30 Things You May Not Know About My Illness
14 years ago
3.21.2009
Lowery Park Zoo - Tampa
Pics from our family's spring break holiday. Lucky for us Mr. Hot Pilot hails from sunny Tampa Florida so visiting family is always a beach vacation.
A lesson in napping
I make weird faces while I fly.
Now that I have become what I call a "travel-only girlfriend" I have become quite accustomed to the friendly skies. I have logged more hours flying to and from wherever Mr. Hot Pilot is than I have actually spent in one on one time with him. (Ok, maybe and over-exageration but this long distance thing is beginning to really bug me...can you tell?) So in becoming a connoisseur of the mile-high traveling status one would think that I would have figured out a proper way to take a restful nap without all of the embarassing jerking, head lolling and grimmaces that tend to render me a scary seat mate.
I haven't.
I often awake to the realization that my face is somehow contorting into a serious downward frown, one that would scare any timid flier into never setting foot on a jet-liner again. I've always heard that it takes more energy and muscle to frown so does the fact that I am doing this in my sleep mean I just might be burning extra calories? (One can wish). I even look around at my slumbering flight mates to see how they handle an in flight nap and they all tend to do so without so much as a finger twitch. HOW DO THEY DO IT??
Oh yeah, and that "Ding" of the illuminated seatbelt sign? Scares the living crap out of me. It jars into my deepest dreams and causes me to jump about 3 feet into the air.
Sigh. If only Mr. Hot Pilot would get down on one knee, I might not have to rack up so many frequent flier miles any longer. I am beginning to think he may never actually do it. What that means for us in the future? Still unknown...
Now that I have become what I call a "travel-only girlfriend" I have become quite accustomed to the friendly skies. I have logged more hours flying to and from wherever Mr. Hot Pilot is than I have actually spent in one on one time with him. (Ok, maybe and over-exageration but this long distance thing is beginning to really bug me...can you tell?) So in becoming a connoisseur of the mile-high traveling status one would think that I would have figured out a proper way to take a restful nap without all of the embarassing jerking, head lolling and grimmaces that tend to render me a scary seat mate.
I haven't.
I often awake to the realization that my face is somehow contorting into a serious downward frown, one that would scare any timid flier into never setting foot on a jet-liner again. I've always heard that it takes more energy and muscle to frown so does the fact that I am doing this in my sleep mean I just might be burning extra calories? (One can wish). I even look around at my slumbering flight mates to see how they handle an in flight nap and they all tend to do so without so much as a finger twitch. HOW DO THEY DO IT??
Oh yeah, and that "Ding" of the illuminated seatbelt sign? Scares the living crap out of me. It jars into my deepest dreams and causes me to jump about 3 feet into the air.
Sigh. If only Mr. Hot Pilot would get down on one knee, I might not have to rack up so many frequent flier miles any longer. I am beginning to think he may never actually do it. What that means for us in the future? Still unknown...
1.15.2009
Right when you think you've lost it
In my line of work it is rare to feel any sort of a connection with any of the patients considering the pace at which we are constantly going from either screening a new patient being wheeled in, to catching up on labs from those already admitted, to hunting down family in order to enroll that perfect patient who fits all criteria for which we are looking for.
I work only three days a week, 13.5 hour shifts, so I often feel as though I am going on autopilot. In the rare downtime I am often looking up different medical terminology (aka 'The Greek language of docs') in order to constantly fill my head with useful information. (No worries though, I always save room for useless crap as well. There is always room for useless crap).
This past Saturday was shaping up to be like any other Saturday complete with lots of car crashes and falls. Nothing too spectacular. While in the beginning of my working at the trauma center this would have been endlessly fascinating, I have come to be what some may consider "de-sensitized". I really hate that wording though. I have always fancied myself to be a considerably sensitive person, and to think that now faced with people that are potentially in dire need I might be 'de-sensitized' horrifies me.
It wasn't until later on that day we got a somewhat interesting call about a person sustaining multiple stab wounds.
Now your typical stab victim is usually either a) coming from a corrections facility, b) drunk off their rocker, c) in some sort of nasty street fight or d) involved in illegal activities. Needless to say you often know the backstory of the victim before they ever even arrive. This person was somehow different.
Our victim came in without a name or any other sort of identifying items. The only thing that was known was that there was a name for the bad guy. Whether our victim was a bad guy too was still unknown. I remember the paramedic telling the officer rather un-apologetically that the reason he didn't get a definitive name was that he was trying to keep the victim awake by reciting ABC's on the way in and really was more focused on that than anything.
My co-worker and I stayed around a bit to gather blood pressure information and when it seemed all in control, went off to do our nightly fluid collections on our other research patients.
It wasn't until later on when I was alone, having come from a somewhat emotional trip to the TBI floor (either you do remarkably well, or you just don't) I came down to check on my stab victim. Turns out they were a perfect candidate for one of our studies.
I ran to the attending doc to get permission to approach the family and then off I went to find them.
I often wonder how it is that I can gather enough courage to approach a family or loved one about a research study when they are feeling every fearful and terrible emotion possible at that moment. This coming from a girl who could barely pick up a phone to sell a stupid band sub in her high school days. This coming from a girl who would rather go to the doctor for a booster shot and blood draw than go door to door selling Girl Scout cookies as a grade schooler. I'm still trying to figure of that out.
I find my family and escort them into the quiet room. I see their faces and can tell they have every question in the book on their minds right now. Do I have any promising new information for them? Am I bringing them terrible news? (Considering we wear the same white coats as the docs, it isn't rare for us to have eager eyes staring us down when we pass by the waiting area thinking we are docs coming with information.)
I then tell them that I am from research and that because of the injuries sustained by their loved one, they (their loved one) are eligible for a study. I go on to explain the study, at the same time reading the faces of those gathered around me. The father who doesn't quite seem to understand what happened and keeps questioning me about the status of his family member. The mother who looks so tired and scared for her baby. The brother who just looks as though he is about to be sick, all the while wondering who did this to his sibling. The sister-in-law with her sweet presence that seems to make me feel more at ease. And then of course the 'out for blood' family member who rakes the mother over the coals for even considering allowing the patient to participate in a research study because "you know all the government wants to do is experiment on us". After the conspiracy theorist go slamming out of the quiet room, I look over to the mother and gently remind her that this is all voluntary and if she feels at all uncomfortable with anything she can decline.
She accepted, hoping this will help others one day.
From there it was a fast scurry to move forward with the procedures of the project. All the while I found myself constantly concerned for the welfare of not only the patient but for the patient's family as well. I was incessantly curious about how the patient was doing. Had the patient not pulled through despite to our amazing surgeons, I would have felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and loss for the family. When I went up to check on the patient later on in the wee hours of the morning (and 4 hours after my shift had officially ended) I just wanted to be sure they were ok. To be sure that they were being treated with the utmost care and concern by their nurses. They were more than just another person rolling through the double doors.
Does this mean I haven't lost the sensitivity? I suppose that isn't such a bad thing.
I work only three days a week, 13.5 hour shifts, so I often feel as though I am going on autopilot. In the rare downtime I am often looking up different medical terminology (aka 'The Greek language of docs') in order to constantly fill my head with useful information. (No worries though, I always save room for useless crap as well. There is always room for useless crap).
This past Saturday was shaping up to be like any other Saturday complete with lots of car crashes and falls. Nothing too spectacular. While in the beginning of my working at the trauma center this would have been endlessly fascinating, I have come to be what some may consider "de-sensitized". I really hate that wording though. I have always fancied myself to be a considerably sensitive person, and to think that now faced with people that are potentially in dire need I might be 'de-sensitized' horrifies me.
It wasn't until later on that day we got a somewhat interesting call about a person sustaining multiple stab wounds.
Now your typical stab victim is usually either a) coming from a corrections facility, b) drunk off their rocker, c) in some sort of nasty street fight or d) involved in illegal activities. Needless to say you often know the backstory of the victim before they ever even arrive. This person was somehow different.
Our victim came in without a name or any other sort of identifying items. The only thing that was known was that there was a name for the bad guy. Whether our victim was a bad guy too was still unknown. I remember the paramedic telling the officer rather un-apologetically that the reason he didn't get a definitive name was that he was trying to keep the victim awake by reciting ABC's on the way in and really was more focused on that than anything.
My co-worker and I stayed around a bit to gather blood pressure information and when it seemed all in control, went off to do our nightly fluid collections on our other research patients.
It wasn't until later on when I was alone, having come from a somewhat emotional trip to the TBI floor (either you do remarkably well, or you just don't) I came down to check on my stab victim. Turns out they were a perfect candidate for one of our studies.
I ran to the attending doc to get permission to approach the family and then off I went to find them.
I often wonder how it is that I can gather enough courage to approach a family or loved one about a research study when they are feeling every fearful and terrible emotion possible at that moment. This coming from a girl who could barely pick up a phone to sell a stupid band sub in her high school days. This coming from a girl who would rather go to the doctor for a booster shot and blood draw than go door to door selling Girl Scout cookies as a grade schooler. I'm still trying to figure of that out.
I find my family and escort them into the quiet room. I see their faces and can tell they have every question in the book on their minds right now. Do I have any promising new information for them? Am I bringing them terrible news? (Considering we wear the same white coats as the docs, it isn't rare for us to have eager eyes staring us down when we pass by the waiting area thinking we are docs coming with information.)
I then tell them that I am from research and that because of the injuries sustained by their loved one, they (their loved one) are eligible for a study. I go on to explain the study, at the same time reading the faces of those gathered around me. The father who doesn't quite seem to understand what happened and keeps questioning me about the status of his family member. The mother who looks so tired and scared for her baby. The brother who just looks as though he is about to be sick, all the while wondering who did this to his sibling. The sister-in-law with her sweet presence that seems to make me feel more at ease. And then of course the 'out for blood' family member who rakes the mother over the coals for even considering allowing the patient to participate in a research study because "you know all the government wants to do is experiment on us". After the conspiracy theorist go slamming out of the quiet room, I look over to the mother and gently remind her that this is all voluntary and if she feels at all uncomfortable with anything she can decline.
She accepted, hoping this will help others one day.
From there it was a fast scurry to move forward with the procedures of the project. All the while I found myself constantly concerned for the welfare of not only the patient but for the patient's family as well. I was incessantly curious about how the patient was doing. Had the patient not pulled through despite to our amazing surgeons, I would have felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and loss for the family. When I went up to check on the patient later on in the wee hours of the morning (and 4 hours after my shift had officially ended) I just wanted to be sure they were ok. To be sure that they were being treated with the utmost care and concern by their nurses. They were more than just another person rolling through the double doors.
Does this mean I haven't lost the sensitivity? I suppose that isn't such a bad thing.
1.05.2009
Give me half of your bitterest pill
Have you ever thought how you might describe yourself if given the opportunity? I suppose that I would consider myself to be a great sceptic (except when it comes to aliens from outerspace - those suckers are out there and fixated on their next booty probe). While this is not a very positive description of myself (talented, world changing, looks darn good in a 40's old hollywood glam get-up all seem much nicer) I have to be honest with myself.
As you may or may not know, I was interviewed by an AP reporter who tracked me down via my wide-spread and rampant tweets regarding the furlough of State of Maryland employees.
If you know me, you know I am rather opinionated, often to a fault. I have no problem risking being on the receiving end of a bullet launched from a concealed weapon if it means I can right the horrifying driving behaviors of just about every other loon on the road. It tears me to bits to hear about those that I love having to endure injustice of any sort.
When I was approached by AP reporter Ellen Simon, I of course agreed to answer some of her questions. I feel that with Maryland raising sales tax, charging us a ridiculous amount to register our vehicles every two years and yet they STILL are unable to balance the budget, I should not be held responsible. Yet I am to be forced into taking days off without pay. And I sounded off about it on twitter, which apparently caught the attention of others.
So, the article came out and had to be corrected due to the reporter naming the hospital as my employer when in fact it is a bit more complicated than that. Many who work for the hospital are not state employees. I however do something very different from many working at the hospital and am considered a State of Maryland employee. Confusing? Yes. I still don't quite know how to describe how I work there yet am a different type of employee. Of course this error caused a ruckus amongst those who worked for the hospital and were unaware that they were going to be furloughed (they aren't) and forced to take unpaid leave (they won't).
So while I was pouring over my budget and realizing that I need to pony up just under $700 per month to cover student loans lest I risk my already degenerating kneecaps to Mario and Luigi from Citibank, I got even more upset about the whole matter. It wasn't until I was in line today at Walmart that I had a few things put into perspective.
I was in line behind a very nice young woman and her adorable little 14 month old. She had a rather large order, and was going to be paying with food stamp checks. Her large order was split up (being that I don't know how food stamps work, I am assuming they only give you a certain amount per check?) and she was very apologetic over how long it was taking. Normally my sceptical self would have seen the New Balance shoes on her baby and thought "yeah right, like you really need food stamps. Maybe I should go out and get them too!". Something was different here though. This lady was very sweet and talkative and very forthcoming with information (she was a single mom and her baby's dad wanted nothing to do with him) and the more I talked with her, the more I chided myself for being such a jerk. Such a quick to jump to conclusions and read a book by it's cover jerk.
Sure I am ticked that I could possibly lose up to $800 in pay due to Maryland's inability to plan for their financial future (might Dave Ramsey be of assistance?) but what do I really lose? The occasional jaunt to H&M to buy something that most likely will sit in my closet never to be worn? The unnecessary trip to Target? (Ok, I take that back, all trips to Target are VERY necessary). I may have to budget every penny and nickel in order to make my bills? All it really takes is a bit of discipline on my part really. I don't have to worry about how I am going to feed my cherub cheeked little munchkin. I have an education and a rockin' awesome job where I can pretty much make my way anywhere. I have it pretty good.
Martin O'Malley, you aren't off the hook though. Punk.
As you may or may not know, I was interviewed by an AP reporter who tracked me down via my wide-spread and rampant tweets regarding the furlough of State of Maryland employees.
If you know me, you know I am rather opinionated, often to a fault. I have no problem risking being on the receiving end of a bullet launched from a concealed weapon if it means I can right the horrifying driving behaviors of just about every other loon on the road. It tears me to bits to hear about those that I love having to endure injustice of any sort.
When I was approached by AP reporter Ellen Simon, I of course agreed to answer some of her questions. I feel that with Maryland raising sales tax, charging us a ridiculous amount to register our vehicles every two years and yet they STILL are unable to balance the budget, I should not be held responsible. Yet I am to be forced into taking days off without pay. And I sounded off about it on twitter, which apparently caught the attention of others.
So, the article came out and had to be corrected due to the reporter naming the hospital as my employer when in fact it is a bit more complicated than that. Many who work for the hospital are not state employees. I however do something very different from many working at the hospital and am considered a State of Maryland employee. Confusing? Yes. I still don't quite know how to describe how I work there yet am a different type of employee. Of course this error caused a ruckus amongst those who worked for the hospital and were unaware that they were going to be furloughed (they aren't) and forced to take unpaid leave (they won't).
So while I was pouring over my budget and realizing that I need to pony up just under $700 per month to cover student loans lest I risk my already degenerating kneecaps to Mario and Luigi from Citibank, I got even more upset about the whole matter. It wasn't until I was in line today at Walmart that I had a few things put into perspective.
I was in line behind a very nice young woman and her adorable little 14 month old. She had a rather large order, and was going to be paying with food stamp checks. Her large order was split up (being that I don't know how food stamps work, I am assuming they only give you a certain amount per check?) and she was very apologetic over how long it was taking. Normally my sceptical self would have seen the New Balance shoes on her baby and thought "yeah right, like you really need food stamps. Maybe I should go out and get them too!". Something was different here though. This lady was very sweet and talkative and very forthcoming with information (she was a single mom and her baby's dad wanted nothing to do with him) and the more I talked with her, the more I chided myself for being such a jerk. Such a quick to jump to conclusions and read a book by it's cover jerk.
Sure I am ticked that I could possibly lose up to $800 in pay due to Maryland's inability to plan for their financial future (might Dave Ramsey be of assistance?) but what do I really lose? The occasional jaunt to H&M to buy something that most likely will sit in my closet never to be worn? The unnecessary trip to Target? (Ok, I take that back, all trips to Target are VERY necessary). I may have to budget every penny and nickel in order to make my bills? All it really takes is a bit of discipline on my part really. I don't have to worry about how I am going to feed my cherub cheeked little munchkin. I have an education and a rockin' awesome job where I can pretty much make my way anywhere. I have it pretty good.
Martin O'Malley, you aren't off the hook though. Punk.
12.21.2008
This is how we roll
If you ever wondered what it is like working in such an academically sound research institution with many highly educated and intelligent people all working for the betterment of today's trauma victim, look no further than this email I sent out to my fellow colleagues upon learning that our once sick co-worker would now be joining us for an intense day of research :
From : Carrie
To : Core Research Group
Subject : Josh will be in
Due to a miraculous recovery that can only be attributed to good health, proper nutrition and a hefty infusion of H2O and bacon, our brave Josh will now be joining us today.
While he will not be joining us at his regularly scheduled time, we can all thank each other for the well wishes sent his way that have assisted in his being brought back from the brink of death, just in the nick of time.
Congratulations on your speedy and efficient recovery Josh! If only the rest of us could hold dear just a little bit of the awesomeness that you possess.
Sincerely and with much shock and awe,
~Carrie
**And if you weren’t a believer before, you should now fully understand the wonderful healing powers of bacon, America’s favorite fruit. There really is nothing in the world better than bacon. Nothing.**
Carrie A. Awesomeness (not my real last name, but it sure as heck should be)
Clinical Research Assistant
CORE Research Group
R.A Cowley Shock Trauma Center
University of Maryland, School of Medicine
From : Allison
To : Carrie
Subject : Re : Josh will be in
Truly the world is not ready for the gifts that Josh possesses. We must keep his skills secret, safe, lest the petty jealousies of the ignorant masses steal him away to rend him limb from limb, to realize, all too late, that Josh’s gifts cannot be possessed by any other.
Allison
P.S. The first inkling of the coolness that is Shock Trauma was noted while shadowing Dr. Stein during rounds in October of 2006, when the team nutritionist began extolling the virtues of bacon ….
From : Carrie
To : Core Research Group
Subject : Josh will be in
Due to a miraculous recovery that can only be attributed to good health, proper nutrition and a hefty infusion of H2O and bacon, our brave Josh will now be joining us today.
While he will not be joining us at his regularly scheduled time, we can all thank each other for the well wishes sent his way that have assisted in his being brought back from the brink of death, just in the nick of time.
Congratulations on your speedy and efficient recovery Josh! If only the rest of us could hold dear just a little bit of the awesomeness that you possess.
Sincerely and with much shock and awe,
~Carrie
**And if you weren’t a believer before, you should now fully understand the wonderful healing powers of bacon, America’s favorite fruit. There really is nothing in the world better than bacon. Nothing.**
Carrie A. Awesomeness (not my real last name, but it sure as heck should be)
Clinical Research Assistant
CORE Research Group
R.A Cowley Shock Trauma Center
University of Maryland, School of Medicine
From : Allison
To : Carrie
Subject : Re : Josh will be in
Truly the world is not ready for the gifts that Josh possesses. We must keep his skills secret, safe, lest the petty jealousies of the ignorant masses steal him away to rend him limb from limb, to realize, all too late, that Josh’s gifts cannot be possessed by any other.
Allison
P.S. The first inkling of the coolness that is Shock Trauma was noted while shadowing Dr. Stein during rounds in October of 2006, when the team nutritionist began extolling the virtues of bacon ….
12.15.2008
Happy 8th Birthday to my crazy little mutt.
My dog Lucy and I have been together for nearly 8 years now. That is longer than taking every crappy relationship (which is every single one up until the meeting of Mr. Hot Pilot) and rolling them into one steaming pile of relationship dog poo.
From the beginning, Lucy has adopted a role of being my unwavering life defender, protecting me against the likes of just about every other human being that walks on this earth. She has perfected the art of rigid tooth baring and deep internal growl that would scare any evil Mormon or Jehovah's Witness into submission.
Those kids walking by the house on their way home from school? They are secretly wielding machetes and other weapons of wrath that could potentially harm her mommy.
That nice lady from down the street who waves at everyone? According to my little dog, you can't trust anyone who is that friggin happy all the time.
Lucy's junkyard dog instincts don't only convey to those outside the home. While my dad thinks Lucy is the coolest dog that has ever walked the face of the planet, and tries as hard as possible to snuggle and cuddle and offer treats that any dog would roll over in submission for - Lucy just doesn't give a crap.
While sitting in his lap, she will growl at the slightest pat on the head from him. As he is showering her with words of adoration and apple slices, she will bare her teeth, all the while snuggled right up tight to him. Some may say my dog has borderline personality disorder. The only people she will show affection and sweetness to other than her treasured mommy are her granny, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin. Try to come into my room with her either guarding the door or sitting on the bed however? Don't. Even. Go. There. Just avert your eyes and run to the safety of another room.
I love my little weirdo dog with all my being. I realize that her feelings of protection for me may just border on completely insane and slightly neurotic, but she is my dog. She has been through everything with me from divorce, to cross country moving, to living with two evil roommates to moving back in with granny and grandpa and adjusting to life with two other half-wit dogs with nothing more than walks and balls on the brain. I find Lucy to be eternally patient with all of the changes in her life.
So Lucy likes to show her dominance with a friendly ankle bite here and there? So what. She and I are a package deal. And I am lucky to have found a man who understands that.
Here's to you Lucy, aka - Looty Pie Jones, Poopy-head, Floofy, Loot Loot, Looty Lou.
Happy Birthday you crazy little loon.
From the beginning, Lucy has adopted a role of being my unwavering life defender, protecting me against the likes of just about every other human being that walks on this earth. She has perfected the art of rigid tooth baring and deep internal growl that would scare any evil Mormon or Jehovah's Witness into submission.
Those kids walking by the house on their way home from school? They are secretly wielding machetes and other weapons of wrath that could potentially harm her mommy.
That nice lady from down the street who waves at everyone? According to my little dog, you can't trust anyone who is that friggin happy all the time.
Lucy's junkyard dog instincts don't only convey to those outside the home. While my dad thinks Lucy is the coolest dog that has ever walked the face of the planet, and tries as hard as possible to snuggle and cuddle and offer treats that any dog would roll over in submission for - Lucy just doesn't give a crap.
While sitting in his lap, she will growl at the slightest pat on the head from him. As he is showering her with words of adoration and apple slices, she will bare her teeth, all the while snuggled right up tight to him. Some may say my dog has borderline personality disorder. The only people she will show affection and sweetness to other than her treasured mommy are her granny, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin. Try to come into my room with her either guarding the door or sitting on the bed however? Don't. Even. Go. There. Just avert your eyes and run to the safety of another room.
I love my little weirdo dog with all my being. I realize that her feelings of protection for me may just border on completely insane and slightly neurotic, but she is my dog. She has been through everything with me from divorce, to cross country moving, to living with two evil roommates to moving back in with granny and grandpa and adjusting to life with two other half-wit dogs with nothing more than walks and balls on the brain. I find Lucy to be eternally patient with all of the changes in her life.
So Lucy likes to show her dominance with a friendly ankle bite here and there? So what. She and I are a package deal. And I am lucky to have found a man who understands that.
Here's to you Lucy, aka - Looty Pie Jones, Poopy-head, Floofy, Loot Loot, Looty Lou.
Happy Birthday you crazy little loon.
12.13.2008
One way to instill humility
Growing up, my parents instilled rather strict christian moral values in my brothers and I. I would like to think that I still hold most of these morals near and dear my heart, but look folks I am nearly 28. I have been married before. (Gasp! I know! Worse than my decision to buy a second blue Dodge Neon!) I had put a couple of not so great relationships under my belt before I met the more-awesome-than-he-lets-on Mr. Hot Pilot and my world was once again turned upright.
Now Mr. Hot Pilot and I share the same christian values and enjoy doing things the right way in order to ensure that we don't fall into the same craptacular rat hole that we both ended up in with our first marriages - i.e - he with the world's craziest blonde chick and I with the world's least self motivated guy. Let me tell you, he and I would forgo a rockin' honeymoon if it meant eternal peace, sunshine and not the slightest chance of a mental breakdown.
So I didn't think much of it the other day while I was at my annual chick appointment and my doc asked if it was ok for her to leave a message on my machine regarding my results. Of course I didn't care, and I went on my merry way.
Imagine my shock and surprise when I was sitting at the computer the other night and my mother went to play the messages in the voicemail, and I heard the cheery voice of my doc. "Hi there, just wanted to let you know everything is negative, and your pregnancy test was negative. Hope you have a great day!".
I began yelling "Oh my God! I know I'm not pregnant for crying out loud! It was just routine! Oh God! I already know I'm not because I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!!!".
Funny how even at 27 one phone call from the doc can entice such a feeling of utter humiliation.
Now Mr. Hot Pilot and I share the same christian values and enjoy doing things the right way in order to ensure that we don't fall into the same craptacular rat hole that we both ended up in with our first marriages - i.e - he with the world's craziest blonde chick and I with the world's least self motivated guy. Let me tell you, he and I would forgo a rockin' honeymoon if it meant eternal peace, sunshine and not the slightest chance of a mental breakdown.
So I didn't think much of it the other day while I was at my annual chick appointment and my doc asked if it was ok for her to leave a message on my machine regarding my results. Of course I didn't care, and I went on my merry way.
Imagine my shock and surprise when I was sitting at the computer the other night and my mother went to play the messages in the voicemail, and I heard the cheery voice of my doc. "Hi there, just wanted to let you know everything is negative, and your pregnancy test was negative. Hope you have a great day!".
I began yelling "Oh my God! I know I'm not pregnant for crying out loud! It was just routine! Oh God! I already know I'm not because I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!!!".
Funny how even at 27 one phone call from the doc can entice such a feeling of utter humiliation.
12.11.2008
My (angry) thoughts exactly
I don't make alot of money. I am just beginning to pay back my student loans and I have yet to really start my life. So when I heard about the furloughs being brought against Maryland state employees (of which I am one) I was ticked. Didn't they just pass a crapload of slots that were supposed to bring in a Donald Trump sized amount of money for education, healthcare, Sheila Dixon's kid's college fund and other things? First and foremost, I did not vote for slots. But the rest of Maryland felt they were necessary and now I still have to pay consequences.
When I found this cartoon on PolitickerMD.com, I thought I should just go ahead and share.
(you can find the original page here)
When I found this cartoon on PolitickerMD.com, I thought I should just go ahead and share.
(you can find the original page here)
12.08.2008
She's craf-tay!
This past week I have decided to try and save some money by creating my own christmas ornaments. I ended up spending nearly $200 on supplies. I really don't believe that Dave Ramsey would be proud of my attempt at saving money as I pretty much failed miserably. Despite my money saving efforts, I have saddled myself with several daunting projects. I'd like to consider myself somewhat crafty, but I often get either distracted or disinterested very quickly.
I have taken to painting wooden ornaments, painting wooden christmasy decorations, gluing paper strips to styrofoam balls and I even decided to fold oragami birds. I am finding the oragami to make my brain feel somewhat like mashed jello and am hoping maybe it is a good brain exercise which will keep me from the grips of alzheimers for maybe one extra year.
Little did I realize what a literal pain in the neck ornament painting would truly be. I woke up the next day with such a massive stiff neck I thought for sure I had meningitis. Until I realized it was nothing more than terrible posture which I'm sure my grandmother would chastise me for.
For tonight I am taking time off of my crafty ways and have come up with a new project I hope you will all enjoy : Really bad christmas lights. Christmas decor wrecks if you will. I will be scouring my local area each day at dusk for the most heinous acts of electrical expression in order to make each one of you feel just a little bit better about your decorating tastes.
Tonight I took the lazy way and found a picture online (as I learned the hard way that I should be taking these pictures at dusk and not under the blackened night sky whilst wearing my robber uniform of black clothes and panty hose over the face).
Enjoy tonights little christmas treasure and I will be bringing some of Marylands finest tomorrow.
(photo via Ugly Christmas Lights)
I have taken to painting wooden ornaments, painting wooden christmasy decorations, gluing paper strips to styrofoam balls and I even decided to fold oragami birds. I am finding the oragami to make my brain feel somewhat like mashed jello and am hoping maybe it is a good brain exercise which will keep me from the grips of alzheimers for maybe one extra year.
Little did I realize what a literal pain in the neck ornament painting would truly be. I woke up the next day with such a massive stiff neck I thought for sure I had meningitis. Until I realized it was nothing more than terrible posture which I'm sure my grandmother would chastise me for.
For tonight I am taking time off of my crafty ways and have come up with a new project I hope you will all enjoy : Really bad christmas lights. Christmas decor wrecks if you will. I will be scouring my local area each day at dusk for the most heinous acts of electrical expression in order to make each one of you feel just a little bit better about your decorating tastes.
Tonight I took the lazy way and found a picture online (as I learned the hard way that I should be taking these pictures at dusk and not under the blackened night sky whilst wearing my robber uniform of black clothes and panty hose over the face).
Enjoy tonights little christmas treasure and I will be bringing some of Marylands finest tomorrow.
(photo via Ugly Christmas Lights)
12.02.2008
Censorship for kids!
When we were kids growing up, there were many things our parents put the kibosh on and kept us sheltered from : rap music, rock music, any music found on mainstream radio, The Simpsons, horror movies, crack smoking, swearing, vodka shooters and any movie with a rating higher than PG. Looking back I can certainly understand the extreme measures they went to to ensure that my brothers never saw a set of boobies before the age of 21 and I never saw a mans 'danger zone' until at least 3 years after I married.
I still remember going through the annual 5lb JC Penney catalog as a teen trying to find my style, and realizing that my mother had ripped out the 'lingerie' section in order to keep my brothers from fulfilling their curiosity by viewing middle aged women modeling granny panties or maternity bras. Very enticing.
When it came to movies and television, my parents were very guarded about what we were and were not allowed to watch. These rules lightened up quite a bit by the time my youngest brother was a teenager, but I had to live my younger years without the likes of "Roseanne" or "The Simpsons". Not good for a kid trying to be cool in the 5th grade.
Any time we watched a movie, my mother would sit in her chair, poised with the remote control to scan forward in case a woman were to dance bare chested across the screen. There had been more than one occasion where we would be watching a movie as a family when a love scene would suddenly appear and out of the corner of our eyes a small figure clad in flannel kitten pajamas would move in slow motion from the side shouting "No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!!!!" and block everyones view with her nightshirt. It was quite a picture.
Now-a-days we are used to seeing every movie imaginable with my parents. And I believe that they have become used to having grown children whom they don't have to censor movies for. It is because of this new and more grown-up life that we got caught in a sticky situation on Thanksgiving day.
As usual we were looking for a movie to go and see after Thanksgiving dinner. My dad suggested "The Four Christmases" with Reece Witherspoon and that guy that Jennifer Aniston once shouldn't have dated. I thought it looked funny and we decided to all go, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin included.
We should have known something was amiss when we didn't see any other elementary aged children in the audience. Then Mr. Hot Pilot whispered "are you sure this is rated only PG?" to me as the rather grown-up previews flashed across the screen.
I hadn't even thought about what rating this movie was. I'm not accustomed to even thinking about it.
Then the first scene of the movie flashes up and after the two characters begin ripping each others clothes off in a bathroom, I realize we have trouble.
Without a second thought, Mr. Hot Pilot had Munchkin in a football hold and was racing down the steps and out of the theater. Looking back it was rather funny, although I was quite embarassed that we even went to see the movie with Munchkin.
Luckily we got our money back and all was right with the world again.
Maybe, just maybe, I will become the mom who will wear flannel kitten pajamas and ensure Munchkin never sees any womans bits and pieces until he is at least 35.
I still remember going through the annual 5lb JC Penney catalog as a teen trying to find my style, and realizing that my mother had ripped out the 'lingerie' section in order to keep my brothers from fulfilling their curiosity by viewing middle aged women modeling granny panties or maternity bras. Very enticing.
When it came to movies and television, my parents were very guarded about what we were and were not allowed to watch. These rules lightened up quite a bit by the time my youngest brother was a teenager, but I had to live my younger years without the likes of "Roseanne" or "The Simpsons". Not good for a kid trying to be cool in the 5th grade.
Any time we watched a movie, my mother would sit in her chair, poised with the remote control to scan forward in case a woman were to dance bare chested across the screen. There had been more than one occasion where we would be watching a movie as a family when a love scene would suddenly appear and out of the corner of our eyes a small figure clad in flannel kitten pajamas would move in slow motion from the side shouting "No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!!!!" and block everyones view with her nightshirt. It was quite a picture.
Now-a-days we are used to seeing every movie imaginable with my parents. And I believe that they have become used to having grown children whom they don't have to censor movies for. It is because of this new and more grown-up life that we got caught in a sticky situation on Thanksgiving day.
As usual we were looking for a movie to go and see after Thanksgiving dinner. My dad suggested "The Four Christmases" with Reece Witherspoon and that guy that Jennifer Aniston once shouldn't have dated. I thought it looked funny and we decided to all go, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin included.
We should have known something was amiss when we didn't see any other elementary aged children in the audience. Then Mr. Hot Pilot whispered "are you sure this is rated only PG?" to me as the rather grown-up previews flashed across the screen.
I hadn't even thought about what rating this movie was. I'm not accustomed to even thinking about it.
Then the first scene of the movie flashes up and after the two characters begin ripping each others clothes off in a bathroom, I realize we have trouble.
Without a second thought, Mr. Hot Pilot had Munchkin in a football hold and was racing down the steps and out of the theater. Looking back it was rather funny, although I was quite embarassed that we even went to see the movie with Munchkin.
Luckily we got our money back and all was right with the world again.
Maybe, just maybe, I will become the mom who will wear flannel kitten pajamas and ensure Munchkin never sees any womans bits and pieces until he is at least 35.
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