nervous nervous nervous

I had some stuff that I wanted to write about last night but then it was 11:45 and I put the computer away so I could get a good night's sleep. More specifically, I put the computer away at 11:45 so I could: stay up for another 2 hours fretting, get into bed and then jolt back up after remembering some last minute item that I might need, toss and turn and have nightmares, wake up to drink water, wake up to pee, wake up to make sure the alarm is set, wake up and snap at the cat for making noise.

My first clinical day is today, you see. And I'm nervous.

Education versus Intelligence, Exhibit A.

Well, I did say that sometimes highly educated people do really stupid things. Apparently, I felt the need to prove it.

I have a Bachelor's degree and a Master's degree. I graduated cum laude from college. I had a 3.96 gpa in grad school-- at that graduation they gave me a freakin MEDAL. I am currently working on my second Master's degree. So. I'm SMART.... right?

Well.

Remember that awesome little spice rack I bought the other day?

"Ooh!" I thought to myself, "This is perfect! I'll buy this and put it on the counter and then I can move all the spices that I already have from the cupboard into the spice rack. I will have easily accessable spices AND more room in my cupboards. Brilliant!"



Oh yeah. Brilliant.

Thrift Score!

I started reading this book that my sister sent me, which I'm planning to talk about in more detail in another post. But basically it says to start your organization with the kitchen. So I'm starting with my kitchen. I think it's good, because my kitchen isn't actually the part of my apartment that stresses me out (no, that would be the TV on the living room floor and the piles of clothing exploding out of the closet) but the kitchen is a nonthreatening place to start-- a place where I WOULD make changes if it weren't for the other things that stress me out that I feel are demanding my attention. The book says to start with the kitchen, so I give myself permission to start with the kitchen. "The book says so," I say, glaring at the pile of laundry on the sofa.

So I went to the thrift store, looking for a few things to help my kitchen become a more usable, decluttered space.


I bought this jug for my wooden spoons and spatulas and whatnot so I can keep them on the counter. It wasn't the prettiest one in the shop, but it was the most convenient size and shape for kitchen utensil storage, I thought. I also got that clear glass jar basically to go with the blue and white ones behind it in the picture. I use them for rice, pasta, and... smaller pasta. The other day, in a moment of temporary insanity I bought barley and lentils at the grocery store so maybe if I put them in my pretty jars on the counter I'll actually cook with them and eat them. Also, there's not a lot of cabinet storage space, so keeping some things on the counter in little jars seems like a good solution. Okay, I'm lying, there is a lot of cabinet space but it's full of other stuff at the moment-- old sewing projects, photos to organize, C's clothes for when he visits, my high school yearbooks....


A spice rack. For A DOLLAR. And an apple corer (core-er?), because maybe I'll eat apples if they come in cute little triangles.


New ice trays! Fun shapes! And I can make soap in these, too.


Okay, so this is the one item that falls into the "clutter" category. But I HAD to buy it. It looks exactly like the one my grandmother used to have at her house. I remember she would put it out for me to pour milk on my cereal. Let's not discuss why the pitcher is shaped like a cow but the milk pours out of its mouth.

I know it probably doesn't seem like this stuff will help me get more organized, but go with me on this: I'll put the jug on the counter and put spoons and whatnot inside it. This will clear up some room in the drawers that was previously taken up by spoons so I can move, for instance, my hand mixer that I hardly ever use off the counter and in that drawer. Hm. I guess that makes it sound like I'm just REPLACING the mixer with a jug full of spoons. Maybe I'll take some before and after pictures to illustrate how this is going to work.... Stay tuned.

Validated

My building manager sent out an email that said according to the building key record (a fancy computer thingamajig that keeps track of when and where the electronic fobs and garage openers are used), my stolen keys WERE DEFINITELY used to get inside the building and the garage last night.

I feel justified in my paranoia. But, um, yikes.

What's the worst that could happen?

That's the question we were taught to ask ourselves in nursing school. It's basically a way to not feel so hesitant about asking questions or looking something up. Like if you have a medication that you are supposed to give your patient and you're not completely sure if the dose is right, what's the worst that could happen? If you ask another nurse about it, you might look stupid. If you look it up on the computer, you might look stupid and get behind in the tasks you have to do. On the other hand, if you just give the medication without double checking and the dose actually turns out to be wrong, then the worst thing that could happen is that the patient could DIE. The point of this thinking is that you're supposed to pick the worst of the worst things that could happen and then follow the series of events that would NOT lead to that. You with me?

Okay, so, last night my parents took me out to dinner. They parked in a lot owned by a nearby apartment building (since my building doesn't have any pay parking) and we were there for about an hour and a half. We came back to find the passenger side window of my parents' car smashed and my mom's purse missing. The car was absolutely filled with stuff-- suitcases for my dad's trip out of town, briefcases, files, duffel bags, etc-- but the only thing they took was my mom's purse. My mom had been using a different purse so the one that was stolen only contained some odd paperwork and the spare sets of keys for her office and house.

Oh, and an extra set of MY APARTMENT KEYS. The key to my apartment, the garage door opener, and the little doohickey you swipe in front of the front and garage entrances that goes 'meep' and lets you through the door.

The keys to my apartment, DOWN THE STREET.

So we reported the break-in to the security guys at the parking garage and my parents left. Then I went home to report the missing keys to my building security guard. When I got to the security office, there were two people already there reporting the presence of suspicious persons in the building. So I told the security guard and the people what had happened with my keys and he said he would put together a report and call the security over at the other garage and see if they had any footage of the same suspicious persons. It's a stretch, but not totally unlikely that the people who took my mom's purse might have gotten out the keys and driven down the block hitting the garage opener until a garage popped open. And if they drove straight from where my parents were parked toward my apartment building, then it wouldn't have taken very long at all for this to happen.

I went up to my apartment and thought for a moment: Someone out there has my keys. The keys are probably not but might be marked as "SF Apartment" or "SF #apartmentnumber." There were suspicious people reported in my parking garage approximately 30 minutes after we realized my keys were stolen. If the keys are not marked, someone could potentially try all the apartments until he (or she) got to the one that my key opened.

So, I asked myself, what's the worst that could happen? Well, if I think that someone might try to get into my apartment tonight, I could call a friend and spend the night at their place, but if I do that I don't want to leave Bowie here by himself so I will have to call and miss work tomorrow since I can't take him to work with me and anyways I'll have to get my lock changed during business hours and gah it will all be such a nuisance. On the other hand, if I don't do all of this and someone actually does use my key to get into my apartment tonight, I could get STABBED TO DEATH. I think I'll be calling Kelly to ask if I can come have a sleepover.

I hurriedly threw some clothes and stuff together and drove over to Kelly's house and stayed there overnight. This morning, I got up and gathered all my stuff again. I put on my backpack, I put on my purse. I picked up Bowie's carrier, in which I had stored his litterbox. I picked up Bowie. "HOLD ON to me," I hissed in his ear. I walked out of Kelly's building and down the street where I had parked. It was a bit of a hike and cars were wooshing by, but it seemed to be working out fine.

I got to my car and realized that I had parked it under a rather bird-popular telephone wire so the birds had freely shat all over my car. I tried to put the carrier/litterbox down and get out my keys to unlock the car and Bowie flipped the eff out and jumped out of my arms and scrambled under the car. His claws snagged on my shirt while he jumped, ripping it. So I opened the car door, threw my stuff inside and said in an attempted-soothing-but-more-like-hysterical-pleading voice "Look Bowielove, the car's open, get in the car honey. It'll be okay. Come on just GET IN THE CAR NOW." He stayed where he was. So I got down onto my hands and knees and put one hand up agains the bird-shat-on car, and reached with my other hand into the filth that was under my car (mud/leaves/oil) and grabbed Bowie by his back skin and manhandled him into the car. I called my work to let them know that I couldn't come in because I had to get my lock changed and the woman I talked to made it clear through her aggravated sighs that they were none to happy with me.

To recap, I took the potential threat to my life seriously and acted accordingly. I am now left with the following:

One brand new set of keys to one brand new lock.


One heavily bird-shat car.


One favorite shirt with slightly noticable rip.


And one skittish cat in dire need of a bath.


Also: one questionable work situation, one ruined Friday, and one messy apartment from my rapid evacuation.

But. I was not stabbed to death.

I'm back, baby.

So much has changed, but then again so much is the same as it ever was (oh yes, I just quoted the Talking Heads).

I'm back. Back to nursing school, back to the City by the Bay. Back to being in a long distance relationship (sigh). Back to job hunting and trying to get organized and experimenting with domesticity and trying to learn to cook without having to use actual recipes. Back to writing here and exploring my (many) feelings.

Did you miss me? I missed you. I am excited to be back. Bowie is excited, too. Check out his party hat.

Thursday

is my deadline for coming out of hiding. I've had a nice breather and hopefully all the drama has blown over.

And I think Miss Grace and Mollypants are right, I'll just unprivatize right here. To hell with what anybody thinks! This is my space to write! Yo-ho!

[nervous]

Still Alive

Well my goodness it has been quite some time since I have written anything on here. I've been on a bit of a hiatus recently because I want to unprivatize but I'm thinking it's going to mean starting all over somewhere new and I don't want to start all over unless it's with something I can be really happy about.

Anyhoo, tomorrow is my first official day of school in my Master's program so I've been spending a lot of time getting ready for that-- buying my books, signing up for classes, reuniting with friends from last year....

Sentimental Value

My grandmother built my dollhouse and I remember it being spectacular. I think I probably remember it as more spectacular than it actually was. But that is because I loved it so much.

It lived at my grandma's house and I played with it pretty much every time I went over there. So, a lot. I would make up stories and scenarios for the dolls. I would arrange them in the various rooms. I would make extra things for the house-- a mailbox made out of a clothespin, a tiny drawing to hang on the wall. I would act out the storybooks my grandma read to me. I would take out all the furniture and things and use my grandma's cleaning products to scrub the carpet and clean the floors and then I would put the furniture back in and arrange everything nicely.

My grandmother died when I was 12 and I was devastated. I miss her more than I can accurately describe. She was really the only person I was completely myself around, when I was younger. I know our relationship would be different if she were alive today. I know that I would never appreciate her more than I did when I was a child. So maybe it's better that she never saw me in the throes of teenage hormonal rage and adult frustration and angst. We are captured in my memory forever as the delighted cherub and the benevolent, cookie-baking protector.

When my grandma died, the dollhouse was moved to my house and stayed there until I was a sophomore in college. Then, during Christmas break, I came home and found it out in the storage room, in pieces.

What happened? Why didn't anybody tell me?
We tried to move it, but it just collapsed. I'm so sorry.

Someone must have packed away the pieces and the furniture and the dolls because they disappeared for a few years. And then they returned. And disappeared again.

Last week, I searched high and low at my parents' house while I cleaned and organized my things from the storage room. Then I found out that the dollhouse things had been not stored, but incorporated with the rest of the toys. And so children had played with my dollhouse furniture and left it quite well loved.

I sifted through a basket of miscellaneous toys. Here is a chair from my dollhouse. Here is a table that now only has three legs. Here is a tea tray with the handle broken off. Here is a cabinet with no door now. Here is a bookshelf, was this from my dollhouse? I can't remember, looking at this jumble of things. Here is a spindly yellow chair with flowers, yes, I remember that. Here is the green couch. Here are my memories, in pieces. Here is me, raining tears onto on the floor.

Treasures

I used to have a whole bunch of boxes of stuff at my parents' house. I didn't think there was actually that much stuff until I started going through it all. And then I remembered that I'm not so much a packrat as I am a packracoon (or whatever the HIGHER AMOUNT word for 'packrat' is).

Three days, two Annie viewings, and many stumbling around tripping over crap shin-bruises later, I have three well organized and stowed away plastic bins at my parents' house (two containing my little glass figurine collection and one containing Madame Alexander dolls), one doll trunk of doll clothes, and one Madame Alexander doll stored in her Madame Alexander box... plus some pajamas and bathing suits (because I figure those are things that people are likely to both need and forget to bring). Okay, and a bunch of books and now this list is getting too long because the POINT is that there is LESS stuff than there WAS but I feel like that is not coming across so much anymore.

I also have a packed-to-the-gills car full of boxes. And this would stress me out, except that I actually cleaned my apartment awhile back and I haven't really been back long enough to mess it up yet so I'm choosing to see it as though I would be starting a whole new organizing project by unpacking the boxes and won't that be interesting and fun? So every time I go somewhere, I bring up a box or two from the car. No pressure on myself to unload the WHOLE CAR RIGHT NOW, just bring up a box or two if I have the time and energy.

The exception to this is that the moment I got home, before I even settled my cat back into his environment or put away food or set up my computer or hopped in the shower for the first time in four days, I HAD to bring up two specific little plastic boxes. They contained my precious, precious treasures that couldn't spend a moment longer in the car because what if the car got broken into? What if someone injured or STOLE them? I just found these items again, I would be devastated if I lost them. I would be crushed. It's too horrible to even think about.

I am speaking, of course, about my dollhouse furniture.

We already knew that I'm a packrat

Things I realized whilst cleaning out the stuff I had stored at my parents' house:

1. I am the biggest dork on the face of the planet.
2. I still love my dolls and tiny animal figurine collection.
   
3. My hot pink caboodle was a great purchase.
4. Jenny and I used to have ridiculously awesome snail mail correspondence.
   
5. Repeating "Keep the memory, not the thing" helped me be more heavy handed than I usually am.
6. I was a good story writer when I was a little kid.
7. Also, I didn't understand the big age gap between my siblings and me. I wrote a lot of things like "My sisters are far away and I am sad."
8. The movie Annie makes me happy (I watched it while I sorted through boxes).
   
9. I'm glad I went to my senior prom.
   
10. I don't think I'm ever going to find that box of broken doll house pieces and doll house furniture that I was saving after my doll house fell apart. I kept opening promising boxes thinking "please be my doll house furniture, PLEASE be my doll house furniture," but no. Where is it?
11. My mom used to write letters to me at camp on a typewriter.
    
12. I can't believe I thought I needed an entire filing cabinet in high school. Some of the files were for stuff from my classes. But SOME were apparently for "X Files," "Elementary School Drawings," and "Internet Conversations." Please see item 1.
13. I have all four of my high school ID cards.
14. I have my first and fifth grade yearbooks but can't seem to lay my hands on my senior year college yearbook.
15. For all the hundreds of letters I wish I had tossed out years ago, I am so happy I kept these postcards and this pegasus birthday card from my grandmother.
    
16. I had a lava lamp?
17. I had a fondue pot?
18. Advertising something as "collectible" definitely works on some people.
    
19. Thank GOD for the Goodwill.

Education versus Intelligence

I don't believe that education equals intelligence. I know people who are not highly educated but who are very intelligent. There are many individuals who may not have had a lot of classroom time but who are able to carry on well thought out, in-depth conversations and make intelligent decisions and so on. Yes, there are stupid people who are uneducated, but there are also uneducated people who may not have very high paying jobs or conventional lifestyles, but they are smart people with goals and accomplishments and values.

On the other hand, I have also been in contact with numerous people who possess degrees from respectable institutions but who are complete and utter morons. People who are mind-numbingly stupid and frustratingly bad at making decisions and interacting with others.

Even the most educated, book-smart people do astonishingly stupid things and piss away their opportunities. Just look at the ladies in any Girls Gone Wild college edition video. Educated? Check. Making poor choices? DOUBLE CHECK.

And this guy I dated for awhile. He was an engineer, an unquestionably smart individual. And he couldn't make toast. Nor could he withdraw money from an ATM.

So if you are educated, I am not going to automatically assume that you are smart. And if you are not educated, I'm not going to automatically assume that you are a moron. I will base my opinion of you on your sense of humor or your ability to tell a story or whether or not you ask me if my full name is "Julia Gulia." I think that's fair.

Girl Talk: Powder Room Policies

In high school I just thought I had thick and somewhat frizzy, difficult hair. I have come to realize that I have thick and somewhat frizzy, difficult hair that CAN be managed. My hair tends to get prettier and smoother the longer I go without a shower, but on the other hand I also to get more compulsively scratchy the longer I go without a shower. As in, I will scratch my head even though it doesn't itch and I swear I don't have dandruff but it feels like I should be itchy so I scratch. Okay, is that gross? TMI? Moving on.

I shower every other day or so depending on how dirty I feel or smell or if I've been swimming or exercising.

If I want to look especially nice for something, then the night before I will take a shower, air dry my hair till it is about half dry, and blow dry it while brushing and using this.... hold on for just a moment let me go check what it is called..... Paul Mitchell Smoothing Super Skinny Serum. Then, the next day I will style my hair, utilizing my straightening iron and more Paul Mitchell Serum. That, in my opinion, leaves my hair at its best and loveliest. Depending on time/effort constraints, I will cut out one or more of the aforementioned steps.

Since I apparently only get my hair cut/styled/colored once every year and a half, I decided that I should invest in higher quality (than Suave) hair products and thus I tend to use Pantene or Herbal Essences. Bonus, they smell yumsy.

I don't use any soap at all on my face because I have such sensitive skin, so I rinse it with water in the shower. I use whatever soap is around (body wash, boy body wash, soap I made, etc) on the rest of my body.

I used to take long, luxurious, HOT HOT bubble baths. I don't use any bubble bath anymore because of the skin sensitivity issue again but I still frequently partake in long, luxurious, HOT HOT baths.

I will often light a scented candle or some incense in the bathroom while I'm bathing or showering. Even if I'm just hurriedly taking a shower after I work out. It makes it more like a "relaxation ritual" than a chore.

Also, I tend to do some of my best thinking/problem solving/relaxing in the shower... probably because I can't easily be interrupted by the phone or the internet or my own short attention span.

Flip for it!

A few months ago, I got some reusable shopping bags. As is my usual way, I hemmed and hawwed over the decision and spent way too much time doing online research. And I finally picked out the ones from Flip & Tumble. And I LOVE LOVE LOVE them. (Which goes to show that sometimes my persnickety ways do pay off...).

These bags have transformed my good intentions (oh-sure-I-have-reusable-bags-I-just-don't-always-remember-to-use-them) to actual "I don't need a bag" action.

I take several of them to the store if I know I'll be buying a bunch of stuff. I also carry a couple of them in my purse with me at all times in case I need them and I have found that I do quite often need them. They are perfect for shopping and for those random times when I just need an extra bag.

I love the long strap that I can wear over my shoulder. I love that they are lightweight and compact enough to carry with me. I love that they are bright and fun colored and pop open all cutely. I LOVE THEM. Two thumbs up.

Help Wanted?

This is such an odd experience for me. I haven't had a whole ton of jobs in my life, but the ones I have had have been pretty easily gotten. My last job at the ADHC was practically thrown at me. I showed up in jeans and a tee shirt for my interview (not realizing it was supposed to be like a "real" interview) and they still told me they would love to have me and please could I start on Monday?

And now that I've spent quite a fair amount of time, energy, and $$ to become a nurse-- it's been surprisingly difficult to find a job. It doesn't help that I was initially looking for something Perfect and Part Time. Now I'm sort of looking for Anything, Anywhere.

I had this one interview that I thought went great and they said they would let me know on Friday. And then Friday came and went, so I called the next week just, you know, to thank them for the interview and to let them know I was still interested and ask if they needed any more information about me and bullshit bullshit why haven't you called me or emailed me about the job? And the woman let me know that they had emailed me last week to let me know that they had gone another direction. So I said "okay, thank you, goodbye." And then I checked my email and while we were on the phone she had send the email. So I got rejected. Twice. In five minutes.

And then I had this other interview, which was actually a phone conversation plus TWO in-person interviews, one involving an hour drive out of the city to the other office because the doctor was at that office on that particular day. But then they went with someone who had more experience. Someone who was not me.

So, I'm still looking. It is a bit frustrating to be an unemployed RN because all you ever hear about nursing is how there aren't enough nurses anywhere and hospitals are suffering and blah blah. Well, I'M RIGHT HERE! HIRE ME!!

p.s. I returned the Crapberry and got the EnV. And I like it! So thanks everybody for the advice and the commiserating "uh... I have no idea"s.