.

But that being said, the particular type of restraint I routinely have to exercise that I would like to discuss here is:

Not laughing insensitively at old people, no matter how funny what they said might have been.

Granted, sometimes it's okay and GOOD to laugh things off, especially if they were awkward to begin with, but most of the time it would be oh-so-unhelpful and just plain insensitive. ***

Now maybe I'm too easily (or even wrongly) amused, but here are a few of tonight's work experiences that challenged my ability to restrain my laughter:

"THE CATFIGHT"

So I was in a shared residents room responding to one of their call lights. Two women lived in this room. As I was determining what the woman who put on her call light (Woman A) needed, her roommate (Woman B) piped up. It all happened so fast. The conversation that took place between them went something like this:
WB: Heeeeyyyy!! (screeching) Shut up already, I'm tryin' ta sleep!
WA: Shutcherr trap, you old HAG!
WB: I'M a hag?? Have you SEEN yourself? Can't a person get some SLEEP without you flappin'?
WA: YOU TALK IN YOUR SLEEP THE WHOLE DAMN NIGHT. You think I want to hear you blab to your dead husband about some damn drapes? Now MIND YOUR G-DAMN BUSINESS.
WB: *drops the F and N Bombs*
In the middle of WB's last comment I gathered up my jaw and quickly intervened. Okay. Maybe it's not so funny to you guys, but if you HEARD how sugary sweet and innocent each of these ladies are individually and how in a flash-bang they went to cranky old lady versions of the Hulk-- Wow. That and I've never heard anyone actually called a hag, in earnest, to their face. It was hard not to laugh-- It was so sudden!

"THE DEMENTORS"

Crap. This one is also going to seem so insensitive. "Dementor" is the term that I fondly use to refer to people with obvious dementia when I'm far far away from work or school-- in fact, this is the first time I've used it other than when speaking to my mother over a cup of coffee in the privacy of her kitchen, or for the sake of making my little sister's ill at ease in the same location. Somehow wrong seems more right over a cup of coffee with mom. I've also tried out the terms "dementoids" or "dementards" but those just didn't have the right feel. I usually only use it when they unwittingly terrorize me. Yes, I'm a terrible person picking on the weak and helpless. Get over it.

So like I was saying. This is actually a two-fer because the set up for both of these isolated situations was the same. So I'll just start with the first. I was in a particular dementor's room changing her particularly poopy adult brief (giant diaper). We were making small talk. But here's the thing about dementors. Sometimes they can make perfect sense, but much of the time they just sound like they do. This particular woman was at least using words (as opposed to garbled sounds with only the appropriate tone of voice), but they were not concrete words and didn't make any sense whatsoever- just stringing them together left and right. When she began it seemed like she was talking about the diaper changing, but her tone of voice more fit a conversation where she was commiserating with an acquaintance over the childish rebellions of a distant relative's son, or perhaps how unsatisfactory the preparation of last night's chicken was. My response in these situations, particulary given that I work nights and everyone's groggy, is to play along so as to avoid causing them unnecessary anxiety or distress when they realize their inability to communicate effectively. Again, mind you, I must stress that she's saying words but they are NOT MAKING ANY SENSE. I have no clue what she's talking about at this point. So I throw in a "Isn't that terrible!" or "what a shame," or a "you must be so proud!" or even a "tsk tsk"... whatever sort of ambiguous, noncommital response seems to play into the tone of voice, and body language, she's using. If I'm feeling cocky I'll even ask ambiguous questions in response, even though neither of us it really talking about anything at all.

So we were harmlessly chatting away about God-knows-what, the dementor and I, and as I turned her on her side to continue cleaning up all the BM, she get's really quiet. And then, mid-wipe, again, WHILE I'M WIPING HER BOTTOM, she quietly says, "It's rather tempting, isn't it." It was SO.HARD. not to laugh!!! I REALLY want to know what on earth was going on in her head at that point! Does it get any more randomly bizarre and awkward than that?? No, lady. I cannot think of a single situation where the poop on your bottom could EVER.POSSIBLY. be tempting. My goodness.

But maybe it does get more awkward. In a very similar situation with a different dementor, I was ALSO wiping her bottom (though there was absolutely no verbal communication on her part preceding this), when her gravelly voice inquires, "How does my butt look?" Uhhhhhhh. Tricky. My oh-so-professional response was, "Hmm... Healthy!" I mean c'mon- how the heck am I supposed to answer that one!!

"THE LITTLE PIG"

This one actually was the funniest. And the most awkward (funny how that works). A little context. It can at times be awkward for a man to have a woman doing intimate, personal cares for them (and vice versa even more so, but that's outside of my scope). Generally speaking, most men don't seem to have much of a problem with it, and are pretty comfortable being naked (or get to be quickly) in front of people. One of the things I've noticed, however, is that while my WWII vets seem to be the most comfortable with actually being naked or exposed, they're also the most uncomfortable with it-- because they're worried about scandal for the sake of the women doing cares on them. Common variations I've heard are, "You're too young to have to look at this!" (response: "Not looking!-- just washing!") or "You poor thing, this job must be TERRIFYING for you!" (granted, he WAS rather formidable). And nearly exclusively I've heard these sorts of concerns coming from WWII veterans. Most non-vets act (and maybe they even are) oblivious to any sort of awkwardness that could arise from such situations.

Tonight's WWII vet variation took the cake, though. I heard distressed sounds coming from this vet's room as I was walking down the hall, so I went in to ask if he was alright. He shyly admitted that he was not in fact alright. So I asked what was the matter. He hemmed and hawed a bit, and then came out with, "Well...er.. ah.. is there actually a man that could help me?" Which there was not. So I explained that there weren't any men working that night, and asked if perhaps there was something I could do to help? His response was, "well... yes. I suppose so-- If you're strong enough." So I turned on the bedside lamp and the problem was clearly illuminated. He'd futzed with his adult brief and consequently peed all over himself in the bed. Nothing too difficult or that uncommon, really.

So I started getting supplies together to change his clothes, bedding, and clean him up nice. But while I'm preparing he was getting a little anxious about the whole thing (he is, by the way, a borderline dementor). For some reason he seemed to have it in his head that I didn't know the difference between men and women and would be traumatized by what lies hidden beneath his cheery-patterned PJ's. So naturally, when I asked him if he's okay (seeing his mounting anxiety), he tries to gently warn me by saying, "Now, ah... you see... well... there's a little pig in my bed!"
Me: (pleasantly) A little pig, huh? (not understanding what he means, but assuming he'll keep talking.)
V: Well... not exactly in my bed, actually... it's more... here... *very generally indicating groin region with a wave of his hand*
Me: Ohh... I see... (internally having a brain-chuckle while wondering if he's blaming the "little pig" for the mess in his bed, and not quite clear on why he's bringing it up)
V:(cutting me off, not yet convinced that I do see and very concerned as my preparations are nearly complete-- girls can't possibly know about men) No, you see... it's not a REAL little pig! ... it's more like.. (grasping).. like the kind that's cooked and ready to eat!! ... *pause*... (HORRIFIED, realizing his attempt at circumlocuting the crass illusion to his "sausage" was even more crass than saying it could have been)... err!.. I mean!... I just don't want you to be frightened is all!!!

It was really hard not to laugh. He was so incredibly distressed that he was going to scandalize me. So sweet, however clumsy. I have to admit, I have a serious soft spot for oldey veterans...

Anyways... this got to be a lot longer than I intended. Good for you if you read the whole thing!

*** Note: At this point I feel inclined to warn you that I am not a very sensitive person when it comes to matters of humor. I stand by the level of care I provide to my residents. And while I do make jokes at their expense sometimes (as you can see), I have never ONCE made any sort of comment at a residents expense at work, not even to a coworker. My humor in no way compromises the level of care I provide.

"Dr Phil's Personality Test" on Facebook

2008-03-15T20:28:00.004-05:00

Okay, I'm pissed off. I took this 10 question Dr Phil's Personality test on Facebook... it's 10 questions, all about body language, color preferences, sleeping/standing positions, walking pace, dream content, etc., and based on these 10 questions and my responses it came up with this:

Your Score: 42 - Bad result? Click here to take the quiz again.
Others see you as someone they should "handle with care." You're seen as vain, self-centered, and extremely dominant. Others may admire you, wishing they could be more like you. However, they don't always trust you, hesitating to become too deeply involved with you.

Ummm. My personality SUCKS.

Questionable parenting techniques

2008-03-11T21:56:00.008-05:00

Sometimes after relfecting upon my interactions with my 13 yo younger sister, I am disposed to wonder whether or not I would in fact make a good mother. For example, here was an exchange between her and I earlier today.

Context: I had just put on a pair of earring that I had given her for Christmas. What can I say, I have good taste.

Emily: Hey! Those are my earrings!
Maggie: Emily, you would do well to follow my Christ-like example. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.
Emily: *slumping of shoulders and despairingly turning away*

And another later that evening.

Context: Earlier that morning, both Danny Boy and myself had seperately tried our hand at justifying the distributive property which Emily was not merely struggling with, but obstinately denying. This conversation took place in front of Emily.

Maggie: YOU explained it to her, too? That's impossible; I already proved it to her this morning!
Danny Boy: Yeah, well it clearly didn't take. The problem is that she doesn't BELIEVE it's true.

A few minutes later Emily freaked out upon the appearance of a spider, and cried out in dismay, "PLEASE Kill it!! It shouldn't be alive!!"

Maggie: I will kill it. --IFF you believe in the distributive property.

Hmmmm.

Somehow I suspect the abuse of Scriptual quotation and the use of blackmail to instill beliefs would not be kosher parenting.

The Plague

2008-03-11T18:42:00.004-05:00

I have been exposed to 4 different strains of influenza in the last week, which have resulted in much sickness and 3 deaths so far. Okay, fine, the deaths were of elderly people (who are far less resilient to disease and infection), but still. It tends to make one fairly uneasy. Particularly when I'm not able to so much as walk down my hall without Droplet Precautions (mask, gown, gloves..). Of course Droplet Precautions were not instituted until AFTER there was a death from it and several people I have had extensive physical contact with were finally tested/diagnosed). I've also had cause to wash my hands a couple HUNDRED times each night, as opposed to a mere 50-70 (no exaggeration here. you should see how dry my hands are, and I use lotion ALL THE TIME). It's kinda hard not to get paranoid. Especially when you see healthy young adults laid up with less serious strains than what's going around at work for a full week. I just don't have the time or energy for that crap.

At any rate, work is legally required to offer us Tamiflu. It's used to "treat" people who have it and as a preventative measure for people who don't-- really it just inhibits mitosis of the evil cells, preventing it from getting much worse. All it'll really do is shorten how long you have it, not "cure" you. Also, it's expensive. I've "accepted" treatment, though I haven't started it yet. Have any of you taken this stuff before? I'm loathe to take it right now when I'm not exhibiting flu symptoms and I have to finish this crappy week of school-- I'm not really interested in nasty side-effects for the first couple days while my body gets used to it (it's a 10 day series). I guess I could save it in case I do start exhibiting symptoms other than being really tired all the time(heh. cuz influenza's the only thing that can exhaust you, right?), but by that point I will have lost any benefits as a preventative measure. Then again, I've had exposure for over a week and I'm still not sick, so maybe I should just bank on not getting sick. I'm getting the pills either way cuz they're free (never know when they might come in handy!), but I just can't decide whether or not to take them.

My gosh, how I hate the complications of drugs. Anyone have any advice?

Brainstorming

2008-03-09T20:44:00.002-05:00

Okay guys, I need some help. I need to do this Observational Hypothesis report where I come up with something social that I want to observe, gather data, and write a report on it.

Examples from what people have done previously are:
1. Recording how often people wash their hands in public restrooms when you're visibly there as opposed to hiding in a stall.
2. Dropping singles in plain sight of someone walking behind you to see if they return them to you.
3. Dressing really nicely and going into a jewelry store to see how the clerk treats you and then comparing it to going in dressed like a scrub.
4. Putting brown gunk on your teeth before going up and talking to someone to see if they'll tell you.

Stuff like that. You get the picture. Just a social study to observe how people interact publically. Anyone is fair game once they step out their front door, but you can't stalk them or anything. One of the things I'll be graded on is creativity, so it has to be good. Also, it can't involve actually interviewing people or asking them questions. It has to be purely based on observation (to avoid ethical issues).

Anybody have any suggestions?

Rub-a-dub-dub three men in a tub...

2008-03-05T19:49:00.004-06:00

And I want to be the baker. When I get off work and have 20 minutes to chill before I hop in the shower and get ready to go to class I like to unwind by reading the forwards to bread baking books. There are some really cool, mystical ones out there that totally fascinate me. Or more appropriately, YEAST fascinates me...

Anyways, once Matt and I eventually get an apartment this summer I'm hoping to become professional bread bakers. My mom sent me a cool link you guys may or may not be interested in: BreadTopia. If you're also interested in bread baking you should check it out. And if you're not interested, you're crazy: I mean, c'mon, it's nutritious, delicious, and oh-so-fun. Check it out.

Also, I think I want to sign up for some sort of Community Supported Agriculture subscription. Hell, yes.

¡Ya basta!

2008-03-04T20:44:00.004-06:00

Today I decided I don't want to be a responsible adult anymore.

Work never ends. Never. Ever. You just gotta go. Period. That's the way it is. Do what other people tell you to. Forget that you want to go travel around and visit people you love. DC? Manassas? Santa Clarita? Ventura? Utah? Out of the question. You have to work.

What's that? You just put FOUR FREAKING HOURS of work into that project and you're hardly any further into than when you started? Oh. Sucks to be you. Keep working.

Oh, so you've got kids and you're going to stay home to be with them? That sounds GREAT! PSYCHE. That's WORK. Work, work, work, work, work, of the interminable variety.

I mean, don't get me wrong. Work can be great. It just can't be unENDing like this. I mean my gosh. When the hell is play time supposed to be? Immature people do not have these dilemmas.

And thus, as of today I refuse to mature. Ask me to do something for you? I'll do it halfass or say I did it when I didn't. Drone on and on about your problems? I'll start playing the parrot game 'till you break and then spit on you. Scare me? I'll piss my pants and refuse to clean it up. Hurt my feelings? I'll cry and break something valuable of yours. Inadverdently piss me off? I'll punch you in the face, steal your hat, and run away. Okay, maybe this wasn't exactly what I was like as an immature person... but it's what I wanted to be. Social mores always seemed to get in the way of all my fun.

But back to my point. I'm sick of this crap and just want to act up and make everyone's life a living nightmare, if only for a day... Today I want to raise some serious hell.

But I can't. Because that's unacceptable.

So I'm pouting instead.

English Well Talking

2008-02-29T01:26:00.006-06:00

These are real english translations of signs posted in other countries that didn't quite work out for them...

In a Bucharest hotel lobby: The lift is being fixed for the next day. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable.
In a hotel in Athens: Visitors are expected to complain at the office between the hours of 9am and 11am daily.
In a Yugoslavian hotel: The flattening of underwear with pleasure is the job of the chambermaid.
In an Austrian hotel catering to skiers: Not to perambulate the corridors in the hours of repose in the boots of ascension.
Outside a Paris dress shop: Dresses for street walking.
In a Rhodes tailor shop: Order your summers suit. Because is big rush we will execute customers in strict rotation.
From the Soviet Weekly: There will be a Moscow Exhibition of Arts by 15,000 Soviet Republic painters and sculptors. These were executed over the past two years.
A sign posted in Germany's Black Forest: It is strictly forbidden on our black forest camping site that people of different sex, for instance, men and women, live together in one tent unless they are married with each other for that purpose.
In a Zurich hotel: Because of the impropriety of entertaining guests of the opposite sex in the bedroom, it is suggested that the lobby be used for this purpose.
In a Rome laundry: Ladies, leave your clothes here and spend the afternoon having a good time.
Advertisement for donkey rides in Thailand: Would you like to ride your own ass?
On the faucet in a Finnish washroom: To stop the drip, turn cock to right.
In the window of a Swedish furrier: Fur coats made for ladies from their own skin.
Detour sign in Kyushi, Japan: Stop: Drive Sideways.
In a Bangkok temple: It is forbidden to enter a woman even a foreigner dressed as a man.
In a Tokyo bar: Special cocktails for the ladies with nuts.
In a Norwegian cocktail lounge: Ladies are requested not to have children in the bar.
At a Budapest zoo: Please do not feed the animals. If you have any suitable food, give it to the guard on duty.
In the office of a Roman doctor: Specialist in women and other diseases.
In an Acapulco hotel: The manager has personally passed all the water served here.
From a Japanese information booklet about using a hotel air conditioner: Cooles and Heates: If you want just condition of warm in your room, please control yourself.
From a brochure of a car rental firm in Tokyo: When passenger of foot heave in sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet him melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles your passage, then tootle him with vigor.
Two signs from a Majorcan shop entrance:
- English well talking.
- Here speeching American.

I'm off to go tootle my horn melodiously at some passengers of foot..

2008-02-27T03:51:00.005-06:00

It seems to me that a lot is said about the state of modern society by the very existence -- to say nothing of how common it is-- of the phrase "professional help." That it's considered normal to go out and buy a shoulder to cry on, or a listening ear; to rent a wise friend; to put some fair-minded relationship advice on the credit card; to purchase a guided tour of the depths of your soul and your deepest fears.
I'm a big fan of capitalism, y'know. Me and capitalism, we go way back. In this case though, I have ask, "hasn't it gone a little too far? Aren't there some things that don't belong on the open market? Should these things really be subject to the laws of supply and demand?" Now it could be argued that capitalism has improved help just like it improves everything else it touches -- that by making it a profession, by inducing competition, capitalism has made help more available, more effecicent and more effective. I'm also well aware that many people (including some that I know) have found the help industry to be, well... helpful. Still, I don't think that I'm saying that I wish they were left to deal with things alone -- or that I'm abandoning my good old favorite economic system -- when I say that I think there's something pretty essentially wrong with "professional help."

Griping

2008-02-24T21:50:00.003-06:00

I feel so beaten-down and dejected this evening. In about 20 minutes I have to leave for work... and won't get home until after classes tomorrow afternoon. That is so wrong. What's worse is I don't know what else I'd want to do if I didn't have to work tonight. Sleep? Not really. I'm too restless.

I feel like I spend a couple months trying to get a routine down pat. And then once I've established that routine my skin starts crawling with dissatisfaction and the desire for change. There is nothing worse than getting too comfortable with your situation. Than always knowing what to expect. Except for when you don't have any clue what to expect- then that's worse. And we're always constantly bobbling between the two extremes.

If only I could take a roadtrip and just drive from all this cold, barren land and emptiness...

Winter needs to end.

Today's Outing

2008-02-22T14:01:00.005-06:00

So I've been indefinitely putting off putting together a package for Phil cuz things have been so busy lately. Today I didn't have classes, though (long weeked), so Danny Boy and I went on a little outing to see figure out what we could possibly send to him over in Iraq.

Here were a couple of suggestions:

1. A designer, commemorative, diamond-tipped bullet. After discussing it in brief with the sales clerk at the jewelry shop it became clear that that just was not going to happen.

2. The absolute coolest retractable Star Wars light-saber I have EVER laid eyes upon. So much cooler than the tree branches we used to use as kids.

3. A ball that calculates how fast your throwing it. Velocity ball, or whatever. Come on... those are COOL. But I don't even know if phil LIKES baseball.

You get the picture. The list went on and on, extending all the way to miniature remote-controlled machine gun turrets. (Why is it that anything in miniature is so fantastically adorable? I even have a soft spot for a freaking miniature machine gun...) Given how cool (though impractical and generally absurd) some of the things we brainstormed to put in this package were, it's actually going to be a pretty boring one in contrast... but whatcha gonna do.

I gotta say, carepackages are incredibly difficult to make interesting...

Wal-Mart Cake

2008-02-19T20:56:00.005-06:00

So wrong. I recommend everyone order their cakes in person with it written down to illustrate.

Or even better: Just freaking bake your own and cut out the incompetent middle-man.

Slightly unrelated: Did you know that the acronym C.A.K.E. stands for "Cops Care About Kids Excelling"? I think the cops should care a bit about their own need to excel; don't they realize there're two C's in there??

"Why We Fight"

2008-02-19T19:29:00.003-06:00

This evening I was coerced by my parents into watching documentary by Eugene Jarecki called "Why We Fight." Personally, I was expecting to be infuriated and upset by it since it was highly recommended to my parents by one of my brothers who I to a large extent disagree with on matters of war. I didn't want to watch it. I thought it would be inflammatory, emotionally charged, anti-war propaganda. There's a little trailer for it here, though I daresay it didn't sum up the points that interested me most very well. Also of note, Senator John McCain is featured in it talking about the United States military-industrial complex. I still want to rewatch those parts and see if I can fit what he was saying there in with what he's saying now about war. But at any rate, I must say it didn't get me near as upset and angry as I had expected. Far from it; it more had me sobered and pensive afterwards. Some of it was a bit too extremely put (use of the word "empire," for example), but certainly had a lot of information worthing thinking long and hard about. Definitely worth looking into.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go look up President Eisenhower's farewell address from back in '61...

2008-02-16T12:05:00.000-06:00

As a nursing student, I make plans at 4am via text messages to check out the Body World exhibit at the museum the day before. Planning doesn't really require much notice. Life is very different nowadays. I also get cool text messages like: "What was the substitute solution for the HCl in the digestion experiment? cg" at 2:30 in the morning. Come on. That's pretty badass nerdy right there.

... Until I clicked reply and realized I didn't remember either. Sigh. I really gotta step up my nerdiness.

Abortion and Fetal Rights

2008-02-16T12:04:00.003-06:00

The other day in my class on Childhood Development the professor brought up the issue of abortion. The way she did it, however, was by bringing up the issue of a mother's rights versus fetal rights in a very different context. She passed out handouts for a "critical thinking activity" that began by discussing how the medical community's ever-increasing technology and understanding of prenatal hazards raises important questions regarding the balance between the mother's rights as an individual and those of the developing fetus she is carrying. Increasingly, doctors are able to treat the fetus itself as a patient with distinct medical needs. The question, then, was that as technology advances, should women be expected, and even legally required, to submit to medical intervention- even surgery- that might save a fetus but risk their own lives? So then we were asked to break up into groups and discuss just that: what should be done if there's a surgery that could save the life of a fetus but risks the life of the mother in the process. And further, should there be legislation on such a matter. Okay, didn't seem TOO hard. But maybe that's because I sit near a group of fairly intelligent, responsible other students that I get along with and with whom I happen to share relatively similar views. (Which, by the way, I learned in my communications class is a form of prejudice- to choose to sit with people who are like-minded.)

After we'd discussed for a while we got together as a class to talk about it. Wow, was it tense. Very tense. So tense that a number of people specifically asked that we don't talk about it. Granted, it was a very diverse classroom with a lot of people from very different backgrounds, and this IS bordering on a hot topic, but given that we're going into the medical profession, you'd think we'd be able to discuss something like abortion. Particularly when moments before the professor had specifically made a point of "soothing" everyone by gently reminding them that "everyone is entitled to their own opinion," and "there is no right or wrong answer here." The latter was repeated at least 9 times by my count.

So right, we got into it. A lot was said about autonomy. Ultimately in the case of the surgery the things that were being considered were, 1) the mother has to have surgery too in order for the fetus to have surgery, and 2) parents are looked upon as decision-makers for their children. As such, it ultimately should be the mother's choice. Furthermore, as far as fetal rights go, you're not actively doing anything to harm the child, so if you choose not to undergo surgery (which of itself can be very risky for the fetus, too) you'd just be allowing nature to take its course. This would be similar to an elderly person who was incapable of making the decision as to whether or not they should undergo surgery have their son or daughter who had power of attorney for healthcare make the decision for them not to have it after weighing the options and risks and letting nature run its course.

Okay. But then the professor started taking liberties with that first bit about the mother's rights and slyly manipulating it into pro-choice arguments for abortion. This was troubling, to say the least. Particularly after the "there is no right or wrong answer" speech. And well, yeah. I couldn't keep quiet on that one. There were two of us actively arguing against her. Maybe three willing to vocalize actual arguments on her side, and the remainder of the classroom making uncomfortable protesting and muttering noises. It was unfortunate and not very productive. It could have been very interesting- particularly seeing as how its one all of us will need to be thinking about more once we have careers in this field. But still. I have to say this conversation was dismal.

And moreover? Perhaps I'm not giving her the benefit of the doubt, but I'm vaguely concerned about my grade for the class now. I know I really ought to give her the benefit of the doubt that her disagreement with me on such issue will not interfere with her objectivity as an educator-- but I really have to wonder from what I've seen so far. It really is unfortunate. I think the downhill part happened when she used the language of political and religions agenda in relation to pro-life advocates, and I said, "Agendas- you do mean beliefs, right?" and then explicitly demanding fair use of connotation and word choice between pro-choice and pro-life contingencies. She didn't like that much. Her glare nearly blinded me. Part of me wishes she hadn't forced me to play my cards so soon. And the fact that I even need to think that- particularly in relation to a woman who adamantly preaches about there not being right and wrong answers and how everyone is just fine and dandy with their own beliefs- well, that's just depressing.

Things that piss me off

2008-02-16T03:29:00.006-06:00

1. Having three exams scheduled next week in the space of 20 hours.

2. Having a teacher who can't teach worth **** in a class that requires mastery of an OBSCENE amount of information, and being tested on stuff that we haven't even gone over. What a waste of two hours that class is- two hours that COULD be spent actually teaching OURSELVES the material instead of having to just do it later. Not to mention the 6+ hours a week I spend doing busy work for it-- the kind of busy work that doesn't even aid in your learning the material.

3. Unclear expectations and standards. All you have to do is establish what it is you want- it takes maybe 5 minutes and saves people all sorts of stress and misfocused effort.

4. Lazy, incompetent coworkers. Particularly ones that are routinely late coming back from their break-- hence cutting into mine. I have soooo many choice words about that one. Also, ones that ignore their call lights. This infuriates me.

5. Supervisors who intentionally make themselves unavailable. Especially when people are calling OVER and OVER and OVER trying to get a hold of them.

6. Papers that are about your personal life. Granted, the course is "interpersonal communication," so it's not a far cry for her to expect us to be applying these principles to our personal lives... but it's still a little awkward having to share those applications with our teacher. I don't think I like those realms overlapping quite that much, and I'm not quite creative enough to completely fabricate it. For my next paper I have the choice of either analyzing my present relationship, or a past, terminated one. I'm not too keen on either. Why would I want to spend x amount of hours thinking about a past one, and why would I want to be sharing information about my present one with her? I don't care if it's confidential-- she's still reading it. Anyways. I guess I'm going to be writing about our relationship this weekend, Phil. Should I pass it along?

7. Unnecessary noise. Maybe I'm just chronically tired or something, but sounds that normally are nice like whistling, background music, etc. just piss me off lately.

8. Unsolicited conversations. "Yeah, I'm reading. Does it LOOK like I want to talk to you right now? " For the first time in my life I came out and told an acquaintance (coworker, actually), "Hey, I really need to get this done right now...?" and cut her off mid-blabbering. I gave her NUMEROUS non-verbal cues indicating how unwelcome her blathering was first. Turns out being a bitch and just saying it is far more effective.

9. Laundry. It never ends. It always needs to be done. I'm giving up clothes for Lent... never you mind the cold. Think of how much less time, water, soap, and modesty would be wasted.

10. Scraping off my windshield. I just want to get in the car and GO... is that so much to ask??

Okay. That's all I got. Thanks for the outlet.

I have written...

2008-02-15T12:26:00.002-06:00

A total of 24 pages worth of scholastic papers and two blog entries in the last 24 hours. Not to mention all the notes I've taken. That's just sick. I think my brain's run out of words....

I think some sleep might solve this.

Return of the Dan'l

2008-02-14T16:10:00.005-06:00

(Why does that read so uncannily much like "Devil" when I read it fast??)

At any rate, remember how I was missing this guy? Well he's back and bad as ever. There was no snow to shovel today, but soon enough.

Instead I had him help me out with a "current events" presentation I had- by that I mean I had him find me an article given a few basic criteria and start me up on what could be said on it. This was very helpful as I was still finishing up my other 8 page paper I needed to turn in today for my communications class about one of my other brothers, and what a good communicator he is based on our text. That was fun.

Anyways, after that I took Dan'l to campus with me and he read a whole book- the one I've been taking with me EVERYWHERE the last two months, always meaning to read, but never found the time to. It's called Chronicle of a Death Foretold by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I'm a little jealous he got to read it today, but pretty inspired. If he can do it...

Then we swung by the only Trader Joe's in Milwaukee which happens to be a couple blocks from Cardinal Stritch and picked up something to make for dinner tonight. We're going asian and it's going to be awesome-- shamefully easy to prepare. That would be a win-win-win.

After that we tried to drive home. When I say tried, what I mean is between the slushy wetness, sleet, saltiness, my being out of washer-fluid, and WORST OF ALL having busted up wipers (they froze to the windshield without my realizing it and one of them snapped all crooked when I tried to turn them on) it just wasn't happening. You could hardly discern the shape of a car 10 ft in front of you, much less stop signs. So we stopped at a gas station. They of course didn't have any, but next door (without our realizing it) was a hardware type store and we got some there... after several trips to the car to figure out what type to get. Not only did I not know how long mine are, I also couldn't remember what the hell time of car I have. "Saturn" didn't cut it somehow. Picky, picky hardware men. I ended up just saying it's a wagon and making up the year. So then we embarked upon changing them, and believe it or not, between the two of us Dan'l and I CAN figure out how to change a set of windshield wipers! It amused me how both of us first tried it ourselves, then switched to trying to read the instructions, took one look at the instructions and went back to trying to figure it out ourselves. Whatever. It worked. We had a strangely disproportionate sense of accomplishment afterwards, but hey. Get your kicks where you can, right?

Since we got home Dan'l's been setting up his own blog with which to dazzle us all. It should be available for your enjoyment in the near future here: Hope is the Thing with Feathers.

2008-02-13T07:36:00.003-06:00

Haven't slept since the day before yesterday.

Just got home from work. Leave for school in 10 more minutes.

Eating some oatmeal with flaxseed to re-energize.

Can't wait for coffee to be ready.

Class will be stimulating. Compensation for lost sleep.

Ahhh. Life is good...

When there're things worth doing.

MAIL TIME!!

2008-02-08T20:43:00.000-06:00

Don't pretend. You guys have all seen Blue's Clues. You know all about Mail Time and can sing the song, too.

It really resonates with me. Considering that I have definite letter reception rituals, it fits in quite nicely. Whenever I get a letter I dance around singing it to myself, occasionally making modifications to suit my purposes: "Someone's Got a Letter! Someone's Got a Letter! Someone's Got a Letter! WONDER who it's FROM!!" ... as I plop down cross legged in an armchair and proceed to take a good sniff at it. For some reason I'm eternally waiting to recieve a letter that has the scent of exotic spices and herbs- the kind that were enough incentive for Vasco da Gama to sail around the tip of Africa to obtain from the Far East. This all is usually preceded by waving it around in the air and squeals of delight/maniacal laughter. Absurd? Perhaps. Endlessly diverting? Absolutely.

But this brings me to all the junk mail I recieve. It's developing into a pet peeve; a daily source of irritation (excepting Sundays, of course). I get so much junk mail, or worse, (*gasp*) BILLS that it's perverting my delight in the postal system. Granted, I DID win a free cruise to the Bahamas in the mail the other day. But that was just not enough to restore the magic. Make it a Jungle Safari, and you gotcherself a deal.

I think I'm gonna look into paying off the mail lady to weed out my junk mail for me...

Learn to Drive, Asshole

2008-02-08T19:56:00.001-06:00

Today I nearly died.

I hate people who drive their cars in crappy weather when they clearly have no idea what they are doing. Take this morning for example.

TIME: 7:47AM. Rush Hour Traffic.
LOCATION: Milwaukee, WI
OFFENDER: AssholeInTheDirtyRedCar.

CONTEXT: So here I am in the right hand lane on a three lane road, going with the flow of traffic at 40mph in a 50mph zone. Reasonable considering the roads are not clear and it's slippery. The flow of traffic was working as one beast in unison. Until the AssholeInTheDirtyRedCar came along. Just AS I'M PASSING the right hand turn lane, whatshisface decides to swoop ahead of me at the last second, cut me off and swerve right, making an illegal right hand turn.

OPTIONS: The road conditions are such that stopping in time is simply not an option. My choices were as follows.
1) Slam right into the S.O.B. Tempting, to be sure, but my car would likely take most of the damage and I'D be hitting him (complicated) and I'm uninsured. No go.
2) Swerve left and hit the SchoolbusFullOfLittleKiddies. Yeah. I avoid schoolbuses when driving as a general rule in the winter. The only thing worse than an accident is an accident where little kiddies are involved.
3) Swerve into the HugeAssSnowDrift that's literally 3X as tall as my car at 40 mph. Seriously. It was unfathomably huge and looked like the equivalent of slamming into an iceberg.

CONCLUSION: So right, I took one for the team. It sucked. I was yelling "WWWHHYYYYYY?!?!" as I slammed into the huge-ass iceberg and spinned out. First of all, the impact really sucked, I nailed my head pretty hard (still have a headache). Second, my car whipped around after the nose got stuck in and I nearly hit the SchoolBusFullOfKiddies any way... some angel must have squeezed between us at the last second and acted as a buffer, cuz it was damn close. And by that I mean I'm a damn good driver and controlled my spin. (*twiddles thumbs*) Third, the iceberg- I'm NOT exaggerating.. iceberg.. FINE, snowdrift.- avalanched down on top of me. Fortunately there was a car-full of kindly consctruction worker guys with lots of muscles behind me that helped dig/push my car out the iceberg (*glare*) it was so deeply imbedded in.

AFTERMATH: My head hurts. I am SO MAD that AssholeInTheDirtyRedCar and he'd better pray I don't find him (Yup. He didn't even stop.). And I was late for my Anatomy&Physiology Lab. On the bright side I didn't seem to suffer any brain damage cuz I aced the quiz/test thingy postponed from the snowday on Wednesday. But I suspect that one was because it was easy-- I'm NOT on my "A"-game in that class... Yet.

At any rate, I guess this makes me a Hero... y'know... protecting the LittleKiddies and masterfully manuvering my spin so I miss them by a hairsbreadth. Talk about finesse. Or something. But in all earnestness, I've decided that the real trick to being a good driver in inclement weather is Avoidance. I mean this. I really do. Avoidance of other drivers primarily, avoidance of slippery sludgy icy snowy crap secondly, and avoidance of potholes thirdly. This is the trick. Avoid these things like the plague and you can be a masterful life-saver, iceberg-demolisher too.

Why Stress? Delegate

2008-02-07T21:46:00.000-06:00

OR: I've been taking gross advantage of my momma lately. ... But I think she likes it.

So yeah, I've had a lot going on with school and work and what have you lately. Plus, however much I gripe and moan about not sleeping enough on here, the fact is with my warped schedule when I actually DO have time to sleep I find that I'm not mentally prepared to: I get all anxious and can't.

But on the bright side, my mother is easily obtained to delegate tasks to when they're stressing me out. For example: Taxes. Seeing as how I didn't file for taxes last year until August or September, I know you all must be surprised that I'm filing early this year. But that's only because I haven't been making my tuition payments on time this semester and needed the cash to get caught up. Smooth. Buuuuut I just haven't had time to figure out the whole turbotax program and what have you, and as much as I heart H&R Block, so long as there's nothing horribly wrong with your taxes (eg, you're filing way late and haven't filed the year preceding and have multiple states, etc.) you might as well save your money and do it yourself. Sooooo I dropped a few hints and delegated to my all-too-willing momma.

And then there was the 50 year old women in several of my nursing classes going back to school because she's in the middle of an icky divorce and well.. you know... life changes. It'd been quite a while since she'd written a paper. So right, after draft 3 I was running out of time to do revisions and supposed to meet her again after class to go over it again. And there was mom. Soooo I told her my classmates sob story and soon enough I had delegated AGAIN and mom was revising her paper as I showered, brushed my teeth, and got ready for class. Excellent. She made all the same revisions I would have- and was more pleasant about it than I would have been, nonetheless.

So here is the question, really. My mom is willing to do these things for me, and it gives us things to talk about and what have you. Yet... I am technically taking advantage of her kindness. Then again... think of how many people you know who would be better off if they let their mothers do a thing or two for them. Everyone would be happier. Mom's like to help. Then again.... usery. Interesting conundrum.

Either I'm rather wise or heinously selfish.

SNOW DAY!!!

2008-02-06T07:52:00.000-06:00

Having slept a paltry 2 hours since Monday afternoon, my enthusiasm levels about this snow day are THROUGH THE ROOF. I'm more excited than a little kid on Christmas! I have spent all yesterday afternoon/evening studying for two Tests I was supposed to have back to back at school this morning- one in Chemistry, one in Anatomy & Physiology. And they're the first for each class, so I really don't know what level of difficulty to expect. I was supposed to go straight from work to school to take them. In fact, I spent a good 3 more hours at work (inbetween rounds and on my breaks) studying, I was so nervous about it.

But not anymore. Milwaukee's getting a good 12-16 inches of snow today. And the roads are crap. We're being blanketed in violent ThunderSnow (yeah, they actually call it that). I'm not too excited about the snow itself, but my gosh is it great to have more time for studying. And now those test won't be on the same day, and I'll be well rested for them. PLUS, I'm already prepared for them and can focus on long term memory as opposed to cramming. This is excellent. Simply outstanding.

And with that, I'm off to bed...

sprint is the devil

2008-02-04T17:19:00.001-06:00

So after a few YEARS of having trouble with my Sprint service- being overcharged, ridiculous hidden fees, being falsely charged for "free" upgrades, unmerited service interuptions, poor customer service, failure to fully disclose terms of their agreements (ex: "you're qualified for a 5% discount on your bill because you've been a customer with us so long! Isn't that great!"-- just to find out by accepting I renew my contract, even though they didn't tell me that.), and spending countless hours on their crappy customer service line talking to 5 different reps just to "resolve" any little problem, I decided it was high time to get the hell out. Forget you, Sprint.

Also, Sprint is the Network Provider for "Planned Parenthood Wireless"-- they donate 10% of their revenue to planned parenthood to help educate people about their reproductive rights- you know, like the right to murder babies. Out of control. "Family Plan," anyone?

So now I've made a clean break and I'm a happy and healthy T-Mobile customer. In a moment of angst and rage at Sprint after an hour on the phone with them today I decided that even though I haven't slept in 24 hours I was going out in the rain and gloom to the T-Moble store to set things right. In addition to paying $20 less a month, my plan makes it so I can't go over my 1000 minute limit (which I don't anyway) while still allowing me to use it for nights and weekends. ALSO all calls to other T-Mobile customers (pretty much my whole fam and then some) are free, and I get to keep the same phone # I had with sprint. So I'm pretty much made in the shade.

So there, Sprint. I despise you and I'll curse your crappy company with your crappy overpriced phones and services 'till the day I die.

Oh, and PS? I despise you.

And now I'm gonna go curl up in bed with a smile on my lips and sleep the sweet sleep of the liberated consumer. Victorious I shall lie.

Shoveling Bites.

2008-02-04T03:27:00.000-06:00

I really miss this guy.

Yeah, he might look like a lazy SOB, but in reality he's a way better investment than a snowblower- he even scrapes off your car, no extra charge.

Sigh. Please come back from Texas soon, Dan'l!!!

Stem cells in Space

2008-02-03T14:40:00.000-06:00

So about my Anatomy & Physiology professor? I don't mean to gush, but my gosh is she awesome. She has these fantastic stories related to whatever we're studying about. When we were talking about retraining cells to serve different functions, she told us about a NASA grant for stem cell research (yeah. NASA. And they were not using stem cells from unborn children.) she had worked on. Keep in mind as you read on that this is my layman's memory of a lot more complicated situation that she explained to us. A lot of it was over my head. So this is the gleanings.

As you know, stem cells are unspecialized cells that are able to renew themselves indefinitely and can also differentiate into specialized cell types with specific functions, such as a nerve cell or liver cell. Eventually, stem cells may be used to replace damaged or dysfunctional cells in the body with healthy new ones. But right, that's assuming we can figure out what determines or cues the cells to develop these specific functions and train them to do it ourselves.

For some reason that's over my level of comprehension at this point, their experiments were based on the hypothesis that they would be able to make more progress in this area and learn more about it if they were able to grow these cells without the impediment of gravity. And that's where NASA stepped in and allowed them to send their experiments up on their shuttles in this constantly rotating device on a regular basis. From what I understand, they're still conducting these experiments. From what she said it was really neat... but the resulting tissue was something they had never seen before and they had NO IDEA what the heck it was.

But right, the whole thing is pretty fascinating. Why did she trade that job for this one?! Apparently other jobs she's worked are as a scientist in a hospital setting-- she helped train back muscle so that it would contract with heart muscles every second of every day even though that's obviously not a normal function of back muscle. And right, they then wrap that muscle around the heart to strengthen it. Pretty freaking crazy.

I love being in class with this woman. Every little boring thing we learn becomes fascinating as she ties it in with clinical application and/or stories along those lines. She makes things you'd normally have to memorize make sense. I love listening to her... I wish I could be like her...

Got jokes?

2008-02-01T16:20:00.000-06:00

Thanks to countless hours spent on guard with little else to do, I have finally become a passable teller of jokes. Unfortunately, it didn't take too many of those countless hours for me to exhaust my rather small supply and recirculate all the jokes I could get from others in my platoon. And so I come to you, dear reader. Please help rejuvenate our joke pool. You'll have my gratitude and that of many others who will be less bored.
In compensation I offer-
The one about the dyslexic agnostic insomniac; he stayed up all night wondering if there is a dog.

turns out I actually meant "indifference"

2008-02-01T11:40:00.000-06:00

I guess it's time for another "I know I haven't posted in ages, here's an update" post. Well, why not? You have to start somewhere, neh? Even if you've already started a few times before...
Anyway, since my last known post:

Smoking is not something that I do anymore. I couldn't find my lighters and got tired of running out of matches so I quit. About the same time, I lost yet another pocket knife - bringing my total to at least 6 in the last 3 years. The one upside to all of this is that I now have a reason to carry my big, fuck off, shiny knife and it's not a problem that it makes it harder to get into my left pocket (the right one is already inaccessible because of my pistol) because as a nonsmoker, I'm not incessantly getting my cigarettes out of my pocket.

I still hate nonsmokers.

Do I need a new picture now?

We need MORE STOCKINGS!!! (no, not really)

I grew my hair out longer than it's been since I had a bihawk. (a little over 4 years ago)

I shaved my head.

I couldn't remember the word "mnemonic"

Found a cache of puppies (we were digging around in an area where we suspected weapons/explosives were hidden and instead a litter of puppies came tumbling out of a hole where they had been sleeping) and a nest full of baby mice (in the middle of a pile of tank Basic Issue Items in our room) within a week of each other.

I really, truly, deeply, genuinely hate officers.

Shot 120mm main gun for the first (not counting basic, where it was simply a matter of pulling the triggers and getting the hell out of the way) and probably last time.

Visited an Iraqi pleasure resort complete with disco dance room, swimming pool and rotating beds with built in stereo systems. Obviously closed down many years ago - stop worrying, Mags - but surprisingly still intact for the most part (the bars were still stocked, except that all the whiskey bottles were mysteriously empty.)

Played hacky sack as a platoon while waiting for the go ahead to roll out on a mission.

I've rediscovered my love of teaching. (starting, randomly enough, with an explanation of how you determine the correct battlesight range for a given weapon system/ammunition combination. ..which I won't go into unless anyone actually cares.)

intellectual desirability

2008-01-29T08:02:00.000-06:00

Yesterday at school I had 5 people independently ask for my phone number.

... so we could study together. Yeah, I dunno why they want to study with me either. Man, I've got these people fooled... it's like they desire my intellect... or something...

But this is also a delightful context in which to play dumb and mess with people, and an opportunity which I took advantage of to make others squirm. For example:

Vicki: Because of the divorce I have the house completely to myself so it's nice and quiet; we can go there any time. Here, let me give you my number- what's yours?
Me: Oh... Vicki. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to mislead you, but I actually prefer men...

Or there was this:

Carlos: Hey, what's your number?
Maggie: Umm... are you asking me out?! (sudden aloofness, mild disdain, and clipped words)
Carlos: *uncomfortable, startled glance*

Hehehe. So much fun.

Dear Mothers:

2008-01-27T08:00:00.000-06:00

Now that I'm officially in school for nursing, I have more useful information knocking about inside me. For example:

I learned in my Anatomy and Physiology class that you're no longer supposed to give your child tylenol or what have you to bring down their fevers. Instead, you're to let the fever run its course. This is because chemical reactions occur more rapidly at higher temperatures, so your child's immune system can defeat whatever imposters are invading their body more efficiently when their temperature is slightly elevated. You get feverish for a reason.

That one's on the house.

$500

2008-01-25T15:26:00.000-06:00

... and it hardly got me all my textbooks for this semester. Online. Used when possible.

Hardly means there's still one book I'm trying to "do without." We'll see how that works for me.

At least I have the $300 Anatomy & Physiology book that there was no way around buying new. That professor is quite literally a cross between Tinkerbell and Hitler. She's a hard ass. A real hardass. I'm really going to have to work to make the cut in this class. I'm pretty blown away by her, though. And fascinated. Seriously intrigued. It's pretty distracting but highly effective at the same time- if that makes any sense to you. I suspect she's a damn good educator, though it's too soon to tell. Maybe that's because she doesn't think of herself as an educator even though she's been teaching for over a decade. I've never seen anything like her personality-wise...

A bizarre little dilemma

2008-01-24T08:09:00.001-06:00

Okay. So I have this little problem where I clench my right fist while I sleep. Fine. Kinda silly, but whatever, right? Wrong.

It's driving me crazy. I guess I clench it so hard while I'm asleep that it goes completely numb. Painfully numb. So much so that it wakes me up every night (hmm. day?) while I'm sleeping and I have to sit there trying to wake it up and get blood back into it. Very unpleasant in the middle of the night (I know. Day.) while you're trying to sleep- we're talking beyond mere pins and needles numb here. For the last couple weeks (yeah, this has been going on for a while) I've had to keep my fingernails real short so they don't break the skin. I've tried keeping something balled up in my hand so it won't clench so hard, tying things around it... it doesn't work, or stay that way. And now my wrist/forearm is chronically sore from it, and almost more concerning are the random stabs of pain during the day (when I'm awake). I'm getting pretty crabby about it. Suggestions? And does anyone else have weird "problems" like this??

The reason why I don't write love poems anymore:

2008-01-19T08:25:00.001-06:00

My
dearest *BLEEP*,
Shall I compare
thee to a sundae? You are
sweatier (er, sweeter) and creamier by
far. Your grimy fingers are like pecans
with fudge coating its numerous cracks. No dollar dainty
are you, but rather a bounteous bowl brimming
with cool, creamy caramel
with fanciful figures
traced in fudge.
My darling *BLEEP*,
only a message from you could
be the cherry this delicacy dearly deserves.

I just stumbled upon this from long long ago. The original was sent via email and formatted in the shape of a sundae. And the words were colored to make it look like a sundae. And uhh... yeah. I guess none of that makes it make any more sense. What was I thinking?? You can laugh at me. I did. Once I finished my grimace.

Now you know why my girly letters lack poetry, Phil. Relieved?

The Gift That Never Stops Giving: LittleBlueCrackedCup

2008-01-17T23:22:00.000-06:00

There's this LittleBlueCrackedCup in my mother's cupboard that's massively cracked and shattered, but still remains intact. When I say intact, I do not mean it doesn't leak. I mean that it leaks, but it still retains its general shape.

I love drinking from it. Every fluid-induction ceremony becomes a race to the finish. What's that, LittleBlueCrackedCup? You think you can drink this faster than me? Aww, hell no. It's ON. Let's DO this thing.

Pour pour pour. SLAM.

Yeah. That's right. What's up now, LittleBlueCrackedCup?

This is by far my favorite way to hydrate myself.

rest in peace

2008-01-15T10:16:00.002-06:00

In the room, about to help Walter to the toilet. In walks the new girl. Never worked here before. From House Pool. I've been training her on the other wing. She got Rosa up in her wheelchair and took her to the toilet. Rosa doesn't use the toilet at night. Too much effort and strain. Diapers. Rosa fell asleep in her chair? Can't get her back into bed? Okay. I'll come take care of it when I'm finished here. Rosa and I understand each other. We really get along.

Walter's taking his time. Lonely. He asks about my boyfriend in the army. Walter's a WWII veteran. You heard from that boyfriend of yers? That's good, I guess. Do they get supplies? Me? Oh, we always got supplies. We were with Patten. What was it like? Well, we'd sit around in a circle counting. COUNTING, I said COUNTING. Yeah. We'd get past a thousand, and they just wouldn't know what to do. We'd sit there and one of us would start "thousand..." and then one of them would jump in, "...five!" and we'd all be so excited. It was a big deal. You can't blame them y'know. No one taught them consecutive numbers, y'see. Later it'd be... "thousand....... six!!" and then that's where it'd stop. At first it was okay, sittin in the circle. counting. but after a while you just got plain bored and you had no patience left for counting. you didnt want to count anymore. And then you'd start callin them dirty names. goddamn arabs. it wasnt their fault, goddamn arabs, nobody taught them to count consecutive numbers like that, but you just didn't have anymore patience. What? What's that? Yeah, Patten. Yeah, that's the very same one. He was one queer duck. But he was a damn good leader. They all feared him cuz he could count thousand-SEVEN. And that's why he was a damn good leader. They all feared him. Action? Oh, boy did we see action. Did we ever see action. Killed those goddamn bastards by the dozens. They could hardly count past thousand-TWO. Oh. Okay. Goodnight.

Walking briskly down the hall to Rosa's room. Already been a good 10 minutes. The light's off. Flip the switch, cooing "Ros-." Stop silent. No need for language. One glance reveals the vacancy. Stillness. Sallow, yellow-green beneath her tan, cuban skin. Slumped ever so slightly. Icy stillness. Maybe it's a mistake. A false alarm. An overreaction. Creep closer and slide fingers across her smooth, cool wrists. Impossibly still. Hand moves to her chest. Still warm there. Is that her moving ever so slightly? or the illusion created by the pounding in my breast. Nothing. Her lungs are deflated, just like her shoulders. CPR? Thought dismissed immediately. She's DNR. Everyone on this wing is DNR. Not that it would have made a difference at this point.

Inform the new girl on your way down the hall to the phones. Her theatrical "NO! Really??" Makes your stomach turn. She already knew. Maybe she couldn't accept it either. She's not dealing with it well, though for very different reasons. Poor girl. What must that have been like. First day, first time she set eyes on this woman, she dies on her watch. She was only unconscious when she left, though... not sleeping... not vacated... Rosa slipped away to the Lord alone in her chair in the dead of the night. There was no blame in her passing. Maybe that's the hardest thing to accept.

Post-mortem care is not as horrifying as I had expected. Unreal would be a better word for it. It's too easy. Caring for someone can only be difficult if the person is there. Rosa was not there. Only something nearly 300 lbs. Deadweight. Dead deadweight. A nurse gives a terse laugh at her own joke. Stare blankly. Six people needed to transfer her from her wheelchair to the bed before she stiffens, and so she can be prepared for her family to come pay their respects. So I can prepare her. Six people. Urgent voice, "NO skin tears, ladies! Caaaareful of the shoulder, there!! NO BROKEN BONES!" Realizing with shock how insanely fragile the human body is when its muscles aren't being used to counteract force applied to it. How excruciatingly fragile is the human body. Gown slipping. Flesh exposed. What is flesh? Her diaper is soiled. Nurse says it's common for the strain of having a BM to kill the elderly. Rosa was already compromised. She didn't have a BM on the toilet, though. She had it after she'd passed. "This is the cacapoopoo that killed her." I thought as I wiped her clean. Strange thought at a time like this... but that's how she always referred to her BM's to me every morning. "Bring extra paper... I made a cacapoopoo!" she'd call from the bathroom as I made her bed. Part of me felt like I ought to save that soiled diaper for her family. Immediately embarrassed by the impulse. It wouldn't have any significance to them.

There was no peace until everyone else had cleared out. I said a rosary with her at her bedside while we waited for her daughter to arrive. She would have liked that. She was Catholic and very religious in an earthy sort of way. She was in the habit of talking to the Lord as I got her ready for the day each morning in spanish. It was endearing.

I was blind sided by Rosa's death. When you walk into as many people's rooms while they're sleeping as often as I do, you come to take for granted that they'll be alive. None of the people I care for are in good health. But I wouldn't have thought that most of them were that close to death, least of all Rosa. Rosa was probably the most together, at least mentally and in some ways physically, of my residents. Now it dawns on me the reality of the situation: I am walking amongst people with one foot already through that door. Funny how you can know these things without KNOWING them.

Rosa's death was a blessing. I can honestly say that praying at her bedside I found true joy at her passing. He life was like a job well done. And now she can rest. Looking at her lying peacefully still in bed, her sheets pulled smooth and tidy, her seemingly translucent skin by the soft light of the bedside lamp, I saw I think for the first time ever that death is not just natural... it's beautiful. Perhaps you need more personal separation from the one who has left in order to be able to appreciate that.

Even so, there is now a subtle urgency behind every kind word, every gentle touch. Nagging in the back of my head is the knowledge that I may very likely be the last human interaction that any of these people come into contact with. It has to count. It's like hanging out with the wrong crowd... while no one can make you sin, they can certainly lead you to it. I am capable of being an occasion for grace to each of these people before their death. I can choose to have positive interactions with them, those productive of joy and hope and goodness. Or I can be short tempered and impatient and brusque, and lead them to despair and contempt and hatred. And that might be the context in which they die. The spiritual state in which they face their Judgment. That is the true burden of my job.

Walking out to the car the even greater burden hits me... the same is true of EVERYONE whose life is in any way intertwined with my own. Nothing can be taken for granted. No one. And in the words of Father Zossimo in the Brothers Karamazov, "We are each responsible for all."

Correction

2008-01-15T02:34:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I was wrong about the whole Monday thing. Turns out school doesn't start until next Tuesday, the 22nd. Oops.

Monday

2008-01-11T05:57:00.000-06:00

Monday I will be starting school again. 5 classes, 2 labs, plus full time 3rd shift employment.

I'm not ready for this.