Good evening my faithful, flawless, fearless followers!
I am in Colorado Springs tonight, halfway through the two and a half day journey from Boise to College Station. My dad and I drove 14 hours today and we are both TIRED.
So!
This posting will be short.
Incredibly short.
Unbelievably short.
So short you're almost finished reading it.
Once I am in Dallas tomorrow I will probably write something more, updating you on the wedding weekend and just how fantastic it was to see all of my remarkable relatives. Because the wedding was beautiful and wonderful but the best part, for me, was the talking, laughing and hanging out with the family.
Oh, and the 70's room of doom, death and dismemberment. And "stank".
But more on that later.
Lots of love, lords and ladies.
(Check out my alliterative skills here, people. I mean, seriously!)
Monday, June 28, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Barking Mad
So here's the thing: I love dogs. Love them to pieces. Not literally, of course. That's disgusting.
And at the moment there are four of them (dogs, that is) staying/living in the same house with me. None of them are mine, but then the house isn't either. Just like the luggage I was talking about a few days ago.
Are you sensing a pattern in my life?
Anyway...
I've been living with two of them for the last year and have gotten rather used to them. I don't enjoy being awakened by them on a consistent basis but have consoled myself with the knowledge that it was a temporary situation. The third one is only staying here for a few days and is just upset because he's out of his element.
So three of these four dogs are barking machines and it's driving me crazy. CRAZY, I tell you. The kind of crazy that makes you want to go out and buy a marshmallow gun.
Because you don't exactly want to hurt the small yipping thing that's keeping you awake at three am but you wouldn't mind bopping it on the nose with a small fluffy projectile that would end up making it delightfully sticky.
So because of all this barking at night and non-sleeping I am exceptionally cranky and tired. And I find that those two particular traits do not make me more inclined to be nice to small noisy animals. I consider myself to be a rather nice person in normal circumstances. But keep me awake for too long and I just might have to maim you. Or consume large amounts of Unisom, but I digress...
The only nice thing about this whole situation is that the fourth dog is a cute little puppy. He's rather soft and nice and doesn't actually make much noise. I have yet to want to 'mallow him.
Tomorrow I head up to Spokane to attend my cousin's wedding. And honestly, the thing I'm most looking forward to is a night of uninterrupted sleep. Yes, relatives are lovely. And yes, weddings are joyful and blah, blah, blah. But all I really want at the moment is to lie down at night and not hear anything that has four legs.
God help the hotel patron who brings his dog with him. That's all I have to say.
"Next week on 'Criminals gone wild,' we bring you the story of a local woman who appears to have gone insane after several nights without sleep. Police caught the woman after she had broken into several homes, shaved frowny faces into the owner's pet canines and disappeared. No valuables were taken."
And at the moment there are four of them (dogs, that is) staying/living in the same house with me. None of them are mine, but then the house isn't either. Just like the luggage I was talking about a few days ago.
Are you sensing a pattern in my life?
Anyway...
I've been living with two of them for the last year and have gotten rather used to them. I don't enjoy being awakened by them on a consistent basis but have consoled myself with the knowledge that it was a temporary situation. The third one is only staying here for a few days and is just upset because he's out of his element.
So three of these four dogs are barking machines and it's driving me crazy. CRAZY, I tell you. The kind of crazy that makes you want to go out and buy a marshmallow gun.
Because you don't exactly want to hurt the small yipping thing that's keeping you awake at three am but you wouldn't mind bopping it on the nose with a small fluffy projectile that would end up making it delightfully sticky.
So because of all this barking at night and non-sleeping I am exceptionally cranky and tired. And I find that those two particular traits do not make me more inclined to be nice to small noisy animals. I consider myself to be a rather nice person in normal circumstances. But keep me awake for too long and I just might have to maim you. Or consume large amounts of Unisom, but I digress...
The only nice thing about this whole situation is that the fourth dog is a cute little puppy. He's rather soft and nice and doesn't actually make much noise. I have yet to want to 'mallow him.
Tomorrow I head up to Spokane to attend my cousin's wedding. And honestly, the thing I'm most looking forward to is a night of uninterrupted sleep. Yes, relatives are lovely. And yes, weddings are joyful and blah, blah, blah. But all I really want at the moment is to lie down at night and not hear anything that has four legs.
God help the hotel patron who brings his dog with him. That's all I have to say.
"Next week on 'Criminals gone wild,' we bring you the story of a local woman who appears to have gone insane after several nights without sleep. Police caught the woman after she had broken into several homes, shaved frowny faces into the owner's pet canines and disappeared. No valuables were taken."
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Bye Bye
Yesterday was my last day working at the Garden City Community Clinic/Genesis World Mission.
*sniff*
I'm SAD about it! I was driving away and suddenly remembered why I used to feel like investing yourself in things was not worth it. I think it's a common syndrome in military children and other types of people who move around a lot. It's kind of a self-protection thing. If you don't really care too much about anyone or anything then it doesn't hurt so much when you eventually have to leave.
That's all well and good. But a few years ago when I stopped being such a broken and miserable person I left that theory behind me. Because being invested in things is the only real way to experience true love of anything. (Wow, I'm super eloquent today. Watch me go!)
And I have a lot of people to thank for that realization. They're all people I met in Portland at Multnomah; people that I love dearly.
So working at the clinic has been so amazing. I've written about it before I know, but here's a recap:
It has a small staff but when clinic hours are running all the nurses, doctors, pharmacy staff, psychiatrists, social workers, financial counselors, etc. are volunteers. So the clinic serves the population of Boise/Garden City that have no access to insurance and fall into a certain income bracket. They can come to the clinic and receive free medical care, including access to specialists like cardiologists, physical therapists, radiologists, etc, and receive free prescription medication. (Or if they can afford it they can get the $4.00 ones from WalMart.) Anyway it's just the coolest place in the world to be. The people there really need the help that the clinic provides and the vast majority of them are super grateful to get it and are overflowing with thanks.
All I did was patient check-in/out. So I made appointments, helped them with paperwork and moved charts around. And I did some special projects occasionally. Nothing incredibly important, but still a cog in the machinery. And I loved it. LOVED it. I loved the patients, loved the doctors and nurses, and especially loved the permanent staff.
And yesterday was my last day. *sigh*
But it was a pretty fantastic experience. And once I'm a nurse I'm totally going to find something similar and volunteer there.
As cliche and cheese-covered as it sounds, I think the volunteer part was the best part. There's something fantastic about helping someone else and getting nothing out of it for yourself but the knowledge that you've helped. (Ack, someone save me from myself...)
Well back to packing. I'm not sure what I'll pack today but it should be something. Perhaps my piano music. That sounds productive.
Until tomorrow, my lovelies.
*sniff*
I'm SAD about it! I was driving away and suddenly remembered why I used to feel like investing yourself in things was not worth it. I think it's a common syndrome in military children and other types of people who move around a lot. It's kind of a self-protection thing. If you don't really care too much about anyone or anything then it doesn't hurt so much when you eventually have to leave.
That's all well and good. But a few years ago when I stopped being such a broken and miserable person I left that theory behind me. Because being invested in things is the only real way to experience true love of anything. (Wow, I'm super eloquent today. Watch me go!)
And I have a lot of people to thank for that realization. They're all people I met in Portland at Multnomah; people that I love dearly.
So working at the clinic has been so amazing. I've written about it before I know, but here's a recap:
It has a small staff but when clinic hours are running all the nurses, doctors, pharmacy staff, psychiatrists, social workers, financial counselors, etc. are volunteers. So the clinic serves the population of Boise/Garden City that have no access to insurance and fall into a certain income bracket. They can come to the clinic and receive free medical care, including access to specialists like cardiologists, physical therapists, radiologists, etc, and receive free prescription medication. (Or if they can afford it they can get the $4.00 ones from WalMart.) Anyway it's just the coolest place in the world to be. The people there really need the help that the clinic provides and the vast majority of them are super grateful to get it and are overflowing with thanks.
All I did was patient check-in/out. So I made appointments, helped them with paperwork and moved charts around. And I did some special projects occasionally. Nothing incredibly important, but still a cog in the machinery. And I loved it. LOVED it. I loved the patients, loved the doctors and nurses, and especially loved the permanent staff.
And yesterday was my last day. *sigh*
But it was a pretty fantastic experience. And once I'm a nurse I'm totally going to find something similar and volunteer there.
As cliche and cheese-covered as it sounds, I think the volunteer part was the best part. There's something fantastic about helping someone else and getting nothing out of it for yourself but the knowledge that you've helped. (Ack, someone save me from myself...)
Well back to packing. I'm not sure what I'll pack today but it should be something. Perhaps my piano music. That sounds productive.
Until tomorrow, my lovelies.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Broken
So I've been packing today. Because I'm moving back to Texas in about a week.
And one of my suitcases is broken.
Actually it's not even mine. It's a hand-me-down from my older sister. And I have no idea how old it is. But it has hot pink nail polish on it so I'm guessing it dates from the early 90s.
On one of my last airplane rides the handle decided that it no longer wanted to operate under the title "retractable."
I got a memo later about society and it's obsessive use of "labels."
Anyway... so it sticks straight up now.
That was a rather embarrassing day at the airport. Ever try to shove a handle back into position with 45 people watching you and pretending that they aren't? Little Asian children were giggling at me.
I have another suitcase that's kind of a little bit broken too. It's not mine either.
It used to be my mom's. On the inside there used to be these rounded black plastic thingies in the corners to help the suitcase keep it's shape and help it stay open when you were packing. But over the years all of the plastic has started to crack and break and come out in little tiny pieces.
That's always fun. You go home for Christmas, get dressed for the traditional family pictures and suddenly discover what looks like freakishly large black dandruff all over you.
"Ooh, Jamie! You look so pretty! But, um... have you been hanging around any toxic dumps lately?"
At least the handle works.
So this leads me to my third suitcase.
Which, of course, is also not mine.
At this point you might be asking yourself, "Does this girl actually own any of her own luggage?"
The answer is NO. But I feel this makes me a more interesting person. I am a transient without means of transiency. How psychedelic is that?
My third suitcase is not broken at all. It's new, see. It's part of a set that my mom and dad bought. It's quite nice. And blue. I like it a lot. But as I mentioned, it's not mine.
If and when I move to England I'm going to have to buy some luggage.
My older sister was once rather obsessed with getting some red Pierre Cardin luggage for Christmas. She was rather disappointed, I believe, with the American Tourister set she received instead. Now she has some stuff that's Barbie-pink. It's cute and I bet her husband looks darling wheeling it around for her.
"Look, Mommy! That man has a suitcase just like mine!"
Heh.
And one of my suitcases is broken.
Actually it's not even mine. It's a hand-me-down from my older sister. And I have no idea how old it is. But it has hot pink nail polish on it so I'm guessing it dates from the early 90s.
On one of my last airplane rides the handle decided that it no longer wanted to operate under the title "retractable."
I got a memo later about society and it's obsessive use of "labels."
Anyway... so it sticks straight up now.
That was a rather embarrassing day at the airport. Ever try to shove a handle back into position with 45 people watching you and pretending that they aren't? Little Asian children were giggling at me.
I have another suitcase that's kind of a little bit broken too. It's not mine either.
It used to be my mom's. On the inside there used to be these rounded black plastic thingies in the corners to help the suitcase keep it's shape and help it stay open when you were packing. But over the years all of the plastic has started to crack and break and come out in little tiny pieces.
That's always fun. You go home for Christmas, get dressed for the traditional family pictures and suddenly discover what looks like freakishly large black dandruff all over you.
"Ooh, Jamie! You look so pretty! But, um... have you been hanging around any toxic dumps lately?"
At least the handle works.
So this leads me to my third suitcase.
Which, of course, is also not mine.
At this point you might be asking yourself, "Does this girl actually own any of her own luggage?"
The answer is NO. But I feel this makes me a more interesting person. I am a transient without means of transiency. How psychedelic is that?
My third suitcase is not broken at all. It's new, see. It's part of a set that my mom and dad bought. It's quite nice. And blue. I like it a lot. But as I mentioned, it's not mine.
If and when I move to England I'm going to have to buy some luggage.
My older sister was once rather obsessed with getting some red Pierre Cardin luggage for Christmas. She was rather disappointed, I believe, with the American Tourister set she received instead. Now she has some stuff that's Barbie-pink. It's cute and I bet her husband looks darling wheeling it around for her.
"Look, Mommy! That man has a suitcase just like mine!"
Heh.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Babbling 11
Happy Friday, followers!! Here's your laugh for the day! (Well I thought it was funny, anyway...)
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Being a woman
Sometimes I just hate being a woman. A veces me odio que yo soy una mujer. (That's Spanish. It's another language. I'm cultured and sophisticated. Aren't you impressed?)
It's not so much the fact that we're expected to remain largely hairless. Sure, it's hard to remain in a constant state of razor burn. And I'll admit, sometimes I think it'd be much easier to just grow the unibrow and forget the whole tweezers thing. But most of the time I like being consistently smooth. I do not enjoy reminding people on the metro of a cactus. Especially THROUGH my clothing. So the shaving bit doesn't bug me so much.
I'm talking about those magical days when Eve's curse comes knocking at my door.
You all knew exactly where I was going with this so don't pretend you're shocked.
I hate being in pain.
I think I have a fairly high pain tolerance, you know? You don't go through brain surgery without knowing a thing or two about PAIN.
But once a month I feel like curling into a little ball and moaning pitifully while pretending that no one in the world has ever felt as badly as I do. Not even lepers. With missing fingers.
Or that losing one's entrails might be preferable.
Or that if I managed to gnaw off one of my toes the emergency room nurses wouldn't commit me. They'd nod to each other and say, "Oh. We've been there too."
Those are the days that I hate being a woman.
So sorry for the short post. But my innards seem to be attempting an escape.
I must quell the rebellion.
Not unlike William Wallace, actually. I bet I know just what he felt like.
It's not so much the fact that we're expected to remain largely hairless. Sure, it's hard to remain in a constant state of razor burn. And I'll admit, sometimes I think it'd be much easier to just grow the unibrow and forget the whole tweezers thing. But most of the time I like being consistently smooth. I do not enjoy reminding people on the metro of a cactus. Especially THROUGH my clothing. So the shaving bit doesn't bug me so much.
I'm talking about those magical days when Eve's curse comes knocking at my door.
You all knew exactly where I was going with this so don't pretend you're shocked.
I hate being in pain.
I think I have a fairly high pain tolerance, you know? You don't go through brain surgery without knowing a thing or two about PAIN.
But once a month I feel like curling into a little ball and moaning pitifully while pretending that no one in the world has ever felt as badly as I do. Not even lepers. With missing fingers.
Or that losing one's entrails might be preferable.
Or that if I managed to gnaw off one of my toes the emergency room nurses wouldn't commit me. They'd nod to each other and say, "Oh. We've been there too."
Those are the days that I hate being a woman.
So sorry for the short post. But my innards seem to be attempting an escape.
I must quell the rebellion.
Not unlike William Wallace, actually. I bet I know just what he felt like.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Brutal
Have you ever cracked a perfume bottle? Or, worse yet, broken one completely open?
You watch in slow motion as all of that lovely, scented alcohol just POURS out over your hands and shoes and jacket? And all of the sudden something that smelled so divine, so heavenly, so close to perfection that you wanted to shove the spray nozzle up your nostril makes you want to gag and run from the room yelling "FIRE!"? And then the fumes start to swirl around your head and time stands still and you start seeing little dancing monkeys carrying red plastic guitars that play "Freebird?"
No?
I knew those brownies I ate tasted funny...
But somehow one of my favorite perfume bottles cracked while I wasn't paying attention. And now the smell is overwhelming. I used to like it but for the life of me at the moment I can't remember why. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to wear it again! It's brutal. Hence the title of this post.
It reminds me of when I was little. I had this piggy bank that was pink cloth. And the coin slot had this little pink cloth heart that Velcro-ed across it. It was so cute!
One day I decided, for some unknown, forgotten reason, to put some baby powder on top of him. And to this day he smells like baby powder.
And now I, forevermore, will smell like Elizabeth Arden. I know it. I'll be 85 and walking along in the old people's home, somewhere in Bristol, and the guy next to me will say, "I haven't smelled that scent in 55 years!!" He, of course, will smell like creamed corn because that's just what old people tend to smell like. Either that or Polident.
This happened to me once before with my favorite Kenneth Cole perfume too.
Maybe it's a sign.
God likes my natural aroma.
Napoleon used to write home and tell Josephine to stop bathing when he was on his way home from a battle.
That's disgusting. But then they were French.
Anyone know any good recipes for washing one's olfactory organ?
You watch in slow motion as all of that lovely, scented alcohol just POURS out over your hands and shoes and jacket? And all of the sudden something that smelled so divine, so heavenly, so close to perfection that you wanted to shove the spray nozzle up your nostril makes you want to gag and run from the room yelling "FIRE!"? And then the fumes start to swirl around your head and time stands still and you start seeing little dancing monkeys carrying red plastic guitars that play "Freebird?"
No?
I knew those brownies I ate tasted funny...
But somehow one of my favorite perfume bottles cracked while I wasn't paying attention. And now the smell is overwhelming. I used to like it but for the life of me at the moment I can't remember why. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to wear it again! It's brutal. Hence the title of this post.
It reminds me of when I was little. I had this piggy bank that was pink cloth. And the coin slot had this little pink cloth heart that Velcro-ed across it. It was so cute!
One day I decided, for some unknown, forgotten reason, to put some baby powder on top of him. And to this day he smells like baby powder.
And now I, forevermore, will smell like Elizabeth Arden. I know it. I'll be 85 and walking along in the old people's home, somewhere in Bristol, and the guy next to me will say, "I haven't smelled that scent in 55 years!!" He, of course, will smell like creamed corn because that's just what old people tend to smell like. Either that or Polident.
This happened to me once before with my favorite Kenneth Cole perfume too.
Maybe it's a sign.
God likes my natural aroma.
Napoleon used to write home and tell Josephine to stop bathing when he was on his way home from a battle.
That's disgusting. But then they were French.
Anyone know any good recipes for washing one's olfactory organ?
Monday, June 14, 2010
Bike lanes
Here's the thing.
I'm not against people who ride bikes. I think bicycles are just peachy. I haven't been on one in years but I'm sure they're just as lovely as I remember.
Oh, I sense a Memory Bubble floating by.
My first bike was a hand-me-down from an older girl at our church but I didn't care. It was kind of white with pinky-purple accents and had a white wicker basket on the front with two little smiling bears on the front. And it had pink and purple streamers that came from the handle bars. I loved it.
And because we lived in the boonies a little bit (we lived BETWEEN counties. How is that even possible?) I learned to ride it on gravel roads. Yes, lovely, lovely gravel. Quite unforgiving, that stuff. And I had no training wheels. It was just hop up there and get started. On gravel. Did I mention that already?
But once I got the hang of it (which I did in ONE afternoon. BOOYAH!) I loved riding it. And I rode it quite a bit. Sometimes my mom would back the car out of the garage and I would even get to experience what it was like to ride on concrete. Those were special days.
Stop laughing.
Anyways. Riding around our little subdivision was pretty easy because there wasn't a lot of traffic. Your only real concern was keeping upright and not losing control. You know, because of the GRAVEL. But eventually I outgrew my little pinky-purple bike and never got another one. My older sister had one, and occasionally she'd let me borrow it but it had SUPER skinny tires and she had a couple of really bad accidents on it (again, on behalf the gravel, but we're not bitter) so the draw to ride it wasn't very strong.
But we never had to worry about bike lanes and other nonsense like that. Because we were in the Boonies, you see.
Now I've lived in lots of places and most of them have these so-called "bike lanes."
*scoff*
You know what they actually are, right?
Places for bikers TO AVOID.
Because you're driving along, minding you own business and up ahead you see a person riding a bicycle. And you think, "Oh good. There's a lovely bike lane right next to me. So I don't have to worry about this bicycle person."
WRONG.
Because apparently these people have been misinformed about the actual purpose of the bike lane. They seem to think they are supposed to come as close as possible to the lane without actually crossing into it. It's like the lava game you used to play in PE. Remember? You walk the straight line on the balance beam and if you fall off you're in the lava and have to start again?
Bike person: Oooh, I'm a little wobbly... Oh! I almost crossed the line! Almost in the lava! Then I'd have to pedal home and start ALL OVER! I MUST NOT CROSS THE LINE!! Man, these cars are close.. Don't they know the game? Damn motorists...
So the poor driver is thinking, "I'm safe, I'm safe, nice little bike person, stay in your lane... AAAAAHHHH!!!!"
And occasionally you get the bike people who are straddling the line while riding the WRONG WAY. Like, directly against the flow of traffic! Which is illegal! And they give YOU the evil eye when you happen to brush those ridiculously tight Spandex shorts with your side mirror!
Things like this worry me. You'd think the general populace would be smarter than this. But again, apparently not. It gives me such misgivings about our future as a species.
What's next? People who won't use crosswalks that are 15 feet from them?
I'm not against people who ride bikes. I think bicycles are just peachy. I haven't been on one in years but I'm sure they're just as lovely as I remember.
Oh, I sense a Memory Bubble floating by.
My first bike was a hand-me-down from an older girl at our church but I didn't care. It was kind of white with pinky-purple accents and had a white wicker basket on the front with two little smiling bears on the front. And it had pink and purple streamers that came from the handle bars. I loved it.
And because we lived in the boonies a little bit (we lived BETWEEN counties. How is that even possible?) I learned to ride it on gravel roads. Yes, lovely, lovely gravel. Quite unforgiving, that stuff. And I had no training wheels. It was just hop up there and get started. On gravel. Did I mention that already?
But once I got the hang of it (which I did in ONE afternoon. BOOYAH!) I loved riding it. And I rode it quite a bit. Sometimes my mom would back the car out of the garage and I would even get to experience what it was like to ride on concrete. Those were special days.
Stop laughing.
Anyways. Riding around our little subdivision was pretty easy because there wasn't a lot of traffic. Your only real concern was keeping upright and not losing control. You know, because of the GRAVEL. But eventually I outgrew my little pinky-purple bike and never got another one. My older sister had one, and occasionally she'd let me borrow it but it had SUPER skinny tires and she had a couple of really bad accidents on it (again, on behalf the gravel, but we're not bitter) so the draw to ride it wasn't very strong.
But we never had to worry about bike lanes and other nonsense like that. Because we were in the Boonies, you see.
Now I've lived in lots of places and most of them have these so-called "bike lanes."
*scoff*
You know what they actually are, right?
Places for bikers TO AVOID.
Because you're driving along, minding you own business and up ahead you see a person riding a bicycle. And you think, "Oh good. There's a lovely bike lane right next to me. So I don't have to worry about this bicycle person."
WRONG.
Because apparently these people have been misinformed about the actual purpose of the bike lane. They seem to think they are supposed to come as close as possible to the lane without actually crossing into it. It's like the lava game you used to play in PE. Remember? You walk the straight line on the balance beam and if you fall off you're in the lava and have to start again?
Bike person: Oooh, I'm a little wobbly... Oh! I almost crossed the line! Almost in the lava! Then I'd have to pedal home and start ALL OVER! I MUST NOT CROSS THE LINE!! Man, these cars are close.. Don't they know the game? Damn motorists...
So the poor driver is thinking, "I'm safe, I'm safe, nice little bike person, stay in your lane... AAAAAHHHH!!!!"
And occasionally you get the bike people who are straddling the line while riding the WRONG WAY. Like, directly against the flow of traffic! Which is illegal! And they give YOU the evil eye when you happen to brush those ridiculously tight Spandex shorts with your side mirror!
Things like this worry me. You'd think the general populace would be smarter than this. But again, apparently not. It gives me such misgivings about our future as a species.
What's next? People who won't use crosswalks that are 15 feet from them?
Friday, June 11, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Bskdagjowietuweoxzw
Here's the thing.
I take a bunch of medication. Right? Those little pills that make you happy and keep you from shooting paint balls at teenagers in the mall who give you the stink eye.
These marvelous little tablets have the rather unfortunate side effect of keeping me awake at night. So I also take sleeping pills.
And occasionally, because I am stupid, I run out of them.
It always happens. I see the bottle at night, with the little pills at the bottom and think, "Oh. Not many in there. I should do something about that." Then I toddle off to bed and laugh myself silly.
This goes on for several days.
Then one night I notice that there are only two or three left. At this point I will use the phone and call the refill number. But because I live in Idaho and the prescription is from a doctor in Texas this means that my lovely parents then have to pick up the prescription and mail it to me.
This usually takes more days than I have pills.
So I end up like I have been for the past two nights.
Rolling about like a madwoman, begging the sleep gods for mercy, eating PB & J sandwiches at 3:45 am and talking morosely to a stuffed polar bear I bought at the Portland Zoo 3 years ago.
And whose fault is it?
MINE.
The night before last I ate 4 Unisom. (You're not supposed to do that, FYI.) As another FYI, they didn't work. I'm not sure how that happened. They're a lovely blue color and they seem quite nice. So I'm not sure why they chose to give me the proverbial finger. Last night I took 2 and that didn't work either. I debated taking more but decided it was probably a hopeless endeavor.
Anyways. I'm told they're not supposed to give you a "hangover" but maybe that's only if you follow the directions.
Today I feel delightfully wonky.
As I did yesterday.
Hence the title of the post. It describes my state of mind perfectly. Mr. Webster, unfortunately, did not seem to have a more "kosher" description.
Someday I shall write my own dictionary. And fill it up with ridiculous words and meaningless phrases. It will be wildly popular and I'll make a million billion dollars.
With which I shall buy a pharmacy and never worry about this whole problem again.
It all sounds so perfect, don't you think?
I take a bunch of medication. Right? Those little pills that make you happy and keep you from shooting paint balls at teenagers in the mall who give you the stink eye.
These marvelous little tablets have the rather unfortunate side effect of keeping me awake at night. So I also take sleeping pills.
And occasionally, because I am stupid, I run out of them.
It always happens. I see the bottle at night, with the little pills at the bottom and think, "Oh. Not many in there. I should do something about that." Then I toddle off to bed and laugh myself silly.
This goes on for several days.
Then one night I notice that there are only two or three left. At this point I will use the phone and call the refill number. But because I live in Idaho and the prescription is from a doctor in Texas this means that my lovely parents then have to pick up the prescription and mail it to me.
This usually takes more days than I have pills.
So I end up like I have been for the past two nights.
Rolling about like a madwoman, begging the sleep gods for mercy, eating PB & J sandwiches at 3:45 am and talking morosely to a stuffed polar bear I bought at the Portland Zoo 3 years ago.
And whose fault is it?
MINE.
The night before last I ate 4 Unisom. (You're not supposed to do that, FYI.) As another FYI, they didn't work. I'm not sure how that happened. They're a lovely blue color and they seem quite nice. So I'm not sure why they chose to give me the proverbial finger. Last night I took 2 and that didn't work either. I debated taking more but decided it was probably a hopeless endeavor.
Anyways. I'm told they're not supposed to give you a "hangover" but maybe that's only if you follow the directions.
Today I feel delightfully wonky.
As I did yesterday.
Hence the title of the post. It describes my state of mind perfectly. Mr. Webster, unfortunately, did not seem to have a more "kosher" description.
Someday I shall write my own dictionary. And fill it up with ridiculous words and meaningless phrases. It will be wildly popular and I'll make a million billion dollars.
With which I shall buy a pharmacy and never worry about this whole problem again.
It all sounds so perfect, don't you think?
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Baffled
You know what baffles me? (Besides, of course, those barking dog Christmas CDs.)
How educational institutions can possibly expect you to remember a 6, 8 or 10 digit number they arbitrarily assign you, along with a password or PIN number that is also 6, 8, or 10 letters, numbers, or special symbols (because sometimes it's just not enough to say "tortoise". You have to say "tor1oise!*33") You are then expected to remember these numbers, letters and characters for the rest of your natural born days.
And God help you if you forget them.
And if you happen to attend more than ONE institution!
WELL THEN...
So I'm in the process of sending all of my transcripts to the nursing people. And I've gone to FIVE colleges thus far.
If you've been counting, that's FIVE student IDs and FIVE passwords/PINs for a total of TEN ridiculous combinations of letters and numbers that I can't possibly remember.
What?
I should have written them down long ago?
I don't think I asked you.
You know what else baffles me?
Acting.
Here's a thought I had.
If I'm married and I kiss another man, I'm a cheater. Right?
And if I'm married and I kiss another man and have someone else film it, I'm both a cheater and a bit of a perv. Right?
But if I'm married and kiss another man, have someone else film it, throw in quite a few other scenes, and call myself an actress, then I'm well within my rights and have free liberty to do what I like. Because it's acting.
Isn't that interesting?
It seems to be a question of feelings. If you have feelings for the other person then you are a cheater. But if you don't, you're an actress. If you can pretend you do and convince others that you do, you're a good actress.
But can you make out with or even mime sex with someone you can't stand? Dislike? Hate? I'm not so sure...
What about those people who begin acting together and end up together? Sometimes at the sake of the relationships they were already in?
I know there are far more who don't end up together but I can't help but wonder if this issue is exactly the reason why a disproportionate number of Hollywood marriages don't stay together. Could you really trust someone who macks on other women as his day job? I don't know that I could.
Food for thought, people. Food for thought.
How educational institutions can possibly expect you to remember a 6, 8 or 10 digit number they arbitrarily assign you, along with a password or PIN number that is also 6, 8, or 10 letters, numbers, or special symbols (because sometimes it's just not enough to say "tortoise". You have to say "tor1oise!*33") You are then expected to remember these numbers, letters and characters for the rest of your natural born days.
And God help you if you forget them.
And if you happen to attend more than ONE institution!
WELL THEN...
So I'm in the process of sending all of my transcripts to the nursing people. And I've gone to FIVE colleges thus far.
If you've been counting, that's FIVE student IDs and FIVE passwords/PINs for a total of TEN ridiculous combinations of letters and numbers that I can't possibly remember.
What?
I should have written them down long ago?
I don't think I asked you.
You know what else baffles me?
Acting.
Here's a thought I had.
If I'm married and I kiss another man, I'm a cheater. Right?
And if I'm married and I kiss another man and have someone else film it, I'm both a cheater and a bit of a perv. Right?
But if I'm married and kiss another man, have someone else film it, throw in quite a few other scenes, and call myself an actress, then I'm well within my rights and have free liberty to do what I like. Because it's acting.
Isn't that interesting?
It seems to be a question of feelings. If you have feelings for the other person then you are a cheater. But if you don't, you're an actress. If you can pretend you do and convince others that you do, you're a good actress.
But can you make out with or even mime sex with someone you can't stand? Dislike? Hate? I'm not so sure...
What about those people who begin acting together and end up together? Sometimes at the sake of the relationships they were already in?
I know there are far more who don't end up together but I can't help but wonder if this issue is exactly the reason why a disproportionate number of Hollywood marriages don't stay together. Could you really trust someone who macks on other women as his day job? I don't know that I could.
Food for thought, people. Food for thought.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Blips
I'm watching the new episode of Lie to Me.
And the dumb television is slipping and breaking up and causing general mayhem. It's not the TV, it's the film reel.
It's BAD NEWS!! I've been waiting for this episode for weeks! What the crap??
*snort* *growl*
*ahem*
I'm fine now.
You know what else was dumb today?
It was finally a sunny and not so cold day. Like, the first day in weeks.
So I was all planning to take my camera and go outside and walk along the river and just have some fun being outside and unmiserable.
But something kept telling me that I needed to check and see when the opening date for my nursing school application was. I thought it was July 1st but I kept feeling like I needed to check. And I'm glad I did because it's ACTUALLY June 1st.
So I thought, "No problem. I'll start my application and then I'll go for my walk."
NOT SO FAST.
The dang thing took me FOUR hours and I'm not even finished!!
I have to call three schools tomorrow to get transcripts sent and I'm waiting on an email response about some reference letters I need to send in.
Man! It's freaking complicated! It's the NURSING that's supposed to be difficult, not the APPLICATION.
I mean.... REALLY!
You know the one cool thing about today though?
I went to the library and rented the full collection of the Pink Panther movies. There are 6 of them and they all have Peter Sellers. Peter Sellers was a genius. A comedy GENIUS, I tell you. So at least I have some fairly fantastic entertainment to look forward to.
Heh heh.
I suppose that's all for today, my lovelies. I'll let you know once I've finished my application tomorrow. I know you'll be on the edge of your seat until I do...
And the dumb television is slipping and breaking up and causing general mayhem. It's not the TV, it's the film reel.
It's BAD NEWS!! I've been waiting for this episode for weeks! What the crap??
*snort* *growl*
*ahem*
I'm fine now.
You know what else was dumb today?
It was finally a sunny and not so cold day. Like, the first day in weeks.
So I was all planning to take my camera and go outside and walk along the river and just have some fun being outside and unmiserable.
But something kept telling me that I needed to check and see when the opening date for my nursing school application was. I thought it was July 1st but I kept feeling like I needed to check. And I'm glad I did because it's ACTUALLY June 1st.
So I thought, "No problem. I'll start my application and then I'll go for my walk."
NOT SO FAST.
The dang thing took me FOUR hours and I'm not even finished!!
I have to call three schools tomorrow to get transcripts sent and I'm waiting on an email response about some reference letters I need to send in.
Man! It's freaking complicated! It's the NURSING that's supposed to be difficult, not the APPLICATION.
I mean.... REALLY!
You know the one cool thing about today though?
I went to the library and rented the full collection of the Pink Panther movies. There are 6 of them and they all have Peter Sellers. Peter Sellers was a genius. A comedy GENIUS, I tell you. So at least I have some fairly fantastic entertainment to look forward to.
Heh heh.
I suppose that's all for today, my lovelies. I'll let you know once I've finished my application tomorrow. I know you'll be on the edge of your seat until I do...
Friday, June 4, 2010
Babbling 9
Happy Friday friends and neighbors!!!
In spite of the evil squirrel, I hope everyone has a marvelous weekend.
In spite of the evil squirrel, I hope everyone has a marvelous weekend.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Back in Boise
Hello Thursday!
Now I know all of you missed me terribly while I was away over Memorial Day weekend. I'm very sorry for the emotional angst I put you through. Really. Very sorry. But I had a FANTASTIC time in Portland and it was one of the best vacations I've had in a long time. So I thought I'd just tell you about it.
What? You don't care?
Well then get your own blog and stop reading mine.
So I left Boise on Thursday around 10 and got to Portland around 4. I stayed with my friend Elizabeth and her husband Alan and they are the most FABULOUS host people known to man. I'm serious. Not only are they hilarious and fun but they're super easy to be around and incredibly mellow and low-key. I haven't laughed so much in a while.
They also have an infestation of ants.
So watching them duel to the death was entertaining to say the least.
Friday I had lunch with several people I used to work with at Multnomah University. My former boss (and the best boss EVER) Ian, and coworkers Zach, Mary and Colin. We ate Vietnamese food, which I'd never had before. It was tasty. Being a bit of a chicken in the new foods department, I was pleasantly surprised. After lunch I went back to the office and chatted with Colin for a while. Colin is my almost-twin. He's two days older than I am and looks nothing like me. But we're great friends because God hates him and I have to console him periodically.
I met another friend, Andreas, for coffee later and it was FANTASTIC to catch up with him. He's Swedish. Wonderful people, those Swedes. Phenomenal taste in backpacks. ;)
Saturday was Elizabeth and my day to hang out and do nothing. So we watched Jane Austen movies and chilled. Fantastic.
Sunday I went to my old church and almost melted into the floor because I was so happy. It was lovely to see all of my friends there and catch up with them. And listening to Father George is always amazing.
I then proceeded to lock myself out of Elizabeth's house and spent two hours in my car waiting for them to get home.
Heh.
But then came Monday.
I got to meet Elizabeth's parents and friend Will when they came over for a barbeque. That was fun.
Then I went to meet my good friend Celeste and her new baby girl Josephine, who is ADORABLE.
I'm using a lot of adjectives here.
Celeste and I went for coffee and then walked around an antique store. And she's hilarious most of the time without knowing it so I was hysterical the whole time. Hooray for Hispanic people and their whole fishy sense of humor. ;) again.
Then I went to meet my Brother, Danny, and his girlfriend Beth.
I have to tell you about my Brother. I met him either the first or second day that I was at Multnomah. And he was my Brother. Right then. He's fantastic and quirky and non-boxable and so much like me and not like me and all kinds of other things. I love him. He's my Brother.
So we had coffee, went to a park, went to eat Mexican food and then hung out at his house for a while. That was hard visit to walk away from. I wanted to stay forever. He plays the guitar like an angel and I wanted to fall asleep in his room while he played, like I used to do in my apartment while we were in school. *sigh*
So Tuesday Elizabeth and I went for breakfast and hung out some more, and then I met Father George for a semi-lunch. He's my Godfather and he's fantastic too. He taught one of my World Religions classes and introduced us to Orthodoxy. The class was so interesting that I went to visit St. Nicholas the next Sunday. And the rest is history. The Holy Spirit sucked me right in and I became Orthodox shortly after. So I feel highly indebted to Fr. George and I'm super glad I know him. He's great.
Then I went by Multnomah again to see Lisa, who is WONDERFUL and who wasn't there on Friday when I was there before. I also saw Dr. Metzger, who is a professor I admire greatly.
So I didn't leave Portland until 5:15 or so, which explains why I didn't get back to Boise until 1 am Wednesday morning. But the drive back was great. I was on a SUPER high from how splendiferous the visit had been so I wasn't tired or anything. And the roads were fine, there wasn't a lot of traffic after getting out of Portland and everything went really well.
*sigh* again.
Sometimes I don't understand why I'm not living there anymore. I'm so happy when I go there and so sad when I leave. And people kept asking me why I didn't just come back and I didn't really have a good reason except that it just didn't feel right.
Don't you just hate that?
Now I know all of you missed me terribly while I was away over Memorial Day weekend. I'm very sorry for the emotional angst I put you through. Really. Very sorry. But I had a FANTASTIC time in Portland and it was one of the best vacations I've had in a long time. So I thought I'd just tell you about it.
What? You don't care?
Well then get your own blog and stop reading mine.
So I left Boise on Thursday around 10 and got to Portland around 4. I stayed with my friend Elizabeth and her husband Alan and they are the most FABULOUS host people known to man. I'm serious. Not only are they hilarious and fun but they're super easy to be around and incredibly mellow and low-key. I haven't laughed so much in a while.
They also have an infestation of ants.
So watching them duel to the death was entertaining to say the least.
Friday I had lunch with several people I used to work with at Multnomah University. My former boss (and the best boss EVER) Ian, and coworkers Zach, Mary and Colin. We ate Vietnamese food, which I'd never had before. It was tasty. Being a bit of a chicken in the new foods department, I was pleasantly surprised. After lunch I went back to the office and chatted with Colin for a while. Colin is my almost-twin. He's two days older than I am and looks nothing like me. But we're great friends because God hates him and I have to console him periodically.
I met another friend, Andreas, for coffee later and it was FANTASTIC to catch up with him. He's Swedish. Wonderful people, those Swedes. Phenomenal taste in backpacks. ;)
Saturday was Elizabeth and my day to hang out and do nothing. So we watched Jane Austen movies and chilled. Fantastic.
Sunday I went to my old church and almost melted into the floor because I was so happy. It was lovely to see all of my friends there and catch up with them. And listening to Father George is always amazing.
I then proceeded to lock myself out of Elizabeth's house and spent two hours in my car waiting for them to get home.
Heh.
But then came Monday.
I got to meet Elizabeth's parents and friend Will when they came over for a barbeque. That was fun.
Then I went to meet my good friend Celeste and her new baby girl Josephine, who is ADORABLE.
I'm using a lot of adjectives here.
Celeste and I went for coffee and then walked around an antique store. And she's hilarious most of the time without knowing it so I was hysterical the whole time. Hooray for Hispanic people and their whole fishy sense of humor. ;) again.
Then I went to meet my Brother, Danny, and his girlfriend Beth.
I have to tell you about my Brother. I met him either the first or second day that I was at Multnomah. And he was my Brother. Right then. He's fantastic and quirky and non-boxable and so much like me and not like me and all kinds of other things. I love him. He's my Brother.
So we had coffee, went to a park, went to eat Mexican food and then hung out at his house for a while. That was hard visit to walk away from. I wanted to stay forever. He plays the guitar like an angel and I wanted to fall asleep in his room while he played, like I used to do in my apartment while we were in school. *sigh*
So Tuesday Elizabeth and I went for breakfast and hung out some more, and then I met Father George for a semi-lunch. He's my Godfather and he's fantastic too. He taught one of my World Religions classes and introduced us to Orthodoxy. The class was so interesting that I went to visit St. Nicholas the next Sunday. And the rest is history. The Holy Spirit sucked me right in and I became Orthodox shortly after. So I feel highly indebted to Fr. George and I'm super glad I know him. He's great.
Then I went by Multnomah again to see Lisa, who is WONDERFUL and who wasn't there on Friday when I was there before. I also saw Dr. Metzger, who is a professor I admire greatly.
So I didn't leave Portland until 5:15 or so, which explains why I didn't get back to Boise until 1 am Wednesday morning. But the drive back was great. I was on a SUPER high from how splendiferous the visit had been so I wasn't tired or anything. And the roads were fine, there wasn't a lot of traffic after getting out of Portland and everything went really well.
*sigh* again.
Sometimes I don't understand why I'm not living there anymore. I'm so happy when I go there and so sad when I leave. And people kept asking me why I didn't just come back and I didn't really have a good reason except that it just didn't feel right.
Don't you just hate that?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)