Love

I would never have categorized myself as a sports lover. Cheese lover? Sure. Movie lover? Definitely. Diabolical space cop? Yes! But not a sports lover. No, to me, the best thing about sports has always been the snacks. Nachos, hot dogs, popcorn, pizza--that's the stuff. Give me processed cheese out of a pump or give me death. I guess some people also enjoy the camaraderie that is created among spectators while watching a live sporting event--everyone huddled together under a fleece blanket on a cold October night, cheeks and noses rosy from the cold, waiting to see if Johnny Quicksly will get a touchdown, win the game, and bring pride back to the town... But who needs camaraderie when you've got a frozen chocolate covered banana?

It wasn't until I read Andre Agassi's autobiography "Open" that I fell in love with the non-food aspects of a sport. There's something magical about the combination of speed, strength, power, and mental and physical agility a player must possess in order to be truly great at tennis. Plus, sometimes the players get really mad and throw their racquets. That's always pretty satisfying to see because extreme, soul-shattering frustration is something we've all dealt with in life. I mean, once when I was in 8th grade I got so mad that I knocked over my bookshelf. I can't remember what I was so mad about, but I do remember the feeling I had right after I knocked over my bookshelf. It was a God DAMN IT, now I've gotta clean up all my books kind of a feeling. It made me wish I had another bookshelf to knock over.

But really, you've gotta hand it to tennis players. They're all alone out there on the court--no teammates to blame if they double fault or hit the ball out of bounds at match point. It's just the sun, the wind, the court, and the opponent--beautiful in its simplicity, like modern-day gladiator combat, but with less blood and tigers. Watching tennis, on TV or live, my heart pounds, the blood rushes through my veins, and I feel like I'm sure the spectators of gladiatorial games felt back in the day--intensely interested, rooting for the good guy, and waiting for changeover so I can go get one of those delicious frozen lemonades.

Tennis is one of the most emotional and personal sports, if you ask me. I mean, in basketball, if you miss a free throw, it's sad and all, but there's not a word for it--like oh, "he free fell" or something. In tennis, if a player is serving and his opponent wins that game, they say the opponent "broke serve" or "broke" the player. You hear it all the time, John McEnroe as commentator saying, "Oh man, he just broke him again! He is not having an easy time of it out there today." I mean, 'he broke him'? That's harsh. Plus, sometimes the players taunt one another. They do little celebrations when they win an important point--they do a fist pump, they scream, they jump, they smirk. Sometimes they point at each other! Taunting is probably one of my favorite things in life, so I'm glad it's a big part of tennis. But it just goes to show how mentally bad-ass tennis players are--they're stealthy, they're smart, and they're out for blood. They think through every point, they draw their opponent up to the net only to slam the ball back to baseline and out of reach. They're like assassins, waiting for the perfect moment to step out of the shadows and make their move.

Tennis is like love--sometimes it's exhilarating, sometimes it's crushing, and sometimes you're just wading through, trying to make it to match point. But even when you lose, you keep going back for more. I know I'm in it for the long haul, and this time the processed cheese is just gravy.  

     

Birthdaypocalypse

I now know what it feels like to live through a hellish ordeal like the one experienced by Aron Ralston in May 2003 when he had to amputate his own arm in order to survive a freak rock climbing accident. My power went out last night. ON MY BIRTHDAY. I was this close to drinking my own urine.

You probably think I'm overreacting, but first of all: fuck you. Second of all, I'm not overreacting. I missed Big Brother. Mmmmmkay??! I MISSED BIG BROTHER. I had to actually TALK to my parents instead of engaging in my usual nightly routine of shutting myself in my room and watching hours of reality television while stuffing my face with corn chips and bemoaning my lot in life.

There was a split second right after the power went out (just after I blew out the candles) when I thought, it's just gonna come right back on. Now. NOW. NOW. NOW. And then, still nothing. My heart sank as the sickening realization hit me--we were possibly going to be without power for the ENTIRE episode of Big Brother. My mom pretty much immediately piped up with "Well, I just don't understand this. I just DON'T understand it. I'll tell you what, I don't get it." And then my dad, not one to resist an opportunity to play on my fears, chimed in with, "You know, sometimes people are without power for WEEKS. It happens. Yes. Yes, in a big storm! Weeks, sometimes."

Me: "I have NEVER heard of people being out of power for weeks."

My dad: "Oh yes, it happens. You hear on the news--100,000 without power. And then the next week you hear--50,000 STILL without power."

Me: "You DON'T watch the news."

My dad: "Yes! I have it on in the background."

Me: "No, Dad."

My dad: "Yes."

My mom: "Well, I'll tell you what, I just don't understand what's going on here. I just don't get this. I don't get it."

We live above a bar that we own and our living room windows look down on the outdoor patio area, where on warm summer nights people congregate to drink and carouse. On a night when our TV is on (every night), the chatter of the customers below us fades easily into the background, like the buzzing of a fly or the impatient grunts of a hungry warthog. Unless there's a brutal knife fight happening, but that's rare. On a night when NONE of our gadgets are working due to an inexplicable power outage ON MY BIRTHDAY, the chatter of the customers below us rises like the suffocating heat that we can no longer combat with air conditioning and we begin to hear things we'd rather not, like how so-and-so's power has been out since 2 pm and how someone-or-other heard from a COP that the power might be out for SEVERAL DAYS.

And thus began the screaming of the lambs in my head. My dad went downstairs to do damage control. My birthday Chinese food was rotting in the fridge, and that was tragic enough, but a loss of power for long enough could mean thousands of dollars in spoiled food for our business, and that's whack. My mom was already asleep on the couch, having accepted her fate.

When I went downstairs to check on my dad about an hour later, I found him standing near the entrance to the bar, in the eerie pitch blackness, smoking a cigarette and holding a very large butcher knife.

"I've got a big butcher knife," he said.

I laughed. "Why??!"

"Because of the looters!" He exclaimed.

"Looters, what looters?!"

"When there are no lights and the alarm systems are off, the looters come out. Who's to stop them?!"

I shined my flashlight into the empty black night.

"Stop that!" he said. "They'll see us!"

"Who, the mole people?"

"Whoever! All I know is, when I was inside the bar, I put my face up against the front window and that's when I realized there was someone RIGHT THERE on the other side staring back at me."

"So you grabbed a huge knife?"

"Would you prefer I be weaponless?"

Just then a cop car drove by and stopped across the street and down a ways from where we were standing, illuminating a large group of shirtless townie weirdos.

My dad turned to me, "Wouldn't it be crazy if they all started attacking and eating that cop?"

I said, "Wouldn't it be creepy if this was happening on Halloween or Devil's night?"

My mom, having awakened, had walked to the window and was listening in on our conversation from our apartment above. She called down to us, "I'll tell you what, I just don't get it! I don't understand this."

Neither do I, mom. Neither do I.

The Incomparable Miss Morosky

Lansy,

The first I knew of you was in high school. I thought of you as a beautiful, popular girl who I would probably never be friends with—not because I didn’t like you, not because I didn’t think I would like you, but because you were a somebody and I was me. You were the thin, pretty, popular girl with all the thin, pretty, popular friends. I was the chubby girl who wore polyester pants to school. Seriously, if someone—some all powerful, all knowing being—had told me in high school that Alana Morosky would later become my best friend, my soul mate, I would have spat blood. Because that’s what you do when you’re really surprised about something—you spit blood.

If only I had known then what I know now, that yes, you are beautiful and popular, but also artistic, adventurous, free-spirited, passionate, foul-mouthed, feisty, and fiercely loyal, with an exceedingly quick and dark wit, I would’ve plunked my polyester-wearing self down at your cafeteria table and started telling you about the crazy movie I saw that weekend, or how I fell in math and chipped a tooth, because I know you would’ve gotten it—you would’ve gotten me.

As it would happen, we got through high school without ever having a conversation. And for years, it remained that we were two people who simply shared a high school and happened to grow up in the same small town. We lived, we loved, we lost—all without knowing each other. I can’t really begin to tell you how lucky I feel to have ended up back home 8 years after high school, because if I had never come back I may have missed out on meeting the best friend I have ever known.

We got through the first awkward stages of friendship, where you’re not sure if you should call someone or ask them to do something because “it might be weird.” That was mostly thanks to you—showing up at pretty much every single one of Gina’s Thursday night shows at the bar. I got more comfortable with you, and you got more comfortable with me. We started taking a million pictures a night. I told you about Tyra Banks and America’s Next Top Model and smizing, and together we invented “voltage!”—where you take a picture while trying to look model-y after yelling out “voltage!”

I remember deciding that I was going to make it a point to get to know you really well. I wanted to know how you take your coffee. I now know that in the winter you drink a venti peppermint mocha, nonfat, no whip, and in the summer you drop the peppermint and add ice. I know that you hate fruits and vegetables with a passion. I know that you love bacon and sushi almost as much as you hate fruits and vegetables, as evidenced by the poor man’s BLT—bacon bits, mayonnaise, no lettuce, no tomato, on toast. I know that you are fascinated by serial killers, much the same as I am fascinated by school shootings. You love art, nature, and history. You love exploring the world around you, taking back roads, taking the scenic route. You love saying, “it coulda been different, mista walka.” You love movies and TV as much as I do—neither of us thinks it’s ridiculous to drive an hour and a half to go see a movie that would never be playing around here, or to sit up half the night dissecting the season finale of Dexter or playing the Seinfeld trivia game. You are an animal lover. You take beautiful care of your goats, your horses, your cats, and of course, Zoey and Micah. I can’t count how many trips to we took to PetSmart to buy toys for Zoey—because it was her birthday or Christmas, or just because. You are an incredibly gifted artist and photographer, but you also have a few hidden talents—your horse neigh, your Pee-wee Herman impression, and your ability to perfectly recite the second verse of Eminem’s “My Dad’s Gone Crazy.” These are just a few of the amazing things that I have learned about you since our friendship began three years ago. Really, I’m just scratching the surface here.

I don’t think I have ever laughed as much with anyone as I have with you. Your dark, politically incorrect sense of humor fits perfectly with my dark, politically incorrect sense of humor. I have also become more adventurous because of you. If not for you, I never would’ve seen the glory that is Port Agony. I would never have run for my life through the trails surrounding the Petroglyphs. I would never have met George, the kindly keeper of the Octagon Barn, or seen the withered hull of the Chesaning Showboat. I would definitely never have allowed myself to be flung 420 feet into the air on the Top Thrill Dragster. I would never have experienced the crazy, weird, magical beauty of the wind turbines in Pigeon, Michigan. And still, I am just scratching the surface of things I never would have done or thought to do if I had never met you.

I want to thank you—for putting up with me, for letting me show you endless pictures of cute animals in books at Barnes and Noble, for being my shoulder to cry on when baby ducks get murdered or when I’m scared or depressed or grief stricken. Thank you for inspiring me, for sticking up for me with that bitch at Travelodge, for letting me be myself and never making me feel silly or inconsequential. Thank you most of all for letting me in your life, for being a friend I feel I can truly be myself around. In life, you meet lots of people. You have lots of friendships, and everyone always says how much they love their friends. But the truth is, it is an exceedingly rare thing to find a friend you love unconditionally and who loves you unconditionally back. I know I have found this kind of friendship, this kind of connection, with you. And while I am devastated that you are leaving me, it is because of the strength of our friendship, because of the uniqueness of us, that I know we will survive this. No matter where we are, whether we are in the same room or across the country from one another, we are best friends, and nothing can change that. This is just the beginning of the next chapter.

Love you forever and ever,

Lizzy             

“i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart).” – E.E. Cummings    

Things That Totally Fucked Up My Life in 2010

Welcome to my first post of 2011. In this post, instead of looking ahead to all the wonderful things that might happen this year, I have decided to look back on all the terrible things that happened last year. I have composed a list of the top ten WORST things that happened to me in 2010, otherwise known as things that totally fucked up my life.

In order from least-worst to knockwurst (most-worst), here goes:

10. I was still fat...ALL YEAR. Being fat is the pits. Every morning I woke up with new determination to eat right and exercise, and every single day I failed. It doesn't feel good to fail miserably at the one thing you know would improve your life and your health 100%, but you know what else doesn't feel good? NOT eating a fistful of Cadbury Creme Eggs. The bottom line is, I DO WHAT I WANT.

9. I Looked For AND FOUND Disturbing Images of Grown-Up Devon Sawa. That's right, you heard me. The cherubic boy who starred in 'Casper' and 'Now and Then' has morphed into a crag-faced husk of his former self. He now calls the CW home, as he has a recurring role on the 2010 series Nikita. I don't know, it's just so sad to watch his life spin out of control.

8. I Saw a Seal Swimming Next To a Rusted-Out Grocery Cart at the Bottom of the Ocean. You always think it's going to be a good time watching those Disney Nature movies. I really like oceans, so I went to see Disney Nature's 'Oceans.' I thought I'd see a beautiful baby dolphin bonding with it's mother in the warm waters off of Maui. But no. What did I see? Besides a shit-ton of boring-ass crab footage, I saw baby turtles get eaten by sea birds and a seal swimming next to a rusted-out grocery cart. Plus, Pierce Brosnan wasted NO opportunity to remind me about the rivers of pollution currently flowing into our oceans. Apparently Pierce Brosnan is Disney Nature's new ambassador of fear. He won't let me rest until I face the harsh reality that the waters that sustain life on Earth are dying. Oh yeah, and the polar ice caps are melting. There is no hope.**

7. Nursing School Gave Me the Trots. Nursing school was exciting, but nerve-racking! It's kind of like when you're really nervous to go on a giant roller coaster because there's a chance you could die, but you still want to go on it because how great will it feel if you don't die? Unfortunately, bravery often comes at a physical cost. I had the trots for most of 2010.

6. My Favorite Dumpster Kitten, Little Gray, was Killed in a Hit and Run. I know what you're thinking: What the FUCK are dumpster kittens? Well, even though it's ridiculously obvious, I'll tell you. They are kittens that live in, on, beneath, and/or in the vicinity of a dumpster. My parents have a couple of dumpsters and this year we got kittens! Kittens!! So much joy. There were four beautiful kittens, three that looked like the cat from Stephen King's 'Cat's Eye,' and one that looked like Nermal from Garfield. I named the one that looked like Nermal "Little Gray" because he was little and gray. It's not rocket science. He was the pudgiest and the friendliest of the kittens. I started feeding them and he was the only one that would almost let me pet him. Not quite, but almost. I could tell he wanted to let me pet him, but he was probably afraid that if he let me pet him, I would go one step further and grab him, take him home, give him a bath, then put him on my bed and cover him with a heavy blanket and watch him try to squirm his way out. He's right, that's what I would've done. Anyway, one day I came home from one of my nursing school clinicals (a long 12+ hour day of patient care) and my mom, who was standing over the stove, cooking a frittata (I'll get into why that only made things worse later), said, "I have some bad news." I immediately thought that my cat that actually lives with me and sleeps in my bed, Jack, was dead. Or that Kevin Spacey had died. But then she said, "Little Gray died. Your dad found his lifeless body by the side of the road." So much anguish.

5. I Sat Through A Lot of Awful, Awful Movies--Without Popcorn! My dad and I go see a lot of movies together, which is great because it's nice to have some father-daughter bonding time. Plus, he pays. But he doesn't like to get popcorn (because it bloats him and gets stuck in his teeth) and he's willing to see crap movies that I don't have the heart to say no to. I guess I'd rather see a shitty movie than sit home by myself thinking about how pathetic I am and slowly consuming a mini-mountain of Chili Cheese Fritos, but still... One of the dumbest things about going to the movies with my dad is that he almost always falls asleep immediately. Sometimes I wake him up to complain about loud kids in the theater. Here's how that conversation goes--Me: "GrrrrrrrRRRR." My dad: "What?" Me: "Why are they LAUGHING so loud and repeating the most mundane dialogue?" My dad: "I don't even hear anything." Me: "How do you NOT hear that? It's like they're watching this in their own basement. It's like we snuck into someone's birthday party!" By that time, my dad has usually fallen back asleep. But I digress. Here is a list of just five (believe me, there are more) of the worst movies I sat through WITHOUT POPCORN in 2010: Edge of Darkness, Faster (Starring Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson), Grown Ups, Skyline, and My Soul to Take. You're welcome, Box Office.

4. I Didn't Travel...Not Even in my Dreams. It's nice that I still have enough hope to purchase books like this one when I'm browsing around Barnes and Noble: The Rough Guide to the USA (Rough Guides). I think to myself, maybe I'll go to Yosemite National Park or Mt. Rushmore, or HEY--maybe I'll go to Anderson, Indiana (home of Teen Mom star (and train wreck) Amber Portwood. But, let's face it. I'm basically a shut-in. I might as well start collecting garbage and tie myself to my bed. I mean, how pathetic is it that I couldn't even manage to take 9 days off to travel to Anderson, Indiana, search around the local pizza huts, jails, roller rinks, and bad neighborhoods for Amber Portwood, then follow her to her house and stake it out hoping to witness her throwing a TV down the stairs or drinking a big gulp while wearing short-shorts and setting fire to a mattress??

3. Centipede Bugs Defied Extinction. I love animals and (some) bugs. But I hate centipede bugs with every fiber of my being, and when I see one, I stalk it with intent to kill and I don't rest until I've flushed it's lifeless body down the toilet. 2010 was not without centipede bugs, which totally fucked up my life. One morning, I was up at 4 am, getting ready to go to clinicals for nursing school. I was sleepy, and I was brushing my teeth. I had my eyes closed and I was leaning over the sink, and what did I see crawling out of the drain when I opened my eyes? A giant centipede bug!! I proceeded to drown it, and when I was sure it was dead, I vomited into my hand and then went about the rest of my day.

2. I Almost Dropped My Wallet Into a Carp and Turtle Pond. Even though I didn't travel out of state in 2010, my friend Lansy and I did explore Michigan. One of the places we went was the Wilderness Trails Zoo, near Frankenmuth (a.k.a. Michigan's little Bavaria). The Wilderness Trails Zoo is kind of unique because you can get up close to a lot of big animals. They don't have any of those pesky big ravines between you and the animals like other zoos do. They just have a couple of chain-link fences between you and a lion, or between you and a grizzly bear. So what if it's a little less safe? It makes for a lot of great photo ops! So what if the closer you get the easier it is to tell how sad the animals are? Photo ops! But I digress. One of the main attractions at Wilderness Trails Zoo is that you can actually feed many of the animals!! For example, to feed a bear, you pay a quarter and get a sourball, then you put the sourball in a long plastic tube that runs through the two chain link fences that separate you from the bear, then the sourball lands in the bear enclosure and the bear runs over and eats it!! Huzzah! They also have a carp and turtle pond, where you can pay a quarter and get a handful of food pellets, which you can then throw to the fish and turtles and watch them gobble it up. There are so many carp/catfish-looking fish and turtles (and some bad-ass swans) that it's actually kind of disgusting to watch them eat. I kept waiting for one of them to spit out a human eyeball. It was my last handful of food pellets and we were going to leave the zoo as soon as we were done feeding the fish and turtles, so I was trying to make this last throw very dramatic. I forgot that I had my wallet sitting on the railing of the little platform we were standing on. When I (very forcefully) threw my last handful of food pellets into the fish and turtle pond, I knocked my wallet off the railing!!! Luckily, it landed at my feet and not in the water. You may be thinking, her wallet didn't fall in the water, so why is this on the list of things that totally fucked up her life in 2010? Well, you're right. My wallet didn't fall in the water--it almost did. And I have to live with that.

1. I Watched a Baby Duck Die. It was a warm, bright summer day, and my friend Lansy and I decided to drive about an hour away to the idyllic town of Owosso. It was her dream to visit one of Owosso's main attractions--Curwood Castle. As a major castle connoisseur myself, I was delighted to accompany her. But alas, when we found the castle (we had to ask directions from speed walkers, but that's a whole other story), there was a sad little note posted on the door that said the castle didn't open until 1 pm. It was noon, so I said, "God Lansy, it's gorgeous out and there's a very beautiful arched bridge over there! Let's walk around picturesque downtown Owosso and wait for Curwood Castle to open so that we can go in." And she said, "What a great idea! I would like that very much." We took off down the sidewalk. We spent a pleasing hour exploring Owosso. We went into a fancy antique shop that sold old clocks and toy pianos and original artwork. We thought about stopping for ice cream at one of those places where you walk up to the window to order and the menu has a bunch of little pictures of ice cream treats on it, but decided against it. On our way back to Curwood Castle, we decided to walk along the beautiful banks of the Shiawassee River. Little did we know that in mere minutes it would be the scene of a faces-of-death style duck massacre. We stopped to watch a gorgeous family of ducks swimming along the river's edge. There was a mama duck and three beautiful baby ducks. They were splashing and quacking and putting their little heads under water, then popping back up. It was glorious! Both Lansy and I were amazed at their beauty and grace. They were so perfect! Especially this one baby duck, whom we affectionately named Hobart. Both Lansy and I had a feeling that Hobart was special. Then, all of a sudden, out of NOWHERE, the mama duck started violently flapping her wings and quacking, communicating severe distress! At first, I thought that Lansy and I had ventured too close to the duck family and the mama duck was protecting her babies from us. Then, both Lansy and I realized that the mama duck was attempting to protect her babies from something much more sinister. It registered with both Lansy and I at the same time--Hobart had gone under the water and NOT come back up! We could see his adorable little duck butt and duck feet sticking up, but his head was submerged! I shouted, "I think he's stuck in the weeds! He's drowning! Mother of God, he's drowning!" I wanted to go in after little Hobart, but because of the weeds in the water and the rocks along the river's edge, there was no way of knowing how treacherous it would be once I got in the water or if I would even be able to get to little Hobart if I attempted it. I screamed to Lansy, "Get a STICK!" She promptly returned with a stick, but alas, it was too short to reach Hobart. There were two guys fishing nearby and we thought about getting them to come help us, but we didn't because neither of us wanted to approach them. By the time I was finally ready to hike up my pants and go into the Shiawassee after Hobart, it was too late. Hobart had perished. And, as I cried, Lansy consoled me by saying that he was probably not stuck in the weeds, but that he was probably eaten by a water snake or a snapping turtle, and that if I had gone in after him, I might've lost a toe! That did make me feel better, but still, I can't UNSEE Hobart's death. I will carry the painful memory of that day with me forever.

In Closing, I'd just like to remind you all that each new year brings with it new promise and the hope of new beginnings and new achievements, but still...it's very unlikely you'll be able to go an entire year without being traumatized in one way or another. So try to keep your positive attitude in check, ok?

**I actually do have hope for our oceans. If you do too, get involved!! Please support Ocean Conservancy. 

Candy-pocalypse

Today, you're in luck, because I've come up with some random musings that I think you'll find entertaining. Buckle up, 'cause mama just found her keys and we're a goin' drivin'.

Random Musings

1. It's fun adding the word 'pocalypse' to the end of other words. For example, one day, around Halloween, when I was doing my nursing preceptorship (which is like an apprenticeship where you work one on one with a nurse and she teaches you and you learn and eventually you teach her and she says, "Look who's the teacher now!" and you say, "Ahh geez, Phyllis, you're makin' me embarrassed!" and she says, "No but seriously Diane, you are a top notch nursing student!" and you say, "It's not Diane, it's Dion" and she says how ashamed she is), this ER tech came to work and said, "I went to CVS and there was literally NO CANDY THERE!" And then I said, "Oh no! It's a candy-pocalypse!" She didn't get it. She didn't giggle or even crack a smile, but I was quite pleased with myself. Another example would be when you run out of toilet paper, you could say, "It's a toilet paper-pocalypse!" Or if you were going through a dry spell sexually, you could say, "It's NOT raining men!"

2. I have decided that pictures of puppies asleep are adorable, especially when they are dressed up in wizard costumes. Puppies asleep in a wicker chair? Also fucking adorable. Equally adorable is a picture of someone rolling a puppy down a mountain. It's also cute when someone takes a picture of a puppy asleep on a computer keyboard or asleep on a desk covered in papers--because it totally looks like the puppy fell asleep while he was doing his taxes!

You know what's NOT adorable though? A creepy picture of a baby asleep in a cloth hammock that's held up by a hook that looks like it belongs to the killer from "I Know What You Did Last Summer" (as well as sequels "I Still Know What You Did Last Summer" and "I'll Always Know What You Did Last Summer"). Moral of the story: sleeping puppies in quirky outfits and silly settings--great, sleeping babies in baskets, boxes, with wings, wearing jail outfits, held up by hooks, etc.--bone shatteringly frightening.

3. What's UP with the baggers at the grocery store? Why do they always ask you if you want a bag for the bulkiest and most awkward-to-carry items? I walk up to the counter with 6 packs of AA batteries and a medium-size bag of cat food and all the bagger girl can say is, "Um...do you, like, want a bag for this cat food?" Well, actually, the BATTERIES could fit in my purse, but the cat food is fucking annoying as SHIT to carry, so yeah, I'd like a bag. And also: fuck you. Just assume that unless I say I don't want a bag, I WANT A BAG. It's not like they don't have a bag big enough to fit a medium bag of cat food or a couple of two liters of pop. Do you know how annoying it is to try to free-hand 2 two-liters of pop up 20 stairs in the god JAM dead of Winter? I've had it. I have absolutely had it.

Ok. That's enough random musings for now. If you're wondering about the picture of the basket of white kittens at the beginning of this post, that's just my favorite picture that came up when I typed "pocalypse" into an image search.

New Normal

I am now a graduate nurse. I can give you a TB shot. I can insert a Foley catheter into you. I am a medical professional. And it feels weird.

Maybe it feels weird because I have so much time off. I'm used to having to study constantly. I'm used to the constant threat of failure, and I'm used to having to face my fears on a daily basis. I'm used to crying because I contaminated my sterile field (I have gotten the hang of that now, but it's still intimidating). But now, I don't have to worry about that stuff anymore (at least not until I get a job). I could still fail the NCLEX, though, so there is that.

I haven't started studying for it. I have been spending my days watching TV (today I watched 'A Killer Among Friends' starring Patty Duke and Tiffany Amber Theissen) and applying for jobs and thinking about the future and the kind of person I would like to someday be. It's almost 2011, so now is a good time for re-invention I guess.

Next year, I want to lose the 100 pounds or so of unsightly fat that have taken up residence all over my body (totally my fault, by the way). I want to get a nursing job that I like at a good hospital and grow professionally. I want to travel more (I'm definitely going to check out Portland, Oregon, and I want to go back to New York City, too, and see a taping of SNL).

Nursing school was a great experience because it made me push myself in ways that I never would have otherwise. I had to do things that made me nervous. I want to keep going down that path. I also want to figure out how the heck those centipede bugs keep getting into my house.

Sorry this is not a super fun post. But I'm kind of depressed. Damn you Winter! Damn you change! This is totally JUST like the end of Cast Away, where Chuck Noland is standing in the middle of that dusty crossroads and he has to decide which way to go. Should he follow the hot angel wings lady? I mean, he can't go home because his fiancée totally married another guy and had a baby with him while Chuck was stuck on that island with Wilson. This is so typical. My life always mirrors Tom Hanks movies. First I meet that strange guy, fall in love with him, and then find out he's a mer-man, and now this!

I will probably do what Tom did in Big. I will go to a carnival, find a Zoltar machine and make a wish for my most pressing desire. I will not wish to be 'big' like Tom did, because I am already 100 pounds bigger than I'd like (and I can already ride whatever rides I want at the fair). I will probably not wish to be rich, because that's a lost cause. I will not wish to meet the man of my dreams, because I already met him (he was a mer-man and had to go back to living in the Atlantic off Cape Cod. I would've gone with him, but eh...). No, I will not wish for any of those things. Instead, I will wish to be brave--brave enough to go after what I want and seize it when I find it.

Weary Traveler

Dear readers,

I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. It's just...well...if you want to know the whole long drawn-out story, I'll tell you: I went to Europe for six months to wrestle for my college. I'm sure you're thinking, what the fuck, she wrestles? Since when? Well, hey, if you ever listened to me you'd know how much I love wrestling...how much wrestling is, in fact, my whole world. I'm sorry for the outburst...it's just...sometimes I feel like I'm invisible! Even though I have this blog where I often divulge my deepest, darkest secrets (like how much I love Lifetime movies featuring out of control teens), I still feel so alone--and so misunderstood.

But back to my story: about six months ago, I was commissioned by my school to go on this wrestling fellowship (I'm sure you're thinking, wrestling fellowship? Is that even a thing? Yes. It is. It is a thing. Stop questioning me!!). I was incredibly excited to go because I've never traveled and I love to wrestle. And I'm really, really good at wrestling. I get a lot of accolades for it--a lot of pats on the butt and free pasta dinners. So it's cool. Plus, I found out I was going to one of the most beautiful countries in all of Europe: Slovakia.

The people in Slovakia are so kindly!! They're always offering you meat on a stick and a mug of brew or something else great. Any longtime reader of this blog knows how much I love meat on a stick (or meat on a plate, in a bowl, or even in a glove compartment for that matter (Hey! Meat is meat. As long as it's mostly cooked, I'm game)). Because the people of Slovakia are so wonderful, I didn't think twice when a haggard old greasy-bearded Slovak wearing dirty overalls and carrying a rusty bone saw offered me a ride in his beat-up van when I missed my train to Poland.

He held out his hand for me to shake and said loudly, "Thems calls me Ctibor." When I grasped his hand in mine, I could feel the jagged bones beneath his paper-thin skin. His bones made me think of cemeteries and crows and garbage-can fires, so I was immediately put at ease. Plus, it was adorable how he was attempting to speak English! Having already spent a few months in Slovakia, I answered him in Slovak (the official language of Slovakia): "Mám ťa rád, Ctibor! Hovoria mi Liz. To je ale krásny zimný deň. Milujem túto krajinu. Je to tak pustá!" Loosely translated, this means: "I like you, Ctibor! They call me Liz. What a beautiful winter day. I love this country. It's so desolate!"

Ctibor nodded and grinned while digging around in the large front pocket of his overalls for what I assumed to be some sort of treasure. He produced a hand-rolled cigarette and I knew I was right--treasure. He lit the cigarette and leaned past me to look down the train tracks (We were on a wooden train platform. I was there because I had been trying to catch that train to Poland. I never asked Ctibor why he was there). He took a long slow drag and then said, an evil gleam in his eye, "Train to Poland no come. Dark come soon and you are like lost sheep's baby."

Darkness was beginning to fall, and there was a pervasive silence that hung in the air--an eerie wintry silence. I was getting so cold, all I could think of was curling up beside a crackling fire in Ctibor's cottage, if he would be so kind as to invite me. I had already worn out my welcome at the village inn (but that's a whole other story).

"Ja som vydesený a chladená až na kosť! Potrebujem miesto na pobyt, a nevadilo by mi jedlo malých knedle zo zemiakového cesta s bryndzou a slaninou preliate miešanými," I said. This means: "I am terrified and chilled to the bone! I need a place to stay, and I would not mind a meal of small dumplings made of potato dough with sheep cheese and topped with scrambled bacon." It might sound like I was asking a lot of Ctibor, but believe me, Slovaks love to cook and entertain overnight guests.

Ctibor finished his cigarette and threw it onto the train platform, mashing it into the wood with the toe of his work boot for a few long seconds. I watched the embers glow and die and waited anxiously for him to speak. When he finally looked at me and grinned, I noticed he was missing quite a few teeth, which I found charming. "I love help lost American girl."

"Ctibor, jsi bomba!" I said, which in English means: "Ctibor, you're the bomb!" I followed him off the train platform and climbed into his old van. He let me sit in the very back on the floor, and I enjoyed the bouncy ride. Ctibor played the music of his favorite band, the Gypsy Devils, at top volume and chain smoked the whole way to his cottage. Being in that smoky, loud environment reminded me of my nights of debauchery with my college friends in the States and I felt a pang of homesickness. I thought of asking Ctibor to drop me off on the side of the road, but I really wanted those potato dumplings.

The last thing I remember before waking up on a Slovak hospital gurney four months later was the long dark dirt driveway that led to Ctibor's cottage. It was lined with black barren trees which bent and shook with the howling wind, branches scraping like fingernails against the car windows. Weird, right?!

So anyway, that's where I've been. I hardly even got to wrestle because of my "lost months" (that's what I've taken to calling the time I spent at Ctibor's). But don't worry, I'll be back on the mat in no time. Until then, I think I'll get back to blogging. After all, I've missed you guys.

Love,

Liz