The veggies were nestled, all snug in their beds...

Apparently, there's a frost advisory for tonight.  And I'm a dork and heeding it.

Tonight's weather forecast is calling for a low of 33 degrees in the world's best climate otherwise known as San Clemente.  I don't know about you, but any climate where I can see a bit of ocean from my patio (if I'm standing on my planter and looking at the right angle) or ride to it on my bike in less than 10 minutes AND has to tolerate an occasional frost advisory is not the world's best climate.  Pretty awesome?  Maybe.  Almost favorite?  Close.  World's best?  You're smoking crack.

And so, in my brand new boots that I just bought with Christmas $$$ (if you think about a possible purchase at least twice a day for almost a week straight and it's reasonably priced, you just go ahead and pick it up- it'll be worth it) and my new Roxy jacket (I paced around Hobie Sports for about 20 minutes trying to talk myself out of it and failed) I headed out into the garden with some old sheets and towels.  The lettuce patch, the cucumber, my two potted plumerias and any potted herbs and cherry tomato plants that could fit under the plumerias are now covered and armed against frost.  

I can't wait for the Tall One to get home and see the patio.  He's already pretty much convinced I'm insane, this will push me over the edge.  But I'm providing food!!!  This is how I rationalize my behavior.

And, I predict a 60 degree inside the house temperature in the morning.  Stay tuned...

Christmas cheer, brought to you by...

So, I just told off a rude customer at Starbucks.

I know, just when I'm starting to get a handle on smarting off and having patience, I regressed.

I was at my local Starbucks to get my new fave- Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha.  It's a busy Sunday morning and there is a line to the door and wrapping through the merchandise area.  There are only 2 registers, the one I'm ordering at and one occupied by a woman wearing a bright red fleece, brown hair piled up on her head and she's berating what turned out to be the manager.  Apparently, she was wanting to purchase something that had an incorrect price tag.  When she was informed of the mistake, she hit the roof- she wanted the tagged price, it's against the law to do what you're doing, I'm calling corporate.  She's the poster child for bad people that have learned to pitch a 4-yr old fit and call corporate offices with their complaints knowing full well the offices will throw product or discounts at her and make her feel like a million bucks because they want her to a) shut up and go away because she's an annoying pestilence and b) they want to keep people happy.  

In the time it took for me to walk in, wait for two people to order, place my order and pay, and then pick up my drink- this woman was monopolizing this register.  And she wasn't being Christmasy.  I take offense to this.  And besides, the staff at this 'Bucks is so nice, I was mad at her for being rude to them.  Cue up the vigilante response!!!

While I was walking out, she stomped out right in front of me.  I couldn't take it anymore.  I told her in the most disarmingly sweet and charming voice, "Thank you so much for clogging up the line just so you could be insolent!"  Wince.

That pile of a woman whirled around and looked at me and said, "Ex-cuse me?"  So I told her again the exact same thing in the same tone of voice, smiled and walked away.  She called after me and told me no problem, anytime.  

The best part is: I really don't think she knew what insolent meant.  I'm sure she knew I had insulted her in front of a line of strangers by calling her out and using the words "clogging the line", but she looked a little confused and insolent isn't exactly a word people use a lot.  My greatest hope is that when she got home, she googled "insolent" and found out its true meaning.

And deep down, I feel triumphant.  She's never going to change, she's always going to be that sort of person.  But, I got to use an intelligent word, used it properly, and hopefully made her think.  Kill 'em with knowledge!!!!!

And that's why I like big words.  They make stupid people a little bit more aware of their stupidity.

I'm a jerk.  

Please don't make me shake hands...

I have a confession.

I really don't like shaking hands with people when I walk into church.

It's really one of the only things that makes me cringe about Saturday nights (when we go to church).  Every week, there is the nicest, nicest person greeting everyone coming in for the service.  They give you a warm, genuine smile... and then put out their hand to shake yours.  Eeeek.

It's such an inviting and friendly gesture.  And yet, ALL I can think about is how many people walked in before me and shook that same hand and what had that person been doing before they walked in? Did they use the bathroom before coming to church and did they bother to wash their hands?  Is it a stereotypical south OC family with 2-4 kids, half of which are carrying at least 3 cold viruses each?  Does that person up there think he's over the flu and feels up for church but is still coughing and sniffling?  These are the things I think about!!!!  And it's awful!!!!  And it's all nursing school's fault!!!!!!

I've tried lots of things to avoid "the shake".  I've tried looking freezing (easy to do lately), cramming my hands underneath crossed arms and looking like I can't even take them out for a shake.  Didn't work last night.  I still got the hand and a reassuring, "Don't worry, it's nice and warm inside."  Sheesh.  I've tried to slide in with a large family hoping that the greeter won't see me, but those guys are like greeter Jedis- no man left ungreeted!  About the only thing that consistently works is fumbling around in my excessively large hippie sack that masquerades as a purse and looking very absorbed in it.

I know.  I'm a mean person.  Sigh.

Thank goodness for the small bottle of Purell.

Home of the gnome.

"Help- I'm mired in a forest of mint!"

You and your music must leave. Now.

Bob Marley- Legend

you play it loud all day long

bought from BMG?

I'm three days into reconnecting with life since taking my final.  In that span of time, I have cleaned the house, Christmas-shopped, made a fabulous Moroccan chicken & couscous soup, ran 8.5 miles and today, the depth of my hatred for my socially inept and foul-mouthed neighbor plunged to a new, unprecedented low.  This afternoon, he decided to play my absolute total favorites, Bob Marley and John Mayer, so loud that it was shaking the pictures on my wall, making the walls audibly vibrate and could be heard from every corner of MY house.  After throwing a sandal, my shoe, and then winding up and kicking the wall... I finally decided to go over and tell him how annoying he was.  He answered the door with his toddler running buckwild in the background, a beer in hand and Bob chanting down Babylon for all of north San Clemente to hear.  I told him, "Yeah, I live next door and..." and he interrupted me and said, "Aww, sorry is my music too loud, like shaking the wall and stuff?"  

Seriously, who ARE you???  

Out of all the signs of your music being too loud, it took me coming over and uttering the first clause of a sentence for it to register?  Not only am I now utterly convinced the guy is a douchebag, he's an idiot- when your neighbor comes over to tell you just how loud you're being and you cut them off and ask if you're being too loud (thereby hitting the nail square on the head), that's either guilt or intent.  Or total stupidity. 

Since I have lot of time on my hands, rather than brushing up on my cardiac dysrhythmias, I'm writing haiku.  In honor of my crap for brains neighbor.

Waiting on the world

and your defunct hearing sense

to change, work again

(I've now heard this song three times this afternoon.  Three.)

Thank you for ruining

the best band in the world for

me, Led Zeppelin, sad

Every rose has its

thorn, shockingly I do too

it's you and your life

Ah, smells like brushfire

are the hills burning again?

no, it's your grill... again

And yes, I am 12.  Thank you for wondering.

I heard the fight last

night, lots of f-words were said

need better vocab

Thanks for taking charge

when the car crash woke all up

but it was wrapped up...

BEFORE YOU GOT THERE!!!!!!!!

The Great Wet South.

I'm handing it to our latest storm- it might be making legitimate Storm Watch status.  It's been raining all day and it's absolutely arctic outside.  I just checked out weather.com and was given this status update for San Clemente: Rain, temp- 48, feels like 42.  42?????? We pay waaay to much money to live in a semi-arid climate to endure 42-degree rainy weather.  

But if sub-50 daytime weather has taught us anything, it's where those drafts we keep feeling are coming from.  The sliding glass door.  And the front door.  And our bedroom windows.  They're from the same year I was born, rattle with the wind and once you get within 2ft of them, you can start to feel the cold creeping in from them.  We're now keeping the curtains and blinds shut in an effort to repel the cold.  And since we hate the earth, our thermostat is set at 70.  Green this, I'm cold!!!  I do feel guilty for whining about the cold though.  My mom is shivering away in Colorado where the high the over the weekend was minus 15.  Whatever, I'm still freezing.

I started Christmas shopping yesterday.  I got to the mall about 10:30 or so and had a pleasant time.  I stayed away from Macy's and their snooty saleswenches and lurked around The Gap (thanks to the Gap for 50% off on my jeans and 2 scarves for $10 each!!!), Crate and Barrel, and BBBWorks.  While in the Gap dressing room trying on my jeans, my mom called.  I managed to get it out of her that they would like some See's peanut brittle.  I had just navigated through the throng of soon-to-be-diabetics throwing they're hard-earned money at Mrs. See while going into the Gap and was horrified at the thought of braving the line.  So I decided to get there "right when they open". That way, I can get in line, buy my pound of brittle and be gone.  Mall opens at 10am, right?  WRONG. Apparently, the mall opened at 8am.  So, the line was already 8 people deep in the store itself- 7 poor souls stuck behind some woman in sweats picking out a 2lb. custom box of chocolates one agonizing flavor at a time while cramming her free sample in her face at the same time.  Merry Christmas!!!!  Thankfully, See's forsees the inevitable riot and puts their pre-made boxes outside, kind of like an express lane.  Until the chick I was stuck behind today reaches the register.  I actually was third in line behind this woman, but the two in front of me gave me a sorrowful look when I asked if they were in line.  I think they'd been there a while.  This woman proceeded to send the cashier all over the mall grabbing boxes and boxes of chocolate.  $230 later, she somehow trucked all that sugar out of our way.  Merry Christmas!!!!

I've also got a new addiction- sparkling water.  No flavors, no additives, just CO2 and water.  It all started with a bottle of Arrowhead sparkling water after our martini party on Saturday.  And now it's all I can think about.  Yesterday, after bible study, I made the excuse to stop and buy a bottle of Perrier because gas was $1.69/gallon and how could I pass THAT up?  Today, after housecleaning, I promptly walked out the house, drove up the street to Sears and found plastic bottles of Pellegrino on sale for $1.25.  I bought 4.   And that first taste, all fizzy and ice cold- I take a big gulp and it's sooo good.  So good once it touches your lips...

At what point should I be worried?

Risk Factor Central.

My last week in OB has been a week, I'll start off with that.

Monday, I was spared the wrath of the aminotic fountain because I was put on the antepartum unit- where you take care of patients that have no business being in labor, so if you want to avoid seeing a birth it's a pretty good place to be.  They threw a postpartum patient at us, just to keep it mixed up and to remind me that the only other time I want to be on a postpartum unit is as a patient.  Not any time soon of course.  Anyway, I was surrounded by twins.  Two moms keeping their twin buns in their ovens, another mom going home with her twins- that's enough to scare me into tubal ligation.  Anyway, antepartum is nice, but I'll be moving on.  We'll mark it under the list of "Areas of nursing that wouldn't cause me to go on a vicious rampage if I was forced to work there".  

(Total side note: I like how the local 5pm NBC news anchorwoman didn't even give the disgraced Illinois governor's name anything remotely related to a try, she just referred to him as the governor of Illinois. Quitter!!!!!)

After celebrating being clinically done with OB by consuming 1/3 of a BJ's Pizza combo appetizer platter, wings and pizzookie, lecture was somewhat of a letdown.  Things were kicked off on a happy note this morning with the appearance of our professor next semester for Advanced Nursing.  Like I wasn't already nauseated by the fact that in 5 months I will be graduating nursing school and heading out into the wide world of actual nursing, now this guy shows up and scares the becrappers out of me about next semester and then exits with a "Have a nice holiday and enjoy your break!"  ???  Four weeks off isn't NEARLY enough at this point...

And then lecture just picked up the ball and kept running.  Today, I learned that I may already have an increased risk for breast cancer purely because 1) I haven't had any kids, 2) I've delayed having kids until my 30's (something I consider socially responsible given the fact that I was a loose cannon in my 20's and NOT MARRIED, little things like that... and this is how I'm rewarded???), 3) I use birth control, 4) I've never breastfed and 5) little unalterable things like I'm white and female.  Oh, and I also found out that 1 or more alcoholic drinks a day is considered excessive.  It was an uplifting 10 mintues.  I then learned that should this be part of my future, mastectomy would be recommended for me because my, ahem, "assets", are not as sizeable as most.  After waltzing through other cancers and disorders of the reproductive system, we wrapped up class with a photo essay of sexually transmitted diseases.  I almost threw up in my mouth at least twice.  If you'd like to know how they used to diagnose bacterial vaginosis, email me.  The difference between you and me is that you aren't required to know this; I, on the other hand, may be tested on this in 5 days. 

And if that doesn't top it all, I can't even get a straight answer on how many questions will be on my final.  This is crucial so I can calculate just how hard I have to study over the next 5 days. I've been told that it will be at least 75 points, but I prefer to calculate precisely.  And I can't right now.  And that pretty much sums up my class.  

Five more days, five more days...

Life in the retirement home.

This little gem here earned me a hefty dose of ridicule from the Tall One.  

I like jigsaw puzzles.  My parents learned early on that I liked these and would give them to me as gifts.  It was like gold for them, they could give me one at Christmas and they wouldn't hear from me until June.  A good friend of mine has a tradition where she and her family get Christmas puzzles and put them together.  I think that's awesome!  So, I went to Borders on Friday with my 20% off coupon and bought me a puzzle.

I came home, turned on some holiday tunes and went into the puzzle zone.  Until the Tall One came downstairs.  He stopped on the stairs and said, "What are you, a senior citizen?!?"  I told him, no, I like puzzles, they're fun.  He then told me, "Puzzles are what people do in retirement homes, when there is nothing else to do."

Sigh.

Whatever, I finished it the next morning.  While sorting through the sky and eating cereal, I heard the sound of Christmas music (not from our house!) outside and looked out our kitchen window.  There was a fire-engine red Suburban with a sleigh on top, blaring music, and a load of high schoolers proceeded to pile out.  They just kept coming.  And then they walked up to our front door.  I was dumbfounded.  They obviously knocked and when I answered the door, I was met with a carol, a plate full of these:

and a reading of the Christmas story from Luke 2.  We had been sneak-attacked by some of the Compass Bible Church high schoolers handing out treats to thank volunteers.  It was pretty funny.  I was proud of myself for just opening the door...

I'm coming down to 1 week to go until my final.  Has that done much to motivate me to study for my final?  No!!!!!!!  I'm finding lots of things to fill the time.

I'm a moonshiner!!!  Not really.  But I am making limoncello.  For the second straight holiday, I've been inundated with recipes on how to make your own lemon liqueur, so I went for it.  In that Trader Joe's juice jug is 4 CUPS of vodka and the rind of 7 lemons minus the white pithy part.  It's been marinating in a cool quiet place for 1 week now, and it's got 1 more to go.  After that, I'll add a heap of sugar, heat it up,  let it cool and then pat myself on the back even if it tastes awful.

And we got our tree.  I pretty much have to drag the Tall One out every year (for the whole two years we've celebrated Christmas together), all the while saying Christmas like the crazy chainsmoking neighbor in Better Off Dead:

 Better Off Dead is quite possibly one of the best 80's films and my favorite John Cusack movie, but moving on...

I like this picture because the way it's shot, our tree looks mini compared to the Tall One, and he looks incredibly too large for the inside of our place- kind of like anybody besides a hobbit in a hobbit house.  Did I just go Lord of the Rings geek?  Yeah!!!!!  Anyway, our tree kind of leans, kind of like our wedding cake last year.

And my new pride and joy:

I made wreaths!!!!  I stoked out the Christmas tree guys at Lowe's by asking if I could have the scraps, thereby relieving them of some work and giving me the bulk of my supplies to get crafty.  I got some floral wire, pinecones and other doohickies to make them pretty.  I then proceeded to turn on the holiday tunes, crack open a little bottle of my favorite Australian ginger beer and churn out 3 wreaths.  My fingertips are now ridiculously tender, but it was worth it.  CRAFTY!!!!!!!

And now, I'm sitting at home while Laker-time rolls on downstairs, trying to wind down and try and go to bed in about an hour and a half because I have my LAST OB clinical day tomorrow.  Amen.  I was shown divine mercy last week when clinical was canceled last week, but having two weeks without clinical is making it really hard to get my act together and get ready for tomorrow.  Thankfully, it'll be a short one and then we'll go out and have a nice late lunch together and be done with it.  Overall, this clinical was fairly painless.

But if I get showered with amniotic fluid and sludge tomorrow, I'm going on a rampage.

Ras Trent- still haunting me.

It's been at least a week since the first time I watched the Ras Trent video and only in the last two days or so have I been able to sit quietly and not keep singing bada-ding-ding-ding-ding dong, dong-ding-dong-duck over... and over... and over again.

And then this morning happened.

The Tall One woke and put his head right by my ear and quietly sang "Are you there, Jah?  It's me Ras Trent."

I suppose it could've been the giraffe song so I should be thankful.  But now I'm all irie again.  Dang it.

"This is what happens when hippies get money."

The Tall One is on a freaking ROLL right now. Here's another gem:

"This is why God made hippies poor, so they can't afford to pull crap like this."

And: "There's nothing worse than a SMUG hippie."

Sigh.

So, there's this new "show" (and I use the term loosely) on Animal Planet called Whale Wars. In it, hippies drive around in really really expensive ships wearing ostentaciously expensive outerwear and attack commercial fishermen killing whales.  They're like "green" pirates, complete with their own pirate flag (I kid you not, it's their version of a skull & crossbones), that they run up when they come out from behind icebergs to go on the offensive. We found it so hilariously lame, the Tall One had to turn the channel in frustration when they did that.  Somewhere, they got the funding for this sort of thing and it includes Zodiacs with which they ram the fishing boats in an attempt to get them to stop killing whales. While I should let it go that this is just natural selection at its finest (I mean, really? You're going to ram an inflatable boat into a LARGE moving steel object and think you're going to have an impact? By all means, carry on...), I'm a little astounded by this whole thing.

I'm all for saving the whales.  They're beautiful, and awesome, and worth making sure we keep their numbers safe and healthy.  But somewhere, some dirty hippies (complete with bad facial hair and ponytails on both sexes) got a fire lit under their butts and they're using some pretty questionable techniques to see that their agenda is being heard.  And they're using a lot of money to get it done.  And now, some TV channel is paying a lot of freaking money to show this sort of thing.  What recession?!  I thought times were tough and there was an economic crisis?  Apparently not, because in some freezing cold ocean at one of the poles, a whole fleet of hippies is wearing some high end all-weather gear and trashing seagoing vessels.  Seriously, how is this legal?

And here's what gets me.  These guys are doing some things that if we saw them being done on land, or if they were done by certain other shall we say "often talked about and rather violent groups", we'd be more ticked off rather than cheering them on.  I'm not saying it's OK to kill lots of whales, and I'm certainly NOT agreeing with people that use violent overtures to get their point across.  And maybe it's way less black/white than I'm taking it, but what they're doing comes across as slightly terrorist.  If it was a fundamental Muslim group sneak-attacking boats for God knows whatever reason, we'd be raising a holy ruckus! But because it's nice fluffy cute whales, it's OK?  

I'm confused.  

But it's really fun to watch the Tall One get all riled up and spit out one liners.  Makes my night.

Drinking gasoline and spitting pure fire.

I could do this all night.  This one makes me laugh more than Mark Wahlberg Talks To Animals.  My lungs hurt.

Are you there, Jah? It's me Ras Trent.

Well, it must be exam time in a few days because I'm instantly intrigued with finding the funniest things online that I possibly can.  Annie- this dose of Andy Samberg love goes out to you.

Red Stripe, Shabba Ranks, ba-da ding ding ding ding whoooooooaaaaoooo.

C'mon, let's grow up a little.

I know you're pissed, I know you're angry.  Protest until moon falls from the sky, I don't care.  It's a free country and we celebrate the right to express our opinions without fear or threat of harm or imprisonment. 

Until you take it too far.

Signs and chanting, fine.  Resorting to terrorist tactics, infinitely idiotic.  Supremely unintelligent. Trying to be "menacing" while sending envelopes of "fake white powder"- could you be any more stupid?!?  As far as I'm concerned, those people have totally debased any authenticity to their movement and I consider them cowards and juvenile.

I've said it before and I'll say it again- think of someone else other than yourself for once. 

Let's be adults, and conduct ourselves as such.  Otherwise, I have no sympathy or respect for you and your platform.  And that goes for BOTH sides.

Heartbroken.

It's almost midnight and I can't go to sleep.  My college alma mater, Westmont College, is in the middle of a massive, devastating brush fire... and it's starting to lose the battle.  That is the front gate into the school, and all behind it is the glow.

While watching the news, I found out that my freshman dorm, the beloved Clark dorm, had caught fire.  Some time later, I recall the word "engulfed" being used.  And then they showed it.  It broke my heart.  My freshman year was a defining moment in my life- and the main stage for it is now gone.  When I called a friend to tell her, we started crying.  

Now, I've talked some major crap on Westmont since graduating, mostly because they got my name wrong at my freaking college graduation (that much money, you think they could've gotten it right), it can be a bubble, it's like high school, chapel is required... on and on and on.  

But when I heard about the fire, something weird happened.  An overpowering defensive feeling, kind of like, "HEY!!!  That's MY school, you can't do that!!!"  I didn't used to feel that way.  But now, I'm so sad the place that was the cause of so much fretting and at the same time so many good times is suffering and might not make it through the night.

The place that introduced us to the "Trough", otherwise more politically correctly referred to as the Sunday Night Sundae Bar.

The place that awarded me the degree that will help me look better when I apply for jobs in a few months.

The place where I met some dear friends that I'm still close with over 10 years later.

The place where I met my dear, dear husband for crying out loud!  If he hadn't been a Clark G guy, and I hadn't been an honorary Clark H girl, we might never have met.  Mostly because he was too busy emailing his girlfriend for the first two years and I was too busy surfing and stalking the checkout boys at the local Vons- but we ran in the same circle of friends so we knew each other!

The place where I could kick all the decrepit lightposts going down the hill from the Student Center (the Dooker rules!!!), and they'd all dim out and then slowly one-by-one they'd come back on.

The place where I slammed my hip into a very tall stereo speaker as I stumbled out of bed and into a doorway during the 1994 Northridge earthquake (yes, we felt it all the way up in Santa Barbara).

And now, there's no more news.  I have to wait until daybreak to see what remains of the site of 4 years of memories.

God, please keep Westmont safe.

(The above photo was taken by some incredibly brave soul named Ray Ford.  Just giving credit where credit is rightly due.  He took a lot of photos of the campus earlier in the night, and while I appreciate seeing the truth, it still made me cry.)

A public information message from your local corn grower.

I just saw this ad and it freaking killed me. Really? The corn growers are this hard up, what with all those pesky doctors and nutrionists telling people to cut down/out sugar because they're obese or have diabetes or some other chronic health condition? Darn those health professionals, submarining an industry just keep their patients alive!!!! Way to fight back farmers- cheesy ads with really bad acting and lame logic.

Just a little advice- if your food tastes that crappy that you have to add super concentrated sugars to it just to make it palatable, perhaps it's best left uneaten.  Also, way to look at your bottom line- so what if obesity and diabetes are reaching epidemic proportions in our society?  Daddy needs a new tractor!!!

I'm going to add this to my list of reasons for why our country is screwed up.  We do a lot of stuff right, but it's way more fun to scorn the idiots and their mistakes.  

Hi, meet my friend, Pride, and her twin, Sarcasm!

Kazoo Hero.

This fulfills two of my requirements to declare something funny: it involves kazoos (which are a MAJOR fixture of the yearly Bare Christmas Eve extravaganza along with Kirsch and fondue- Swiss for life!!) and it makes fun of Guitar Hero. My job is done for today.

The Shallow and the Petty.

I admit it.  I sink to the level of cattiness and the inane when I could really care less about talking about "real issues."  Perfect example- when the Lakers choked in the NBA finals earlier this year, I didn't focus on the fact that they couldn't make stops or score when it counted, I rant (present-active participle tense, because I still do) about what a faker Paul Pierce is.  AAAARRRGGHH!!!  My knee!!!  I'm mortally wounded... I need to be carried of the cooouurrttt... WAIT!  I'm baaaacckk, and I can still plaaaay...  Makes me almost dry heave thinking about it.

And now with all the post election coverage (because really, when this is all you report on for 7-8 months, you can't just flip the switch back to life as usual- kind of like quitting heroin.  So, I'm told...), there is just too much fodder for me.  I'm like a kid in a candy shop.  I can't keep it in anymore.

Bwaa-ha-haaaaaaa...

Good grief!  Seriously- what the hell was Joe Biden's wife thinking?  This is a multiple choice question, kids:

A) Dammit, Michelle!!!  I called "red".  I hate you.  Four years of you getting first pick because you're the First Lady.

B) Nobody cares about the VP's wife and I wore all my good outfits earlier, maybe people won't notice...

C) It worked for Sir Isaac Lime and I love Otter Pops- I'm rockin' the lime!!!!

D) Aren't glow sticks cool?  I'm trying to garner the rave partiers' vote.

E) This term's VP's wife, brought to you by BIC highlighters and the color yellow!

AAAIIIIIEEEEEE!!!!!!! 

I was calmly watching TV during my lunch when this disaster masquerading as a news anchor started pitching the day's election roundup.  All this after she got the weatherman's question right and laughed uncomfortably long and loud over it.  And here's the question: On what kind of day would you see more sun- mostly sunny or partly cloudy?  She was, no joke, ecstatic she got it right.  It was awkward.  But not as awkward as her face, which has no wrinkles even when moving, or her lips which are Botoxed to the painful/stung by a hive of bees level.  And I'm just saying what you might be thinking- her boobs could be bigger.  I'm just sayin'...  

Wait, here's another- it was too good...

Ok- I feel better.  

That was fun.

Bwaa-ha-haaaaaaaaa...

I voted!

And I even got one of those cute little stickers!  But, I didn't go out and claim my free tall drip coffee from Starbuck's- even though I could've gotten one for free even if I hadn't voted.  

Which I almost did, just out of protest of a completely ugly, nasty, vitriolic campaign season that has left a bad taste in my mouth.  This country is screwed up, and this election has just highlighted a few of the reasons why.  

Plus, did you know that even if you're on a Do Not Call list for both your home and phone, political groups are exempt from this invasion of privacy and can dial you at anytime with their annoying prerecorded agenda?  What the hell?  When I said "Don't call me", I didn't mean "Don't call unless you're peddling political agendas and then I'm all ears"- I really meant Don't call me.  I generally don't like strangers.  Especially ones telling me what to do.

I almost left a sign on my front door ordering people destroying the earth by littering my doorstep with their annoying flyers to stop doing so, but decided the Tall One wouldn't endorse my position.  But then again, he told me to leave a note for the lazy asses in our cul-de-sac that insist on blocking one whole half of the community driveway with their trash bins because they're too lazy to walk 20ft. down the street to some open curb space.  I maintain that is too passive- if I just plow into them and make them clean up the mess for PUTTING THEIR TRASH BINS IN THE WAY OF TRAFFIC FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE that's going to drive the whole point home much easier.  They can just throw away the note, but every second they're picking up their trash from the ground they'll be remembering to keep the driveway open next time.  But, I digress...

One word about the presidential election and then I'll let it go.  I really could've cared less who won, mostly because I don't like either of them.  But I find it interesting that everyone is so fired up to vote and "Rock the Vote" and your vote matters, because when I see the popular vote numbers, and then I see the electoral vote numbers... I'm thinking there's a disparity.  Last I saw, the popular vote was close- but if you look at the electoral votes, it was a landslide.  So, is the electoral vote really the vote of the people?  Did my vote really count?  

I don't think so.  And that makes me think that my walk up to the polling place was nothing but a breath of fresh air after a rain.  

Which is more than I can say for this election.

Frat parties and toddler breakfasts.

This is the scene every morning in my garden now.  It's like my vegetables have been raging all night long and this is the aftermath.  Frat party sponsored by the cucumbers!!

Actually, this is my pathetic attempt to keep the soon to be terminated rat(s) away from my precious seedlings until they're too big to mess with.  I took dixie cups, cut holes in to allow for air circulation, and placed them over the seedlings.  It looks ridiculous, but when I'm eating my own lettuce in 2 months, it will all seem worth it.

On a totally unrelated note...

First off, let me say that for all my snarky yet affectionate stories about the Tall One- I love him to death.  Can't get enough of him, really sad he's leaving me for 10 days to go have fun at the El Sal house.  And surf 80 degree water.  And drink Bahias w/ lime while floating in the pool.  Anyway, that being said- he submarined my pre-exam breakfast this morning. 

I have to buy two kinds of milk in our house- nonfat for me, 1% for him.  I get a lot of flack for the nonfat, about how it's milk flavored water, not real milk, blah, blah, blah.  Well, he ran out of his milk and decided to drink the rest of mine last night- only I didn't know.  So I get up for my first OB exam, that has been driving me nuts for about a week and causing me headaches, pour myself some Cheerios and top them off with banana, open the fridge to get the milk and... all we got is cherry juice, OJ and margarita mix.  I even considered for about 3 seconds taking the remaining 1/4 cup of fat free half & half and diluting it with water, but decided I had my limits.

So I went to the corner market to get a little one serving carton.  They're sold out!!!!  And I'm out of time.  So while driving to school, I got in touch with my inner toddler and proceeded to eat my Cheerios and bananas dry, with my fingers.  I started out with the three digit combo of thumb-forefinger-middle finger, but by the end it was all fingers, just cramming it in.  Good times.  And I bought more milk after class.

FRAT PARTY!!!

RAT FARTS!!

Dammit, the rats are back.  

I have lost 3 spinach plants, 4 lettuce plants and 4 broccoli.  In two days.  I'm so mad I could spit nails.

My food!!!!!  MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE!!!!!!!!!

They're dead.  So.  Dead.

***9:30pm Update***

This season's rat(s) apparently like(s) bleu cheese, because that's all I had and when I came home I found two traps debaited and still locked and loaded.  I don't care if I have to use $10 Gruyere cheese (what economic downturn?)- death is imminent.

Cloud of funk.

Remember on the old Peanuts cartoons, where stymied and frustrated characters (mostly good ol' Charlie Brown) sat around with scowls and gray squiggles and scribbles above them?  That's me today.  I'm in a funk.

It's my first week of 8 weeks of OB.  I have a great, enthusiastic and hilarious instructor and pretty cool people in my clinical group.  I'll be at Saddleback Memorial in Laguna Hills which has quite possibly the best computer charting system on the planet.  And minus the whole "we have to wear goggles during childbirth because the RN's know when and where to move to avoid flying body fluids- we don't" thing, I'm not too over clinical yet.  However, I did watch a video clip of a C-section and dang- that was disgusting.  Miracle of childbirth???  For anybody thinking that a C-section won't hurt as much as childbirth- you should see what they do to your abdomen to get a baby out.  

And then... I found out that I've lost priority for registration and I won't register for almost 2 weeks after spring 2009 registration opens, meaning my clinical choices are limited.  Worse, I had some rude, rude, rude lady in admissions and records treat me like dirt when I just tried to get answers.  I wasn't demanding she change it.  I wasn't even blaming her.  But she was rude, unwilling to help and treated me as if I was a waste of her time.  Hey, if you can't handle your job well- perhaps you should get a new one?

And then... I came home and my ridiculous neighbor insisted on adding Bob Marley to my musical hate list by playing the Legend album incessantly.

And then... my unexplained allergic reaction/possible spider bites on my hand refused to get better.

And then... the Tall One blew off my text message about aforementioned allergic reaction because he thought I wasn't serious and that it was ridiculous.

I'm an itchy, blister-bearing, Bob Marley-hating, late-registering pile of self pity.  I'm going to go find a corner and go eat worms.  God knows there are plenty in my garden to keep me full.

Your tax dollars at work.

Apparently, God had a lawsuit pending against Him recently and since there is no address to serve notice, it has been dropped.

The plaintiff in this lawsuit is a Nebraska senator.  I don't know a lot about Nebraska beyond that they are big into corn, it's fricking cold in the winter and they turn out some pretty stellar college football teams (because really, in Nebraska, is there much else to do other than play football?).  Now, I know that Nebraska citizens voluntarily vote into office some pretty bored individuals with a divine grudge, a little too much expendable income and some staggeringly weird logic.

If I was one of that guy's constituents, I'd be pretty much bummed to know that my taxes were helping a guy pursue legal action against a deity.   

I love internet news stories.

Say hi to ya mother for me.

It's totally inexplicable, but every time I watch this it makes me start silently laughing and I can't breathe.  And it almost makes me tear up I'm laughing so hard.

Perhaps it is still 1983 somewhere.

I just came across this story and I'm pretty much speechless.  And not in a good way.  

If you're too timepressed to read the quick news note, it states that South Africa's new health minister effectively ended 10 years of an "ostrich head in the sand" stance on AIDS by stating that HIV causes AIDS and must be treated with conventional medicine.  The former health minister and president have for a decade denied any sort of link between HIV and AIDS, denying that HIV is the cause.

What?!?

How many people around the world and how many millions of dollars have gone into research... and you're going to mislead an entire country and tell them that there is no link between HIV and AIDS???  That AIDS can be treated with garlic, lemon juice and beetroot?!?

I find this incredible.  These are the people running countries and running the health programs of those countries and you know what they have to show for it?  An estimated 5.4 MILLION people with HIV, the highest amount of people living with the virus in the world.

Now, I make a lot of backhanded comments about people when they make idiotic comments about HIV/AIDS (like vocalizing that an entire school in Zambia has AIDS just because many are orphans of AIDS and they're in Africa... in front of some of the students) and when they ask things like "So um, I can't get it from like, shaking their hands, right, it has to be blood, right?" I huff and puff about how this isn't 1983 and we don't have to wear gloves and masks to say hi, and I roll my eyes and shoot people my withering glance that I often don't know I'm sending.  For God's sake, this is America and we have lots of education and medical resources... we can't even make sure our citizens are aware of this?!?  If only so that we don't sound completely detached and ignorant of something a majority of the world struggles with?  And here is another country- totally in the dark about this virus.  And it's 2008.  But you want to know the difference?  In South Africa, scholars and medical professionals can now breathe a sigh of relief that they can now talk about the truth without fear and threats against them from the government.  

What's our excuse?

Save the Pubs!

Did you know that in Britain, 5 pubs go out of business every day?!?  Newsweek doesn't lie.  This is just sad.  Senseless.  Preventable.  

Forget going "green", saving Trestles (at least for a few minutes), or trying to decide which candidate is going to screw up our country less- think of all those lonely pubs, struggling to stay open.  Travesty.  

Sniffle, sniffle.

It's 3pm and I haven't studied!!!!

Yeah, new look for the blog!  It pretty much reflects the hippie road I find myself going further down.  And it's now almost 3pm and I haven't even flipped over a flashcard.

Yeaaaah....

Aaaaaaaaaaap-paloosa.

I saw a kick ass movie last night.  

We, along with the newly bikeless Sohns (their beautiful beachcruisers were stolen about a week ago- don't get me going on that) went to see Appaloosa last night.  Now, I haven't seen a western in a theatre (obviously pronounced thee-a-tray) since Tombstone, and it's not really my genre.  Actually, I wasn't sure which movie came out last- Tombstone or Young Guns II.  Thanks to IMDB.com, we can all rest assured that Tombstone was the later movie, released in 1993, while YGII came out in 1990.  Hmmmm.  Moving on...

Anyway, Appaloosa was totally entertaining.  And who knew Aragorn from Lord of the Rings could kills orcs AND cowboys?!?  He can!!!  Amazing.  There is a low point, and that happened about 15 minutes or so into the movie when Renee Zellweger got off the train and ruined the token chick role.  Her face usually looks excessively scrunched up and painful- in this it was even more so but also dried and tanned.  Positively awful.  In one scene, she asks Aragorn if he thinks she's pretty and there's a pause and I said out loud, "No."  That elicited an elbow shove from the Tall One.  It was like a cruel joke when she entered the movie, I felt sneak-attacked.  I knew Aragorn and the Mission Control dude from Apollo 13 were in it, but I did NOT see RZ coming.

So go on out and see the movie.  It's pretty stinking funny, we were laughing about half the movie- but we were the only ones laughing.  There were some great one-liners, and it was like nobody was getting it!  It felt like when I saw Pride & Prejuidice with my brainiac girlfriends and we were cracking up and nobody else was because they couldn't understand British humor and there's no such thing as British-American subtitles.  Sigh.  

It's funny, I promise.

Study-schmudy.

That's not OJ in that glass! So, is it a bad thing that I'm drinking mimosas at 3pm while studying up childhood immunization schedules and preventable childhood diseases?

Since I've calculated that I can essentially get a D on my final and still get a B in my class, my motivation to study is at an all-time low. There's so many better and funner things to do. Like going for a run. Checking out your suburban farm. Killing caterpillars. Making awesome grilled cheese sandwiches. Need I go on? Since I have a full brain and am unable to learn about diseases we can vaccinate against, I got some things to clear out of my head- make some room for useless knowledge.

This is my first ever apple pie.  I made it, and it was good.  I bought the apples in Oak Glen last week, since I couldn't pick them because Monday is apparently "Ghost Town" day in Oak Glen and they don't do U-pick Mondays or Tuesdays.  I'm not still bitter.  Anyway, my mom gave me the recipe and I think there were less than 10 ingredients in this whole thing.  It was easy, the smell while it was baking filled the house and it was a hit.  I've still got half a bag of Pippin apples left, I think this weekend will see Apple Pie 2.0.

I'm not even a Dodger fan, but their refusal to play baseball while in Philadelphia is angering me.  I'm rooting for them- do something!!!!!!  I think they're down by 50 in the 4th.

I think it's an even trade that if the Tall One is going to DVR freaking UFC/Ultimate Fighter crap, I get to DVR Charmed whenever I want to.

Best grilled cheese sandwiches EVER:

Lightly cover two slices of bread w/ mayo, put some cheese on one side and some fresh diced jalapeno pepper.  Cover with other slice and zap it into the microwave for about 20 sec.  Sprinkle some grated cheese in a skillet that is fully warmed at exactly medium heat, and sprinkle some crushed red pepper seeds in the cheese.  Put the sandwich on top of the cheese and let it cook until the outside cheese doesn't stick to the pan and the inside cheese starts to melt.  Repeat with other side. 

Surfing will ALWAYS be more fun than running.

I hate studying. 

Nightmare on Med Error St.

It's official. After 2.5 semester of nursing school, it's finally starting to get to me. I can deal with sleepless nights from school, worrying about clinical the next day or an upcoming test. But now I'm starting to have nightmares. Of the nursing kind.

The first time was last weekend. I dreamt that I had given an antibiotic through an IV, but hadn't done any of my safety checks and just went into the patient's room, hung the IV bag and gave the medicine. To a child. Not that it makes it any better if it's an adult, I'm just terrified of killing children. A short while later (still in my dream), the stupidity of my actions dawned on me and I proceeded to have a meltdown. I had to come over the mental loudspeaker in my dream world and tell myself to wake up because I didn't need that kind of stress. And I was- I was starting to stress out in a real physiological way about something that never actually took place. I woke up with my heart pounding and I had to sit and think for a few seconds to remind myself that what just happened really didn't happen.

And that brings me to last night. Sometime in between midnight and 5am, I had my second medication error nightmare. In this one, I again grabbed an IV antibiotic out of the fridge (we like 'em cold, sometimes) and didn't bother checking names or anything like that and set it up for my patient to receive it over 30 minutes. At about 26 minutes (I can STILL see the IV pump machine screen in my head!) I decided to actually read the IV bag and I realized that not only was it the wrong patient, but my patient was getting twice the potassium that he was supposed to (which is bad, google high potassium levels and you'll know why). And that should've been my first clue- the pharmacy doesn't put potassium in antibiotic bags. But I was dreaming, so that was beyond me at that point. And this time, I took it one step further. In my dream, I tried to calculate how much extra potassium I'd given my patient and some other stuff, before my sub-sub-subconscious saved me and told me to wake up again. Math. While sleeping. Sigh.

So, I'm pretty freaked out. I've never had a med error. You don't get to your third semester of nursing school making med errors. And now twice in one week, I've done it in my dreams. I'm really hoping this isn't some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. Needless to say, my instructor made sure I gave meds with her today and not with my nurse.

And on a side note, my mom phoned me from Mt. Rushmore this afternoon. Being the red/white/blue blooded proud American that I am, I promptly asked which four presidents are depicted at Mt. Rushmore, because I have no idea. I have to know the immunization schedule for children, 12 congenital heart defects and about 90 other common childhood conditions for my final on Wednesday- there's no way I have room in my head for the presidents featured on some mountain in South Dakota. And what's sadder- I was only 100% sure with Washington and Lincoln, and I guessed on Roosevelt. She phoned me back minutes after we hung up to tell me it's composed of Washington, Lincoln, Reagan and Bush. I called her a liar. I hope she knows I was kidding.

Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, Jefferson. There, now my brain is totally full.

Lightning bolts from heaven.

Don't be near standing water, trees or metal poles while viewing this video.  Rubber soled shoes might not be a bad idea either.

Save your soul, and still play rock 'n' roll. Or ska. Ska will work, too.

Zap!

Thunderstorms.

I'm currently sitting on my patio while our annual thunderstorm carries on overhead.  We only get like, one, a year so I consider this a big event.  

This morning had started off remarkably clear and sunny (HUGE streak of lightning across the sky- wait for it...) and the Tall One was even ready to submit to a longboarding session with me this morning before we drive the "bare" hour to Oak Glen for autumn good times.  Upon further review, it was a good thing we didn't surf because we would've been bobbing lightning rods AND it's pretty small surf.  If I'm going to get electrocuted, the surf better be firing.

(I'm moving off the patio to just inside the patio door.)

I also wouldn't mind going for a run, but I don't want to be a super fast jogging lightning rod, so I'll continue to sit on my patio or in the vicinity of it and drink my tea.

I like thunder!!!

An 11 on Creepy Factor Scale (1-10)

And here is reason #5,317 why I hate PETA and its bored followers: ew.

Always read thoroughly before freaking out.

I'm coming to terms with a newly recognized character flaw of mine- apparently, I need to have something to worry about, even mildly, at all times.  Nursing school provides me with ample opportunities, as does the Tall One and his total disregard for sunscreen (despite his illustrious Swiss/Scottish heritage) and confusion as to why we can't eat steak 7 days a week.  I'm a bundle of worry.  It's always there, a little fuzzy area of consternation tucked into the nether regions of my warped mind/imagination.

Which brings me to today.  Last week after lecture, a counselor from Admissions & Records (A&R for those hip to the Saddleback College lingo, which I'm not) talked with us about the difference between getting your Associate of Science degree for nursing (ADN) versus getting the certificate.  Both get me to state boards and the coveted RN title.  But the certificate would probably limit me to practice only in California, and there's other drawbacks.  I've assumed all along that because I have a Bachelor degree in Adv. General Ed (I mean, Liberal Studies), that I fulfilled all the general education requirements for the ADN.  And then this chick waltzed in and sunk my battleship.  So now, I've been stressing about the fact that I might have to take a class or two next semester in addition to my final nursing class.  I don't need that stress!!!!

So about 2 hours ago, I sat down at my computer, printed off the graduation requirements for Saddleback, busted out all my transcripts, and sat down to see how dire my situation is.  I had windows open all over my computer- class schedule, Westmont archive of syllabi, Saddleback academic history...ridiculous.  I spent close to an hour highlighting classes that fulfill the requirements for each area and praised God that I had taken Spanish 1 & 2 because it fulfills some Cultural Diversity requirement.  On the 4th and last page of requirements, I came across this nugget:

"A student that has completed a Bachelor's degree or higher at a regionally accredited college or university... has met the Saddleback College General Education requirements for the Associate degree; however, transcript evaluation must verify completion of a course conducted in Engligh equivalent to ENG 1A with a grade of "C" or higher, as well as an equivalent to a course applicable to the American Institutions requirement."

They've already accepted my Modern Grammar and Advanced Composition as well as all my courses that fulfill the American Institutions requirement.  I completely wasted an hour.  On the upside, I am well acquainted with the Saddleback College Fall 2008 class lineup.  Sigh.

I need to go find something new to worry about.

And now I have to go to Oak Glen.

This is verbatim from the official site of the Oak Glen Apple Growers Association:

Oak Glen is located in the picturesque San Bernardino Mountains, East of Yucapia and North of Beaumont, off I-10, a bare hour from Orange County and 30 min. from Palm Springs.

A BARE hour?!?  I am an adjective of time?!?  Well hot damn!  The Tall One and I are for SURE going now, we can be there in our own hour.

Sigh. Autumn.

Well, now that I've gotten over my unwelcome neighbors peeing in my Cheerios, let's talk about autumn.

That sigh in the subject is an ambivalent sigh, not the affectionate and heartfelt sigh one releases when thinking about the return of a long-lost friend.  A sort of "it is what it is" sigh.  As I sat on my friend's couch yesterday morning, wrapped up in a blanket with sunlight streaming in through the open windows and a cool breeze blowing in off the ocean, I realized that fall has arrived.  And for the first time, I'm just OK with it.

I admit, autumn and I are on great terms.  Autumn means that there are less tourists in the self-proclaimed Best Climate On Earth (and there are license plate frames all over San Clemente touting this ridiculous sentiment), kids are in school when it's offshore and chest-high at the beach, I can get on the freeway going north OR south at 11am on a weekend and go faster than 15mph, and it's still warm but with a cooling breeze.  And all the random varieties of apples start appearing in the stores, which is good because I'm sick and tired of the usual line-up of Red Delicious, Fuji, Gala & Granny Smith.  This definitely makes me happy.

But I had such an awesome summer that I'm reluctant to let it go.  

I surfed more than I could've hoped for, and many times it was at dawn in nothing but trunks and my wetsuit jacket.  I even surfed in just a bikini and trunks thanks to forgetting my jacket and I was still fine!

It was so much fun picking up to 4 ripe tomatoes everyday, a couple of cucumbers every week, seeing my bell peppers ripen to their vibrant shades of red and yellow, harvesting my single solitary butternut squash (and apparently I wasn't alone, this summer was filled with mildew for lots of growers- makes me feel better, I don't know about you), I even enjoyed having to kill caterpillars every morning so that I could have something to eat later down the line.

I learned so much about nursing during my externship, it was liberating and reassuring to realize that I've finally found what I like to do and get paid for it.  I mean, getting paid to take care of people, geek out on medical science and learn about life from your patients?  Holy crap, what have I been doing since college?!?

Harbor cruising with our bike posse and everytime we rode down Palisades to Doheny Beach thinking, "I am so blessed to live here.  I don't want to live anywhere else."

Eating at Swirlz frozen yogurt in Ladera with Kelley and her boys after walking the 2miles there in sweltering heat.

BBQ'ing in our backyard with the lanterns and tiki torches blazing, usually drinking the entire pitcher of sangria that I made.

This summer was all-time, and I don't want to let it go.  I know fall will bring its own memories, but they're going to be breezier and cooler than summer's and let's face it- I like it warm.  But I've got a soup swap in a couple of weeks, and soup truly is better in the fall.  I've somehow got to reclaim my knack for creating awesome Halloween costumes.  I need to talk the Tall One into a day trip to Oak Glen for some good apple times.  Heck, I just need to survive pediatric nursing!

So to summer, so long.  You've stuck around as long as you could, and I know you'll make an occasional appearance as an unseasonable heat wave between now and November.  I will be anxiously awaiting your return next year, try and kick spring out as soon as you can- spring is dumb.  I'll think of you often, and your daylight savings.  Now go and make the Southern Hemisphere happy.

Neighbors, Pt 2.

Not only does Indiana play John Mayer/hip-hop/house music at unfortunate times, they also like to BBQ.  Not with natural gas, or propane or charcoal- but with wood.  Our upstairs (because we have to leave the windows open for that fresh ocean breeze that allegedly supplants A/C) now smells like a forest fire.

And now, I can add cigarette smoke because they have company that sits in the backyard and smokes.  Which finds its way through our windows and our top floor.

I think I need to live in the middle of an acre where I don't have to look at people if I don't want to.

NOW I know why my folks live over an hour's commute from their work, up in the foothills of the Rockies in a log house.  Now I get it.

Neighbors suck.

Not all neighbors.  Just mine.  Obviously.

First of all, let me just say that school is going fine, I hate pediatric nursing, my midterm is tomorrow morning and at least there are only 4 more long weeks until this class is done.  Now that we've covered school...

Neighbors.  I've had issues with neighbors since I lived in some piece of crap apartment in Aliso Viejo where I was forced to listen to my upstairs neighbors do distasteful things to Metallica and Biohazard.  Needless to say, I wasn't home a lot.

Next was my first place in San Clemente, the 4-plex on Mariposa.  At that one, I got to listen to my drunk downstairs neighbor call his girlfriend vile things and throw things all around.  I called the cops.  He was hauled off.  His girlfriend thanked me, but about 2 years later I passed them in the produce section and they were back living together.  Of course.

After that was my extended stay in the coolest studio on earth.  I think it was there that my neighbor hatred escalated from low simmer to almost bonfire.  Where do I start?  The wannabe crusty San Clemente gnar-dog feebly holding onto his punk roots though he's pushing 44y/o?  Perhaps the sponge girl that got the aforementioned gnar-dog evicted, then proceeded to do distasteful things exactly 7 feet and one piece of 2in. faced insulation from me (she was finally evicted after 4 months unpaid rent)?  Or, the co-dependent, drug-dependent trainwrecks that screamed, swore, threw things at each other, "made-up" exactly 7 feet and one piece of 2in. faced insulation away from me, and the COUNTLESS times I heard Leann Rimes' whiny ballad "How Do I Live Without You" sung at the top of his lungs several times in succession by the unemployed loser husband?  And then, there were the people in the neighboring buildings...

And now.  Now, I live on the North side.  It's nice here.  Quiet, charming.  Until some damn renters from Indiana moved in next door and brought their damn surround sound stereo and hyper-vocal toddler and insist on leaving the sliding door open 24/7.  I've heard John Mayer sung at the top of my new neighbor's lungs.   What is it about people that do this that think the rest of civilization can't hear them?  Trust me, we do.  By the way, I hate John Mayer now.

I hope they only signed a 6-month lease.

Serf report.

Well, the garden project is creeping along.  After all our hard work on Saturday and careful planting on Sunday- today we're seeing some small results.  Yay!!!

Today, I went over to the feudal Culp estate where I proceeded to put my face about 6 inches from the ground and inspect it for signs of seedlings.  I was not disappointed.  Our sugar snap peas, broccoli and some basil are poking through, and in the pots where we're starting our lettuce those are doing great.  The cucumbers and tomato plants we planted are still alive and we're just waiting for the rest of the seeds to come from eastern Canada.  I was so excited I called Christy to tell her what I found- I think it made her morning.  Perhaps we should garden less...

As I said before, I have pictures from our work day (Kell- you totally missed out, let me tell you).  We were so dirty, dusty and sweaty at the end it was disgusting, but the satisfaction that we did what we said we would in one day and probably beating our husbands' expectations was deeply satisfying.  We're awesome.

This is the plot, after we'd dug out the most nonsensical sprinkler system I think has ever existed.  Maybe I'm overestimating our skills, but I guarantee Christy and I could've done a better job than whoever did this the first time.  Anway, I called about 3 people to make sure that I had the correct sequence for capping off sprinkler lines before actually attempting it.  I'm awesome, because we still don't have any leaks.

Christy with our rototiller.  Another customer at the equipment rental place referred to this as the "lady model" and that we needed to talk the owner into renting us this one instead of the other one that would've apparently dragged us all over the yard.  He didn't need much convincing.  He even threw in the ramps he used to load it into my truck.  I asked him if he wouldn't need them while we were gone.  He said, "Not as much as you will."  That was encouraging.

The rototiller was easy to use, but still a brute.  After about 5min, we looked like we knew what we were doing- but getting it out of my truck was another story.  As with all things that have a high chance of making us look like stupid idiot girls, the entire neighborhood was outside while we unloaded the tiller.  I think I swore about 4 times as it backed me into the trash cans.  Christy's neighbor backed out of her garage and said, "Oh... my... gosh.  Should I call the ambulance now?"  Also encouraging.  

But most encouraging of all was standing back after all that work and looking at the rows we made to plant our crops.  I need to start using farmer language, and "crops" sounds farmy.  And that green bush in the upper left is hydrangea, which we will not be eating.  It's decoration.

My next report when the seedlings fill in some more...

Study Aversion Attempt, #1.

I finished my first clinical day this semester less than 24 hours ago and I am already trying to think of other things to do besides study.  And what better way to do that than to talk about my last week of summer vacation and how much fun I had???

This is more than my truck.  This is the "Fun Mobile".  Note my surfboard and bicycle loaded in the back.  That just oozes fun.  This is what I looked like driving to Santa Barbara for a quick overnight trip to hang out with Crack and kick off my last week of summer vacation properly.  Shortly after getting into town, we drove almost all the way back to Ventura to surf the "Doheny of Ventura".  I only know it as Mondo's and yes, it's not a fab wave, but there are always waves there and we thought it'd be fun.

I suppose from this picture you can't tell how ridiculously crowded it was, nor how astonishingly fun the waves were.  I still don't know how I voluntarily paddled out at the most crowded spot I've ever been to in the US (because everywhere I surfed in Australia was ridiculously crowded), but once out there it really didn't seem so bad.  And people were NICE!  If that place had been in the OC, people would've been nasty, cursing and yelling at each other, and being lame.  I know because this happens at the real Doheny every time I think paddling out there is a good idea.  Anyway, we surfed this spot until our arms were tired and I had once again succeeded in oversunning the three-inch space of skin between just above my buttcrack and the height on my trunk to which my wetsuit jacket seems to like to settle.  I might have the tannest "almost buttcrack" in south OC.  Moving on...

We got back to SB and we were going to eat overpriced food from Cantwell's Market across the street when Crack realized she'd lost her wallet.  After going through my truck, her car, the house and almost driving back to Mondo's, she decided to call the last place the bank said it had been used.  In 'n Out in some podunk town off the 101 in central California.  It was there.  After a shocking long time that involved the best customer service EVER from In 'n Out, the WORST customer service ever from FedEx and their non-native-English-speaking customer service person (do NOT get me going on this), her wallet had a return trip home scheduled for Monday.  Let's go celebrate!!

We proceeded to ride bikes downtown, visit surf shops, and make it back for some Olympics.  It's the Saturday evening after the first whole week of the Games and what does NBC decide the masses want to watch?  Women's Marathon!!!!  All 26.whatever miles of it, from start to finish of the bronze medal finisher.  While I'm sure about 0.17% of the population was ecstatic about it, I've got another word for it: excruciating.  Isn't there some weightlifting or discus throwing going on?  Cricket perhaps?  Who wants to watch a bunch of wiry freaks RUN, that's all... just RUN, for 2+ hours?  Apparently us, because we didn't change the channel and we even waited until the end to watch some crazed 38yr. old woman from eastern-Europe-somewhere blow away the competition before we went out for these:

These are Irish Car Bombs.  They may be the Irish equivalent of Sake Bombs, where drunken fools slam sake shots into glasses of beer and drink them while their buddies pound the table and chant things like "Sake Bomb!!!!", but I prefer to think them as slightly more refined.  There is no chanting, you just put the nice shot of Bailey's into a glass of Guinness and drink it down fast. No moronic yelling, no vandalizing of furniture.   Good times.

After a couple of these, watching Michael Phelps win his 8th gold medal (even though we already knew he'd won it AND the telecast was tape delayed) and some Magner's cider- we called it a night.  The next morning, I gave some more money to Cantwell's Market and picked up two of the best breakfast burritos EVER to take home for the Tall One and I.  And before you get grossed out, Crack does have a freezer so relax.  We did some more lazing around SB before I decided that 5:15pm on a Sunday was an excellent time to leave downtown Santa Barbara.  Well, it was a bad time.  It took me 50min to reach the world-famous Rincon from where I got on the freeway- a drive that should've been about 20min max.  But from then on, it was OK.  I just settled in, listened to the new Coldplay album straight through for the 93rd time, and tried not to think about school starting a week later.

Santa Barbara seems so long ago.

The end is here.

It was with a bad attitude and a deep sigh that I got on the 5 North, exited Avery Parkway and found a parking spot for my first day of school this fall.  I was so pissed.

Today should've been my second to last day of summer vacation.  Instead, I had to be in the Health Sciences building at 8am for dum-dum-duuuuuuum: Paediatric Skills Lab Day (note English spelling of the word "pediatrics", it never ceases to make me laugh).  Today, we learned things like how to weigh a diaper (wet and dry), start IV's on fake arms the size of children (I just used the arm to slap my fellow classmates on the face and wave at my instructor), and fill out questionnaires with useless information like "I am a serf, tilling a friend's side yard to grow vegetables."  Clearly, I'm motivated about my third semester.

I wasn't kidding when I said I'm a serf.  My fellow insane gardener, Christy, has a side yard about 20'x10' and she was given the green light to plant a vegetable garden and she invited me to collaborate.  So, in addition to my own fab garden, I gained land at a remote location.  And by remote, I mean the next exit south on the freeway and two stoplights inland.  I have a whole photo essay of our breaking ground.  Let's just say it involved two blondes in boardshorts and sandals renting a rototiller from a very perplexed and worried man.  And yes, we still have 10 fingers and toes.  Each of us.

That being said, my first day of lab wiped me out.  Or maybe it was the intervals I ran tonight.  Periodic sprinting while running has that effect.  I'm going to go with school though.