Saturday, December 31, 2005
Tonight's venue: The Machinist, High Tension, House of Wax, Devil's Rejects, and Tales from the Crypt (season one) ... Something old, something new, something with the shade of blue, right? We're well on our way to looking at the clock and noticing that we missed the countdown by at least fifteen minutes.
And time is ticking for me to finish up the last of my 2005 activities.
I don't do resolutions. The Hater says he's going to start a new diet.
Maybe I'll stop tweezing my eyebrows for mine. In lieu of the throw-back celebration and all... despite pleas from my Sister, who says that eyebrow tweezing is a lifelong commitment. Idunno. We'll see how that goes. I'd say I'm going 'amazon' for 2006, but I'm rather attached to my breasts, and I don't do archery.
Meanwhile, The Hater says it's time to get back to the Devil's Rejects. (as he TiVos all of the SCIFI Twilingt Zone marathon episodes...) Looks like we'll be celebrating the new year for at lesat a couple of more days.
Friday, December 30, 2005
My husband has saved the day.
You should know that neither of us are terribly handy people to have around. I'm not going to be the person to try to take apart the garbage disposal -- or take the lid off of the back of the toilet to see why it's running. Not my thing. But I'm a very well-trained gopher; I could write essays on the differences between a flathead screwdriver and a phillip's screwdriver. And my Dad has trained me to be a very good hand-it-to-me assistant, which was really pre-nurse training.
Then there's The Hater. He hung up all the things in the apartment. We tighten screws that are loose. Other than that, when something's broken, we fiddle with it for a while and then look for someone else to fix it. This is evidenced by my broken pepper grinder still sitting on the kitchen counter from way before Christmas...
But yesterday I came home to find that The Hater had fixed the dryer. He shortened the accordian tube thing and reattached it after cleaning out the other part. And now it only takes one cycle to dry big loads, not just modest loads. And he did it all by himself --- he's so great.
I only wished we had fiddled with it a couple of years ago. Maybe the pepper mill will be next to fix on his to-do- list.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Something about seeing the john, knowing that there's relief ahead, there's urgency and peace in that moment. And then, relief, paired with telling yourself that you won't go that long again ignoring your bladder.
But you do.
Someday I'll have worn out my pelvic floor with babies. That's a fancy way of saying that I won't be able to compete in the olympic-bladder-holding campaigns. That means that I'll pee myself when I laugh or cough or sneeze or jump. That means I'll have to buy stock in Poise pads to justify all the packs I'll have to purchase to keep pee from getting on my clothes. That means I'll get older and hope I'm not one of the women whose bladder or uterus (or both) fall outside of their body. Getting old doesn't seem like a fun passtime. And that's all okay, I guess, because that's what's supposed to happen. Time.
And all of that is a fancy way of saying that in a lot of ways right now I feel like someone struggling with the buttons on their jeans while they desperately hold their bladder. And I'm wondering if it would really be a bad thing if I just pee my pants and get it over with -- or is the struggle with the zipper worth the moment of accomplished relief.
"When I woke up this morning my mouth felt like someone had taken out my teeth and eaten gorilla poop. They put my teeth back without even rinsing them off."
"Leave the lights off; I'm beautiful in the dark."
"What's a potato?"
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
It's a game of odds, mostly. I always look to buy the coke that has the special top to take off to see if you're a winner of a free coke -- except I never win.
I'll occasionally buy a lottery ticket with the promise of millions -- except I never win.
I sign up for every free car that the mall has to showcase -- except I never win.
I sign up, with multiple email accounts, for free houses on the internet -- except I never win.
When there's a real-life sign-up thing I fold my entry like an accordian to increase the surface area to help me win -- excpet I never win.
But today I came home from work and had a mystery package. I was informed that I had won second place in an online competetion -- in which first place was a sweet bicycle that I wanted to win. But instead I won a box of power bars, power shakes, power things, and a handy tote bag to carry all of my power gear. It's probably $150 worth of power foods -- all terribly high carb and high energy.
And I'm excited that I won... but I'm afraid that I've burned my win on power bars. I think what concerns me more is that today is Wednesday -- and we have a powerball ticket to check tonight to see if we were winners of TN's 25 Million. Please stand by while I check...
Okay, so I wanted this to be a big space where I either whined about having to go to work tomorrow or gloated that I was a winner. But they've not posted my lucky numbers yet... So I guess we'll all just have to sit in anxiousness and wait. But I'd advise you not to hold your breath.
Much to my horror, my friend emailed me back and said he'd like to be the illustrator for the children's book I've not written. He says he's stayed abreast on all the latest illustrating jazz with his job; he says he knows what publishers like these days.
That makes one of us.
I've not emailed him back yet, but I plan to in the next couple of days. Or call him. I haven't decided yet. When I call him it'll turn into a *real* project, and that idea makes me nervous.
So far as the story goes, other than my original notes, I'm still in thinking mode. I can't decide how I want it to feel. Or end. These are two major problems. And I can't decide if a flower is too fru-fru to be a main character, but I'd like it to be something to which all ages can relate. And I have no clue what format publishers want now -- what they want to see -- what companies are looking for new authors -- how to send it in... I guess that mostly I'm in the thinking/nervous mode.
My anxiety about the story is a 5.7 this morning.
Zoloft has been so excited that we're back. She's demanding attention and following us around the house. Last night she cuddled me to sleep. Her motorboat purr has been going non-stop. And she was tickled to get into her Christmas kittty treats.
Our apartment looks like Christmas threw up. I hope to get it straightened out this weekend. The Hater is supposed to go grocery shopping today and do some laundry. I told him I'd do those things if he'd go to work for me, but he said he doesn't get the same thrill out of stabbing people with needles. Go figure; it doesn't pay to be a sadist.
The New Year is quickly approaching. So far we don't have any exciting plans or mundane plans (it's important to keep the two separated). Something will plan itself out between now and then. In the meantime, I'll get back into the routine of things.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The new best trick to stay awake? Coast to Coast AM podcasts. This was the greatest Christmas present I could've given The Hater. It scared us awake... and it was good times.
We stayed up for almost two hours, unwinding and unpacking the loot. Zoloft was tickled to see us. She cuddled with me in bed for our five hour nap.
And now I feel like I had a bad trip in a blender...
But the trip was worth it. We had a fabulous time. There's no place like home.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Anyhow, I'll be deep within the land of dial-up internet, so posting will be rare at best. So know that I'm having a fabulous time, I'm going through posting withdrawals, and I'm drinking all the sweet tea that I can guzzle. Not to mention helping The Hater *not* have political conversations with his family...
I hope to have many stories to tell when I return.
Many happys to you:
Someone backed me into a corner earlier this week. Or maybe it was last weekend. Either way, one of my friends called my bluff. Friends are good for that kind of thing sometimes.
The long and short of it? I'm toying with an idea for a children's story.
This friend would be tickled to know that I couldn't sleep the night that he confronted me. Even with a precious sleeping Zoloft by my side -- I got up to make a few notes. Okay, it's true that I've not done anything with it since then, but I have notes now. And I've thought about it during work. So that's good. I hope to turn the notes into more of a story after the new year.
And this morning I emailed a long-lost friend. This is a friend that my current friends don't even know. He had once-upon-a-time said that he would be interested in illustrating a story if I wrote it. But it's been a long time since we said such things, so I gave him an out if he didn't want to participate. And if he's out --- I'll be needing an artistic illustrator to help me create the next great masterpiece in children's literature... Or I'll have to change my story to write about something that I know I can draw.
Stick people have a bad rap these days.
And stick chickens look too much like peacocks.
The candle is lit. My name is still Me, and I'd like to upgrade my chicken status.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Harrison, my sexy farm truck, and I don't care so much for cold weather, much less cold weather with snow. But it doesn't look icy. And even two rooms over I can hear The Hater sleep soundly -- so I think we're going to brave the white stuff this morning.
It's really a red-letter day.
The news had said it was going to snow on Monday night, so maybe this means the front is early. I hope it clears up before Wednesday evening.
So there's really not time for an exciting post this morning; I have an icy windshield that needs some TLC.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
When I turned in my request for time off around Christmas I was really ready to counter it with a great argument why they should let me off. I was prepared to cry if I needed the theatrics. I just knew there was going to be some kind of confrontation about it --- and my boss looked at the form and signed it without so much as a glance at her calander.
Which is great... But I've still got weekends that I signed up to work, including today.
So in the next two minutes I'm going to make a list of why the weekend shift bothers me:
I. More work for me.
1. My coworkers will be other nurses and MAs from other offices.
A. This means they don't know where anything is located.
B. They say they don't know how to run the reports at the end of the shift.
2. Since the other people are from other offices, my office people expect me to fill in the blanks.
A. Run said reports.
B. Stay late and clean up after said other office people.
II. Gyp me.
1. Out of a Saturday morning.
A. Where I could sleep late.
B. Which means I had to go to bed early Friday night instead of playing and being up causing trouble and such.
2. Out of Saturday afternoon.
A. Cause now I'll be laundry girl this afternoon, cleaning scrubs for Monday.
B. And a girl's gotta nap sometime.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Wednesdays have always been called Hump Days, so far as I can remember. It's the apex of the weekly grind, and I'm usually as excited to celebrate Hump Days as I am Fridays. Today is no different. So put your Hump Day smile on already.
I wish I could say there's a Hump Day song and dance, and so far as I know there isn't one yet. Yet. Maybe I should skip work today to put together the Hump Day diddy. It could be the next greatest thing since plastic. (My song will not be confused with the Black Eyed Peas 'My Humps', because that song is mostly about dirty pillows and girl lumps, not an ode to Wednesday.)
Be excited. It's Hump Day. The week's almost over... I hope your today is most humpy.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
For example, Johnny is motivated to stare out the window and doodle in class. My job as super teacher would be to rechannel Johnny's motivation back to creative writing. I think of it in terms of work a lot, too -- Johnny is motivated to be worried about his new cancer diagnosis. He uses lots of worry-energy to worry; this super nurse tries to move his worry-energy into survivor-mode energy. I'm reapplying previously learned knowledge, just like they said I would when I grew up.
I had always thought of it as a neat idea, that the world had so much energy (neither created or destroyed) and people just pass it around, doing stuff. Sometimes it's good stuff; sometimes it's bad stuff; sometimes it's stuff that has no impact on the world. But it's all energy. That last part was my addition to his theory. It's world-wide, bigger than one Johnny in one classroom or treatment room.
This morning The Hater and I were having a big conversation about the problems with the prison and jail system. The death penalty is wrong, but so is holding people in cages until they die. We talked about rehab, real rehab. I think it could work. I know it could.
But it'll never work because it would take money. Money people won't want to give rehab to prisioners. A level system where people can earn their way out, later earning their continued "outness". Forgetting the whole 'do your time' then go back to the world scenario and swapping it with a continued rehab. It's not Atlantis, but it might as well be.
And then I thought about rechanneling motivation. People who are currently incarcerated were motivated to do the wrong thing at the wrong time. Why couldn't their motivation be rechanneled -- somewhere between Clockwork Orange and Dead Poet's Society. It might sound far-fetched, but that doesn't make it less doable.
I'd be willing to rechannel my blogging motivation to do something real, serve on the committee that makes it happen. So if you know a politician who is ready to stop talking about doing the right thing and actually try to do it, please send them here; I'd be happy to enlighten and rechannel their motivation.
This has been the mistake for over two hundred years; it's time for a change.
"I think we are welcomed. But it was not a peaceful welcome." —George W.
Bush, defending Vice President Dick Cheney's pre-war assertion that the United
States would be welcomed in Iraq as liberators, NBC Nightly News interview, Dec.
"Those who enter the country illegally violate the law." —George W.
Bush, Tucson, Ariz., Nov. 28, 2005
"As a matter of fact, I know relations between our governments is good."
—George W. Bush, on U.S.-South Korean relations, Washington D.C., Nov. 8,
"Wow! Brazil is big." —George W. Bush, after being shown a map of Brazil by
Brazilian president Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva, Brasilia, Brazil, Nov. 6,
"We look forward to hearing your vision, so we can more better do our job.
That's what I'm telling you." —George W. Bush, Gulfport, Miss., Sept. 20,
"The best place for the facts to be done is by somebody who's spending time
investigating it." —George W. Bush, on the probe into how CIA agent Valerie
Plame's identity was leaked, Washington D.C., July 18, 2005
"I'm looking forward to a good night's sleep on the soil of a friend."
—George W. Bush, on visiting Denmark, Washington D.C., June 29, 2005
"I can only speak to myself." —George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., April 28,
Somewhere an English teacher is thinking she failed. A University communications professor is hoping nobody remembers who helped W with his public speaking skills. And millions of voters have realized the error in their ways; they should have voted for the guy who invented the internet.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Somewhere along the way one of Mama Lou’s six children suggested that all the kids and grandkids come home and spend the night together. Although most of us grandkids lived close, being together at Christmas was always an extra-special time to gather, to huddle next to the wood-burning stove and tell stories after sing-a-longs.
We would line our sleeping bags in the den and living rooms, along the hallway and at the base of the beds. A house of thirty was not uncommon and made for an exciting morning with two bathroom facilities.
Around this time Mama Lou decided to begin researching different traditions of Christmas. She would begin the summer before and start planning the family festivities. Her children thought it was a great idea to learn about the world, so long as important family traditions, like eating turnip greens every night, would also be included. So began the conglomeration of the world and Summertown.
Like turnip greens, gift-giving was a tradition we celebrated every year. Along with serious presents, the family started giving “gag gifts”, too. A gag gift, often wrapped in newspaper, would be something that, when the recipient opened it, would often be ‘gagged’ and roll their eyes, laughing. The most favorite gag gift to receive would be the famous plastic pants. These ugly black vinyl pants with white trim are given every Christmas, and usually stolen to be re-given the next year. Other favorite gag gifts include plastic balloons, rocks, or misplaced things (I wondered where that had gone!).
The first thematic Christmas was a Mexican celebration. We decorated the tree with paper flowers, colorful paper chains, paper piñatas, and little white birds. The children enjoyed a large piñata filled with goodies. To eat we had several tasty casseroles, enchiladas, baked quail, salads, and turnip greens (we always have turnip greens!).
The next thematic Christmas activities focused on Pioneer America. Arrangements were made with some of the Mennonite neighbors in Ethridge to take the grandchildren on a ride in their buggy. This was the first year that the family dressed the part and decorated the house. A photographer came, and the grandchildren were educated about what life was like for the pioneers. The electric lights were turned out and we told stories by kerosene lamps and candles. We awoke the next morning to find fruit and nuts inside our old-time stockings. We ate our meal at a low table on the floor for the Japanese Christmas celebration. The girls wore long bathrobes with wide ribbons around their waist to represent kimonos and flowers in their hair. The boys wore large white t-shirts with black belts to symbolize karate specialists. The Japanese tradition for New Year’s is to observe everyone’s birthday, so we extended that tradition to our Christmas with a large cake covered with lots of candles. We decorated with fans, chimes, race paper lanterns, and pine (for long life), bamboo (for courage), and tangerines (for happiness). The fresh spruce tree made the house smell sweet.
The grandchildren went caroling in the neighborhood to start our English Christmas celebrations. Mama Lou made white square robes for the children to wear, and we delivered goodies to the people who we went to see. This was the first year that Santa Claus made a guest appearance.
Each family put together a fairy tale to perform for the entire family at the French Christmas. The children wore berets and ties and each family had created a carnival booth inside the house for the grandkids to play. The tree was shaped into three round graduating balls and trimmed with red apples and red and white flowers. At night, the grandchildren placed their shoes in front of the fireplace so Santa could fill them with goodies.
The year we celebrated a Native American Christmas the weather was mild and ideal for outdoor activities. After breakfast we went outside and decorated our 30’ tall cedar tree with paper chains and popcorn strings, gods-eyes made out of colorful yarn, and wreathes made out of sweet gum balls. Afterwards we smoked the peace pipe (a bubble-blowing pipe) and returned to the house to put on our costumes. Papa Lu was Chief Big Star and Mama Lou was Big Squaw, and they gave out Native names to all of the grandchildren. Each family gave a report on the different tribes who lived in different parts of the country.
We started the Dutch Christmas with a large bonfire and fireworks. The next morning we went outside for the parade. The girls wore white aprons and white Dutch caps; the boys wore plumes in their caps. Papa Lu was Sinter Klaus, and lectured the grandkids on good behavior. We acted out Hans Christian Anderson stories.
Homecoming Christmas was a chance to celebrate being together as a family. We celebrated each other; each family preformed skits for Papa Lu and Mama Lou. We had three trees, one for Christmas past, Christmas present, and Christmas future, with toys under the tree for that generation. We made a large family quilt with double knit squares and names of the family embroidered on the blocks.
Other traditions we celebrated included German, Hanukkah, West African, Canadian High Tea, Hawaiian, On the Farm, Mother Goose, and a Blue Christmas (complete with Elvis). Each year we would bring together special family traditions with popular traditions from around the world, creating a unique set of memories that each of the grandchildren will always remember and cherish.
I am very thankful for my grandparents and the opportunities they gave this country girl to travel around the world in their backyard.
This weekend we've been invited to a Dirty Santa party. Not the dirty kind of party where everybody brings gag gifts and then you swap them. This is more like people dress up like a dirty santa, not to be confused with Bad Santa (which was a funny movie, see picture to right). No, this is a dirty Santa party and we've had a lot of grief and worry to pick out the right outfits. In years past we're told that people wear skimpy negligees, but we're not ready to make that step. But, lo, this weekend we came upon the *perfect* things to wear to the party.
The Hater will be wearing this while I wear this. Come on, by now you know us better than that. No, really, The Hater will grace the runway with a shirt that says "I'll be your dirty Santa", these, and this. I'll be sporting these, this (except mine are black with red hearts), and this.
Our other simmering issue is what to take to party. We had thought about making jell-o shots, but have decided that the logistics of transporting them might not work in our favor. So now we're trying to decide if we're going to take liquor or juice or both and coke. Or whatever. Maybe wine. We've spent this much time trying to decide what to wear that we've not really spent any time worrying about what we're going to bring.
Meanwhile, The Hater's about to be out of school for finals and Christmas break. It's so hard for me to get up and go to work when I know he's at home having fun. I know that's ugly, but it's uber true.
Then! We've still not packed for the trip home. We have finished wrapping, but The Hater (aka, Killjoy; aka, Analogy Scrooge) has started wondering how we're going to fit all of the gifts in the car with our regular travel stuff, luggage, etc. I'm just glad we didn't have to buy things that had to be shipped this year. I asked him if he wanted to take stuff back to the stores; he said he'd figure out a way to make them fit in the car. I don't think it's going to be an issue.
You might think that we're ahead of the holiday game by having our cards out and most of our shopping done. The crux is that we've not finished our gift-purchasing for each other.
Just in case The Hater needs a hint, to the left you'll see a rare diamond that's currently on display in London; it's called the De Beers Millennium Star. If The Hater was smart, he'd catch The Vol before she came home and sweet-talk her into being the gopher between the rock and me. It's relatively a flawless plan.
I've always liked rocks.
We sometimes did paper chains for other really important events, like birthdays, or marking the end of the school year. (never to mark school starting back...)
My friend, I'm getting paper-chain excited about our upcoming trip to Tennessee for the holidays. There are ten links in my chain because Wednesday week after work we're heading home.
I am pumped. We've checked our list twice and all of our gifts are wrapped. All we lack is for the paper chain to get to December 21st... and I'm as giddy as if Santa himself was going to come to the party.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
I don't think I'm old enough to say I did something almost twenty years ago.
But it's true.
And from what little I remember, the movie was rather close... but, like I said, that was a while back and a hundred pounds ago. Incidently, it was the same year I read 'The Hobbit'.
It was a big year for reading.
If you were a part of any high school club that competed I think you'd find similarities that you'd remember. Mine was band. My senior year I was voted "band nerd with the most band spirit" for the individual awards. I received the John Philips Sousa, too, so don't just think I was a dork.
But I was. I lead the sing-a-longs on the bus. On every bus. Every trip.
It was a good time.
And these kids were having a good time, too. Except they were more obnoxious and louder than we were, I think... and they definitely had nicer clothes.
There were two clueless kids walking around with drum sticks. They had the attitude, but didn't have any skill -- not holding them correctly, couldn't diddle, etc. When I couldn't stand it any longer (which was about four hours after I first saw them), I took their drum sticks away and taught them two tricks.
For about two minutes I was the coolest adult there.
And then they walked off, doing their new tricks. And every time I saw them for the next four hours, they were doing the same tricks.... but not as cool as I did them.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Thursday, December 08, 2005
That was the first F I made... in first grade. My educational career would give me many more opportunities to screw things up, so to speak.
We all have to be good at something. Being naive has been one of my strong points.
Incidently, that first paragraph was also an opening to a brilliant short story I wrote in college. My idiot creative writing professor made me cut it. This is the same idiot professor with whom I had many arguments about the genre of fiction, specifically how incidents in fictious stories don't have to be entirely real. (That's why it's called fiction, dummy. Except I didn't call her dummy, although I did think it really loud in my head. And I made unimpressed faces at her; that really gets to the lit-types.)
Back to failure.
I have a friend who thinks he's a failure because he's had five suicide attempts that haven't ended in his death. In the black humor way it's mildly amusing, but other than that it makes me sad. It's sadder than a paragraph and the polar extreme to being naive.
But if I were to write a story about him it would be about a guy, an average guy, who found a mask-maker in his closet. It made lots of masks and he'd wear them out in town to show people, his friends, complete strangers -- to show them the kind of person he was. He would have lots of masks to choose from, the mask that he would wear for his friends, the mask to wear when he didn't want people to know he was sad, the drinking alternative mask. He would have a whole set of masks, and he'd wear them all at different times during the day. One day he would wake up and realize that after wearing all of the different masks for so long he wouldn't remember which mask was his real face. He'd ask his friends, but they wouldn't be much help because he had never let them see his real face before. They'd all give him a slightly different description of his real face, and he wouldn't realize that all of the descriptions would be little pieces of all of the masks he'd worn for them for years. The mask-maker in his closet would disappear. He would try for a long time to piece parts of all the masks together, but in the end he would have to look deep inside himself before he would figure out that nobody but him cared about the masks to begin with. And I could say that he'd throw away the masks, move to Austraila, and start over again, without the facade, but it would ultimately be up to him to decide who he wanted to be.
The end is lame, but that would be the general outline. I'd go for the whole Twilight Zone meets Seinfeld. But the problem is that, other than an outline, I've just not been in the mood to actually spend the time to write a real story. Maybe my mask is getting in the way, too; maybe not. Maybe the meaning of life is found when we all take a deeper look at our own masks. Or it could be to play with your marbles and eat all of your asparagus.
And in case you're wondering, over at this poll, I'm tied with the leader. If you've not voted, please go to the link above and just do it! Empower your marbles.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
I googled it this morning and found that "taxonomy" is a fancy way of classifying things that we talked about in biology. If you don't believe me, see below. According to Wikipedpedia, taxonomy is:
Initially taxonomy was only the science of classifying living organisms, but later the word was applied in a wider sense, and may also refer to either a classification of things, or the principles underlying the classification. Almost anything, animate objects, inanimate objects, places, and events, may be classified according to some taxonomic scheme.
And, yes, my eager friend, there is a point to jogging your memory. Last night The Hater and I were eating supper with Little Brother and he ordered a pasta shrimp dinner. He's vegetarian. I've tried to argue with him before that shrimp are animals, but never succeeded in convincing him that he's still killing creatures to eat. It never goes anywhere. So last night I make a sly comment about it, again, this time saying if he wanted to argue with me like my coworkers did about fish not being animals we could pretend like I didn't even bring it up.
Apparently I hadn't shared another story about the brilliance of my coworkers:
This happened several weeks ago. There was a hawk outside scaring away the little birds from the feeders. My coworkers were not happy about it; they wanted the hawk to die. I said something about feeding the birds -- and that we shouldn't discriminate against the hawk just because he wanted to eat at the bird feeders, too. I may have said something about the circle of life and Darwin. If I did, it was purely to instigate an argument, but what happened was not the argument I was expecting.
Well, you can imagine how any Darwin comment would go over in Oklahoma...
I continued to a drop-jaw audience, of course All of God's animals need to eat. I don't think Jesus would want us to starve the hawk, do you? God loves all of his animals!
And then? And then I get into a figurative knock-down drag-out with people arguing with me that birds are not animals.
me: Of course birds are animals.
them: No, birds are birds, not animals.
me: But birds are a type of animals. Like horses. Or fish.
them: Fish aren't animals!
me: Yes, fish and birds are both animals. They're different classes of animals, but they both fall under the animal kingdom.
them: People from Tennessee need to go back to science class.
me: Are we really having this conversation? Is there a camera hidden behind that bookcase?
them: Fish are fish. Birds are birds. Animals are animals.
me: Okay, I'm not saying that fish and birds are mammals. That's different. But a mammal is an animal. It's included in the animal family with fish and birds.
them: (and note that them has now become my coworkers and the nice sick people that I take care of) You don't know what you're talking about.
me: I can't believe this.
Keep in mind that now everybody in the treatment room is involved with this conversation. They're all pointing their fingers and laughing at me because I said a bird was an animal, a fish was an animal. They're questioning my educaitonal upbringing. I'm wondering if I have been secretly moved to an alternate dimension.
And then, if that wasn't bad enough, they still occasionally remind me that birds aren't animals. I have chosen not to persue this argument any further, but I would be tempted to take a high school biology textbook to work with me if I had one available.
This was the story that I told to The Hater and Little Brother while we were waiting on supper to come. And their response? They emphatically agreed that birds and fish were both animals. The Hater mused that they'd probably think that people weren't animals, either.
That is my story. And the only proper ending is the lyrics to this song. If you don't like the idea of humans being animals, you probably won't like that link, either. That's fine, but don't try to argue with me that a fish isn't an animal.
If you've not heard stories about my coworkers before, you can go here, here, or here.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
There's a big, wonderful world of marbles. According to this website, if marbles are your pleasure, you have found your home. They're also featuring a new DVD about the history of marbles. So if you're looking for last-minute gift-giving ideas, you might want to check out the Land of Marbles.
You might think that marbles are pretty random for a cold Tuesday morning, but you'd be wrong. Marbles are one thing that ties humanity together, that binds recycling with goodwill. Think back and think about all of the important marbelous moments in which you've been a part.
Therein lies the however - because you might not be at one with your marbles. Find your marbles, my dear friends, I implore you, before the time comes that it's too late to play with them.
Go to the marbles. Be strong.
And if you've not done it yet, please go here and vote for my blog.
Monday, December 05, 2005
There was a bad ghost who kept trying to kill people. I got away a couple of times. He had the whole skull with rotting flesh going for him, a Mary Kay nightmare. He had a knife and would hold it in his teeth when he was climbing on the ship, so it makes sense to me that he was a pirate, too. Why he was mad at us is beyond me, but we must've done something bad enough that he wanted to kill all of us.
Arrrrrrgh. And, no, before you ask, Captain Hook did not make a cameo.
Now you might think that this has some deep-rooted meaning, but I'm pretty sure that this dream was brought to me by watching an old X-Files before I went to bed. No, no pirates, but there were some very attractive demons. Where the boat or piracy comes from is beyond me.
Back in the day when I was on the debate team I remember there was an affirmative case about pirates in Southeast Asia, and other than thinking it was very amusing to defend pirates, I don't think about them much. They're hardly a threat when you live in Uglyhoma. (We ran AWACS and P3s instead.) This is also the same year that a bunch of the novices wrote the KY counterplan, as in KY jelly, not Kentucky, and the Niceness Critique.
So those are mostly my pirate-type memories. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me to dream about pirates. So I went to this webpage that has a dream interpreter, and this is what it said regarding dreaming about pirates:
To see a pirate in your dream, signifies that some person or situation is adding chaos to your emotional life. You may feel that someone has violated your integrity or creativity. Alternatively, the pirate may symbolize freedom and one who defies authority. You may have desires to explore new adventures and take riskier ventures.
So maybe I should quit being a nurse and become a pirate. Seems risky to me. Arrrrrgh.
And I've always had chase dreams, which according to the site means that I'm avoiding a primal urge or fear. The knife section isn't really clear on interpretation, but I imagine it doesn't have anything to do with teddy bears or buttercups.
What's the craziest dream you've had? Although this one was odd, I've had crazier...
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Sunday, December 04, 2005
The way I figure it, I've got about five people who actually read my blog. So I'm counting on at least five votes...
Go do your patriotic duty already.
There's a lot of awkwardness for me around that. I've changed a lot, but am basically the same. If you had told the ten-year-ago me that I'd be where I am now, I think she'd be really surprised and a litle excited and a little disappointed.
It's all another step on this journey, and as I look back and think about where I've been, I can't help but to also wonder what the twenty-year-reunion-me would come back and say. I hope by then she'll be privy to a time machine with all the winning lotto numbers.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Thursday, December 01, 2005
I have a new project: I am going to learn to speak Swahili.
Believe it or not, after much study I am already fluent in English. I impressed my coworkers today when they learned that I am also literate in the language of my origin. In addition, I am also fluent in Piglatin and LF's. As a trilingual American I think I have a national duty to persue my talent for languages for the sake of diplomacy.
One of my coworkers is from Kenya. She is fluent in English, Swahili, and the tribal language that was spoken in her home. During our lunch I am learning Swahili from her.
You might think that I'm kidding. But you would be wrong. So wrong, in fact, that I will now share my multilingual education with you. This is how we count to ten: Swahili, English, Piglatin, LF's.
moja (one, unwa, wolfun)
mbili (two, owta, twolfu)
tatu (three, eethra, threelfee)
nne (four, ourfa, oralfor)
tano (five, ivetha, fialfive)
sita (six, ixsa, silfix)
saba (seven, evensa, selfeven)
nane (eight, eighta, eilfeight)
tisa (nine, inena, nielfine)
kumi (ten, enta, telfen)
Other important Swahilian phrases:
jambo (hello, hi)
habari gani (how are you)
mzuri (I'm fine!) (Incidently, this is pronounced like the state Missouri.)
tuonane (see you later)
nimechoka (I'm tired.)
Do you remember the radio commercials for the teach-yourself-Spanish-at-home audiobooks? They used to play them on the radio all the time. I ask people if they remember these commercials, and they think I'm crazy mostly, but I know they existed. The big punchline at the end was, 'if you can spell socks, you can speak Spanish!" Apparently "S-O-C K-S" translates to 'it is what it is' or something like that. People who speak Spanish never get it when I say "S O-C K-S"! And it might be just like that when I learn Swahili, although the odds of running into someone who speaks Swahili will be way lower than someone who speaks Spanish. But it could happen. They might say jambo.
And I might answer habari gani.
And all you have to remember if something like that happens to you, is the state of Missouri. But don't say Branson by mistake; it'll make you look ignorant.
If you would like to learn more about Swahili, go here.