I went to college to study English. English got me to USC. USC made me want to go into the movie business. My cinema classes made my schedule so wonky that I needed an extra class for 3 hours on Wednesday afternoons. I found a 3 hour Wednesday afternoon class in the Gerontology department. The Gerontology department made me want to go into research. Research made me get a Master's degree. My Master's degree helped me get my job at the senior center. The senior center gave me the experience and daily interactions with elderly people that made me want to work in healthcare. And so I applied to nursing school, with the eventual goal of becoming a Gerontological Nurse Practitioner.
So now here I am, a nurse 10 years after my sister told me I should be one and I brushed her off with an "Oh, what do you know? Pshh."
I love nursing. I love that I want to help people-- that I feel like I'm learning HOW to help people. I love that I chose this over the movie business. I love that I overcame my queasiness of blood and guts and squeezed in my prerequisite classes while working and decided to go to school in San Francisco and became friends with all the fantastic people in my program. I love what I'm doing. I love what I'm learning. I love what being here has done for me.
I love that I'm a nurse.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Day 01: Something you hate about yourself
I've seen this 30 days of truth thang pop up on a few people's blogs and while I'm don't know if I'm actually going to commit to doing ALL 30 assignments, I think I'll jump in here with the first one. Something I hate about myself. I've been wanting to write about this for awhile and this is a good way to bring it up, I think.
I am jealous.
In relationships, I mean. I am jealous and insecure in relationships. For some reason I have a hard time with the concept that someone I'm dating had a girlfriend before me. And I get jealous feelings when I think about it.
I recognize the insanity of this, really I do. I honestly don't want to date someone who has never been in a serious relationship. Because, GAH, who the hell has never been in a serious relationship?
Douchebags and creepy weirdos, that's who. And I do not want to date douchebags or creepy weirdos.
Uh. Anymore, I mean.
Really, I want to be with someone who has had previous relationships. I want the guy I'm with to have had all the experiences of learning and growing and compromising and sharing and arguing and loving and having his heart broken. I know those experiences (usually) make people stronger and better and more capable of being in a relationship.
And yet, at the same time I hate the idea of him doing all those things with someone else. I hate the idea of someone else having been in my place. Of him taking some other girl to dinner on her birthday. Of him celebrating an anniversary or going on vacation with some other girl. Of him introducing her to his friends and family. What was that like? Is it different with me? Aren't I somehow better or more special than she was? Don't you wish you had gone on that vacation with me? Or taken me to visit your grandparents at Christmas? I hate the idea of them still being friends. Because I don't understand how to be friends with your ex. What do people talk about? Do they reminisce about their life together? Talk about the times they shared and the memories they made? Aren't I somehow better or more special than she was?
Most of all, I hate that this bothers me so much. I hate that it makes me feel somehow less important, less special. And I hate that I feel so alone in this-- that the other, normal people don't get hung up on this stuff. I hate to admit that the past bothers me because I want to be strong and confident and mature and present-focused.
But I'm not. And I hate it.
I am jealous.
In relationships, I mean. I am jealous and insecure in relationships. For some reason I have a hard time with the concept that someone I'm dating had a girlfriend before me. And I get jealous feelings when I think about it.
I recognize the insanity of this, really I do. I honestly don't want to date someone who has never been in a serious relationship. Because, GAH, who the hell has never been in a serious relationship?
Douchebags and creepy weirdos, that's who. And I do not want to date douchebags or creepy weirdos.
Uh. Anymore, I mean.
Really, I want to be with someone who has had previous relationships. I want the guy I'm with to have had all the experiences of learning and growing and compromising and sharing and arguing and loving and having his heart broken. I know those experiences (usually) make people stronger and better and more capable of being in a relationship.
And yet, at the same time I hate the idea of him doing all those things with someone else. I hate the idea of someone else having been in my place. Of him taking some other girl to dinner on her birthday. Of him celebrating an anniversary or going on vacation with some other girl. Of him introducing her to his friends and family. What was that like? Is it different with me? Aren't I somehow better or more special than she was? Don't you wish you had gone on that vacation with me? Or taken me to visit your grandparents at Christmas? I hate the idea of them still being friends. Because I don't understand how to be friends with your ex. What do people talk about? Do they reminisce about their life together? Talk about the times they shared and the memories they made? Aren't I somehow better or more special than she was?
Most of all, I hate that this bothers me so much. I hate that it makes me feel somehow less important, less special. And I hate that I feel so alone in this-- that the other, normal people don't get hung up on this stuff. I hate to admit that the past bothers me because I want to be strong and confident and mature and present-focused.
But I'm not. And I hate it.
Monday, September 20, 2010
OH MA GAH
There must be something in this butter besides just butter. I got the butter from the Farmers' Market. Actually, is it Farmers' Market or Farmer's Market? Because I would imagine that there is more than just the one Farmer but I feel like I've seen it spelled Farmer's. Or is it just Farmers with no apostrophe? And as a sidenote, it tends to very much bother me when abbreviations have extraneous apostrophes. Like CD's. Because you wouldn't say Compact Disc's. Well, unless you were talking about something belonging to the Compact Discs. Like: the Compact Disc's feelings were hurt when you stepped on it.
But please to be ignoring all the spelling quirkisms and grammatical fabulosity you find amongst my words.
Anyhow, this butter, you see. It must be made of something besides just butter. I put some on my late night mashed potatoes and it was creamy and salty and delicious now it seems like everything around me is sort of glowy and silllllky smooth. I feel like I want a big hug or a nice firm handshake or for somebody to hold my leg for me while I sleep or put their finger in my ear for just a second.
Goodnight, strange swirly world. I'm getting up at 4:45 for work. Why am I not asleep yet? PUT YOUR FINGER IN MY EAR.
But please to be ignoring all the spelling quirkisms and grammatical fabulosity you find amongst my words.
Anyhow, this butter, you see. It must be made of something besides just butter. I put some on my late night mashed potatoes and it was creamy and salty and delicious now it seems like everything around me is sort of glowy and silllllky smooth. I feel like I want a big hug or a nice firm handshake or for somebody to hold my leg for me while I sleep or put their finger in my ear for just a second.
Goodnight, strange swirly world. I'm getting up at 4:45 for work. Why am I not asleep yet? PUT YOUR FINGER IN MY EAR.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Sharing the Zen
A couple weeks ago, I visited my sister and her family. I had a lot of fun going out to eat and staying in to eat and playing with my nieces and wearing silly bandz and snacking on girl scout cookies.
And I was telling my sis about my organizing project and the magic book I'm reading and how the chapter I'm on now has me working on going through my collections of stuff and my photos and memorabilia. And she started asking me questions about THE ZENNING and before I knew it we were going through her kids' school stuff and artwork. We categorized it all and created seasonal decoration piles and then put those decorations into plastic storage bins and then we organized two closets and the toy loft.
I know it is going to sound like I'm a huge Nerdy McNerdpants but I had a REALLY FUN TIME helping my sister get organized. Also, I'm jealous of her vacuum.
And I was telling my sis about my organizing project and the magic book I'm reading and how the chapter I'm on now has me working on going through my collections of stuff and my photos and memorabilia. And she started asking me questions about THE ZENNING and before I knew it we were going through her kids' school stuff and artwork. We categorized it all and created seasonal decoration piles and then put those decorations into plastic storage bins and then we organized two closets and the toy loft.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
39. fire a gun
A few months ago I had the following conversation:
"Why do you have a can of Natty Ice in your fridge?"
"[Insert here a long and complicated story about the most irritatingcrazy alcoholic stoner leech whack-job meth-addict lowlife ignorant asshole lazy goodfornothing friend of my sociopath ex person I have ever had the displeasure to spend time with for two weeks]. And THAT is why I have a can of Natty Ice in my fridge. And nobody else will drink it."
"Huh. Maybe you should bring it when we go out to the desert and you can shoot it."
Brilliant.
So on Thursday I wrapped it in several freezerbags and a tupperware container and nestled it in amongst my clothes. I checked the bag for the flight and hoped for the best.
It arrived in SoCal with nary a dent or leak. Sweet.
On Sunday we drove out to the desert, stopping first at Bass Pro Shops (which is full of disturbing things like taxidermied lions and antler-mounting equipment and dove hunting supplies (seriously?? Doves!?)) to pick up some ammo.
We drove out past.... uh, anywhere, really. The directions included "and when you get to the dirt road just stay on it. You can veer off the main road because it will usually connect back up again but don't make any turns. Also you don't want to drive into the soft sand."
We stopped the car and hiked the last bit in the 100 degree heat. On the way from the car I was handed a gun in a holster, "here I don't have enough hands to carry this. Put it on." And so I did.
It made quite the fashion statement.
I got a lesson and a demonstration. The boys showed me how to hold the gun and how to aim and how to fire. They told me never to point a gun at anyone, even if it wasn't loaded. And then they just HANDED ME A LOADED GUN. Like I'm some kind of responsible, level-headed person who doesn't panic easily. Or a thug. Whichever.
I gave it a shot.
HAHA! Get it? A SHOT!
They all told me I did a good job. I laughed nervously, handed back the gun with shaking hands, sat down, and tried not to burst into tears. There was just something totally nervewracking and stressful about handling a gun for the very first time in my life. I had never even been around guns at all. Ever. (Unless you count living in Southcentral LA, which I don't (anymore)).
I drank some water and soda and watched the boys do their thing.
Don't worry-- they don't shoot animals, just clay pigeons and beer bottles and stuff.
It was hot as a motha.
After I had sufficiently rested and calmed down, I tried the rifle.
My weenie spaghetti-arms couldn't hold up that big thing for very long and I got all lightheaded from cocking my head to the side and holding my breath. And lightheaded is not a good way to feel when you are HOLDING A LOADED GUN. It was fun and made for a good photo-op, but I decided I like the little one better.
And so it was time for the Natty Ice to meet its destiny.
"Are you sure you don't want to use the shotgun and shoot your beer can with a slug?"
"Nah. You can do that afterward. I want it to suffer."
Any last requests, Natty Ice?
No? Okay, then. Say goodbye.
That was really fun and quite satisfying.
"Why do you have a can of Natty Ice in your fridge?"
"[Insert here a long and complicated story about the most irritating
"Huh. Maybe you should bring it when we go out to the desert and you can shoot it."
Brilliant.
So on Thursday I wrapped it in several freezerbags and a tupperware container and nestled it in amongst my clothes. I checked the bag for the flight and hoped for the best.
On Sunday we drove out to the desert, stopping first at Bass Pro Shops (which is full of disturbing things like taxidermied lions and antler-mounting equipment and dove hunting supplies (seriously?? Doves!?)) to pick up some ammo.
We drove out past.... uh, anywhere, really. The directions included "and when you get to the dirt road just stay on it. You can veer off the main road because it will usually connect back up again but don't make any turns. Also you don't want to drive into the soft sand."
We stopped the car and hiked the last bit in the 100 degree heat. On the way from the car I was handed a gun in a holster, "here I don't have enough hands to carry this. Put it on." And so I did.
 |
| (I only wore it when it was empty. It was too scary when it was loaded.) |
I gave it a shot.
They all told me I did a good job. I laughed nervously, handed back the gun with shaking hands, sat down, and tried not to burst into tears. There was just something totally nervewracking and stressful about handling a gun for the very first time in my life. I had never even been around guns at all. Ever. (Unless you count living in Southcentral LA, which I don't (anymore)).
I drank some water and soda and watched the boys do their thing.
Don't worry-- they don't shoot animals, just clay pigeons and beer bottles and stuff.
It was hot as a motha.
After I had sufficiently rested and calmed down, I tried the rifle.
And so it was time for the Natty Ice to meet its destiny.
"Are you sure you don't want to use the shotgun and shoot your beer can with a slug?"
"Nah. You can do that afterward. I want it to suffer."
Any last requests, Natty Ice?
That was really fun and quite satisfying.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Teeth and Ovary
Toothsome
Yesterday I was at the dentist-- for the third time in a week and a half. Apparently they do mean it when they say you should see the dentist every 6 months. I used to do that... and then I started nursing school. But I found myself with some free time and so I went for a teeth cleaning last week. No big deal except a couple spots of decay and a chipped tooth. I went back the other day for my fillings and OH MAN. Maybe it's just the locations of these particular fillings or maybe I just haven't had a filling in awhile but I felt like my dentist got out the special tools just for me. He also doesn't really say what he is doing while he does it and maybe that only matters to me now that I'm a nurse and care about medical/procedural thangs. But when I'm lying there and somebody's wielding what looks to be an old ratchet and a pair of pliers I want to know what they're up to.
"Just to warn you I'm going to use my slow drill. It is more precise than my fast one" he said. And then I can only assume he signaled to someone to start pedaling in the next room because the drill was so big and clunky and rattled so hard I thought all my teeth were going to shake loose.
And then yesterday I went back to get the fillings finished up and my dentist whipped out a piece of SANDPAPER and sanded down my teeth. SANDPAPER.
I mean, I'm not saying this dentist did anything wrong, but it did sort of leave me wondering if those tools were really the best and most technologically advanced available.
Name that Ovary
A couple months ago I told my primary care NP that I sometimes get really horrendously painful cramps that leave me nauseous, sweaty, crying, and unable to stand up straight. She offered to write me a prescription for Vicodin and I held myself back from tackle-hugging her. Seriously. I was so happy I almost cried. But I also felt kind of stupid, because who take Vicodin for CRAMPS?
"I don't know what the deal is," I told her, "I mean. I feel kind of lame for taking Vicodin for this but it IS really painful. But I don't get it-- it is only sometimes; it doesn't happen every month."
"Well," she said. "Is it every other month?"
I paused and thought back. I could remember the present month as pain-free and the previous month as MIND NUMBINGLY PAINFUL but that was as far back as I could recall. "I think so," I said.
"Sounds like you've got one very powerful ovary."
One Very Powerful Ovary.
Seriously, guys, watch out for me and my ovary-- we're going to take over the world.
And now when I have cramps I get to say things like "It's powerful ovary month" and "Don't cross me, sucka, I've got more power in one little ovary that you have in your entire realm."
It was recently suggested to me that my ovary needs a name. And I think it does. She does, rather. Obviously my ovary is a girl. Also, she's the left one, by the by.
Here are the names I have come up with so far:
Jadis- the name of the witch from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. She was a bitch, that's for sure, but no one can deny that she was powerful.
Ursula- the sea witch. Her name sounds like an ovary to me.
Maleficent- the evil queen. Her name just sounds eeeeevil. But maybe she's too evil because, y'know I like my ovary and all.
Ate- pronounced "Ah-tay." The Greek goddess of evil, misfortune, and infatuation. I do like how she is described as a temptress who leads humans toward evil.
Lilith- While looking up possible names, I came across our old friend Lilith. I like that she's naughty and disobedient and sexy and not submissive.
Yesterday I was at the dentist-- for the third time in a week and a half. Apparently they do mean it when they say you should see the dentist every 6 months. I used to do that... and then I started nursing school. But I found myself with some free time and so I went for a teeth cleaning last week. No big deal except a couple spots of decay and a chipped tooth. I went back the other day for my fillings and OH MAN. Maybe it's just the locations of these particular fillings or maybe I just haven't had a filling in awhile but I felt like my dentist got out the special tools just for me. He also doesn't really say what he is doing while he does it and maybe that only matters to me now that I'm a nurse and care about medical/procedural thangs. But when I'm lying there and somebody's wielding what looks to be an old ratchet and a pair of pliers I want to know what they're up to.
"Just to warn you I'm going to use my slow drill. It is more precise than my fast one" he said. And then I can only assume he signaled to someone to start pedaling in the next room because the drill was so big and clunky and rattled so hard I thought all my teeth were going to shake loose.
And then yesterday I went back to get the fillings finished up and my dentist whipped out a piece of SANDPAPER and sanded down my teeth. SANDPAPER.
I mean, I'm not saying this dentist did anything wrong, but it did sort of leave me wondering if those tools were really the best and most technologically advanced available.
Name that Ovary
A couple months ago I told my primary care NP that I sometimes get really horrendously painful cramps that leave me nauseous, sweaty, crying, and unable to stand up straight. She offered to write me a prescription for Vicodin and I held myself back from tackle-hugging her. Seriously. I was so happy I almost cried. But I also felt kind of stupid, because who take Vicodin for CRAMPS?
"I don't know what the deal is," I told her, "I mean. I feel kind of lame for taking Vicodin for this but it IS really painful. But I don't get it-- it is only sometimes; it doesn't happen every month."
"Well," she said. "Is it every other month?"
I paused and thought back. I could remember the present month as pain-free and the previous month as MIND NUMBINGLY PAINFUL but that was as far back as I could recall. "I think so," I said.
"Sounds like you've got one very powerful ovary."
One Very Powerful Ovary.
Seriously, guys, watch out for me and my ovary-- we're going to take over the world.
And now when I have cramps I get to say things like "It's powerful ovary month" and "Don't cross me, sucka, I've got more power in one little ovary that you have in your entire realm."
It was recently suggested to me that my ovary needs a name. And I think it does. She does, rather. Obviously my ovary is a girl. Also, she's the left one, by the by.
Here are the names I have come up with so far:
Jadis- the name of the witch from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. She was a bitch, that's for sure, but no one can deny that she was powerful.
Ursula- the sea witch. Her name sounds like an ovary to me.
Maleficent- the evil queen. Her name just sounds eeeeevil. But maybe she's too evil because, y'know I like my ovary and all.
Ate- pronounced "Ah-tay." The Greek goddess of evil, misfortune, and infatuation. I do like how she is described as a temptress who leads humans toward evil.
Lilith- While looking up possible names, I came across our old friend Lilith. I like that she's naughty and disobedient and sexy and not submissive.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Full of Grace
Today is Miss Jenny Grace's birthday.
She is one of the coolest people, like, ever.
Yeah. That's whassup.
Today she is 28. Today also happens to be the day we met, 21 years ago. Wowza.
I'd say today is a VERY appropriate day to post awesome (is awesome the right word?) photos of us through the years:
Ready for a night on the town. Or turning tricks. Whatevs.
And here we are at Disneyland:
We were imitating Dumbo's face from the ride. (I think Jenny did it better than me....)
Jenny, you are fabulous in so many ways. I'm so glad we are (still!) friends.
You're the best. I hope you have the best birthday today.
We went out partyin last night and it was quite ridiculous and fun. We celebrated in style. And by "in style" I mean that we both wore the shirts we wore on our respective 25th birthdays. And Jenny treated us to a dance.
Happy Birthday, dollbaby!
She is one of the coolest people, like, ever.
Today she is 28. Today also happens to be the day we met, 21 years ago. Wowza.
I'd say today is a VERY appropriate day to post awesome (is awesome the right word?) photos of us through the years:
And here we are at Disneyland:
 |
| Photo from here |
You're the best. I hope you have the best birthday today.
We went out partyin last night and it was quite ridiculous and fun. We celebrated in style. And by "in style" I mean that we both wore the shirts we wore on our respective 25th birthdays. And Jenny treated us to a dance.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)