It is my 22nd birthday. Here are 22 random facts about me!
1. I was supposed to be a boy. Though my parents requested my gender remain a surprise, the doctor heavily hinted that they would soon have a son. They even picked out my name, Timothy. Hey, what can I say? Doctors can be very wrong apparently. But just think: in some alternate universe, you're reading your good friend Tim's blog.
2. I am extremely afraid of police officers but there is one crime that I constantly commit and cannot stop doing- jaywalking!
3. I read constantly and love many, many books but if I had to pick a favorite I'd have to say A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by Betty Smith.
4. I also have two LEAST favorite books. One, Where The Red Fern Grows, I despise because I cannot read the end without literally sobbing. SPOILER ALERT: The dogs die and it's horrible. The other is The Last Song, my first and last attempt at a Nicholas Sparks novel. Long-winded, gag-worthy, religious and preachy. Plus, the only character I enjoy and find interesting is thrown in jail about halfway through.
5. I have several secret talents and abilities, like extinguishing a lit match in my mouth and bending my index finger so far back that it touches the back of my hand.
6. If I'm watching a DVD and it has subtitles, I put them on. Always.
7. I have a tendency to get certain songs and jingles stuck in my head for extremely long periods of time. Literally years. Like for about two and a half years I had "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" on repeat. Currently, it's the Meow Mix Jingle. It goes:
I like tuna, I like chicken
Meow Mix flavors keep me lickin'
I like chicken, I like liver
Meow Mix, Meow Mix, please deliver
So much talking, want more eating
Meow, meow, meow, meow, please, please feed me
You're welcome.
8. While not a gifted dancer, I am proficient in three dance crazes: the Macarena, the Hand Jive, and the Chicken Dance.
9. Many years ago I attempted to read the dictionary. If memory serves, I made it to the T's before giving up.
10. I love beef ramen noodles. Delicious, easy and satisfying.
11. I find pickles revolting. My sister likes to eat them at the movies, especially when sitting right next to me.
12. Many years ago, I learned how to speak Elvish. While I don't remember much, I do know enough to understand several words when spoken onscreen in the LOTR and Hobbit movies. Also, for whatever reason there's an Elvish poem that I memorized a very long time ago but still remember and sometimes recite it to myself when I'm nervous. Would you like to hear it? (I gave the spelling my best guess)
Ai lintulinda lasselanta
Pelingeve suwyer nalla ganta
Kuluvi ya carnivalinar
Vemette singi Eldamar
In the case of this poem, I remember the words but not a lot of the meanings. I recall that it is about autumn and of course the elves themselves, made obvious by the capitalization of the last word and also because "elda" is one translation of "elf". I believe "Eldamar" actually translates to "Elf-home".
Anyway.
13. Although I listen to a much larger variety of music now, I still maintain that Children of Bodom is one of my favorite bands, if not my favorite. For years and years I refused to pick a favorite COB song, partly because I loved so many and partly because it felt wrong choosing only one. But here and now I will state that "Chokehold (Cocked 'n' Loaded)" off Hate Crew Deathroll is my favorite COB song.
14. I met Children of Bodom at a meet and greet in a Hot Topic store before they preformed that night at the Sunshine Theater in Albuquerque. I was wearing a COB shirt that had Finnish on the back and I could not for the life of me figure out what it meant so I asked the band. They all kind of looked at each other and finally said, "It's just a road sign in Finland." THIS VERY NIGHT that I'm writing this blog I was looking up the shirt and I finally figured it out. Roughly translated, my shirt said, "Retards Ahead."
15. Abraham Lincoln is my favorite President of the United States.
16. Excluding living things, my digital camera is probably my most valued possession.
17. I have never broken a bone.
18. My wisdom teeth came in sideways so they put me out to extract the teeth. When I woke up I was in this bizarre panic, basically fell out of the chair and haphazardly ran across the lobby while the dentist and nurses chased me.
19. I am not a hugger.
20. I recently heard they're trying to bring Furbys back and this worries me because just about every kid I've ever known who had one has a story about waking up in the middle of the night to find their Furby wide-awake and talking to them. Creepy.
21. My sister was recently kicked by a reindeer :)
22. If you know one thing about it, let it be this: I'M OBSESSED WITH A DOG NAMED OTIS.
Happy birthday to me!
Sarah
Monday, December 16, 2013
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Am I Cool or What!!
The answer, of course, is "what".
For a couple years now, there's been this fad going around where people embrace the phrase "NO REGRETS". Make it their life motto! What's done is done, no use fretting about it anymore.
I have two big problems with this:
1. I think it's kind of unrealistic and possibly even foolish. Learn from your mistakes! Become a better, more informed person by studying your past and correcting it! ...but more importantly:
2. I'm just bitter because I am completely unable to do this
Anyway for no particular reason I've compiled a small list of things that I've done which, at the time, I thought were way cool or clever or badass and now, while I may not exactly regret them, I see how nerdy they really were...
1. What seems to be a very long time ago, a film came out: Titanic, you may have heard of it? Anyway when it became available for home viewing, my parents bought it- it came on two videotapes (told you it was a long time ago!) and we watched it together. I remember being scared by all the running-from-the-water scenes and the horrible deaths. Other than that, I just remember being pretty confused. There were adult themes and jokes and words that I just didn't get, but I did pick some of it up without even realizing it. For example, one day I was at home with my mom and she needed to call the Presbyterian Church. She handed me the phone and had me dial the phone number while she read it to me. I dialed, then held the phone up to my ear. It rang once or twice. Suddenly, I flashed back to the movie:
Yep. Seized by the moment, I repeated the line, complete with English accent!
"Pick up, you bastards!"
Needless to say, my mom let out a hysterical giggle and lunged for the phone. Fortunately no one had picked up so no damage had been done, plus I learned that "bastards" is one of those words you really shouldn't say, especially at church.
"Hey, Sarah! What's up?"
I would dramatically look up, over my head and say, "The sky."
To me, it was like:
To them, of course, it was like:
For a couple years now, there's been this fad going around where people embrace the phrase "NO REGRETS". Make it their life motto! What's done is done, no use fretting about it anymore.
I have two big problems with this:
1. I think it's kind of unrealistic and possibly even foolish. Learn from your mistakes! Become a better, more informed person by studying your past and correcting it! ...but more importantly:
2. I'm just bitter because I am completely unable to do this
Anyway for no particular reason I've compiled a small list of things that I've done which, at the time, I thought were way cool or clever or badass and now, while I may not exactly regret them, I see how nerdy they really were...
(Just watch the first 20 seconds or so)
Yep. Seized by the moment, I repeated the line, complete with English accent!
"Pick up, you bastards!"
Needless to say, my mom let out a hysterical giggle and lunged for the phone. Fortunately no one had picked up so no damage had been done, plus I learned that "bastards" is one of those words you really shouldn't say, especially at church.
"Hey, Sarah! What's up?"
I would dramatically look up, over my head and say, "The sky."
To me, it was like:
To them, of course, it was like:
3. One of my finer qualities is my spelling ability. It probably comes from excessive reading and writing. All I know is, sometimes I feel like my brain was made with a Spell Check. Only fair considering I was ripped off in the mathematics department.
In 5th grade I participated in the Spelling Bee. For weeks before the actual Bee, we would practice for half an hour or so everyday in class. If you are unfamiliar with the rules of spelling bees, I will tell you that when given a word, you are allowed to ask for the word given in a sentence and also, for the definition of the word. Just about everybody knows these two options are just for buying time, but that's beside the point.
Anyway, during the spelling bee practices, the class would stand up in a line and have a mini-bee. When buying time, my classmates would ask, "Could I have the definition please?" and then, one day, I shook up the whole thing. It was absolute chaos!! I said, "Could you define that for me?"
BAM!
Like I said, it was crazy. After that, everyone used my version of the question. It was like:
Anyway, during the spelling bee practices, the class would stand up in a line and have a mini-bee. When buying time, my classmates would ask, "Could I have the definition please?" and then, one day, I shook up the whole thing. It was absolute chaos!! I said, "Could you define that for me?"
BAM!
Like I said, it was crazy. After that, everyone used my version of the question. It was like:
I've just realized I have way too many of these "moments" for one blog...
Keep your eye out for Part 2!!
Happy December!
Sarah
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Career Paths Not Taken
When I was in 8th grade, my classmates and I took online tests that measured our talents and interests in different areas, which would, in theory, suggest careers that we would be well suited to. I hardly remember the test at all, but I definitely remember my results. Sure, there were a couple suggestions like "Author", "Musician", and "Therapist", all realistic and very connected to who I was and what I was interested in at the time.
Also included in the list, however, were things like "Mortician" and "Catholic Priest".
I can't really express through words how I feel about that, so please accept this picture instead.
Anyway, as I've grown older I've had no choice but to spend time thinking about the right career for me, and at the same time I've been compiling a small mental list of careers I will never have. I have listed them below along with explanations as to why I feel that way.
**PLEASE NOTE** I did not include things like "Mass Murderer", "Pirate" or "Intergalactic Space Alien" because they are unrealistic, ridiculous, and, in some cases, not currently an option.
In order of descending likelihood:
Actor: This occupation isn't nearly as out of the question as the others but I still feel it's true. I have been in several plays over the years, almost always in the background. It's true that I like reading and stories and I can actually read aloud pretty well, but when I get onstage it all falls apart, not to mention that I don't have a decent singing voice to contribute to musicals. Oh, and it could also do with a few traumatizing acting experiences when I was younger...
In Raton, every summer we have a children's play company come through town who take a week and throw on a new production of an old fairy tale with the kids from the community. Well, the first time I tried out there were too many kids and I didn't get a part. The next time I took weeks to prepare beforehand, planning my clever answers to their questions: "And how old are you, Sarah?" "I'm as old as you want me to be!" And what do you know, I got a part! Maybe because there was a big shortage of kids that year, but that's beside the point. Anyway, the part I got was one of the witch's assistants in Hansel and Gretel. It was a pretty cool part- there were several of us and we spoke in rhyme. The downside? It was also our job to do a dance dressed as gingerbread men. Yeah, you read that right. They stuck us in gingerbread costumes and we had to do this stupid dance, oh, excuse me, ballet. We were the laughingstock of the cast. Even when our families came to watch at the end of the week, the audience erupted in ridiculing laughter. Sure, it might be cute to see your little 5 and 6 years old do a little dance in costumes, but not 11 and 12 year olds.
Police Officer: This one is because of two simple reasons. One, I seem to lack any kind of presence or authority, and Two, I am terrified of police officers for no real reason. I would be unable to look into a mirror when wearing my uniform because I would immediately have a panic attack.
Taxi driver: I was tragically born without a sense of direction. I have lived in Raton, NM all my life and I can still get lost here, never mind living in a city big enough to need taxis! Let me just assure you that I do have my drivers license and I'm very happy about that. I love having the ability to drive myself anywhere at any time without depending on others. That said, I still don't really enjoy driving that much. It stresses me out quite a bit, especially when passing police officers (see above). Also, I'm really not that much of a people person and the idea of being forced to make small talk with complete strangers bothers me almost as much as navigating. Oh! And money! Charging cranky stressed out people who pick apart my driving route? No thank you! See? Thinking about driving a taxi stresses me out.
Athlete: If you've ever seen me, this is kind of obvious. I'm not built like an athlete. I'm short and very chubby. You know what? If you don't know what I look like, think back to the stereotypical "dork" in kid's movies: the short, squat kid with the glasses who carries an inhaler? Bingo! Also, I don't understand sports at all. Not in general, and especially not football. I am lost completely when it comes to football. The closest to athletics I've gotten was when I was six: I saw the movie "Space Jam" and fell in love with it, especially Michael Jordan. I seriously wanted to BE Michael Jordan when I grew up, which is strangely ironic considering the fact that I am now Michael Jordan's complete physical opposite.
Model: Again, this is pretty obvious when you see me. It really is too bad, especially because my mom and my sister are absolutely beautiful. My mom is even built like a model, tall and slender. As we've covered, I'm short and round and my face is pitted and scarred from years of severe acne. I don't dress like a model and many people might find my tattoos and crazy hair very unattractive. It's kind of funny to think about because it's when my hair is bright pink and I'm dressed in my band T-shirts that I feel prettiest.
Mathematician: I. Hate. Math. So, so much. It confuses me and stresses me out. It's not for lack of trying! I've had some fantastic math teachers over the years- excellent in their field and endlessly patient with me and my constant confusion. When I signed up for my first semester of college and I found out I would eventually have to take a math class, I actually teared up at the thought. In fact, the closest to an accomplishment I've ever had regarding math was when my 8th grade math teacher held up my math binder in each and every one of her classes as the perfect example of what your math binder should never look like.
I had a "Communications" college class a year or two ago and on the first day our teacher had us take out a piece of paper and write down several things we could not do. So, I wrote down:
Sing
Play kickball (childhood sports trauma, don't ask)
Math
She then said, "Look at your list. Now, change "can't do" to "won't do". There was that deep moment when everyone in the class looked down at their lists and "ohhhhhhh"-ed and "ahhhhhh"-ed. I looked down. Singing? Yeah, I physically can. I actually like to, when no one's around to hear. Play kickball? Ehh, harder. But I did and lived through it. Math?
I'm sorry, no. Hell no.
:)
Happy Halloween!!!
Sarah
Also included in the list, however, were things like "Mortician" and "Catholic Priest".
I can't really express through words how I feel about that, so please accept this picture instead.
Anyway, as I've grown older I've had no choice but to spend time thinking about the right career for me, and at the same time I've been compiling a small mental list of careers I will never have. I have listed them below along with explanations as to why I feel that way.
**PLEASE NOTE** I did not include things like "Mass Murderer", "Pirate" or "Intergalactic Space Alien" because they are unrealistic, ridiculous, and, in some cases, not currently an option.
In order of descending likelihood:
Actor: This occupation isn't nearly as out of the question as the others but I still feel it's true. I have been in several plays over the years, almost always in the background. It's true that I like reading and stories and I can actually read aloud pretty well, but when I get onstage it all falls apart, not to mention that I don't have a decent singing voice to contribute to musicals. Oh, and it could also do with a few traumatizing acting experiences when I was younger...
In Raton, every summer we have a children's play company come through town who take a week and throw on a new production of an old fairy tale with the kids from the community. Well, the first time I tried out there were too many kids and I didn't get a part. The next time I took weeks to prepare beforehand, planning my clever answers to their questions: "And how old are you, Sarah?" "I'm as old as you want me to be!" And what do you know, I got a part! Maybe because there was a big shortage of kids that year, but that's beside the point. Anyway, the part I got was one of the witch's assistants in Hansel and Gretel. It was a pretty cool part- there were several of us and we spoke in rhyme. The downside? It was also our job to do a dance dressed as gingerbread men. Yeah, you read that right. They stuck us in gingerbread costumes and we had to do this stupid dance, oh, excuse me, ballet. We were the laughingstock of the cast. Even when our families came to watch at the end of the week, the audience erupted in ridiculing laughter. Sure, it might be cute to see your little 5 and 6 years old do a little dance in costumes, but not 11 and 12 year olds.
Police Officer: This one is because of two simple reasons. One, I seem to lack any kind of presence or authority, and Two, I am terrified of police officers for no real reason. I would be unable to look into a mirror when wearing my uniform because I would immediately have a panic attack.
Taxi driver: I was tragically born without a sense of direction. I have lived in Raton, NM all my life and I can still get lost here, never mind living in a city big enough to need taxis! Let me just assure you that I do have my drivers license and I'm very happy about that. I love having the ability to drive myself anywhere at any time without depending on others. That said, I still don't really enjoy driving that much. It stresses me out quite a bit, especially when passing police officers (see above). Also, I'm really not that much of a people person and the idea of being forced to make small talk with complete strangers bothers me almost as much as navigating. Oh! And money! Charging cranky stressed out people who pick apart my driving route? No thank you! See? Thinking about driving a taxi stresses me out.
Athlete: If you've ever seen me, this is kind of obvious. I'm not built like an athlete. I'm short and very chubby. You know what? If you don't know what I look like, think back to the stereotypical "dork" in kid's movies: the short, squat kid with the glasses who carries an inhaler? Bingo! Also, I don't understand sports at all. Not in general, and especially not football. I am lost completely when it comes to football. The closest to athletics I've gotten was when I was six: I saw the movie "Space Jam" and fell in love with it, especially Michael Jordan. I seriously wanted to BE Michael Jordan when I grew up, which is strangely ironic considering the fact that I am now Michael Jordan's complete physical opposite.
Model: Again, this is pretty obvious when you see me. It really is too bad, especially because my mom and my sister are absolutely beautiful. My mom is even built like a model, tall and slender. As we've covered, I'm short and round and my face is pitted and scarred from years of severe acne. I don't dress like a model and many people might find my tattoos and crazy hair very unattractive. It's kind of funny to think about because it's when my hair is bright pink and I'm dressed in my band T-shirts that I feel prettiest.
Mathematician: I. Hate. Math. So, so much. It confuses me and stresses me out. It's not for lack of trying! I've had some fantastic math teachers over the years- excellent in their field and endlessly patient with me and my constant confusion. When I signed up for my first semester of college and I found out I would eventually have to take a math class, I actually teared up at the thought. In fact, the closest to an accomplishment I've ever had regarding math was when my 8th grade math teacher held up my math binder in each and every one of her classes as the perfect example of what your math binder should never look like.
I had a "Communications" college class a year or two ago and on the first day our teacher had us take out a piece of paper and write down several things we could not do. So, I wrote down:
Sing
Play kickball (childhood sports trauma, don't ask)
Math
She then said, "Look at your list. Now, change "can't do" to "won't do". There was that deep moment when everyone in the class looked down at their lists and "ohhhhhhh"-ed and "ahhhhhh"-ed. I looked down. Singing? Yeah, I physically can. I actually like to, when no one's around to hear. Play kickball? Ehh, harder. But I did and lived through it. Math?
I'm sorry, no. Hell no.
:)
Happy Halloween!!!
Sarah
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Veloci-Cats
I have three kittens: Sheldon, Amy and Three. If you're wondering, yes, I am a fan of The Big Bang Theory.
All three are completely black and very close in size. Three is a little fluffier, but other than that they are close to identical. My mom and step-dad, Leo, also have a kitten right now and my mom has asked on more than one occasion how I can handle three at the same time. Well, it helps that with three of them, they often pick on each other instead of me.
However, sometimes it backfires.
When they are all hyper and running around like crazy, sometimes it seems more like a herd than a trio. They can behave much like a school of fish- synchronized and eerily similar. They also hunt in a pack.
A few evenings ago, I was watching TV and eating Wheat Thins. Of the three kittens, Sheldon in particular likes to steal things that I'm eating- cookies, pieces of cheese... Wheat Thins. He usually doesn't even eat what he steals, he just bats them around on the floor and chases them.
Anyway, as you might imagine, this evening was no different: I was eating Wheat Thins and Sheldon wanted one. Unfortunately for him, I am used to him and know to keep an eye on him when I'm snacking. His solution? Strength in numbers.
Amy hopped up on to my lap and started purring and nuzzling my hand. Three descended from the back of the chair onto my shoulder and started bumping against my face, her tail blocking my vision. In this moment of weakness, Sheldon shot like a mad-cat from the floor to my bowl of Wheat Thins, then streaked across the floor, well out of reach, his prize clamped in his jaws.
As I watched him play hockey with my Wheat Thin, I was struck with a thought: How similar my cats' hunting patterns are to that of the velociraptors in the Jurassic Park movies! Don't know what I mean? Watch!
Well, maybe not quite that extreme, but you get the idea. I shared this thought with several of my family members, to their universal amusement. My sister came up with the term "Veloci-Cats" and also "Kitty-Raptors."
I knew I was right on with the comparison when I watched my kittens hunt a mouse last night. Watch this video and imagine the raptors as smaller, black and fuzzy. Also, replace the human with a terrified little mouse.
I'd say that the biggest difference between the dinosaurs and my cats are:
1. The raptors in Jurassic Park actually seem willing to share the prey, and..
2. There is no way the raptors in Jurassic Park could make any noise to rival that of Sheldon's. He seriously sounded like a lawn mower!
And for the record, I'm not completely heartless. I was eventually able to get near enough to the mouse to scoop him up in an empty Cup-of-Noodles and take him outside to die in peace. Needless to say, my cats were not pleased.
Oh! And if you're wondering how the whole Wheat Thin incident went down, it ended as suddenly as it began- Sheldon batted it across the floor, where it hit Otis' foot. For a split second, time stood still- would she snap at him? Growl? Stare at him until he was able to get it back? Nope! She casually looked down at the Wheat Thin, ate it, and went back to dozing.
Bwa-ha-ha! Sorry Sheldon! Better luck next time...
Sarah
All three are completely black and very close in size. Three is a little fluffier, but other than that they are close to identical. My mom and step-dad, Leo, also have a kitten right now and my mom has asked on more than one occasion how I can handle three at the same time. Well, it helps that with three of them, they often pick on each other instead of me.
However, sometimes it backfires.
When they are all hyper and running around like crazy, sometimes it seems more like a herd than a trio. They can behave much like a school of fish- synchronized and eerily similar. They also hunt in a pack.
A few evenings ago, I was watching TV and eating Wheat Thins. Of the three kittens, Sheldon in particular likes to steal things that I'm eating- cookies, pieces of cheese... Wheat Thins. He usually doesn't even eat what he steals, he just bats them around on the floor and chases them.
Anyway, as you might imagine, this evening was no different: I was eating Wheat Thins and Sheldon wanted one. Unfortunately for him, I am used to him and know to keep an eye on him when I'm snacking. His solution? Strength in numbers.
Amy hopped up on to my lap and started purring and nuzzling my hand. Three descended from the back of the chair onto my shoulder and started bumping against my face, her tail blocking my vision. In this moment of weakness, Sheldon shot like a mad-cat from the floor to my bowl of Wheat Thins, then streaked across the floor, well out of reach, his prize clamped in his jaws.
As I watched him play hockey with my Wheat Thin, I was struck with a thought: How similar my cats' hunting patterns are to that of the velociraptors in the Jurassic Park movies! Don't know what I mean? Watch!
Well, maybe not quite that extreme, but you get the idea. I shared this thought with several of my family members, to their universal amusement. My sister came up with the term "Veloci-Cats" and also "Kitty-Raptors."
I knew I was right on with the comparison when I watched my kittens hunt a mouse last night. Watch this video and imagine the raptors as smaller, black and fuzzy. Also, replace the human with a terrified little mouse.
I'd say that the biggest difference between the dinosaurs and my cats are:
1. The raptors in Jurassic Park actually seem willing to share the prey, and..
2. There is no way the raptors in Jurassic Park could make any noise to rival that of Sheldon's. He seriously sounded like a lawn mower!
And for the record, I'm not completely heartless. I was eventually able to get near enough to the mouse to scoop him up in an empty Cup-of-Noodles and take him outside to die in peace. Needless to say, my cats were not pleased.
Oh! And if you're wondering how the whole Wheat Thin incident went down, it ended as suddenly as it began- Sheldon batted it across the floor, where it hit Otis' foot. For a split second, time stood still- would she snap at him? Growl? Stare at him until he was able to get it back? Nope! She casually looked down at the Wheat Thin, ate it, and went back to dozing.
Bwa-ha-ha! Sorry Sheldon! Better luck next time...
Sarah
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Before I Lose My Nerve
I have a confession that I have to make. It's really time, I think... I've been lying to a lot of people for many years now and events have come into place so that I can no longer keep up the facade. Please, please don't judge me.
I have brown eyes.
There, I said it. It's out in the open now!
I was born, like most babies, with milky blue eyes. I think a lot of people thought my eyes would transform into a kind of blue/green, like my dad's eyes. But no, they darkened. My eyes are brown, like my mom's and my sister's. Except not. I have on multiple occasions looked closely at my mom's and sister's eyes and they are a pretty light brown shade, almost green in the sunlight- close to hazel at times. Am I so lucky? No! My eyes are brown. Not "chocolate brown". Not a dark, "mysterious" brown. Brown. Like dirt. Fecal matter. Beavers!
Anyway, when I began to wear contact lenses, I jumped at the chance to wear the colored kind of lenses. The "Fresh Look" brand, if you're wondering. Over the years I tried like four different shades of blue lenses, grey, and finally green. I loved them all.
Unfortunately about two months ago I started having some issues. When I put in a brand new pair of contacts I had no problems, but when I put in a pair that I had worn already, put in solution, then back in the eyes, my left eye completely rejected the lens. It stung and itched and wouldn't stay in place and ended with either tearing or me taking it out because it was so annoying. Therefore, I have been wearing my glasses almost constantly. I like the ease of wearing glasses but I don't like how I look in them, so I knew it was time to go see my eye doctor. Optometrist? Ophthalmologist? Optician?
At the risk of giving away confidential medical information, I go to Dr. Hagen in Trinidad. I don't go often-only when necessary- but it seems like every time I go it's almost exactly the same: the cool, quiet office with the same faded, framed printouts of optical illusions and the locked display of expensive sunglasses on the wall. One of the receptionists who has been there a very long time always remembers my name and that I'm from Raton and that I'm connected with the ACE store there. There's the same small coffee table with the nearly obsessively straight stacks of almost-current magazines. And the carpet! How many medical offices do you go to that has carpet? Sure, maybe in the waiting rooms there will be a little carpeting- the very short, easy to clean stuff- but at Dr. Hagen's office there's this really thick nice carpet that runs through the entire building. Very luxurious!
Anyway following routine, one of the women who works there took updated medical information and left me alone in the exam room (with carpet!!!!)
I must pause here and be honest. Every time this happens in any doctors office I have to completely fight the temptation to go digging through drawers and playing with the medical equipment, especially in Dr. Hagen's office! He has this great humongous model of an eye and all these eye drops and little plastic things all over the office, not to mention all the crazy equipment he uses to check eyesight and eye health. I love just looking at the machines because they almost look like implements of torture.
Luckily I wasn't kept waiting long. Like just about everything else there, Dr. Hagen seems unchanged. Same bright clean doctor's coat and friendly demeanor. He checked my eyesight (got worse!) and after hearing my troubles got out this crazy eye measure-er thing I'd never seen before. Turns out, and I'm very sorry if this is like TMI and makes you uncomfortable to hear such personal things, but I have abnormally flat corneas. This, paired with the colored lenses I've been wearing all these years, is not good.
After talking options, I'm trying two new kind of lenses: one is good for my flat corneas and the other is good for continuous wear, since I hate putting them in and taking them out. I have an appointment in a week and I will then decide which I prefer. Neither, however, is colored.
I'm actually not that bothered. This may sound stupid and jokey but in all honesty my favorite thing about the colored lenses is that they are so hard to lose!
Right before I left, Dr. Hagen offered me those cheap, cardboard, dorky sunglasses since my eyes were dilated. I thanked him but turned them down, telling him I had some in the car. I actually had no intention of wearing them since it was kind of overcast today. But when I stepped out of the office I almost fell over. It was like staring at the sun! Eyes squinted shut, I blindly groped for the door handle of my car and jumped inside, panting. I dug around until I found an old dusty pair of sunglasses and wore them over my regular glasses, pointedly ignoring the looks I got from other drivers.
Anyway, next time you see me, whether I'm wearing glasses or contacts my eyes will be brown. It will be simpler in the long run, like when I renew my driver's license and they ask what color my eyes are. Nevertheless, I would appreciate your support. Love me and support me in this new life of truth and self-acceptance.
Hey, you know what I just realized? You know what is also brown? My dog! Maybe it's not so bad after all...
Sarah
I have brown eyes.
There, I said it. It's out in the open now!
I was born, like most babies, with milky blue eyes. I think a lot of people thought my eyes would transform into a kind of blue/green, like my dad's eyes. But no, they darkened. My eyes are brown, like my mom's and my sister's. Except not. I have on multiple occasions looked closely at my mom's and sister's eyes and they are a pretty light brown shade, almost green in the sunlight- close to hazel at times. Am I so lucky? No! My eyes are brown. Not "chocolate brown". Not a dark, "mysterious" brown. Brown. Like dirt. Fecal matter. Beavers!
Anyway, when I began to wear contact lenses, I jumped at the chance to wear the colored kind of lenses. The "Fresh Look" brand, if you're wondering. Over the years I tried like four different shades of blue lenses, grey, and finally green. I loved them all.
Unfortunately about two months ago I started having some issues. When I put in a brand new pair of contacts I had no problems, but when I put in a pair that I had worn already, put in solution, then back in the eyes, my left eye completely rejected the lens. It stung and itched and wouldn't stay in place and ended with either tearing or me taking it out because it was so annoying. Therefore, I have been wearing my glasses almost constantly. I like the ease of wearing glasses but I don't like how I look in them, so I knew it was time to go see my eye doctor. Optometrist? Ophthalmologist? Optician?
At the risk of giving away confidential medical information, I go to Dr. Hagen in Trinidad. I don't go often-only when necessary- but it seems like every time I go it's almost exactly the same: the cool, quiet office with the same faded, framed printouts of optical illusions and the locked display of expensive sunglasses on the wall. One of the receptionists who has been there a very long time always remembers my name and that I'm from Raton and that I'm connected with the ACE store there. There's the same small coffee table with the nearly obsessively straight stacks of almost-current magazines. And the carpet! How many medical offices do you go to that has carpet? Sure, maybe in the waiting rooms there will be a little carpeting- the very short, easy to clean stuff- but at Dr. Hagen's office there's this really thick nice carpet that runs through the entire building. Very luxurious!
Anyway following routine, one of the women who works there took updated medical information and left me alone in the exam room (with carpet!!!!)
I must pause here and be honest. Every time this happens in any doctors office I have to completely fight the temptation to go digging through drawers and playing with the medical equipment, especially in Dr. Hagen's office! He has this great humongous model of an eye and all these eye drops and little plastic things all over the office, not to mention all the crazy equipment he uses to check eyesight and eye health. I love just looking at the machines because they almost look like implements of torture.
Luckily I wasn't kept waiting long. Like just about everything else there, Dr. Hagen seems unchanged. Same bright clean doctor's coat and friendly demeanor. He checked my eyesight (got worse!) and after hearing my troubles got out this crazy eye measure-er thing I'd never seen before. Turns out, and I'm very sorry if this is like TMI and makes you uncomfortable to hear such personal things, but I have abnormally flat corneas. This, paired with the colored lenses I've been wearing all these years, is not good.
After talking options, I'm trying two new kind of lenses: one is good for my flat corneas and the other is good for continuous wear, since I hate putting them in and taking them out. I have an appointment in a week and I will then decide which I prefer. Neither, however, is colored.
I'm actually not that bothered. This may sound stupid and jokey but in all honesty my favorite thing about the colored lenses is that they are so hard to lose!
Right before I left, Dr. Hagen offered me those cheap, cardboard, dorky sunglasses since my eyes were dilated. I thanked him but turned them down, telling him I had some in the car. I actually had no intention of wearing them since it was kind of overcast today. But when I stepped out of the office I almost fell over. It was like staring at the sun! Eyes squinted shut, I blindly groped for the door handle of my car and jumped inside, panting. I dug around until I found an old dusty pair of sunglasses and wore them over my regular glasses, pointedly ignoring the looks I got from other drivers.
Anyway, next time you see me, whether I'm wearing glasses or contacts my eyes will be brown. It will be simpler in the long run, like when I renew my driver's license and they ask what color my eyes are. Nevertheless, I would appreciate your support. Love me and support me in this new life of truth and self-acceptance.
Hey, you know what I just realized? You know what is also brown? My dog! Maybe it's not so bad after all...
Sarah
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Lessons From an Ex-Metal Band Bassist
Whoever appeals to the law against his fellow man is either a fool or a coward. Whoever cannot take care of himself without that law is both. For a wounded man shall say to his assailant, "If I live, I will kill you. If I die, you are forgiven." Such is the rule of honor.
If you don't already know what this is from, click here and enjoy:
http://youtu.be/vJu7fhdVMb8
If you do know, click it and enjoy it anyway :)
.... word of WARNING, though: If you are at school or work and you're not supposed to be surfing the internet, you may want to make sure the volume is down. Otherwise, BLAST IT
A few years ago I was bassist in two (count 'em, TWO!) metal bands.
Granted, they were more or less the same band minus our vocalist (due to marriage) and one guitarist (he "wasn't contributing"). We found a replacement vocalist and added a few guitar players and, thus, a new band was born.
Being in these bands was without a doubt one of the coolest experiences I've ever had and gave me the opportunity to do crazy, incredible things and meet absolutely awesome people.
Last night I got out my bass and played a while and all sorts of memories came flooding back to me. I thought about it off and on all day today and I wanted to share the memories and lessons with you guys!
Yes, they're mostly for fun but every lesson rings true to me.
If the cops show up, you're playing just loud enough.
Over the years and countless practices, we had the cops called on us many, many times. This varied on our moods, where we were, what time it was, and if we had our vocalist rehearsing. For whatever reason, the irate neighbors seemed to specifically dislike our screaming vocals. We met many members of the Raton Police Department and the kind of reactions we got from them varied. Many were irritated, broke up the practice immediately and left us with threats and warnings. A few actually listened to us play for a couple minutes, asked us friendly questions and left us with the request that we keep it down. It probably goes without saying that the latter kind made a better impression but, to be honest, either way we waited for them to leave, then went right on playing where we left off.
The best instrument is the one in your hands.
We all lusted after the expensive, kick-ass, brand name, musician-endorsed instruments, absolutely! Alexi Laiho's electric guitars were always much admired and I personally had my eyes on Tom Araya's ESP basses. But nothing can beat the actual bass or drum set or guitar you have your hands on, one that you have and can play and love and have all sorts of memories associated with. I think your first instrument is kinda like your first love: you spend all this time with it and thinking about it and even if and when you grow out of it, I think you'll always remember it.
Good friends share memories. Good band mates share amps.
And I was lucky enough to have both! Years later, a lot of us have grown apart but I still value the memories really highly and I think some bonds will never be totally broken. I especially treasure the memories I have of Johnny Ray. If not for the band, I might never have known him well and I would have really missed out.
To be honest, yes, image is part of it.
We all wore a lot of black band T-shirts, several of the guys had pretty long hair, I always had my hair dyed crazy colors and for about a year I wore only bondage pants.
I always felt pretty honored that they all let me be in the band, because metal is pretty heavily male-dominated. I wasn't the best bass player around but they were always really patient with me and helped me learn a lot.
Good metal lyrics are deep and have fancy words. And profanity.
I remember taking a stab at writing lyrics. I came up with what I thought was a pretty good song and called one of the guys in the band and read it to him. He was quiet for a moment, and seemed to be searching for a nice way to put his opinion. He finally said, "It's, um, good, but, uh, it sounds more like an... uhh.. Evanescence song or something." I probably don't have to tell you this was not a good thing for a hard-core metal band.
We did have a good lyric writer in our band. He came up with these deep, meaningful lyrics with lots of advanced, complicated words. To be honest, I read them, complimented him, then went home and looked up half the words in the dictionary.
As for the profanity, fuck yeah! No shit! Why the hell wouldn't you put fucking profanity in every goddamn syllable? It emphasizes your every fucking point, bitch!
Hahaha, no but seriously. Profanity does give a desirable sort of edge.
The sign of a good musician is one who can play his instrument and headbang at the same time.
I still feel this is true. To be honest with you, I can play, and I can headbang, but not that well at the same time. It was a talent that I aspired to, but lacked. Once we were playing a show and I was head banging like crazy and I almost fell over. Luckily only one or two people saw but it was still really embarrassing.
You kinda have to have at least one or two bands you idolize.
At the time for me, these bands were Children of Bodom and Lamb of God. I sometimes read interviews with musicians and they'll talk about the albums that changed their life. I'm not a professional musician but at this time in my life two albums totally changed everything: Children of Bodom's "Hate Crew Deathroll" and Lamb of God's "Ashes of the Wake." I had these two CDs and basically lived and breathed them. I went to sleep at night with my headphones on listening to them. Every practice we'd warm up by playing the first five tracks off "Ashes of the Wake" in order. I knew every lyric and every guitar riff. I talked with my friends and bandmates about all the musicians by name and knew all their biographies. I argued with with other COB freak in my band about who could copy the band's font better.
This actually turned into a bit of controversy in the 8th grade. The aforementioned other COB freak and myself were so obsessed that we wrote "COBHC" (Children of Bodom Hate Crew") on everything: our binders, our lockers, our skin. Somehow a bunch of other kids picked it up without even knowing what it meant or stood for and for a while "COBHC" was found on EVERYTHING. Graffiti everywhere! Desks, doors, floors, marker boards, walls.
Ooops.
Johnny Ray was always in love with Pantera and to be honest, it was one thing that made his death a little easier: I have no doubt he jams with Dime now.
Behind every good metal musician is a good support system.
This was especially true at the time because we were all pretty young and had to depend on parents and older siblings to drive us around, to have places to practice, to listen to us play, etc. Also, I think behind just about every musician is a parent who is a bit of a rocker themselves.
Awesome band names are nearly impossible to come by.
The first band I was in was called "Asunder", then transformed to "Dead End Philosophy". After I left, they became "Ascending Darkness". I don't know for sure that any of these names were absolutely stellar but they served their purpose. I remember sometimes we'd be out somewhere and someone would ask what our band name was and we'd all get kinda quiet and look at each other, waiting for someone else to say it.
You don't play in a metal band because you should. You play in one because you need to.
The guys I played with lived and breathed music. It wasn't a hobby, it was a way of life. And to turn a passion into a lifestyle? I think everyone can learn from that.
COBHC, bitch!
haha
Sarah
If you don't already know what this is from, click here and enjoy:
http://youtu.be/vJu7fhdVMb8
If you do know, click it and enjoy it anyway :)
.... word of WARNING, though: If you are at school or work and you're not supposed to be surfing the internet, you may want to make sure the volume is down. Otherwise, BLAST IT
A few years ago I was bassist in two (count 'em, TWO!) metal bands.
Granted, they were more or less the same band minus our vocalist (due to marriage) and one guitarist (he "wasn't contributing"). We found a replacement vocalist and added a few guitar players and, thus, a new band was born.
Being in these bands was without a doubt one of the coolest experiences I've ever had and gave me the opportunity to do crazy, incredible things and meet absolutely awesome people.
Last night I got out my bass and played a while and all sorts of memories came flooding back to me. I thought about it off and on all day today and I wanted to share the memories and lessons with you guys!
Yes, they're mostly for fun but every lesson rings true to me.
If the cops show up, you're playing just loud enough.
Over the years and countless practices, we had the cops called on us many, many times. This varied on our moods, where we were, what time it was, and if we had our vocalist rehearsing. For whatever reason, the irate neighbors seemed to specifically dislike our screaming vocals. We met many members of the Raton Police Department and the kind of reactions we got from them varied. Many were irritated, broke up the practice immediately and left us with threats and warnings. A few actually listened to us play for a couple minutes, asked us friendly questions and left us with the request that we keep it down. It probably goes without saying that the latter kind made a better impression but, to be honest, either way we waited for them to leave, then went right on playing where we left off.
The best instrument is the one in your hands.
We all lusted after the expensive, kick-ass, brand name, musician-endorsed instruments, absolutely! Alexi Laiho's electric guitars were always much admired and I personally had my eyes on Tom Araya's ESP basses. But nothing can beat the actual bass or drum set or guitar you have your hands on, one that you have and can play and love and have all sorts of memories associated with. I think your first instrument is kinda like your first love: you spend all this time with it and thinking about it and even if and when you grow out of it, I think you'll always remember it.
Good friends share memories. Good band mates share amps.
And I was lucky enough to have both! Years later, a lot of us have grown apart but I still value the memories really highly and I think some bonds will never be totally broken. I especially treasure the memories I have of Johnny Ray. If not for the band, I might never have known him well and I would have really missed out.
To be honest, yes, image is part of it.
We all wore a lot of black band T-shirts, several of the guys had pretty long hair, I always had my hair dyed crazy colors and for about a year I wore only bondage pants.
I always felt pretty honored that they all let me be in the band, because metal is pretty heavily male-dominated. I wasn't the best bass player around but they were always really patient with me and helped me learn a lot.
Good metal lyrics are deep and have fancy words. And profanity.
I remember taking a stab at writing lyrics. I came up with what I thought was a pretty good song and called one of the guys in the band and read it to him. He was quiet for a moment, and seemed to be searching for a nice way to put his opinion. He finally said, "It's, um, good, but, uh, it sounds more like an... uhh.. Evanescence song or something." I probably don't have to tell you this was not a good thing for a hard-core metal band.
We did have a good lyric writer in our band. He came up with these deep, meaningful lyrics with lots of advanced, complicated words. To be honest, I read them, complimented him, then went home and looked up half the words in the dictionary.
As for the profanity, fuck yeah! No shit! Why the hell wouldn't you put fucking profanity in every goddamn syllable? It emphasizes your every fucking point, bitch!
Hahaha, no but seriously. Profanity does give a desirable sort of edge.
The sign of a good musician is one who can play his instrument and headbang at the same time.
I still feel this is true. To be honest with you, I can play, and I can headbang, but not that well at the same time. It was a talent that I aspired to, but lacked. Once we were playing a show and I was head banging like crazy and I almost fell over. Luckily only one or two people saw but it was still really embarrassing.
You kinda have to have at least one or two bands you idolize.
At the time for me, these bands were Children of Bodom and Lamb of God. I sometimes read interviews with musicians and they'll talk about the albums that changed their life. I'm not a professional musician but at this time in my life two albums totally changed everything: Children of Bodom's "Hate Crew Deathroll" and Lamb of God's "Ashes of the Wake." I had these two CDs and basically lived and breathed them. I went to sleep at night with my headphones on listening to them. Every practice we'd warm up by playing the first five tracks off "Ashes of the Wake" in order. I knew every lyric and every guitar riff. I talked with my friends and bandmates about all the musicians by name and knew all their biographies. I argued with with other COB freak in my band about who could copy the band's font better.
This actually turned into a bit of controversy in the 8th grade. The aforementioned other COB freak and myself were so obsessed that we wrote "COBHC" (Children of Bodom Hate Crew") on everything: our binders, our lockers, our skin. Somehow a bunch of other kids picked it up without even knowing what it meant or stood for and for a while "COBHC" was found on EVERYTHING. Graffiti everywhere! Desks, doors, floors, marker boards, walls.
Ooops.
Johnny Ray was always in love with Pantera and to be honest, it was one thing that made his death a little easier: I have no doubt he jams with Dime now.
Behind every good metal musician is a good support system.
This was especially true at the time because we were all pretty young and had to depend on parents and older siblings to drive us around, to have places to practice, to listen to us play, etc. Also, I think behind just about every musician is a parent who is a bit of a rocker themselves.
Awesome band names are nearly impossible to come by.
The first band I was in was called "Asunder", then transformed to "Dead End Philosophy". After I left, they became "Ascending Darkness". I don't know for sure that any of these names were absolutely stellar but they served their purpose. I remember sometimes we'd be out somewhere and someone would ask what our band name was and we'd all get kinda quiet and look at each other, waiting for someone else to say it.
You don't play in a metal band because you should. You play in one because you need to.
The guys I played with lived and breathed music. It wasn't a hobby, it was a way of life. And to turn a passion into a lifestyle? I think everyone can learn from that.
COBHC, bitch!
haha
Sarah
Monday, September 2, 2013
Mystery Melon on Labor Day
To be totally honest with you, I have almost no idea whatsoever what the story behind Labor Day is. I can only surmise it's a day celebrating us laboring folks but I don't know why it gives us a day off or why it's the first Monday in September. But you know what? I'm not one to argue with a good thing. I got two whole days off in a row and it. Was. Sweet.
On September 7th, my cousin George is getting married to the very awesome Miss Samantha Jo Staggs and for their wedding, the female guests are encouraged to wear Kentucky Derby-style hats to the ceremony. Well, it probably won't surprise you to hear that my sister Emmy and I don't exactly have a closet-full of these decked out hats but Emmy looked 'em up online and found that they can get pretty crazy and creative, and you know what? Crazy and creative is right up our alley. We decided to make our own!
It took a few lengthy trips to Walmart but we finally found passable hats to serve as the canvasses for our creations, plus a whole lot of decorative elements. I want to save the reveal of the hats for the actual ceremony but I will say that the hats came out completely incredible and totally... uh.. unique! Mine is quite gaudy and artsy, but my sister's is pretty much guaranteed to steal the show.. absolutely electrifying :)
So anyway, Em and I spent a good portion of our Labor Day weekend working on said hats at her house. Before we started working on them Sunday evening, we swung by Dairy Queen to get some ice cream first and ate sitting in her living room watching the Syfy channel. (She told me, "I used to laugh at David for watching this channel but now I watch it all the time!")
It was then that the scandal took place.
We were getting a fair bit of rain and Em and David's dog Pickles was inside, along with their two cats, Flo and Beans. Picks always has a ton of energy and likes to run around and play with toys and water bottles and... other things. I was watching TV when Picks shot by my chair, dropping something by my feet. I paid no attention but Em looked down and gasped. I looked down too, and saw... a cat turd, fresh from the litter box.
"Pickles!" Em protested. "Bad dog! You know you can't play with the cat turds!" Picks looked back at her, the picture of innocence. I felt the need to defend her.
"Oh, she was just giving me a present" I said.
Em looked dubious. "It's possible," she conceded, "but I actually think she's trying to blame it on you."
I looked at the turd in question, then the dog. The dog looked back at me with a look that said, "How vulgar! Have you no class?" I frowned.
"You see, she knows all too well that she can't but maybe she figures that you don't come here enough to know the rules. You're the perfect target," she added with a smile.
I couldn't decide if I was appalled or impressed.
This afternoon the Record family had our annual Labor Day picnic. We had it up at The Point, a piece of property where my family likes to shoot guns and eat. Shortly after arriving, my grandma realized she had forgotten something and headed back to her house with my cousin Brian in tow.
They were gone a strangely long time and we began to debate what had happened and where they went.
"She said she was headed to her house..." I began.
"Maybe she meant the Greenhouse," offered my cousin Danny as he dug through a cooler my Grandma had brought, full of cokes and, inexplicably, a tub of butter.
But soon after, we heard the roar of the gator coming up the road. My grandma drove up and began unloading the back of the gator. Brian helped, then approached the table we were sitting at with a strange look on his face and a large dark melon in his hands.
"She said it's a watermelon," he whispered. He set the mystery melon on the table and we all examined it. It was almost exactly the size, shape, weight and color of a bowling ball. The finger holes were the only things missing.
We conjectured for a while about what strange kind of gourd it was, but couldn't come to any conclusions.
After a while we ate dinner, sitting in the shade of great big pine trees at old metal picnic tables that are much older than I am with a light breeze blowing our hair and the edges of the table cloths my grandma had put down. We talked about school and work and Em and I bragged about our kickass derby hats. The sun sunk lower, elongating the shadows. We began to pack up the food and plates.
"Wait!" yelled Dan, and produced a large knife. He grabbed a spare bit of tinfoil and plunked the mystery melon on top of it. With the precision of a surgeon, he made an incision in the melon, carefully and slowly splitting it in two. Then, with a sudden motion, he pulled the melon apart.
"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered.
It was, unmistakably, a watermelon.
It was unappetizingly mushy, though, and instead of dessert, became target practice.
But, teach us to doubt Grandma!
Hope you had a good labor day, too!
Sarah
On September 7th, my cousin George is getting married to the very awesome Miss Samantha Jo Staggs and for their wedding, the female guests are encouraged to wear Kentucky Derby-style hats to the ceremony. Well, it probably won't surprise you to hear that my sister Emmy and I don't exactly have a closet-full of these decked out hats but Emmy looked 'em up online and found that they can get pretty crazy and creative, and you know what? Crazy and creative is right up our alley. We decided to make our own!
It took a few lengthy trips to Walmart but we finally found passable hats to serve as the canvasses for our creations, plus a whole lot of decorative elements. I want to save the reveal of the hats for the actual ceremony but I will say that the hats came out completely incredible and totally... uh.. unique! Mine is quite gaudy and artsy, but my sister's is pretty much guaranteed to steal the show.. absolutely electrifying :)
So anyway, Em and I spent a good portion of our Labor Day weekend working on said hats at her house. Before we started working on them Sunday evening, we swung by Dairy Queen to get some ice cream first and ate sitting in her living room watching the Syfy channel. (She told me, "I used to laugh at David for watching this channel but now I watch it all the time!")
It was then that the scandal took place.
We were getting a fair bit of rain and Em and David's dog Pickles was inside, along with their two cats, Flo and Beans. Picks always has a ton of energy and likes to run around and play with toys and water bottles and... other things. I was watching TV when Picks shot by my chair, dropping something by my feet. I paid no attention but Em looked down and gasped. I looked down too, and saw... a cat turd, fresh from the litter box.
"Pickles!" Em protested. "Bad dog! You know you can't play with the cat turds!" Picks looked back at her, the picture of innocence. I felt the need to defend her.
"Oh, she was just giving me a present" I said.
Em looked dubious. "It's possible," she conceded, "but I actually think she's trying to blame it on you."
I looked at the turd in question, then the dog. The dog looked back at me with a look that said, "How vulgar! Have you no class?" I frowned.
"You see, she knows all too well that she can't but maybe she figures that you don't come here enough to know the rules. You're the perfect target," she added with a smile.
I couldn't decide if I was appalled or impressed.
This afternoon the Record family had our annual Labor Day picnic. We had it up at The Point, a piece of property where my family likes to shoot guns and eat. Shortly after arriving, my grandma realized she had forgotten something and headed back to her house with my cousin Brian in tow.
They were gone a strangely long time and we began to debate what had happened and where they went.
"She said she was headed to her house..." I began.
"Maybe she meant the Greenhouse," offered my cousin Danny as he dug through a cooler my Grandma had brought, full of cokes and, inexplicably, a tub of butter.
But soon after, we heard the roar of the gator coming up the road. My grandma drove up and began unloading the back of the gator. Brian helped, then approached the table we were sitting at with a strange look on his face and a large dark melon in his hands.
"She said it's a watermelon," he whispered. He set the mystery melon on the table and we all examined it. It was almost exactly the size, shape, weight and color of a bowling ball. The finger holes were the only things missing.
We conjectured for a while about what strange kind of gourd it was, but couldn't come to any conclusions.
After a while we ate dinner, sitting in the shade of great big pine trees at old metal picnic tables that are much older than I am with a light breeze blowing our hair and the edges of the table cloths my grandma had put down. We talked about school and work and Em and I bragged about our kickass derby hats. The sun sunk lower, elongating the shadows. We began to pack up the food and plates.
"Wait!" yelled Dan, and produced a large knife. He grabbed a spare bit of tinfoil and plunked the mystery melon on top of it. With the precision of a surgeon, he made an incision in the melon, carefully and slowly splitting it in two. Then, with a sudden motion, he pulled the melon apart.
"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered.
It was, unmistakably, a watermelon.
It was unappetizingly mushy, though, and instead of dessert, became target practice.
But, teach us to doubt Grandma!
Hope you had a good labor day, too!
Sarah
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Pests!
Earlier in the summer, when all the crazy summer rains began, we had customers flocking to our anti-mosquito section. We couldn't even keep most of the stuff in stock, it was going so quickly. OFF sprays and citronella candles and bug zappers and citronella oils to go in lamps and mosquito dunks, oh!, the mosquito dunks! On Mondays (freight day) I'd have customers come in and demand I go through all the bins of freight just so they could get first dibs on the dunks. The two-packs were good but the six packs were better!
As you might imagine, we are still selling a lot of mosquito stuff, but right now the huge thing is flies. Flies are absolutely everywhere! The little sneaky small ones that buzz around your ears and drive you crazy but are so fast you hardly see 'em, and the big fat ones that seem to haunt your every move and stare you down with their big fat gross fly eyes. It's times like this that lots of people fly-hunt recreationally- we stroll leisurely around with a flyswatter in hand just looking for targets. And yes, I include myself in this category. Much like a paranoid ex-cop with his gun always near-by, oiled and ready for action, I have a pink and white flyswatter hidden by the cash register and unlike the gun enthusiast, I don't even have to switch the safety on and off!
Just last week I was eating lunch with my dad in the break room and we were joined by my Aunt Sonja and Uncle Jeff- my aunt was eating but my uncle wasn't. He sat back in his plastic lawn chair at the break table with a flyswatter clutched firmly in his hand, eyes cast upwards following the two or three little black winged demons as they buzzed around and occasionally dive-bombed the table. Every so often he would abruptly stand and slice the swatter through the air at a little buzzy target, without much success. After a while he sat down, shoulders slumped in defeat, looking at the swatter in his hand with dislike.
"I have the wrong weapon," he told us. "What I really need is my shotgun."
If you are really having trouble with pests we have something on the Rental side of the ACE store called The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book that I highly recommend. Tucked behind several shelves of fertilizer and Miracle Gro products and facing a shelf of lawn ornaments (like statues of the Virgin Mary and bobble head frogs) is a sort of altar with this humongous reference book on it. It is close to 1000 pages and is filled with photos of creepy bugs and descriptions and advice and pictures of rotting plants. I try to visit the altar and read a bit of the book everyday, usually right after I water the barrels of plants in front of the store because after lugging gallons and gallons of water I'm hot and cranky and the altar is right underneath a swamp cooler vent.
Pestwise, I personally have been having my issues with scorpions. I saw (and killed!) three scorpions in a period of two weeks. According to The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book, though scorpions are most often found outside under rocks etc, the will sometimes venture indoors when the weather gets really hot. Which it has. The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book also said that these scorpions are really pretty shy and mean no harm and just sting when threatened, and most times their stings are no more severe than a bee sting- really not dangerous unless you're allergic. So, basically, The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book told me to grow up and stop being such a wimp. Thanks, The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book.
On a more personal note, I am taking this semester off of school. I'm working at ACE (obviously...) instead of school and I'm really trying to focus on writing. I love writing and I think I'm pretty good at it and if you're reading this you either like what you read or are family and have no choice. Either way, I hope you'll stick with me. I'm going to try to write more and more blogs, even if they're not very good. I just need to get in the habit of writing more.
Thank you!!
Sarah
As you might imagine, we are still selling a lot of mosquito stuff, but right now the huge thing is flies. Flies are absolutely everywhere! The little sneaky small ones that buzz around your ears and drive you crazy but are so fast you hardly see 'em, and the big fat ones that seem to haunt your every move and stare you down with their big fat gross fly eyes. It's times like this that lots of people fly-hunt recreationally- we stroll leisurely around with a flyswatter in hand just looking for targets. And yes, I include myself in this category. Much like a paranoid ex-cop with his gun always near-by, oiled and ready for action, I have a pink and white flyswatter hidden by the cash register and unlike the gun enthusiast, I don't even have to switch the safety on and off!
Just last week I was eating lunch with my dad in the break room and we were joined by my Aunt Sonja and Uncle Jeff- my aunt was eating but my uncle wasn't. He sat back in his plastic lawn chair at the break table with a flyswatter clutched firmly in his hand, eyes cast upwards following the two or three little black winged demons as they buzzed around and occasionally dive-bombed the table. Every so often he would abruptly stand and slice the swatter through the air at a little buzzy target, without much success. After a while he sat down, shoulders slumped in defeat, looking at the swatter in his hand with dislike.
"I have the wrong weapon," he told us. "What I really need is my shotgun."
If you are really having trouble with pests we have something on the Rental side of the ACE store called The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book that I highly recommend. Tucked behind several shelves of fertilizer and Miracle Gro products and facing a shelf of lawn ornaments (like statues of the Virgin Mary and bobble head frogs) is a sort of altar with this humongous reference book on it. It is close to 1000 pages and is filled with photos of creepy bugs and descriptions and advice and pictures of rotting plants. I try to visit the altar and read a bit of the book everyday, usually right after I water the barrels of plants in front of the store because after lugging gallons and gallons of water I'm hot and cranky and the altar is right underneath a swamp cooler vent.
Pestwise, I personally have been having my issues with scorpions. I saw (and killed!) three scorpions in a period of two weeks. According to The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book, though scorpions are most often found outside under rocks etc, the will sometimes venture indoors when the weather gets really hot. Which it has. The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book also said that these scorpions are really pretty shy and mean no harm and just sting when threatened, and most times their stings are no more severe than a bee sting- really not dangerous unless you're allergic. So, basically, The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book told me to grow up and stop being such a wimp. Thanks, The Ortho Problem Solver- America's Definitive Reference Book.
On a more personal note, I am taking this semester off of school. I'm working at ACE (obviously...) instead of school and I'm really trying to focus on writing. I love writing and I think I'm pretty good at it and if you're reading this you either like what you read or are family and have no choice. Either way, I hope you'll stick with me. I'm going to try to write more and more blogs, even if they're not very good. I just need to get in the habit of writing more.
Thank you!!
Sarah
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Your Very Own Guide to Raton, NM!
I am fortunate enough to have been born in the cultural hotspot of Raton, America, and I felt it's time to share with those not so fortunate. Below I have compiled a small list of terms, locations, and activities common here in the Land of Enchantment.
You're welcome in advance.
BEAR BAIT- Local term. A not-so endearing term for the massive amounts of Boy Scouts who come through Raton every summer on their way to Philmont Scout Ranch.
CHAY (also SHAY)- Local vernacular. Not to be confused with "E". The word "chay" is usually used as an exclamation of surprise, awe, astonishment, or shock. In some cases, the word is drawn out extensively: "Chaaaayyyyyyyy". This usually indicates a larger amount of surprise, awe, etc.
CHUPACABRA- Local legend. Or is it? True, the Chupacabra is not just limited to New Mexico, but it is well known here. Every so often the NM news channels will do stories on the Chupacabra, and they are always a funny mix of the newscasters shooting holes in the story and irate farmers complaining about the damn things eating their goats.
CRUISING- Common local activity. Mostly a social activity, "cruising" is the activity of driving up and down Raton's 2nd Street with friends, blasting loud music and wasting finite natural resources.
DAIRY QUEEN ICE CREAM CONE- Infamous local landmark. Located in front of Raton's Dairy Queen establishment, there is a humongous replica of an ice cream cone. Just about every six year old who has seen it has licked it, Raton citizens included.
E- Local vernacular. Not to be confused with "chay". "E" (pronounced like it looks) is generally an exclamation of chagrin, annoyance, frustration, or exasperation. Often drawn out, "Eeeeeeeeeeee" sometimes comes out as an irritated sigh.
FIREBALLS, THE- The Fireballs are one of Raton's few claim-to-fames. The band formed in the 1950's and is known for the hit, "Sugar Shack".
GARDNER ROAD- Infamous local landmark. Gardner Road is a small road on the outskirts of Raton, not heavily trafficked. Mostly used by locals as a place to drink, get high, have sex, and/or hunt for trolls.
OMBERS- Local vernacular. Pronounced "awwm-burs". All but extinct, this word was the precursor to "chay", and is therefore noteworthy. Mostly used by elementary school children. As with "chay" and "E", "ombers" was sometimes drawn out.
PO-PO- Local vernacular. Term for the police, of course. I actually made a joke out of it: What does Santa Claus say when he sees the police? Po-po-po!
POLICE REPORT- Local news. Played on the radio, it's a list of alleged criminals and their crimes. Almost always good for a laugh, since it's such a small town. It's always great when someone you don't like gets a speeding ticket or something.
RATON- Place. Located in the Northeast corner of New Mexico, this gem of a town was once called "Willow Springs" but is now called Raton. No one is exactly sure why. For the record, pronounced correctly it would be something like "Ruh-tone" but we locals pronounce it "Rat-own".
TROLL- Local legend. Out on Gardner Road (see above), there is a bridge that, legend has it, is home to a flesh-eating troll. Locals will sometimes dare each other to go troll-hunting at night. As far as I'm aware, the troll has never been sighted, but when you go under the bridge in the daylight, there are bones down there. Maybe not such a legend after all...
WALMART (as in, "Let's go to Walmart!")- Location/Activity. Superior to KMart because of its location and 24 hour operation, locals like to go there a lot. It's an excuse to go to Trinidad where there are lots of different restaurants and whether you buy anything or not, there's always something to do. NOTE: Playing hide and seek there is frowned upon...
Have you contacted your travel agent yet? :)
Sarah
You're welcome in advance.
BEAR BAIT- Local term. A not-so endearing term for the massive amounts of Boy Scouts who come through Raton every summer on their way to Philmont Scout Ranch.
CHAY (also SHAY)- Local vernacular. Not to be confused with "E". The word "chay" is usually used as an exclamation of surprise, awe, astonishment, or shock. In some cases, the word is drawn out extensively: "Chaaaayyyyyyyy". This usually indicates a larger amount of surprise, awe, etc.
CHUPACABRA- Local legend. Or is it? True, the Chupacabra is not just limited to New Mexico, but it is well known here. Every so often the NM news channels will do stories on the Chupacabra, and they are always a funny mix of the newscasters shooting holes in the story and irate farmers complaining about the damn things eating their goats.
CRUISING- Common local activity. Mostly a social activity, "cruising" is the activity of driving up and down Raton's 2nd Street with friends, blasting loud music and wasting finite natural resources.
DAIRY QUEEN ICE CREAM CONE- Infamous local landmark. Located in front of Raton's Dairy Queen establishment, there is a humongous replica of an ice cream cone. Just about every six year old who has seen it has licked it, Raton citizens included.
E- Local vernacular. Not to be confused with "chay". "E" (pronounced like it looks) is generally an exclamation of chagrin, annoyance, frustration, or exasperation. Often drawn out, "Eeeeeeeeeeee" sometimes comes out as an irritated sigh.
FIREBALLS, THE- The Fireballs are one of Raton's few claim-to-fames. The band formed in the 1950's and is known for the hit, "Sugar Shack".
GARDNER ROAD- Infamous local landmark. Gardner Road is a small road on the outskirts of Raton, not heavily trafficked. Mostly used by locals as a place to drink, get high, have sex, and/or hunt for trolls.
OMBERS- Local vernacular. Pronounced "awwm-burs". All but extinct, this word was the precursor to "chay", and is therefore noteworthy. Mostly used by elementary school children. As with "chay" and "E", "ombers" was sometimes drawn out.
PO-PO- Local vernacular. Term for the police, of course. I actually made a joke out of it: What does Santa Claus say when he sees the police? Po-po-po!
POLICE REPORT- Local news. Played on the radio, it's a list of alleged criminals and their crimes. Almost always good for a laugh, since it's such a small town. It's always great when someone you don't like gets a speeding ticket or something.
RATON- Place. Located in the Northeast corner of New Mexico, this gem of a town was once called "Willow Springs" but is now called Raton. No one is exactly sure why. For the record, pronounced correctly it would be something like "Ruh-tone" but we locals pronounce it "Rat-own".
TROLL- Local legend. Out on Gardner Road (see above), there is a bridge that, legend has it, is home to a flesh-eating troll. Locals will sometimes dare each other to go troll-hunting at night. As far as I'm aware, the troll has never been sighted, but when you go under the bridge in the daylight, there are bones down there. Maybe not such a legend after all...
WALMART (as in, "Let's go to Walmart!")- Location/Activity. Superior to KMart because of its location and 24 hour operation, locals like to go there a lot. It's an excuse to go to Trinidad where there are lots of different restaurants and whether you buy anything or not, there's always something to do. NOTE: Playing hide and seek there is frowned upon...
Have you contacted your travel agent yet? :)
Sarah
Monday, July 22, 2013
West Virginia, a blog
So, about ten days ago I posted a poem I wrote about my trip to West Virginia, but it's high time I posted a longer, more detailed tribute. I, along with my sister Elizabeth (Emmy) and her boyfriend David, went out to West Virginia to visit my mom, step-dad Leo and their dogs!
FUN West Virginia facts and trivia!
Did you know...?
Thursday, July 4th
For the record, and this will be relevant later in the blog, I have two Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter shirts. I wore one on this day because it was Independence Day and the shirt says on it "Are you a patriot or a vampire?" and is therefore the most patriotic shirt I own.
Every year on the fourth of July, my family hosts a picnic for friends and family. Thinking back, I think the only one I've ever missed was three summers ago when I went to West Virginia the first time! Anyway, every year the picnic is a little different (some new people will come, some regulars don't make it, and the weather is subject to change) and a lot the same: my dad sits in a chair by the BBQ, drinking beer, surrounded by a bunch of guys with boisterous laughter, my grandma never EVER sits and instead flits around from person to person, table to table, literally forcing people to eat, demanding "Are you having fun?" and worrying because her head count is three off from last year, and the rest of us eat, drink, and try not to get sunburned.
Anyway, this fourth of July didn't disappoint. One of the only notable differences was that David's family came this year and he and his brother Buddha got involved in a water gun battle with my cousin Brian and his friend, and David and his brother dominated so heavily it was kind of hilarious.
Another difference was that after the picnic, my sister, David and I didn't hang around and watch Raton's firework display, but instead got in the car and drove down to Albuquerque!
Friday, July 5th
Friday was just kind of a long day traveling. We got up at 4:30 to get the 5:15 shuttle from our hotel to the airport, flew to Dallas, waited a few hours, got on a plane, waited about an hour while they fixed the "secondary power", which provides the plane with air conditioning, then flew to Charleston, WV!
We were picked up by Leo and three border collies. We went up the holler and hung out for a bit, then went downtown and listened to a concert right by the river. It was loud and lively and there were a bunch of people dancing like crazy. My mom and Leo kicked off their shoes and went dancing too! I'd say the majority of the crowd was more than a little intoxicated and it was pretty funny. My sister and I especially liked a guy that was twirling a lit-up baton- he was pretty bad at it but seemed to think he was pretty badass.
Afterwards we checked into our hotel by a guy at the front counter named Bob. Later that evening David went back down to ask a question and Bob was sitting out in front of the hotel with some buddies, smoking and drinking beer. Ahhhh, West Virginia!
Saturday, July 6th
On Saturday, we visited the Capitol Building in Charleston and then went fishing! Well, David went fishing while we watched and sat in the shade. It was kinda crazy because a car that was parked right next to ours got broken into while we and it's owners were about fifty feet away. Luckily none of us had left anything valuable in our car! Anyway, the police were called and it was then that we discovered West Virginians do not use the term "Po-po".
Sunday, July 7th
Sunday we went white-water rafting! West Virginia had been getting a whole lotta rain and all the rivers were really high. It was a great day for because it was kinda overcast and not too hot. Leo took his kayak and paddled alongside our raft. He thought the high water didn't make the rapids quite exciting enough but we all had a pretty cool time. Since we had to drive a ways to get to the rafting place, we got to see lots of the countryside and it is so unbelievably green and beautiful!
Monday, July 8th
I'd never been to a Cabela's before, or even known what it was, but Charleston had one so we went! It is this humongous hunting/fishing/camping kinda store. To state the obvious, I'm not a hunting/fishing/camping kind of girl but it was still pretty cool. They had tons of taxidermy on the walls and Em and I spent a good twenty minutes looking at all the bright, sparkly, stinky, gross kinds of fish bait.
That evening we went to see the Lone Ranger and sat through all of the end credits just to see New Mexico credited!
Tuesday, July 9th
My mom, David, Em and I drove from Charleston to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.
The first thing I thought when we entered the lobby of the Gettysburg hotel was, "Wow! It smells like grapes and maple syrup in here!" because it did. Well, I thought so. I don't think everybody else really did. They agreed about the syrup and thought maybe chlorine, cuz of the pool, but no. It was grapes.
That evening we ate dinner at a brewery. David and my mom had some beer and I had a vodka cranberry or two. We tried pierogis for the first time and they weren't bad.
Wednesday, July 10th
When packing my suitcase I planned ahead for this trip and brought my SECOND Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter shirt specifically for this day. It is black and has the likeness of a penny on it, just with some blood and an ax. Where better to wear an Abe Lincoln shirt but Gettysburg? I put it on and my mom appraised me thoughtfully. She said, "I can't decide if it's a stroke of genius to wear that here, or just tacky and in bad taste."
The first thing we did that morning was go to the Gettysburg Visitor's Center. It's a huge building absolutely filled with civil war history! They have displays with weapons, soldier uniforms, medical devices, pictures, documents, you name it! They showed a short film about Gettysburg and in the visitor's center they also had something called the "Cyclorama" which was a massive, 360 degree oil painting from the late 1800's depicting the battle at Gettysburg. It's been restored and they light parts of it from behind while describing what's happening in the painting. It was incredible!
Afterwards, we went to the cemetery, where they have lots of memorials and countless gravestones, many unknown. They had a monument where Lincoln actually delivered the Gettysburg address and that was absolutely awesome!
We went to see the Wax Museum and then walked around from shop to shop looking at an unbelievable amount of merchandise. In front of a business that ran late-night Gettysburg ghost tours, a young man was dressed in Civil War-era clothing and handing out fliers. He gave us one and told us a little about it. He suddenly broke off his spiel, staring at me.
"I love your shirt!" he told me. "That was such an awesome movie!" I grinned at him, overjoyed to have someone appreciate the effort.
In the evening, we were getting ready to have dinner and my sister's phone rang. It was a computerized message kindly letting her know that our flight out of Harrisburg had been canceled. That was it. So after dinner we went back to our hotel room and Em spent literally about three hours on hold with Expedia, and then a few different airlines, trying to get a flight back home!
It was a long, stressful few hours but we managed to have a pretty good time anyway. One of the TV channels was playing Sleepless in Seattle on repeat and we had a bag of pretzels and some Dr. Peppers so while Em was on hold from numerous travel agents we just kind of hung out. We are now able to brag that we have heard Expedia's full "music while you're on hold" playlist!
Finally, we secured a flight from Baltimore to Houston to Albuquerque.
Thursday, July 11th
Thursday was another really long day of travelling, made even better by the fact that I lost my wallet somewhere in the Houston airport.
But we made it home. I really, really missed my dog and my kitties. What I didn't miss so much was work. The very next morning...
Sarah
with lots of credit to ELIZABETH RECORD for helping me remember
FUN West Virginia facts and trivia!
Did you know...?
- West Virginia covers about 24,000 square miles and has a population of about 1.8 million
- 25% of the nation's total coal production comes from West Virginia
- THEY HAVE CRAY-SEEEEE WEST VIRGINIA PRIDE!
Thursday, July 4th
For the record, and this will be relevant later in the blog, I have two Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter shirts. I wore one on this day because it was Independence Day and the shirt says on it "Are you a patriot or a vampire?" and is therefore the most patriotic shirt I own.
Every year on the fourth of July, my family hosts a picnic for friends and family. Thinking back, I think the only one I've ever missed was three summers ago when I went to West Virginia the first time! Anyway, every year the picnic is a little different (some new people will come, some regulars don't make it, and the weather is subject to change) and a lot the same: my dad sits in a chair by the BBQ, drinking beer, surrounded by a bunch of guys with boisterous laughter, my grandma never EVER sits and instead flits around from person to person, table to table, literally forcing people to eat, demanding "Are you having fun?" and worrying because her head count is three off from last year, and the rest of us eat, drink, and try not to get sunburned.
Anyway, this fourth of July didn't disappoint. One of the only notable differences was that David's family came this year and he and his brother Buddha got involved in a water gun battle with my cousin Brian and his friend, and David and his brother dominated so heavily it was kind of hilarious.
Another difference was that after the picnic, my sister, David and I didn't hang around and watch Raton's firework display, but instead got in the car and drove down to Albuquerque!
Friday, July 5th
Friday was just kind of a long day traveling. We got up at 4:30 to get the 5:15 shuttle from our hotel to the airport, flew to Dallas, waited a few hours, got on a plane, waited about an hour while they fixed the "secondary power", which provides the plane with air conditioning, then flew to Charleston, WV!
We were picked up by Leo and three border collies. We went up the holler and hung out for a bit, then went downtown and listened to a concert right by the river. It was loud and lively and there were a bunch of people dancing like crazy. My mom and Leo kicked off their shoes and went dancing too! I'd say the majority of the crowd was more than a little intoxicated and it was pretty funny. My sister and I especially liked a guy that was twirling a lit-up baton- he was pretty bad at it but seemed to think he was pretty badass.
Afterwards we checked into our hotel by a guy at the front counter named Bob. Later that evening David went back down to ask a question and Bob was sitting out in front of the hotel with some buddies, smoking and drinking beer. Ahhhh, West Virginia!
Saturday, July 6th
On Saturday, we visited the Capitol Building in Charleston and then went fishing! Well, David went fishing while we watched and sat in the shade. It was kinda crazy because a car that was parked right next to ours got broken into while we and it's owners were about fifty feet away. Luckily none of us had left anything valuable in our car! Anyway, the police were called and it was then that we discovered West Virginians do not use the term "Po-po".
Sunday, July 7th
Sunday we went white-water rafting! West Virginia had been getting a whole lotta rain and all the rivers were really high. It was a great day for because it was kinda overcast and not too hot. Leo took his kayak and paddled alongside our raft. He thought the high water didn't make the rapids quite exciting enough but we all had a pretty cool time. Since we had to drive a ways to get to the rafting place, we got to see lots of the countryside and it is so unbelievably green and beautiful!
Monday, July 8th
I'd never been to a Cabela's before, or even known what it was, but Charleston had one so we went! It is this humongous hunting/fishing/camping kinda store. To state the obvious, I'm not a hunting/fishing/camping kind of girl but it was still pretty cool. They had tons of taxidermy on the walls and Em and I spent a good twenty minutes looking at all the bright, sparkly, stinky, gross kinds of fish bait.
That evening we went to see the Lone Ranger and sat through all of the end credits just to see New Mexico credited!
Tuesday, July 9th
My mom, David, Em and I drove from Charleston to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.
The first thing I thought when we entered the lobby of the Gettysburg hotel was, "Wow! It smells like grapes and maple syrup in here!" because it did. Well, I thought so. I don't think everybody else really did. They agreed about the syrup and thought maybe chlorine, cuz of the pool, but no. It was grapes.
That evening we ate dinner at a brewery. David and my mom had some beer and I had a vodka cranberry or two. We tried pierogis for the first time and they weren't bad.
Wednesday, July 10th
When packing my suitcase I planned ahead for this trip and brought my SECOND Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter shirt specifically for this day. It is black and has the likeness of a penny on it, just with some blood and an ax. Where better to wear an Abe Lincoln shirt but Gettysburg? I put it on and my mom appraised me thoughtfully. She said, "I can't decide if it's a stroke of genius to wear that here, or just tacky and in bad taste."
The first thing we did that morning was go to the Gettysburg Visitor's Center. It's a huge building absolutely filled with civil war history! They have displays with weapons, soldier uniforms, medical devices, pictures, documents, you name it! They showed a short film about Gettysburg and in the visitor's center they also had something called the "Cyclorama" which was a massive, 360 degree oil painting from the late 1800's depicting the battle at Gettysburg. It's been restored and they light parts of it from behind while describing what's happening in the painting. It was incredible!
Afterwards, we went to the cemetery, where they have lots of memorials and countless gravestones, many unknown. They had a monument where Lincoln actually delivered the Gettysburg address and that was absolutely awesome!
We went to see the Wax Museum and then walked around from shop to shop looking at an unbelievable amount of merchandise. In front of a business that ran late-night Gettysburg ghost tours, a young man was dressed in Civil War-era clothing and handing out fliers. He gave us one and told us a little about it. He suddenly broke off his spiel, staring at me.
"I love your shirt!" he told me. "That was such an awesome movie!" I grinned at him, overjoyed to have someone appreciate the effort.
In the evening, we were getting ready to have dinner and my sister's phone rang. It was a computerized message kindly letting her know that our flight out of Harrisburg had been canceled. That was it. So after dinner we went back to our hotel room and Em spent literally about three hours on hold with Expedia, and then a few different airlines, trying to get a flight back home!
It was a long, stressful few hours but we managed to have a pretty good time anyway. One of the TV channels was playing Sleepless in Seattle on repeat and we had a bag of pretzels and some Dr. Peppers so while Em was on hold from numerous travel agents we just kind of hung out. We are now able to brag that we have heard Expedia's full "music while you're on hold" playlist!
Finally, we secured a flight from Baltimore to Houston to Albuquerque.
Thursday, July 11th
Thursday was another really long day of travelling, made even better by the fact that I lost my wallet somewhere in the Houston airport.
But we made it home. I really, really missed my dog and my kitties. What I didn't miss so much was work. The very next morning...
Sarah
with lots of credit to ELIZABETH RECORD for helping me remember
Friday, July 12, 2013
West Virginia, a poem
I recently visited West Virginia and eventually I will post a blog about the trip. However, I'm feeling extremely lazy right now so that will have to wait.
In the meantime, I will post this poem I wrote while in West Virginia. Please note that poetry is not something I'm good at, do often, nor really enjoy. I was just in a rhyming mood, that's all. It's not that great but I still want to share it with whoever wants to read it.
All right!
From New Mexico, born and raised
To move elsewhere you must be crazed!
Why else would you move worlds away
Where there's no green chili and it rains all day?
West Virginia, green and lush
When it rains the rivers rush
Biscuit World in Charlie West
Dairy Winkle is the best
Churches poaching without shame
For more denominations you can name.
Walleyes nibbling Emmy's feet
Bugs just love the humid heat
David fishing with borrowed poles
The land is full of half-mined coal
Lightning bugs sparkle in the dark
Feed the ducks at Daniel Boone Park.
Border Collies race up the holler
Get beer and hotdogs for a dollar!
The buildings are old, but the land is older.
It holds the bones of Civil War soldiers
Musicians stomp their feet and saw their fiddles
People have few teeth but large middles!
Smokey the bear says "Fire Danger is low"
There are clever license plates everywhere you go.
Cheer and throw toast for West Virginia Power
Go white water rafting for hours and hours!
All too soon, it's time to go
back to dry, fire-prone New Mexico.
I'll miss my mom, Leo and the big rivers state-wide
But I'll also miss the strong West Virginia pride!
By the way, if you're planning on flying through the Houston Airport, please look for my wallet?
Sarah
In the meantime, I will post this poem I wrote while in West Virginia. Please note that poetry is not something I'm good at, do often, nor really enjoy. I was just in a rhyming mood, that's all. It's not that great but I still want to share it with whoever wants to read it.
All right!
From New Mexico, born and raised
To move elsewhere you must be crazed!
Why else would you move worlds away
Where there's no green chili and it rains all day?
West Virginia, green and lush
When it rains the rivers rush
Biscuit World in Charlie West
Dairy Winkle is the best
Churches poaching without shame
For more denominations you can name.
Walleyes nibbling Emmy's feet
Bugs just love the humid heat
David fishing with borrowed poles
The land is full of half-mined coal
Lightning bugs sparkle in the dark
Feed the ducks at Daniel Boone Park.
Border Collies race up the holler
Get beer and hotdogs for a dollar!
The buildings are old, but the land is older.
It holds the bones of Civil War soldiers
Musicians stomp their feet and saw their fiddles
People have few teeth but large middles!
Smokey the bear says "Fire Danger is low"
There are clever license plates everywhere you go.
Cheer and throw toast for West Virginia Power
Go white water rafting for hours and hours!
All too soon, it's time to go
back to dry, fire-prone New Mexico.
I'll miss my mom, Leo and the big rivers state-wide
But I'll also miss the strong West Virginia pride!
By the way, if you're planning on flying through the Houston Airport, please look for my wallet?
Sarah
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
What Did You Say?
I'm going to tell you an embarrassing secret. Well, it's not SO secret. Like, lots of strangers have been learning this secret firsthand for the past ten days or so. Well, okay, it's not really a secret. But it DOES embarrass me. Ready?
I have, um, how shall I say? "Spotty" hearing. I don't mean that I'm deaf, no, not at all. I can hear quiet sounds just fine! And I'm not talking about selective hearing; everybody has that. What I mean is, when people speak, I often have trouble understanding exactly what they say. I either hear a bunch of unintelligible sounds or I hear them say something different entirely. This is not a new problem! I've had it for as long as I can remember. It happens a lot in everyday conversations but when it comes to song lyrics, whispering, and especially people talking on the other end of a telephone call, I am really in trouble. Plus, all these things are compounded under stressful situations.
Don't know what I mean? For example, someone might tell me, "Please close the drawer" and I'll open the door. Until I was about sixteen, I honestly and truly believed the Von Trapp father from "Sound of Music" was, indeed, named Gaeogg. It never even occurred to me that their European accents would make the name "Georg" sound like that.
When I was younger, I, like so many, watched the 1970's musical "Grease" and sang along with the catchy classic songs like "Summer Nights" and "You're The One That I Want". It wasn't til my mom laughed at me when she heard me singing "Greased Lightnin" and corrected me that I realized I was singing the lyrics completely incorrectly. For the record, the correct lyrics are:
"Go, Greased Lightnin', you're burnin' up the quarter mile!
Greased Lighnin', Go Greased Lightnin'!" along with choreography of the Grease cast moving their arms horizontally across and then up and down, I guess signifying watching the car race across the screen or whatever.
I know that now. However, at the time, I thought they were singing:
"Go, Greased Lightnin', you're burnin' up the 409!
Greased Lightnin', Go Greased Lightnin'"! and I thought the hand movements signified them using the kitchen cleanser to wipe the greasy mess away!
Shut up.
Here is a link to a video of the song:
http://youtu.be/wK63eUyk-iM
Watch the video and during that part, can't you imagine the cast of Grease was using 409 to wipe up various greasy kitchen surfaces?
This problem of mine has really come to light recently because last Monday, I started a new job. As I stated in a previous blog, I've been working in the ACE Greenhouse but our greenhouse season is now over and I was out of a job! So, I started working the Rental counter inside the store. I've worked in and around the ACE store for a very long time, but only doing things like greenhouse, making bin tag labels, checking inventory, ordering, mowing the back lot, etc. Never have I worked at the counter! You would think that working the cash register inside the store wouldn't be that different from doing it in the greenhouse, but you would be wrong.
Not only is the cash register much more complex, but I also had to learn to run credit and debit cards, endorse checks, do returns, answer phones, transfer calls and.... do rental forms!
Rental forms are competed by taking the renter's information like name/name of business, phone number, equipment name and information, etc. These make me really nervous because so far I'm not good at them at all and I don't completely understand how to do them correctly.
Anyway, this afternoon, a man came in to rent some equipment. My coworker, Rich, has been helping me learn to fill out the forms and he knew the man and had me work on the form as they chatted nearby. For whatever reason, no matter how many times the man told me his business's name, I couldn't quite catch it. I felt awkward after asking him to repeat it several times so I filled out the form with what I had heard.
After a minute, the customer leaned over to scan what I had written. I knew it was bad when he did a double take and pulled the form towards him.
"Girl!" he exclaimed. "It is ANDREW's Plumbing, not ANGIE's!!" Then he began to laugh and snort and so did Rich.
"Oh, my god," I said, hanging my head, ashamed.
"It's okay," he chuckled. "Just, please change it."
Towards the end of my day, a man came up to the counter with his merchandise. He took in my frazzled appearance and generally stressed-out demeanor. He smiled kindly. "You new?"
"Fine, thanks," I smiled back.
He raised his voice slightly and enunciated. "YOU NEW HERE?"
I turned pink. "Yeah. Very."
"Thought so."
And I am new. And I think I will get better and better. And as embarrassing as these things are when they happen, they do make good stories later...
Sarah
I have, um, how shall I say? "Spotty" hearing. I don't mean that I'm deaf, no, not at all. I can hear quiet sounds just fine! And I'm not talking about selective hearing; everybody has that. What I mean is, when people speak, I often have trouble understanding exactly what they say. I either hear a bunch of unintelligible sounds or I hear them say something different entirely. This is not a new problem! I've had it for as long as I can remember. It happens a lot in everyday conversations but when it comes to song lyrics, whispering, and especially people talking on the other end of a telephone call, I am really in trouble. Plus, all these things are compounded under stressful situations.
Don't know what I mean? For example, someone might tell me, "Please close the drawer" and I'll open the door. Until I was about sixteen, I honestly and truly believed the Von Trapp father from "Sound of Music" was, indeed, named Gaeogg. It never even occurred to me that their European accents would make the name "Georg" sound like that.
When I was younger, I, like so many, watched the 1970's musical "Grease" and sang along with the catchy classic songs like "Summer Nights" and "You're The One That I Want". It wasn't til my mom laughed at me when she heard me singing "Greased Lightnin" and corrected me that I realized I was singing the lyrics completely incorrectly. For the record, the correct lyrics are:
"Go, Greased Lightnin', you're burnin' up the quarter mile!
Greased Lighnin', Go Greased Lightnin'!" along with choreography of the Grease cast moving their arms horizontally across and then up and down, I guess signifying watching the car race across the screen or whatever.
I know that now. However, at the time, I thought they were singing:
"Go, Greased Lightnin', you're burnin' up the 409!
Greased Lightnin', Go Greased Lightnin'"! and I thought the hand movements signified them using the kitchen cleanser to wipe the greasy mess away!
Shut up.
Here is a link to a video of the song:
http://youtu.be/wK63eUyk-iM
Watch the video and during that part, can't you imagine the cast of Grease was using 409 to wipe up various greasy kitchen surfaces?
This problem of mine has really come to light recently because last Monday, I started a new job. As I stated in a previous blog, I've been working in the ACE Greenhouse but our greenhouse season is now over and I was out of a job! So, I started working the Rental counter inside the store. I've worked in and around the ACE store for a very long time, but only doing things like greenhouse, making bin tag labels, checking inventory, ordering, mowing the back lot, etc. Never have I worked at the counter! You would think that working the cash register inside the store wouldn't be that different from doing it in the greenhouse, but you would be wrong.
Not only is the cash register much more complex, but I also had to learn to run credit and debit cards, endorse checks, do returns, answer phones, transfer calls and.... do rental forms!
Rental forms are competed by taking the renter's information like name/name of business, phone number, equipment name and information, etc. These make me really nervous because so far I'm not good at them at all and I don't completely understand how to do them correctly.
Anyway, this afternoon, a man came in to rent some equipment. My coworker, Rich, has been helping me learn to fill out the forms and he knew the man and had me work on the form as they chatted nearby. For whatever reason, no matter how many times the man told me his business's name, I couldn't quite catch it. I felt awkward after asking him to repeat it several times so I filled out the form with what I had heard.
After a minute, the customer leaned over to scan what I had written. I knew it was bad when he did a double take and pulled the form towards him.
"Girl!" he exclaimed. "It is ANDREW's Plumbing, not ANGIE's!!" Then he began to laugh and snort and so did Rich.
"Oh, my god," I said, hanging my head, ashamed.
"It's okay," he chuckled. "Just, please change it."
Towards the end of my day, a man came up to the counter with his merchandise. He took in my frazzled appearance and generally stressed-out demeanor. He smiled kindly. "You new?"
"Fine, thanks," I smiled back.
He raised his voice slightly and enunciated. "YOU NEW HERE?"
I turned pink. "Yeah. Very."
"Thought so."
And I am new. And I think I will get better and better. And as embarrassing as these things are when they happen, they do make good stories later...
Sarah
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Greenhouse Happenings
So this morning, Record's ACE Hardware got in our last load of plants for this year. At the risk of sounding like a sales pitch, we got in a ton of different colored petunias and other $2.59 six pack annuals, some more of the $4.99 quart geraniums that have been in heavy demand (along with several more of the huge $19.99 geraniums), a bunch of hanging baskets ($17.99 and $29.99!), a few more vegetable six packs and a few single tomato plants. We also have some rose bushes (now only $14.99!) and quite a few perennials left, along with some trees and shrubs.
Re-reading that now I realized that I can't even pretend that that wasn't a sales pitch. Ah well.... hey, if you're in the area we're open til 5:15pm or so Monday-Saturday!
For the past 4 or 5 greenhouse seasons I have spent quite a bit of time out in the greenhouse. The season generally lasts from early/mid-April to early June. While that doesn't sound like a lot of time, we move an impressive amount of plants during those few weeks!
I'm not 100% sure why, but this year out in the greenhouse has been, by far, my best yet. Polite small talk has come easier, I know more about the plants, and I no longer panic at the thought of handling the money. I guess it just comes from years of experience and also that we have an awesome, functional cash register out there. For my first few years (and years and years before I was out there!) we didn't have any register and when people wanted to check out, we had to write down on pieces of scrap paper all the prices, add them up with a calculator, then reference the "tax sheet" to see how much tax was, then add it to the total. Then take the money. Yeah, it doesn't sound hard, but when you're out there and people are in a hurry and you hate math anyway like I do, it just sucks.
Oh, and you didn't hear it from me, but this year my dad and uncle really took control of prices in the greenhouse, and that has made a tremendous difference! In past years, people who shall remain nameless liked to price almost everything differently and didn't like to make price stickers so it was just a huge confusing mess! This year has been soooooooo much simpler!
Anyway I was thinking today about the greenhouse and all sorts of things that happened and people I've met and I decided to compile a list to share with you! I haven't done a blog in a while and I thought it's time I made a new one.
As I said at the beginning, today was the last load and I'm pretty happy about that! I love the greenhouse but it's sort of this stressful blur and it's cool to have over with. After greenhouse season this year I'm gonna try some cashiering inside the store. Summer is always crazy busy and they always need extra help! However, I will be taking a break in July- Emmy, David and I are headed to.... WEST VIRGINIA! Can't wait!!
Sarah
Re-reading that now I realized that I can't even pretend that that wasn't a sales pitch. Ah well.... hey, if you're in the area we're open til 5:15pm or so Monday-Saturday!
For the past 4 or 5 greenhouse seasons I have spent quite a bit of time out in the greenhouse. The season generally lasts from early/mid-April to early June. While that doesn't sound like a lot of time, we move an impressive amount of plants during those few weeks!
I'm not 100% sure why, but this year out in the greenhouse has been, by far, my best yet. Polite small talk has come easier, I know more about the plants, and I no longer panic at the thought of handling the money. I guess it just comes from years of experience and also that we have an awesome, functional cash register out there. For my first few years (and years and years before I was out there!) we didn't have any register and when people wanted to check out, we had to write down on pieces of scrap paper all the prices, add them up with a calculator, then reference the "tax sheet" to see how much tax was, then add it to the total. Then take the money. Yeah, it doesn't sound hard, but when you're out there and people are in a hurry and you hate math anyway like I do, it just sucks.
Oh, and you didn't hear it from me, but this year my dad and uncle really took control of prices in the greenhouse, and that has made a tremendous difference! In past years, people who shall remain nameless liked to price almost everything differently and didn't like to make price stickers so it was just a huge confusing mess! This year has been soooooooo much simpler!
Anyway I was thinking today about the greenhouse and all sorts of things that happened and people I've met and I decided to compile a list to share with you! I haven't done a blog in a while and I thought it's time I made a new one.
- You may or may not be familiar with her, but there is a black cat who lives in the rental shop. Her name is Lucky, named, I believe, both for the irony factor and for the fact that she is, indeed, lucky! She is the sweetest cat and everyone who works at ACE --and many people who don't-- adore her. She had a few litters of kittens before we had her fixed and two of them live up at my dad's- Betty and Bob. She wears a spiked leather collar with her tags on it. Anyway, sometimes she deigns to visit us out in the greenhouse- it's a nice, warm place to sleep and keep an eye on things. Although she is completely black and the greenhouse is sunny and full of bright flowers, she still manages somehow to blend in nicely and sometimes people never even see her. But when they do, I've noticed a pattern: Women dragging their husbands/boyfriends/sons in the greenhouse with them will notice her and give her a pat on the head- "Hi, kitty!"-and continue browsing. The husbands/boyfriends/sons, however, will see her and totally zone in: KITTY! For the rest of the time they're in the greenhouse, they focus on nothing else. They talk to her and pet her and wiggle their fingers or bits of string so she chases them. It's kind of adorable.
- There is also a pattern I've noticed, not just in the greenhouse but everywhere I go, of how people react to my appearance. When it comes to my colorful hair, young children point and tell their parents, "Look at her hair! It's pink!" and the parents shush them and take them away. Old men like to tell me, "Young lady, there seems to be something wrong with your hair!" and chuckle at their wit. Most people in the middle seem to have no reaction whatsoever. When it comes to the safety pin I've had in my ear for years and years, most of the reactions come from middle aged women, whose mouths go agape in fascinated horror.
- In all my years out in the greenhouse, I have carried countless boxes of flowers and shrubs and trees out to people's cars and I have received exactly one tip: three boxes of cereal! It was about three years ago and when I helped a lady to her car with her flowers she told me that she had bought these boxes of cereal but they had way too much sugar, so, would I like them? Sure! I took them home and my dad and I ate them.
- Last week my dad carried some trees out to a woman's car and she tipped him two dollars. He gave them to me to buy hotdogs for Otis!
- Last year I had an older lady came through and bought a few six packs of flowers. While I was checking her out on the cash register, she was telling me how that was the easy part- now she had to go plant them! I smiled. I hear that a lot. She frowned and seemed to debate with herself for a few seconds and finally said tentatively, "You wouldn't be interested in planting them for me, would you?" I chuckled. Thought she was joking. "Seriously," she told me, "I'll give you all the iced tea you can drink!" Unfortunately, I thanked her but turned her down.
- I had a lady come through a few weeks ago and after she paid for her flowers, she asked me, "Don't I get dirt to go with my flowers?" I told her, of course, we sell lots of dirt, what kind would she like? She said, "Don't you just give it to me?" That was a first! I'm sorry, but you have to pay for it!
- A few weeks ago I had a very interesting fellow come in! He was wearing Hawaiian swim trunks, dirty sneakers and a sleeveless jean vest with only the top two or three buttons buttoned, exposing his large belly. In the crook of his arm he held two small bags of popcorn that he was eating out of, alternately, one kernel at a time. He came in the greenhouse and told me, "I'm not gonna buy anything, I just wanted to come look. Is that old lady here?" He leaned in close and confided, "She hates me!"
I smiled and told him that, yes, Grandma was around here somewhere. Sure enough, she came in shortly and he greeted her enthusiastically. "Are we gonna fight today?" he asked her eagerly.
I could tell she was a little taken aback but she remained professional. "I should hope not," she told him crisply. "Is there anything we can help you find?"
"Nahhh," he told her, "I'm leavin'. See ya!" And he went over to a display of lawn chairs near the entrance of the store and sat in one while he finished his popcorn. - Every so often we get KMart and Walmart threats from people- "At that price I'd rather go to KMart!" or "Walmart's flowers are so much nicer than yours!" It bugs the crap out of my grandma but I really don't care that much. You should buy the flowers you want at the place you want to!
- As you might imagine, just like any other place of business, we have regulars and this year I've gotten to know a few of them pretty well! There is an older lady that comes in pretty often with her brother and they are an excellent example of the "Siblings grow older but they never grow up!" theory. She buys the flowers and he buys the dirt and both have grumped to me about the other when the other is busy looking for flowers or dirt: "How he can spend half an hour looking at dirt I'll never know!" and "Why she thinks she needs more flowers is beyond me!"
- This same brother and sister pair have engaged in many interesting conversations with me. The brother has a very unique take on the scent of flowers! While most people step inside the greenhouse and take a deep breath of the fresh, humid air and sigh contentedly, he steps inside and frowns: "The smell in here reminds me of a funeral!" And every time his sister comes in she asks me: "Are you married?" I tell her "No, Ma'am," and she says, "Good! Never get married! I never did and I don't regret it! I have my hands full taking care of him!" with a nod towards her brother.
- Today I had an older fellow in the greenhouse, probably 65 or so, who was wearing an Eric Clapton concert T-shirt. He asked a question or two about the plants, then browsed a bit. Finally I couldn't hold it back anymore: "I love your shirt!" He looked down and smiled. "Awesome concert! I'd love to go to another but he's always touring in Europe! I did go to a ZZ Top concert not too long ago..."
"I've seen ZZ Top in concert before!" I told him. "It was a great show!"
"Hell yeah!" he laughed. "Sometime this year I want to see George Strait, Led Zeppelin, or, oh shit, what's their name?" he snapped his fingers. "They sing 'Freebird'..."
"Lynyrd Skynyrd!" I laughed.
"Right! Man, they had a concert on TV not too long ago--"
"You know, my TV doesn't work!" Grandma cut in. "It's always unplugged....."
That was the end of that conversation, but it's cool to see how much you can have in common with someone three times your age!
As I said at the beginning, today was the last load and I'm pretty happy about that! I love the greenhouse but it's sort of this stressful blur and it's cool to have over with. After greenhouse season this year I'm gonna try some cashiering inside the store. Summer is always crazy busy and they always need extra help! However, I will be taking a break in July- Emmy, David and I are headed to.... WEST VIRGINIA! Can't wait!!
Sarah
Thursday, April 4, 2013
A Saunter Through a Sewage Plant
So today my Environmental Science class went on a little field trip to our local Wastewater Management Plant in Trinidad, Colorado. It's not a huge class anyway, plus several students were absent so we went in an over-sized van driven by the teacher, with one guy trailing behind in his own car.
As soon as I got out of my History class, I headed towards the Davis Building where we were to meet and depart. I was the first one there and I felt sort of awkward so I alternated between fiddling with my notebook and pen and pretending to text on my phone until others arrived. When the van pulled up, those of us waiting were able to board and wait for the latecomers. For a few minutes, a few people gradually trickled in and we made small talk. I noticed that like so many other school-owned vehicles I've been in, this van had a worn-out look to it in addition to a strange smell and inexplicable holes in the seats and ceiling, like someone had been taken over by a raging case of cabin fever and had attempted to claw their way out.
Suddenly, there was a loud commotion and lots of shuffling. A large group of latecomers had arrived together, all athletic teammates, and as they were about to climb in, they made the discovery that the "shotgun" position of the van was vacant. Through a lot of pushing and shoving and swearing, a lone victor emerged and the rest, grumbling mutinously, squeezed in the back.
Soon after, we slid the van's side doors shut and departed. It was not a long drive but with eleven people in the vehicle it quickly got hot and stuffy and claustrophobic. We did our best to open the van's windows and turn up the air but it didn't help much.
"Fuuuuckkkkk...." one of the guys in the back whined. "It's so hot back here!"
The "shotgun battle" victor twisted around in his seat to look at us. "It's really nice up here!" he told us. He was answered with a chorus of "You bitch!!" from his friends.
None of us were exactly sure where we were headed, including the teacher, so we had to make one or two U-Turns and we got a big kick out of the facial expressions and arm gestures made by the guy in his own car following us.
We did make it however. Stepping out of the van, we were greeted by a huge whiff of, well, wastewater. Ugh. It was apparent that the plant was expansive, with many small buildings popping up here and there and lots of concrete tunnels and ditches and ponds. We headed toward one of the larger buildings, passing several of the ditches flowing with wastewater, and some little man-made geysers gushing the water up a little way into the air. I don't want to gross you out, but if you've seen Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, think about the chocolate river/waterfall and that's almost exactly what this wastewater looked like.
We were ushered into the building and we were relieved to find that it smelled strongly of Lysol, a welcome change. We all had to sign forms (the guy in charge explained by briefly stating, "It means if you fall in, you're on your own," and giving a pleasant smile) and then we were taken through the building where they showed us their computers and labs. Then we headed back outside and we were taken around the property.
The first building they led us to was basically a big drain where they catch a lot of the solids. I was at the back of the group with my usual, patient lab partner (I have yet to complete a lab without spilling something or breaking a glass tube) and it was a very strange sight: the students ahead of us casually entered the building but almost immediately ran right back out, most with their shirts pulled up over their faces, gagging and retching. The scent reached me just as one of the big, tough-looking athletes brushed past me looking nauseated and muttering, "Aw, damn!"
It was, without a doubt, the worst thing I've ever smelled. Honestly, I wouldn't even have considered I'd be very bothered by the smell of sewage- I've lived my whole life with dogs and cats and litter boxes and horses and donkeys and manure and I'd have thought it wouldn't bother me much. But, oh, that smell was so intense and disgusting that I also started to gag and had to run for it as well. Along with the guy leading the tour who worked there, only our teacher and one or two students could stay for more than a few seconds.
The tour continued around the property, with the smell increasing and decreasing depending on where we were and which way the wind was blowing.
Towards the end of the tour, we were outside looking at one of the cement structures on the property to move the wastewater- it was basically two swimming pool-sized cement structures side by side with a three-feet walk way between them.
My lab partner motioned to my notebook and pen that I had with me: "Write down in your notes that this place smells like shit," he told me. But I wasn't really listening. I was busy staring at that tiny, handrail-less walkway between the two swimming pools of excrement.
"You could not pay me to walk across that," I mumbled. He looked where I was looking and laughed. "Not during a strong breeze," he agreed.
I'm not a smoker, but I actually found a lot of relief when one of the students had a cigarette when we were leaving- that smoke smell was a nice change after the aroma of the plant.
To be honest, most of our conversation on the way back to school was about that wretched smell, but we all pleasantly agreed that none of us had been on a field trip for a long time and it was kind of nice.
I know most of this blog has been complaining, but it really was kind of cool to look around there, since that's what we've been studying lately. Plus, the labs were cool and we learned some interesting facts! Like, the human body can get used to anything! Even the smell of sewage.
Sarah
As soon as I got out of my History class, I headed towards the Davis Building where we were to meet and depart. I was the first one there and I felt sort of awkward so I alternated between fiddling with my notebook and pen and pretending to text on my phone until others arrived. When the van pulled up, those of us waiting were able to board and wait for the latecomers. For a few minutes, a few people gradually trickled in and we made small talk. I noticed that like so many other school-owned vehicles I've been in, this van had a worn-out look to it in addition to a strange smell and inexplicable holes in the seats and ceiling, like someone had been taken over by a raging case of cabin fever and had attempted to claw their way out.
Suddenly, there was a loud commotion and lots of shuffling. A large group of latecomers had arrived together, all athletic teammates, and as they were about to climb in, they made the discovery that the "shotgun" position of the van was vacant. Through a lot of pushing and shoving and swearing, a lone victor emerged and the rest, grumbling mutinously, squeezed in the back.
Soon after, we slid the van's side doors shut and departed. It was not a long drive but with eleven people in the vehicle it quickly got hot and stuffy and claustrophobic. We did our best to open the van's windows and turn up the air but it didn't help much.
"Fuuuuckkkkk...." one of the guys in the back whined. "It's so hot back here!"
The "shotgun battle" victor twisted around in his seat to look at us. "It's really nice up here!" he told us. He was answered with a chorus of "You bitch!!" from his friends.
None of us were exactly sure where we were headed, including the teacher, so we had to make one or two U-Turns and we got a big kick out of the facial expressions and arm gestures made by the guy in his own car following us.
We did make it however. Stepping out of the van, we were greeted by a huge whiff of, well, wastewater. Ugh. It was apparent that the plant was expansive, with many small buildings popping up here and there and lots of concrete tunnels and ditches and ponds. We headed toward one of the larger buildings, passing several of the ditches flowing with wastewater, and some little man-made geysers gushing the water up a little way into the air. I don't want to gross you out, but if you've seen Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, think about the chocolate river/waterfall and that's almost exactly what this wastewater looked like.
We were ushered into the building and we were relieved to find that it smelled strongly of Lysol, a welcome change. We all had to sign forms (the guy in charge explained by briefly stating, "It means if you fall in, you're on your own," and giving a pleasant smile) and then we were taken through the building where they showed us their computers and labs. Then we headed back outside and we were taken around the property.
The first building they led us to was basically a big drain where they catch a lot of the solids. I was at the back of the group with my usual, patient lab partner (I have yet to complete a lab without spilling something or breaking a glass tube) and it was a very strange sight: the students ahead of us casually entered the building but almost immediately ran right back out, most with their shirts pulled up over their faces, gagging and retching. The scent reached me just as one of the big, tough-looking athletes brushed past me looking nauseated and muttering, "Aw, damn!"
It was, without a doubt, the worst thing I've ever smelled. Honestly, I wouldn't even have considered I'd be very bothered by the smell of sewage- I've lived my whole life with dogs and cats and litter boxes and horses and donkeys and manure and I'd have thought it wouldn't bother me much. But, oh, that smell was so intense and disgusting that I also started to gag and had to run for it as well. Along with the guy leading the tour who worked there, only our teacher and one or two students could stay for more than a few seconds.
The tour continued around the property, with the smell increasing and decreasing depending on where we were and which way the wind was blowing.
Towards the end of the tour, we were outside looking at one of the cement structures on the property to move the wastewater- it was basically two swimming pool-sized cement structures side by side with a three-feet walk way between them.
My lab partner motioned to my notebook and pen that I had with me: "Write down in your notes that this place smells like shit," he told me. But I wasn't really listening. I was busy staring at that tiny, handrail-less walkway between the two swimming pools of excrement.
"You could not pay me to walk across that," I mumbled. He looked where I was looking and laughed. "Not during a strong breeze," he agreed.
I'm not a smoker, but I actually found a lot of relief when one of the students had a cigarette when we were leaving- that smoke smell was a nice change after the aroma of the plant.
To be honest, most of our conversation on the way back to school was about that wretched smell, but we all pleasantly agreed that none of us had been on a field trip for a long time and it was kind of nice.
I know most of this blog has been complaining, but it really was kind of cool to look around there, since that's what we've been studying lately. Plus, the labs were cool and we learned some interesting facts! Like, the human body can get used to anything! Even the smell of sewage.
Sarah
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
I'm Feeling Very Frank Today
A little background- I have either schizoaffective disorder or bipolar disorder with psychotic features. It's sort of hard to tell exactly because they're very similar- mood swings (as seen in bipolar disorder) and psychotic features like hallucinations and delusions (as seen in schizophrenia).
Today I had a 12:45 appointment with my psychiatrist in Pueblo. Let's call him Steve. I have had a string of psychiatrists over the years and though I like Steve quite a bit, my favorite was my last one- let's call her Jane. I liked Jane because she was kind and patient and it was obvious that she cared about me, not just as a patient that she had to help, but as a person. She smiled when she saw me and gave me hugs when I left. I would still be going to her, except for the fact that after all those years we kind of exhausted our options, and were left with the last resort- Clozaril. Clozaril, an anti-psychotic, is very effective but it's the last resort for a reason- it can be very dangerous. It can severely reduce your white blood cell count, which can leave you susceptible to various infections and, in extreme cases, death. Therefore, not just anyone will prescribe Clozaril- it's a whole lot of trouble, dangerous trouble, and requires a lot of vigilance and blood testing. So, Jane had to refer me to Steve, who specializes in it.
I would like to go ahead and say now that I understand lots of people these days are all anti-meds and say that they're unnecessary and everybody runs to get pills the minute they feel anything but perfect and I understand that. I think that has valid points. But the drug Clozaril really changed my life.. maybe saved it. Oh, I've had some shitty meds. Lithium made my hands shake and gave me a scarred face for life due to the severe acne. Prozac did nothing, except maybe make my depression worse. Abilify had me throwing up daily for months. And thanks mostly to a combination of many, I was kind of a zombie for a few years.
However, as unpleasant as those meds and their side affects were, the symptoms of the actual disease weren't a whole lot of fun, either. Suicidal depression and out-of-control mania. Visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile hallucinations. Paranoia. I'm sorry but you can't blame me for not wanting those either! So for the past nine years or so, I've been on and off a lot of meds, waiting for the right combination to click, refusing to give up.
Prozac, Lithium, Welbutrin, Seroquel, Geodon, Zyprexa, Risperdal, Abilify, Valium, Depakote, Lamictal, Topomax, Invega, they all kind of run together in my mind. But after all those failed or were mediocre at best, I finally talked with Jane and we agreed that Clozaril was my next step. I remember tentatively asking her, "What if it doesn't work? What do I do then?" and she just smiled and told me, "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it."
I am so happy to report that bridge never came. Immediately when I began taking Clozaril, letting it build up in my system, and slowly stopping the others, I began to feel good. Really good. I stopped seeing things out of the corners of my eyes. I stopped hearing the TV on in the other room when it was really off. My moods leveled off. I stopped panicking. I started to really enjoy life instead of just tolerating it. I felt like I was waking up after being half asleep for a long, long time.
Now you might be thinking, "So why tell us all this Sarah? Are you bragging? Are you proud?"
You know, I kind of am. I sure as hell am not ashamed of my problems, not in the slightest, because in my opinion there is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. I think its kind of sad when people have problems like mine and don't admit it or talk about it, because they feel it's something horrible and disgraceful. Excuse me, but fuck that.
A couple years ago I found a quote from Abraham Lincoln that I love: "A tendency to melancholy... let it be observed, is a misfortune, not a fault."
I don't let my problems define me, but I don't deny that they have had a large part in my growth and my journey to where I am now. There's no doubt in my mind that I would be a completely different person than I am now if I hadn't had these problems, and as of right now, I love who I am.
It's true that not everything is great. I have monthly blood tests and probably will for the rest of my life, and I hate having to renew my driver's licence because I have to go get a doctor to fill out a form about my medical history and problems and they have to okay my driving. Also, I must stress that you don't "cure" bipolar or schizoaffective disorder, you treat it. I still have shitty days every once in a while, but who doesn't? I doubt that I will ever come anywhere close to most people's definition of "normal", but that's cool too and probably has less to do with my mental/emotional problems, and more to do with the fact that I'm just plain weird and proud of it :)
Finally, it's also true that being open about my problems is sort of hard because I'm not 100% positive if I have schizoaffective disorder or bipolar disorder with psychotic features.. Usually I just say "bipolar" so I don't have to go into specifics to explain. Maybe I need my own word for my diagnosis. Maybe I'm Tripolar- up, down, and crazy, normal me.
:)
Sarah
P.S. After reading through this blog, I realize I've made it sound like I've done this all on my own. NOT TRUE. I have had amazing, unbelievable support from friends, family, doctors, therapists, and this one particular dog. Without them, I think I would have given up a long time ago.
Today I had a 12:45 appointment with my psychiatrist in Pueblo. Let's call him Steve. I have had a string of psychiatrists over the years and though I like Steve quite a bit, my favorite was my last one- let's call her Jane. I liked Jane because she was kind and patient and it was obvious that she cared about me, not just as a patient that she had to help, but as a person. She smiled when she saw me and gave me hugs when I left. I would still be going to her, except for the fact that after all those years we kind of exhausted our options, and were left with the last resort- Clozaril. Clozaril, an anti-psychotic, is very effective but it's the last resort for a reason- it can be very dangerous. It can severely reduce your white blood cell count, which can leave you susceptible to various infections and, in extreme cases, death. Therefore, not just anyone will prescribe Clozaril- it's a whole lot of trouble, dangerous trouble, and requires a lot of vigilance and blood testing. So, Jane had to refer me to Steve, who specializes in it.
I would like to go ahead and say now that I understand lots of people these days are all anti-meds and say that they're unnecessary and everybody runs to get pills the minute they feel anything but perfect and I understand that. I think that has valid points. But the drug Clozaril really changed my life.. maybe saved it. Oh, I've had some shitty meds. Lithium made my hands shake and gave me a scarred face for life due to the severe acne. Prozac did nothing, except maybe make my depression worse. Abilify had me throwing up daily for months. And thanks mostly to a combination of many, I was kind of a zombie for a few years.
However, as unpleasant as those meds and their side affects were, the symptoms of the actual disease weren't a whole lot of fun, either. Suicidal depression and out-of-control mania. Visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile hallucinations. Paranoia. I'm sorry but you can't blame me for not wanting those either! So for the past nine years or so, I've been on and off a lot of meds, waiting for the right combination to click, refusing to give up.
Prozac, Lithium, Welbutrin, Seroquel, Geodon, Zyprexa, Risperdal, Abilify, Valium, Depakote, Lamictal, Topomax, Invega, they all kind of run together in my mind. But after all those failed or were mediocre at best, I finally talked with Jane and we agreed that Clozaril was my next step. I remember tentatively asking her, "What if it doesn't work? What do I do then?" and she just smiled and told me, "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it."
I am so happy to report that bridge never came. Immediately when I began taking Clozaril, letting it build up in my system, and slowly stopping the others, I began to feel good. Really good. I stopped seeing things out of the corners of my eyes. I stopped hearing the TV on in the other room when it was really off. My moods leveled off. I stopped panicking. I started to really enjoy life instead of just tolerating it. I felt like I was waking up after being half asleep for a long, long time.
Now you might be thinking, "So why tell us all this Sarah? Are you bragging? Are you proud?"
You know, I kind of am. I sure as hell am not ashamed of my problems, not in the slightest, because in my opinion there is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. I think its kind of sad when people have problems like mine and don't admit it or talk about it, because they feel it's something horrible and disgraceful. Excuse me, but fuck that.
A couple years ago I found a quote from Abraham Lincoln that I love: "A tendency to melancholy... let it be observed, is a misfortune, not a fault."
I don't let my problems define me, but I don't deny that they have had a large part in my growth and my journey to where I am now. There's no doubt in my mind that I would be a completely different person than I am now if I hadn't had these problems, and as of right now, I love who I am.
It's true that not everything is great. I have monthly blood tests and probably will for the rest of my life, and I hate having to renew my driver's licence because I have to go get a doctor to fill out a form about my medical history and problems and they have to okay my driving. Also, I must stress that you don't "cure" bipolar or schizoaffective disorder, you treat it. I still have shitty days every once in a while, but who doesn't? I doubt that I will ever come anywhere close to most people's definition of "normal", but that's cool too and probably has less to do with my mental/emotional problems, and more to do with the fact that I'm just plain weird and proud of it :)
Finally, it's also true that being open about my problems is sort of hard because I'm not 100% positive if I have schizoaffective disorder or bipolar disorder with psychotic features.. Usually I just say "bipolar" so I don't have to go into specifics to explain. Maybe I need my own word for my diagnosis. Maybe I'm Tripolar- up, down, and crazy, normal me.
:)
Sarah
P.S. After reading through this blog, I realize I've made it sound like I've done this all on my own. NOT TRUE. I have had amazing, unbelievable support from friends, family, doctors, therapists, and this one particular dog. Without them, I think I would have given up a long time ago.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Will Bruce Willis be in Die Hards til he actually dies?
So today was a Saturday, which means I go out to lunch with my sister then plan on going home but end up staying at her house all afternoon watching stupid TV shows. I can actually say I was ON MY WAY home when she called me and told me I got a package in the mail from my mom so I turned around. I have been looking forward to this package since my mom told me it existed last week- all she would say is that it was something "delightfully tacky from West Virginia" and it did not disappoint! Wrapped in plastic and tucked in a big envelope were three boxes of candy cigarettes with a note from my mom that said, "I thought these were illegal!" Awesome. Being the boring, uncool people we are, neither my sister or I have ever been smokers but our inner kids came out and we each "smoked" a candy cigarette with verve and gusto.
Tonight I went with my dad to Trinidad for dinner and to see the new "Die Hard" movie. Wonderful House was, well, wonderful, and "A Good Day to Die Hard" was full of profanity and bloody violence and was equally wonderful. For the record, my dad maintains that his favorite Die Hard was the second one ("Die Harder") and mine is the fourth, ("Live Free or Die Hard") but we both enjoyed number five very much.
Obviously yesterday was Friday, which means that I sleep til 11:42 or so, then head in town to have lunch with my sister and/or my Granny and either work after lunch or follow my sister to her place of work and keep her company for a while. The latter was the case yesterday and I spent a great part of the afternoon working on a "letter" to send to my mom and step-dad in West Virginia. I would say more but obviously they have not received this letter yet and I refuse to spoil it.
Really the only thing about yesterday that was out of the ordinary is that last night I went on Amazon.com and spent a portion of the Amazon gift card I received on Christmas on... wait for it!... a "Bazinga!" hoodie! AAhhhh! In case you do not know, "Bazinga!" is the word Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory uses when he makes a joke, followed by his lovably bizarre gasp-ish laughter. I have my sister and David to thank for turning me onto the show.
Continuing to recount the recent events of my life in a backwards fashion, last Saturday night I actually attended the annual Cowboy Ball out at the NRA which was definitely an experience for me because I am not a dancer, nor a cowboy. I was a little nervous and uncomfortable, especially when an old cowboy asked me to dance (I politely declined and literally ran away) but I discovered that I have quite a taste for vodka and cranberry juice.
The Wednesday before I had the not-so-small task of taking all three dogs and three cats in to the vet's to get shots, etc. Before you wave me away I would like to mention all three dogs are big (German Shepherd, Chocolate Labrador, and... uhhhh.. mutt) and all three cats are grown and mouthy. I had to make two trips.
1st. trip- all three dogs and Bill in the cat carrier. This was by far the most difficult load, in no small part because it is unbelievably hard to get one dog out at a time, snap on a leash, drag them into the vets office, get dragged back outside, only to transfer to another dog. Oh, and Pedro the German Shepherd was either ecstatically having the time of his life or was absolutely terrified and having conniptions and yelped all the way there and back and tried to squeeze out a window when I opened it to alleviate the feeling of claustrophobia. Oh yeah, and Otis peed all over the vet's office.
2nd trip- I stuffed both greys in the carrier together which was sort of difficult because of Bob's pudge. However, like I said before, this trip was much easier. I actually got to thinking when trapping cats to stuff in the carrier... is this how criminals feel about their victims? I mean, I felt a much larger sense of accomplishment trapping Bill because he was so hard to get. I think he sensed the carrier the moment I brought it inside and I could not convince him to hop down from his high shelf for anything- not food, not the notion of going outside, nothing! I had to literally drag him down and struggle to stuff him in the carrier. Contrastingly, the greys were pathetically easy to trick and trap. I called for them out on the front porch; they came and I shut the door behind them. I picked one up, stuffed the dazed cat in the carrier, repeated the action. They were locked in the carrier the before they knew what hit them! I gotta say, though, if I had to pick, I'd say Bob is the dumber of the two... his brain is like his tail- only half there.
I hope you all had a lovely Valentines day! If I had to pick, my favorite valentines were the surprise card in the mail from my mom and the "bouquet" of watermelon suckers my sister gave me! :)
Have a wonderful Presidents day!
Sarah
Tonight I went with my dad to Trinidad for dinner and to see the new "Die Hard" movie. Wonderful House was, well, wonderful, and "A Good Day to Die Hard" was full of profanity and bloody violence and was equally wonderful. For the record, my dad maintains that his favorite Die Hard was the second one ("Die Harder") and mine is the fourth, ("Live Free or Die Hard") but we both enjoyed number five very much.
Obviously yesterday was Friday, which means that I sleep til 11:42 or so, then head in town to have lunch with my sister and/or my Granny and either work after lunch or follow my sister to her place of work and keep her company for a while. The latter was the case yesterday and I spent a great part of the afternoon working on a "letter" to send to my mom and step-dad in West Virginia. I would say more but obviously they have not received this letter yet and I refuse to spoil it.
Really the only thing about yesterday that was out of the ordinary is that last night I went on Amazon.com and spent a portion of the Amazon gift card I received on Christmas on... wait for it!... a "Bazinga!" hoodie! AAhhhh! In case you do not know, "Bazinga!" is the word Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory uses when he makes a joke, followed by his lovably bizarre gasp-ish laughter. I have my sister and David to thank for turning me onto the show.
Continuing to recount the recent events of my life in a backwards fashion, last Saturday night I actually attended the annual Cowboy Ball out at the NRA which was definitely an experience for me because I am not a dancer, nor a cowboy. I was a little nervous and uncomfortable, especially when an old cowboy asked me to dance (I politely declined and literally ran away) but I discovered that I have quite a taste for vodka and cranberry juice.
The Wednesday before I had the not-so-small task of taking all three dogs and three cats in to the vet's to get shots, etc. Before you wave me away I would like to mention all three dogs are big (German Shepherd, Chocolate Labrador, and... uhhhh.. mutt) and all three cats are grown and mouthy. I had to make two trips.
1st. trip- all three dogs and Bill in the cat carrier. This was by far the most difficult load, in no small part because it is unbelievably hard to get one dog out at a time, snap on a leash, drag them into the vets office, get dragged back outside, only to transfer to another dog. Oh, and Pedro the German Shepherd was either ecstatically having the time of his life or was absolutely terrified and having conniptions and yelped all the way there and back and tried to squeeze out a window when I opened it to alleviate the feeling of claustrophobia. Oh yeah, and Otis peed all over the vet's office.
2nd trip- I stuffed both greys in the carrier together which was sort of difficult because of Bob's pudge. However, like I said before, this trip was much easier. I actually got to thinking when trapping cats to stuff in the carrier... is this how criminals feel about their victims? I mean, I felt a much larger sense of accomplishment trapping Bill because he was so hard to get. I think he sensed the carrier the moment I brought it inside and I could not convince him to hop down from his high shelf for anything- not food, not the notion of going outside, nothing! I had to literally drag him down and struggle to stuff him in the carrier. Contrastingly, the greys were pathetically easy to trick and trap. I called for them out on the front porch; they came and I shut the door behind them. I picked one up, stuffed the dazed cat in the carrier, repeated the action. They were locked in the carrier the before they knew what hit them! I gotta say, though, if I had to pick, I'd say Bob is the dumber of the two... his brain is like his tail- only half there.
I hope you all had a lovely Valentines day! If I had to pick, my favorite valentines were the surprise card in the mail from my mom and the "bouquet" of watermelon suckers my sister gave me! :)
Have a wonderful Presidents day!
Sarah
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Happy January 15th!
Today was my first day back at school. Technically one of my classes started yesterday but with the insane amount of snow that Raton got, I didn't make it.
To be honest, I've always hated first days at school. I get incredibly anxious and shy and I worry about getting to the right classroom at the right time and I always fret about what will happen if the teacher makes us divide into groups and I don't know anyone or what if the teacher sent out some sort of group-memo and I didn't get it and what if everyone else is brilliant at the subject being taught and I am clueless?!.. and so on and so on. Consequently, I tend to spend my first days at school with my ridiculously simple schedule in front of my nose and my anxieties about being the odd one out tend to come true as the result of sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Over the years, my school anxiety has gotten a little better but I still experience it and today was no different. On the plus side, the first day of school is generally the only school day of the year when I wake up and do not have the desire nor the ability to go back to sleep. My first class was at 9:30 and I knew that I should plan for plenty of time to drive there due to the snow/road conditions and give myself time to get dressed and ready so I set my alarm for 8:00, thinking that I could follow my usual pattern of having my first alarm a little earlier than necessary so I could hit the snooze button. Didn't work today! When my alarm went off at 8:00 my eyes flew open and after lying there paralyzed for a few minutes I gave up and got ready. My dad had left our dogs inside the house so they could be in the heat for a little longer and right before I left I put them out in the garage. I got a good luck kiss from Otis and that made me feel a little better.
My first class, History of Western Civ, was located in the Berg Building which I am pretty familiar with but in a room I had never been in. When I first walked in, the first thing that came to my mind was, "Wow! This is what I always used to think college classrooms looked like!" In my years at TSJC I have sat at wooden tables and lab counters and desks with computers on top but never in a room like this one- the theatre-kind of setting with lines of chairs on raising levels that all look down on the main floor where the teacher stays. Because of TV and movies I had grown up imagining this to be how college was so it was sort of a small accomplishment.
For whatever reason, the class had somehow segregated itself to mostly guys on one side, girls on the other. While walking up to my seat (I carefully considered my seating choices and ended up with a seat about halfway up and over to the side- not quite next to anyone but not far enough away that it would seem weird) I glanced at the other students and observed that most of the guys looked really young. It later developed that most of the gentlemen were actually high school students.
The teacher was an older man with a white beard wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He was straightforward and funny and I liked him at once. While going through the syllabus, he read what he thought needed to be said and scrolled through the rest, muttering, "Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.." Later, one of my fears came true when he had us divide into teams but I was lucky to be seated next to several other young women who didn't seem to know anyone either.
He had us pick names for our groups and then write the name and members on a pad of paper being passed around. When it got back to him, he glanced over the names and was perplexed at one. It was something like ANUKP. He tried to pronounce it and a large group of high school boys started giggling. One squeaked, "You're a dude with a beard! You should be smart enough to pronounce it!" More giggling. "Say it like An-uh-kuh-p!" The teacher flatly repeated "An-uh-kuh-p" and the boys guffawed some more. Finally one of them told us all what it was an acronym of- something dumb ending with Unicorns Kill People. The teacher raised an eyebrow. "You guys don't go on many dates, do you?" The boys turned red and the rest of us laughed.
I was a little worried about my second class, Intro to Environmental Science, mainly because it's located in the Davis building, and every class I've had in that building has been.. challenging to say the least. But the teacher was very nice and I think it'll be a good class.
Finally, I had Digital Photography, which consists of the teacher, me and one other. I'm not at all worried about that class because I love photography and I'm sure I'll do pretty well.
I'd go on to talk more about my day but it's getting late and my day was pretty boring and already I feel like I've gone on and on!
Sometime soon I'll post another blog about... The Amazing Kreskin! See, you're already hooked!
Haha!
Sarah
To be honest, I've always hated first days at school. I get incredibly anxious and shy and I worry about getting to the right classroom at the right time and I always fret about what will happen if the teacher makes us divide into groups and I don't know anyone or what if the teacher sent out some sort of group-memo and I didn't get it and what if everyone else is brilliant at the subject being taught and I am clueless?!.. and so on and so on. Consequently, I tend to spend my first days at school with my ridiculously simple schedule in front of my nose and my anxieties about being the odd one out tend to come true as the result of sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Over the years, my school anxiety has gotten a little better but I still experience it and today was no different. On the plus side, the first day of school is generally the only school day of the year when I wake up and do not have the desire nor the ability to go back to sleep. My first class was at 9:30 and I knew that I should plan for plenty of time to drive there due to the snow/road conditions and give myself time to get dressed and ready so I set my alarm for 8:00, thinking that I could follow my usual pattern of having my first alarm a little earlier than necessary so I could hit the snooze button. Didn't work today! When my alarm went off at 8:00 my eyes flew open and after lying there paralyzed for a few minutes I gave up and got ready. My dad had left our dogs inside the house so they could be in the heat for a little longer and right before I left I put them out in the garage. I got a good luck kiss from Otis and that made me feel a little better.
My first class, History of Western Civ, was located in the Berg Building which I am pretty familiar with but in a room I had never been in. When I first walked in, the first thing that came to my mind was, "Wow! This is what I always used to think college classrooms looked like!" In my years at TSJC I have sat at wooden tables and lab counters and desks with computers on top but never in a room like this one- the theatre-kind of setting with lines of chairs on raising levels that all look down on the main floor where the teacher stays. Because of TV and movies I had grown up imagining this to be how college was so it was sort of a small accomplishment.
For whatever reason, the class had somehow segregated itself to mostly guys on one side, girls on the other. While walking up to my seat (I carefully considered my seating choices and ended up with a seat about halfway up and over to the side- not quite next to anyone but not far enough away that it would seem weird) I glanced at the other students and observed that most of the guys looked really young. It later developed that most of the gentlemen were actually high school students.
The teacher was an older man with a white beard wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He was straightforward and funny and I liked him at once. While going through the syllabus, he read what he thought needed to be said and scrolled through the rest, muttering, "Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.." Later, one of my fears came true when he had us divide into teams but I was lucky to be seated next to several other young women who didn't seem to know anyone either.
He had us pick names for our groups and then write the name and members on a pad of paper being passed around. When it got back to him, he glanced over the names and was perplexed at one. It was something like ANUKP. He tried to pronounce it and a large group of high school boys started giggling. One squeaked, "You're a dude with a beard! You should be smart enough to pronounce it!" More giggling. "Say it like An-uh-kuh-p!" The teacher flatly repeated "An-uh-kuh-p" and the boys guffawed some more. Finally one of them told us all what it was an acronym of- something dumb ending with Unicorns Kill People. The teacher raised an eyebrow. "You guys don't go on many dates, do you?" The boys turned red and the rest of us laughed.
I was a little worried about my second class, Intro to Environmental Science, mainly because it's located in the Davis building, and every class I've had in that building has been.. challenging to say the least. But the teacher was very nice and I think it'll be a good class.
Finally, I had Digital Photography, which consists of the teacher, me and one other. I'm not at all worried about that class because I love photography and I'm sure I'll do pretty well.
I'd go on to talk more about my day but it's getting late and my day was pretty boring and already I feel like I've gone on and on!
Sometime soon I'll post another blog about... The Amazing Kreskin! See, you're already hooked!
Haha!
Sarah
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