8 Days a Week

Ugh, I'm super mad at myself. I accidentally deleted this post when I was re-reading old posts. I'm obsessed with myself, by the way. So, now I'm re-posting it, because in the future, I want to be able to go back and re-read every post I've ever written, kind of like re-reading my diary.

I originally posted this on 5/3/09:

I can't believe I've been away from my blog for so long! Well, alright, I can believe it. I haven't had time to blog lately because I've been super busy wallowing in self-pity. I've also been organizing my desk drawers. Like I said--super busy. But for serious, because I know you're all curious, I'll go through every last thing that I did this week. Here goes:

Sunday:

That's right! The week technically starts on Sunday! You forgot, didn't you? Actually, the fact that the week technically starts on Sunday really pisses me off...kind of the way that the hour of midnight technically marking the start of a new day pisses me off. Midnight doesn't feel like a new day, any more than Sunday feels like the start of the week. That shit is fucked up. When the clock strikes midnight on Christmas Eve, there will always be some asshole in the room willing to say, "Hey you guys! It's Christmas! It's Christmas!" But I guarantee you that that asshole will be met with nothing more than a chorus of not Christmas carols, but eye-rolls.

I digress. Sunday. I went to a bridal shower for my lovely friend Em Caskey. It was a lovely shower with lovely people. It was pretty. The food was good. The bride was gracious and charming. After the shower, I drove home beneath somewhat cloudy skies with the windows partially rolled down. I drove the back way, on a winding road past farms and sheep and donkeys and dead woodchucks and trailer parks, listening to the non-fiction book "Columbine" by Dave Cullen. It was uplifting listening for a Sunday.

When I got home, my dad knocked on my bedroom door. I said, "Entre!" Yes--I said "Entre," because it sounds kind of like the word "Enter" but it's more exotic and reminds me of food. So my dad came in, a gleeful and somewhat mischievous look on his face. He said: "I want to go see 'Obsessed.'" I said: "I'd go see that!!" He said: "Really? Mom said you'd never go because you're studying." I said: "I don't care! Let's go!" He said: "We have to get mom something from Taco Bell afterward." I said: "Great!" As we drove over to the Lapeer Cinema 6, I hugged myself and thought happily that when you don't expect good things to happen to you, that's when they do. I didn't expect my dad to want to go to a seven o'clock movie, as we almost never do that on Sundays (we ALWAYS go to matinees on Sundays). And I certainly didn't expect a Taco Bell dinner. The lord works in mysterious ways indeed.

Monday:

Remember that test I didn't study for on Sunday night, in favor of watching Beyonce beat up Ali Larter? Well, I had that test on Monday morning at nine a.m. sharp. It was a test for EMT class--120 questions covering 10 chapters. I got to the Genesys parking lot about 10 minutes early, as is customary for me. I took a few minutes to go over my notes, annoyed because the kid in the car next to me had his bass thumping so fast and hard it made me feel like I was going to have a small stroke or go into a-fib. The kid with the thumping bass was, of course, one of my classmates. He's the kind of guy that clearly thinks he's awesome, though I don't know who gave him that idea. He's all skinny and tan and greasy and he goes on "smoke-breaks" and sneers at people and never holds the door open for anyone. I don't know about you, but to me that spells awesome. Um...no it doesn't.

Inside the tiny, antiseptic-scented, florescent-lit EMT classroom, I sat down at my rickety table and was greeted by my 60-year-old table-mate, who proceeded to talk ceaselessly until the test began about the inevitability of all of our deaths by Swine Flu, in a shameless display of fear-mongering. I somehow ended up telling her that I "didn't care" about all the Mexicans who died of Swine Flu, when what I really meant to say was "Shut the fuck up about the goddamn Swine Flu before I make you eat your hand!"

I got a 97% on my test. Thank you very much. It turns out I can have it all.

Tuesday:

Since I'm finally done with the semester at Oakland University, I didn't have anything at all to do all day Tuesday, so I (what else?) went to the movies. I decided to see "earth"--you know, that DisneyNature movie about our planet?? I used to love watching nature shows when I was little. I remember many an elementary-school Friday night spent watching National Geographic movies with my mom. Alright, fine--I spent many a high-school Friday night watching Nat-Geo movies with my mom too! Fuck you for judging me. Is it such a crime to love Wombats?

But anyway, aside from voraciously watching Shark Week every July (Shark Week ALWAYS coincides with my birthday week--true story), I've started to feel like I'm losing touch with the natural world. So, in order to solve this problem, I raced to the NCG Trillium Cinema in Grand Blanc, bought a bucket of popcorn (and soaked it butter-substance from the self serve butter pump) and a box of Milk Duds and settled in for a lazy afternoon of movie-watching and face-stuffing. I enjoyed "earth" the movie almost as much as I enjoy Earth, the real thing. The mountains! The fields! The majesty! The baby caribou! Plus the fact that I didn't actually have to be outside to experience it was a giant plus.

The only thing that frustrated me about the movie was narrator James Earl Jones' constant reminders that "our planet is sloooowly dying." We'd see two rambunctiously adorable polar bear cubs frolicking on the powdery snow of the arctic and we (the audience) would be filled with warmth and glee and then James Earl Jones would say something like..."Unfortunately, due to the fact that Americans are FUCKING UP THE PLANET FOR EVERYONE, at least one of these polar bear cubs is likely to die a painful death and never see adulthood...and even if one of these cubs DOES survive, it will probably starve as an adult." Ok...he may not have put it exactly like that, but his rampant insinuations were very thinly veiled, and I didn't pay $9.50 (plus another $17 for popcorn and Duds!) to be reminded that the polar ice caps are melting and the ozone layer is being eaten away and baby polar bears are doomed. Fuck you, James Earl Jones.

Wednesday:

I walk into EMT class and what does my 60-year old table-mate say straight away? Literally, the FIRST thing she said when I sat down was: "So a baby in Texas died of the Swine Flu." You should have seen the excitement in her eyes--the kind of excitement that is ignited by danger...like the look a tornado chaser gets in his eye when it's storm season in Kansas (you've seen "Twister"). People that get all "happy" over disasters and imminent human death are a MAJOR pet peeve of mine. So I said: "I don't care." Then I realized that I sounded pretty cold. I mean, I obviously DO care about babies dying. But I don't care about getting all panic-y about the goddamn Swine Flu. So then I said, "I mean, if I get it, I get it." And I shrugged and spread this goofy, maniacal grin across my face that probably looked super creepy. But that's the face I make when I want to punch someone and I can't.

I spent the rest of the day in bed watching trashy reality shows, eating junk food, and pitying myself.

Thursday:

It was a rainy, piece-of-shit day, and on top of it all I had to work. Fuck work! Ahhhhh! Work makes me want to scream! I have small bald spots on my head because every time I have to work, I rip a chunk of hair out. It's the only thing that can calm me down. That, and plunging my naked body into a tub filled with freezing cold water and ice cubes. Pulling out my hair is a lot less work, though. It takes a long time to make enough ice cubes to fill a tub. My freezer can't hold that many ice cubes. That stresses me out. And when I get stressed out I want to plunge my naked body into a tub filled with ice! But I can't! Because my freezer won't HOLD that much ice! Goddamn it, everything sucks! Why, God, why? Why?

Work was ok. We weren't that busy. Since school at Oakland is out, I'm working at Blondie's now on Tuesdays and Thursdays (and maybe some Saturdays and Monday evenings and the occasional Wednesday and Friday and Sunday). Blondie's is the candy/ice cream/fudge/gift basket shop that my mom owns and runs. So, on Thursday My mom made me make fudge packets. I've made fudge packets A LOT in my life, but my mom still felt the need to make about FOUR fudge packets in front of me before she let me fly solo. When she finally went upstairs to her office, I made fudge packets, sipped a diet soda, chatted with my friend (and fellow blogger) Emily Caswell, bagged caramel corn, read People magazine, ate a turkey sandwich with too much mayo, read Breaking Dawn (the last book in the Twilight series), swept, emptied the garbage, cleaned out the popcorn machine, made polite conversation with customers, and locked the door at the end of the day. I made 50 smackeroos in one day! Next time you see me, give me a high-five, will ya?

Friday:

Cringety, cringety, cringe cringe. Friday was the day I did my third ambulance ride-along. I was so nervous that my spoon shook as I tried to shovel Fiber One Caramel Delight cereal into my mouth that morning at 5:40 a.m. That's right. I have to get up super-ass early on ride-along days. And I have this theory that "bad things happen in the morning." Um...it's pretty much a rock-solid theory. I think it kind of has something to do with the fact that everything is scarier in the early morning. You know, that hour when the sun is just rising and the birds are chirping deafeningly, like a chorus of vengeful wizards, warlocks, hobgoblins, and trolls? It's a positively ghoulish time of day and NOT the optimal time for me to be on my way to an ambulance base station, gearing up for hours of extreme awkwardness punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Plus my uniform pants are ridiculously big and they make me feel like a walking egg. They make me look like I have a front-butt!

So--the ride-along. Let me just say, ride-alongs are interesting, for sure. The patients are usually sweet and their afflictions aren't as scary as you're probably imagining. I mean, so far we've only had one patient who lost all the fingers on his right hand in a freak dish-disposal accident. But while I'm on a ride-along, I always feel like SUCH an outcast. EMS people are an extremely tight-knit group, probably because they work 24 hour shifts, so they literally LIVE together a few days out of the week. It's hard to feel at home when you're surrounded by people who've known each other for years and pretty much view you as an annoyance--some dumb kid that needs to be taught everything. That's why it's amazing when you meet up with an EMT or Paramedic who is truly kind and will go out of his or her way to show you the ropes. I've been lucky enough to meet a few of these. And I've had some rides with people who literally ACT LIKE I'M NOT EVEN THERE.

I promise a more in-depth account of what a ride-along is like when I've finished all my rides. I'll do a week-long series! I'll do it up right! But for now, you've gotten a taste. A preview. An aperitif. I hope you're happy with that. But if you're not, I'll buy you an orange push-up pop. In my experience, orange push-up pops pretty much solve everything.

Saturday:

Because my ride-along stressed me out so much, I gave myself permission to sleep in on Saturday. So I slept. And I slept. And I slept. Then when I woke up, I ate a big bowl of Fiber One Caramel Delight cereal and enjoyed a cup of pulpless orange juice. Then I decided to catch up on old episodes of ER. You see, I never watched ER when it originally aired, so due to the magic of Netflix I'm working my way through all 15 seasons of it. I appreciate them so much more now than I would have if I'd watched them when they were originally airing, because NOW my brain is all full of medical knowledge.

I watched three episodes of Season 6 of ER, with my cat Jack nestled close to my side the whole time. Jack does a good job of pretending to love me, but I know that he's just using his feline wiles to get me to feed him Fancy Feast's Beef Feast in Gravy cat food. Manipulative bastard.

After watching ER with Jack, I decided to...go to the movies in Grand Blanc again! God DAMN it, I'm a creature of habit. After the movie, I drove home, got some dinner from Abruzzo's (the bar we own) with my mom, and cried to her about how I don't want to do any more ride-alongs and about how stressed out I am that Oakland University STILL hasn't posted our final grades! Then I went upstairs, talked on the phone to Lansy for a while, and watched 6 more hours of television.

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty productive day.

The End:

Now you've gotten a real window into my life. I hope you still like me. But if you don't, I understand. I am not cool. I look in the mirror, and do you know what I see staring back at me? A Garbage Pail Kid.