I Sure Would Like It

Oh my gosh! So I was cleaning up my blog and I came across a few drafts that I never finished. Most were just crap so I deleted them, but this one I had to finish and share. It is from August 2006 (almost two years ago!)...

Last week I went to a Cubs game with my friends Cheryl, Hoang, and Ryne. Much to my surprise Hoang and Cheryl showed up with a little gift for me, a Cubs hat made entirely out of balloons. You know, the kind of balloons clowns make puppies and giraffes out of. Well this was far and above any of that amateur crap. It must have taken twenty balloons to construct this masterpiece. Hanging off of the side of this already massive structure was a Cubby bear holding a little heart. It was sweet really...until you realized that its 3 foot reach actually posed a threat to others who were too close (read: in the same room). As you might imagine this is not appropriate downtown Chicago attire. I had to carry it around most of the time because I really believed I would harm someone if I left it unsupervised atop my head. I carried it from the train to the subway, where I had to try to contain it to just one seat with me (impossible), and then from the subway around the perimeter of Wrigley. I said from the beginning that they wouldn't let me in the park with it, but I couldn't bring myself to ditch it so I walked right up to the security guy checking bags outside the park. His eyebrow raised as he stared at the rubber monstrosity in my hand. "What's that?" he asked suspiciously. "A hat," I replied calmly. He tried to make a joke about it being a beer hat and I just smiled and nodded and walked past into the park. After my ticket was scanned I thought I was home free. Two steps later I was ambushed by a crazy mob of security guards insisting that I must check my "hazardous object" and come back and pick it up after the game. Embarrassed, I stepped off to the side and filled out a form to ensure my balloon hat access to a nice comfortable room until I was ready to reclaim it. The lady taking my information kept reassuring me over and over again, "Don't you worry honey, ain't nobody gonna pop this here hat. I'll make sure it's kept real safe." I looked at the hat wearily and secretly hoped it would pop. On my way out of the park I considered leaving it to fend for itself, but the thought of how proud Cheryl and Hoang were when they handed it to me, made me go back and reclaim it. I lugged it once again onto the subway. It was after five now and the red line was packed. I was forced to sit next to some poor stranger my balloon hat didn't like, as it continued to break free from my grasp and smack the stranger across the face with it's little white tentacles. I felt like one of those parents who can't control their children and so just shrugs when they started beating on some unfortunate person happening to be sitting in the vicinity. After the subway I marched back down the streets of Chicago to the train station getting strange looks from EVERY person we passed. We finally got on the train and I rested my nuisance balloon on my lap. I silently cursed it for all the embarrassment of the day and look around for a pin to destroy it. As we neared our stop on the train the man sitting in the front of our car got up and staggered in our direction. I say staggered because he was plastered and clutching a tall can of Bud Light. Ryne and I took one glance at his Cheers sweatshirt and thought, "How fitting." As he stumbled down I realized his eyes were fixed on my balloon hat. Suddenly I felt a bond between the balloon and I, and I pulled it closer to me. As he came up even with our seats his eyes grew wide with excitement.
"WHAT'S THAT?!" he said in a mystified manner.
STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER! "It's a hat made out of balloons," I replied trying to keep things simple for the guy.
Ryne and I looked forward hoping he would go way, but he remained and asked, "How much for it?"
All thoughts of disposing of the balloon vanished at that instance, and I suddenly couldn't part with it. "It's not for sale."
He stood there and stared as if I had said nothing. And stared. And stared. I grew more and more uncomfortable and began to wonder if I was going to die for this stupid balloon hat.
"I sure would like it," he finally said in a voice that suddenly had a Southern twang to it.
"It was a gift. It's not for sale," I said firmly without thinking. Ah! What am I doing?! Give him the freakin hat! After all the misery it caused! Just get rid of it. Now is your chance! You could even make some money! He's large and in charge and drunk! Don't make him angry!
Our new intoxicated friend just stood and stared for quite some time. I began to think that maybe he had spaced out, or passed out. Suddenly he just turned and walked away muttering to himself about balloons and disappeared into the bathroom.
The balloon hat made it home that night, and I displayed it proudly until the air had completely escaped many months later. It shall always be remembered as the most obnoxious gift I ever got that I would never part with.

Me No Likey the Volleyball

Cathy: You should come play beach volleyball with me on Wednesday nights. There's a whole group of us that get together and play down by the lake at 7pm.

Me: Uh. No. I don't play volleyball. Because I'm horrible. I don't do things I'm horrible at. It's a policy of mine.

Cathy: That's OK, nobody is very good. Playing in the sand equalizes every one's skills. You can't jump or move very well, it slows the game down.

Me: (Skeptical look) I don't know the rules. I've never actually played hardcore.

Cathy: You'll pick it up real fast, every one's laid back.

Me: Yeah, we'll see.

Later that day...
Hmm. It's probably a bunch of middle aged people. It won't be too bad. Maybe I'll completely dominate simply because I'm probably twenty years younger than most of them. I can do this. Besides, what else am I going to do?

After quite a bit of ego feeding and delusional thoughts...
I'm going to freakin' rock at this! I'm going to take this game to a whole new level. These people are going to be fighting over who gets me on their team. It will be a gift for them to be in my volleyball playing presence.

Me: OK Cathy, I'll go. Oh, and btw, you're welcome. Because I? am going to be amazing.

6:50pm
*Arrive at beach volleyball courts.
Me: What the heck? Where are all the old people? These people look young and athletic. Crap! Was that a bump, set, spike? I don't see Cathy, this must not be our group.
AHH! Is that the high school volleyball team? Where the heck is Cathy? I don't see any mediocre players anywhere! Maybe I should make a run for it. Yes, that's what I'll do. Right about...
Cathy: Bridget!
Me: Shoooooooooooooooooot. Hi! I'm glad you invited me. Now can I leave?
Cathy: Ready to play?
Me: Yep! No! You lied to me! You are a liar!
Cathy: Come on, we're over here on this court.
Me: Great! This court?! With 16 people already at it?! 16 people who completely rock at volleyball?!
Cathy: We'll have to wait to be rotated in.
Me: No problem. I can wait all night. Literally all night. Over there. By the swings.
Cathy (2 seconds later): OK there's an open spot. Get in there!
Me: Oh wow, that was fast. What?! Now?! Already?! You first?

*Ball in play. Ball headed toward me. Ball making contact with forearms. Ball flying (rather quickly) out of bounds.
Me: Sorry! I want to die. I am horrible at volleyball. I knew this. What was I thinking coming here?

*Other team serves. Right at me. Ball hits forearm (notice it is singular...apparently I can't keep my forearms level so only one comes in contact with the ball...out of bounds.
Me: Sorry! This is not good. What excuse can I give to leave after the first two minutes of them game? I left my oven on? My appendix just burst? I'm allergic to sand? My dinner wants another look at my tonsils?

*Other team serves. Right at me...again. I miss completely.
Me: Sorry! Maybe I could walk over and drown myself in Lake Michigan.

*Other team serves again. Right at me. Middle aged man teammate practically knocks me out of the way and hits the ball himself. It goes over the net.
Me: Thank you! Hurrah! He can cover my position and his, now can I go?

Sometime later...
I have begun to catch on, and can at least make a halfway decent showing (read: I can now hit the ball over the net 60% of the time).

*Middle aged man to the right of me is now only standing two feet away, as is the middle aged man to the left of me. They only trust me with a small square of sand to cover. I find myself annoyed and indignant.
Me: Why you all up in my space homes? I can cover the ball. I'm not that bad.

*Ball hit at me. The ball is in my sights, and I'm totally going to hit it. Coming down, closer and closer. WHAM! I am forced to hit the ground as the overzealous forty something psycho comes plowing over into my zone. He hits the ball, but it goes out of bounds.
Me: I could have done that jerkstore! Back up off!

*Ball hit at me.
Me: MINE! I GOT IT! (practically shrieking)
*Everyone moves out of the way against their better judgment. Wind picks up ball and brings it over my head at the last minute (I SWEAR IT WAS THE WIND! NO JOKE!).
Me: I don't got it!
*Collective groan from my team.

*Ball hit at teammate. Teammate has spaced out (probably wondering why she is so cursed to have me on her team). Teammate not moving for ball.
Me: Oh my gosh! Is she actually not going to hit it? Am I going to have to go into HER zone? *Last minute dive across the sand to cover teammate's rear end. Ball makes contact with my forearms and flies...over the net. Other team dumbfounded in shock and does not move for the ball. POINT!
*Loud cheers...in my head.
Teammate: Nice save! Thanks!
Me: Oh. No problem. I freakin' rock! Wooohooo! You're welcome slacker! I'm totally carrying you right now! Heck ya!

After the men leave and go home the hostility in the air decreases, and I am actually allowed to go for the ball. I begin to have a halfway decent time, which confirms a belief that I've carried since middle school gym class...playing sports with all girls is always a better time than playing with guys. Which leads to a side rant...

I've played a lot of coed intramural sports in my day, and I have found the same thing each time. The guys on the team take on this air of "I am a lot better than you so it's OK for me to hog the ball the entire time and then after I have gained an amazing lead I will let you hold it for .2 sec so you feel like you've been included." Guys, this is not hot. I am not impressed by your skills. I already know you're better than me, if for no other reason than the fact you're a foot taller than I am and you have twice the muscle mass. I actually wouldn't even care if we lost a game here and there as long as you let me play. Keep that in mind for next time. Thanks!

Back on track...
*Two hours, 456 apologies toward teammates throughout the course of the game, and 10 sand up my nose dives later...
Cathy: Great job!
Me: HA! I was horrid.
Cathy: You didn't make anymore mistakes than anyone else did.
Me: LIAR! The difference is the mistakes I made involved missing the ball when it came right at me. The mistakes other people made were caused by missing the ball while diving across the court to get a ball that was aimed at me that I couldn't hit.
Cathy: You should come back next week.
Me: Uh. Hmm. Well. Probably not.
Cathy: You really should!
Me: I feel like it's a poor reflection on you because you vouch for me.
Cathy: I do NOT vouch for you. I just bring you along.
Me: I rest my case.

Angry Inner Bridget

Today I decided to take active measures to counter the boredom/feeling sorry for myself that comes with living alone in a town where I have one friend (Brandie) who is not married and/or has given birth to twenty children. Unfortunately Brandie decided she was hanging out with "her friend Ron" tonight. Who the heck is this Ron joker? Oops, I'm off track.

Back on track. My first counter measure was to buy a pitch back. Except that the one in the link is probably high quality, whereas the $20 one that I purchased turned out to be a raging piece of crap. And yes, I do realize that I just turned 23 and should not be purchasing a pitch back that 9 year old boys use to practice for T-ball, but how else am I going to play catch by myself? So I was expecting it to be a little weak, considering it was only $20 and most others are at least $50. I was not, however, expecting it to cause me bodily harm and then self destruct before my eyes.

Dear Spalding,
I am less than pleased with your product, the "Deluxe 3-Way Return Throw." Deluxe? Are you kidding me with this? Those stupid "new bungee cords for easy net assembly" broke my finger! Are you insane? Why would you stick a ball of plastic destruction to the end of a bungee cord and then make me stretch it to its max, only to have it snap back viciously at my fingers when it inevitable cannot stretch far enough to hook together. My finger is now purple and deformed! Oh, and don't even get me started about the "55 inch X 35 inch enameled steel frame." Steel?! Since when does steel fold under the pressure of bungee cords? Never in my life have I seen metal bunch up like a stocking. I was especially impressed when the entire frame gave out and collapsed into itself like a crumpled piece of paper. It was at this point that I picked up the poorly manufactured aluminum foil framed joke and hurled it across the yard, so you'll have to excuse the grass stains. I would demand that you send me a better product, but I still have nine functional fingers (or seven fingers and two thumbs if you're picky) and I'd rather not risk whatever weapon disguised as a child's toy you want to throw my way next.
-Angry Inner Bridget

CC: T-Ball USA with additional note:
I find it appalling that your seal of approval is on this product. Do you also approve hand grenades for tots? Or missal launchers for pee wee football players? Why don't you just strap a fire cracker to little Timmy's fist and then have him go play in the street?

Too much?

*Here I must stop and note that when I told my friend Jess about this crappy product she told me I should write a letter. She paused and then added "like a real letter." It's like she thought I would just rant about it in a fake letter on my blog instead of actually accomplishing something by sending a real letter to the company. Why would she think that? Oh wait...

And now, for my second attempt to fend off boredom/self pity:
I decided to take myself to the movies. I went with a positive attitude (and a throbbing broken finger! shaky fist Spalding!), and tried hard not to focus on the fact I was a huge loser for going by myself. The theater was basically empty when I got there and I sat off to the side, away from the four other people already there. Why? Because I wanted to watch my movie in peace (Read: I wanted to put my feet up on the seat in front of me and talk to myself until the movie started). Right before the movie started a middle aged couple came in and out of the bazillion empty seats in the theater decided they had to sit right behind me. Right behind me. Who does that? Nobody ever intentionally sits right behind someone at a theater because of the risk of view blockage. But not these two winners. They sat right behind me. As soon as they took their seats, I began to take my feet off the back of the chair in front of me and reluctantly return them to the floor. Apparently I wasn't moving fast enough because the guy behind me shouts (get your feet down). Let's recap. I'm sitting directly in front of him. Why are we shouting? Also? I already had my feet down before you opened your large popcorn filled mouth. Why are you talking to me? Needless to say, I'm slight annoyed at this point (Read: so angry I can't even see straight). As I day dream about dumping my cherry coke all over him, I hear him start to tap his cup against his plastic arm rest. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Then I hear him "whisper" to his date, "It's a social experiment, let's see how long it takes her to snap." Hey Asshat! I can hear you! Are you out of your gourd? Really? Do you want me to snap? Just say the word pal. You'll have popcorn shoved so far up your nose it will fill your currently empty cranial cavity. After Mr. Mature behind me gets tired of tapping and my lack of reaction, he begins to carry on a conversation with his date, which lasts the duration of the movie. At one point I get annoyed enough to turn around to give him my death glare (which is truly frightening), but as I turn to my left I am stopped by an infuriating site. A sasquatch sized foot is propped up on the chair sitting only inches from my face. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! I can't prop my feet up (which totally would not even be in your line of view) but you can stick your foot in my face?! How do these people find me? I spent the rest of the movie wishing I had a sharp object to drive into his smelly foot. And thus continues "Bridget's history of violence" as Kenric likes to call it.

Bye Bye PA School...Forever

I know this post is months past due, but I think it's time.

When I withdrew from PA school I was a broken person. I had just spent the last few months pouring myself into a profession that made me question everything about myself. I did not fit in from the moment I walked out of the parking garage. I found myself surrounded by dozens of wildly intelligent, beautiful women. They knew exactly what they wanted in life. They had been out in the working world and knew that they wanted more. They were career women. It's a gift to be motivated to succeed in one's profession, but it's not my gift. I am much more concerned with succeeding at being a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a niece, an aunt, a friend and someday a wife and a mother. I am more concerned with being a human being.

I could feel myself being called in a different direction, but I didn't want to let anyone down. I knew I wanted to help people, but at what cost? In my physician assistant program I watched relationships end and families deteriorate. We were asked to give up our lives for the next two years and focus only on learning. Family was not to be a priority. Friendships were to be put on hold. The majority of the women around me broke up with their boyfriends in the first few weeks of school (or their boyfriends broke up with them). I remember my classmate calling her good friend to tell her she couldn't make her wedding because it was just too much time out of her schedule, and I remember thinking "It's her freakin wedding! How could you miss that?" Even our lunch break was a time to continue studying, and socializing was frowned upon. I was twenty two years old and being asked to lock my true self inside and not let her out again until I was twenty four.

I remember looking at my professors, all talented PA's, but most were single PA's. Most did not have families to go home to, or children to run around. That was the decision they had made. They were good at what they did, and they put so much effort into keeping up with all the knowledge they were responsible for, but that didn't leave them much time for anything or anyone else. I got a sick feeling in my stomach every time I thought about it.

In the classroom I was confronted with issues that went against my morals. We were constantly being told that it was our responsibility to push contraceptives onto young girls, and recommend birth control at every chance we got. Natural family planning was mocked incessantly, and I found myself dreading going to class. I was told not to ever bring my personal beliefs or opinions to work because I was not to make anyone feel uncomfortable. I was instructed to adapt the beliefs of any patient I might encounter for the time that I was with them. My values were not important and I should consider them dispensable.

Every thing inside me began to revolt against PA school. It felt as if God was trying so hard to pull me away from it and point me in a different direction. The longer I fought it, the more I fell apart. I was dying inside. It became hard for me to laugh and hard for me to enjoy being around the people I loved because I felt guilty about not studying. I remember bringing my baseball glove over to my grandparent's house one Sunday night toward the end of summer. My cousin Jake just looked at me and said, "Oh I stopped bringing mine because you are always studying and you never want to play with me anymore." Playing catch used to be our thing, and I had let him down the point he had given up on me. PA school had convinced me I didn't have 15 minutes to play catch with an eleven year old who looked up to me. I no longer knew myself, and became angry with the person I was becoming.

It began to be very clear that I needed to get out. I was met with opposition from just about everyone. I was caught between the fear of letting everyone down and the fear of losing myself. In the end, I had to take a chance on the former. I quit, and every day since then I have come alive again little by little. I have not once regretted leaving. Not once. I feel happy again. I'm working as an athletic trainer, which I never thought would bring much meaning to my life, but I was wrong. I work in a catholic hospital, where I can share my faith with my patients. I can go to adoration during my break because there's a chapel right down the hall with perpetual adoration. I work mostly with elderly patients, and I return to them a quality of life they haven't known in years. I help people walk again. I have a patient that came to me in a wheel chair and was so weak he couldn't lift himself out of it. He now can walk laps around the room, using only a cane. And we're just getting started. One of my former patients showed up last week to give me a gift because she felt I had touched her life that much. I've made a seventy year old man cry because he was just so grateful to have someone listen to him and his troubles week after week. I find myself spreading my faith and doing God's will in a profession that I had been told was not good enough for me. Those people were wrong. It puts such a smile on my face when a patient takes me out to the waiting room so they can introduce me to their family. "This is my torturer Bridget!"

I know that right now I am far from my family, but I won't be far forever. I know I started with talking about how I want to be a good daughter/sister/cousin/etc and that moving 400 miles away from my family might seem contradictory, but everything happens for a reason. I love my family just as much from here, and I care about everything that happens in their lives just as much, and even more. Right now I feel like I'm exactly where I'm called to be, doing exactly what I'm called to do...for now.

I hope that puts your mind at ease, and you'll stop referring to me as though I were some poor lost child, not knowing what she's doing. For the first time in a long time, I know exactly what I'm doing.

Cop Out

Oh no! I haven't posted in over a month! I'm sorry! I can't think of anything worth blogging about. Over the past several weeks I've started a few but then just got bored with them. If I get bored with them, you'll definitely get bored with them. After all, no one is more amused by myself than I am.

First I was going to post a rant called the Skeezeball Awards where I went off about sleazy adulterous men like Eliot Spitzer (who looks like an Orc by the way), but just thinking about the whole thing made me so angry/upset I decided to drop it.

Then I was going to write about my experiences at this Cardiac Rehab Conference I went to, but this was as far as I got before I got bored...

Cardiac Rehab Conference Day 1
Woman 1: I am leaving my kids alone for the first time to attend this conference.
Woman 2: Oh that must be very hard, I just called my kids over the last break. (Directed at Woman 3) Do you have children?
Woman 3: Yes, I just called and checked in with my husband. (Directed at Guy 1) Do you have kids?
Guy 1: Yes I have two young boys. They are quite the handful.
Woman 1 (swinging her head toward my direction, opens mouth to ask, frowns doubtfully, cuts herself off short and turns back to Woman 3): Tell me about your children.
Inner Bridget: I have a gerbil! Her name is Penelope. She does tricks. She can leap from the floor of her cage to the roof. What can your kid do? Nothin!

Then I distinctly remember having something funny to blog about, but I just can't remember what it was. Shoot.

Oh and by the way, I finally had to pay for that freakin fence, and it is all fixed up $72.24 later.
Could have been worse I guess.

I guess I'm going to cop out and post an excerpt from the book I've been working on. That's kind of fun right?

So my main character writes an advice column called From One Dysfunctional Woman to Another, and that's what this is from...

Chapter Three of Refusing to Settle

From One Dysfunctional Woman to Another
September 5

My advice for you today is simple; all women should disband and live without friends. It’s just not worth the trauma. Yesterday I made the mistake of answering my phone at work. It was my friend (ex-friend) Helen with the dreaded news that she had made plans for us for that evening. Since when did I allow other people to start making plans for me? I am not four years old. I do not need someone setting up play dates for me.
First of all, she told me it was a “Girls Night Out.” What an evil little title that is to give to any occasion. Why? Because it’s a blatant lie. No one ever really means just a night out with the girls. If I had my way, such an event would be a relaxing occasion with pizza, movies and maybe a glass of wine (I know you’re supposed to drink beer with pizza, but I hate beer…deal with it). We know better though, don’t we ladies? A “Girl’s Night Out” is a stressful night of dodging bullets in the form of men shot at you by all too eager friends. It is a way for the pretty thin girls with noncommittal boyfriends to taunt their slightly (I do say SLIGHTLY) overweight friends by making sure they know they are not as pretty and require assistance with obtaining men. If it truly was just a night out with the girls it would not matter what I wore. Clearly this was not the case as Helen practically laid out an outfit for me (once again, I am not four).
In order to fully impress upon you the importance of my advice today, I will now recall the events of last night. I found myself sitting in a shady club with “the girls” and wishing I were at home, or grocery shopping, or maybe even in prison. Yes, I think I would have preferred prison (minimum security)...

A Day in the Life

People are constantly asking me, "Bridget, what do you do after work? I mean you live alone, don't you go crazy?"

Perhaps I haven't been clear. I DO NOT live alone.

Here are some of the things Penelope and I do after work:


We usually do some therapeutic coloring to express our artistic side...

If the Cubs are on TV, we always cheer them on!

Sometimes we just sit around and have intellectual discussions...

Of course we goof off to release the stress of the work day...

We're in the process of beating The Legend of Zelda, so we take turns (well we're supposed to, ehm Penelope)...

Sometimes I get really tired and insist we take a nap (Penelope does not like to nap)...

Then we get to talk to our favorite person...

When it gets close to bed time I read to Penelope...

The very last thing we do is watch some TV to zone out...

I hope that clears everything up. We don't have any board games, but I'm thinking about investing in MouseTrap. It's a topic of debate between Penelope and I.

On a scale from 1-10 (10 being the most) how much do you regret that I got a digital camera for Christmas?

This post officially makes me the biggest dork on the planet. Winner!

Rage Against Society

"The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense." ~Elizabeth Bennet in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

It would be nice to say that the world has changed since Austen's time. It would be nice to say that human nature has matured and the people of today have learned from the mistakes of the people of yesterday. It would be nice, but not at all truthful. On the contrary, the human race has entered into a slippery slope of self destruction. Morals and values are receding into the depths and selfishness and cruelty climb higher and higher in importance.

What are we doing?

When people stand up for what is right, we gang up on them and put them down. Are we so afraid to feel guilt?

Instead of reaching out to our friends when they are in need, we write them off and shut them out because we have "enough on our plates." Where has compassion gone?

We form relationships based on selfish desires, and then wonder why they don't work out. Why do we set our standards for ourselves and others so low?

When someone cares about us and tries to help us, we are suspicious. Why are we so afraid to love and be loved?

When we've found someone to love, we search out someone else for more pleasure. Are we that selfish?

When we say "I do," we seldom mean forever. Do promises mean nothing to us anymore?

When we try to plan our futures we take into account how much money we'll make, how many vacations we'll be able to take, and where we will rank in our jobs. Rarely do we consider the life we are capable of bringing into the world because that involves responsibility, time, and money. Where is God in our lives?

When someone calls our actions into question, our first thought is always, "Well you're not perfect either." Does that ever really justify anything?

There is no perfect person among us. We can't sit around and wait for someone without sin to come along and set our examples for us. Sinners need to reach out to sinners, and together we need to make changes.

This world is a disgusting place, and we made it that way. With every selfish decision we make, we replace love with hate. Every time we look the other way, we give injustices and wrongs our stamp of approval. When we refuse to put our faith into people and hope for a better world, we cut ourselves off from progress. Not the kind of progress that brings in large sums of money, but the kind of progress that keeps our kids safe at school, our marriages from falling apart, our friends from taking their lives, and ourselves from being lost.

Fence Update

The neighbor has made great progress today in the fence repair!

I can't wait til it's back up and ready to be plowed over again!

Because I'm an Idiot Too

I did something outrageously stupid last Thursday. I hit a fence with my truck. No, it's not as hard to do as one might think. My idiot neighbor thought it would be a good idea to put up a fence to separate our alley access driveways. It's probably a miracle I made it as long as I did (a month) without hitting it. Because I'm an upstanding citizen, I decided to send my neighbor a formal apology...

Dear New Neighbor,

I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize for hitting your appealing (read: hideous eye-sore) chain-link fence. I'm sure it was very troublesome to have past tenants park 3cm over the boundary and onto your slab of concrete. That must have been hard for you, seeing as how you only have a double wide driveway to park your solitary vehicle. I'm so pleased that you installed this practical (read: useless) fence long before I moved in because I would have hated to accidentally invade your space. I noticed that your privacy is very important to you, made evident by the eight "NO TRESPASSING, PRIVATE PROPERTY!" signs you have scattered about your 100 sq ft of property, and so I apologize for having to come to the door and explain to you that I'd just folded your fence in half with my over-sized vehicle. I would, however, like to offer you a small piece of neighborly advice. If you're trying to protect your private property, I would suggest you get something a little more threatening than the Reign of Terror you currently have protecting your home. I also want you to know that I am not at all upset about the damage my truck suffered when your fence (read: bane of my existence) attacked me. In fact, I consider it a worthy and just punishment for attempting to park in my own driveway. I'm really glad that you've decided to repair the fence. I can't even imagine how I'd go on if you did the sensible thing and just took it down.

Can't wait for the bill!

Bridget

In other news...I now have a roommate! Yay! No more living alone! Hurrah!

Her name is Penelope Jones. We get along pretty well, but I suspect she does drugs. For one, she has severe mood swings which generally result in temper tantrums involving a rain shower of wood shavings all over my floor. She also tends to exert random bursts of energy which result in her running circles in her room and twitching compulsively. I usually just try not to talk to her when this is occurring. It's usually best that way.

Warning: Bitchy rant to ensue.

I'm not sure if everyone is aware about how this blog operates, so let me just go over some ground rules. It's actually not a call in and request kind of thing. You do not pay me to write, therefore I'll post whatever I darn well please. Recipe requests and all.

Recipes

Hey kids! I've decided to take up cooking/baking. This is my current attempt to fend off the boredom which naturally accompanies living by oneself in a strange yooper town.

POST SOME RECIPES!

P.S. I don't eat fish...or anything else one might find swimming and/or crawling through the water.

P.P.S. I love desserts.

ALSO
I have internet now! And cable!

Ridiculous

Hmmmmmmmmm.

I haven't posted in a ridiculously long time.

I am sorry.

Update time!

I've moved from Manistique, MI to Escanaba, MI so now I only have to drive 5 minutes to get to work! UPGRADE!

I live alone. Downgrade! (I miss you Auna)

I had my first house guest this weekend! Thanks Rachael! UPGRADE!

I have no internet...again. (Since the last post I had finally obtained internet in Manistique, but now that I've moved again...no internet) Downgrade.

I'm a celebrity in Escanaba. These jokers put me on their local channel and asked me a bunch of
questions about athletic injuries. Bridget in front of live t.v. camera = blank stare/awkward as all get out. Major downgrade.

Random comments:

I'm sitting in the Escanaba library right now and there's a potted tree next to me wrapped with Christmas lights. It is March. Sitting in the tree is a fake bird, and if I'm not mistaken it is made up predominately of toilet paper. Why?

I have never met they guy who lives downstairs, but as of my first day of living there I began to refer to him as The Yahoo due to his poor parking decisions. I'm not a nice person.

Last week I excitedly pulled my Jade Garden leftovers out of the fridge and arranged them on a plate. I turned to put it in the microwave only to realize I don't have a microwave. IDIOT.

There's an ice shanty attached to my front door. It's bright green. (yes an ice shanty, as in a shed one fishes in).

My ice shanty prevented me from moving my couch in. I had to shove it through the kitchen window. I live on the second floor. Figure that one out.

I have snowshoe buddies at work. YAY!

Well my lap top is about to run out of batteries.

No Internet

Day 16 of no internet in new apartment.

Things are very bleak indeed.

Will not survive much longer.

Living in small yooper town.

Everyone always watching me.

Creeped out.

Please send...cookies.

On the plus side! The new job is going well, and my coworkers are super nice. Our apartment is all decorated and now actually looks as though it is occupied (sorry Auna, but it didn't even look like you were living there). I have bunches of stories to blog about, but seeing as I still have no internet, and my time here at the library is limited, you'll just have to wait.

Miss you all back home!

Documented Strangeness

I got a digital camera for Christmas! Which will naturally lead to pointless blogging, like this one...

DOCUMENTING STRANGE

Exhibit A

Name: Carl St. Jude AKA Creature (yes his middle name is St. Jude)

Species: Pug AKA Rancor

Activities: Sleeping, eating, itching, creating foul smells

Documented strangeness: It has snowed here quite a bit in the last few days. The snow is high enough that Carl cannot walk through the backyard, as a real dog with long legs would be able to do. Instead, my father has had to shovel walkways for him. I find this strange.

Exhibit B

Name: Moses AKA Demon Kitty

Species: Cat AKA Evil

Activities: Sleeping, eating, tripping, biting, invading privacy, box dwelling

Documented strangeness: Moses enjoys spending time in empty boxes, which is actually very counter productive to my attempt to pack. Once inside a box, he finds it necessary to eat his way through the cardboard to escape, rather than just hop back out through the open flaps. I find this strange.

Part 3, Chapter 1

God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission--I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next.

I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good, I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place while not intending it--if I do but keep His Commandments.

Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever, wherever I am. I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him; in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him; if I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends, He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me--still He knows what He is about.

~A Meditation by Cardinal Newman

The time for worrying is over, as it is unnecessary. Life will always go on, just as God intended it to. It is time for me to trust in the One who holds my future in His hands. And so begins what I like to call...Part 3, Chapter 1.

Minimal Progress

In an effort to join the adult masses, I have decided the first thing I need to do is get on an adult sleeping schedule. I have decided I will no longer sleep until ten o'clock because such a sleeping schedule will not coexist with a fancy adult job. Unfortunately, this goal has not yet been achieved. I keep accidentally oversleeping. I say accidentally in italics because some individuals (Kenric) question the validity of that statement. For the record, yes it is purely accidental that I hit the snooze button nine times before I get out of bed. How is that even close to being my fault? I also cannot help that I am in an altered state of mind when I wake up in the morning, and I forget that I am supposed to be adhering to a strict adult schedule. Also not my fault. In conclusion, my adult becoming progress is at a current minimal state.

Adults

Last night I was driving my younger cousins home from my grandma's house. My little cousin Nick, who's probably around 10 years old (Aunt Maggie?) asked me where I was going to school. I informed him that I had graduated, and being the smart little guy he is, he said, "But where are you going to grad school?" I told him that I wasn't going to grad school anymore because it wasn't for me. He then said to me, in a very matter of fact way, "Oh, so you're an adult now."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. All I could say was, "Well...not exactly."

Which got me to thinking...maybe I am, or more appropriately put, maybe I should be.

Man, do I have a lot of work to do.

Coworkers

4:15pm Beginning of work shift
Coworker A: You would not believe what just happened.
Coworker B: What?
Inner Bridget: What?
CA: I just asked the hostesses if they had a crack rock for me, and they just stared at me.
CB: Ugh. Stupid hostesses.
Inner Bridget: A what?!
CA: I need a pick me up before my shift, and they're all holding out on me.
CB: That is so like them.
Inner Bridget: Is she joking?
CA: How do they expect me to get through this shift.
Inner Bridget: Probably the same way I do.
CB: I don't know. It's going to be rough.

6:36pm
Coworker #1: Is that a picture of your man?!
Coworker #2: Yes.
C 1: Girl! Let me see him!
C 2: *handing over picture and looking disgusted* He's such a jerk.
Inner Bridget: Why are you dating him?
C1: Really?
C2: Yes, he lies to me all the time, and he's so mean to me. I think I'm going to dump him.
Inner Bridget: Probably best.
C1: Well, do you see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.
C2: Yes.
Inner Bridget: What?!
C1: Then sometimes you just have to take the good with the bad.
C2: Yeah, I think you're right.
Inner Bridget: What just happened here?

8:24pm
Coworker: I wasn't smoking before I met my boyfriend.
Bridget: No?
Coworker: No. But you know he's got a 3 ft glass bong and what was I supposed to do?
Inner Bridget: ...and she's not talking about cigarettes
Bridget: Oh.
Coworker: So I had to take advantage of it.
Bridget: Uh....OH! My order's up!
Inner Bridget: hmmmmmmm

Planning for the Future

Hey kids, listen up while your good pal Bridget gives you a few lessons on life.

Lesson Number 1
When your mom gives you lunch money for school, pocket it. You do not need that crappy cafeteria food anyways. Hang on to it, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 2
When you are in the checkout line at Target, fixate your gaze on the register. Do not, I repeat, do not look at the shelves full of candy, or take a quick peak at the little cooler full of pop. You do not need either. Hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 3
So you like Slurpee's do you? You think 711 is a fun place to go? You like getting the biggest size possible and putting in every flavor available (except coke)? No. You don't need that either. Hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 4
Oh! You'd like to pick the most expensive university you can find to go away to (ehm Johnny)? BAD IDEA! A college degree is a college degree. Yes, you WILL mind if you are $80,000 in debt when you graduate. Instead, pick a cheap school with a decent reputation (this is possible) and you'll save some money. Hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 5
Do not take trips to exotic places. This is unnecessary. Fill up a kiddy pool in your backyard and knock yourself out. Hang on to that vacation money and instead, work when you can. I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 6
Do not drive 86 mph through Wisconsin, especially if you have an IL license plate. You will be pulled over, they won't be nice, and you will get a ticket. This ticket will cost upwards of $200. Instead, hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 7
If you think having a nice over sized truck is a good idea, you're wrong (even if it is beautiful and spacious). It guzzles gas and probably will have a million things go wrong on it. Buy something small with good fuel efficiency. Hang on to that gas money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 8
Music is nice. Did you know you can listen to it for free by turning on a radio? Stop buy Cd's, and music offline. Also, don't download it illegally, it could catch up with you and then you'll probably end up spending way more money. Instead, hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 9
While you're in college do something productive like invent a teleport. This way you will already be cashing in on your patent, and you'll be reducing all transportation costs.

Lesson Number 10
Do not go out to the movies. This will cost you a ridiculous amount of money. Not only will you pay $7.50 to get in, but you will inevitably fall victim to the concessions. They are very clever there and have exactly what you think you want/need. Instead, hang on to that money I'll tell you why...now.

Why:
One day you will graduate from college. While you were in college you built up a nice little thing called debt, probably in the form of student loans. If this did not happen to you, I don't want to hear about it. For the rest of us...all those loans that we never gave much thought to actually do need to be paid back. Oh and that little 6 month grace period goes by very quickly, so don't even bank on that business. While you are waiting to get a big kid job because apparently the four year degree that you earned and that nice high GPA that you worked so hard for don't mean anything unless you validate it by passing a certification exam (ok, this part probably only applies to a select few of us...athletic training majors!), you are going to need some other form of income. In fact, you are going to need a very fast form of income. Most of these inbetween jobs you can get don't actually pay enough to support you if you'd like to live on your own, make car payments, pay for health insurance, pay for car insurance, and make payments on your student loans. This creates an unpleasant situation.

Hypothetically...
You might decide to become a waitress. You might be horrible at it. This may be because you are a nerdy bookworm and should not be allowed to interact with tables full of customers ("guests"). You might spill drinks on people. You might forget to bring out an appetizer...or five. You might be forced to head to work everyday in a men's shirt and tie, with an apron wrapped around your waist. You might feel ridiculous shouting "I'm in the weeds" and so you might not get any extra help when you're in over your head. You might start to care a little bit less about "100 percent guest delight." This might get you into trouble quickly.

To avoid this awful pitful, and to ensure that when you graduate you can live comfortably until you find a good job...STOP WASTING YOUR MONEY! Oh, and make sure you pick a major that doesn't require you jumping through five extra hoops just to get a job.

P.S. Happy Anniversary Aimee and Tom. I'd much rather be going to your wedding again today, than going to work.

Chapstick, the Homewrecker

The first of the topics I must discuss is the very compelling issue brought forth by Cat.


Chapstick.


What a curious little invention. Seemingly so innocent, and yet so destructive. I know all too well the pain which is caused by this little tube of balm. It has special powers that trick the human mind. Think about it. There you sit, perfectly fine, you and your lips. No problems or disputes between you. And then...it happens. A woman just a few feet away begins to dig in her purse. You're nosey, so you watch. You become mesmerized. "WHAT IS SHE GOING TO PULL OUT?" you scream from inside your head. Then, slowly, but confidently she produces a small plastic tube, equal in length to your pinkie finger. In one swift movement she plucks off the cap and raises the skin protectant to her lips. Instinctively your own lips start to hurt. They feel dry and you lick them in a desperate attempt to quench their unyielding thirst. You begin to reel the contents of your own purse through your mind like a mental slide show...wallet, checkbook, clicky pen, chocolate, cell phone, Chihuahua named Fifi, and more chocolate. "Oh no! I have no chapstick," the tiny voice inside your head screeches at a decibel that makes your purse pooch duck for cover. Instantly your lips feel like the Sahara desert, and you stare longingly at the woman moisturizing her lips. Your lips begin to pulse with pain.



SNAP OUT OF IT. There's nothing wrong with you. You've been duped by the mind powers of the chapstick. This however, is not chapstick's worse offense. Chapstick is a homewrecker, and so is Cat for suggesting this topic. Because now I have to talk about it, and it will surely get me in trouble.



Setting: Minivan in route to Colorado.



I sit in the backseat staring absent mindedly out the window watching the trees roll by. My mind is numb from under stimulation when out of the corner of my eye I see my mother pull something out of her purse. Chapstick. The syndrome instantly begins and my lips start to hurt and feel chapped and dry. After generously (selfishly) applying the chapstick to her own lips, she goes to replace the tube back into her purse.

"Wait mom! Can I use that?" I ask earnestly.

She looks at me disgustedly, as if I wasn't the same individual that came rolling out of her some 16 or so years earlier. "No," she replies, and turns back around.

"Please, they are so dry," I moan.

"Be quiet Bridget."

"But mo..."

"I am not about to have your germs on my chapstick."

"I'm your daughter!"

"Yes I remember. I almost died giving birth to you, now be quiet."

"But they are chapped and hurt"

"Chapped?! Don't talk to me about chapped. My lips darn near chapped right off as I pushed you into this world, don't talk to me about chapped lips."

"So you understand what it's like then?"

"Do you want to walk to Colorado?"



As you can see, 6 years later, the hurt is still very fresh. Shaky fist chapstick.

Did You Miss Me?

So I'm ready to starting blogging again, but now that I have the time, I'm fresh out of ideas. You'd think I'd have a lot to say with everything that has happened in the last 5 months, but I'm coming up empty. I could talk about quitting grad school (taking a leave of absence) but really, that doesn't sound like much fun. I could talk about what a lunatic I have become lately, but I think Kenric should only have to live through those incidences once. I could talk about all of the crazy projects my mom keeps throwing at me (love you mom) while she tells me in the same breath I need to work on getting a job, but that will get me into trouble. Actually that whole last sentence has, "Bridget you're grounded," written all over it. Yes, I am 22 years old. I could talk about my plans for the future, but they change everyday so putting them in writing seems kind of pointless. I could talk about cake...mmm cake...but that doesn't seem very healthy. I could talk about how I started running again (by started I mean today I went out and jogged/crawled 2 miles), but then I'd have to admit just how out of shape I am. So as you can see, I've got nothing here.

What would you like to hear about?

OH AND!
It's Ugg boot season! Woohoo!

I missed you too.