I cannot help but wonder why I am continually punished for attempting to be a responsible citizen. I believe I have had a breakthrough. I relate it to my treatment of those who attempt to take care of themselves and eat healthy. I feel the need to taunt and ridicule someone the instant they tell me they are watching what they eat. I also put forth my best effort to thwart them.
But why Bridget? Why would you do such a thing?
I like to eat...uninhibited and without guilt. Those who chose to eat healthy pose a serious threat, as they create in me an unwelcome sense of guilt and obligation to be more responsible about my eating habits. This is wholly unacceptable.
When I apply these sentiments to other areas of life the incompetence in the world almost makes sense. Almost.
A few weeks ago I went out to dinner with some friends. When the meal was over the waiter brought out separate checks and set them in a pile on the table. We divided them up to the appropriate people, but in the end the waiter had forgotten to bring out a check for my meal. As much as I'd love a free meal, I felt it was my duty to call him back over and ask for a bill. Our waiter had vanished. After waiting awhile I ended up flagging down another waiter to ask for the bill. He looked angry to be disturbed. I told him I had not received a bill and he immediately replied "Are you sure?" and waited for me to search my thoughts and my table to make sure I really meant to disturb him.
"Yes. Positive."
"Ugh."
I'm sorry, what? Did you just groan and roll your eyes at me? I don't have to pay for this meal, I love free food.
At this point the waiter walks away. The waiter wanders around the restaurant aimlessly for several minutes and chats with other waiters near the back of the restaurant. Ten minutes later he returns.
"Are you sure you didn't get a bill?"
Did you really just disappear for ten minutes and not come back over here with a bill? "Yes, I am sure I never got my check."
"Hmm," he replies with a look of distrust on his face.
Oh ok! You're right. I'm making it up. Haha! Jokes on you! I already have a bill and I'd like another one so I can pay twice! Funny huh? You caught me! "I really don't have the bill."
"Was it included on anyone else's bill?
Great idea! I never thought of that in the ten minutes you were gone. My friends also didn't notice a whole extra meal and beverage on their tab and happily just payed $16 extra. "Nope. It was not on anyone's bill. Could you please bring me out a bill?"
"Hmm."
Waiter walks away.
Waiter returns angrily and hands me a bill.
Theory application: Waiter hates paying bills. Waiter tries to instill in me a hatred of paying bills. Waiter does not have to feel guilty about paying bills if he believes I also do not pay bills.
Alternative theory: Waiter is incompetent.
Sallie Mae and I are not on the best of terms. I've been enrolled as a student and taking classes for the past nine weeks, but they have difficulties acknowledging this. Like clockwork, they continue to send me a bill for student loan repayment every month. I have called five times now to address this issue. Each time I call I am outsourced to India. That makes sense. I'm sure the people living in India have mastered the English language just so they can help me solve my student loan problems. I have difficulty understanding the individual on the phone, as would they if I were trying to explain to them how to open an IRA using my version of Hindi language. Every time I call, I am told something completely different than the previous time I called. For instance, the first time I called I was told all of my loans qualified for deferment. The second time I called I was told my enrollment confirmation had been received on February 7th, but I am still receiving a bill because not all of my loans go into deferment. The third time I called (only a few hours later) I was told that all of my loans qualify for deferment, but they would not receive my confirmation of enrollment until March 22nd. I informed them that the person I spoke with a few hours prior had told me my confirmation had already been received. This individual told me that was impossible, as the university does not send out their confirmations until mid-March. This individual insisted that my status would not go into deferment until mid-March. I called back the next day and discovered that my status was now in deferment as my confirmation had been received that day (February 16th). I asked for a refund of my last payment, considering that I should have been in deferment a month ago and should not have been required to make payments. They informed me that it would take two weeks to refund me the payment that took me thirty seconds to electronically debit.
Theory application: Sallie Mae hates customers. They resent the fact that I am their customer. Sallie Mae diverts all of my calls to India and tells me lies in attempt to make me hate them. Sallie Mae also wants to ensure my experience is bad enough that I discourage all other potential customers, directing additional hatred toward them. Sallie Mae does not need to feel guilty about hating customers, as they are also victims of hatred.
Alternative theory: Sallie Mae is incompetent.
I have a student who has failed to turn in an assignment. The assignment was due on a day he failed to show up for class. The student emailed me to find out what he should do about missing class (did not provide reason/excuse for missing class). I informed the student he could start by emailing me the assignment he missed. I then assigned him another small task to make up for the class time he missed. I never received either. Several weeks later I emailed him and told him I was still awaiting his assignment. He informed me that he was sure he already gave it to me. I informed him that I did not have it, and knew for a fact he never gave it to me. He insisted he completed the assignment. I responded by saying if he completed it, it must be saved on his computer and he shouldn't have a problem sending it to me 'again.' He replied by saying his hard drive was down and it would be quite some time before he could find the assignment and send it to me. That was two weeks ago. Still no assignment.
Theory application: Student prefers smoking pot to completing homework assignments. Student attempts to place blame on me for his lack of assignment completing so he can smoke more pot. Student now assumes I smoke pot as well as I have received a multitude of lame excuses and blatant lies from him, and he assumes this is the logical response to such stress. Student no longer feels guilty about his own recreational activities.
Alternative theory: Student is incompetent.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Penelope Jones
Today is a sad day indeed. My little gerbil Penelope passed away this afternoon. Penelope came to me at a time in my life where I was alone and needed a friend. She kept me company when I first moved to Escanaba and had no friends or family to come home to at night. Penelope and I have a lot of fond memories together, please refer to this post...
A Day in the Life
Penelope is survived by myself, Kenric, her adopted brother and protector Tigger, and her adopted little sister and best friend Lucy.
Penelope Jones Deutsch aka Penny aka P aka "Rat" (my mother) aka "Mousy" (Kenric's mother)
Penelope was a good companion, and always humored me.
Penelope was a patient little gerbil and entertained Tigger when needed.
Penelope was a good big sister for energetic little Lucy.
A Day in the Life
Penelope is survived by myself, Kenric, her adopted brother and protector Tigger, and her adopted little sister and best friend Lucy.
Penelope Jones Deutsch aka Penny aka P aka "Rat" (my mother) aka "Mousy" (Kenric's mother)
Penelope was a good companion, and always humored me.
Penelope was a patient little gerbil and entertained Tigger when needed.
Penelope was a good big sister for energetic little Lucy.
Penelope and Lucy always snuggled, and Lucy will miss her very much.
Penelope and Kenric loved to goof around together and terrorize people who are afraid of gerbils.
Penelope kept in shape by keeping busy all day long.
She loved to do her part for the environment and shredded cardboard tubes to use as bedding.
We will all miss her very much.
The impact of a tiny creature is not felt until you struggle to fill the giant void she leaves behind.
Rest in peace Penelope, love you lots!
I hope there are lots of sunflower seeds in gerbil heaven.
The impact of a tiny creature is not felt until you struggle to fill the giant void she leaves behind.
Rest in peace Penelope, love you lots!
I hope there are lots of sunflower seeds in gerbil heaven.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Chronicles of an Evil Cat: Part 1
I've deemed cats evil for quite some time now. I came into possession of a cat when my sister had to give hers up, on account of allergies (or so she said). 
In the past I have believed him to be a sinister fellow. He has pooped on my bed in a fit of rage, thrown litter all over my floor, and he enjoys walking in circles around my head when he deems I have slept enough for one night (usually around 3am). Two months ago I moved in with two girls that had a cat of their own. I realize now that Tigger is an angelic saint kitty, as I have met true evil.
Bella is a demon kitty, made of molten hot lava and ash. She is about half of the size of Tigger and has him cowering in fear. When she enters a room, Tigger bolts out of it as though someone has pointed a loaded squirt gun at him. Bella wears a little jingle bell that warns of her arrival. I can hear the bell jingle outside of my bedroom door all night long, as though she is pacing back and forth waiting for her chance to kill me in my sleep...if only she could get the door open. Bella also likes to place objects on the stairs that lead to my bedroom, which is another more subtle attempt on my life.
Clearly there is a demon residing in her little cat body because when she opens her mouth to eat a disturbing sound erupts. This sound is comparable to what I assume a rabid dog foaming at the mouth sounds like when someone threatens to steal his food. The evil spirit which resides in Bella also calls out when one attempts to relocate her.
Bella refuses to suffer the indignity of drinking water out of a cat bowl, and instead demands a human glass be placed on the floor for her daily.
Tigger has become a whipped sad version of himself. Some days Bella entraps him in his own litter box, and other days she shuts him out of my room completely so she can sleep on my bed all day. Although Bella disdains cat bowls, she does not hesitate to drink water out of Tigger's water bowl just to spite him. The she-devil waits outside my bedroom door every morning so she can run in and devour all of Tigger's breakfast, regardless of whether or not her own bowl is full of food just up the stairs.
The past couple of months Tigger and I have grown closer, sharing a mutual fear. I no longer throw him off my bed if he steps on my hair in the middle of the night, and he makes a genuine effort to keep his litter in the box. We have reached a common ground because there is safety in numbers, and we won't survive in this apartment if we do not unite against the Satan kitty.
In the past I have believed him to be a sinister fellow. He has pooped on my bed in a fit of rage, thrown litter all over my floor, and he enjoys walking in circles around my head when he deems I have slept enough for one night (usually around 3am). Two months ago I moved in with two girls that had a cat of their own. I realize now that Tigger is an angelic saint kitty, as I have met true evil.Bella is a demon kitty, made of molten hot lava and ash. She is about half of the size of Tigger and has him cowering in fear. When she enters a room, Tigger bolts out of it as though someone has pointed a loaded squirt gun at him. Bella wears a little jingle bell that warns of her arrival. I can hear the bell jingle outside of my bedroom door all night long, as though she is pacing back and forth waiting for her chance to kill me in my sleep...if only she could get the door open. Bella also likes to place objects on the stairs that lead to my bedroom, which is another more subtle attempt on my life.
Clearly there is a demon residing in her little cat body because when she opens her mouth to eat a disturbing sound erupts. This sound is comparable to what I assume a rabid dog foaming at the mouth sounds like when someone threatens to steal his food. The evil spirit which resides in Bella also calls out when one attempts to relocate her.
Bella refuses to suffer the indignity of drinking water out of a cat bowl, and instead demands a human glass be placed on the floor for her daily.Tigger has become a whipped sad version of himself. Some days Bella entraps him in his own litter box, and other days she shuts him out of my room completely so she can sleep on my bed all day. Although Bella disdains cat bowls, she does not hesitate to drink water out of Tigger's water bowl just to spite him. The she-devil waits outside my bedroom door every morning so she can run in and devour all of Tigger's breakfast, regardless of whether or not her own bowl is full of food just up the stairs.
The past couple of months Tigger and I have grown closer, sharing a mutual fear. I no longer throw him off my bed if he steps on my hair in the middle of the night, and he makes a genuine effort to keep his litter in the box. We have reached a common ground because there is safety in numbers, and we won't survive in this apartment if we do not unite against the Satan kitty.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Can't Wait Forever
Well it turns out I cannot wait forever for this new blog design, and so I must start blogging again without it.
Let's get everyone up to speed shall we?
I've moved up to Marquette, MI to pursue my graduate degree. I now have the pleasure of being a broke college student again. My current situation, coupled with my unhealthy attachment to freshly scooped ice cream, Crazy Bread, chicken Caesar wraps, those little pizzas from Subway, and the "number four" at Jimmy Johns, creates a need for me to obtain a part time job.
I've applied at JC Penny, an eye care place, the YMCA, the rec place on campus, Radio Shack, and a variety of other random jobs. This past Tuesday I scored an interview at CARQUEST. Boo ya! Let me just say that this interview was more in-depth than the interview I did to become the athletic trainer at the last hospital I worked at. I also think it's going to be harder for me to get this job, than it was the last one...as a health care professional.
At CARQUEST I would be a team delivery, which would involve delivering car parts to local auto-mechanics. My last job I worked with people recovering from serious heart attacks and surgeries, and provided emergency care for high school athletes.
Does it concern me at all that CARQUEST takes employee hiring more seriously than a hospital?
Yes. Yes it does.
Thumbs up to CARQUEST for being responsible employers. Thumbs down to the hospital for hiring me sight unseen (but also, thanks!).
Also, if CARQUEST is reading this blog post, please hire me. I want to wear that cool polo.
Let's get everyone up to speed shall we?
I've moved up to Marquette, MI to pursue my graduate degree. I now have the pleasure of being a broke college student again. My current situation, coupled with my unhealthy attachment to freshly scooped ice cream, Crazy Bread, chicken Caesar wraps, those little pizzas from Subway, and the "number four" at Jimmy Johns, creates a need for me to obtain a part time job.
I've applied at JC Penny, an eye care place, the YMCA, the rec place on campus, Radio Shack, and a variety of other random jobs. This past Tuesday I scored an interview at CARQUEST. Boo ya! Let me just say that this interview was more in-depth than the interview I did to become the athletic trainer at the last hospital I worked at. I also think it's going to be harder for me to get this job, than it was the last one...as a health care professional.
At CARQUEST I would be a team delivery, which would involve delivering car parts to local auto-mechanics. My last job I worked with people recovering from serious heart attacks and surgeries, and provided emergency care for high school athletes.
Does it concern me at all that CARQUEST takes employee hiring more seriously than a hospital?
Yes. Yes it does.
Thumbs up to CARQUEST for being responsible employers. Thumbs down to the hospital for hiring me sight unseen (but also, thanks!).
Also, if CARQUEST is reading this blog post, please hire me. I want to wear that cool polo.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
New Design
Stay tuned ladies and gentlemen for an all new blog design...which will inspire all new blog posts.
New blog design provided by Kenric Feldpausch from the U.P. Web Maestro
P.S. If you are looking at a stupid green background, the new design has not arrived yet.
New blog design provided by Kenric Feldpausch from the U.P. Web Maestro
P.S. If you are looking at a stupid green background, the new design has not arrived yet.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
I Eat Because I Love Myself
Watching Oprah has never been a priority of mine. Not because I have anything against her, but watching her show tends to make me either depressed about how screwed up people are, or terrified our health system will fail me and amputate a perfectly healthy limb of mine or allow me to contract some kind of flesh eating bacteria. To be honest, the only time I've ever seen Oprah is when I go to my all female gym, in which it is on every day without fail. I'd change the channel, but I fear the middle aged women that surround me with their eyes and ears glued to the television to hear what Dr. Oz has to say about cleansing the colon. Instead, I jog along quietly with my moods going up and down as the endorphins released from the exercise try to stand up to the, "Hi, I'm a husband and father of five who decided I would start a cult and then have an affair with a man," topics that Oprah attacks on a daily basis.
She seems to me to be a fairly decent person, giving cars, homes, washers, dryers, small children (I kid, I kid), Target gift cards, and airline tickets away. I don't even hold it against her that I have yet to be the recipient of any of these things. I guess my Oprah attitude is one of indifference. When we watched The Color Purple in high school I did not follow suit with the rest of the girls who were excited to see a celebrity like Oprah bringing literature to life, I instead was excited to see my favorite Sister Act nun in one of her first films.
The point is, I've never had any beef with Oprah...until now.
At work today Pam asked me what kind of treats she should sneak into the grocery cart to bring into work. This week's groceries will be purchased with her husband's paycheck, which is a prime opportunity to sneak candy into the cart. I told her not to worry about it because I am trying to cut down on sweets.
The following conversation began:
Pam: Oprah fell off the wagon you know.
Me: Oh?
Pam: Yeah she put on 40 lbs and is now trying to get back on the wagon. I think she's only got one foot in the wagon though.
Me: I see.
Pam: Do you know why she got fat again? Because she didn't love herself. That's what she said. She says people eat too much because they don't love themselves.
Me: Oh really. For me, it's more like I eat because I love chocolate.
Pam: People who eat tofu and rice cakes must really hate themselves.
Me: Agreed.
Pam: If you see me eating rice cakes and tofu it's because I'm depressed and ready to kill myself.
Me: Note taken.
The conversation continued on from here but got much more crazy, and I can't capture it properly in the written word. The moral of the story is that I respectfully disagree with Oprah.
Some people do over eat because they are depressed and are trying to fill a void in their lives, however, for some it is simply because ice cream tastes good, the smell of pizza ignites a warm glow in their hearts, the perfect unison of beef, lettuce, and tomato on a bun is a work of art that demands salivation, and the sweet taste of a frozen strawberry margarita puts a giant smile across their faces.
I eat because I love myself and want to spoil myself rotten. I eat because the darn food industry makes everything taste so ridiculously good that I can't simply put one item on my plate at a buffet, I must try it all. I eat because when a place like Coldstone Creamery exists and I get to hand pick the ingredients in my ice cream, I can't pass that up. I eat because some mastermind chef decided that pastries covered in chocolate should be easily accessible to all United States citizens.
Therefore, I dismiss Oprah's theory of, 'I don't love myself because I over eat,' and leave you with my own, 'I exercise because I over eat.'
She seems to me to be a fairly decent person, giving cars, homes, washers, dryers, small children (I kid, I kid), Target gift cards, and airline tickets away. I don't even hold it against her that I have yet to be the recipient of any of these things. I guess my Oprah attitude is one of indifference. When we watched The Color Purple in high school I did not follow suit with the rest of the girls who were excited to see a celebrity like Oprah bringing literature to life, I instead was excited to see my favorite Sister Act nun in one of her first films.
The point is, I've never had any beef with Oprah...until now.
At work today Pam asked me what kind of treats she should sneak into the grocery cart to bring into work. This week's groceries will be purchased with her husband's paycheck, which is a prime opportunity to sneak candy into the cart. I told her not to worry about it because I am trying to cut down on sweets.
The following conversation began:
Pam: Oprah fell off the wagon you know.
Me: Oh?
Pam: Yeah she put on 40 lbs and is now trying to get back on the wagon. I think she's only got one foot in the wagon though.
Me: I see.
Pam: Do you know why she got fat again? Because she didn't love herself. That's what she said. She says people eat too much because they don't love themselves.
Me: Oh really. For me, it's more like I eat because I love chocolate.
Pam: People who eat tofu and rice cakes must really hate themselves.
Me: Agreed.
Pam: If you see me eating rice cakes and tofu it's because I'm depressed and ready to kill myself.
Me: Note taken.
The conversation continued on from here but got much more crazy, and I can't capture it properly in the written word. The moral of the story is that I respectfully disagree with Oprah.
Some people do over eat because they are depressed and are trying to fill a void in their lives, however, for some it is simply because ice cream tastes good, the smell of pizza ignites a warm glow in their hearts, the perfect unison of beef, lettuce, and tomato on a bun is a work of art that demands salivation, and the sweet taste of a frozen strawberry margarita puts a giant smile across their faces.
I eat because I love myself and want to spoil myself rotten. I eat because the darn food industry makes everything taste so ridiculously good that I can't simply put one item on my plate at a buffet, I must try it all. I eat because when a place like Coldstone Creamery exists and I get to hand pick the ingredients in my ice cream, I can't pass that up. I eat because some mastermind chef decided that pastries covered in chocolate should be easily accessible to all United States citizens.
Therefore, I dismiss Oprah's theory of, 'I don't love myself because I over eat,' and leave you with my own, 'I exercise because I over eat.'
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
WTF?!
New year.
New blog title.
New president.
New blog post.
Man alive, I love convenience! Think of all the wonderful things it has done for us. We are more impatient, more selfish, more sedentary, more helpless, more diseased, more heavily insulated with adipose tissue, and on top of it all, most of us are more in debt.
We are a nation of convenience.
It is convenient for us to order fast food, rather than go home and cook a meal with our families. It is convenient for us to send our factory work to other countries rather than pay fair wages and employ our own citizens. It is convenient for us to drive five blocks to the store rather than walk. It is convenient for us to cheat on our spouses rather than work to maintain the sanctity of marriage. It is convenient for us to end a life rather than fight for one to thrive.
Why don't we fight?
Why do we simply tolerate?
If a crazed woman made her way into a neonatal intensive care unit and murdered all of the babies, it would be considered a horrible, sick crime. The woman would be imprisoned for life, and the world would scorn her.
And yet...
Somehow we tolerate a society where it's respectable for a woman to choose to stop the very life that grows inside her.
It is convenient. It is convenient to end the life of someone who cannot fight back rather than attempt to change the life of someone who can.
I've heard many arguments for abortion over the years, and I still have yet to hear one that justifies the murder of a baby, a life filled with hope. As tempting as it might be for some at this point, I'd ask that you'd please refrain from petty arguments about when life begins. We all still contain the same strand of DNA that was formed upon our conception, what is there to argue about?
If you are getting ready to throw down the rape card, which accounts for less than 1% of all abortions, shame on you. When a man ruins a woman's life by raping her, will it make her feel better to ruin someone else's life? Will it help her sleep better at night to extinguish the life that grows inside her. Will she stop having nightmares if she kills her own child? Do you honestly believe that by ending one life, you save another?
Many people whom I respect often bring up the point that it's unfair to bring a child into the world under bad circumstances, into broken homes or impoverished situations.
Is fighting to keep abortion legal and making it more easily accessible the right solution?
Why don't we fight for chastity? Why don't we fight to encourage young men and women to wait until they are married to have sex? Why don't we fight to build families and relationships based on faith? Why don't we fight for our children to maintain good morals? Why do embrace promiscuity and applaud selfishness?
I think it is time that we change our approach. Instead of fueling a media which is only interested in glorifying unhealthy relationships, we need to start taking responsibility for the society we build.
Our networks are full of immoral programs that lack even the slightest hint of substance because we allow it. Why don't we change the channel?
Teenage girls are heading to school in low cut tops, showing off the cleavage they don't even have yet so they can gain attention they most certainly do not need. As parents, why don't we say no?
The film Zack and Miri Make a Porno made $36,832,669. How can we justify that much money going to something of that nature?
Our society is the way it is because we not only allow it to be that way, but we contribute to it everyday.
Stop.
If you don't want a young woman's life to be burdened by having a baby when she is only 15, then work towards a society in which that is not the norm. Currently approximately 1,000,000 teenage girls become pregnant each year in the U.S.
Stop looking for the easy way out.
Abortions don't solve problems; they don't bandage or mend. Abortions are salt to the wound of a society that desperately needs to heal.
We live in a culture where people stand in assembly and applaud a man that promises his first act as president will be to sign the Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA). Somehow we find this heroic.
Never mind the fact that FOCA will basically allow unrestricted unregulated abortions. Even pro choice people can't support that...right? I mean, seriously? Removing requirements that abortionists be licensed physicians and eliminating health and safety regulations for abortion clinics? This should set off little alarm bells in every rational person's mind. RING DING DING! No restrictions and regulations? Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that go against the goal of many pro choice people? Aren't you trying to ensure the health and safety of women? This doesn't sound very healthy or safe.
FOCA will also prohibit bans on abortion after viability, repeal the Partial Birth Abortion Ban, remove any need for parental notification and consent for abortion, and attack conscience rights, forcing physicians to perform abortions even if it is against their own morals and values. I'm sorry, but if you have a conscience, I don't understand how you could support something like that. I invite you to enlighten me.
Today, Wednesday January 28th, is What the FOCA Activism Day. Start living a life of inconvenience, innocent lives depend on it. Our president promises us a time of a change, let's make sure it's the right change.
"The true test of the American ideal is whether we’re able to recognize our failings and then rise together to meet the challenges of our time. Whether we allow ourselves to be shaped by events and history, or whether we act to shape them. Whether chance of birth or circumstance decides life’s big winners and losers, or whether we build a community where, at the very least, everyone has a chance to work hard, get ahead, and reach their dreams."
-BARACK OBAMA, speech, Jun. 4, 2005
With all due respect, Mr. President, you meant live too right? "...at the very least, everyone has a chance to live, work hard, get ahead, and reach their dreams"
Because that's the chance you were given. Not choice, chance.
What the FOCA?!
*Special thanks to Kenric Feldpausch for giving my nephew a voice.
New blog title.
New president.
New blog post.
Man alive, I love convenience! Think of all the wonderful things it has done for us. We are more impatient, more selfish, more sedentary, more helpless, more diseased, more heavily insulated with adipose tissue, and on top of it all, most of us are more in debt.
We are a nation of convenience.
It is convenient for us to order fast food, rather than go home and cook a meal with our families. It is convenient for us to send our factory work to other countries rather than pay fair wages and employ our own citizens. It is convenient for us to drive five blocks to the store rather than walk. It is convenient for us to cheat on our spouses rather than work to maintain the sanctity of marriage. It is convenient for us to end a life rather than fight for one to thrive.
Why don't we fight?
Why do we simply tolerate?
If a crazed woman made her way into a neonatal intensive care unit and murdered all of the babies, it would be considered a horrible, sick crime. The woman would be imprisoned for life, and the world would scorn her.
And yet...
Somehow we tolerate a society where it's respectable for a woman to choose to stop the very life that grows inside her.
It is convenient. It is convenient to end the life of someone who cannot fight back rather than attempt to change the life of someone who can.
I've heard many arguments for abortion over the years, and I still have yet to hear one that justifies the murder of a baby, a life filled with hope. As tempting as it might be for some at this point, I'd ask that you'd please refrain from petty arguments about when life begins. We all still contain the same strand of DNA that was formed upon our conception, what is there to argue about?
If you are getting ready to throw down the rape card, which accounts for less than 1% of all abortions, shame on you. When a man ruins a woman's life by raping her, will it make her feel better to ruin someone else's life? Will it help her sleep better at night to extinguish the life that grows inside her. Will she stop having nightmares if she kills her own child? Do you honestly believe that by ending one life, you save another?
Many people whom I respect often bring up the point that it's unfair to bring a child into the world under bad circumstances, into broken homes or impoverished situations.
Is fighting to keep abortion legal and making it more easily accessible the right solution?
Why don't we fight for chastity? Why don't we fight to encourage young men and women to wait until they are married to have sex? Why don't we fight to build families and relationships based on faith? Why don't we fight for our children to maintain good morals? Why do embrace promiscuity and applaud selfishness?
I think it is time that we change our approach. Instead of fueling a media which is only interested in glorifying unhealthy relationships, we need to start taking responsibility for the society we build.
Our networks are full of immoral programs that lack even the slightest hint of substance because we allow it. Why don't we change the channel?
Teenage girls are heading to school in low cut tops, showing off the cleavage they don't even have yet so they can gain attention they most certainly do not need. As parents, why don't we say no?
The film Zack and Miri Make a Porno made $36,832,669. How can we justify that much money going to something of that nature?
Our society is the way it is because we not only allow it to be that way, but we contribute to it everyday.
Stop.
If you don't want a young woman's life to be burdened by having a baby when she is only 15, then work towards a society in which that is not the norm. Currently approximately 1,000,000 teenage girls become pregnant each year in the U.S.
Stop looking for the easy way out.
Abortions don't solve problems; they don't bandage or mend. Abortions are salt to the wound of a society that desperately needs to heal.
We live in a culture where people stand in assembly and applaud a man that promises his first act as president will be to sign the Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA). Somehow we find this heroic.
Never mind the fact that FOCA will basically allow unrestricted unregulated abortions. Even pro choice people can't support that...right? I mean, seriously? Removing requirements that abortionists be licensed physicians and eliminating health and safety regulations for abortion clinics? This should set off little alarm bells in every rational person's mind. RING DING DING! No restrictions and regulations? Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that go against the goal of many pro choice people? Aren't you trying to ensure the health and safety of women? This doesn't sound very healthy or safe.
FOCA will also prohibit bans on abortion after viability, repeal the Partial Birth Abortion Ban, remove any need for parental notification and consent for abortion, and attack conscience rights, forcing physicians to perform abortions even if it is against their own morals and values. I'm sorry, but if you have a conscience, I don't understand how you could support something like that. I invite you to enlighten me.
Today, Wednesday January 28th, is What the FOCA Activism Day. Start living a life of inconvenience, innocent lives depend on it. Our president promises us a time of a change, let's make sure it's the right change.
"The true test of the American ideal is whether we’re able to recognize our failings and then rise together to meet the challenges of our time. Whether we allow ourselves to be shaped by events and history, or whether we act to shape them. Whether chance of birth or circumstance decides life’s big winners and losers, or whether we build a community where, at the very least, everyone has a chance to work hard, get ahead, and reach their dreams."
-BARACK OBAMA, speech, Jun. 4, 2005
With all due respect, Mr. President, you meant live too right? "...at the very least, everyone has a chance to live, work hard, get ahead, and reach their dreams"
Because that's the chance you were given. Not choice, chance.
What the FOCA?!
*Special thanks to Kenric Feldpausch for giving my nephew a voice.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Hunting
I had my very first hunting experience this year. Before you get upset, let me just say I never saw a deer, and I was not even carrying a gun.
I feel like I have to explain hunting season to the rest of the world, as it is a fairly new concept for me. I was introduced to this phenomenon during my freshmen year of college when my professor announced that there would be no class on November 15th due to it being Opening Day. At that time in my life the only "Opening Day" I knew of occurred at Wrigley Field and it most certainly did not happen in November.
I quickly came to the realization that "Opening Day" in the UP refers to the day of the year when an alarmingly large percentage of the male population (and a much more reasonable percentage of the female population) within a 5oo mile radius flock to the woods to slay Bambi and his entire extended family.
Basically hunting season begins on November 15th as the sunrises and goes on for two weeks, until the deer population of the Upper Peninsula is once again under control. At first I was horrified at this idea, but after I nearly died about 306 times due to a deer darting across the highway, I became more comfortable with the idea. I would also like to add that the deer meat is processed and frozen, and many families use that to get them through the winter. That being said, there is soooo much to laugh about when it comes to deer season.
Did you know that people actually pour a significant amount of time, money, and energy into feeding the deer before hunting season even starts? We're talking truckloads of feed taken out into the woods to fatten up little Bambi until he grows big and strong. For a few weeks there I felt as though the deer were getting better fed than I was.
And deer blinds? Have you seen these? Little plywood shanties strategically placed out in the woods for hunters to freeze their asses off in until a deer walks by. Does no one else find this hilarious? Basically they are sitting in a glorified cardboard box for hours on end, with no insulation in November (which in the UP is more like January for the rest of the world), with nothing but a rifle, and perhaps a space heater. Oh, and I just need to share this one with you...
Redneck Deer Blind
Of course, hunters won't just shoot any deer. It has to have spiffy antlers because you are not a man unless you have a full set of antlers mounted on your wall. Again? Hilarious. For two months I had to sit and listen to one of the guys at work tell me about how he missed an eight point buck last year. The poor guy has not gotten a buck in like twelve years because he's been holding out for one that is at least eight points. If you're not familiar with the points system (because I most certainly wasn't) it is based on how many little offshoots come off of the main antler. This year he hooked a deer surveillance camera (A SURVEILLANCE CAMERA!) to his blind weeks before hunting season started so he could monitor the deer that were coming to eat the bate he was putting out. He actually brought in some snap shots of prospective deer that had been hanging around his blind. Now try imagining me attempting to keep a straight face when he pointed to the snapshot and explained for the 511th time that the one he missed last year was twice that size. He took a week off of work for hunting season this year, and came back empty handed. I guess I get to hear some more about the one he missed last year. Dang.
This post is getting long and I haven't even gotten to my deer hunting experience. How did I find myself sitting in a deer blind at 7:15am on a Saturday morning? I'm a yes girl, that's how.
Tanya: Bridget would you like to come hunting with me?
Me: Eww. No. Maybe.
Tanya: When I shoot one, I'll need help loading it onto the truck. My husband has to work.
Me: Sick! Definitely not. Bloody deer...GROSS! Oh. That's a possibility.
Tanya: I figure you can show up around 7am and we'll head out to the blind.
Me: 7 AM! ON A SATURDAY! LADY THAT'S THE ONLY DAY I GET TO SLEEP IN! 7am? Hmm.
Tanya: Do you have other plans?
Me: Yes! Sleeping! Nope.
Tanya: Good. I'll make hot chocolate. Here's directions to my house. See you tomorrow!
Me: Wha??!! Ok! Yes, that sounds good.
At 7am I found myself wearing bright orange and trouncing around the woods. We came to Tanya's blind, which for the record is the largest deer blind I've ever seen. Why? Because women don't mess around. There was a space heater in there, magazines, nice comfortable chairs, and Tanya brought me some cold pizza and a thermos of hot chocolate. We settled in for some deer spying, and it was quickly made evident that I'm the worst person in the world to take hunting, and I will never be asked to return again.
For one, I cannot stay still. Impossible. I had to shift position every 30 seconds. This wouldn't be a huge deal, except for the fact I was wearing snow pants (because it was FREEZING!). Every time I moved my pants went SWISH!. Every 30 seconds...SWISH!
Then there was the whole issue of hot chocolate. The thermos of hot chocolate SHE gave me required me to push down this inner circle to open it, which made a CLICK! sound. In order to close it, I had to pull up on the outer ring, which went SNAP! So about every two minutes you could hear CLICK! quickly followed by SNAP! I mean I had to close it after I took a sip, I didn't want it to get cold. Finally, after about the tenth CLICK! SNAP! Tanya turned to me and whisper-shouted "Leave it open!"
The cold pizza she brought me for breakfast was wrapped in aluminum foil. Come on now! After I got yelled at about the hot chocolate, I was too scared to open the pizza. So then my stomach started. If you know me, you know that my stomach is not to be taken lightly. It never politely asks to be fed with a little 'grumble grumble please feed.' It is a lot more demanding than that. In the silence of the forest it roared out, 'FOOOD NOOOOOW!' I shifted SWISH! to try to quiet it. My stomach replied, 'FEEEED MEEEEE!' Another shift SWISH! 'I WILL START THE SELF DESTRUCTION OF YOUR BODY IF YOU DO NOT START EATING RIGHT THIS SECOND!' Shift SWISH! At that moment Tayna unwrapped the pizza and handed it to me. 'VICTORY!' my stomach roared out one last time before I took a bite. Stupid stomach.
Sometimes when I get cold my nose starts to run, and I start to sneeze. This is frowned upon when hunting. As is inhaling hot chocolate down one's trachea causing said individual to start hacking furiously. It is also ill advised to kick the space heater while shifting positions...SWISH! BANG!
I wonder why we never saw any deer?
I feel like I have to explain hunting season to the rest of the world, as it is a fairly new concept for me. I was introduced to this phenomenon during my freshmen year of college when my professor announced that there would be no class on November 15th due to it being Opening Day. At that time in my life the only "Opening Day" I knew of occurred at Wrigley Field and it most certainly did not happen in November.
I quickly came to the realization that "Opening Day" in the UP refers to the day of the year when an alarmingly large percentage of the male population (and a much more reasonable percentage of the female population) within a 5oo mile radius flock to the woods to slay Bambi and his entire extended family.
Basically hunting season begins on November 15th as the sunrises and goes on for two weeks, until the deer population of the Upper Peninsula is once again under control. At first I was horrified at this idea, but after I nearly died about 306 times due to a deer darting across the highway, I became more comfortable with the idea. I would also like to add that the deer meat is processed and frozen, and many families use that to get them through the winter. That being said, there is soooo much to laugh about when it comes to deer season.
Did you know that people actually pour a significant amount of time, money, and energy into feeding the deer before hunting season even starts? We're talking truckloads of feed taken out into the woods to fatten up little Bambi until he grows big and strong. For a few weeks there I felt as though the deer were getting better fed than I was.
And deer blinds? Have you seen these? Little plywood shanties strategically placed out in the woods for hunters to freeze their asses off in until a deer walks by. Does no one else find this hilarious? Basically they are sitting in a glorified cardboard box for hours on end, with no insulation in November (which in the UP is more like January for the rest of the world), with nothing but a rifle, and perhaps a space heater. Oh, and I just need to share this one with you...
Redneck Deer Blind
Of course, hunters won't just shoot any deer. It has to have spiffy antlers because you are not a man unless you have a full set of antlers mounted on your wall. Again? Hilarious. For two months I had to sit and listen to one of the guys at work tell me about how he missed an eight point buck last year. The poor guy has not gotten a buck in like twelve years because he's been holding out for one that is at least eight points. If you're not familiar with the points system (because I most certainly wasn't) it is based on how many little offshoots come off of the main antler. This year he hooked a deer surveillance camera (A SURVEILLANCE CAMERA!) to his blind weeks before hunting season started so he could monitor the deer that were coming to eat the bate he was putting out. He actually brought in some snap shots of prospective deer that had been hanging around his blind. Now try imagining me attempting to keep a straight face when he pointed to the snapshot and explained for the 511th time that the one he missed last year was twice that size. He took a week off of work for hunting season this year, and came back empty handed. I guess I get to hear some more about the one he missed last year. Dang.
This post is getting long and I haven't even gotten to my deer hunting experience. How did I find myself sitting in a deer blind at 7:15am on a Saturday morning? I'm a yes girl, that's how.
Tanya: Bridget would you like to come hunting with me?
Me: Eww. No. Maybe.
Tanya: When I shoot one, I'll need help loading it onto the truck. My husband has to work.
Me: Sick! Definitely not. Bloody deer...GROSS! Oh. That's a possibility.
Tanya: I figure you can show up around 7am and we'll head out to the blind.
Me: 7 AM! ON A SATURDAY! LADY THAT'S THE ONLY DAY I GET TO SLEEP IN! 7am? Hmm.
Tanya: Do you have other plans?
Me: Yes! Sleeping! Nope.
Tanya: Good. I'll make hot chocolate. Here's directions to my house. See you tomorrow!
Me: Wha??!! Ok! Yes, that sounds good.
At 7am I found myself wearing bright orange and trouncing around the woods. We came to Tanya's blind, which for the record is the largest deer blind I've ever seen. Why? Because women don't mess around. There was a space heater in there, magazines, nice comfortable chairs, and Tanya brought me some cold pizza and a thermos of hot chocolate. We settled in for some deer spying, and it was quickly made evident that I'm the worst person in the world to take hunting, and I will never be asked to return again.
For one, I cannot stay still. Impossible. I had to shift position every 30 seconds. This wouldn't be a huge deal, except for the fact I was wearing snow pants (because it was FREEZING!). Every time I moved my pants went SWISH!. Every 30 seconds...SWISH!
Then there was the whole issue of hot chocolate. The thermos of hot chocolate SHE gave me required me to push down this inner circle to open it, which made a CLICK! sound. In order to close it, I had to pull up on the outer ring, which went SNAP! So about every two minutes you could hear CLICK! quickly followed by SNAP! I mean I had to close it after I took a sip, I didn't want it to get cold. Finally, after about the tenth CLICK! SNAP! Tanya turned to me and whisper-shouted "Leave it open!"
The cold pizza she brought me for breakfast was wrapped in aluminum foil. Come on now! After I got yelled at about the hot chocolate, I was too scared to open the pizza. So then my stomach started. If you know me, you know that my stomach is not to be taken lightly. It never politely asks to be fed with a little 'grumble grumble please feed.' It is a lot more demanding than that. In the silence of the forest it roared out, 'FOOOD NOOOOOW!' I shifted SWISH! to try to quiet it. My stomach replied, 'FEEEED MEEEEE!' Another shift SWISH! 'I WILL START THE SELF DESTRUCTION OF YOUR BODY IF YOU DO NOT START EATING RIGHT THIS SECOND!' Shift SWISH! At that moment Tayna unwrapped the pizza and handed it to me. 'VICTORY!' my stomach roared out one last time before I took a bite. Stupid stomach.
Sometimes when I get cold my nose starts to run, and I start to sneeze. This is frowned upon when hunting. As is inhaling hot chocolate down one's trachea causing said individual to start hacking furiously. It is also ill advised to kick the space heater while shifting positions...SWISH! BANG!
I wonder why we never saw any deer?
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Crotchety Can Wait
I think that we are all familiar with the concept of young people wanting to grow up too fast. Perhaps, some of us have even fallen victim to this. I (naturally) have not, as I still retain the mentality of a small child and throw tantrums when I get too hungry and/or tired. On the other hand, my boyfriend Kenric is practically already riding his SCOOTER Store Scooter around on the other end of the spectrum.
He has made it very clear since we first started dating that he cannot wait to be an old man. Not just an old man, but a crotchety old man. The kind that sits out on his front porch yelling at the neighborhood kids as they walk by. The kind that fall asleep in public places and then wake up with a start yelling, as if resuming an argument with no one. He'd probably have a shot gun to ward off any stray dogs or bold children who stepped foot on his lawn. When I questioned his motivation for wanting to be an old man he replied, "I can choose to be crazy, such as yelling random things at people, and they're powerless to stop it; in fact, they won't think anything of it because I'm 'senile'".
In my line of work I've met many elderly gentlemen of the cantankerous variety (Side note: no, cantankerous is not part of my daily vocab, but according to the GRE it's part of a long list of vocabulary I should have learned in college. Using it in this blog post somehow makes all the studying I did for the GRE a little bit less of a waste of time). From my numerous encounters with these men, I've concluded I'm not ready for Kenric to be a grumpy old man yet. He is, however, determined to be one and so I will take this opportunity to make a few small requests.
1) If your teeth and/or gums start to bother you, call the dentist and make an appointment. Do not show up to the dentist office unannounced, and expect to be seen immediately. If, however, you do make this mistake and are sent home to return at a later date (when you actually have an appointment scheduled) do not get frustrated and simply pull all four of your front bottom teeth out yourself. This can be painful, unsightly, and cause difficulty eating.
2) Do not begin to refer to me as "the girlfriend" especially when using a tone that suggests I am slightly insane.
3) Shouting in a whisper-like voice is actually still audible to everyone around you. Do not use this technique to express how displeased you are with certain people in your presence. Chances are they will here you as well as I will.
4) Do not tell complete strangers your plots to end the misery of people you deem more decrepit than you are.
5) If you go to the doctor for a serious health condition, please do not wilfully disregard all of their instructions and attempt to do the exact opposite. When a medical personnel instructs you to begin walking 30 min a day, please do not tell them you are going to sit on the couch and do as little as humanly possible. This discourages the people attempting to save your life.
6) When someone tries to be nice and decides to drive you around to get some errands done, do not complain the entire time. Riding in a Subaru Outback is not "being crammed in like a sardine."
7) When you are eighty years old, you will not have the same strength as you do right now. Therefore, when you reach this age it is inappropriate for you to offer to build a ten foot stone monument for a golf course. If said golf course owners are idiotic enough to take you up on your offer, find some young men to help you. Do not attempt to lift stone blocks up over your head by yourself...especially if you have just had rotator cuff surgery.
8) If you end up waiting in a WAITING room for two minutes past your appointment time, be grateful it's not twenty, and don't give the person retrieving you a hard time. Furthermore, when that person goes out of her way to be five minutes early to retrieve you for your next visit, don't harass her and remark that her timeliness is a miracle.
9) If you're going to tell the same story to the same person every time you see them, try to spice it up a bit each time. Add in new characters, like a lemur named Ed, or a homeless guy who stole your dentures.
10) For the millionth time, no I will not race you around Walmart in the handicap scooters. And it's not because I don't care, it's because I care too much ;)
He has made it very clear since we first started dating that he cannot wait to be an old man. Not just an old man, but a crotchety old man. The kind that sits out on his front porch yelling at the neighborhood kids as they walk by. The kind that fall asleep in public places and then wake up with a start yelling, as if resuming an argument with no one. He'd probably have a shot gun to ward off any stray dogs or bold children who stepped foot on his lawn. When I questioned his motivation for wanting to be an old man he replied, "I can choose to be crazy, such as yelling random things at people, and they're powerless to stop it; in fact, they won't think anything of it because I'm 'senile'".
In my line of work I've met many elderly gentlemen of the cantankerous variety (Side note: no, cantankerous is not part of my daily vocab, but according to the GRE it's part of a long list of vocabulary I should have learned in college. Using it in this blog post somehow makes all the studying I did for the GRE a little bit less of a waste of time). From my numerous encounters with these men, I've concluded I'm not ready for Kenric to be a grumpy old man yet. He is, however, determined to be one and so I will take this opportunity to make a few small requests.
1) If your teeth and/or gums start to bother you, call the dentist and make an appointment. Do not show up to the dentist office unannounced, and expect to be seen immediately. If, however, you do make this mistake and are sent home to return at a later date (when you actually have an appointment scheduled) do not get frustrated and simply pull all four of your front bottom teeth out yourself. This can be painful, unsightly, and cause difficulty eating.
2) Do not begin to refer to me as "the girlfriend" especially when using a tone that suggests I am slightly insane.
3) Shouting in a whisper-like voice is actually still audible to everyone around you. Do not use this technique to express how displeased you are with certain people in your presence. Chances are they will here you as well as I will.
4) Do not tell complete strangers your plots to end the misery of people you deem more decrepit than you are.
5) If you go to the doctor for a serious health condition, please do not wilfully disregard all of their instructions and attempt to do the exact opposite. When a medical personnel instructs you to begin walking 30 min a day, please do not tell them you are going to sit on the couch and do as little as humanly possible. This discourages the people attempting to save your life.
6) When someone tries to be nice and decides to drive you around to get some errands done, do not complain the entire time. Riding in a Subaru Outback is not "being crammed in like a sardine."
7) When you are eighty years old, you will not have the same strength as you do right now. Therefore, when you reach this age it is inappropriate for you to offer to build a ten foot stone monument for a golf course. If said golf course owners are idiotic enough to take you up on your offer, find some young men to help you. Do not attempt to lift stone blocks up over your head by yourself...especially if you have just had rotator cuff surgery.
8) If you end up waiting in a WAITING room for two minutes past your appointment time, be grateful it's not twenty, and don't give the person retrieving you a hard time. Furthermore, when that person goes out of her way to be five minutes early to retrieve you for your next visit, don't harass her and remark that her timeliness is a miracle.
9) If you're going to tell the same story to the same person every time you see them, try to spice it up a bit each time. Add in new characters, like a lemur named Ed, or a homeless guy who stole your dentures.
10) For the millionth time, no I will not race you around Walmart in the handicap scooters. And it's not because I don't care, it's because I care too much ;)
Friday, July 18, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, June 20, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
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)...
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)...
Sunday, April 13, 2008
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...
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)...
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...
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!
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!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
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!
Monday, March 31, 2008
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...
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
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!
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!
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
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.
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.
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