unpleasant surprise

fleekerdoo!

maturity

it will be a point of wisdom

when i can accept

and expect

that fairness

need not include reciprocity

no pressure

i feel no pressure to produce quality blog material now that there is evidence that people are reading and linking to me.

no pressure at all.

this blog has a history, man, a history! (even if it is only two months long.) a history that speaks for itself in a voice that will echo in this little corner of the blogosphere—

[reverb] FOR-EVER.

(does the blogosphere have corners? isn't it round?)

so why am i suddenly blogstipated?

oh wait, no, that's not why my face is red...

touched

someone thought of me yesterday.

i'm so touched it makes me want to cry.

holy crap.

i was flipping through the channels tonight and just saw something absolutely gripping. despite my goings-on about cartoons, i am not a big fan of most tv shows, so this really surprised me—enough to make me blog about it i suppose.

i stumbled into the show in media res, catching the tail end of a fractured (been favoring that word lately) montage of images and sound bytes, clipped phrases over flashing explanatory stills. suddenly the motion stopped as the protagonist made a connection, some sort of grim realization that he was facing something truly dangerous and horrific, and the pause was agonizingly tense. i was trapped.

i actually didn't recognize mandy patinkin at all. i was too caught up in the subtle yet obvious look of terror on his frozen face, in his eyes. i was terrified as we watched the unstable mad-eyed murderer approach in the mirror. the sound of the cocking shotgun made us both jump and blink.

i didn't realize how much this had taken hold of me until i caught me going over that theme i've ruminated on in the past, of how many people simply have never experienced a number of such things as the pain of being hit so incredibly hard that you actually lose consciousness from the blow. i had just added to that list the terror of being plastered up against a wall with a frightened, twitchy madman pointing a shotgun at the back of your head, your legs buckling as you slowly slide down, down, onto your knees, your heart and your hope sinking along that same path down, down, down.

and somehow (unusual for me) i was also removed enough able to appreciate the surprising fact that this was actually good acting on tv. i guess this was the opening hook, and boy did it work on me.

of course, cut to a group of young and boringly/vaguely attractive people all sitting around the figurative feet of the protagonist as he related the experience. his face looked so much the same as that terrified man from before, i mean, it was such a subtle expression! but now he was relaxed. he threw in a mysterious ending with a mental puzzle to solve. hmm, possibilities, potential.

patinkin's name flashed across the opening credits, and then the whole good acting thing made sense. and then i realized this is that new show with thomas gibson in it—i like him for different reasons—and that was it for me.

oh, and yeah, it really is too bad that mandy patinkin has such a lame-looking website.

would you like to take a survey?

i did and you know, it was alright. only because in real life it's true.

You Are an Indie Rocker!

You are in it for the love of the music... And you couldn't care less about being signed by a big label. You're all about loving and supporting music - not commercial success. You may not have the fame and glory, but you have complete control of your career.

What Kind of Rocker Are You?

fixer-upper

i fixed two broken kids at work tonight!

it was awesome.

and then

and then tonight i feel, i know that i am more of a man than some of my guy friends are.

come on boys, step up. someone's gotta pull the load, and i don't plan on growing any chest hair any time soon.

urge

it's so weird. suddenly have i have this urge to get really clean with a long hot shower and then cover myself with sweet-smelling lotions and potions, paint my toenails pink, and eat some ice cream while lounging in my dressing robe.

i have no idea why.

camodidi and me

"hatred fills our hearts with rage"
camodidi, 9/26/05, 17:47

"dangit, i'm too nice."
camodidi, 9/26/05, 17:58

introducing...

i hope it's not trendy or anything. i've known about the generator for a while now but it never occurred to me to try it myself until yesterday.

meet wurmwood & gaul.

maybe i'll delegate some dirty work to these guys and then i won't feel like posting mean things anymore. we'll see how this turns out—if i keep it up, you can look for updates under "fun stuff" in the sidebar.

dry spell

i mostly wanted to change the post that is sitting on the front page because i re-read what i wrote last night and that has to be the most boring thing to read i've ever written. and i'm not just saying that; i don't like to use superlatives unless i mean them. even more boring than my work-related writing. you know what it reminded me of? other people's blogs. the ones i used to surf through and think, why would anyone write about that? worse yet, why would anyone read it? why am i reading it? that's why i quit looking. i also don't like it when people write only about blogs or blogging. or when people use raNDom caPiTaLs, numb3rs 4 letters and words, IM spellings like ppl for people, or punctation marks to make little pictures of kittens and whatnot.

this is starting to sound as boring as my other post. you guys have seen better days.

i always come up with my best stuff when i'm trying to sleep. like this from last night:

stick your finger in your eye
take it out and wave goodbye
no one knows the reason why
i lie in bed at night and cry
it's 'cause my finger's in my eye
and it hurts.*

uh, yeah. i ain't feelin' it either. looks like we're coming up on a dry spell folks. don't be surprised if i'm gone for a while. i think i have one post in me about my recent dreams (look for one entitled "re-occurring goatee") and one about what happened at dinner last night ("assessment"), two lousy poems on reserve, and that's it. camobunny's all tapped out. plenty of wurmwood & gaul to last for several days though. or you can check me out on andre klemmer's site. he put my picture in his comic strip the other day, which is kind of fun. see you if you can recognize me.

*see the first comment below

everybody wants to be me

okay boys. remember how this was supposed to be my site for my women friends? here it comes. turn around if you wish. or just, i don't know, scroll down and read my previous posts. (translation: look away! look away!)

i’ve never considered myself anything of a fashion maven. yes, i have my own style, definitively me, but i don’t think much about it; i just know what i like and what looks good on me. i may have been voted “best dressed intern” my intern year and whatnot, but i am NEVER TRENDY. i hate it when people call me trendy.

maybe the reason why people mistake me for trendy is that trends have been following my flava by a few months to a year, which makes me a trendSETTER (or perhaps, fashion-forward?) rather than trendy. in high school, i got the small rectangular thin-framed glasses about ten months before they came into fashion. in college, we were wearing flannel right before the grunge movement kicked in. and everyone with black hair has been trying to get highlights like my natural color for years and years. okay, but that’s old news. now things are starting to get ridiculous.

i bought a black oscar de la renta cashmere cowl neck sweater. i remember being uncertain how to arrange all the fabric around my neck, because i hadn’t seen anyone wear that before. well, i just had to wait a year. cowl necks were everywhere.

on my last trip out of the country, i found a pair of white pumps with pale blue detailing, including bows on the instep and the heel. they attracted me, but then i was really taken with the version in black and pink. now this was totally not consistent with my past habits, but for some reason they seemed right, so i got them. this represented me broadening my mind to accept such girliness in my wardrobe. on the same trip i got the black scarf with the pink embroidery. six months later, pink was all the rage in the states. i mean, like a pepto-bismol explosion. you remember that. black-and-pink and bows were suddenly in too. and one year later i found an obvious knockoff of my shoe at dillard’s. with all the pink around i transitioned to blue. i have preferred blue for summer for a couple years now. and the next “in” color? blue. turquoise to be exact. (but no, i never condoned brown and turquoise.)

some time ago i needed comfy shoes so i could pace around and around the icu all night. so i got funky blue-grey diesels with an obnoxious hot pink stripe. this year, skechers has a knockoff highlighted in commercials that play during the cartoon hours.

last year i decided i wanted a pair of motorcycle boots. i didn’t know why, i just did. i went online and got the harness style with the ring. harley brand, of course. on sale. and now? frye motorcycle boots, same style, suddenly all over the department stores, about twice as much as i paid for mine. haha.

scarves. been doing that for a couple of years now. people are calling all the recent scarfage part of the bohemian trend, but considering the above, can you be sure? and i just laughed when i saw my john deere t-shirt being sold in the little mama’s boys’ department at nordstrom’s.

that’s enough. i’ve gone on ad nauseam; i’m even making myself sick talking about such frivolous crap. i mean, come on. who cares? i’m not saying i’m all that. i’m definitely not. nor do i take responsibility for some of the abominations that have been trendy. ugg boots? ugh, no way. and bohemian? why would i want to dress like an impoverished eastern european from back in the day? no offense to anybody; it's just that it's obvious how that wouldn’t work on me.

i’ve always been a t-shirt and jeans girl at heart, and i’m stickin’ to that story. black is never out of style to me, either. red has its place in my life (usually paired with black), as does burgundy. clean, elegant (and elongating) lines are always the way to go. add one thing, one small detail that makes the whole thing pop. and there’s nothing, nothing like a crisp white shirt to wear over anything.

k, i’m done now. whatever. if everybody wants to be me, that’s fine. just remember, there ain’t nothin’ like the real thing, baby!

someone else already said it

"wowwwwwww. you're stupid."


from rocko's modern life, back in the day.

cardiology

a grade iv-vi heart murmur is associated with a thrill.

woo woo!

blog·or·rhe·a

"blahg-uh-'ree-uh

(n.) blogging of profuse quantity, the flow of which may be uncontrolled or out of control.

etymology: modern english blog, from weblog, + greek rhein to flow (more at stream)

related words: blogstipation, dysblogia.

although blogorrhea may afflict an individual severely, even to the point of debilitation, it is a symptom and should not be considered an illness per se.

in some situations the individual may continue to function and develop normally (see toddler's diarrhea). in these cases blogorrhea may be an annoyance (especially for patients' loved ones who subscribe to aggregators) but is considered harmless and may go untreated.

prognosis directly correlates with degree of ongoing functionality, degree of support from loved ones, number of affective or psychotic comorbidities, and consistency of blogorrhea. a chunkier, terse blogorrhea has been associated with less fluid loss and maintenance of emotional status and wit, while a more fluid blogorrhea may be indicative of underlying emotional distress or may be secondary to an inability to express oneself concisely or a love of hearing one's own words.

treatment is supportive and should be directed toward immediate stabilization followed by diagnosis and treatment of the underlying syndrome and possible comorbidities. for otherwise asymptomatic individuals, exercises in continence and "timed posting" may help impart a sense of control over persistent urges and/or flow.

initial studies using ethanol based fluid resuscitation have not shown benefit over placebo.

ref: bunny, c.; chooly, e.; jedi, k. j irrep results. high-dose beer does not reduce volume of blogorrhea more than tang: a randomized, double-blinded, placebo-controlled trial and review.



i thought it so nice, i posted it twice! it looks better here on the original blog. oh—steal it and die.

thawing

'round about 1540 yesterday i found myself thinking about candles, and hot chocolate. about the scent and flavor of vanilla, and how it mixes well with lots of things from orange to coconut to cinnamon to berries. i thought about the hooded sweatshirt i'd left at home, black with the grey stripes down the sleeves, so what if it makes me look twelve years younger than i am. i thought about how nice a warm hug would be. or maybe some coffee; starbucks has a new seasonal pumpkin spice latte but i don't do starbucks. maybe i should stop by brandt's and get some of that vanilla roast for my french press. but i'm so irritable right now, would a cup of coffee make me worse? maybe i should take some plain paper out of the printer and do some writing; it's almost time for xiaolin showdown and maybe i can take some pre-heated blankets and curl up in the corner of our room upstairs.

and i realized what the deal was.

i was cold.

frigid, frozen, i don't know how many words (or pictures) i had already used to describe it. i was cold.

and cold is bad. for me.

so let me begin, then, with an apology to the gentle reader. i am sorry for the affront. for the accusations. for the nasty thoughts i thunk your way. because i did, and they were mean! i know a disclaimer doesn't really take the sting out of hurtful words but i had tried to get away with it anyway. like a madman who throws firebrands, arrows and death, so is the man who deceives his neighbor, and says, "was i not joking?" i'm so over it now that i've defrosted. i hope you are too.

how does the cold do that to me? it really changes my whole affect. it even makes me change my posture; i kind of hunch or hunker down when i'm cold, as if to protect my viscera and sequester the heat inside them that it may not escape. i feel my energy leaving my spirit and going to my body to in an attempt to keep it warm. i feel drained; my chi is sluggish, anxiously wanting to flow faster. my muscles tighten, trying to generate some heat. with all that tension i get tense emotionally. it can be best summed up by saying that being cold just makes me feel bad.

i realized that for my body warmth = happiness when one day i put on an old ugly charcoal-grey hooded sweatshirt of mine that i had never particularly liked before. it was made of this funky, really soft nubbly material. suddenly i was warm. i stood up straight without even thinking about it. and i started getting this little feeling right in the middle of me, at my core, something unusual, something vaguely familiar. my vitality was returning. yup. happiness.

this may not bode well for the winter—but it does seem now that my upcoming move to a warmer climate will do me some good. i really hope so.

whoa!

somebodeeeeeeee linked to meeeeeeeee...

what the heck.

this is a new phenomenon.

d-dub, puffintoad: y'all tole me i done been sayin' some right interstin' thangs. but see, you guys love me, or at least you think you do. you know me, that's enough i guess. but this?

how do i explain this?

it's like freshman year in college when i was sitting somewhere near that one guy that erin y. knew, and someone (was it he? no, i think it was the girl on the other side) picked up that piece of paper from the floor and put it on my desk and i glanced at it and it had numbers on it and i didn't think much more of it and i said, nono, that's not mine, and gave it back or put it back on the floor or something bizarre i'm sure and then i realized THAT WAS A NOTE! (what are we in middle school? do you like me? check yes or no) and it was in guy writing and the numbers (since this was an intro to logic class) were a phone number. question mark. (red flannel, black hair, glasses.) i froze because, well, that's camobunny instinct for you, but also simply because i was experiencing pure confusion.

pure confusion. uh okay wrong!, it's not like that then. but it's that same jittery jumpy thing i had. stemming from lack of understanding, or at least, being so close to understanding but still not understanding that it makes me feel anxious and stupid and maybe happy despite that. or at least entertained.

yeah, that's it. what i just said.

dude; dude don't know me no how. don't know how i got it goin' on, up to he-ah! how i be the real thizzang, ba-bee!

very few of you know whether or not i am pretty, or smart, or kind, or talented, or fun. all that's out there is that all of which i have let hang out (!?!), which has only recently been tainted by my cognizance of my own blog audience. (hence upcoming apologies and, most likely, reservations. too bad, so sad.) it really has been just about everything, and nothing but that; none of the other stuff.

this contradicts the idea that i've succumbed to a resignation to, then acceptance of, then pleasure in underrecognition. ohhhhhh no. i am way too conceited— fo' sho'! i'm diggin' it.

ahem. no i am not intoxicated. i haven't even taken my allergy medicine tonight.

perhaps the word i seek: flattered.

don't you just love finding le mot juste?

oh wow. i let you see the path i have to take to get there sometimes.

um, hee hee.

irritable

today i am finding everything irritating.

waking up on the couch this morning irritated me.

the big dumb blonde nurse ordering me for orders on patients that weren't mine irritated me.

the absolute frigidity of my office irritated me.

e-mail about the errors in the implementation of the new computer system irritated me. i wrote a beautifully eloquent letter of complaint about that. i doubt i successfully hid my irritation.

lack of e-mail about anything else also irritated me.

my first patient of the day irritated me. there was nothing wrong with him.

reading my friends' blogs irritated me, as did checking my site meter.

the selfishness of everyone in the world irritated me.

my solitude and feelings of abandonment irritated me.

my second patient of the day instantly irritated me. i was about to step out for lunch (famished!) when i heard his boohooing from the waiting room. ah, but then, then it was time to stitch up his tiny little eyebrow cut. his whining and sniffling quickly escalated to caterwauling and then screams of outright terror upon papoosing him on the stretcher.

i was not irritated. i was calm. i put on my silkiest, smoothest voice. "what a good boy. a perfect patient," came out of my mouth on auto-play. "really?" his mother asked. no, but it's what we say.

one deep stitch. tension disappeared. one superficial 6-0 fastgut at the apex. the aperture nearly disappeared. second superficial stitch. everything was closed. third superficial stitch. done. child asleep. beautiful child.

i calmly tailored a flourescent yellow bandaid to cover the 7 mm wound without pulling out eyebrow hairs. i took two seconds to feel an iota of pride in my work. then i saw a possible slight imperfection in the wound closure.

irritated.

maybe there's no such thing as a bad day. maybe it's just that you either take it well, or you're irritable about it.

i'd rather have a better excuse.

revelation at walgreen's

yesterday was nearly a total waste of a day for me.

00:00– jarred from sleep by the horrible twanging of some country singer's half-baked sentiment. the paramedic had turned it way up. driving down highway 40 in our big ol'— mobile ICU. stuff in earplugs and try to sleep or at least think about higher things in life than beer and chicks.
02:00– smallest surviving baby, like, ever. seriously. put the 600 gram premature genetically-deranged 40-day old little raisin in our plastic box and get back on the road. he opens one eye and looks at me as if to say, please just leave me be. something isn't right for a reason. my parents are simply poor protoplasm and i haven't a chance. get the feeling he will continue to survive. feel sorry for him.
05:00– drive home. suddenly hear the cowbell in te alabare. e-mail a little; take care of business. haven't gone to bed for real in—can't remember how long. marvel at the power of naps to sustain the body.
05:50–finally take a shower; feel much better. get ready for bed.
06:06– crap, crap, crap, no, no, no, crap, crap! my least favorite senile power-tripping transport nurse pages. "we've got a, a, a, a trip. we're fly, we're flying. how quickly can you be here." it's a statement, not a question. the answer is 25 minutes you old bat. 35 minutes with accessing the helipad and suiting up. "sigh. that'll be fine." of course it's fine, you don't have a choice. your other choice, letting the 07:00 person take the trip and leaving me alone, would have been logical. but no. feel unpresentably ugly. jam my clean wet head into the stinky used helmet. put down pride. let's just go.
08:30– back home. take my pills and go to bed.
13:00– allergic misery awakens me. get up and poke around.
13:40– they replaced my stupid makeover show with a stupid court show. back to bed.
17:00– up, for real this time. stare at the tv and the mess around me. think about dinner. don't feel like cooking.
19:00– put on a cap (!) and go to walgreen's. head straight for the benadryl section. thank God it's buy one, get one free. take seven minutes to decide which chapstick i want to buy, because i feel dry and buying lip balm always cheers me up for some reason. pick the one with the free sample of another kind inside and feel slightly better, thankful it's not as bad for me as overeating or as expensive as buying jewelry. wander the aisles in an aimless fog, head pressurized, palate on fire. the pens i like are 2 for 1.99. mirado black warriors are 8 for 1.99. walk away. realize what a total waste of a day it's been. make note of the distinct absence of despair despite that. pause, standing in the arch support/foot fungus spray/wart remover aisle.

feel hope.

thank God.

go home.

19:30– call my bro. talk about nothing. phone dies. IM about nothing.
21:00– don't feel like cooking. make spaghetti. eat it. resolve to clean house tomorrow.
23:00– realize i've been putzing around for a while and i can go to bed now. take 50 mg of benadryl and get excited that i'll sleep well. wait for it to kick in while at the computer. write a funny, pointless poem, then to bed.

04:50– awaken in allergic misery. it's a new day. grab pillow and go downstairs to couch. 25 more mg of benadryl. bite the bullet and take 20 mg of prednisone for the first time in my life. feel surprised at the foul lingering aftertaste. and back to sleep.

see? nearly, but not quite.

record

my hideocrity reached new heights today.

you know what is not cool?

people really, actually do think they can do a few hours of "research" on the web and then tell a doctor who has had four years of medical school, three or more years of postgraduate training, and however many years or decades of clinical experience and required continuing medical education that they know more than he/she does.

internet moms begone!

turnabout

i don't care what john denver used to say.
thank God i'm a city girl!

good, news

news is useful in that it gives old folks something to talk about besides the regularity of their bowels.

old

so does it mean you're old when you find teenage angst boring or laughable? (or pathetic, if the person's not a teenager anymore?)

heh heh. i'm OLD!

addendum: it also means you're mean and ungracious. sigh.

overheard

the cubicle farm is a new experience for me.

i heard the woman two cubicles down saying on the phone, "can you fax it to hell?"

my ears prick up and that question mark goes up between them again.

"i think it needs to be faxed to hell."

(WHAT?)

"hell's going to be waiting for it. she sent him an e-mail so he's expecting it."

(OHHHH. hal.)

i believe the chaplain's name is hal. quite different indeed.

freedom

my freedom lies
in a small white pill

at night
asleep
unconscious
of my own
imminent
suffering
until it is too late

awaken in a frenzied misery
straight to the bottle my trembling hands fly
swallow
and slowly comes relief

nightly my enslavement continues
thus my cry of insurrection
my song of freedom
ZYRRRRRRRR-TEC!

haha, you didn't think i was a pill junkie did you?
yes, thus suffers the camobunny—from allergies, that is.
ha!

friends

she is of an irrepressible cyclothymia
while mine is a distinctly, abysmally unipolar affliction
i covet her maudlin, petulant muse of whimsy
she is fascinated with my skinny, sallow, sadsack little spirit

from these murky, sluggish depths
i watch her incessant bobbing
up and down
at the surface

we are friends
we are bonded
an improbable, perfect pair
we ain't nuts,
we artists!

random, again

replenishing my printer's supply, i used up my ream. i removed the paper wrapper from the box it sat in and underneath found a piece of paper covered in my handwriting. it's six or seven years old. it's in pencil, in cursive, and it's gorgeous.

and it's completely random. it begins:

T-cell Selection

1. negative selection— a perfect self MHC–self-peptide match must die


2. positive selection— a (not so perfect) self MHC–foreign peptide match will peripheralize


3. remember that MHC alleles are co-dominant

WHAT?

haha. this one is for you, camodidi. good luck on friday!

it's funny because it's true

nameless meets faceless

some random dude introduced himself to me today.

well, okay, he could definitely have been more random. he was some dude at my new workplace that i've seen walkin' around there on occasion. he's like, mid-forties, bald with a white fringe, middle eastern maybe. blue blazer. grey slacks. walkin' around.

i first saw him walking by the cafeteria with an elderly woman who must have been his mother. i remember making a mental note that we should all be good to our mothers, as he seemed to be doing while leading her verrrrrrrry slooooowly toward the women's restroom.

after that i'd see him walkin' around here and there. last week he started saying hi so i guess he had noticed me sometime before too, although i thought it odd he'd greet me. today i noticed him from far away and avoided direct eye contact, as is my habit when i'm not sure if i should say hi, but he stopped me and said "i keep seeing you around; i'm (some guy), i'm on the board here." i told him my name but i wasn't listening to his, i was stuck in the two seconds before that still being surprised he stopped me. i remember his nametag said "board member" but i can't remember the name on it.

that's all. i'm somewhat nonplussed. do you stop random people and introduce yourself? maybe that's what socially normal people do and i never did figure that out. maybe that's why he's an administrator and i'm a clinician. maybe i should do that more often and i'd know more people. aaAAHhh! that is a really scary thought to me.

which is odd. i know i really have nothing to lose at this point. i have no face to lose, but i'm strongly afraid of losing face. inhibition controls me so much it oozes out of my pores–i can feel a pimple starting on my forehead from it. which makes me self-conscious. which makes me inhibited.

yup. there's a question mark over my head (between the bunny ears) about today's little meetgreet, but i can't define my question. anyone have any answers? d'win? va? you know "people". help me out here. maybe i can figure out what my question is off of you.

maybe i need to work on MY camo (puffintoad).

expression

he frowned that frown that men do when they don't want to cry.

i didn't mean to make him do that.

i didn't say anything else after that.

i feel as though i should have.

deconstruction of a tune

gaptoof seemed to genuinely appreciate and enjoy our impromptu rendition of "cry me a river". we did it in f minor. he instructed me to remember that.

tonight i got to wondering, why? why did our doing that song in particular resonate with him over, say, corcovado, which is one of my favorites (and therefore one we do every time)?

it's a great tune. it was written by arthur hamilton. i've only heard it performed by women. the first time i heard it, it was sung by yeardley smith on a sitcom (herman's head). i must have been fourteen or so. i now realize that it was an odd and unrepresentative introduction to the song, but for some reason it has stuck with me. i remember looking at her face as she, whose character was supposed to be somewhat nervous, a bit of an underdog, with perhaps a history of being hurt, straightened out her shoulders and sang those lyrics, "well you can cry me a river; i cried a river over you." her delivery was really simple and sincere, and that, along with her indisputably unique voice, made an impression. i've since heard versions by ella fitzgerald, diana krall, julie london (the original, i believe), erin bode, and linda ronstadt.

i like the song. i like the way the first line in the melody starts up high, hangs there for a bit, and then drifts downward. i like the way the bridge begins with those first three notes/words, then starts the statement over. i like the way its melodic lines feel in my throat. i like how personal the lyrics sound, though i can't say i have ever identified with or rallied behind their sentiment. i've been going back and forth on whether or not i like that it uses the word "plebeian"; i like it in theory but when you're singing it you feel like you're saying something really out of place.

all those things having been said, i don't think i've come near the reason he liked it so much that we did it twice. maybe there was something about our combination. he used a vertical sound, really full chords and quite a bit of rubato, and less of a steady, forward-progressing bassline than to which i am accustomed.

i don't know what it was. i doubt he'd be able to tell me either. but i guess it must have been good.

the silence is broken

this morning at 11:32 my phone rang.

it was my insurance agent. she wants me to buy more.

i let the machine get it.

quiet

as of 17:12 today, my telephone will have been completely silent for one full week.

blessing

there is a bunny, an actual bunny, that lives somewhere on the grounds of my apartment complex. sometimes he hangs out on the grassy knoll in front of my door. it is often at night that i see him there, standing very still. he lets me get pretty close as i go about my business, but he never moves to go about his business if i’m around.

when i see him my mind gets to going. i wonder if he is estranged from the bunny family i have seen near the laundry facility i use, and why. i think about the rabbit that lived outside my ex-boyfriend’s apartment and ate the parsley that he’d surreptitiously planted in a corner of the front landscaping, and how we thought it was fun when we saw it. (he named it “rabbit”.) i think about my mother, who is a rabbit (luckiest of all signs. thin-skinned and anxious, yet affectionate. a peace seeker.) in a house of two snakes, a dog, and a horse’s behind (oh, because he was born at the very end of the year). i wonder what it’s like being a wild bunny in the suburbs.

i very much like having him there. i like that he doesn’t run away when i come out. last night when he stayed around, i decided that i should henceforth see him as a reminder of God’s blessing. i don’t know why, but it seems fitting.

soundtrack to the night

in the time of chimpanzees i was a monkey

i finished working a long sucky shift.

got a couple of couches, sleep on the loveseat

the song played when i started my car. i just shook my head.

and my time is a piece of wax
fallin’ on a termite
that’s chokin’ on the splinter

because it was only too fitting.

get crazy with the cheez whiz

too many kids.

drive-by body pierce

too many booboos.

ulllleah!

too many possibilities.

i can't believe you!

and at the end of the day, nothing.
yawn. it's time for bed.

soy un perdedor
i’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?

then my allergies flare. i have to sleep on the couch.
yawn. laugh a little. shake my head.
bleah.

take this survey:

i'm a girl, and by me that's only great!
i am proud that my silhouette is curvy,
that i walk with a sweet and girlish gait
with my hips kind of swivelly and swervy.

i adore being dressed in something frilly
when my date comes to get me at my place.
out i go with my joe or john or billy,
like a filly who is ready for the race!

when i have a brand new hairdo
with my eyelashes all in curl,
i float as the clouds on air do,
i enjoy being a girl!

when men say i'm cute and funny
and my teeth aren't teeth, but pearl,
i just lap it up like honey
i enjoy being a girl!

i flip when a fellow sends me flowers,
i drool over dresses made of lace,
i talk on the telephone for hours
with a pound and a half of cream upon my face!

when men say i'm sweet as candy
as around in a dance we whirl,
it goes to my head like brandy,
i enjoy being a girl!

when someone with eyes that smoulder
says he loves ev'ry silken curl
That falls on my iv'ry shoulder,
i enjoy being a girl!

when i hear the compliment'ry whistle
that greets my bikini by the sea,
i turn and i glower and i bristle,
but i'm happy to know the whistle's meant for me!

i'm strictly a female female
and my future i hope will be
in the home of a brave and free male
who'll enjoy being a guy having a girl... like... me.

a. strongly agree
b. agree somewhat
c. neutral
d. disagree somewhat
e. strongly disagree
f. you go, girl!
g. BLEAH!
h. not applicable

survey results (if i get enough) to be published later.

on the one!

perhaps it's a natural progression in my tastes that started with my attraction to jazz; i confess a penchant for funky tunes with stanky horn lines and/or clavinet. do see "jungle boogie" below. also on my playlist lately has been "the hump" by patrice rushen and stevie wonder's "superstition", which is currently being used in a levi's commercial. some tunes just make you go, awwwww yeah! and then you have to find them and play them a couple times in a row before moving on.

when you believe in things that you don’t understand,
then you suffer,
superstition ain’t the way

friends, you GOT to give the funk a try!

labor day, part 2

so two hours after i got home i was called in for a transport on the fixed wing jet.

getting loaded up was an ordeal, because our patient was critically ill. in a coma. induced because he wouldn't stop having seizures. and on a ventilator. as you can imagine we had a lot of equipment with us. i tried picking up and moving the bags into the plane. i picked up one particularly plump bag and attempted to hand it to the pilot. "golly, that weighs more than you do!" he said. it probably did. i couldn't lift it over my head; i was simply incapable. that was a bad feeling. i stopped trying to help at that point, realizing that i am too small.

while on the plane the nurse spent the entire 45 minute trip getting everything ready for the patient, while i sat and daydreamed. i sort of felt bad but there was really nothing else for me to do but think about what i was going to do for the patient. it was then that i realized my role on the team. it is my job to say "do this," and it is the nurse's and the medic's job to make it so. i've always tried to be helpful, as helpful as possible. but in this circumstance i wasn't supposed to busy myself with the little things. that was a weird feeling.

then as we rolled back to the jet with the patient, i was hand bag-ventilating the patient. i was doing all the breathing for this kid because he couldn't do it himself. i had to do it for him, and i had to do it right. and at any moment something with the breathing tube, its placement, or the bag, or the oxygen, or whatever could go wrong. and i knew i'd have to do this for at least an hour. even though i've done it before, that was a scary feeling.

it's just doesn't seem right for these responsibilties to be in my hands: to abstain from the manual labor of a task, to cerebrate upon mysterious medical things and declare orders for others to perform, to breathe for someone. but you know, it's all in a day's work. a labor day's work.

labor day

it took me forty-five minutes to realize that today is an at-home call day, not an in-house call day. that was forty-five minutes in-house. i was just starting to get bored.

now, mind you, that’s after getting up at 0530 to shower, do hair, and (shudder) apply makeup before going in.

if i knew how to make my blog have music in the background, i’d make it play “stupid” by toad the wet sprocket. “i am really feeling stupid now...”

it’s not worth getting upset. i basically napped off and on all day yesterday and could do it again today if i wanted to, so getting up early is a non-issue. my heart didn’t leap with glee at the sudden prospect of emancipation from a 9 hour sentence of sitting around the hospital waiting to be called, but, rather, i was quietly glad. i drove home (wasted about three dollars of gas going in today, i noted) and for the drive i was happy about the nice day with the bright sunshine. as i approached my apartment i hummed along in harmony to louis armstrong’s “what a wonderful world” that had just happened to come on—“trees of green, clouds of white, the bright blessed day...”

i hope today’s a good day.

since i’ve already made two song references maybe you’d like to know the other songs that participated in the musical melange in my head this morning. let’s see, there was “hooked on a feeling” (the bj thomas version), “search me” by kirk ward, “summertime” by the sundays, and “sometimes i feel like a motherless child”. have you ever thought about just how sad that really is? sometimes i feel like a motherless child a long way from home. that is really sad! (she said, ending with an exclamation point that made her statement seem trivial).

pet peeve

when you need a tissue or paper towel so you pull on the one sticking out of the dispenser and a little piece of it tears off in your hand.

BAH!

tales of evil

to those of you who have doubted the evil in me i will relate this story as proof.

when i was in college we had those dry-erase boards on our dorm room doors so we could leave messages for each other, blablabla. okay. so one day my friends' dry-erase board (first door of the hallway) had a cute happy picture of a little boat out on the ocean on a sunny day.

(evil raise of eyebrow...)

my friend cat and i embellished on the events of that fateful sunny day.

we changed the smiley face in the sun to a scowl. we drew sharks in the water. we drew a pirate ship shooting cannonballs at the happy little skiff. we drew exclamation points over the stick figure protagonist's head to signify his distress over the holes we had drawn into his sinking craft....

i don't remember what else we drew, but you get the idea. i still laugh out loud when i think of what we did. i mean, it was just funny!

i don't know if cat and i ever revealed ourselves as the ones who committed this dastardly deed. hmm, i seem to recall that we actually sort of caused some sadness amongst the residents of that room, our very good non-evil friends, which was most certainly not our intent. as a matter of fact, it never even crossed our minds that feelings could get hurt. we did not mean to be malicious. i was then sorry that our gleeful immature little-boyish prank-stunt had hurt someone.

but-- it's funny! it is still so funny to me, even after 10 years! i just can't help it, i'm laughing aloud again, and pretty hard!

ohhhhhh, sigh. deep breath. shake of the head. i TOLD you i'm evil.

addiction

star crunchity crunch!
ohhhh, star crunchy goodness!
chewy cookie and caramel with crispy rice treat!
fudge that isn't too sweet!

crunch and munch and chew!
almost-melty-but-not-quite sweetness!

(pause. wait. post-starcrunch euphoria.)

ohhhhhh. star crunch.

gustavo

his name was gustavo. he was a spaniard. a crazy spaniard. crazy because he was not crazy. he was quite charming actually.

i worked with gustavo when i was in college. well, not with him. i worked somewhere near his workspace.

and that’s really about it.

i liked gustavo because he was funny, because his short fine hair stuck straight out in all directions, because of his accent and his slightly hoarse young voice. he liked soccer and wore jerseys into lab sometimes. he had a funny frown, on the rare occasion he would frown. he was demonstrative when he talked and didn’t take himself too seriously. he had a good attitude, and it was fun to say his name out loud.

that’s all i can remember about him. probably because that is all i ever knew about him. that was back in the days when i was very well-hidden. no mutual affection ever grew between my other labmates and me. i just liked all of them in that “i’m glad they exist” sort of way. gustavo a little more because he was bright where the other two girls were dark.

i went to spain myself two years ago. yet i have not thought again of gustavo until tonight.

i wonder where he is, and what he’s waving his hands over his head about now.