Waiting (thoughts from the inside)

Hello friends! To all of you out there who still might find the random musings of my life interesting, I say a warm hello. A large "meh" to the rest of the world. 

So the last blog I wrote was WAY back in March (or May?) before graduation from nursing school, the national nursing boards exam, my 30th birthday, etc., etc. 
A lot of changes, but a lot of NO changes too. 

Let me explain... 
So I graduated nursing school in May (yay me!) and then I took the NCLEX exam and passed (yay me again!) so now I'm officially a registered nurse. This is what I worked for for 15 LONG months. The fact that it's over is still a bit surreal. 
But probably not so surreal for the rest of my classmates. That is because, you see, they all have jobs. They're happily "nurse-ing" away at different locations around Texas. (And one in Wyoming.) 

Me? I'm sitting here. Yep, just sittin' away. Slowly gaining weight and becoming dull-witted. 
Why, you ask? 
I'll tell you. It's because I, alone out of 30 people, can not find a job. 
Have I applied, you ask? 
Yes, I say. To well over 50 positions. 
But they do not want me. I have not been called for a single interview. 
Nada. 
Zip. 
Zero. 
Zilch. 

No one, it seems, has looked upon my application with favor and decided that I'm worth a quick glance. From April to September, week after week, application after application, I have been passed over and told, "Thanks, but no thanks." 

Why is that? I don't know. I can think of PLENTY of reasons, but I sincerely hope they're all untrue and just coming out of an increasingly deluded mind. 

What do I do with my days, you might wonder. What does one do when faced with an eternity of NOT being the only thing you want to be, you may ponder. 
Well I already told you. I sit here. And watch tv on the internet. And play stupid computer games. And talk to my dog. (He's wonderfully supportive.) And slowly, slowly lose confidence that I will ever get to use the skills I worked SO hard to learn. It's not like I can go temp somewhere while waiting for something permanent. Nursing doesn't work that way. 

So I wait. And I sit. And I wonder... 
What was all that work for? 
Why did go to nursing school? 
When will I finally get a chance to do something I literally ache to do? 
Because I'll tell you, it's no use being a nurse if you can't actually nurse anybody. I suppose it's a bit like a carpenter without thumbs. 

Forgive me the wallowing post, friends. Maybe soon I'll be able to give a lighter, happier, sillier update.  

But I doubt it.

Turtles

So today's post is kind of a bonus. Aren't you thrilled?

For the last week I've had a song percolating in my brain about turtles and the tragedies that befall them when they happen to meander across major roadways.
Strange, you say?
Well of course.
Don't you know whose blog this is?

Anyway, the song came about because of two of my nursing school friends. Neither of them directly caused the demise of a turtle, but each witnessed one.
And subsequent distress ensued. (On the girls' parts. The turtles had already "joined the choir invisible," so to speak.)

So the song was born.
And I'm sharing it with you.
And I know you're desperately excited.



Right?




That's ok.
I'll wait for the applause over here.


Oh you shouldn’t leave a turtle on the highway,
That’s just not the place he’d like to be.
The trucks that whizz right by,
Might make a turtle pie,
The turtle mightn’t like that part at all.

Oh you shouldn’t leave a turtle on the highway.
The sun just might not be the turtle’s friend.
The fire in the sky,
Could make the turtle fry,
The turtle might not find that part too swell.


[chorus]
Oh turtles should be left in quiet waters.
In streams and brooks and places by the sea.
So if you see a turtle,
Hitchhiking down the pavement,
Make sure that he’s allowed to stay carefree…


Oh you shouldn’t leave a turtle on the highway.
There’s not much for the turtle to digest.
The lack of tasty food,
Might wreck the turtle’s mood,
The turtle might find this too much to bear.

Spring Break

Ah, spring break. Pretty much the only reason I have the time and energy to sit here and write this post.
It's a marvelous thing.

Some people are off on a beach, wearing tiny triangles of fabric and string that they pretend are actual bathing suits, drinking enormous amounts of alcohol and hooking up with random strangers. (Mmmmm.... STDs.....)
Some people are traveling to see relatives they haven't seen in months, like long lost Great-aunt Bertha and her hairless chihuahua Nacho.
And some people, like my lovely friend Lacie, are getting married in the Bahamas.

Me?
I'm lying on the living room floor with my snoring dachshund Barney and my NCLEX-RN Q&A Flash Cards.
And I think I just inhaled a dust bunny.

You see, friends, on April 10th I have an exam called the "Exit HESI" at school, which is the Grand Pubah of exams. You have to get a certain score on it in order to graduate as the score indicates something like an 85% chance you'll pass the national nursing boards, or something like that.
It's all quite intimidating.

The professors say they've seen students crumple to the floor in tears, both of joy and defeat.
Does this make me feel confident?
No, it does not.
It makes me wonder:
Will I be the first student in the history of the HSC to smash the computer screen after learning my score?
Should I smuggle in some hairspray and a lighter and threaten to blowtorch the building unless they pass me?
Could I arrange for several trained armadillos to burrow into the room at strategic times thus creating distractions and allowing me time to google the answers?

Perhaps I should just continue with these cards.

But I think I'll keep the armadillos just in case...



In other news: Happy 29th birthday to my best friend Cassie!! You're the greatest and I love you!

No more "B"s

That's right. The titles of my posts will no longer begin with the letter B. I've decided to move on.

Eh?
What's that?
You're surprised I'm alive?

Well, frankly, so am I.
I've been in nursing school, you see. Technically, I still AM in nursing school. For four more months. (Then.... GRADUATION!!!)
And all of my creative juices were sucked right out of my body and channeled into learning pharmacology and physiology and how to clean up poop and "nurse" people back to health. (AAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! What? No puns allowed? Fine.)

So my beloved little blog DIED. Ironic, isn't it?
But I've decided that I just have to bring it back. I've missed writing and I've missed all of you lovely people. If you're still out there.

*crickets*

Well I'll just talk anyway.

So LOTS of things have happened since I went away. Besides nursing school, I mean. I'll have to write a whole separate post about all the interesting nursing school things, I think. Friends, fun, field trips... poop. Lots of poop. But I digress.

The BEST new thing that's happened is my nephew Connor! My older sister Jennifer had him last May and he is LOVELY. I just think he's the most wonderfulest thing I've ever seen. He's 8 months old now. So he can't really do a whole lot except smile and be a cute little happy lump but if you knew him, you'd love him. I sure do. I don't get to see him as often as I'd like. He's in Lufkin and I'm here in College Station. But unless I barge into my sister's house and announce my intent to become a permanent resident I think things are as good as they're going to be right now. And it's ok. Just as long as he knows who I am.

You remember how my body is slowly trying to do away with me? Yeah, that's still going on. I have pernicious anemia now. It's where your stomach suddenly decides it's not going to produce something called intrinsic factor anymore so you can't absorb the vitamin B12. (Aha! I've found my ulterior motive for getting rid of the B words!)
You get awfully ridiculous without B12.
You can't concentrate, or walk in a straight line, or see, your body starts to strip away the sheaths surrounding your nerves.... it's a marvelous thing.
So I've been getting that fixed. Shots for 6 months. Then tablets for the rest of life. Fun.
See? This body really IS on a mission to kill me. For heaven's sake, it must be some kind of psychological freak show.

So many of my wonderful friends or family have had babies or gotten married! It's been like an explosion! Maybe there's an upcoming apocalypse someone forgot to warn me about...

Anyways... I hereby promise to update this here bloggy-thingie on a more consistent basis from this time forth. Maybe with funny nursing stuff, maybe with old funny Germany stuff, maybe with just stuff that nobody cares about but I think is interesting. As I mentioned at the beginning, you read at your own risk.

I shall leave you with a picture of the new love of my life.

Because it's not funny

I’ll dance upon no man’s grave
Be he great or small
Though pain he does inflict on me
I cherish not his fall.
In anguish will he dwell alone
Absent light and air
No God of Love eternally
Is more than man can bear.
So evil if he ever was
If cruel and filled with hate
His doom I’ll wish on not ONE soul
For now it is too late.

Bothered

Have you ever noticed that there are certain places that NEVER seem to run at high levels of efficiency?
Like, you know, the Department of Motor Vehicles?? (They call themselves the Department of Public Safety now. HA.)
Let me tell you about my experience today.

So I went to the DPS last month to get my license. Blah de blah, everything was fine. I came home with a temporary license and went about my normal life. My regular license was supposed to come in 30-45 days but as time went by I noticed that it had not arrived.
Well a few days ago I was looking at the temporary license and figured out why. The mailing address listed there was my Portland address from over two years ago. I have NO idea how that happened. I'm not sure why the people at the DPS didn't catch it but I'm pretty sure the reason *I* didn't see it was because I was super sick at the time.
So.
I called the DPS.
And the lady I talked to informed me that I could not make the mailing address change over the phone. I would, in fact, have to come all the way back in and make the change in person. To which she added, "MWUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" (Ok, maybe not...)
But she did tell me I wouldn't have to wait in line.
*Dance, dance, happy singing, throwing of confetti and general fiesta*
No waiting in line like a generic cow awaiting slaughter. No standing against the inevitably white-washed wall, surreptitiously sneaking glances at the large, sweaty man behind you wondering if he is, in fact, the man your mother warned you about.
Joy of all joys!
So with my mother in tow I went to the DPS office today.
And was a little shocked to be given the exact same forms and directions as the person in front of me, along with a little blue ticket that had the number 17 on it.
So shocked was I that I immediately sat down like the good little cow that I was supposed to be.
Then the fire started.
It was a slow fire. The kind that stirs in your stomach and begins to creep up your esophagus until it's right behind your eyeballs and you can't tell whether or not the room has gone red or you're having an aneurysm.
So I cut in line and asked the not-so-nice lady with the preliminary forms about my phone call and promise of no line.
And she gave me the look.
The "one eyebrow raised, who-do-you-think-you-are" look. And very "politely" informed me that I was quite wrong.
And once again, I became an anonymous cow.
So I sat. And seethed.
I am an excellent seether.
I inwardly raged against the inept DPS agents and their lies and trickery, I raged against the token woman with the kid who won't stop crying, I raged against the token foreigners who didn't bring the right documents and can't understand why they're being sent home. I even raged against the tiny TV and the Weather Channel and their idiotic obsession with tornadoes. And what's with all the signs around the room? Like, "Please refrain from cell phone use during processing." "Processing??" First a cow, then some sort of unhealthy and disgusting cheese?
When it was finally my turn to see the actual DPS agent, I told her I simply needed to update my mailing address.
She told me to take off my hat and get ready to take a new picture.
What?
That's right. A whole NEW license instead of just an update to the last one.
And there was a REASON I was wearing the hat, people.
So instead of a no-line, 10 minute, divinely-orchestrated DPS dream trip, what I got was a 45 minute wait and a new license that will, no doubt, exquisitely display my unwashed hair and makeup-less face for all the world to see.
Not to mention the sweet and silent urge to pee that had crept over me while I sat there seething.
I have decided that I do NOT like the DPS.

Bemused

I just finished Maureen McCormick's autobiography. It's an exceptionally interesting, and quick, read. It's always amazing to me that you can "invest" yourself in a TV show and in a TV character and begin to feel like you know and like or even love him/her. You can spend hours and hours with a fictional person in the intimate space of your home, your bedroom, or your living room, and begin to feel like you actually have a stake in his/her life. It's not hard to understand how people with mild or moderate behavioral or mental problems can become obsessed with actors and actresses.
Don't go getting all worried on me. I'm not about to show up behind Hugh Laurie's house with a urine specimen jar or anything.
This book that Maureen writes is completely open and honest about her life, including everything from her years and years of cocaine addiction and drug abuse to her issues with depression to fighting with her brother for conservatorship of her father. I was just amazed at how much I didn't know about her. I'd always thought about her as the kid from the Brady Bunch and assumed she was just a "normal" person. (Well, as normal as Hollywood people can be, anyway.) You can never tell about people. Especially television people.
You know who else you can never tell about?
Mimes.
And clowns.
And people who walk around Disney World or other places in those giant animal costumes.
I had to do that once.
I worked at Focus on the Family for two summers when I was in college, in a soda shoppe called Whit's End in the welcome center. It serves food and drinks and maintains a 32 foot slide by making the kids put socks over their arms. (Please, just don't ask.) And part of the job required dressing up in this giant costume of Mr. Whittaker. He's a character who owns Whit's End in the radio (and now TV) series Adventures in Odyssey, a show for kids that Focus created. There were actually three costumes but I wasn't tall enough to be Eugene, the geeky teenager, and I was too tall to be the dog, whatever his name was.
Anyway. You had to have an escort with you when you were in costume in case some kid or teenager decided to attack you (which happened to the girl in the dog costume far more often that anyone else) and to help you put on and take off the giant head. The escort also had to make sure all the zippers and straps were done and that no parts of the real you were showing, and they had to steer you away from obstacles that you couldn't see. Unless, of course, your escort wanted to have a little fun with you. (And we were all great friends so this happened quite often.)
Because once the giant head was on you could only see through the black mesh screen that was Mr. Whittaker's mouth. And it wasn't very big. Or very see-through-able. And it was SO hot in there. Oh my GOSH. It was like Dante's Inferno. There was a place up at the top for an ice pack and a little fan that was supposed to blow the cool air from the ice down onto your head. Well half the time the fans weren't working but even when they were they didn't help. We also wore ice vests under the giant body suits but even they didn't work for too long. (Oh, and on a side note... Once those started to melt you had two enormous wet spots exactly over your boobs. Try going back to work the front counter looking like that and just see if you don't get creepy looks.)
One time I was in the suit and a woman handed me her baby so she could take a picture. I knew she had handed me the baby but I couldn't FEEL the baby at all. I had this huge body suit on, including a big round belly made of PVC pipe, huge gloves, a giant head, friggin' enormous shoes, I can barely see anything and I'm just praying that I can hold the baby long enough for her to take the picture.
I was NOT smiling when she told me to say cheese.
So see?
It just goes to show.
Either the Brady Bunch, clowns, or a giant Mr. Whittaker holding a baby, you just don't know about people.

Broken... Something New This Time

My mom has some flowers outside in our backyard. Personally, I think they're kind of weird, but she really likes them. The technical name is Canna Lily but they're not really lilies. Sort of like how Rhode Island is neither a road nor an island. *Discuss* (If you don't know what I'm talking about go rent the Best of Mike Myers on SNL.)
Anyways...
She has 5 or 6 of them blooming at the moment so she asked me to go take some pictures of them. I like to take pictures of flowers, see. I have a lot of them. I take far more pictures of flowers and bushes and things than I do of people. This is because a flower will not stick it's tongue out at you the moment you press the camera button. Neither will it attempt to moon you.
Anyways again...
So I went out and took several pictures of the cannas with her camera and with mine. Her camera is extraordinarily expensive and does lots of amazing things. Mine I bought myself and just does a few neat things. But I love it. Because I worked and saved for it and it was the absolute best I could afford at the time.
It's a Kodak EasyShare Z885 and when I bought it for my birthday (and I had a coupon!) it cost me a little more than 200 dollars. It takes 8.1 megapixel pictures and can do, as I said, some neat things. It perfect and I've taken some incredible pictures with it. Visit my webshots account if you don't believe me.
My mom's camera has a neck strap. Mine doesn't. So I put her camera around my neck and my camera in her camera bag that I was carrying over my shoulder. Then I got a trifle spooked by a demon in the shape of a wasp.
So I was on my way inside, and was kicking off my shoes and my camera fell out of the camera bag and straight onto the concrete patio, where it bounced twice and came to rest face down. (The shoes were not mine, really. They were my dad's. The same ones that caused me to trip the other day. I've decided they must be unlucky.)
I just about had a heart attack.
As you have probably guessed, my beautiful little camera is no longer functional.
When you turn it on the viewer shows a pink screen with lines across it. If you take a picture, it comes out pink with lines across it. I've never seen anything like it. The pink looks like Pepto-Bismol. It's absolutely revolting.
I'm devastated.
You can't have a job during nursing school, you know. And mine (hopefully) will begin in January. And I have been so sick that I haven't been able to work. So here I sit, at TWENTY EIGHT, completely dependent on the charity of my parents, completely penniless, and now completely devoid of my beautiful, perfect, splendidly gorgeous and fantastic camera!!
I'd cry but I'm afraid that might send Barney into a fit of hysteria. He's very sensitive.
Well I hope the start of the weekend is better for the rest of you. Here's a picture of one of the damned flowers to get you going:


My Webshots: http://community.webshots.com/user/sunnyag04?vhost=community"

Barney

I just drenched the right arm of my shirt. How?
Well it's pouring down rain. Thank you, Tropical Storm Hermine. And my dog, Barney, needed to go out and potty.
But the rain drips really heavily in front of the door and he doesn't like that. He refuses to walk through them. So he required that I hold the door open with my hip and hold the umbrella just outside it so the heavy drips wouldn't get on him.
He's fine with the rain, see, just not the big drops.
And he's also scared of the umbrella.
So holding the door open with my hip, my arm sticking outside with the umbrella, I had to coax him out the door while firmly encouraging him not to drink the rainwater that was puddling just outside.
Then he likes to "mosey" back inside.
So I'm wet, he's wet, the umbrellas stuck to the screen door and I'm wearing my Dad's old tennis shoes like when I was a toddler and proceed to trip over the nonexistent laces.
I felt like I was in a Marx Brothers movie.
And then my puppy wags his tail at me and would very much like a cookie.
*sigh*
Who can resist that?

By myself

Last night I dreamed that my sister and I had mistakenly driven to Trenton, New Jersey. We were both quite scared and lost so I suggested that we pull over into a Wendy's so I could get my GPS out and get us back home. My sister (Jennifer) got out to go get herself a drink and then came running back to the car and pounded on the window telling me to let her in. So I reached over to unlock the doors...
... and proceeded to spill an entire glass of water all over my nightstand. I wish my dreams were not quite so vivid.

Anyway. The biopsy came back normal. So I do not have duodenal cancer. Yippie, right?
Well in a way I guess you could say I'm relieved and rather glad.
But in another I was actually rather discouraged and even... disappointed.
You're probably thinking, "You crazy idiot. No one WANTS cancer. What kind of a psycho are you??"
Well I don't WANT cancer. I WANT for whatever this sickness is to have a NAME. Because when it is named it can be cured. Unless you know what something is you can't go about treating it.
At the moment I am adrift on a boat of sickness in a sea of exhaustion and pain without a sail. I don't have any oars and my crewmen all jumped overboard because, let's face it, intestinal distress is nobody's friend.
Sometimes I get the feeling that people think I should just jump into the water and swim for it. Like I'm in the boat because I want to be. And I could leave if I really tried hard enough. I don't think they see these invisible 80 pound weights the Gremlins tied to my ankles.
No land in sight.
No breeze for the non-existent sail.
Just me in a boat. And I'm sure the toilet is going to stop working any day now.

I know what you're thinking. I'm feeling sorry for myself, right? And that's pathetic and I shouldn't do it.
Well I'm not feeling sorry for myself. Even sick and tired I'm far better off than most people.
But I sure do wish I had some answers.
And I wish I didn't feel so...
Alone.

Because I love you

I was informed last night that my cherished blog is all but dead.
Shocked and sickened as I was, I had to admit it was quite true. I haven't posted anything in 3 weeks for heaven's sake!
Being sick certainly does take a lot out of you. I'm not sad, as some people might surmise, I'm just not well.
At the moment I'm waiting for some biopsy results. Waiting is an altogether unpleasant affair. I've decided that I dislike it intensely. I've always considered myself to be a rather patient person but I've about had it. Soon I shall storm the doors of the nearest medical facility and demand immediate ANSWERS! (Right....)
So anyway... Not much energy today so I thought I'd just post you a poem that I wrote a few months back. It will show you that my state of mind is as good as ever, though my physical body might be slowly trying to do away with me.
Much, much love to you all, my faithful friends, followers and beloved minions.

I’ve giggled and giggled
And giggled some more
I’ve rolled across carpets
And over bare floor
I’ve laughed till my face hurts
And my abs were sore
And even howled wildly
When called a great whore.
I love to grin wildly
It’s mirth I adore.

And so now to laughter
This ode I must write
To all things quite silly
And ne’er things contrite
They make me feel happy
And high as a kite (or weed, but I digress)
So I raise now my glass,
As this poem I recite,
“Merry Christmas to all
“And to all a good night!”
(wait, I think that was the weed talking…)

Bewildered

Good morning loyal readers!
Did you think I died?
Well close, but no cigar. In my rather feeble state of health I have all but forsaken this cherished blog of mine.
When I had mono I could lie in bed and type. But in this house I have to sit bolt upright in a supremely uncomfortable chair in the computer room. Once I'm in here I don't really feel like discoursing.
But I'm truly sorry to have left you all hanging. And for once, I'm not being sarcastic.
My doctors don't know what's wrong with me but they know it's NOT my gallbladder, adrenal glands, liver, etc. I'm having some more embarrassing tests done in about two weeks to see what else it might or might not be.
I've really been doing you all a favor by keeping you out of the loop, see. The last month would have read like this:
Pain, sleep, pain, sleep, oh look at my dog isn't he cute, pain, sleep, sleep (ah, fooled you didn't I?) bath, pain, sleep.
Are you tired of all of this sick talk of mine? Tired of always reading about how I'm falling apart in some way?
I appreciate your sympathy.
Believe me, I'm quite tired of it myself.
I look forward to the day when I'm back to my normal, acerbic self and can continue this blog as I used to.
Won't that be fun?
Until then... You'll have to find an Uncle John's Bathroom Reader or something.

Happy Friday!!

Babbling 14

Happy Friday!!

Blessed

Over the weekend, on Saturday, more specifically, my family and I went to the Hobby Center in Houston to see the play Wicked.
My wonderfully charming older sister Jennifer and her husband Adam bought my ticket for my birthday. So the present itself was delayed a bit but I didn't mind at all. Especially since everyone in my family has seen this particular play and I never had.
So after the hair-raising few minutes of not knowing if we were going to be seated in time to see Act I (thanks again for that, Jeffums...) it was an absolutely FABULOUS experience.
I don't know if you've ever seen Wicked, but it's definitely worth watching.
It deviates slightly from the The Wizard of Oz, though, so if you're a purist of Judy Garland's you might want to think twice about it.
And Frank Baum's books aren't anywhere NEAR the finished product so if you're a classic literature fanatic you'll have to go in with a suspension of disbelief attitude.
And just don't even get me started on "The Wiz."
No, really. You don't want to open that box.
But it's a marvelously witty, humorous play and Stephen Schwartz did all the music so the songs are the kind that give you goosebumps. I've awakened every morning this week with one of them stuck in my head. Not a bad gig, really.
Then after the theatrics we went to Artista, the gourmet/fancy/incredibly expensive restaurant that's attached to the theatre.
Like most eating establishments of that kind it's highly overpriced but the food IS rather exquisite. And we all enjoyed ourselves quite thoroughly.
But here was the best part:
I went with my family.
My FAMILY.
My two sisters, their husbands, and my parents.
And we had SO much fun.
It was just as fun as if I had gone with a group of friends. (Well, that may be a SLIGHT exaggeration, but seriously, not much of one.)
This is why I've titled this posting as "Blessed."
I am incredibly fortunate to be able to spend hours upon hours with a group of people to whom I am related and not grow weary of their company.
Now, in all honesty, that does not always happen. We have our family issues just like everyone else. Sometimes Christmas is awkward, sometimes dinners are silent, etc., etc.
But most of the time we get along really well. I am SO glad that I am friends with my sisters and friends with both of their husbands and that we can all hang out as a "team" with my parents sometimes and just have a big old blast.
And when you throw in my extended family, as we did a few weekends ago at my cousin's wedding, WELL then! It just becomes a hysterical melee of raucous shenanigans! And who doesn't like that??
Hug someone you're related to today, people. Life is a short, precious thing. It should be spent with those you love and those who love you.
*tear* Now I'm all sentimental. I must go put on some Michael Bolton and take a nice bubble bath.

Blank

Well you're all probably wondering where I've been.
You HAVE been wondering that, haven't you?
I thought so.
Well I'm very terribly sorry for not writing. But see, now that I'm back in my parent's house I am restricted to using the internet in ONE room. And this particular room is not conducive to letting my creative juices flow.
Why, you ask?
It's because I'm staring at a blank wall.
Yep.
It's a nice wall. Lovely shade of beige.
But it's blank. Nice and blank.
And so I feel similarly when I attempt to write anything.
Even now I can hear the crickets chirping away.
*chirp chirp*
See? You hear them too, don't you?
But it is nice to be home again. For the moment I have no job and my summer class has not started so it's very much like being on vacation. And I happen to get along with my parents quite nicely so that's another bonus.
Here's the other reason for the absence of writing-like material: I've been ill.
If you're shocked I just have one question for you:
Have you been paying attention at ALL to these postings??
My body apparently hates me. Seriously, it seems hell-bent on doing me in. First the mono in April and May and now this. And the "this" will remain nameless because it's disgusting and I'm not sharing. Let your mind wander where it may.
Then there's the rather rare neurological disorder that people my age aren't supposed to have. And of those people I'm in the lucky 3% that have the doubly-rare kind.
I also have weird bumps on my head. But let's not go into that.
See? The little men running my insides have pushed the auto-destruct button and are now laughing maniacally as I try to manually override the system.
(I may have watched a lot of Star Trek growing up...)
But sick or not, I'll try to get back to my regularly scheduled posting.
Because I know you miss me when I'm gone.
Right?

Babbling 13

Happy Friday!!

Belated 2

It's Thursday already! So I lied on Monday when I said I'd update you yesterday. I'd invite you to sue me but I'm afraid one of you might actually do so. Then you'd win and the police would come and repossess my newly acquired singing, dancing turtle alarm clock. (Yesterday was my birthday)
He simultaneously does the can-can while singing "When the Saints Go Marching In" and repeatedly lifting and lowering his top hat.
Do you believe me?
You're sillier than I thought.

So my dad and I are safely back in College Station. We managed to drive 34 hours in 2 and a half days in relative peace and good spirits. If you're not impressed there's something wrong with you.
This past weekend my cousin Meara got married in Spokane, Washington. It was a beautiful wedding at a winery. I loved the venue, thought my cousin looked absolutely gorgeous and had an absolutely fantastic time sitting around and chatting with my family members. We are a fun group, let me tell you.
My only problem with the weekend came from my hotel room.
And dear lord, what a problem to have.
Ever been to the 70s? Or the very early 80's?
See I feel quite fortunate that I was either entirely absent or too preoccupied with gestating to notice those years.
But this weekend I got to experience what it was like to live there.
My hotel room was straight out of the disco era. Like with huge, heavy, dark wood furniture, brown fake marble counter tops, brown tile in the shower, deep green carpet, etc.,etc.. And the smell!! It smelled like no one had been IN there since the 70's! Or that they had decided to keep with the theme of the room by using expired chemical cleaners.
I looked around for a dead rodent but I never found one.
And I was in the VERY back of the hotel. Like, my room was the very last room before the exit sign and the doors to the outside.
Now all the rest of my family were cloistered together in the modernized, updated rooms a few corridors away. I have no idea how I got stuck in the ghetto. Perhaps they sensed my "tough as nails" interior.
That must have been it.

Beat

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!)

Babbling 12

Happy Friday!!