Saturday, July 30, 2011

Blorf

You know how sometimes everything is really ok but it feels like it's not? Yeah, it's been one of those weeks. Nothing serious, just multiple days of feeling powerless about most things going on around me.

I'm feeling crabby, frustrated, and lonely. Well, lonely in that the-AF-owns-my-husband-and-I'm-here-because-they-say-so-now-where-did-they-put-him? sort of way. I miss my girlfriends.

End pity party.

As the saying goes, if you can't say anything nice... post a funny picture (or eight). Something like that.










Right, that about sums things up.

Friday, July 29, 2011

These ain't your grandma's Crayola colors!

In perusing one of my guilty pleasures, I got the inspiration I was looking for. We've been discussing paint colors for our place, but neither of us is particularly, um, decoratively inclined. So it's been slow going.

Enter Damn You Auto Correct and voila! I think we'll go with effervescent shitstain and smoker's teeth. Yup, that'll do 'er.

But seriously, do these people not proofread?

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Random question of the day

When people hear beeping noises, especially alarms of any kind, why do they often feel compelled to mimic them?

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Joey, your name is mud. Again.

He ate my glasses. I get that it's too hot to go outside* and that they're bored out of their little minds. I just don't know what to do with them, and so we figure these sorts of things will happen. Arg (heh, not to be confused with ARG).

Anyway, I went to the Walmart optical center to find some new frames the other day. None of them jumped out to me, but they're just glasses, right? I decided on a style different than the old pair. Now the ones Joey ate probably weren't the most flattering on me (they were kind of bulky and I have a small face), but I liked them. I went with a finer frame and slightly different shape.

Why do I feel like I look so different? Like a haircut, I'm sure nobody is really paying attention and I'll get used to it quickly. Still, it's weird.


*A few weeks ago, I took the dogs to our usual beach. It was so hot out and the water was like bath water. Guess who drank half the Gulf of Mexico and proceeded to vomit and diarrhea all over my car. Yeah, Joey, that's who.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


The difficult thing about being concise is that then you can't explain the conversation in your head that lead you to the conclusion.

Monday, July 25, 2011

More awkwardness

It took me a stretch of years to feel comfortable or polite calling adults by their first names. Now, well past the quasi-adult stage, there are still times where I feel uncertain. I try to err on the side of caution, but even that can be a bit tricky. Some people are just sensitive about their age.

Having mostly mastered that awkwardness, I find myself in another strange spot. I've been noticing a trend of more older people (meaning, ones you'd expect to be retired) in the workforce. I suppose it's no surprise. There are a number of people "forced out of retirement" with current state of national affairs. I find it to be a strange interaction, though, because on the one hand they're doing you a paid service, but on the other hand, well, it's Grandma, you know?

Shopping is the hardest and the Commissary is the worst. Shouldn't we be carrying Grandma's grocery bags to the car and not the other way around? The majority of baggers are older folks working only for tips. As we walk out of the air conditioning into the sweltering Redneck Riviera heat, I feel downright shame for walking casually alongside Grandma or Grandpa as (s)he pushes my load of groceries to the car with arthritic knuckles, a gently stooped back, and a slow gait. It's a no-win situation. I mean, if I don't use them, they don't make money (they sure aren't doing it for kicks). If I do use them, it feels disrespectful, especially when it's a heavy load.

It feels wrong. Unlike reaching the age at which you can address most people on a first name basis, I think this is different.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

He wasn't squawkin' 1200

The other day, Peleke and I were flying. I looked out and saw a black splat on the strut that hadn't been there when we took off, and we had been cruising at 5500 feet for quite some time. Upon closer examination, I noted that it was relatively big. I mean, a common bug wouldn't have left that sort of mark. The wings gave it away. They were pressed almost perfectly against the white metal. It had been a dragonfly!

Of all the heights, latitudes, and longitudes where we could be flying, how is it that we killed probably the only dragonfly for miles around?

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Another piece of nostalgia

After graduating college, I moved home to the Midwest for (what I thought was) a good job. Initially I commuted from my folks' place. It was 45 minutes to an hour each way, and I was counting the days until the first few weeks of orientation were over. They were five day work weeks, and the commute during rush hour was killing me. Eventually I settled into the typical three day work week of nursing with its avoidance of rush hour- a perk of twelve hour shifts. But the weeks of orientation felt like forever.


Heh, gotta love The Sandlot!

One morning my usual Chicago radio station did the classic radio show first-caller-with-the-correct-answer-wins-a-prize thing. Bored out of my mind during the 5:45 am commute, I chanced calling in... and won!

I'm not one of those people who seem to have good luck with drawings and lotteries (sorry Peleke, guess the lottery as a retirement plan isn't going to work out). Offhand I can recall winning two things in my life. The second thing was some sort of drawing at a yacht club when I was young. I won a teal blue tshirt undoubtedly advertising something. I was so excited regardless of the fact that there was no hope of it fitting me.

How long does it take for blood to circulate once through the human body? That was the winning question. Now of course there are a number of variables to account for here- size, heart rate, current activity/stress, cardiovascular status, hydration status, etc. I guessed something like a minute and forty-five seconds (having looked it up since then, answers vary, but apparently it was close enough to the radio station's source). When asked, I sheepishly told them that I was a cardiothoracic nurse at Chicago Big Hospital. I didn't tell them I'd only just started taking care of patients.

I heard my voice on the radio and realized how young I sounded. Is that how my patients heard me? We've all got to start somewhere, and I got my fair share of "how old are you, have you done this before*, you're so young!" and the like. That morning, the two other new nurses and I were sent up from our regular floor, the step down unit, to the ICU. As soon as we walked through the unit doors, one of the nurses proclaimed that she'd heard me on the radio that morning. I remember it being a good day up there.

I won $100 worth of movie tickets through Fandango, by the way. I didn't have any friends yet, what with the commute and where my parents lived. I moved into my apartment in Lakeview shortly afterwards, though, so in the end I used them with friends. Sometimes I hear or see ads for Fandango these days, and it makes me smile.


*There's just no good response to this. I always told the truth (or at least I didn't lie), but given the sink-or-swim nature of that unit, it sure didn't take long before I could say yes!

Friday, July 22, 2011

Hibiscus. Hibisci? Hibiscuses!

When I picture a hibiscus, I see this:


But when I think about hibiscus, I see a verdant Hawaiian scene in my mind. A cursory Google image search comes up lacking, but I don't think a picture could do it justice anyway. My memories of Hawaii growing up are too fragrant, colorful, balmy, and happy to be captured by something as relatively simple as a camera.


Of course given that my family, like half of Alaska, went there during the cold, dark winters, I suppose the escape made the memories all the more poignant. Anyway.

Earlier this spring, I was speaking over our fence with our kindly, elderly neighbor. I complimented her on her garden and lamented that even if the dogs weren't eating our rose bush, tearing limbs off of the tree, or denuding our one (and only) flowering bush, I'm pretty sure the shade in our back yard would make a garden difficult. She agreed, but it's probably for the best with the dogs anyway. Less to destroy and less desirable habitat for those water moccasins. Ew.

Clearly familiar with the local flora, I asked if she knew the kind of tree just on the other side of our fence. She said it's a hibiscus tree. Now the flowers certainly looked like it (white!), but I'd asked because I was under the impression that hibiscuses grew on a bush. Well, apparently they grow as trees too! I enjoyed that happy Hawaii feeling for a few seconds.

Having not been on that side of the house in a while, I noticed a tall weed. I mean, up to my chest and straight up vertical with no branches to really speak of. Unsure what it was (pretty in its own way) and puzzled why the lawn guy hadn't whacked it with the other weeds, I asked if my neighbor could identify it as well.

You guessed it, it's a baby hibiscus tree :)

Incidentally, my neighbor said she'd always loved the single rose bush alongside of our house and asked if she could have a clipping before the dogs finish it off. She'd better hurry...

Thursday, July 21, 2011

PSA

Apparently physiologists (something about the University of Pittsburgh is all I caught) now say that the amount of fluid consumed in a pop more than compensates for the diuretic effect of the pop's caffeine.

Meaning? In this summer's response to Snowpocalypse, drink whatever you can!

On a somewhat related note, I detest Gatorade. No seriously, I think it's terribly gross stuff. However, the good doc insists all of his patients pound it after surgery, and so I did. My next leg will be done in November (*whimper*), and I'm hopeful that Gatorade's new watermelon-citrus flavor will provide a little variety.

Friday, July 1, 2011

My life

Salt Life
Mud Life
Sweet Life
New Life
(and others I forgot to write down)

What's with all the defining "life" categories people plaster on their cars?