At The Ohio State University, the best of the best of professors are employed to teach the future thinker of the world the right way to think. However, they don't account for the funny things, and sometimes tragic things, that come out of the mouths of the professors and students.
Biochem -
I love biochem, even thought it's kicking my ass, and I enjoy my professor. He's an intelligent man with good character. However, he said something the other day that made me actually do a double take and stop writing to make sure I heard this correctly. He was discussing starches or something which turned into a discussion on corn. The man actually said, "I'm not sure if corn is native to America or not. I think the Indians had corn but I don't know where they got it from." You're right. They never had corn. They bought it from the local greenhouse and were munching away on it before John Smith and his boat full of honkies arrived.
There's also this kid that sits around me who breathes louder than anyone I've ever heard before. He's not a mouth breather, but sounds like he's using jet engines to breathe through his nose... it's annoying to the point that everyone around him was staring at him today.
Microbio -
The professor for this class is also an intelligent woman, but her fatal flaw is that she's German. English isn't her native language, and in a profession where the words aren't easy to say, teaching it to English speaking students can't be an easy feat.
For the last few weeks we've been touching on DNA. She keeps pronouncing "guanine (gw-i-un-neen)" as "goo-uh-nine." I find this to be hilarious and laugh every single time she says it.
Today she was talking about Antibiotics and as I was jotting down something she'd said, I missed what she was talking about. Apparently so had all of my great friends sitting around me, because she said the words "Magic Bullet" and was referring to it as an antibiotic, and all three of us looked up, looked at each other, and burst into laughter. I think she's mistaken Magic Bullet with something totally different.. like Macrolide Antibiotic ?
Monday, May 24, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
House, M.D. Season Finale
I thought I should take the time to write a quick little blurb about my feelings regarding House's season 6 finale last night.
I LOVED IT!!!!!!!
If you haven't seen the episode yet, I may have some spoilers here, and if you don't watch the show, then you're missing out.
I think 13 is leaving and they'll play up her Huntington's Disease as the cause of her departure. I think Foreman will have a breakdown because of this, and House and Taub and Chase will be there for him.
Cuddy and House being together will be kept a secret at first, but someone will pick up on it. I think Wilson and Sam will break up and he'll fall apart again, which means Cuddy and House will need to be there for him, and maybe that's when this whole dating thing will surface. Regardless, Wilson won't be happy about it in some ways.
I dunno... I just think this next season is going to be AWESOME!
I hear people saying the end of the episode was a hallucination. If the writers played it that way, that's insane. If anything he might wake up in a hospital bed post-op for fixing some wounds or something and the whole thing would have been a dream, but even that would be silly.
This breakup with Cuddy and Lucas started back when Lucas wanted to get even with House and Wilson for getting the condo they wanted. When Cuddy told Lucas not to get even, Lucas said something to the effect of "a less confident man may think that means you're still in love with House.."
FORESHADOWING! lol
Any thoughts?
When does the next season start?!
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Retail Pharmacy
I've worked in a retail pharmacy for almost 6 years, and it's been one of the most rewarding experiences I've ever had. I love my job, I love my customers, and I love being able to get to know each of them on a personal level. However, there are days when you think to yourself, "why the hell am I working here?!" Last week I had one of those days.
I believe in the power of the full moon to bring the crazy people out of the woodwork, but last week wasn't a full moon; there was no real reason for the night to have been this absurd.
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*Customer Service:
I don't work in the customer service center anymore, but when I was first hired with my company, that's where I worked. Now, the way it's set up, it's hard to see if a customer comes to the counter for assistance if they're not really all or you can't hear them. If the person working behind the counter should leave the area, he or she puts the bell out for people to ring, but if they're back there, they don't put the bell out. However, on the front of the counter, where the customer stands, there is a cartoon picture of a bell that says "Ring Bell For Service." The girl that was working in the customer service center has taken a phone call and didn't realize there was a customer standing at the window. About 2 minutes later she turns around and sees someone there and the customer actually said, " I've been over here pushing the bell! Didn't you hear me?"
When the employee said, "what bell? I have the bell back here," the woman replied with, "this bell in the sign!"
The lady was pushing on the picture of the bell thinking it would do something....
*Drug Names Are Confusing For Everyone:
I've heard people absolutely butcher the names of the medications they take, but last week I may have heard the best slaughtering of the over-the-counter drug names. A guy walks up to the counter and seemed very fidgety and almost in a hurry. He was about 20-25 years old, tattooed all over, tall, and a good build. He threw his ID and a $10 bill on the counter and just looked at me and smiled. I came up to the counter and said, "can I help you?"
He looked me square in the face and said one word: Wall-ette
I assumed it was the last name, so I say: Wall-ette, you said?
Him: Yes. Wall-ette
Me: What's the first name?
Him: Darren?
Me: Ok. Did you have something to pick up? (This patient name didn't sound familiar to me at all...)
Him: Ohh! No! It's just a medicine I'm getting without a prescription. Wall-ette.
Me: (totally baffled at this point...) You said it's called Wall-ette?
Him: Yeah.....
Me: Ok.. What's it used for?
Him: I have no idea.... (getting more fidgety) Let me go ask the.. yeah.. I'll go ask him.. Ok.. Be right back!
He grabbed his stuff off the counter and walked away very quickly. The pharmacist and I were cracking up because I honestly thought he was asking me for a wallet! He'd never heard of such a thing either! About 5 minutes goes by and the guy comes back...
Me: Did you figure out what you were looking for?
Him: Yeah. I need Sudafed.
**Blank Stare** How do you get "wall-ette" from "sudafed"? Well, after the guy left, the pharmacist says that Walgreens puts the "wal" prefix at the beginning of their generic OTC drugs. So, I called up a local Walgreens and asked if they had a "wall-ette." I told him the story and he explained that their generic Sudafed is Wal-afed, or something to that effect, but we both shared a laugh at the idea of "wall-ette."
*Arguments:
A man approaches my counter and is picking up a prescription for his wife. He tells me the name and I go searching, like normal. However, there was nothing filled for her, and, upon looking in the computer, I noticed we hadn't filled for her in a few weeks. He politely informed me that he'd call his wife from his cell phone and see what she needed. He stepped away from the counter so I could help another customer and sat on the bench nearby to talk to his wife. About 5 minutes later I can hear them arguing on the phone. I have no idea what they were arguing about, but it sounded pretty heated. He sits there for about 10 minutes arguing then gets up and leaves like nothing happened. He never did come back to tell me what she needed filled, if anything at all, so I just assumed the argument was pretty nasty and she was going to have to go without the medicine that night.
*MILK?!:
Our pharmacy is set up really strange. My counter is, literally, next to the bologna coolers and on the other side of the store from the actual OTC medicine. Next to the bologna and egg cooler is the frozen food section. I'm near your processed meats, but not near your drugs. Anyway, this Indian man comes close to the counter and is staring at the bologna. I was seated in the pharmacy reading my Biochem book when I figured I should see if the guy needed help. So, without getting up, I asked, "sir, do you need help with something?" He replied, without even breaking his awkward stare-down with the Oscar Meyer meat, "WHERE IS YOUR MILK?!" Taken aback by his brash tone, but assuming it was due to his accent, I hesitated then said, "it's going to be in the next set of coolers down, sir." Now, while I say this, I'm pointing to the right showing the man where to go. He hasn't even glanced in my general direction and has NO clue where I'm pointing. He marches down the frozen food section while I'm yelling, "Sir! Sir! Milk is this way!" but he pays no attention and wanders off. My boss was wondering why the guy even bothered to ask if he wasn't going to pay attention. Minutes later I heard that booming voice with the overbearing tones asking a girl in our Cosmetics area where the milk was. She must have also pointed and given him the direction as well, because I heard her say, "Sir! Sir! It's that way!"
*Wrapping Up The Night:
With 20 minutes left to go before we closed down the pharmacy, the phone rang. I picked up the phone and there was a man on the line with a rather forward voice.
Him: This is not an emergency, but I am gonna need to get my medications sometime...
Me: Ok. Do you need refills or do you have a new prescription?
Him: I've got refills.
Me: Ok, can you give me the RX Numbers?
(He does)
Me: Ok, do you need these tonight?
Him: (with a sarcastic tone, like I should have just implied...) Uhhh, yeah!
Me: Ok, well I close in 20 minutes, so you need to be here before then.
Him: I'm already on my way. I'll be there in 10 minutes. Will you be open?
Me: Yes. I close in 20 minutes, so if you are here in 10 minutes, I will be open. It'll take me about 10 minutes to get these filled, so I'll see you then.
Needless to say he arrived 5 minutes later and dropped off 2 more medications...
I believe in the power of the full moon to bring the crazy people out of the woodwork, but last week wasn't a full moon; there was no real reason for the night to have been this absurd.
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*Customer Service:
I don't work in the customer service center anymore, but when I was first hired with my company, that's where I worked. Now, the way it's set up, it's hard to see if a customer comes to the counter for assistance if they're not really all or you can't hear them. If the person working behind the counter should leave the area, he or she puts the bell out for people to ring, but if they're back there, they don't put the bell out. However, on the front of the counter, where the customer stands, there is a cartoon picture of a bell that says "Ring Bell For Service." The girl that was working in the customer service center has taken a phone call and didn't realize there was a customer standing at the window. About 2 minutes later she turns around and sees someone there and the customer actually said, " I've been over here pushing the bell! Didn't you hear me?"
When the employee said, "what bell? I have the bell back here," the woman replied with, "this bell in the sign!"
The lady was pushing on the picture of the bell thinking it would do something....
*Drug Names Are Confusing For Everyone:
I've heard people absolutely butcher the names of the medications they take, but last week I may have heard the best slaughtering of the over-the-counter drug names. A guy walks up to the counter and seemed very fidgety and almost in a hurry. He was about 20-25 years old, tattooed all over, tall, and a good build. He threw his ID and a $10 bill on the counter and just looked at me and smiled. I came up to the counter and said, "can I help you?"
He looked me square in the face and said one word: Wall-ette
I assumed it was the last name, so I say: Wall-ette, you said?
Him: Yes. Wall-ette
Me: What's the first name?
Him: Darren?
Me: Ok. Did you have something to pick up? (This patient name didn't sound familiar to me at all...)
Him: Ohh! No! It's just a medicine I'm getting without a prescription. Wall-ette.
Me: (totally baffled at this point...) You said it's called Wall-ette?
Him: Yeah.....
Me: Ok.. What's it used for?
Him: I have no idea.... (getting more fidgety) Let me go ask the.. yeah.. I'll go ask him.. Ok.. Be right back!
He grabbed his stuff off the counter and walked away very quickly. The pharmacist and I were cracking up because I honestly thought he was asking me for a wallet! He'd never heard of such a thing either! About 5 minutes goes by and the guy comes back...
Me: Did you figure out what you were looking for?
Him: Yeah. I need Sudafed.
**Blank Stare** How do you get "wall-ette" from "sudafed"? Well, after the guy left, the pharmacist says that Walgreens puts the "wal" prefix at the beginning of their generic OTC drugs. So, I called up a local Walgreens and asked if they had a "wall-ette." I told him the story and he explained that their generic Sudafed is Wal-afed, or something to that effect, but we both shared a laugh at the idea of "wall-ette."
*Arguments:
A man approaches my counter and is picking up a prescription for his wife. He tells me the name and I go searching, like normal. However, there was nothing filled for her, and, upon looking in the computer, I noticed we hadn't filled for her in a few weeks. He politely informed me that he'd call his wife from his cell phone and see what she needed. He stepped away from the counter so I could help another customer and sat on the bench nearby to talk to his wife. About 5 minutes later I can hear them arguing on the phone. I have no idea what they were arguing about, but it sounded pretty heated. He sits there for about 10 minutes arguing then gets up and leaves like nothing happened. He never did come back to tell me what she needed filled, if anything at all, so I just assumed the argument was pretty nasty and she was going to have to go without the medicine that night.
*MILK?!:
Our pharmacy is set up really strange. My counter is, literally, next to the bologna coolers and on the other side of the store from the actual OTC medicine. Next to the bologna and egg cooler is the frozen food section. I'm near your processed meats, but not near your drugs. Anyway, this Indian man comes close to the counter and is staring at the bologna. I was seated in the pharmacy reading my Biochem book when I figured I should see if the guy needed help. So, without getting up, I asked, "sir, do you need help with something?" He replied, without even breaking his awkward stare-down with the Oscar Meyer meat, "WHERE IS YOUR MILK?!" Taken aback by his brash tone, but assuming it was due to his accent, I hesitated then said, "it's going to be in the next set of coolers down, sir." Now, while I say this, I'm pointing to the right showing the man where to go. He hasn't even glanced in my general direction and has NO clue where I'm pointing. He marches down the frozen food section while I'm yelling, "Sir! Sir! Milk is this way!" but he pays no attention and wanders off. My boss was wondering why the guy even bothered to ask if he wasn't going to pay attention. Minutes later I heard that booming voice with the overbearing tones asking a girl in our Cosmetics area where the milk was. She must have also pointed and given him the direction as well, because I heard her say, "Sir! Sir! It's that way!"
*Wrapping Up The Night:
With 20 minutes left to go before we closed down the pharmacy, the phone rang. I picked up the phone and there was a man on the line with a rather forward voice.
Him: This is not an emergency, but I am gonna need to get my medications sometime...
Me: Ok. Do you need refills or do you have a new prescription?
Him: I've got refills.
Me: Ok, can you give me the RX Numbers?
(He does)
Me: Ok, do you need these tonight?
Him: (with a sarcastic tone, like I should have just implied...) Uhhh, yeah!
Me: Ok, well I close in 20 minutes, so you need to be here before then.
Him: I'm already on my way. I'll be there in 10 minutes. Will you be open?
Me: Yes. I close in 20 minutes, so if you are here in 10 minutes, I will be open. It'll take me about 10 minutes to get these filled, so I'll see you then.
Needless to say he arrived 5 minutes later and dropped off 2 more medications...
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Wee Bitch on a Rampage
This is a section where I'll take the time to rant about some things...
* Let's start off with Jersey Shore and shows of that nature. Maybe it's just me, but I cannot stand listening to people act retarded and know they're getting paid for it! Your spray on tan isn't cute, your lingo doesn't do it for me, and I question your manhood. Thanks.
* One hit wonders never cease to amaze me. I was flipping through my iPod the other day when I stumbled upon an old Ying Yang Twins song. WTF ever happened to those guys? Maybe it was a little odd that they did whisper or yell in all their songs, but I still liked them. Anyone able to give me an update on those guys?
* To anyone who reads this and has children, I don't mean this to be offensive. Here I am at the store the other day, doing a little shopping, politely minding my own business when I hear a scream echo through the store that sounds like it's off of a horror flick. The awful din was followed by a screeching "I WANT THAT TOY!!!" At this point I was thinking, "Oh well, screaming child... back to shopping." But for the next 5 minutes the screaming ensued. There was no end in sight! The child was on some war path and determined to piss off everyone in the friggin store until SOMEONE bought it that damn toy just to shut it up. It just so happens that I was walking past the aisle that the ruckus was coming from and the parents were, ever so graciously to the rest of the shoppers, giving the child the "I'm ignoring you" treatment. Ok, that's great if you don't want to acknowledge your child's bad behavior at home, but why make me suffer because your kid is obnoxious? My shopping experience was significantly less enjoyable because of your child and your poor excuse for good parenting in public.
* I'm sitting in my biochem class the other day when someone asked a question regarding the professor's lecture material. Now, usually there are some good questions, other times there are some that should be kinda obvious, but I could understand how an individual could be confused over the material. However, on this day, the question was so painfully obvious that I looked at the girl next to me and said, "really, did someone just ask that question?" The professor had been going over certain types of bonds within sugar residues, and he was discussing N, S, and O glycosidic bonds. Basically the bond forms to either a Nitrogen (N), Sulfur (S), or an Oxygen (O). A girl in the back of the classroom raises her hand and asks, "What does N, S, and O stand for?" The professor looked at her with that "omg are you serious" face and she promptly said, "is that for Nitrogen, Sulfur, and Oxygen?" The professor says, "yes. They bond to the Nitrogen, Sulfur or Oxygen as shown in the pictures on the screen. You can see those elements actually in the rings." I actually felt bad that she asked that question out loud. That's the type of question you whisper to the person next to you. You have to have completed general chemistry AND organic chemistry to be in this class.... and you're asking what N, S, and O stand for...
* I enjoy clothes shopping more than I enjoy most things in life. Shopping is a hobby for me, but lately I've found it futile to even try to buy clothes. I'm at some strange weight where I'm between sizes and nothing I try on seems to be flattering. I either get some awkward muffin top going on, or I get way too much baggy fabric in areas where it's very unbecoming. I wish they made those in between sizes.
Have a lovely little evening, everyone.
* Let's start off with Jersey Shore and shows of that nature. Maybe it's just me, but I cannot stand listening to people act retarded and know they're getting paid for it! Your spray on tan isn't cute, your lingo doesn't do it for me, and I question your manhood. Thanks.
* One hit wonders never cease to amaze me. I was flipping through my iPod the other day when I stumbled upon an old Ying Yang Twins song. WTF ever happened to those guys? Maybe it was a little odd that they did whisper or yell in all their songs, but I still liked them. Anyone able to give me an update on those guys?
* To anyone who reads this and has children, I don't mean this to be offensive. Here I am at the store the other day, doing a little shopping, politely minding my own business when I hear a scream echo through the store that sounds like it's off of a horror flick. The awful din was followed by a screeching "I WANT THAT TOY!!!" At this point I was thinking, "Oh well, screaming child... back to shopping." But for the next 5 minutes the screaming ensued. There was no end in sight! The child was on some war path and determined to piss off everyone in the friggin store until SOMEONE bought it that damn toy just to shut it up. It just so happens that I was walking past the aisle that the ruckus was coming from and the parents were, ever so graciously to the rest of the shoppers, giving the child the "I'm ignoring you" treatment. Ok, that's great if you don't want to acknowledge your child's bad behavior at home, but why make me suffer because your kid is obnoxious? My shopping experience was significantly less enjoyable because of your child and your poor excuse for good parenting in public.
* I'm sitting in my biochem class the other day when someone asked a question regarding the professor's lecture material. Now, usually there are some good questions, other times there are some that should be kinda obvious, but I could understand how an individual could be confused over the material. However, on this day, the question was so painfully obvious that I looked at the girl next to me and said, "really, did someone just ask that question?" The professor had been going over certain types of bonds within sugar residues, and he was discussing N, S, and O glycosidic bonds. Basically the bond forms to either a Nitrogen (N), Sulfur (S), or an Oxygen (O). A girl in the back of the classroom raises her hand and asks, "What does N, S, and O stand for?" The professor looked at her with that "omg are you serious" face and she promptly said, "is that for Nitrogen, Sulfur, and Oxygen?" The professor says, "yes. They bond to the Nitrogen, Sulfur or Oxygen as shown in the pictures on the screen. You can see those elements actually in the rings." I actually felt bad that she asked that question out loud. That's the type of question you whisper to the person next to you. You have to have completed general chemistry AND organic chemistry to be in this class.... and you're asking what N, S, and O stand for...
* I enjoy clothes shopping more than I enjoy most things in life. Shopping is a hobby for me, but lately I've found it futile to even try to buy clothes. I'm at some strange weight where I'm between sizes and nothing I try on seems to be flattering. I either get some awkward muffin top going on, or I get way too much baggy fabric in areas where it's very unbecoming. I wish they made those in between sizes.
Have a lovely little evening, everyone.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Professors Touch Themselves When Students Fail
This is going to be short and sweet due to the fact that I have to get back to studying (so I don't fail as miserably as I believe I will......).
I have a Biochemistry midterm tomorrow. This midterm is covering half of chapter 4, all of chapter 5, and all of chapter 6. Believe it or not, that's a lot of material in the 2 weeks since our last midterm. So here I am sitting in class being all diligent and preparing for the midterm when my professor drops the "on to the next chapter" bomb on us. This guy honestly added another chapter 2 days before the exam! WRETCHED! Who does this?!
There must be some joy in watching us all squirm like we're about to be tortured again. I feel like every single time this man gives us more work to do he's really just screaming, "it puts the lotion on the skin!!!!!"
He takes our failures and hangs the worst midterms on his refrigerator and the lower the average, the more satisfied he is. This has to be true. If it wasn't, why wouldn't they just make it easier? There's no argument there...
Truth: Professors get off on having a failing class.
Myth: Professors want the best for you, your general well being, and your overall mental health during a quarter.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Table Manners in a Lecture Hall
I didn't wake up in a bad mood or anything this morning, but I was agitated once I got to campus. Generally, the lecture hall is pretty chilly so I wear a jacket or a hoodie. This morning the weatherman said it would be in the 70s today, and when I was leaving the house at 6:30am, it was already in the 60s. Figuring that I would be stuck in a cool lecture hall, I sleepily threw on a nasty looking t-shirt and a hoodie and went to school.
As luck would have it, it was unbearably hot, and I couldn't take off the hoodie since I threw on some nasty looking t-shirt and a sports bra. This agitated me.
So, I've got a seat saved for my friend who is always late to class, but on the other side of her chair is a girl who spent around 5 minutes fumbling to get her breakfast out of her bag. Now, far be it for me to criticize anyone for eating in class, because I do it all the time. However, if you're going to eat in class, there's some basic etiquette.
1) don't bring obnoxious smelling food (ex: fish, Indian food, Mexican food) that will either disgust everyone or make them all very hungry.
2) don't bring it in some wrapper that makes more noise than 10,000 girls at a Justin Bieber concert.
3) don't make a mess all over everything
4) DON'T LET HALF THE LECTURE HALL HEAR YOU CHOMPING!
This girl brought a ziplock bag of Life cereal (one of my favorites with raisins! mmm) and proceeded to eat. She was placing one square at a time in her mouth and chomping and crunching it so loudly that everyone around her was giving her the side eye. This ziplock bag was FULL of cereal and after the first three chomps, I glanced at the bag to see how long this hell would last and I was just outright angry.
Luckily, so I thought, the professor started talking louder (probably because he, too, could hear her chomping), and I assumed that this would mask the sound of sweetened whole grain being mangled in her mouth, but no such luck. She actually, and I swear on this, was chomping LOUDER the as the professor spoke louder. It was obnoxious. Her appetite must have overcome her, because after about 5 minutes of the insane chewing she started eating 4 or 5 squares at a time. I must have glared at her at least 10 times, and perhaps she saw me and decided to eat faster so I didn't reach over and choke her ass to death.
This cow chomped and chomped and chomped and then chugged some water noisily, then went back to chomping. I was about to freak out when she finally finished the bag of cereal. She proceeded to make noise and meticulously close the ziplock bag while pressing all the air out of it against her desk. She then folded it up nicely and placed it in her bag with these awkward, dainty hand gestures. HELLO! You just ate like a damn Holstein cow! There's nothing delicate, dainty, and feminine about this!
Great morning that was. Luckily, the saving grace was that my quiz in that class was really easy, and I was very prepared for it.
As luck would have it, it was unbearably hot, and I couldn't take off the hoodie since I threw on some nasty looking t-shirt and a sports bra. This agitated me.
So, I've got a seat saved for my friend who is always late to class, but on the other side of her chair is a girl who spent around 5 minutes fumbling to get her breakfast out of her bag. Now, far be it for me to criticize anyone for eating in class, because I do it all the time. However, if you're going to eat in class, there's some basic etiquette.
1) don't bring obnoxious smelling food (ex: fish, Indian food, Mexican food) that will either disgust everyone or make them all very hungry.
2) don't bring it in some wrapper that makes more noise than 10,000 girls at a Justin Bieber concert.
3) don't make a mess all over everything
4) DON'T LET HALF THE LECTURE HALL HEAR YOU CHOMPING!
This girl brought a ziplock bag of Life cereal (one of my favorites with raisins! mmm) and proceeded to eat. She was placing one square at a time in her mouth and chomping and crunching it so loudly that everyone around her was giving her the side eye. This ziplock bag was FULL of cereal and after the first three chomps, I glanced at the bag to see how long this hell would last and I was just outright angry.
Luckily, so I thought, the professor started talking louder (probably because he, too, could hear her chomping), and I assumed that this would mask the sound of sweetened whole grain being mangled in her mouth, but no such luck. She actually, and I swear on this, was chomping LOUDER the as the professor spoke louder. It was obnoxious. Her appetite must have overcome her, because after about 5 minutes of the insane chewing she started eating 4 or 5 squares at a time. I must have glared at her at least 10 times, and perhaps she saw me and decided to eat faster so I didn't reach over and choke her ass to death.
This cow chomped and chomped and chomped and then chugged some water noisily, then went back to chomping. I was about to freak out when she finally finished the bag of cereal. She proceeded to make noise and meticulously close the ziplock bag while pressing all the air out of it against her desk. She then folded it up nicely and placed it in her bag with these awkward, dainty hand gestures. HELLO! You just ate like a damn Holstein cow! There's nothing delicate, dainty, and feminine about this!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Cinco de Mayo - celebrating a holiday I know nothing about
Last year for Cinco de Mayo, my very amazing friend Amy made plans with yours truly to do dinner at a local Mexican restaurant to have some celebratory drinks. I have no idea what celebrating Cinco de Mayo is all about, but I do know that I love Mexican food, and I have a deep passion for margaritas.
We went to a local place knowing that it would be a challenge and a half to get seated in a hurry, but as there were only 2 of us, we figured the wait can't be too bad. We were wrong. An hour and a half later they stick the 2 of us in a booth suited for 4, but it was getting late in the evening so there wasn't too much of a line behind us. Now, it's important to know that at this particular time I was on crutches. I had just had my second hip surgery roughly three weeks before, so I had my gimp equipment with me, but I was elated to be out of the house.
Amy and I ordered dinner and, of course, a big pitcher of the sinfully delicious margarita! We were about half way through the pitcher when, during our normal conversation, we would hear the gentlemen in the booth behind us making some strange noises or be in an uproar of laughter. We didn't think much of it, but at this point we were aware that there were at least 3 guys in the booth behind me (that we could not see into because they're closed booths with walls behind the seats). Well, we were about to head out and waste about half of a pitcher when the guy directly behind me in the booth accidentally knocked over my crutches that were resting in the area between his booth and ours. He immediately grabbed them and apologized profusely. It turns out they were contemplating leaving as well, but upon knocking over my gimp equipment, he decided to take the opportunity to strike up conversation. All three guys snatched chairs from the tables around us and pulled them up to our booth to sit and talk. They were alright guys, maybe in their late 20s or early 30s. They were well mannered and a little drunk, but all around nice. They offered to buy us a pitcher, but when we told them we couldn't finish ours, they helped us out and drank some of it while starting conversation.
Amy and I were asking the guys about what they did, who they were, and the typical things that encompass normal conversation. However, one of the guys in the group was announced as being a doctor, but what type of practitioner wasn't mentioned at all. When pressed about it, he declined to answer as well. The way he held conversation about physical therapy and medication made Amy and I believe that he was, in fact, somewhere in the sports medicine field. Not knowing that I have a fairly crude sense of humor, the guy looked surprised and was in an uproar of laughter when I said, "he's probably a proctologist but doesn't want to admit it. I mean, who wants to say they're a butt doctor?"
All the guys were laughing and grab-assing about the statement, but he took the time to assure me he was straight, which was something I never questioned. I took that as a flirt, to be honest, and Amy and I started rolling with the punches. We were busting their balls left and right about being straight and proctology. I'm not sure how it came up, but I believe Amy asked if he was a Gynecologist. He started laughing and said something to the effect of: "with all the snatch I get you'd think I was." I, then, exclaimed that he wasn't a licensed doctor at all! He was a "recreational gynecologist."
Thus began the evening with the guys that we didn't know and never saw again. We sat and laughed about recreational gynecology and what all that would encompass, and the types of "patient to doctor" conversation that might occur. This all lasted for about 45 minutes, but the conversation definitely resonated through the night. Amy and I met up with our group of boys after that and were still laughing about the medical hobby to ourselves like little kids do when they have a secret or an inside joke. We tried to explain it to our boys, but they didn't find it nearly as funny as we did. I'll attest that they were just jealous they didn't think of it first...
We went to a local place knowing that it would be a challenge and a half to get seated in a hurry, but as there were only 2 of us, we figured the wait can't be too bad. We were wrong. An hour and a half later they stick the 2 of us in a booth suited for 4, but it was getting late in the evening so there wasn't too much of a line behind us. Now, it's important to know that at this particular time I was on crutches. I had just had my second hip surgery roughly three weeks before, so I had my gimp equipment with me, but I was elated to be out of the house.
Amy and I ordered dinner and, of course, a big pitcher of the sinfully delicious margarita! We were about half way through the pitcher when, during our normal conversation, we would hear the gentlemen in the booth behind us making some strange noises or be in an uproar of laughter. We didn't think much of it, but at this point we were aware that there were at least 3 guys in the booth behind me (that we could not see into because they're closed booths with walls behind the seats). Well, we were about to head out and waste about half of a pitcher when the guy directly behind me in the booth accidentally knocked over my crutches that were resting in the area between his booth and ours. He immediately grabbed them and apologized profusely. It turns out they were contemplating leaving as well, but upon knocking over my gimp equipment, he decided to take the opportunity to strike up conversation. All three guys snatched chairs from the tables around us and pulled them up to our booth to sit and talk. They were alright guys, maybe in their late 20s or early 30s. They were well mannered and a little drunk, but all around nice. They offered to buy us a pitcher, but when we told them we couldn't finish ours, they helped us out and drank some of it while starting conversation.
Amy and I were asking the guys about what they did, who they were, and the typical things that encompass normal conversation. However, one of the guys in the group was announced as being a doctor, but what type of practitioner wasn't mentioned at all. When pressed about it, he declined to answer as well. The way he held conversation about physical therapy and medication made Amy and I believe that he was, in fact, somewhere in the sports medicine field. Not knowing that I have a fairly crude sense of humor, the guy looked surprised and was in an uproar of laughter when I said, "he's probably a proctologist but doesn't want to admit it. I mean, who wants to say they're a butt doctor?"
All the guys were laughing and grab-assing about the statement, but he took the time to assure me he was straight, which was something I never questioned. I took that as a flirt, to be honest, and Amy and I started rolling with the punches. We were busting their balls left and right about being straight and proctology. I'm not sure how it came up, but I believe Amy asked if he was a Gynecologist. He started laughing and said something to the effect of: "with all the snatch I get you'd think I was." I, then, exclaimed that he wasn't a licensed doctor at all! He was a "recreational gynecologist."
Thus began the evening with the guys that we didn't know and never saw again. We sat and laughed about recreational gynecology and what all that would encompass, and the types of "patient to doctor" conversation that might occur. This all lasted for about 45 minutes, but the conversation definitely resonated through the night. Amy and I met up with our group of boys after that and were still laughing about the medical hobby to ourselves like little kids do when they have a secret or an inside joke. We tried to explain it to our boys, but they didn't find it nearly as funny as we did. I'll attest that they were just jealous they didn't think of it first...
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Surprise in the Mail
In the last year and a half of my life, I've undergone two unsuccessful hip surgeries. Now, before you get all "OMG what happened? You're so young" bullshit on me, let me give you the general feel for the situation:
1) Yes I'm young, but it happens.
2) I'm that unlucky 2% of people where SOMETHING must go wrong with all things regarding my overall health
3) It sucks, but I'm having a 3rd hip surgery this July to HOPEFULLY fix it all back up so I can go do my thing.
4) I have no insurance, which sucks, but leads me to tell you this little story.....
So, after my last hip surgery was deemed a failure (by me and my doctor), we discussed shipping me out to Colorado to see the best of the best when it come to hip surgeries. This guy's name is Marc Philippon. Apparently this guy is super elite, as he does hip surgeries for PGA golfers, baseball stars, movie stars, porn stars, pretty much anyone that can afford him, or anyone that has insurance. It's also my understanding that he is the guy that "created," if you will, the hip surgery I need done. See, I need my labrum (on my hip) fixed, and more than fixed, I need it repaired. Until this doctor, there was no such thing. As I was doing some research on this doctor, I stumbled upon a recent article (recent as in just before the 2009 baseball season) where he had done a surgery on Alexander Rodriguez's (of the Yankees) hip.
Now, I'm not a baseball fan in the sense that I know ANYONE who plays baseball unless they're mega famous and even the blind, deaf, and dumb know who they are. So I decided to start watching baseball during this season to see how A-Rod was doing (I figured he'd not be playing at all). To my surprise he was RUNNING! This guy got fixed! He was BETTER! This was something I wanted for myself. I felt SO cheated that this guy who gets busted for steroids is allowed to be able to run, but a 24 year old with big boobs, that I'm sure someone wants to see bounce, can't get fixed! Well, sappy me started crying out of jealousy. Anyway, I digress...
At the end of the season when the Yanks won, I wrote a letter to A-Rod. The letter basically said: I'm poor and can't afford surgery with the doctor you had surgery with, and I'm super jealous. Keep doing what you're doing because it actually gives me hope that someday I won't be "gimptastic" and I'll be able to run and bounce my boobs for all the world to see.
Well, I call up the best friend and told her about my letter to A-Rod. She sounded really surprised and said, "I wrote him too! I told him about you needing surgery with his doctor, that you had no insurance, that you were broke and in college, and that he should pay for your surgery." (I LOVE MY BEST FRIEND!) LOL
Months go by......
I was going through the mail last week when I noticed an envelope hand addressed to me (clearly this wasn't a medical bill as I usually get in the mail!). It was from some photography company in Los Angeles and it said "DO NOT BEND" very boldly on the front. To my surprise, inside lay a little gem...
A-Rod sent me a hand autographed picture of himself. That's right folks, hand autographed. Not a stamp and not printed on, but signed with a silver Sharpie. That could probably score me, what, $20 on e-bay? Just enough to pay for the glass of ice water and the bag of peanuts on my flight to Colorado for a subsequent $100,000 surgery.
1) Yes I'm young, but it happens.
2) I'm that unlucky 2% of people where SOMETHING must go wrong with all things regarding my overall health
3) It sucks, but I'm having a 3rd hip surgery this July to HOPEFULLY fix it all back up so I can go do my thing.
4) I have no insurance, which sucks, but leads me to tell you this little story.....
So, after my last hip surgery was deemed a failure (by me and my doctor), we discussed shipping me out to Colorado to see the best of the best when it come to hip surgeries. This guy's name is Marc Philippon. Apparently this guy is super elite, as he does hip surgeries for PGA golfers, baseball stars, movie stars, porn stars, pretty much anyone that can afford him, or anyone that has insurance. It's also my understanding that he is the guy that "created," if you will, the hip surgery I need done. See, I need my labrum (on my hip) fixed, and more than fixed, I need it repaired. Until this doctor, there was no such thing. As I was doing some research on this doctor, I stumbled upon a recent article (recent as in just before the 2009 baseball season) where he had done a surgery on Alexander Rodriguez's (of the Yankees) hip.
Now, I'm not a baseball fan in the sense that I know ANYONE who plays baseball unless they're mega famous and even the blind, deaf, and dumb know who they are. So I decided to start watching baseball during this season to see how A-Rod was doing (I figured he'd not be playing at all). To my surprise he was RUNNING! This guy got fixed! He was BETTER! This was something I wanted for myself. I felt SO cheated that this guy who gets busted for steroids is allowed to be able to run, but a 24 year old with big boobs, that I'm sure someone wants to see bounce, can't get fixed! Well, sappy me started crying out of jealousy. Anyway, I digress...
At the end of the season when the Yanks won, I wrote a letter to A-Rod. The letter basically said: I'm poor and can't afford surgery with the doctor you had surgery with, and I'm super jealous. Keep doing what you're doing because it actually gives me hope that someday I won't be "gimptastic" and I'll be able to run and bounce my boobs for all the world to see.
Well, I call up the best friend and told her about my letter to A-Rod. She sounded really surprised and said, "I wrote him too! I told him about you needing surgery with his doctor, that you had no insurance, that you were broke and in college, and that he should pay for your surgery." (I LOVE MY BEST FRIEND!) LOL
Months go by......
I was going through the mail last week when I noticed an envelope hand addressed to me (clearly this wasn't a medical bill as I usually get in the mail!). It was from some photography company in Los Angeles and it said "DO NOT BEND" very boldly on the front. To my surprise, inside lay a little gem...
A-Rod sent me a hand autographed picture of himself. That's right folks, hand autographed. Not a stamp and not printed on, but signed with a silver Sharpie. That could probably score me, what, $20 on e-bay? Just enough to pay for the glass of ice water and the bag of peanuts on my flight to Colorado for a subsequent $100,000 surgery.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Blessings of Microbiology Lab
It's been quite a long time since I've last updated, and I do feel bad about that. School has been overwhelming for me as I've not been a student for quite some time. However, the pain in my hip has become so bad today that I decided to skip class and rest. I figured that, since I'm not in school today, I'll write about being in school.
In my microbiology lab we work in pairs more often than in groups of four. The "pair" is the person sitting next to you, and the group of four is you and your partner plus the pair across from you. The two individuals across from me, Brittany and Todd, are pretty much the coolest people I've ever met. My partner, however, is just a little different. Her name is Lindsey. Don't get me wrong, Lindsey is a very intelligent girl and means well with everything she does, but she's so socially awkward it earned her a spot in my blog.
Our first day in lab is kind of the "housekeeping" day where we get business done, meet our group, and work on some stupid experiment that could be done in all of 11 minutes if everyone wasn't nervous and new to what was going on. The first day I worked with Lindsey, I knew this was going to be a long quarter...
On the first day Lindsey seemed to be awkward about everything. Simple tasks that would make sense to any other individual overwhelmed her and made no sense to her at all. This is understandable, because most things in a microbiology lab can be ass-backwards and confusing. I had already taken this class for about 6 weeks before I had to drop out and have hip surgery, so I'm able to move through all of this material very quick, but I want to ensure Lindsey knows what she's doing. So we took our time, made sure she got a feel for what was to be done, and as I watched her begin to inoculate an agar plate, I couldn't help but die a little inside. The steps for preparing to put a broth-based sample onto a agar plate go as follows:
1) flame the inoculating loop until it is red hot
2) vortex suspension in text tube
3) open test tube and remove the lid with the pinky finger of the hand the loop is in
4) flame the lip of the tube
5) cool the loop on the inside wall of the test tube
6) get a loopful of suspension
7) flame the lip of the tube again and replace lid
8) open plate lid slightly and place loopful of stuff on agar
9) reflame inoculating loop until red hot
10) have a nice day
SHE SAYS EVERY STEP OUT LOUD WHILE DOING IT. Every single step. It's like having a narrator in the background, except this narrator announces everything she's doing with strange inflections at the end of words.
Well by the second lab period I assumed she was a little strange, but nothing too bad. As Brittany and I listened to the lecture during the first 20 minutes of lab, we were half watching Lindsey as she kept making these odd noises and gestures. Suddenly her right arm shoots out as straight as it can go and she hauls off and slaps herself in the face with such force it was audible. She did this again within minutes and Brittany and I found ourselves staring at each other with great concern in our eyes.
Now I know the difference between one of those "wake up, girl!" slaps you give yourself, or the occasional slaps or pinches you give yourself when you are trying to make your cheeks look a little more rosy for a totally cute guy that's on the other side of the room. This slap was none of those things. This is the type of slap you give your boyfriend when you found out that he slept with your best friend, her mother, and her mother's best friend all at once on a Friday night after a toga party. Very different.
As if that wasn't bad enough, there were other socially awkward things that sent up exploding red flares. When waiting for slides to air-dry so we could stain them, Lindsey actually asked the TA if she could hold them up by the fluorescent light bulb to help them dry faster. The TA thinking it was a joke, chuckled at first, but realized Lindsey was stone serious and said "I don't think that will help."
Lindsey has a bad habit of interrupting the TAs for assistance, regardless of how minor the issue at hand is. There have been at least 3 occasions where she's moved another student out of the way to get to a TA who was helping another student. She'll go "I NEED YOUR HELP" right to the TA while they're talking, and of course they ask her to wait. That never seems good enough, so she'll just ask her question immediately then and will get the irritated look and they, again, inform her they will be over in a few minutes.
Then there was the tantrum. When the microscope somehow came out of focus, it took us forever to find our bacteria on the slides. I wasn't having any luck finding the bacteria as our wax markers on the slides had long since washed away and our specimen were like a needle in a haystack of glass, so I let her take a shot at finding them. Five minutes later she was having no luck and stomped her foot and let out this growl of frustration. Now, I suppose this could be understandable in some situations, but it was followed by her trying to regain her composure and talking to herself saying "It's ok Lindsey... focus."
When I get frustrated with something I throw up my hands and go "screw this" and walk away for a bit. I'm rarely one to kick a cabinet or stomp my foot and growl without making a playful joke out of it. This was new territory for me.
Then came the time that she started talking to microorganisms. While hunting for live E. coli on her slide, she seemed agitated that nothing was showing up. Eventually she found them and said "are you dancing for me? Hello little microorganisms. Are you happy to see me? Did you miss me?"
This is E. coli we're talking about here. How can it miss you? It's not a house cat! It's not your boyfriend! It's bacteria!
This is going to be a LONG quarter.
In my microbiology lab we work in pairs more often than in groups of four. The "pair" is the person sitting next to you, and the group of four is you and your partner plus the pair across from you. The two individuals across from me, Brittany and Todd, are pretty much the coolest people I've ever met. My partner, however, is just a little different. Her name is Lindsey. Don't get me wrong, Lindsey is a very intelligent girl and means well with everything she does, but she's so socially awkward it earned her a spot in my blog.
Our first day in lab is kind of the "housekeeping" day where we get business done, meet our group, and work on some stupid experiment that could be done in all of 11 minutes if everyone wasn't nervous and new to what was going on. The first day I worked with Lindsey, I knew this was going to be a long quarter...
On the first day Lindsey seemed to be awkward about everything. Simple tasks that would make sense to any other individual overwhelmed her and made no sense to her at all. This is understandable, because most things in a microbiology lab can be ass-backwards and confusing. I had already taken this class for about 6 weeks before I had to drop out and have hip surgery, so I'm able to move through all of this material very quick, but I want to ensure Lindsey knows what she's doing. So we took our time, made sure she got a feel for what was to be done, and as I watched her begin to inoculate an agar plate, I couldn't help but die a little inside. The steps for preparing to put a broth-based sample onto a agar plate go as follows:
1) flame the inoculating loop until it is red hot
2) vortex suspension in text tube
3) open test tube and remove the lid with the pinky finger of the hand the loop is in
4) flame the lip of the tube
5) cool the loop on the inside wall of the test tube
6) get a loopful of suspension
7) flame the lip of the tube again and replace lid
8) open plate lid slightly and place loopful of stuff on agar
9) reflame inoculating loop until red hot
10) have a nice day
SHE SAYS EVERY STEP OUT LOUD WHILE DOING IT. Every single step. It's like having a narrator in the background, except this narrator announces everything she's doing with strange inflections at the end of words.
Well by the second lab period I assumed she was a little strange, but nothing too bad. As Brittany and I listened to the lecture during the first 20 minutes of lab, we were half watching Lindsey as she kept making these odd noises and gestures. Suddenly her right arm shoots out as straight as it can go and she hauls off and slaps herself in the face with such force it was audible. She did this again within minutes and Brittany and I found ourselves staring at each other with great concern in our eyes.
Now I know the difference between one of those "wake up, girl!" slaps you give yourself, or the occasional slaps or pinches you give yourself when you are trying to make your cheeks look a little more rosy for a totally cute guy that's on the other side of the room. This slap was none of those things. This is the type of slap you give your boyfriend when you found out that he slept with your best friend, her mother, and her mother's best friend all at once on a Friday night after a toga party. Very different.
As if that wasn't bad enough, there were other socially awkward things that sent up exploding red flares. When waiting for slides to air-dry so we could stain them, Lindsey actually asked the TA if she could hold them up by the fluorescent light bulb to help them dry faster. The TA thinking it was a joke, chuckled at first, but realized Lindsey was stone serious and said "I don't think that will help."
Lindsey has a bad habit of interrupting the TAs for assistance, regardless of how minor the issue at hand is. There have been at least 3 occasions where she's moved another student out of the way to get to a TA who was helping another student. She'll go "I NEED YOUR HELP" right to the TA while they're talking, and of course they ask her to wait. That never seems good enough, so she'll just ask her question immediately then and will get the irritated look and they, again, inform her they will be over in a few minutes.
Then there was the tantrum. When the microscope somehow came out of focus, it took us forever to find our bacteria on the slides. I wasn't having any luck finding the bacteria as our wax markers on the slides had long since washed away and our specimen were like a needle in a haystack of glass, so I let her take a shot at finding them. Five minutes later she was having no luck and stomped her foot and let out this growl of frustration. Now, I suppose this could be understandable in some situations, but it was followed by her trying to regain her composure and talking to herself saying "It's ok Lindsey... focus."
When I get frustrated with something I throw up my hands and go "screw this" and walk away for a bit. I'm rarely one to kick a cabinet or stomp my foot and growl without making a playful joke out of it. This was new territory for me.
Then came the time that she started talking to microorganisms. While hunting for live E. coli on her slide, she seemed agitated that nothing was showing up. Eventually she found them and said "are you dancing for me? Hello little microorganisms. Are you happy to see me? Did you miss me?"
This is E. coli we're talking about here. How can it miss you? It's not a house cat! It's not your boyfriend! It's bacteria!
This is going to be a LONG quarter.
Monday, March 29, 2010
I'd rather be crushed by a meteor than kiss you...
It's been a bit since I've updated. I've just started back to school today and been pretty busy lately.
On to business...
We've all experienced bad kissers at some point in our lives. Regardless of if you were kissing a man or a woman, there are just some people who are epic failures in the smooch department. I encountered a guy, years ago, who must have taken lessons from a Great Dane on how to kiss a girl.
After polite conversation and a beer with Davey, we were watching something boring on TV and I was pretending to be interested all while desperately hoping one of my girls would call me and bail me out. He must have sensed my desperation to turn off what I think was the World Series of Poker, and flipped the channel to something that started conversation. Again, we started chatting and we were really enjoying each other's company. As the natural course of dates like this seem to go, Davey leaned in for a kiss before I left.
Now, everyone loves that first kiss with someone. That first time you lay down the good kisses that you've probably practiced with your hand or your mirror 100 times as a teenager makes you get butterflies. If that person is a good kisser, you feel even better and kind of giddy and all. But, if that person is a bad kisser, you wish that the 182,138,880,000,000 to 1 odds of a meteor landing on your home would happen while this kiss was taking place.
So this guy makes what seems to be a weird CPR-esque seal around my mouth with his teeth against my lips and starts shaking his head back and forth. I wasn't sure if he was trying to do some exfoliation technique my lips with his teeth or what, but my mouth was feeling disgusting being covered in saliva that wasn't my own. But the fun didn't stop there. As I tried to pull myself away from this wretched kiss from hell, he must have mistaken this gesture as a "please, kiss me more" plea and decided to put his tongue in my mouth. This is where things get even more confusing.
He literally used his hand to pull down my jaw while he was kissing me and flopped his tongue in my mouth and didn't move it. He went "oooooohhh" and started, again, shaking his head in a very confusing fashion. I was so bewildered that I didn't know what to do. I was desperate to leave. I actually started playing with the volume buttons on my phone to make it ring and jumped up screaming "OH! my mom is calling I have to go!" *Thanks for bailing me out, friends LOL
Needless to say I never spoke to him again. He called, but I never answered. When I saw him in public, I pretended not to recognize him. How could you ever face someone again knowing you kissed them that way? How has he survived this long with such terrible skills? Truth be told, he was in a several year long relationship that had ended about 5 months before we hung out. I pity that woman and it is very clear to me why she left him.
There was drool all over my face and the couch when I left. There was none on my shirt because the distance between him and myself was easily a foot, as I was desperately trying to escape the kiss that even the most lonely and depressed wouldn't accept.
On to business...
We've all experienced bad kissers at some point in our lives. Regardless of if you were kissing a man or a woman, there are just some people who are epic failures in the smooch department. I encountered a guy, years ago, who must have taken lessons from a Great Dane on how to kiss a girl.
After polite conversation and a beer with Davey, we were watching something boring on TV and I was pretending to be interested all while desperately hoping one of my girls would call me and bail me out. He must have sensed my desperation to turn off what I think was the World Series of Poker, and flipped the channel to something that started conversation. Again, we started chatting and we were really enjoying each other's company. As the natural course of dates like this seem to go, Davey leaned in for a kiss before I left.
Now, everyone loves that first kiss with someone. That first time you lay down the good kisses that you've probably practiced with your hand or your mirror 100 times as a teenager makes you get butterflies. If that person is a good kisser, you feel even better and kind of giddy and all. But, if that person is a bad kisser, you wish that the 182,138,880,000,000 to 1 odds of a meteor landing on your home would happen while this kiss was taking place.
So this guy makes what seems to be a weird CPR-esque seal around my mouth with his teeth against my lips and starts shaking his head back and forth. I wasn't sure if he was trying to do some exfoliation technique my lips with his teeth or what, but my mouth was feeling disgusting being covered in saliva that wasn't my own. But the fun didn't stop there. As I tried to pull myself away from this wretched kiss from hell, he must have mistaken this gesture as a "please, kiss me more" plea and decided to put his tongue in my mouth. This is where things get even more confusing.
He literally used his hand to pull down my jaw while he was kissing me and flopped his tongue in my mouth and didn't move it. He went "oooooohhh" and started, again, shaking his head in a very confusing fashion. I was so bewildered that I didn't know what to do. I was desperate to leave. I actually started playing with the volume buttons on my phone to make it ring and jumped up screaming "OH! my mom is calling I have to go!" *Thanks for bailing me out, friends LOL
Needless to say I never spoke to him again. He called, but I never answered. When I saw him in public, I pretended not to recognize him. How could you ever face someone again knowing you kissed them that way? How has he survived this long with such terrible skills? Truth be told, he was in a several year long relationship that had ended about 5 months before we hung out. I pity that woman and it is very clear to me why she left him.
There was drool all over my face and the couch when I left. There was none on my shirt because the distance between him and myself was easily a foot, as I was desperately trying to escape the kiss that even the most lonely and depressed wouldn't accept.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Orlando Airport
Every year in July I fly down to Orlando to help run a martial arts tournament with the USBA/WBA Breaking Team. They're pretty much the best team of people ever, and they're wonderfully kind to me. Well, last year, like normal, they are flying me down to run this tournament, but I'm still not in the best of physical conditions after hip surgery. My surgery had been in April, and as I was off crutches for average everyday walking, I was concerned that at the distances I'd be needing to walk at the resort and at the tournament my hip would give way. So, here I am with crutches in tow.
My mom drops me off at the airport in Columbus and I check my bag and move slowly with a large, bulky, yet wonderfully fashionable carry-on from Victoria's Secret. It's a white duffel-esque bag that is large enough to fit a 5 year old inside with his or her favorite teddy bear. It goes over the shoulder or has two handles for those who prefer to carry their bags by hand and look cool. I, however, had the bag on my butt, slung over the shoulder, and my crutches were hitting it every step of the way. It was miserable! I boarded the plane and got to Orlando without incident. From Orlando I decided against walking myself, as I had to get my checked bag to take the the resort, so I used a wheelchair service to get downstairs and get to the shuttle. The people at the airport that push you in the wheelchairs do NOT want to wait in line with you under any circumstance, and as it's mandatory that you wait in line to get your stupid pass to the Disney shuttle, the attendee was frustrated and anxious. He eventually dropped me off at the shuttle waiting area and hurried along to his next tip-bearing cripple.
Being at Disney was just fine and I managed to get around quite well given my condition. The resort was very understanding and worked with me to ensure I was as close as possible to the convention center. Being at a martial arts tournament on crutches gets you some strange looks, but the people there presume you're badass enough to beat them to death with your crutches.
On the way home to Columbus my trip was not so pleasant. I was desperately tired and my body was in pain. I boarded the shuttle in the sweltering heat of the Orlando July, and 30 minutes later arrived at the airport where I went to check in and check my bag. I was provided with a wheelchair instantly when departing the shuttle as the gentleman driving the bus had radioed ahead that I was gimp-tastic. The gentleman pushing my chair to the check area left me and another man took over to get me through the check point to my gate. This second man was totally creepy. These guys wear little radios to be directed to where they need to pick up another wheelchair-bound guest, and when they don't respond to the man speaking in a foreign language through their walkie-talkies they get in trouble. So, the foreign man was yelling at my "driver" and he said to me "excuse me, I need to take this page and make a call to him." I didn't think much of it, but we had just exited the elevator and we were in the main thoroughfare of the airport where people go from the gates to get their baggage. So, here I am with the driver and suddenly he stops and runs off to my left. HE LEFT ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WALKWAY.
I'm sitting in this chair clutching my crutches and he's left my carry-on behind me. I can't get to it to scoot myself along so I can get to the gate myself. So all these people are passing me by looking at me like I'm a lost child or unattended baggage. Or maybe they're looking at me like "bitch, get out of the way!" I couldn't tell, but what I did know was that I wanted to go home. So, in the midst of all this chaos, I called my mom. I told her I had been stranded in the middle of an aisle by a man that spoke no discernible English and that I wanted her to come get me right now before I started crying. She's talking to me like mom's do and calms me down, meanwhile the awkward glances are only increasing because now I'm not only in the way, but I'm in the way on my cell phone.
Finally 10 minutes or so goes by and the driver of my wheelchair shows back up and literally says "I'm not waiting with you through the gate, someone else will come get you if you need them." At this point I was about through with trying to ease the pain and burden on my hip, so I just told the guy to get me to the checkpoint and I'd do the rest myself. Of course my crutches can't go with me through the gate, so I have to let them get scanned, then go through the metal detector, then go through the metal detector with metal crutches. Well, the scanner goes off (obviously) with my metal crutches, so they take me to the side and try it again and scan my very obviously metal crutches AGAIN, then they checked my hands for explosives. Yes, like I'm going to have explosive crutch material on my hands they swabbed me down. I hobbled down to my gate, which was the one farthest away from everything and sat down. Then our gate got switched. I picked up my goods and walked about 5 minutes away to the new gate we would be using. As I'm approaching my gate a different guy pushing a wheelchair tries to scoop me up and help me out, but I was out of cash and I don't want your help now as I'm like, 5 feet from where I need to be! He was displeased that I didn't want his services.
It has come to my attention that I'm going to be flying on crutches again, but this time I'll be coming home from Colorado after surgery. Hopefully they are a little more helpful in the wheelchair department and they don't leave me awkwardly placed in the middle of a very, very busy walkway.
So the moral of this story: If you have to travel with crutches, bring cash and patience.
My mom drops me off at the airport in Columbus and I check my bag and move slowly with a large, bulky, yet wonderfully fashionable carry-on from Victoria's Secret. It's a white duffel-esque bag that is large enough to fit a 5 year old inside with his or her favorite teddy bear. It goes over the shoulder or has two handles for those who prefer to carry their bags by hand and look cool. I, however, had the bag on my butt, slung over the shoulder, and my crutches were hitting it every step of the way. It was miserable! I boarded the plane and got to Orlando without incident. From Orlando I decided against walking myself, as I had to get my checked bag to take the the resort, so I used a wheelchair service to get downstairs and get to the shuttle. The people at the airport that push you in the wheelchairs do NOT want to wait in line with you under any circumstance, and as it's mandatory that you wait in line to get your stupid pass to the Disney shuttle, the attendee was frustrated and anxious. He eventually dropped me off at the shuttle waiting area and hurried along to his next tip-bearing cripple.
Being at Disney was just fine and I managed to get around quite well given my condition. The resort was very understanding and worked with me to ensure I was as close as possible to the convention center. Being at a martial arts tournament on crutches gets you some strange looks, but the people there presume you're badass enough to beat them to death with your crutches.
On the way home to Columbus my trip was not so pleasant. I was desperately tired and my body was in pain. I boarded the shuttle in the sweltering heat of the Orlando July, and 30 minutes later arrived at the airport where I went to check in and check my bag. I was provided with a wheelchair instantly when departing the shuttle as the gentleman driving the bus had radioed ahead that I was gimp-tastic. The gentleman pushing my chair to the check area left me and another man took over to get me through the check point to my gate. This second man was totally creepy. These guys wear little radios to be directed to where they need to pick up another wheelchair-bound guest, and when they don't respond to the man speaking in a foreign language through their walkie-talkies they get in trouble. So, the foreign man was yelling at my "driver" and he said to me "excuse me, I need to take this page and make a call to him." I didn't think much of it, but we had just exited the elevator and we were in the main thoroughfare of the airport where people go from the gates to get their baggage. So, here I am with the driver and suddenly he stops and runs off to my left. HE LEFT ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WALKWAY.
I'm sitting in this chair clutching my crutches and he's left my carry-on behind me. I can't get to it to scoot myself along so I can get to the gate myself. So all these people are passing me by looking at me like I'm a lost child or unattended baggage. Or maybe they're looking at me like "bitch, get out of the way!" I couldn't tell, but what I did know was that I wanted to go home. So, in the midst of all this chaos, I called my mom. I told her I had been stranded in the middle of an aisle by a man that spoke no discernible English and that I wanted her to come get me right now before I started crying. She's talking to me like mom's do and calms me down, meanwhile the awkward glances are only increasing because now I'm not only in the way, but I'm in the way on my cell phone.
Finally 10 minutes or so goes by and the driver of my wheelchair shows back up and literally says "I'm not waiting with you through the gate, someone else will come get you if you need them." At this point I was about through with trying to ease the pain and burden on my hip, so I just told the guy to get me to the checkpoint and I'd do the rest myself. Of course my crutches can't go with me through the gate, so I have to let them get scanned, then go through the metal detector, then go through the metal detector with metal crutches. Well, the scanner goes off (obviously) with my metal crutches, so they take me to the side and try it again and scan my very obviously metal crutches AGAIN, then they checked my hands for explosives. Yes, like I'm going to have explosive crutch material on my hands they swabbed me down. I hobbled down to my gate, which was the one farthest away from everything and sat down. Then our gate got switched. I picked up my goods and walked about 5 minutes away to the new gate we would be using. As I'm approaching my gate a different guy pushing a wheelchair tries to scoop me up and help me out, but I was out of cash and I don't want your help now as I'm like, 5 feet from where I need to be! He was displeased that I didn't want his services.
It has come to my attention that I'm going to be flying on crutches again, but this time I'll be coming home from Colorado after surgery. Hopefully they are a little more helpful in the wheelchair department and they don't leave me awkwardly placed in the middle of a very, very busy walkway.
So the moral of this story: If you have to travel with crutches, bring cash and patience.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Men.
Let's begin with a little bit of idle jabber today about the weather. (This could be an indicator that I'm getting old...) I'm sitting in my glorious (and heinously messy) bedroom with the windows open and the blinds clear at the top! It's 65 degrees and beautiful out today, and nothing makes a person feel better than fresh, radiant energy spilling into a downtrodden winter's room. The only downside, the kid from a few houses down appears to be urinating in the trees in his back yard while giggling and yelling to his friends on the other side of the trees. I hope this isn't a new game of hide and seek.
Let's got back in time by about a week and a half. I had just gotten off work from the pharmacy and it had been a long, but pleasant, night. My hip wasn't in the worst of shape that evening, so I decided to seize the opportunity and call up some friends whom I knew were going out. The girls, Kelly and Megan (keep in mind, I like to change up some names), and I hit our favorite local bar with the intention of having a few drinks and enjoying the evening.
Upon arrival at this bar, it was evident that the night had potential to be a tragic evening full of creepy guys making pathetic advances. Sometimes your gut instincts should be listened to. I didn't feel much like drinking when we went into the bar, so Meg and Kel ordered a drink and we sat down at a table. We chose the table nearest the bar, but this table was also a central crossing point for access to every location. You had to pass this table when you came in the door and were approaching the bar, it was passed when heading to the restrooms from the other tables, and it was passed (and looking upon) the area where the pool tables are and the exit to the patio. Needless to say, this table was at the end of the path from the door to the bar, the bar to the pool tables, the bar to the toilets, and the bar to the exit; we were visible to the entire bar and we were vulnerable.
When a wounded gazelle stands out from the rest of the herd, it becomes a meal for the nearest predator; we were a table of wounded gazelle.
Kel and Meg were sitting across from me, facing the bar, and we were sharing humorous stories and enjoying the liberating "girls night" feeling invoked by our giggles and drinks. I noticed a man about 6 feet tall walking with a purpose toward the door. Every 4 or 5 steps he would shoot a glance over his shoulder, apparently looking to see if a friend was in tow, but continued his forward progression. When he got to the exit, he turned around and was evidently looking for a friend, but passed through the door and stood on the other side of the glass windows waiting. Not even 5 seconds later a significantly shorter white gentleman began to make his way past our table. He was roughly 5'6" with huge, baggy jeans secured only to his body by a belt and his hand holding the crotch of the jeans. He donned a white T-shirt, some sort of light jacket, and another heavy leather coat atop that; he had nice looking Timberland boots and a straight-billed hat on sideways. His huge, seemingly cheap or fake, cross necklace swayed with each drunken step he took. Just as he began to pass our table, he stopped. His eyes were barely able to stay open, but he was determined to make his presence known, and fighting the droopy eyelids he tilted his head pretty far back and said "Hey laaaaaadies.... how you all doing tonight? I'm Kevin. What are your names, lovely ladies?"
We politely introduced ourselves in the most brief and uninterested fashion possible. He didn't seem to get the hint and this is where the "fun" began...
Kevin: So, what are 3 lovely ladies like yourselves doing out tonight? You girls are beautiful! What are you up to, gals? Are you having ladies night? You know, having a few drinnnnnks after work or whatever, doing that girls thing and enjoying yourself. I know what it is! I bet you girls are doing girls night. Yeah you girls are beautiful... three beautiful girls doing girls night. Hell yes. So, what are you girls doing?
Me: We're just, you know, enjoying some drinks this evening. We're having girls night. It's been a long week and it's only Tuesday.
Kevin: Oh girl I know! So, do you girls live around here? Do you come here often? Where you girls from?
Me: We're Ohio State Students. We never come here. Ever. This is it, you'll never see us here again. (I was hoping my lies would deter him from asking to see us again...)
Kevin: Oh no way! I am taking some online courses through Ohio State. Yeah, let me tell you. I'm taking care of myself, ya heard? I'm taking classes online. Get this! I'm taking classes in Business Management while focusing on, get this, finance. Yeah, I want to learn more about finance. So what about you? What's your major? Mine is business management focusing on finance...
Me: I'm getting my undergrad in micro. (Realizing that generally only biology and other science-based majors understand "micro" is our way of saying Microbiology, I decided to clarify so he didn't assume I mean microeconomics or something.) Microbiolgy, I mean. Then I'm heading onto Pharmacy school.
Kevin: Biology, huh? That's cool. I love to study biology. But, hon, I think you mean MACRO biology. Yeah, you know, the study of like genetics and shit. Genetics and like the chemical structure of stuff. That's Macro, honey! The big picture is what you're studying, that's Macro. Micro, shit, I don't even know what that would be about! hahahaha Maybe it would be about the study of the gazelle or something.
Me: (I'm angered with this douche because I think I would know what my major is, but moreover, I just want him to go away so I'm agreeing with everything...) Yeah I guess I never thought of it like that. You're totally right about the study of the genetics. Regular Biology is the study of the gazelle, Micro is the study of the organism living in the gazelle's butthole. You're totally right about Macro.
Kevin: Yeah that's so cool. The little organisms, man, those are the big pictures! I dunno why they'd tell you it's micro. That's just crazy. Let me ask you something, let me ask you something. Girls, let me ask you something.. (In a lower, more whisper-esque tone) You ever heard of Darwin?
Now, at this point I'm experiencing a lot of different emotions. I want him to leave, I want to stop talking to this guy about my major, I'm offended that he's correcting the basis of my education with drunken babble, but now I'm just confused. Could this guy be brilliant and I'm the one who is retarded? Have I ever heard of Darwin? Is this a trick question? Is there some NEW Darwin I should know about? When I look over at the girls, they have this look on their faces that SCREAMS "HELP US" mixed with a dash of "what the hell is this guy talking about?"
Me: Like Charles Darwin? Yes. I'm very aware of him.
Kevin: Ohhh! Ohhh! You girls is so smart! Damn, pretty and smart! All 3 of y'all! Damn girls! hahaha Well, see, most schools don't teach about him the right way because he's got a different view. This Charles Darwin, man, he's got shit all wrong! Listen, listen, listen (puts his fist to his mouth sideways like he's going to clear his throat and tell us a speech with information that will blow our minds; like all he needs to do is regain his composure and clear his throat and let it flow...) I gotta tell you this. That Darwin, get this, he said that evolution happens over like, you know, generations. Like a mutation in a gene happens and then you can see the change over time but sometimes right away. He was saying that, you know, your genetics change and then you change, but he was saying the genetic mutation just happened from nothing! Like there was no genetic code there, then BOOM there was this mutated code. Ok, for real? How does something come up out of nothing? Like, a code must have been there for it to be mutated, right? Am I right? haha You know, girls you know! haha Anyway, he was saying that evolution happens on the macro level with microscopic effects on things. That's crazy! I mean, there is no evidence of evolution right now. Ok, humans have been around for a lot of generations and we're not evolving! You know what, I'm saying, girls? No proof of evolution in humans! I mean, I could understand if like, by babies will be slightly evolved to be faster, better, smarter or whatever, but they're not showing the kind of evolution Darwin was talking about! I mean, listen... it only takes 1 day to have a baby, so why aren't we seeing evolution every day? Because he was wrong! You can't have evolution on a micro level where things weren't before! I mean, that's like saying I will go to sleep tonight and something in my genes will mutate and I'll be a frog in the morning...
Me: (bored and absolutely mind-boggled at how one individual could have been let down so badly by the education system.) Yeah... waking up a frog... that would be a bad day...
The girls laugh at the "that would be a bad day" and I think he assumes that means it's time to lay it on heavier... we wanted to die.
Kevin: Yeah, for real. So, I'm just saying, Darwin didn't have his thing right! Schools need to teach it right, man! You know, it only takes 1 day to have a baby... But anyway, listen girls, I want to tell y'all I have a baby and another on the way and I'm supporting my babies. I'm getting my education and I'm working and I'm taking care of my babies. You know how it is. I take care of them. I have a successful rap career going right now, you can check me out at (he lists the website that I had no intention of ever remembering...) and get my album. I've got another one coming out here soon. You girls are so beautiful! You are! Smart and beautiful! You girls know about DARWIN! Damn! I take care of my babies! I tell you what. I want to finish up taking these classes online, make some big money and give my babies a good life. You know! Girls, it's been great talking to you. I'm Kevin! I take care of my babies. I want you to know, man, that if you put your love in The Jesus Christ anything can happen. I love The Jesus and I've got two great babies. The Jesus Christ is the one who made evolution, not Darwin. The Jesus is the man, and if you put your love in him, all things are possible! The Jesus makes it all happen. You girls have a good night! Enjoy your girls night! Get you some drinks on, get your dance on! You girls are beautiful! Love The Jesus. Be safe!
The girls and I are speechless. We have NO idea what to say to something like this. We looked at each other for several minutes in silence and finally someone spoke up and said, "what the hell was he talking about?" None of us really knew what happened, but what we were very certain of was that 10 minutes or more of our lives had been spent listening to someone refer to Jesus Christ as THE Jesus Christ, as if there was another one I could have confused him with, and babble on incorrectly about evolution and it's processes. I was dumbfounded. Kel spoke up shortly thereafter with what seemed to be the best idea of the night: Let's move to the corner of the bar where we're not noticeable. We quickly grabbed our coats, drinks, and handbags and made our way to the far corner of the bar where we assumed we would be out of sight. Roughly 15 minutes passed without incident, but as a female you can never hide in a public place when men are on the prowl. It wasn't long before the queue of men began forming and purchasing drinks and trying with all their might to hit on us. We were as polite as we could be about the whole thing, but it was one of those nights where the creepers were out in numbers. We were 3 of maybe 7 girls in the bar; we were the only ones under the age of 30; we were the only ones wearing makeup. Looking back on that night, I know I only purchased 1 round of shots for the girls. At the end of the night, however, 10 more drinks had been placed in front of my person, most of which I didn't drink and none of which I purchased myself. I guess there's something to be said about being a wounded gazelle in a room full of lions; it's the best way to have a few drinks during the recession...
Let's got back in time by about a week and a half. I had just gotten off work from the pharmacy and it had been a long, but pleasant, night. My hip wasn't in the worst of shape that evening, so I decided to seize the opportunity and call up some friends whom I knew were going out. The girls, Kelly and Megan (keep in mind, I like to change up some names), and I hit our favorite local bar with the intention of having a few drinks and enjoying the evening.
Upon arrival at this bar, it was evident that the night had potential to be a tragic evening full of creepy guys making pathetic advances. Sometimes your gut instincts should be listened to. I didn't feel much like drinking when we went into the bar, so Meg and Kel ordered a drink and we sat down at a table. We chose the table nearest the bar, but this table was also a central crossing point for access to every location. You had to pass this table when you came in the door and were approaching the bar, it was passed when heading to the restrooms from the other tables, and it was passed (and looking upon) the area where the pool tables are and the exit to the patio. Needless to say, this table was at the end of the path from the door to the bar, the bar to the pool tables, the bar to the toilets, and the bar to the exit; we were visible to the entire bar and we were vulnerable.
When a wounded gazelle stands out from the rest of the herd, it becomes a meal for the nearest predator; we were a table of wounded gazelle.
Kel and Meg were sitting across from me, facing the bar, and we were sharing humorous stories and enjoying the liberating "girls night" feeling invoked by our giggles and drinks. I noticed a man about 6 feet tall walking with a purpose toward the door. Every 4 or 5 steps he would shoot a glance over his shoulder, apparently looking to see if a friend was in tow, but continued his forward progression. When he got to the exit, he turned around and was evidently looking for a friend, but passed through the door and stood on the other side of the glass windows waiting. Not even 5 seconds later a significantly shorter white gentleman began to make his way past our table. He was roughly 5'6" with huge, baggy jeans secured only to his body by a belt and his hand holding the crotch of the jeans. He donned a white T-shirt, some sort of light jacket, and another heavy leather coat atop that; he had nice looking Timberland boots and a straight-billed hat on sideways. His huge, seemingly cheap or fake, cross necklace swayed with each drunken step he took. Just as he began to pass our table, he stopped. His eyes were barely able to stay open, but he was determined to make his presence known, and fighting the droopy eyelids he tilted his head pretty far back and said "Hey laaaaaadies.... how you all doing tonight? I'm Kevin. What are your names, lovely ladies?"
We politely introduced ourselves in the most brief and uninterested fashion possible. He didn't seem to get the hint and this is where the "fun" began...
Kevin: So, what are 3 lovely ladies like yourselves doing out tonight? You girls are beautiful! What are you up to, gals? Are you having ladies night? You know, having a few drinnnnnks after work or whatever, doing that girls thing and enjoying yourself. I know what it is! I bet you girls are doing girls night. Yeah you girls are beautiful... three beautiful girls doing girls night. Hell yes. So, what are you girls doing?
Me: We're just, you know, enjoying some drinks this evening. We're having girls night. It's been a long week and it's only Tuesday.
Kevin: Oh girl I know! So, do you girls live around here? Do you come here often? Where you girls from?
Me: We're Ohio State Students. We never come here. Ever. This is it, you'll never see us here again. (I was hoping my lies would deter him from asking to see us again...)
Kevin: Oh no way! I am taking some online courses through Ohio State. Yeah, let me tell you. I'm taking care of myself, ya heard? I'm taking classes online. Get this! I'm taking classes in Business Management while focusing on, get this, finance. Yeah, I want to learn more about finance. So what about you? What's your major? Mine is business management focusing on finance...
Me: I'm getting my undergrad in micro. (Realizing that generally only biology and other science-based majors understand "micro" is our way of saying Microbiology, I decided to clarify so he didn't assume I mean microeconomics or something.) Microbiolgy, I mean. Then I'm heading onto Pharmacy school.
Kevin: Biology, huh? That's cool. I love to study biology. But, hon, I think you mean MACRO biology. Yeah, you know, the study of like genetics and shit. Genetics and like the chemical structure of stuff. That's Macro, honey! The big picture is what you're studying, that's Macro. Micro, shit, I don't even know what that would be about! hahahaha Maybe it would be about the study of the gazelle or something.
Me: (I'm angered with this douche because I think I would know what my major is, but moreover, I just want him to go away so I'm agreeing with everything...) Yeah I guess I never thought of it like that. You're totally right about the study of the genetics. Regular Biology is the study of the gazelle, Micro is the study of the organism living in the gazelle's butthole. You're totally right about Macro.
Kevin: Yeah that's so cool. The little organisms, man, those are the big pictures! I dunno why they'd tell you it's micro. That's just crazy. Let me ask you something, let me ask you something. Girls, let me ask you something.. (In a lower, more whisper-esque tone) You ever heard of Darwin?
Now, at this point I'm experiencing a lot of different emotions. I want him to leave, I want to stop talking to this guy about my major, I'm offended that he's correcting the basis of my education with drunken babble, but now I'm just confused. Could this guy be brilliant and I'm the one who is retarded? Have I ever heard of Darwin? Is this a trick question? Is there some NEW Darwin I should know about? When I look over at the girls, they have this look on their faces that SCREAMS "HELP US" mixed with a dash of "what the hell is this guy talking about?"
Me: Like Charles Darwin? Yes. I'm very aware of him.
Kevin: Ohhh! Ohhh! You girls is so smart! Damn, pretty and smart! All 3 of y'all! Damn girls! hahaha Well, see, most schools don't teach about him the right way because he's got a different view. This Charles Darwin, man, he's got shit all wrong! Listen, listen, listen (puts his fist to his mouth sideways like he's going to clear his throat and tell us a speech with information that will blow our minds; like all he needs to do is regain his composure and clear his throat and let it flow...) I gotta tell you this. That Darwin, get this, he said that evolution happens over like, you know, generations. Like a mutation in a gene happens and then you can see the change over time but sometimes right away. He was saying that, you know, your genetics change and then you change, but he was saying the genetic mutation just happened from nothing! Like there was no genetic code there, then BOOM there was this mutated code. Ok, for real? How does something come up out of nothing? Like, a code must have been there for it to be mutated, right? Am I right? haha You know, girls you know! haha Anyway, he was saying that evolution happens on the macro level with microscopic effects on things. That's crazy! I mean, there is no evidence of evolution right now. Ok, humans have been around for a lot of generations and we're not evolving! You know what, I'm saying, girls? No proof of evolution in humans! I mean, I could understand if like, by babies will be slightly evolved to be faster, better, smarter or whatever, but they're not showing the kind of evolution Darwin was talking about! I mean, listen... it only takes 1 day to have a baby, so why aren't we seeing evolution every day? Because he was wrong! You can't have evolution on a micro level where things weren't before! I mean, that's like saying I will go to sleep tonight and something in my genes will mutate and I'll be a frog in the morning...
Me: (bored and absolutely mind-boggled at how one individual could have been let down so badly by the education system.) Yeah... waking up a frog... that would be a bad day...
The girls laugh at the "that would be a bad day" and I think he assumes that means it's time to lay it on heavier... we wanted to die.
Kevin: Yeah, for real. So, I'm just saying, Darwin didn't have his thing right! Schools need to teach it right, man! You know, it only takes 1 day to have a baby... But anyway, listen girls, I want to tell y'all I have a baby and another on the way and I'm supporting my babies. I'm getting my education and I'm working and I'm taking care of my babies. You know how it is. I take care of them. I have a successful rap career going right now, you can check me out at (he lists the website that I had no intention of ever remembering...) and get my album. I've got another one coming out here soon. You girls are so beautiful! You are! Smart and beautiful! You girls know about DARWIN! Damn! I take care of my babies! I tell you what. I want to finish up taking these classes online, make some big money and give my babies a good life. You know! Girls, it's been great talking to you. I'm Kevin! I take care of my babies. I want you to know, man, that if you put your love in The Jesus Christ anything can happen. I love The Jesus and I've got two great babies. The Jesus Christ is the one who made evolution, not Darwin. The Jesus is the man, and if you put your love in him, all things are possible! The Jesus makes it all happen. You girls have a good night! Enjoy your girls night! Get you some drinks on, get your dance on! You girls are beautiful! Love The Jesus. Be safe!
The girls and I are speechless. We have NO idea what to say to something like this. We looked at each other for several minutes in silence and finally someone spoke up and said, "what the hell was he talking about?" None of us really knew what happened, but what we were very certain of was that 10 minutes or more of our lives had been spent listening to someone refer to Jesus Christ as THE Jesus Christ, as if there was another one I could have confused him with, and babble on incorrectly about evolution and it's processes. I was dumbfounded. Kel spoke up shortly thereafter with what seemed to be the best idea of the night: Let's move to the corner of the bar where we're not noticeable. We quickly grabbed our coats, drinks, and handbags and made our way to the far corner of the bar where we assumed we would be out of sight. Roughly 15 minutes passed without incident, but as a female you can never hide in a public place when men are on the prowl. It wasn't long before the queue of men began forming and purchasing drinks and trying with all their might to hit on us. We were as polite as we could be about the whole thing, but it was one of those nights where the creepers were out in numbers. We were 3 of maybe 7 girls in the bar; we were the only ones under the age of 30; we were the only ones wearing makeup. Looking back on that night, I know I only purchased 1 round of shots for the girls. At the end of the night, however, 10 more drinks had been placed in front of my person, most of which I didn't drink and none of which I purchased myself. I guess there's something to be said about being a wounded gazelle in a room full of lions; it's the best way to have a few drinks during the recession...
Thursday, March 11, 2010
in prison you find that "fist" can be a verb
Hello world. I'd like to share some stories with you this evening. I don't really want to blog about my life in a "Dear Diary" form or one of those "this is what I did today.." deals, what I want is to let everyone into my brain and relive my past (and present and future) through humor, sarcasm, and blatant disregard for being politically correct. Let's begin now...
******
Since I was old enough to understand the concept of a person being a minority, I've been interested in finding the best minority out there. This may sound strange to everyone, and probably offensive to others, but it has been my experience in life that whenever someone "does" something or "is" something, there's some other person out there doing it better. For example: Just when the world thought Lindsey Lohan was the biggest and best train wreck to ever grace the cover of our smut magazines in the check-out lanes of Wal-Mart, Britney Spears sinks to unspeakable lows by breeding with an individual who goes by the name "K-Fed" not once, my friends, but twice. It was presumed that our sweet little ginger, Lindsey, would be the most glorious disasters, but Britney proved that shaving your head, lip-syncing, and "dancing" on stage in boots when you're giggling will somehow always trump any other epic fail that could be consuming America's desires for celebrity drama.
Lenny Kravitz came onto the scene years and years ago with his edgy style, suave moves, and that thing that made every girl want an all American bad-boy. He's very openly Jewish and, obviously, black/bi-racial. These are two groups of minorities. Now, the wheels in my head began turning when I started thinking about minority groups; there are so many minority groups, but there has to be someone who fits into a plethora of these groups at once. Then, it hit me! That "ah ha!" moment where everything makes sense seemed to fall upon me like a wave of refreshing water, and I knew what minority I wanted to someday find. Brace yourself, readers, it's intense. If this woman should exist, she might be one of the people that is doing the minority groups better than anyone else. She is the trump card! Just like when Shrek came out and the whole world thought it could never get better than that movie, BOOM, there's a Shrek 2 and 3 and Justin Timberlake is in it!
I want to know if this woman is out there, the woman who is the biggest minority:
A black, Jewish, lesbian, midget who is left handed and has two different colored eyes. Come forward, friend! Show the world you're the one who is doing it better than everyone else. If you're hiding, I can totally understand. Should you go public and make your gifts known, you'll have to do an interview with Oprah, and God knows nobody wants that.
There are a lot of tales that I have to share with all of you at some point; recent tales from the bars, tales from the stores, tales from public restrooms and God only knows where else. I want to try to blog every day, if not twice daily, to start putting these stories out there. Some are humorous, some are tragic, some are stories that will make you scratch your head and go "are you frigging kidding me?"
My best friend, Becky, has always said "Danielle, freaks, geeks, and assholes are all that seem to be attracted to us! We're like MAGNETS!"
I'm hoping to use that line as a precursor to my next entry... The Freaks, Geeks, and Assholes of My Life
Sleep Well...
******
Since I was old enough to understand the concept of a person being a minority, I've been interested in finding the best minority out there. This may sound strange to everyone, and probably offensive to others, but it has been my experience in life that whenever someone "does" something or "is" something, there's some other person out there doing it better. For example: Just when the world thought Lindsey Lohan was the biggest and best train wreck to ever grace the cover of our smut magazines in the check-out lanes of Wal-Mart, Britney Spears sinks to unspeakable lows by breeding with an individual who goes by the name "K-Fed" not once, my friends, but twice. It was presumed that our sweet little ginger, Lindsey, would be the most glorious disasters, but Britney proved that shaving your head, lip-syncing, and "dancing" on stage in boots when you're giggling will somehow always trump any other epic fail that could be consuming America's desires for celebrity drama.
Lenny Kravitz came onto the scene years and years ago with his edgy style, suave moves, and that thing that made every girl want an all American bad-boy. He's very openly Jewish and, obviously, black/bi-racial. These are two groups of minorities. Now, the wheels in my head began turning when I started thinking about minority groups; there are so many minority groups, but there has to be someone who fits into a plethora of these groups at once. Then, it hit me! That "ah ha!" moment where everything makes sense seemed to fall upon me like a wave of refreshing water, and I knew what minority I wanted to someday find. Brace yourself, readers, it's intense. If this woman should exist, she might be one of the people that is doing the minority groups better than anyone else. She is the trump card! Just like when Shrek came out and the whole world thought it could never get better than that movie, BOOM, there's a Shrek 2 and 3 and Justin Timberlake is in it!
I want to know if this woman is out there, the woman who is the biggest minority:
A black, Jewish, lesbian, midget who is left handed and has two different colored eyes. Come forward, friend! Show the world you're the one who is doing it better than everyone else. If you're hiding, I can totally understand. Should you go public and make your gifts known, you'll have to do an interview with Oprah, and God knows nobody wants that.
There are a lot of tales that I have to share with all of you at some point; recent tales from the bars, tales from the stores, tales from public restrooms and God only knows where else. I want to try to blog every day, if not twice daily, to start putting these stories out there. Some are humorous, some are tragic, some are stories that will make you scratch your head and go "are you frigging kidding me?"
My best friend, Becky, has always said "Danielle, freaks, geeks, and assholes are all that seem to be attracted to us! We're like MAGNETS!"
I'm hoping to use that line as a precursor to my next entry... The Freaks, Geeks, and Assholes of My Life
Sleep Well...
CockChucks
Last night, even though I was running a fever and feeling less than optimal, I went out with some of my girlfriends to a local bar for a bit. Now, I didn't anticipate knowing anyone there except for the handful of people I was going with and those that work at the establishment, but sometimes the best things aren't anticipated (pregnancies probably aren't on that list of "best unanticipated things").
I went into the bar last night with the preconceived notion I would be leaving in thirty minutes or less, that it would be a moderately boring night, and I would be asleep by midnight. I walked into the bar wearing the dress pants and sweater I had worn to work, and to my surprise there was a gentleman at the bar whom I love to talk to. The gentleman, Ryan, and I exchanged hugs, greetings, and "it's been forever"'s, and sat down to catch up on life. Now, Ryan is one of those guys that is just absolutely amazing to talk to. He's edgy, funny, witty, and has a great laugh and great smile. He's got an unabashed kindness to him, and has a deep and passionate appreciation for life and it's gifts and subtle nuances. He's got some piercings, tattoos, and is pretty much the most unique person I've ever met. I would say the one thing he and I most have in common is our sense of humor.
As conversation progressed with Ryan last night, I learned that he has a thing for ninjas and ninja paraphernalia. I dismissed it at first, and began to give him a hard time about the music the DJ was playing. Both Ryan and one of the bartenders were singing every line to some old-school rap song that was playing. When I exclaimed that I didn't know the words to the song, nor had I ever heard it before, I was gazed upon by both boys with a look of shock mixed with a pinch of disgust. Ryan exclaimed "it's Warren G!"
Imagine the shock on the faces of the individuals around me when I asked the obvious question: "is he of any relation to Kenny...?"
Thus began the night of harassing me for my taste in music. Now, to set the record straight, I'll listen to just about anything. I love country, rap, R&B, rock, blues, bluegrass, electronica, pop, screamo, death metal.. I think you get the picture. In a nutshell: I'll listen to anything except polka. Now, Ryan has a taste in music that is eclectic but far less main-stream and of much more obvious talent than what one could ever find on MTV. So every time I would sing the words to some new pop song and say "I love this song!" Ryan would say "you would" and simply put his head in his hands and laugh.
This went on all night, but in some turn of events we began discussing beating people up and martial arts. This is where we come full circle to the ninja discussion. Somehow or another we were discussing the different types of nunchucks he owned. He was going through the list of swords and nunchucks until he said something that triggered my smart-ass sense of humor. He said, "I've got those clear acrylic nunchucks."
My reply: "They make dildos out of that, too."
Immediately Ryan and I started laughing, but something was slightly amiss in the laughter. Suddenly Ryan and I had that moment that everyone shares with someone else in the course of their life; that moment where everything makes sense and you're both thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time. We both stopped laughing and we had smiles on our faces but the wheels were clearly turning. Our eyes were on each other, but neither was aware of what we were looking at; we were lost in thought and enraptured by the visuals racing through our minds. Ryan finally broke the silence and said to me, with the funniest tone of voice I've ever heard, "I have never, ever thought about that until this very moment." I knew what he was thinking, for I'd never thought of it before, either. He said, "in my head I see these nunchucks with these huge dildos on them!"
It was precisely what I was thinking to. Of course my head wouldn't stop there, no no, I went on to explore the mental image and set a scene in the moment where one could see, with clarity, the vision we were having. I said to him, "imagine being that guy that got beaten to death or to near death with nunchucks with acrylic dildos on the end of them. I mean, how could you even file a police report and explain to the officer you were beaten to a pulp with sex toys on a rope. It's like adding insult to injury. I can see some short, Asian man wielding nunchucks and preparing to fight. From his belt he draws them, swinging them with fury and rage in his eyes, then he stops and with one in each hand extends his arms and lets out a loud yell! All you can see is two gigantic, dangerous dildos attached with a rope. That would make for an epic movie..."
That's how the night went for me. Nothing more, nothing less; just a mere discussion of hybrid martial arts weapons. If the pornography industry is looking for a bailout, consider a merger with the weapons and oriental weapons industries; something is bound to pop off.
I went into the bar last night with the preconceived notion I would be leaving in thirty minutes or less, that it would be a moderately boring night, and I would be asleep by midnight. I walked into the bar wearing the dress pants and sweater I had worn to work, and to my surprise there was a gentleman at the bar whom I love to talk to. The gentleman, Ryan, and I exchanged hugs, greetings, and "it's been forever"'s, and sat down to catch up on life. Now, Ryan is one of those guys that is just absolutely amazing to talk to. He's edgy, funny, witty, and has a great laugh and great smile. He's got an unabashed kindness to him, and has a deep and passionate appreciation for life and it's gifts and subtle nuances. He's got some piercings, tattoos, and is pretty much the most unique person I've ever met. I would say the one thing he and I most have in common is our sense of humor.
As conversation progressed with Ryan last night, I learned that he has a thing for ninjas and ninja paraphernalia. I dismissed it at first, and began to give him a hard time about the music the DJ was playing. Both Ryan and one of the bartenders were singing every line to some old-school rap song that was playing. When I exclaimed that I didn't know the words to the song, nor had I ever heard it before, I was gazed upon by both boys with a look of shock mixed with a pinch of disgust. Ryan exclaimed "it's Warren G!"
Imagine the shock on the faces of the individuals around me when I asked the obvious question: "is he of any relation to Kenny...?"
Thus began the night of harassing me for my taste in music. Now, to set the record straight, I'll listen to just about anything. I love country, rap, R&B, rock, blues, bluegrass, electronica, pop, screamo, death metal.. I think you get the picture. In a nutshell: I'll listen to anything except polka. Now, Ryan has a taste in music that is eclectic but far less main-stream and of much more obvious talent than what one could ever find on MTV. So every time I would sing the words to some new pop song and say "I love this song!" Ryan would say "you would" and simply put his head in his hands and laugh.
This went on all night, but in some turn of events we began discussing beating people up and martial arts. This is where we come full circle to the ninja discussion. Somehow or another we were discussing the different types of nunchucks he owned. He was going through the list of swords and nunchucks until he said something that triggered my smart-ass sense of humor. He said, "I've got those clear acrylic nunchucks."
My reply: "They make dildos out of that, too."
Immediately Ryan and I started laughing, but something was slightly amiss in the laughter. Suddenly Ryan and I had that moment that everyone shares with someone else in the course of their life; that moment where everything makes sense and you're both thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time. We both stopped laughing and we had smiles on our faces but the wheels were clearly turning. Our eyes were on each other, but neither was aware of what we were looking at; we were lost in thought and enraptured by the visuals racing through our minds. Ryan finally broke the silence and said to me, with the funniest tone of voice I've ever heard, "I have never, ever thought about that until this very moment." I knew what he was thinking, for I'd never thought of it before, either. He said, "in my head I see these nunchucks with these huge dildos on them!"
It was precisely what I was thinking to. Of course my head wouldn't stop there, no no, I went on to explore the mental image and set a scene in the moment where one could see, with clarity, the vision we were having. I said to him, "imagine being that guy that got beaten to death or to near death with nunchucks with acrylic dildos on the end of them. I mean, how could you even file a police report and explain to the officer you were beaten to a pulp with sex toys on a rope. It's like adding insult to injury. I can see some short, Asian man wielding nunchucks and preparing to fight. From his belt he draws them, swinging them with fury and rage in his eyes, then he stops and with one in each hand extends his arms and lets out a loud yell! All you can see is two gigantic, dangerous dildos attached with a rope. That would make for an epic movie..."
That's how the night went for me. Nothing more, nothing less; just a mere discussion of hybrid martial arts weapons. If the pornography industry is looking for a bailout, consider a merger with the weapons and oriental weapons industries; something is bound to pop off.
Standard "Greeting" Post... how boring.
So I've decided to take it upon myself to begin blogging. I've blogged before, via Myspace and LiveJournal, but those got old after some time. I've tried keeping that whole "Dear Diary" bullshit, but if nobody is around to read it, why write it down? I don't suppose the best autobiographies were the ones never read.
Quick background on myself:
I'm 24 years old, I'm 4'9" (yes, giggle if you please, I'll be the first to make a short joke.. lol), I've had 2 hip surgeries in the last year and a half (and a third scheduled for July), I'm a student at The Ohio State University, and I work in a pharmacy. I'm pretty boring, overall, but the most amazing things seem to happen to me. Many of the tales in my life aren't really great stories where everyone comes out happy, smiling, and excited, but I wouldn't take it back for the world! My life may not be the best right now, being a gimp and all, but I'm making the best of it! I love to go shopping, I love fashion, and I love things that most girls are not interested in. I am passionate about Buckeye Football, MMA, Boxing, and very obscure sports like World's Strongest Man. I love trucks, tractor pulls, rodeos, cowboy hats, Chanel bags, high heels, and anything with diamonds!
Quick background on myself:
I'm 24 years old, I'm 4'9" (yes, giggle if you please, I'll be the first to make a short joke.. lol), I've had 2 hip surgeries in the last year and a half (and a third scheduled for July), I'm a student at The Ohio State University, and I work in a pharmacy. I'm pretty boring, overall, but the most amazing things seem to happen to me. Many of the tales in my life aren't really great stories where everyone comes out happy, smiling, and excited, but I wouldn't take it back for the world! My life may not be the best right now, being a gimp and all, but I'm making the best of it! I love to go shopping, I love fashion, and I love things that most girls are not interested in. I am passionate about Buckeye Football, MMA, Boxing, and very obscure sports like World's Strongest Man. I love trucks, tractor pulls, rodeos, cowboy hats, Chanel bags, high heels, and anything with diamonds!