A Worrisome Bump

Less than two weeks into this brand new year for which I had such sky high hopes, I developed something worrisome on a rather worrisome area.
You should probably stop reading this if you'd like to be sexually attracted to me ever in the future. Oh, no takers? FINE THEN, CARRY ON.

It was a bump. A worrisome bump on my behind.

A worrisome bump on my behind that HURT like hell. I noticed it late one night, but I decided to, y'know, wait and see how it looked in the morning because it'll probably be fine and come ON, Universe, you can't possibly be serious with this bullshit.

And then the next morning the bump was bigger and also more painful. I limped to the bathroom and examined it in the mirror all contorted-like, as one might when trying to examine one's own tush. In the mirror I could plainly see that my right arse cheek had turned an angry bright red color.

So... yikes.

I decided to throw modesty to the wind and hauled my painful hiney over to Urgent Care where I was told that my worrisome bump was actually a worrisome ABSCESS on my butt cheek that needed to be incised and drained right now RIGHTNOW.

And that is how I found myself lying facedown on an exam table with my ASS ON FULL DISPLAY.

The (very kind and professional) doctor incised and drained the abscess and covered it with gauze, while the (very nice and understanding) medical assistant told me they saw things like this all the time. They sent me on my way with some painkillers and heavy hitter antibiotics.

The next day, I found out the culture of my abscess had grown MRSA. Because, why the hell not? Of course 2013 started out with a nice case of BUTT MRSA. Of course.
I really don't know how I got it. I have excellent hygiene and I'm persnickety about hand washing. I work in healthcare, but not in a hospital. I do wound care, but it's not like I ever touch my patients AND THEN TOUCH MY BUTT. So I dunno. Perhaps it was from a toilet seat. Which makes me feel like, okay, I guess I can't ever sit on a one ever again, even with the flimsy paper guard. And I definitely feel like I'm FOREVER UNCLEAN.

The doctor emailed me the "decontamination guidelines" and I had to go back to the pharmacy for some special nose cream and fancy body cleanser. Then I had to call my supervisor and go on mandatory sick leave. And then I had to set fire to wash all of my towels and clothing.

Everything's fine. I'm fine. The abscess has healed, the pain is gone, and I'm done with my antibiotics and my decontamination process.

But, MRSA!
BUTT MRSA!

I just don't even. So, 2013, that's how it's going to be, huh?

WANGS

Let's play a game. It's called Be Honest with Me. The rules are very simple: I ask you a question and you have to be honest with me, okay?
Now, take a look at this photo.

Tell me, what's your first impression? Does this look like a nice girl? Does this look like a fun girl? Does this look like an interesting girl? Or DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A GIRL WHO WOULD LIKE TO KNOW THE PRECISE DIMENSIONS OF YOUR WANG?

Let me back up.

I recently joined one of those online dating sites, because I'm single now and BY GOD I'm going to MINGLE. I'm gonna mingle the hell out of this shit. I'm gonna mingle like it's 1999. Mingle.
Anyhow! I joined the site and so far it has been surprisingly positive experience. It's been a nice little bump for my self esteem, seeing the messages pour in. Most people seem relatively normal.
There are the random weirdish messages like this:

He is very sincere and single.

And this:

You're right! There is no point.

And then there are the exceptionally weird messages.
For some reason I seem to be attracting a disproportionate number of guys want to (a) see naked photos of me, (b) tell me about their tremendous wieners, or (c) both.

I exchanged a couple messages with a dude who seemed normalish, let's call him NewFriend1. He was from out of town but will soon be moving near SF, so he's looking to meet new people around here. Like I said, he SEEMED normal. Until he started instant messaging me.
He first told me a long-winded story about how he's originally from Canada, and lived in New Zealand for awhile, but he likes living in the US now because American women are way better than those in New Zealand, and would I like to know why? He was willing to talk about it, but it was kind of a personal story.
I said sure.

Yeah, he was really reluctant to divulge the 'problem' with New Zealand ladies.

NewFriend1 then proceeded to explain that he feels really self conscious about his shockingly big wiener. It has been really DIFFICULT for him because he'll get to know a girl and like her but then she'll get scared off by the BEAST IN HIS PANTS.
I tried to give him a chance to backpedal, explaining that, hey, this is the internet.

Yeah, I know I spelled accommodate wrong.

NewFriend1 explained again that he thought I was cute and he wanted to get to know me, but this has been such a problem in his life and he just had to get everything out on the table (figuratively speaking) right away, so he doesn't get hurt again. And by the way, he wondered, do I enjoy getting pounded?
Annnnd that was the end of NewFriend1.

Unfortunately, this has not been an isolated incident.
I got message from another dude, let's call him S-Wow.

I wrote back, even I was kinda on the fence, because, well, I'm a sucker for compliments. And I asked him a few questions like where he is from and what he is doing on the dating site, since his profile was pretty much bare.

He answered with this:

I would just like to point out that when S-Wow says 'more' photos, he is referring to more than what I already had on my profile-- I hadn't already SENT him photos or something. Just want that to be clear.
Anyhow, I didn't respond to that message, because I AM NOT INTERESTED IN DISCUSSING FELLATI0 WITH A STRANGER ON THE INTERNET. I feel like that should be obvious, but maybe it's a point I need to add to my guidelines.

Anyhow, I thought my interaction with S-Wow had ended, but a few days later as I was checking the site for new emails, he sent me an instant message.

I thought I made myself clear with "you're messaging the wrong lady." Apparently not.

HE ADMITTED THIS TACTIC DOESN'T ACTUALLY WORK FOR HIM.

I almost felt sorry for the dude when he said that he wanted to do something wild and crazy for the first time in his life. BUT THEN I REMEMBERED HE'S A SLEAZY INTERNET WEIRDO.

He doesn't even HAVE the biggets wang, THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

Men of the internet! Let me make myself VERY CLEAR. Unless I ask you specifically, you can assume I am NOT INTERESTED in knowing the size of you wang. Let's all get on the same page, here, FTLOG.

I can't believe I used to...

... hate drinking water.

... wear sparkly eyeliner and bright purple mascara. To class. In high school.

... only own sports bras.

... use ICQ.

... eat a Lean Cuisine for lunch every day at work.

... share an apartment with two girls who hated me and not confront them.

... be in a sorority (I joined my sophomore year and quit within a few months).

... only buy brand name over-the-counter meds.

... hate hiking.

... not like guacamole or beans... but somehow love Mexican food.

... think Hummers were cool.

... get up at 5:45 every morning to shower and wash my hair, and then let it air dry all day.

... not want to live by myself.

... not know how to dress in layers.

... think online dating was weird and definitely not for me.

... shop at Urban Outfitters.

... cook and eat jalapeño poppers and pizza rolls for dinner.

... not want a digital camera.

... get As in math.

... feel certain that I did not want to work in healthcare.

... pay $650 per month for a shared bedroom with no lock on the door.

... love getting tan.

... want to live in LA for the rest of my life.

Original post here. I thought it was a good time for an update!

something very rash

You know what's kind of embarrassing? When you have to have a doctor tell you that you have poison oak.

And you're a nurse.

And you're studying to be a nurse practitioner.

And you just took a final in your Symptoms Management class which included a section on dermatology.

But allow me to convince you that I am NOT a complete moron but am instead a victim of the following:
1. I. am. very. itchy. Being uncomfortably, distractedly itchy makes it HARDER TO THINK.
2. The rash showed up on a random morning after I put on a shirt that I hadn't worn in a month or so, possibly not since I switched detergents, convincing me that it had to be contact dermatitis.
3. The rash is only on the right side of my body, convincing me that it had to be shingles.
4. The rash seemed to be getting worse, convincing me that it had to be impetigo.
5. The rash looked like it was in a linear pattern, convincing me that it had to be SCABIES.
6. I AM ITCHY.

The rash is red and bumpy and goes all the way down the right side of my torso with random patches on my stomach, leg, and tushy. Can you picture it? Now picture me a couple days ago, wearing a skirt and which is wafting in the breeze and therefore brushing against and tickling the rash. Now picture me clenching my teeth and squinting and trying very hard to ignore the tickling/itching and finally reaching a breaking point wherein I forget that anyone is around me, and with a growl of anguish reach down my skirt and groan with relief as I SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH MY BUTT.

Now picture me picking up the phone and finally making an appointment with my doctor. "I need to come in, I have a rash on my tushy."

35. sing a karaoke song by myself

Hi there! How was you long weekend? I went on a little mini vacation and it was quite an adventure!

You know how you go to some big destination like New York City or Paris or something and it can be really overwhelming? Like my goodness however shall I do everything? What if I don't see and do all the Important Things one is supposed to see and do here?
Well going to Fort Bragg was kind of... the opposite of that. The big event for the weekend was their annual Quilt Show.

It isn't exactly a bustling metropolis, but it sure is pretty.

In terms of nightlife, the whole town seemed to shut down around nine. Presumably the downtown bars were still open but none of them were that close to the hotel and I was wimpering about the cold so we ended up hanging out at the local bowling alley lounge on Saturday night (we would have actually bowled but the lanes were closed-- see how that works?).

We walked into the lounge. It was quiet and dim and smelled faintly of cigarettes. We sat down on the cracked vinyl barstools and the lady bartender greeted us with a friendly "Hey there, you're not from around here."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I don't know you." There was a sign on the wall: Sorry! We do not accept credit cards or out of town checks. LOCAL CHECKS ONLY.
The place was fairly empty with only four or five other patrons and a great many handlebar mustaches and missing teeth. At around ten, the bartender handed us a binder and said "this should get going pretty soon."
We opened the binder and realized it was full of karaoke music. I looked around the bar and thought: seriously?
YES. These people were serious about their karaoke and anxious for it to start.
A few more customers trickled in and people were getting restless. One old man came in the door and said "the paper said karaoke at nine o'clock! I'm ready la la la LAAAAAA."
Finally the man in charge of the karaoke showed up, shoved the pool table to the edge of the dance floor, and started up the karaoke machine. And let me tell you, these people were INTO IT. One woman even brought her own CDs-- and they must have been karaoke CDs because the words came up on screen so that means she has her own karaoke setup at home.

First we went up together and sang Space Oddity. And then we picked our individual songs because, well, with only a small number of people in the bar everyone was singing four or five songs. I had never gone up by myself before because I've really only been to karaoke places where the people are really, obnoxiously good. Like in LA where they are all trying to get "discovered" or whatever. This place was less intimidating and much more awesome and divey.

Does this give you a good idea of what the place was like?

So then I picked a song. And I was nervous.
"Come on, get up there."
"I'm scared."
"There's like seven other people, you'll be fine."

So I did it.

I sang my little heart out. I may not have a pretty singing voice but MAN am I enthusiastic. I'm on the fence about posting the VIDEO of me singing because my goodness, in my imagination I actually sounded pretty good but in daylight/sobriety/reality it seems as though I may be tone-deaf. Oh all right, fine. Here it is.



Please don't tell me how bad I sound because I ALREADY KNOW. But I did it and it was so fun I'll probably do it again! Lookout world.

These Boots are Made for Failing

Oh man I almost don't want to tell this story, but in the interest of fully partially disclosing everything, here goes.

A couple months ago I ordered these boots. Here is a photo of them! The right one, anyhow.

And here is the other side.

So I got these boots from Timberland at a deeply discounted price which was awesome but it also meant I had to order them without being able to try them on first. From their description, I thought they would be perfect for tromping around chilly, oft rain-soaked San Francisco.

They arrived a couple weeks later and I pulled out the mess of tissue stuffing and cardboard bits and tried them on. My heart sank. The boots were REALLY snug! Too tight, I thought. But I couldn't exchange them without a big headachey hassle so I decided to just break them in and deal with it, maybe they would stretch a bit.

So I wore them out and about and got used to them and even enjoyed them. They still felt a little too tight and rigid on the tops of my feet but I liked how they looked and I figured they had to break in at some point.

And then just a few days ago I was putting the boots on for an outing. As I held one open and angled my foot, I noticed something seemingly ripped on the inside of my boot. Oh no! Had I already wrecked my new boots? I reached inside.

Guess what I found inside my boots?

Yeah.

I've been wearing my boots for approximately A MONTH with the cardboard inserts STILL INSIDE.

I can't believe I used to...

... wear a powder blue velour tracksuit.

... spend so much time on Myspace.

... not put most of my clothes in the dryer.

... go to an internship on Friday afternoons in LA (hello, traffic!).

... hate all vegetables.

... live in a building with bullet holes in the front door.

... go surfing at 6 am in Santa Cruz in the winter.

... drive across the street to Trader Joe's.

... put blonde highlights in my hair.

... not exercise at all.

... cry almost every single day.

... not like sushi.

... commute an hour each way in high school.

... not want a cell phone.

... shop at Walmart.

... go out wearing mini skirts and stripper heels. And a tiara. (I was a classy fifteen year old).

... drink 4 or 5 Pepsis a day.

... get queasy at the thought of blood.

... not have or want any plants in my home.

... go running without any music.

... let takeout food sit in my car overnight and then eat it.

... be ashamed of my big booty.


Update: Other people's "I can't believe I used to..." posts can be found at Miss Grace's Disgrace, A Little Crazy & a Lot of Love, and Life of a New Mommy. Play along and send me the link to yours, won't you?

Profiling Myself (Part 2)

Want to know more about my online dating extravaganza? Okay! That was what I wrote about myself. Here is the section that talked about what I was looking for in a potential date.

Translation: I am incredibly picky but I don't want to seem too crazy and judgmental this early in the game. I'm looking for someone who is taller than me, enough so that I can wear heels. You don't have to be Catholic like me, but you should believe in something. I'm assuming that since you paid to join this dating web site that you HAVE A JOB. I'm looking for someone who doesn't already have kids but definitely wants them at some point. It would be great if you went to college but I'd like you not to care more about your school's football team than I do about my Trojans. Please don't smoke. Please don't confuse you're and your. Please don't be a douche or a Gemini.

Profiling Myself (Part 1)

My mom recently reminded me that she and my dad met on a blind date. They've been together for over 40 years. I think she told me this to try and make me feel less irritated at my family who keep making fun of me for my online dating.

That's right, I said ONLINE DATING.

I've been trying it. And it's been interesting.

It all started, as most good choices do, impulsively. I was at home on some particular night wondering what to do with myself. I started poking around on a dating site and before I knew it I was typing in my credit card number and trying to come up with a clever nickname since "Superjules" was already taken.

I had never thought I would try it. "I met my date/boyfriend/husband on the internet" never sounded to me like a desirable story.

But you know what an even less desirable story would be? DYING ALONE AND CHILDLESS, THAT'S WHAT.

So! With that attitude, I created my profile. In the interest of shamelessness, here it is!

Try not to judge me too much....

OMG. [Face getting hot.]

So, with my photos I basically tried to say: I'm cute! I have a tattoo! I like to party! I like going outside! I have a cat! I have friends! I wear glasses sometimes!
The profile was harder, the site had all these pages full of questions and I felt like I had to answer all of them. Well, all of them except INCOME, obviously (I'm a student-- my income would be in the negative numbers). And a lot of the sections were little boxes to check, but then the program automatically alphabetized them. So my profile makes it look like bowling is like my number one favorite activity of all time when in reality I could take it or leave it. I also said that I exercise 3-4 times per week. There wasn't a space for me to explain that by "exercise" I meant "I walk to and from the train."

I was initially worried that, oh geez, people looking for dates on the internet are just going to be creepy weirdos who can't get dates in real life, ugh. But then I was like, well, I'M on here and I'm normalish. Right?