Crack Coffee

I cannot believe how much coffee Matt and I must drink.

To save money, we've been buying those big tubs of coffee that Folgers sells... it's nowhere near as good as the name brand cool beans stuff, but costs the same amount for like twice as much. So right, I actually LOOKED at this tub today... it's supposed to make 270 cups of coffee. Ummm... yeah. The two of us went through our last one in less than 3 weeks. Generous estimate. What on earth?? That's 135 cups each, divided by 21 days... supposedly 6.4 cups of coffee a day? But let's say my memory is flawed (it's not. trust me on this one.) and it was actually 4 weeks ago we bought our last tub that I used the last grounds of this morning... but that's STILL 4.8.... almost FIVE CUPS OF COFFEE EACH EVERY DAY.

I'm sorry, but this is just not true. Some days, sure, it's probably true. But I don't always drink coffee every day! I KNOW this for a FACT because I REMEMBER the frequency of the caffiene headaches I've been having. And Matt's not even HOME enough to drink that much!

And yet the coffee is gone. Puzzling.

So I've been reflecting on this, trying to account for the missing grounds. Does Matt have some mysterious other use for them? I don't. I wish I did, just so I could feel sneaky and mysterious about it. But I don't. And I doubt he does either. I concocted some deleriously entertaining fantasies on these lines trying to think up other crazy uses for coffee grounds that had to be kept secret, and how I'd go about it. It was a totally free 10 minutes of entertainment. But then I got bored and refoccussed on the puzzle.

And then I had a moment of clarity. Actually, it was a memory of an occurence that's happened so many times that the one memory actually represents a conglomerate of memories all nearly identical in substance. It's of myself, pouring a steaming cup of coffee that Matt has just brewed for me, darling boy that he is... and I put the mug to my lips... and find myself recoiling and making a face. "A face?" you inquire? What sort of face? I don't have a name for it exactly, but it's damn near identical to the same face I make when I down a shot of tequila. And this, mind you, is AFTER having added around 150cc of milk to it. (Yeah, shaddup. Kitchen measurements aren't my thing, I'm more of an eyeballer, and I can't recall the conversion from cc's at the moment. Though it is disgusting that the estimate I just gave for milk was derived by my mentally comparing it to the graduate I use at work to measure urine output.) But basically what I'm trying to say is I SOLVED THE MYSTERY!! Matt makes crack coffee, nearly 5 times as potent. (Judging by the figures earlier, probably only 2 or 3 times as potent, but I'm claiming artistic license for hyperbole here.) So we DO drink that much coffee! But qualitatively, not quantitatively, due to Matt's obstinate inability to brew a sane cup o' the good stuff.

Crazy. Maybe I should start watering mine down to save on milk instead...

Maggomaly Mouse

Since all the flooding we've had a minor mouse problem. By that I mean one rainy morning Matt and I were sitting at the kitchen table over a cup of coffee, and Matt coolly inquires, "Is that a mouse on the counter by the sink?" So I look over. "Yep. Most definitely a mouse." We turn away and continue sipping our coffee and discussing our plans for the day. No, kidding, we actually bickered because it was MY book he picked up to smash it's skull with and I most definitely object to mouse-blood on my books. In the meantime the little bugger scampered off to safety. That afternoon Matt launched his attack, and the next morning we had mousage (portmanteau--> mouse + sausage) with our eggs and oatmeal.

The landlord in the meantime purchased several expensive noise-emitters that are supposed to keep away mice, spiders, and things like that. Okey-dokey. We plugged those suckers in, and haven't had any problems since. Until it rained wayyy heavy yesterday. Now all of a sudden the "fixed" roof is leaking again, and one of the "leftover" mousetraps we never deactivated had a dead mouser in it. This occured between the hours of 9am and 10am this morning while I was cleaning. I SWEAR it wasn't there at 9am when I was cleaning up around the apartment, but it was most DEFINITELY there at 10am when I went to vaccumm.

And this brings me to my Maggomaly (portmanteau--> Maggie + Anomaly). I not just move, but touch, clean and do all sorts of things for dead HUMAN bodies at work all the time... but I absolutely could NOT bring myself to dispose of this piddly ol' dead mouser. I didn't even have to TOUCH it, and I couldn't do it. Like, we're talking total hysterical breakdown just crying about this stupid mouse, all the while inwardly scoffing at myself with embarrassment. I even went so far as to humiliate myself by paying my sister Becca $80 to come remove it, which she did. Okay, fine, I OWED her the $80 to begin with, but still. It was pretty shameful that I got her to drive over to do this simple task for me. Especially seeing as how I'm the girl who kept mice around to feed to her snake on a regular basis! Grab the sucker by the tail and throw him in to be destroyed! I'd also watch with fascination as my constrictor snake sssssttreeetcccchhhheeedddd out their little bodies and wiggled it's neck as it swallowed them to audibly crush all their bones and aid digestion. I still think that's pretty nifty about constrictors and have no problem watching it. So what is my hang up with this darn mouse?? I feel so lame. THIS SHOULD BE NOTHING FOR ME.

And I just couldn't do it. Man. What a Maggomaly.

That'll be 5 boogers, please

Dementor**: (gravely equivalent of screaming)Mo-ther! Mo-ther! Mo-ther!

Maggie: (briskly walking into room) Dementor, what's wrong?
Dementor: Mother, there you are! Here, take a look at this! (holds out something invisible in her hand)
Maggie: Okay, let's take a look..(discreetly slipping on glove and holding out her hand to recieve the invisible something, fully prepared if necessary to play Adam and name it if it turns out to be a nothing)
Dementor: What IS it??
Maggie: Ummm... well, it looks like a booger, Dementor.
Dementor: A WHAT?
Maggie: You know... a booger... from your nose?
Dementor: you mean... (pointing at her nose)?
Maggie: 'Fraid so.
Dementor: Oh, Heavens. (pause, pause) Boy, and I thought it was money.... (trailing off)

Man. The day my boogers become a form of currency will be a blessed, blessed day. Think what a cash-cow getting a cold would be!!!

** "Dementor" as being used here defined under the heading "Dementors" on this post.

Act 4 Scene 4 of "Keepin' The Love Alive Long Distance"

Late, late in the wee hours of the night the heroine slaves away, pen in hand, rapidly scribbling frantic words on excessively girly stationery, trying her hardest to keep the oppressive glitter off her freshly cleaned and pressed scrubs. Did she say it right? Will he understand the full weight of her words? Will he care? You're damn right he will. If he recieves it. The blessed end to their long distance romance is looming on the horizon. She dots her i's and crosses her t's with confidence. As the sun rises she finally manages to finish inbetween long stints of adult diaper changing at work. The day has arrived, and soon the postman will also.

The question that's on everyone's minds now should be: Will the heroine's last and final military-letter reach her beloved before he checks out of the military? Or worse, will he not remember to check his mail prior to leaving and hence never recieve full long-distance-letter-lovin' closure? And should she bother to enclose fresh-baked cookies and the CD he wanted?

To Be Continued...

Rhyming's Fun!

Hickory dickory Dock.
I'm'a go buy me a Glock...

I chose to intentionally hit someone with my car last night

SPEAKING of thugs. The other night during my break at work... around 2:30am... I went to a 24 hr gas station to get some coffee and a pack of cigarettes. It was a stressful night. Coworker tension, another death, general unpleasantness. You get the deal. So I do that. It's really alive for that time of night, which was surprising-- lots of VERY drunk people walking the streets, which apparently was because this is right after all the bars and clubs close in that area. So I finish up at the gas station and leave, but as I'm driving away...

Five or six young punks (late teens early 20's) who were very clearly drunk and MESSED UP surrounded my car in the middle of the street when I was trying to turn at a light and were giving me trouble. One of them had a long blunt object and was making it clear he was putting some serious consideration into smashing one of my windows. They're talking a lot of racial crap. They're black. I'm white. I'm pretty freaked out on the inside, but pretty sure that freaking out on the outside would turn me into a victim pretty damn quick. That whole self-fulfilling prophecy crap. So I don't respond to any of their bullshit, but crack my window and say, "Either you move, or I run you over." This ellicted a wave of crowing and "excitement" as expected, and also as expected most of them moved out of the way. Except for one, who was particularly messed up and aggressive... annnnnd, I hit him with my car. Yeah, I know right. I keep having to repeat that too, "I HIT him with my car...??!?!" Granted, not hard or anything... this was from a standstill, mind you, and I was trying hard not to hurt him, but yet to accelerate fast enough that it was clear I would hurt him. And well... I really would have. He certainly could have gotten out of the way had he wanted to-- he just chose to play chicken and lost. He was fine and all from what I could tell afterwards. It did knock him down, though I think part of that was just cuz he was drunk. He got back up immediately to canter after a little ways and shout some obscenities with his friends amidst their laughter, but yeah... it couldn't have been pleasant. Pretty unfortunate, all and all. Pretty crazy.

Soooo yeah. That's my story. I think now I'm gonna try and forget it ever happened. I just hope no one in the future ever happens to ask me if I've ever hit someone with my car... that'd suck...

New Apartment!

Yeah, so we're moving again. A mere 3 or 4 months later, you inquire? What the? Yeah. I know. I feel the same way-- talk about a whole lot of work. But I think we need to be someplace where the noises of the night don't routinely involve excessive sirens and gunshots. It's worth it.

My tone lacks fervor, I realize... we ARE really excited about the new place, it's just that all the work, finances and details involved in yet another huge life transition are still a bit daunting. This new place in addition to having heat included, onsite laundry, fun local places to go that you feel comfortable walking to, a fantastic view, and a deck on the roof besides for more viewing pleasure (all of which this current place lacks), it will also save us some time (it's alot closer to work/school for both of us), and likely money too. Oh, and we've never observed any thugs over there.

It's located downtown on the east side, two blocks from Lake Michigan near the Marina. We're on the 7th floor, and there were fantastic breezes up there when you open the window, plus it's way brighter because the brick of the neighbor's house a mere 5 ft away doesn't block the light like with our current residence. Nice. Also, it's less than a mile from Columbia St. Mary's Hospital, where I'm in the application process for several positions including in the Med/Surg, Labor and Delivery, and Burn units. At least one of those positions also would enable me to work the same amount of hours (with higher pay), but in 3 nights a week instead of 4... which would be the difference between night and day next school year. I'd be NOT working more nights than I would be. HELLOOoooo SLEEP!

So basically my present future is bursting with opportunity, potential, and brightness... it's just up to me to get the rallying energy together to go for it. I'm quietly optimistic at present with brief flashes of doubt, worry, and indecision. But I suspect in the near future I'm likely to get pretty damn fired up and excited about everything as things start happening... and I can't wait.

Scramble

Lately I've been OBSESSED with playing Scramble on Facebook. Yeah. I know. Facebook applications SUCK. But seriously... Scramble is... sigh. So nice. It's like a generic, online version of Boggle. I love zoning out into the world of words and just getting all intensely focussed on one thing. One thing that doesn't have a myriad of "what ifs" and other possibilities attached to it. Either you see a word, or you don't. No life-altering decisions. No consequences. Just friendly competition, and the possibility of winning (unless you're playing Krista.. she routinely skools me).

Day before yesterday I even discovered that I don't have to be hindered by my lack of a mouse. You can just type the words in and press enter! That really helped my scores. Also, they have "live games" with random people you can just jump in at any time, no strings attached, and practice. I like to refering to it as my "training." But really it's just another excuse to focus my mental energy that would otherwise be expended on worrying into something less.. destructive... when it's not my turn with the friends I'm actually playing with.

I recommend Scramble as a piddly activity to kill stress for anyone going through a rough time with minutes to spare where they want to turn their brain off. Plus, I'd be willing to assert that it's far more productive/less damaging than a more passive form of killing time or distraction like TV viewing or something lame like that.

So yeah. That's all I have to say about that. Scramble. Just do it.

my new favorite thing to say:

Pain is weakness leaving the body.

Goofy Ghetto

I might have shared this, but it was making me giggle again. There's this woman at work- she's totally ghetto and a drunk- and usually she's totally negative. But every once in a while she's in a good mood. Mainly when she's been drinking too much before work. (I will refrain from ranting about the problems associated with this.) And then she starts talking about men.

When she's in a good mood she talks about Men.
When she's in a really good mood she talks about Mens.
When she's in a really really good mood and lonely she talks about Menses and gets crazy animated and excited.

And it CRACKS ME UP.

Bright Idea

Tonight at work they had to turn off the electricty and switch to generator power... which only is supposed to have enough power to vaguely illuminate the halls. Seeing as how I work 3rd shift this meant that we'd be doing cares for people in their rooms in pitch black by flashlights. This also meant that people who have those pressurized air mattresses (to help prevent bedsores), NG feeding tubes, or oxygen tanks needed alternative source of energy.

So we went around hooking all that crap up, extension cords criss crossing halls everywhere, filling portable oxygen tanks, and what have you. And then we had to do something about the call lights so residents can get a hold of us if they need something. Our solution? Noisemakers. You know, like for new years or birthday parties. Speaking of which, I want those at my next birthday party. But right, so I have to go around waking people up, explaining to them their purpose, and giving to them. Of course this is a ridiculous idea because none of these oldies have the lung capacity to go crazy on a noisemaker (least of all those on oxygen tanks!!). In fact, the most I got out of them was the feeblest of toots that could hardly be heard from 5 feet away. It was pretty pathetic. And it got most of them all anxious and stressed out-- they could die and no one would know. But right, we "covered our asses," I guess. Or something.

And then after spending an hour getting this all worked out, the call lights ended up being powered by the emergency generators after all. Which meant that EVERY FREAKING resident we'd woken up had their call light on when the lights went out because they were scared and needed to be reassured they'd be taken care of-- and also just to see if they'd work. But I mean... any one of those lights could have been the real deal, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" or needing to be toileted, or what have you. So I had to answer every freaking one and spend FOREVER on each of them reassuring them everything was going to be okay. Sigh. Had we not bothered with that bogus crap and woken them all up they'd all have slept right through it!

Whatta joke.

Solitude be gone

It looks like my last two months of solitude and relative isolation are nearly over. Chronologically:

1. Matt's back from Utah/Spain! He arrived in the states yesterday. No more living alone, baby. Or worrying about having borderline sketch people over, talking coworkers into helping me move heavy things, not bothering with clothes, smoking indoors (just foul... I blame exam stress), drinking out of the milk carton (I'm such a rebel), being scared at night, having to call a friend to help me with my flat tires, drinking my morning coffee alone, or talking to myself.

2. Phil's going to be in Milwaukee a week from tomorrow(ish)!!! This will be the first time we've seen each other since his leave ended July 5th, 2007. Prrreeetty crazy. My brain can hardly register it as reality... I'm getting all squirrely: why is it so much harder to wait a week than it was to wait a year?

And will he be more comfortable on the sofa or a cot?

summertime...

... and the living's shitty.

So I'm done with classes for the semester! I've been looking forward to this moment for so long but now that it's come I just don't know what to do with myself. Get a new job, I guess. But wow, I just can't come down off of this crazy anxiety. This was by far the hardest exams week I have EVER experienced. I did not sleep for 4 days straight. Not because I didn't have time to. But because I COULDN'T on account of being so stressed out about making the grade. Which I did, by the way. But that's over now.

In other news, I've had time to do a few life assessments and I've made several unpleasant realizations:

1. I'm poor.
2. My job sucks. LOTS of work. VERY LITTLE pay. MINIMAL on-the-job experience (I've maxed out what I stand to gain education-wise in this environment). TONS of drama. INSANE amounts of stress. Granted, in return I have complete awareness of how much of a difference I'm making in dying peoples lives. But then again, I also have to stand by and helplessly watch the at times excruciatingly painful process of them dying. It's a toss up.
3. There are much better jobs in the field out there.
4. My car needs (MORE) work.
5. I still suck at budgetting. And all my savings for the "unexpected" were eaten up by the unexpected this last month. Frickety-frick. NO MORE UNEXPECTED EXPENSES! I have this sickening feeling that I'm kidding myself even hoping.

Is there like some saying about how once one huge source of stress is eliminated fifty others will present themselves? There should be. Maybe something like "be happy with your present battle because once it's gone you'll remember the fifty others you need to fight." Or something. That could probably be hella-more concise. But whatever. You get the point.

Venn-egram

crazy

I just sneezed so hard my back cracked. It was a triple. And vertebrae I'm not usually able to crack...

Sweet.

Word for the wise...

Baking cookies in a breadpan (as opposed to cookie sheet)= no go.

In other breaking news:

1. I had a double candle melt-down (you know, where the liquid wax melts the surrounding stuff unevenly and it busts forth like a miniature dam exploding, extinguishing your "mood" lighting and making a mess).

2. I suspect that there's something not-right about how the gas line is connected to my oven. I think it was the smell when I turned it on that tipped me off. Either that or my cookies smell FOUL. Unless you're into that whole gas station aroma thing wafting through your kitchen...

3. I am allergic to a certain "parfum" in lotions they have at work and it makes me MASSIVELY break out within minutes. Of course lotions never identify their particular scents either, so that's really helpful to know. So for now I guess "blue bottles=bad" will have to be my operative maxim.

4. My mom is like 50 times cooler when we're not living together.

5. She's so much cooler that when I woke up the other night at 2:30am and my left arm was numb and called her convinced that I was ABOUT to have a heart attack she talked me down. I even managed to fall back asleep afterwards, despite the paralyzing fear that I might die in my sleep and not even know it. I did however have to change into cute panties first-- just in case. Grandma always advised to make sure you always have nice panties on in case you had to go to the hospital. Better safe than humiliated.

6. I keep getting into weird situations where I make cool friends, but not the kind that you can mesh with your other cool friends. Unfortunate.

7. I'm two papers, 4 exams, and 4 work shifts away from sanity and new projects. I like new projects. I also like sleep. Mmmm... sleep.

8. This is a little naughty, but I've realized why exams are so much harder for me this time around. In the past I've usually had a boyfriend around to makeout with. As HORRIBLE as it may sound, it's excellent stress relief. And endorphins are good for studying/alertness/etc. Pity. Guess I'm hitting the gym.

9. I absolutely abhor when professors assign busy-work. I'm way too cool for that shit.

10. I'm coming down with a cold. Don't share anything with me, and keep your Purrell handy.

11. Bubble baths don't solve everything.

12. Trucks going over potholes in the middle of the night might sound like an intruder opening your front door. But don't be fooled. Cuz you'll look like an idiot.

13. Little I say in the first 10 minutes after I wake up can be trusted. Especially if it has anything to do with cornmeal, the song "Good Vibrations," or scooters.

14. Pussy willows are an excellent substitute for baby's breath in a bouquet on your kitchen table in the spring. For real.

15. Living alone=increased cell phone minute usage.

16. Bubblemix is not an acceptable substitute for hand soap.

17. Bubblemix is not an acceptable substitute for dish soap.

18. Bubblemix makes furniture sticky. ... and is not an acceptable furniture cleaner.

19. Febreeze is not an acceptable substitute for laundering clothes.

20. "Ironing" dresses by hanging them up while you take a sinfully long shower has its distinct limitations.

annnnnd that's about all I got.

Sanitization Elimination

Yeah. Maybe this is a little backwards. It's good to be cleanly. Real good. I'm just starting to think I'm getting a bit obsessive. I purell most EVERYTHING. Purell has become almost exclusively a verb for me. I actually think in my head, "I so gotta purrell that bitch," as I size up the sink in the bathroom, planning out the order in which I'm going to touch what. It's like the cleanest game of chess EV-ER. Toilet seats, grocery carts, MY OWN STEERING WHEEL, the keyboard on my laptop, everything. Purelled. It's just too much.

So as of today I'm cutting myself off. I'm only sanitizing my hands at work. I'm still allowing for handwashing, but I can't be carrying sanitizer anymore. I'm NOT OCD. There is no excuse for this crazy...

Racial Dialogue

Lately I've been learning some interesting tidbits from my black coworkers at the nursing home about things that are culturally different between us. For example:

1. Black women wear brown, black, or purple panties underneath white pants/skirts so that their panties don't show through. Makes perfect sense. But that NEVER would have occured to me. Please don't ask how it came up.

2. When a black woman says "He favors so-and-so," don't be confused and think that it's a matter of social preference, because then she'll think you're an idiot. (Sigh. I'm such an idiot.) "Favors" in this context means "resembles."

3. Black hair is incredibly difficult to style, but once styled far easier to maintain. Also, it needs to be washed WAY WAY WAY less. Apparently this is because it's easier for oil/grease from your scalp to slide down a relatively straight/finer hair shaft than it is down a kinky-curly/coarse hair shaft, making split ends and moisture deficits more of an issue for them, and greasy hair more of an issue for us. This I knew. I guess I'm not really communicating the new knowledge I've learned, because I just realized it's too hard to explain hair styling for someone with as limited experience as I have. I'm not really into all that girly crap. I'm on top of things if I remember to brush it. I bought my first bottle of hairspray in around a decade a couple months ago and have hardly used it a half-dozen times. So much for that.

4. White girls often interact by talking lovey or flirting with each other. At least this is what I have observed, and what has been my experience- maybe I have creepy female friendships. This is not appropriate with any of the black women I work with. I've attempted to bond with some of the ones I'm closer to in this manner and they looked at me like I was crazy and I had to very frankly explain, no, I am not in fact a lesbian or in any way posing a threat to your sexuality-- I was just messing around and trying to bond with you. Then they thought I was even crazier.

5. The black women I work with seem to be vehemently opposed to interracial mixing, to the point where I would never DARE mention to the majority of them that I've dated black men in their presence for fear of being shunned or causing tensions in the workplace. I don't know if this is common, but it's incredibly pronounced with the women at work. I was talking to one woman who I'm closer friends with and it came up, and she told me point blank that she found interracial mixing offensive and even went so far to admit that it wasn't just on a sexual level, and when she told her sister she was going out to breakfast with me after work, her sister was affronted and asked her what the hell she thought she was doing hanging out with me. She said it was hard for her not to be embarrassed when her family all saw her being dropped off by her white girl friend. I was baffled by this. And honestly, it kinda hurt my feelings a little. Whatcha gonna do.

6. Okay, I don't know if this one is normal either, but let's talk about those head scarves that some black women wear. I had no idea, but apparently it's not just a fashion statement-- it's quasi-"political," kind of a flashback to how female slaves used to wear them on their heads in the fields. Our black supervising nurse said something to a black coworker about how she should not wear her headscarf in the building because it was inflammatory. I didn't see how it was in any way an issue- it was a floral print scarf, for goodness sake!- and asked her what on earth she meant. And apparently it's supposed to be reminiscent of slavery days, reminding people of the oppressiveness of their cultural heritage. She explained it as kind of like a "fuck you" (sorry) to white supremicists. I guess that while the younger generation (I'm assuming I'm not the only naive one) isn't aware, it's a bigger issue for all the racist old people at the nursing home and they find it offensive as there are lots of very racist old people (though some of them remember to try not to be openly). It was weird. I felt naive.

Okay, that's all I got. I wonder if this is a weird post. Is it not PC to talk about cultural differences? Hmmm. Dunno. Don't care. I thought it was interesting.

Documentation of Phil's last combat patrol in iraq

Eeeeexcellent.

Won't be much longer now.

FRUSTRATION

So here I am. Lying in my insanely comfy bed. I'm insanely tired. Only slept 5 hrs when I last slept. Already have had a long day what with lectures and labs and homework and what have you. I'm freaking tired. I'm going to be up ALL NIGHT LONG at work, then I'm going straight to school, ON A SATURDAY, to take a stupid CPR refreshment course. Plus Matt gets home tomorrow and so I'm not going to get much sleep before I go straight BACK to work TOMORROW night.

But I can't sleep.

Why can't I sleep? Because there's so much more that COULD BE DONE. I could be updating my resume. I could be applying to even more positions at even more hospitals in order to cash in on the whole tuition reimbursement programs the offer (which, incidentally, would account for 3/4 of my personal payments), not to mention the higher wages. I could be cleaning up in my kitchen. I could be smogging my car and heading over to the DMV-- like I've been planning on doing the last 3 consecutive days. I could be doing laundry over at my parents and completing my move over here. I could be writing any number of papers. Preparing for any number of classes. I could be straightening up my planner and clarifying all my upcoming obligations so I don't miss anything. I could be taking care of all of next months bills. I could be planning out my budget for next month. I could be solving any number of minor crises in my life before they become major ones. I could even be putting on some freaking chapstick so my lips don't chap. All these stupid little (and not so little) things come back to haunt me the second my head hits the pillow.

ALL I WANT IS TO FREAKING SLEEP.

But I can't. So I'm gonna get up, shower, run over to the smog place/DMV, head over to my mom's, update my resume while I'm doing laundry, and start chipping away at some of this crap. Why? Why would I do this when I still have a good 5.5 hrs I could actually be sleeping before work? Because it's impossible to sleep the sleep of the just when you haven't crossed out 2/3 of your to-do list. That's why.

Man, I'm pissed...