Sunday, August 25, 2013

Crazy Encounters

Throughout my life, especially adulthood, I've had the privilege (read: misfortune) of coming across some very interesting strangers. This past weekend I happened to have two such encounters. I wish I were exaggerating or making this stuff up. Sadly, I'm not. In fact, I could even be playing down the whole thing.

Friday night Micah mentioned us going to dinner and a movie with Ben and two of his friends. The movie they wanted to see didn't much appeal to me. It was something about two guys who do a pub crawl and fight robots. Instead, I opted to see the new funny film "We're the Millers" on my own since it started about the same time as their robot flick. I was a little bit early and was the first one in the theater. I chose my seat and settled in. A few minutes later, a biker clad bald man standing about 6'4" walked into the theater. He looked at me, smiled, and said, "Finally, we're alone." In response, I lightly chuckled and continued browsing my phone. I just assumed he was making a socially awkward joke. In reality, he probably was. But his joke became a bit creepy when he chose a seat right behind me out of the entire empty theater. Finally, others began filing into the theater and I wasn't alone. By the way, the movie was really funny.

Saturday Micah and I journeyed to the great land that is Ikea. I've been in serious need of a dresser. Seriously, most of my clothes stay in laundry baskets after being washed and dried. But I digress. We had a fun afternoon exploring Ikea, window shopping designer stores in Bellevue, and eating dinner at our favorite Seattle restaurant. While Micah wandered into the Apple Store to play with the newest gadgets, I stepped outside to drool over the sparklies at Tiffany & Co and the buttery leathery goods of Gucci. (Sighh..). While window gazing, a lady side stepped beside me and whispered something a bit inaudible. I asked, "Excuse me?". While talking through the side of her mouth, she repeated, "So you the one from Craigslist?". I was a bit shocked. I looked around and everything seemed to be business as usual. I told her no and she looked around as well before disappearing back into the crowds. In retrospect, I wish I had responded, "Are you a cop? You gotta tell me if you're a cop." But witty comebacks for strangers never really hit me on the spot. I don't know what about me says, "I'm shifty." I have no idea what the craigslist ad was for. But with the lady's apparent secrecy, I assume it was not so great. But why meet in such an upscale locale? I'll never know.

Another time, while I lived in Jonesboro, AR attending college at Arkansas State, I lived in an apartment that my friends deemed the "treehouse" because it was basically a crappy wooden building in the trees. We had a dumpster on site for tenants to put their trash. One day, my friend Leslie was helping me clean out the place. She's the best organizer I know. We collected a bag or two of trash and walked them to the dumpster. As I'm throwing the bags in, a man (seemingly homeless) comes from behind the dumpster to say, "Hey baby! I mean, ma'am. I'm crazy!". Yes, that last part could have gone without mentioning. As I turned to seek security in numbers in Leslie, I notice that she as already begun to run back to my front door completely leaving me at the mercy of this lunatic. So, I tossed the bags in the dumpster and quickly followed her back up to the treehouse apartment. Les is a great friend, but if you're ever in a situation with a mentally unstable homeless person, you're on your own.

Lastly, while trying to recount all the insane encounters I've had, I'm reminded of the time I got my hair trimmed and styled before Leslie and Jonathan's engagement party in 2007. My friend at the time who was styling my hair was managing a salon in the mall. As an employee in the mall, I usually used the employee entrance doors to get in instead of using the main mall doors. This time was no different. I went inside, got my hair looking great, and was leaving through the same narrow corridor in which I had entered. In front of me was an employee of Cinnabon (I only know this from her uniform) walking with another woman. I was about ten feet behind them. Suddenly, the woman stopped walking, hiked her right leg, and farted so loudly that it literally echoed off the concrete walls. Stunned, I just stopped mid step in silence and awe. I couldn't believe it. Seconds later, once the shock faded, the stench settled in my throat and airways. I couldn't avoid letting out an audible gag. The Cinnabon girl and the gassy gal turned around to see me. Ms Flatulence apologized repeatedly and only made the bad situation worse by explaining that she had eaten shrimp for lunch. And shrimp "really plays a number" on her gastrointestinal system. I could literally taste that atrocious shrimp fart until I finally made it outside. I know what people released from prison feel like. Fresh air never ever felt so great.

So, really, where do these people come from?! Really? If you're one of them, reevaluate things like social etiquette. I'd be happy to suggest some reading material. And, by the way, if shrimp makes you uncontrollably gassy, order the steak.
 Photo Credit: Google Images                                                             

Instagram!

So, I'm a bit late to the party (sort of), but I'm officially on Instagram. Apparently, I've been on Instagram for over a year, but I haven't been using it or whatever. Now, I've created an active account. Below is a link to follow me if you're interested in seeing whatever photos I happen to post.


Instagram

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Wardrobe Malfunctions & Other Embarrassing Mishaps

So, by now I'm pretty used to embarrassing things happening to me. I don't even really get embarrassed anymore. Everyone makes mistakes or goofs. Stuff happens. No big deal. Still, I think a common courtesy should exist among humans so that when we see that someone else may potentially be embarrassed, we help them out. I know this happens a lot in the south. I try to warn people who have their shirts inside out or are wearing the size sticker on their new pants. Today, I had a doctor's appointment. While waiting to make my follow up appointment, I had to sneeze. It seemed like an average sneeze. No biggie. When it was my turn to talk to the receptionist, I made my appointment and headed downstairs to the pharmacy. The pharmacy was packed (flu season already?!) so I had to sit and wait about half an hour to see the pharmacist. I probably encountered thirty different people while at the pharmacy. I filled my prescriptions and went on my way to my car. As I was buckling the seatbelt, I noticed a HUGE wad of snot and other nasal residue all over my boob. Great. By this time, it had been about 40 minutes since my sneeze. Nobody bothered to point out my grossness just hanging on my chest greeting everyone without my knowledge.

Photo Credit: Google Images                             

I was reminded of the time I was at work at Bath & Body Works during college. All the associates and managers wear headsets to communicate inventory needs or to discuss other arrangements. I was the acting shift leader at the time when I hear somebody say on the headset that a lady had walked in the store showing her rear end. Naturally, there were lots of giggles and I thought my friend Leslie was going to choke. The lady had clearly accidentally tucked her skirt into her underwear after using the restroom or dressing. Where our store was located in the mall, she had to have walked through the busy mall a great deal without anyone telling her about her exposure. So, I took it upon myself to walk up to her and whisper, "Ma'am, I believe your skirt is tucked into your underwear. You can step right back here to fix it if you'd like." I could barely get the words out of my mouth before she turned completely red in embarrassment. Who can blame her? How long had she been shopping like that?! Similarly, in high school, (like most teen girls) my 'monthly visitor' was very random and surprising in her appearances. One day, this visitor decided to drop in without notice in all her glory. I asked to be excused to use the restroom but my teacher told me to wait until class was over in five minutes. That may have been the longest five minutes of my life. As the bell rang, I waited for the class to file out of the room as I slowly stood to make a dash for the restroom. The nearest one was nowhere near my current location. Nobody said a word to me as I made my way through the halls and the maze of students to get to the bathroom. When I finally got there, I turned pale while discovering that my visitor had left her mark ALL OVER the back of my khaki skirt. Nobody warned me! Nobody pulled me to the side or lent me a jacket to tie around my waist. This was even more traumatizing since it was high school, and we all know the high school years are the absolute worst ever. Luckily, the halls cleared out after the tardy bell rang and I was able to go to the office to call my Granny to rescue me.

So, let's all do each other a favor and warn one another about little mishaps that could really embarrass us. Wouldn't you want the same courtesy if roles were reversed?
Photo Credit: Getty Images         
"Excuse me, but you seem to have a thong static clinging to your dress, dear."

EDIT: As I've mentioned, my memory is foggy until otherwise jogged by someone else. Leslie read this post and reminded me of some details. I got the following message:
"I can picture the scene in my mind like it was yesterday. Bandy and I were working the registers and I told you about her over the headset. She was a woman of larger stature, about 300 pounds. When you told her, her entire body turned red. Her legs were even red. She had a bag of stuff that she just left on the floor as she did a 'fix and run' combo move. She didn't say thanks or anything. I went to the back to laugh." - Leslie

Monday, August 12, 2013

Finals

Hey guys. So I'm having quite a lot of fun posting to my blog regularly again. Thank you so much for all the positive feedback. As always, if you remember a story or experience we shared, let me know so I can write about it. My memory is foggy at times, so be sure to email, facebook, or leave a comment reminding me of "hey, that one time...". Unless something major happens, I will not be posting much this week. I have finals for my summer courses. So, I'll most likely be spending any writing time working on papers and test prep. However, I do have jury duty next week. So, I'm pretty sure there'll be something to share with y'all then! :)

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Really?! My Top 5 Peevs Right Now

So, I try not to complain much (Micah would most likely disagree), but there are a few things that have been driving me crazy lately. Here's today's top 5:

#5

Photo Credit: Google Images

These "Keep Calm And ..." things have got to stop. Here. Now. Are people really so stressed and worked up that they need to have these signs around reminding them to calm down? I mean, that's why I have a psychiatrist and a Xanax prescription. I think we all know it has gone a little too far when people can put things like "Keep Calm and Eat A Banana" on these signs. I mean when has a banana ever made you think "Ok, keep it together girl. Thanks for saving me, banana,"?! NEVER. I'm pretty sure that has never happened. If it has, then I guess I'm buying the wrong bananas. So how about we try this: everyone just generally try to stay calm. Exercise, meditate, pray, do what works for you. But for the love of all things sacred, please Keep Calm and Make These Signs Go Away.


#4

Photo Credit: Google Images

I'm fairly certain everyone has snored at some point in their lives. It happens. I have no idea why there is such a negative stigma about it. If accused of being a snorer, we automatically fein shock and declare it a down right lie. That being said, it is 2013 and we should have a cure for snoring by now. I can't tell you how many sleepless nights I can blame on my bedmate's snoring. He can't help it. I feel bad for him too because sometimes I think he sounds like he may be dying (or maybe I just hear the little voice in my head telling me to kill him so I can get some quiet). I know sleep apnea machines exist, but we've tried those and they just aren't a solution. Those C-Pap things tether the snorer into one position and wearing a gas mask to sleep is never comfortable. I'm pretty sure those Breathe Right strips are just expensive blackhead removers. Let's get some scientists on this. And while they're at it, ask them why the snoring person always falls asleep first. 



#3

Photo Credit: Google Images


This is an actual photo of I-5 here in Washington. You may be thinking, "Well that's just part of living so close to a few large cities like Seattle and Portland." But I can almost promise you that this traffic (which isn't necessarily at rush hour) is stopped because one motorist accidentally hit a squirrel or raccoon and all the other motorists have stopped to hold a vigil. I cannot tell you how many times I've sat in bumper to bumper traffic only to discover there was absolutely no reason for it. I am sympathetic to high traffic times like rush hour, or car accidents, or breakdowns in the middle of the freeway. I am not sympathetic to the (far more common) officer having a car pulled over wayyy off the shoulder but we all still feel the need to come to a complete stop or the small woodland animal that has been trying to make it across 10 lanes and a median. Where I'm from, you just hit the squirrel and keep going. It happens. Circle of life. Let's work together, y'all. 


#2

Photo Credit: Google Images

So maybe I just have a chip on my shoulder and am blaming too much of the traffic problem on over sensitive nature enthusiasts. But, if my hatred of rat-like things seems irrational, we can blame it on my experience lately with the "pack rat". That little fella may look cute all perched on the tire, but he is sent straight from some car-dealer-Satan to make your car breakdown, spend days at the dealership, and (in my case) lead you into getting a new car all together. It started when I got back home after spending months in Arkansas following my stroke. I had a bird frozen dead to the top of my Toyota Rav 4. Apparently, while I was gone, my car made for an excellent critter home. I had to take it in because a few dash lights came on that I didn't understand. The mechanic called me back to look under the hood and showed me what was apparently a massive rat community. The fools had chewed up all kinds of wires and filters. He asked me if I had been driving and seen a rat head poke out through the air vents. "Of course not!" I said shockingly. I was so shocked because I couldn't believe that the mechanic thought if I had seen a rat poke it's furry head through my vents, I'd be there to tell him about it. I'm about 99% sure that's when my poor heart would finally give out and I'd drive off a cliff. For days afterward, I was terrified to get in my car. I listened for scratching and condo construction under the hood. When the same lights came on 4 days later, I took my car back in. The mechanic showed me where the rats had gotten back in and destroyed his previous work. That was all it took. I was done. I had gone through a lot with that Rav, but it was time we parted ways. I read online that rats "mark" cars and I just knew that car was marked for life. In the end, I went home in a newer, bigger, nicer, rat-free (so far.. I still check weekly to make sure) Toyota Highlander. I'm thinking about training Avery to destroy rats but that seems like a mess I don't want to clean.


#1

Photo Credit; Google Images


My top annoyance right now isn't genuine homeless and/or needy people. If not for the many loved ones I have, I could easily be on the streets right now. Luckily, I have a wonderful family, lots of friends, and many others who would never allow that to happen. For them, I am grateful. I know there are many who are alone and without such a supportive network. It is that population that I am not talking about right now. It is the younger ones holding threatening signs that have me peeved. I was driving home from the pharmacy the other day when I saw a guy about my age or younger. (Truth be told, I'm in denial about my age and think some teens are my age. So really, he could be 15 or 35). He was sitting at the intersection apparently "working" through his lunch break. He was eating & drinking from his bag behind a big cardboard sign that read, "At least I'm not stealing the money from you." He looked like a lazy brat. I made eye contact with him and praise the Lord the light turned green because I was fired up. It actually crossed my mind to pull over and give him a piece of my mind. I should be thankful this fool isn't robbing me?! I wanted to punch him in the face and kick him in his difference then tell him to be thankful that I wasn't killing him. Isn't it the same thing? I can't help but think that if I didn't have my support system and was homeless, I'd use the resources provided in my community through non-profit organizations and such. I just don't understand the need for the threatening signs. I'm not heartless. In fact, Micah has lectured me a few times about helping people who claim to be in need. In the end, the best thing to do is donate money, time, and resources to organizations that help the needy. Don't offer to buy the begging lady at 7-11 a corndog because she's just going to ask for the trucker speed and swear to you her doctors say she needs it for her vitamins (yup, that happened).





Silver Sneakers

So, in complete contradiction to my original prescription plan, my new doctors have encouraged me to exercise within my physical limits. This summer I qualified for Medicare (that's the insurance program for elderly and disabled, in case you didn't know). In Washington, many health care providers offer a program to those on Medicare called Silver Sneakers. As the name implies, it is basically a fitness program designed for senior citizens. Never wanting to bypass a bargain (especially a freebie!), I signed up (Thanks to a little encouragement from Micah and Heather). I have no idea what I expected. Maybe I thought the Silver Sneakers would be something like this:
                                                                      Photo Credit: Google Images
I could definitely get with something like that. I mean, personally, I don't drink. But older people sipping some martinis in the gym could be really entertaining. So, when I went to sign myself up, I was somewhat shocked that nobody at the gym seemed surprised that someone my age was joining the Silver Sneakers, at least, not the employees. My first day as a Silver Sneaker, I signed up for Tap Dance (after some prodding from Leslie, who I think just wants to see photos of me in costume), chair pilates, "more gentle than gentle" yoga (Yes, that's the name listed. I kid you not), and circuit resistance training. First up was the tap dance class. After hitting up Payless and buying my tap shoes, I started to already feel like a pro. I mean, c'mon, its tap. How hard can it be? Isn't it basically just stomping and shuffling? I didn't don a leotard and tights, but I did wear a semi-short dress and leggings. I felt like Baby from Dirty Dancing and I was not going to be put in a corner. I walked into the empty studio room and wondered if I had come to the wrong place. The class was supposed to start in just a minute, but nobody else was there. Just then, a herd of older ladies (not a single one over 5'4") barreled into the room. First, they assumed I was a substitute instructor. After realizing they were taking cues from my age instead of my skills, I explained that I was the newest member of the class. As it turns out, they had all been in "pre class". That's right. This just got serious. These ladies take a tap class before the actual tap class to be ready. When I laughingly asked if it was necessary, Mary Anne's smile fled from her face as she responded, "Yes. You haven't met Roberta." Suddenly I realized what was happening. I was in a dance class for seniors with a teacher who could rival Abby Lee Miller (from Lifetime's "Dance Moms"). About that time, in walked a statuesque woman standing about 6' tall thanks to platforms so high they could be used in a carnival show. She appeared to be in her late 60s or early 70s wearing hot pink coolots. She snapped her fingers and all the ladies filed into position. I was a deer in the headlights. As class went on, it became clear that I had greatly underestimated these ladies and this class. I was the only one sweating while Roberta called out "Sloppy! Again!". Our one hour class turned into a two hour and ten minute dance bootcamp. I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest and right into Virginia's solo. Eventually, Kay had the guts to speak up saying, "That's it! I have things to do today." And class was dismissed. At that moment, there was no greater hero than Kay. I couldn't get to my water fast enough. Just then Roberta asked to see me before I left. I just knew I was going to be asked to never return. Instead, she explained that it was more than a class. It is a dance troupe. We have recitals and performances. The next thing I knew (I'm genuinely intimidated by this woman), I was being measured for my costume (including jazzy gloves and top hats) and signing myself up for Roberta's ballet class/troupe where I have to be fitted for a tutu. A chunky 30 year old in a tutu. Let that sink in. Roberta tells me that I have to practice if I want to cut it, and at that moment in time, all I wanted was to make her proud. Later that night as I fumbled into bed, I heard the ding of my email account. Roberta had emailed me the routines to memorize. I had a DVD waiting on me to practice daily at home. I'm in too deep now. I can't let these ladies down. So maybe Silver Sneakers isn't sipping martinis and exchanging gossip about cardiologists. These women are hardcore. I'm pretty proud to be one of them. So I guess it will end up looking a little something like this:
                                             Photo Credit: Google Images 

Oh and did I mention that after class on Thursday, we celebrated Virginia's 93rd birthday? See ya' at the recital!

Thursday, August 8, 2013

What Do They Say About The Best Laid Plans?

So tonight I had my first orientation and training for the volunteer position at Mary Bridge Children's Hospital. It did not go fantastically like I envisioned it would. Here's the breakdown...

Wanting to look my very best and dress to impress, if you will, I opted to go for a business casual look. Where I'm from the rule is it is better to be over dressed and over educated than under dressed or under educated (that's a great rule of thumb). Since I received an email telling me that the building was very old and thus didn't have air conditioning, I knew to wear something fairly light. I chose a very conservative red dress made of cotton. This dress displays no cleavage and brushes my knees. I felt it was a safe choice. In a follow up email, the director told us to wear comfortable shoes. So, I pushed the peep toe pumps I had selected out of the way and went with leopard print ballet flats (I've had them for years and thanks to gorilla glue and Dr Scholl's pads, I'll have them forever). The orientation started at 5:30pm in Tacoma (that's about 35 minutes from my house, for all you out of towners). Between myself and my destination lies a black hole where traffic is sucked in and you are released hours later dazed, confused, and a bit worn for wear. This hole's name is JBLM, or Joint Base Lewis McChord. I have no idea why, but if you should ever have to drive on I-5 through JBLM for any reason on any day at any time, you will find yourself at a complete standstill. For this reason, I left my house an hour and a half early. I had to stop for gas where a random man called me beautiful and questioned why I didn't have an engagement ring (Beats me, buddy. I'm a catch!). I headed out of town as my ego deflated. Naturally, JBLM held me for what seemed like a year, but I finally made it to the other side. I arrived at the orientation 5 minutes late. After all that, I was still 5 minutes late. Gah. As I made my way to the room where the others were already introducing themselves, I felt an odd shift. Everyone turned to look at me (to be expected when someone walks in late), but instead of hearty greetings, I felt eyes of judgement. Throughout the night, others made comments on my handbag, my outfit, and the way I talk. (I'm southern! This accent is charming! Deal with it, hippies!). I greatly underestimated the heat level of the place as well. I assumed "no AC" meant, "Eh, we don't have AC, but we keep it pretty well ventilated." Instead it meant "there's no need to pour water on the hot stones, your sweat and tears fuel this sauna." We walked up and down at least half a dozen flights of stairs to tour the "facility". When I asked about donating and cleaning one room, I was accused of having no tact by a fellow volunteer. (I'm sorry, but when a room resembles some haunted closet from a Scooby Doo cartoon, I don't think kids are going to want to go inside. Besides, all I asked was if we could donate lighting and clean cobwebs). In the end, we were all informed of the physical activities that were required of us as volunteers. While it sounded like a lot of fun for the pre-cardiac patient Courtney, I knew it wasn't possible for the Courtney I am now. I drove home weighing all the pros and cons. After a talk with Micah, Heather, and my friends back home, I've come to the realization that I can't be of any help to anyone if I don't put my own needs first. Passing out face first (since that tends to be the way I go down) on the concrete floor of Scooby's haunted gymnasium would probably only send these grieving children back into therapy (and lest we forget the damage to my moneymaker). I feel good about my decision even though I was sad it came down to having to ask for relocation. This program isn't in the main hospital building, and is located in a not so great part of town (I assume this from the rules of "nobody is allowed outside alone at any time," "doors are locked 24/7 for your safety", and my favorite: "please don't carry your handguns into the facility"). I know the right opportunity is out there waiting on me. I just have to find it. In the meantime, you can find me dancing away with my golden gals in Silver Sneakers. Oh, you don't know what that is? Looks like we just discovered tomorrow's post topic!

I'm Baaaaaaaack!

Well, it has been a while, hasn't it? Three years or so it seems. I had such a fun time writing this blog, then life happened. I neglected it. It was therapeutic and a few readers found it entertaining. So, as I'm in need of a new therapeutic outlet (and, let's face it, I love to entertain!), I'm starting it back up again. For this motivation, I thank my dearest friends Kenna, Leslie, and Brandi. We vent to each other. We joke with each other. We laugh. We cry. Our friendship is really what defines "friendship". I think the fact that we are scattered across the US makes our friendship even more special. And for that, a big "thank you" to whoever invented group texting. It keeps me going.



Let's see if I can catch you up to speed on my life since my last post...

I am 3 months from turning 30. I live in Washington state with my wonderful boyfriend, Micah, and my furry snuggler, Avery. I am wrapping up my studies at Oregon State University. I graduate in June with a BA in Sociology and minor in Visual Arts. Tomorrow I begin a new volunteer-ship (I may have just invented that word) at Mary Bridge Children's Hospital where I will be working with children who are coping with the terminal diagnosis of a loved one or the loss of a loved one. I hope to one day use my degree and volunteer hours to work as a play and art therapist for children or siblings of children in hospice settings. As for my health (that is what birthed this blog to start with), it has only gotten worse. But, I refuse to agree with the nurse that saw me today and told me how "unlucky" I am. I'm pretty darn lucky, if you ask me. The doctor who put me on zero activity and lots of medications was not giving me the best care. I've seen doctors at the Mayo Clinic, University of Colorado Hospital, Providence St Peter's Catholic Cardiology, and am now at Group Health Cardiology (which I really like). I had a stroke one day after my 29th birthday that left me temporarily left side impaired. I still struggle with terrible headaches, short term memory loss, and sometimes left side weakness. Today, I was told by my cardiac team that the atriums of my heart are "very, very sick," (sometimes doctors who pick up on my accent still like to talk to me like a child. It's ok with me). My pacemaker is 100% running the show for my heart. My natural God-given pacemaker is dead. While this is good that I have something to keep my heart functioning, it also weakens my heart in the long run. So, today I was informed that there won't ever be a "getting well" for me. I'll always struggle with cardiac issues and syncope (fancy word for fainting). Research shows that patients who are 100% pacemaker dependent usually need further, more serious measures taken within 20 years of implantation. That gives science 15 years to perfect a bionic heart for me. I want the swiss army knife of hearts. I want it to be able to tell me why I walked into the kitchen to begin with. I want it to charge my cell phone. I want it to hold my pee if I am somewhere that only porta-potties are options. It's 15 years. I'm not asking for too much. So, in the meantime, I am embracing a new identity for myself. I'm planning a new future. And I'm having some fun along the way. (PS: I also have bangs now. Whaaa?!?? That's a preview of what's ahead..)






In previous blog posts, I shared funny and humiliating stories. For the future, I'm just going to share what is on my heart and mind. Sometimes they'll be humorous, and sometimes maybe they won't be. I'm not one of those girls who is posting a blog about recipes, boys, and suntan lotion. It's just not my style. If you're still reading this, you're either my mom or you've decided to be in it for the long haul. Either way, welcome!