Photo courtesy the web
Three days ago, Justin Bieber got into a scuffle with paparazzi. There were whispers that the run in possibly loaned some street cred to the young and effeminate looking singer.
Yesterday, the Biebs ran into a glass wall and gained a mild concussion.
This course of events earned him the record for the shortest street cred reputation ever.
That last freckle on the bottom? Not really a freckle.
This blog comes with a proviso. If by some freak accident, my good friend JJ has stumbled upon this blog I must ask that you stop reading. Ignore your excitement for finding my blog and do not read any further. Seriously. Go look at IMDB or the entertainment tab under MSN.
The blog is acceptable for the rest of you readers.
J-Girl is a super smarty-pants. I think she realized after our third conversation that she is smarter than me. Of course, it took me a little longer for me to connect the dots. But I eventually did. She is like a sponge, absorbing information in the smallest of details. “What’s that?” she’d ask when she heard an unfamiliar word. I have discovered that a sign of true intelligence is to confess ignorance. The rest of us fake it and pretend we know. I rarely know. But I pretend I do.
Four years ago, our school district initiated a Health Academy for High School students. The students are on a medical focused track all during high school. It’s intended for students who want to go into a medical field of study and helps jump start their collegiate career. J-Girl is in its inaugural class which is getting ready to graduate.
In her impressive list of med-focused classes is Phlebotomy. In order to pass the class, she needs 30 successful blood draws from human beings. Keep in mind, these are high school students.
About a month ago, we were driving home from a church function. “Sister Lee and Sister D. you should come in and let me draw your blood,” J-Girl asked cheerfully from Felix’s middle seat. “I need 50 draws before I graduate.” Suddenly, fifty sounded like such a big number. Right up there with a million.
Sister D, being the awesome person she is, agreed. Although she did need to find out some additional information first.
I wouldn’t say I ever actually agreed to it. More like I was carried downstream in the rapidly moving river. Straight to the plunging waterfall.
Here’s the thing. It’s not that I’m afraid of needles. That would be ridiculous. I’m not afraid. I just don’t like them very much when they insist on poking me. It hurts to be poked. Now for a confession, I’ve never donated blood. At first, I didn’t weigh enough. But it’s been quite a few years since that excuse has been plausible. When I tell that story, the response I get involves eyeballs scanning me from head to toe. I know that’s not the case now but when I tell a story I like to start at the beginning.
I have the best of intentions to become a donor. But then I start thinking about needles and being poked. My poor mom’s arms were always one big bruise after she visited the doctor. What if my veins are like my mom’s? Playing hide-and-seek with a needle does not sound like a fun game to me. My dad, however, has the kind of veins that bring out the inner-Dracula in nurses. If I had veins like him, it wouldn’t be a problem.
Last year, my friend JJ was in a college Phlebotomy class. She had the same requirement to pass the class as J-Girl. But I could say no to her pretty good. “Please, I need 50 draws,” she begged. Nope. Apparently, my friendship has boundaries.
So, I felt a little guilty when I walked into the high school last Friday. I intended on helping out the last two Fridays but J-Girl wasn’t in school. It was my not so secret hope that she would get fifty before I could get there. Nope. I bribed Bubba to join me. She didn’t really need to be bribed, though. If the Health Academy would have started a year sooner she would have been in it. And I would have found myself in the same situation a year earlier.
We walked into the oversized classroom/lab and all eyes focused on us. It was a bit unnerving as the eyes drifted to our forearms. I felt like we had just stumbled into a vampires’ lair. Fortunately, I only know J-Girl. Bubba wasn’t so lucky. She ended up giving one draw to another student. But she let J-Girl draw her other arm.
Prior to coming in, I kept tabs on J-Girl’s numbers. She received several texts from me asking how close she was to fifty. Apparently, my thinly disguised attempt at humor to hide my apprehensiveness made her slightly nervous. I feel bad about that.
I sat in the chair and she did my left arm first. It was an easy draw with no problem. I call it my dad arm because the vein bulged waiting to be poked. As she put a band-aid on the puncture she explained, “I only need 30 draws to graduate but if I get 50 then I can get a job as a phlebotomist. I figure it beats working at McDonalds.” Uh, yeah. Let’s see, my first job was at K-Mart. I thought it was pretty cool when I could announce the blue light specials over the intercom. Plus, I thought I was rich when I started at ten cents above minimum wage. Just another confirmation that J-Girl is bit smarter than me.
My right arm however, was a little different. I refer to it as my mom arm. J-Girl felt the vein but hesitated. She asked a classmate for a second opinion. Then asked for another opinion. “This vein is hiding,” she explained. “Maybe I shouldn’t do it.”
“You can do it,” I said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
She wasn’t convinced. “If you get this, you will be a great nurse,” I said. Then I held my breath and hoped she’d get the draw. I didn’t know if I’d be able to console her if she missed.
She got the draw.
The good news for all of us is that J-Girl will make an excellent nurse. Not only is she a super smarty-pants but she’s also humble and always willing to learn. Her humor will ease her future patients’ worries. While her compassion and empathy will help her serve everyone under her charge. I have no doubt J-Girl will succeed in whatever she chooses to do.
She got me in the chair, didn’t she? But shhh, don’t tell JJ.
I never realized how much imagery makes up our language. It seeps in most of my conversations. What’s funny is when the image is off – just by a hair. Or, rather, a word. My old boss was notorious at doing this. If I had only known I would someday be writing a blog about this I would have written some of her ‘ism’s down.
I’m not exempt. In fact, lately, I’ve noticed I am starting to pull the wrong image out of the hat. Just the other day, I was writing my blog and wanted to use a metaphor for quickly. Instead, I wrote “At the drop of a pin.” Wrong drop. “At the drop of a hat” = quickly. “At the drop of a pin” = quietly. Thank goodness for editing.
It happens during conversations. So, here’s a warning: if we are ever speaking at a party, you better duck. The mixed metaphors will be flying!
We have a lot of crazy sayings in our fine American dialect. Phrases we say without thinking of the origin. Words are modified that have already been diluted with variations. If we ever stop and think about what we’re saying, we might be surprised. For example, who is Pete? Poor Pete. If he ever wanted to remain anonymous, he’s doing a lousy job. We shout in frustration, for the love of Pete! And we yell, for Pete’s sake! Who exactly is Pete and how did he score two phrases in our vernacular?
This time of year with all the hoopla over graduations there is this palpable feeling of excitement in the air. Everywhere we go this month it’s all about hope. Hope for the future. Sometimes hoping the past stays in the past (you know who you are). Just the lingering feeling of hope. Blah, blah, blah.
I went to see the Avengers. So, maybe I’ve seen it twice already in the first two weeks it’s been playing. Don’t be a judger. Anyway, I’ve seen it twice and to sum up – I like it. My favorite line actually belongs to Thor. (spoiler alert) After warning the others to be respectful about Loki because he is his brother he finds out what a bad boy Loki has been. “He is adopted,” Thor responds. I know, I know, I’ve seen the articles detailing how insensitive that joke was to the adoption community. I’ll let them wage that battle. And in my political incorrectness I’m going to laugh because it is funny.
Every year for the past several years, our ward volunteers to participate in our city wide clean up. It’s not a complicated job – every person is assigned garbage bags, a brightly colored t-shirt (so drivers can see you and wonder if you are on work detail, I suppose), and gloves. Then we walk along, spot trash, pick it up, and put it in the bag. Even I can handle this. So, the last few years I try to help out. However, Saturday I wanted to go visit my new grand-niece and avoid Mother’s Day on Sunday. I decided to volunteer but leave early. I grabbed two bags and figured I’d work until I either filled up both bags or an hour and a half – whichever came first. Unfortunately, I filled two bags in an hour. And I only covered about a block. The word I think you’re looking for is “ew.” At least, that’s the word I used. Many, many times.
Our section to clean is across the street from a grade school and just down the road from a small convenience store. So the litter has the normal offenders. Cigarette butts that if each one were picked up they’d fill a bag with just them. Broken bottles. Plastic water bottles. Candy wrappers. And a whole lot of shopping bags. They like to congregate in an open field down from the school. The sagebrush captures them and do not like to let them go.
There are always a few finds that make me wonder. I wonder what the stories behind them are. I found a half of a skateboard. Just half. What happened to the other half? Did it have more sentimental value that the owner was willing to carry it home? Was this the bad half?
I also found a bumper of a Nissan. Sagebrush is notorious for hiding things. This is what I picture: someone pulled up to the curb and used the parked Nissan in front of him to come to a complete stop. When the driver stumbled out of the car, a bottle fell out, too. It broke. I know because I picked up the pieces. The driver, let’s call him Ed for convenience (I picked the name at random, no offense to any Eds reading this), has a lot of infractions with the law. The police are well acquainted with him. And the last thing Ed wants is another run-in with the boys-and-girls-in-blue. So, he decided he needed to hide the evidence. He had a nice chat with the sagebrush. The sagebrush family agreed to hide the evidence. I suspect not for free though. Someday, he’s going to owe them a huge favor. Sagebrush just seems kind of evil like that. He threw the bumper into the sagebrush and figured he was safe. Except, of course, for the fact the victim car no longer has a bumper. A detail the owner probably noticed. And Ed’s car was right behind it with little pieces of Nissan littered in the grill. Almost a perfect, drunken plan though.
Another find, and this one is kind of gross but I was wearing gloves and I figure you’re old enough to hear it, I found a pregnancy test. Talk about stories. Too many to list and the stories are a little too seedy for my little blog. I’ll let you paint your own scenarios. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell if it was a positive or negative because both were marked. Hmm, that gives the stories an interesting twist.
Every time I participate in the clean-up I’m amazed at just how gross people can be. Our little town gets a bad rap for not being “pretty.” But ditching trash in the sagebrush isn’t going to help. As a species, humans are a filthy and disgusting lot. “Don’t be a pig,” we say. The pigs answer, “Uh, leave us out of this. We’re not that gross.” And they are right. I have two trash bags full of ickiness to prove it.
Here’s a little theme music for this blog.
Dear Wal-Mart Elves:
Yes, I know you exist. You fooled me for quite some time but recently my suspicions were confirmed. You are real. While I am still unsure of your complete doings I now hold you responsible for several instances that have occurred. Please refer to the list below for an inventory of your shenanigans that have come to my attention.
I would have overlooked all of these examples if you did not get bolder in your pranks. But when you made it personal, I have no choice but to retaliate.
Not Vanilla. Not Key Lime.
4. I painstakingly went through the cases of yogurt to find the flavors I like. It was not an easy task but I finally found two cases with half Vanilla and half Key Lime. Imagine my surprise when I returned home and put the groceries away to find two cases of Blueberry Patch and Blackberry Pomeganate! I do not appreciate chunks of fruit in my yogurt. It causes a sensation to my tongue that makes me want to gag. Vanilla and Key Lime do not cause such a reaction.
While most of your pranks and hijinks can be overlooked, I’m afraid you rascals went too far this time. If we ever meet face to face, I will give you exactly what you deserve which is a stern lecture and talking to.
Sincerely,
CK
Wal-Mart Customer
My oldest niece, Lyn, has just embarked on a grand adventure to a land far, far away called New York. As with most adventures, she spent this first weekend feeling overwhelmed. She also felt apprehensive about her choice to spend three months in the Big Apple for an internship. So much so, that when she found out I was going to see the Avengers with friends on Saturday night, she responded, “I’m jealous.” I reminded her that she just returned from a walk during which she strolled through Central Park. “Uh,” I answered, “I’m jealous of you.” She didn’t agree with me. Yet. I give it a couple of weeks before she can fully appreciate her situation. Sure, the days will be long but the months will fly by. At least, that’s how it works for me.
Look close and you can see…
About a month ago, I drove past a house at the bottom of my street and noticed a white commode sitting in the front yard.
“I wonder how long that will sit there?” I asked myself. I admit my tone was condescending. In my defense, this was the same household that had a recliner sitting on their front porch for two years. So, the snarkiness oozed out.
A few days later, I drove by the house again. The white commode had disappeared. Instead, there was this golden throne sitting in the middle of the yard. On purpose. A flower hanging from a pole stuck in the bowl.
ck's days 