It's nearly been a year since my last post. Let me sum up everything in one word: disillusioned.
The nursing school that I have been attending has failed to live up to all of its promises. No school will ever be perfect, I know, but if you promise something you should be able to live up to that promise. Case in point: the clinical experience thus far. So far, the only time I have ever acted as a nurse was when I gave a Lovenox shot. That's it. Throughout my clinical experience the class has been coddled and cautioned because no one will let the class be nurses. I have not inserted an IV, I have not inserted a catheter, I have not even been allowed to do a wound dressing. We were promised the opportunity to practice our skills for our future careers and instead we have been used as cheap labor making beds. THAT'S IT. I swear to everything holy when I get a job and live on my own I will never make another bed, not even my own. I am supposed to graduate in November. I don't feel like a nurse, I feel like a nurse's assistant that knows how to give medication.
That is pretty much the gist of it, without going into too much detail. However now new problems are cropping up.
For the last three months, on top of nursing school and clinicals and work, I have also been taking classes at a local community college to finish up prerequisites for a RN program, one step up from an LPN (where I'm at now). Fortunately I passed all three classes with good grades.
Unfortunately, I also have a speeding ticket. And not just a speeding ticket-- I'm being charged with reckless driving, which, in Virginia, is equivalent to such crimes as DUI and petty larceny. If convicted, I can pretty much kiss that spot in the RN program goodbye, I won't even be able to take the exam for my LPN license, and pretty much everything I have worked for in this last year will be for nothing and I might as well be dead.
Court date is September 7. God help me.
Regards,
Liz
Friday, August 3, 2012
Friday, September 30, 2011
#13- New Life
Oh good grief, it's been over a month. I do apologize for the lack of updates.
So, first and foremost, LPN school. It's going well so far; it's only been three weeks but I've already had about ten tests in both my classes, and thankfully I'm passing them with A's, but that's liable to change anytime, so I do spend a lot of time studying. I was (and am still) excited about our uniforms-- we get to wear scrubs and be all official and stuff!!! Thankfully they're very comfortable, and it's easy to transition from school to work, since I pretty much wear the same thing at both locations. My classmates are pretty fun; most of them are either retired military, as we're about an hour outside of Quantico, or moms looking for a career. So far the group I more or less "hang" with consists of Jay, a Korean mother who is always happy about everything; Steph, the mother of a special-needs child and my main study-buddy; and Mike and Courtney, who only come twice a week for Anatomy to fulfill their pre-requisites for an RN program. Mike is very smart and outgoing, and Courtney is pretty shy but sweet. So far we're taking Trends in Nursing, which is basically a common sense class for nurses, and Anatomy and Physiology. The Trends professor is a former hippie from the 60's, but she is really fun and works at Snowden Mental Health clinic. The Anatomy professor is nice, but her class gets annoying when she starts reading verbatim from the text during lecture. We all can read the text, we need a lecture based on the text without it just being the text. If the class only required us to know the info from the book, we wouldn't need this lecture. Ah well, that's just me being nitpicky. Still having fun, and looking forward to clinicals next semester. The one downside is that I get up at 5:30 every morning to get ready for class. When I hit the road at 6:30, the traffic on the 95 is just starting to back up, so I know I'm leaving at a good time, even if I do get there about an hour early.
Work is going well. I work at Doc's dental office a few hours each day, cleaning, setting up trays, seating patients, that sort of thing. In October there's a a class for dental x-rays that I'm taking and he's paying for, so I can use the x-ray machine and take pictures of people's teeth, so that's pretty exciting. The patients are all really nice, and some of them bring their young kids in and I have to babysit them, which is always fun. There was this one girl, she couldn't have been more than 4, and we played with the stuffed animals and the toy cars in the office and just had a blast. She was so cute. And just this week, a new mom brought her 9-week-old son to the office. He was smiling at all of us and just being absolutely adorable. It's little moments like that that make the job awesome.
Been slowly learning to budget; right now I'm living off of $20 a week, and only spend about $100 a month in gas. Between tuition and rent and insurance, I'm still very well off financially. I feel really blessed. The only downside to where I live is that there's no internet, so special thanks to Starbucks and Panera for having free wi-fi as well as good edibles.
The one thing I feel bad about this whole move is the fact that it was so fast. I more or less hastily shoved all of my things into my car and drove off without hesitation and without saying goodbye to a lot of people. I do miss people back in California, but I don't regret leaving one bit. I'm also looking forward to fly back for Christmas, which should be fun.
It feels wonderful being here and having a purpose in life again.
Warm Regards,
Liz
So, first and foremost, LPN school. It's going well so far; it's only been three weeks but I've already had about ten tests in both my classes, and thankfully I'm passing them with A's, but that's liable to change anytime, so I do spend a lot of time studying. I was (and am still) excited about our uniforms-- we get to wear scrubs and be all official and stuff!!! Thankfully they're very comfortable, and it's easy to transition from school to work, since I pretty much wear the same thing at both locations. My classmates are pretty fun; most of them are either retired military, as we're about an hour outside of Quantico, or moms looking for a career. So far the group I more or less "hang" with consists of Jay, a Korean mother who is always happy about everything; Steph, the mother of a special-needs child and my main study-buddy; and Mike and Courtney, who only come twice a week for Anatomy to fulfill their pre-requisites for an RN program. Mike is very smart and outgoing, and Courtney is pretty shy but sweet. So far we're taking Trends in Nursing, which is basically a common sense class for nurses, and Anatomy and Physiology. The Trends professor is a former hippie from the 60's, but she is really fun and works at Snowden Mental Health clinic. The Anatomy professor is nice, but her class gets annoying when she starts reading verbatim from the text during lecture. We all can read the text, we need a lecture based on the text without it just being the text. If the class only required us to know the info from the book, we wouldn't need this lecture. Ah well, that's just me being nitpicky. Still having fun, and looking forward to clinicals next semester. The one downside is that I get up at 5:30 every morning to get ready for class. When I hit the road at 6:30, the traffic on the 95 is just starting to back up, so I know I'm leaving at a good time, even if I do get there about an hour early.
Work is going well. I work at Doc's dental office a few hours each day, cleaning, setting up trays, seating patients, that sort of thing. In October there's a a class for dental x-rays that I'm taking and he's paying for, so I can use the x-ray machine and take pictures of people's teeth, so that's pretty exciting. The patients are all really nice, and some of them bring their young kids in and I have to babysit them, which is always fun. There was this one girl, she couldn't have been more than 4, and we played with the stuffed animals and the toy cars in the office and just had a blast. She was so cute. And just this week, a new mom brought her 9-week-old son to the office. He was smiling at all of us and just being absolutely adorable. It's little moments like that that make the job awesome.
Been slowly learning to budget; right now I'm living off of $20 a week, and only spend about $100 a month in gas. Between tuition and rent and insurance, I'm still very well off financially. I feel really blessed. The only downside to where I live is that there's no internet, so special thanks to Starbucks and Panera for having free wi-fi as well as good edibles.
The one thing I feel bad about this whole move is the fact that it was so fast. I more or less hastily shoved all of my things into my car and drove off without hesitation and without saying goodbye to a lot of people. I do miss people back in California, but I don't regret leaving one bit. I'm also looking forward to fly back for Christmas, which should be fun.
It feels wonderful being here and having a purpose in life again.
Warm Regards,
Liz
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
#12- Road Trips, Part 2: The Move
I have mentioned that I like driving long distances, right? This road trip has not made my love of driving any less, but it has made me completely exhausted.
Let me explain.
Three weeks ago a friend of the family, Doc, offered me what I consider to be an absolute godsend. He knew about my unsuccessful attempts to get a job within an ambulance company and my unsuccessful attempts to get into a CNA or RN program around San Diego, so when he came to visit, he offered me a job at his dental office, a room at his house, and offered to pay for my nursing school tuition. Naturally I jumped at the opportunity, but, because the world hates me, there is a big setback.
Doc lives in Virginia. I lived in California. All of my worldly possessions were in California.
Thus began the epic quest of packing and driving across the entire country.
Day 1 I spent driving to Lake Havasu to pick up my travel buddy, Sibling #5, while the family was out there on vacation. Day 2 was spent hanging out with all my younger siblings for the last time until Christmas. We went to the movies to watch Cars 2 and had a good time. Also had to take an extra look at the radiator just to make sure that the damn thing wasn't still leaking.
Day 3 was spent driving a stretch of Route 66 along the 40 in northern Arizona. When you think Arizona, what do you think about? Desert, right? Wrong. There are forests there. Forests! I never knew about them! And before we got back on the 40, we stopped at a Roadkill Cafe. Those actually exist! I always thought that it was just a joke on a t-shirt, but sure enough, they do exist. And the food is grand. Once we reached Flagstaff we headed south to Florence to visit my friends K and Sergeant, and we stayed the night there.
Day 4 was mostly spent driving out of Arizona, because we decided to be adventurous and take the scenic route up the 60. Driving through New Mexico sucked, because there were storms everywhere. I haven't quite recovered from my last journey through storms that bad, so Sibling #5 drove while I remained stiff and tried not to scream. Finally we reached our hotel in Amarillo around midnight and we passed out.
Day 5 we were late getting on the road due to a mortal injury. As I was putting my things in the car, my suitcase, which maybe weighs about 60-75 pounds, swung with enough force to rip my left big toenail up without ripping it off. The sucker was sticking straight up while my toe was bleeding like crazy and I was howling in pain. Sibling #5 actually helped me push it back into place, which hurt even more. And it didn't help that he put it back crooked. (Not like he meant it, it just happened that way.) Luckily I'm a medic and remembered I had a first aid kit in my car and was able to clean it with hydrogen peroxide before wrapping it. Unluckily hydrogen peroxide stings like a bitch. After that we drove through Oklahoma to Missouri, which cost us $8 because of the tolls, and stayed with family.
Days 6 and 7 were spent in Illinois with more family, an aunt and uncle in one town and a set of cousins in another. It was fun, for the most part, and rather relaxing, except for the fact that I still had a hurt toe. It's funny how the smaller parts of us hurt the most, especially the toes.
Day 8 is today, and we made it to West Virginia, where I'm sitting in a Best Western taking a break. Technically we could have gone the 14 hours from Illinois to Virginia in one go, but Sibling #5 and I have been in close quarters for a week now and we're getting on each other's nerves. Just today I've been snapping at him and he's been growling at me, so this is better for the both of us.
Tomorrow, Day 9, the road trip ends and I get to unpack my car. Hooray for me.
All in all the whole experience has been quite an adventure, because I cannot go anywhere without something exciting happening.. My radiator hasn't been giving me too much trouble, thankfully, and the only real trouble I've been having is my toe, which is making me hobble horrendously.
As summer draws to a close, I hope everyone out there makes it home from vacation safe. As for me, this is a new and exciting leaf I'm turning. LPN school starts next month.
Warm Regards,
Liz
Let me explain.
Three weeks ago a friend of the family, Doc, offered me what I consider to be an absolute godsend. He knew about my unsuccessful attempts to get a job within an ambulance company and my unsuccessful attempts to get into a CNA or RN program around San Diego, so when he came to visit, he offered me a job at his dental office, a room at his house, and offered to pay for my nursing school tuition. Naturally I jumped at the opportunity, but, because the world hates me, there is a big setback.
Doc lives in Virginia. I lived in California. All of my worldly possessions were in California.
Thus began the epic quest of packing and driving across the entire country.
Day 1 I spent driving to Lake Havasu to pick up my travel buddy, Sibling #5, while the family was out there on vacation. Day 2 was spent hanging out with all my younger siblings for the last time until Christmas. We went to the movies to watch Cars 2 and had a good time. Also had to take an extra look at the radiator just to make sure that the damn thing wasn't still leaking.
Day 3 was spent driving a stretch of Route 66 along the 40 in northern Arizona. When you think Arizona, what do you think about? Desert, right? Wrong. There are forests there. Forests! I never knew about them! And before we got back on the 40, we stopped at a Roadkill Cafe. Those actually exist! I always thought that it was just a joke on a t-shirt, but sure enough, they do exist. And the food is grand. Once we reached Flagstaff we headed south to Florence to visit my friends K and Sergeant, and we stayed the night there.
Day 4 was mostly spent driving out of Arizona, because we decided to be adventurous and take the scenic route up the 60. Driving through New Mexico sucked, because there were storms everywhere. I haven't quite recovered from my last journey through storms that bad, so Sibling #5 drove while I remained stiff and tried not to scream. Finally we reached our hotel in Amarillo around midnight and we passed out.
Day 5 we were late getting on the road due to a mortal injury. As I was putting my things in the car, my suitcase, which maybe weighs about 60-75 pounds, swung with enough force to rip my left big toenail up without ripping it off. The sucker was sticking straight up while my toe was bleeding like crazy and I was howling in pain. Sibling #5 actually helped me push it back into place, which hurt even more. And it didn't help that he put it back crooked. (Not like he meant it, it just happened that way.) Luckily I'm a medic and remembered I had a first aid kit in my car and was able to clean it with hydrogen peroxide before wrapping it. Unluckily hydrogen peroxide stings like a bitch. After that we drove through Oklahoma to Missouri, which cost us $8 because of the tolls, and stayed with family.
Days 6 and 7 were spent in Illinois with more family, an aunt and uncle in one town and a set of cousins in another. It was fun, for the most part, and rather relaxing, except for the fact that I still had a hurt toe. It's funny how the smaller parts of us hurt the most, especially the toes.
Day 8 is today, and we made it to West Virginia, where I'm sitting in a Best Western taking a break. Technically we could have gone the 14 hours from Illinois to Virginia in one go, but Sibling #5 and I have been in close quarters for a week now and we're getting on each other's nerves. Just today I've been snapping at him and he's been growling at me, so this is better for the both of us.
Tomorrow, Day 9, the road trip ends and I get to unpack my car. Hooray for me.
All in all the whole experience has been quite an adventure, because I cannot go anywhere without something exciting happening.. My radiator hasn't been giving me too much trouble, thankfully, and the only real trouble I've been having is my toe, which is making me hobble horrendously.
As summer draws to a close, I hope everyone out there makes it home from vacation safe. As for me, this is a new and exciting leaf I'm turning. LPN school starts next month.
Warm Regards,
Liz
Sunday, July 3, 2011
#11- Why Summer Sucks.
It's hot. I do not do well with hot. Being of primarily Northern European/Scandinavian descent, the sun and I do not get along well. I do not tan, ever. Ever. I tend to burn, painfully and agonizingly, and usually in the most embarrassing and inconvenient places. I am also more prone to heat exhaustion than most people will believe. But gee, you might say, I grew up in Virginia and I live in California. I should be used to it by now. Well, I would say, being used to it does not mean I have to like it.
Last summer I went to Oklahoma to visit a pair of dear friends of mine, and the first thing we did was go on a hike through the Wichita Mountains. One of these friends was, at the time, a drill sergeant in the army, so he takes going on a hike seriously. We had SPF 95 sunscreen (something I was eternally thankful for), bug spray, an extra backpack full of water and Gatorade, and camel packs-- large water bottles that one carries like a backpack with a straw one sucks the water through. Smart, right? Well, we liked to think we were being smart, and we were. Here's what went wrong. We left around three in the afternoon, which meant we were out at the hottest point in the day (usually from three to five pm). In Oklahoma, believe it or not, it can get pretty damn hot during the summer; I think we were hiking though 100 degree weather, at least. Add a healthy dose of humidity on top, which made it hard to breathe, and you can imagine how hard it was.
Regardless, it was a good healthy walk, and despite a lot of the area being scorched from a recent fire it was still pretty country. We got up high enough to get a marvelous view, talked a lot, joked around, and had a good time.
And then I realized I was severely dehydrated and hadn't been drinking nearly as much as I should have. I was afraid I was going to drink too much and get stomach cramps, but then I unwittingly went to the other extreme and barely drank a drop.
This was before I took the EMT course, so I didn't know the signs for heatstroke, but now that I look back on it I'm fairly certain that while I wasn't quite there yet, I was well on my way. The good sergeant had me sit down and gulp water and Gatorade as much as I could for a while, but it wasn't getting much better. Plus it was starting to get dark, so we had to huff it back since we didn't have a flashlight. Not good for me. Thankfully, we stopped more frequently for water breaks and I was able to rehydrate relatively well, and we managed to make it back to the car before I passed out. To my credit though, I walked over four miles over mountainous terrain in God-awful heat that nearly killed me and-- I have witnesses who will testify for me-- I did not whine once. I used to whine if I had to walk to the store. I'm so proud of myself.
However, I feel like those mountains issued me a challenge. One of these days I'm going back to that trail, and now that I know what not to do, I'm going to win.
In the meantime, have fun hanging out in the sun, everyone! If you need me I'll be inside with the air conditioning, getting paler and paler by the day.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
Last summer I went to Oklahoma to visit a pair of dear friends of mine, and the first thing we did was go on a hike through the Wichita Mountains. One of these friends was, at the time, a drill sergeant in the army, so he takes going on a hike seriously. We had SPF 95 sunscreen (something I was eternally thankful for), bug spray, an extra backpack full of water and Gatorade, and camel packs-- large water bottles that one carries like a backpack with a straw one sucks the water through. Smart, right? Well, we liked to think we were being smart, and we were. Here's what went wrong. We left around three in the afternoon, which meant we were out at the hottest point in the day (usually from three to five pm). In Oklahoma, believe it or not, it can get pretty damn hot during the summer; I think we were hiking though 100 degree weather, at least. Add a healthy dose of humidity on top, which made it hard to breathe, and you can imagine how hard it was.
Regardless, it was a good healthy walk, and despite a lot of the area being scorched from a recent fire it was still pretty country. We got up high enough to get a marvelous view, talked a lot, joked around, and had a good time.
And then I realized I was severely dehydrated and hadn't been drinking nearly as much as I should have. I was afraid I was going to drink too much and get stomach cramps, but then I unwittingly went to the other extreme and barely drank a drop.
This was before I took the EMT course, so I didn't know the signs for heatstroke, but now that I look back on it I'm fairly certain that while I wasn't quite there yet, I was well on my way. The good sergeant had me sit down and gulp water and Gatorade as much as I could for a while, but it wasn't getting much better. Plus it was starting to get dark, so we had to huff it back since we didn't have a flashlight. Not good for me. Thankfully, we stopped more frequently for water breaks and I was able to rehydrate relatively well, and we managed to make it back to the car before I passed out. To my credit though, I walked over four miles over mountainous terrain in God-awful heat that nearly killed me and-- I have witnesses who will testify for me-- I did not whine once. I used to whine if I had to walk to the store. I'm so proud of myself.
However, I feel like those mountains issued me a challenge. One of these days I'm going back to that trail, and now that I know what not to do, I'm going to win.
In the meantime, have fun hanging out in the sun, everyone! If you need me I'll be inside with the air conditioning, getting paler and paler by the day.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
#10-May the Fourth be With You
It took me a while to get this joke. Now that I understand it, I understand why this is Star Wars day.
Ah, Star Wars. How many countless hours of entertainment and cherished memories have you bestowed upon us all? Actually, the movies are around an hour and a half long each, so for three movies about five or six.
... What, you think I'm talking about I, II, and III? HELL no! I'm talking about IV, V, and VI. This is the ONLY trilogy I will recognize. Why? Because they're the better films. The original, unaltered, theatrical releases, not the remastered directors cuts they keep releasing every couple of years that have a couple extra seconds of computerized footage. These movies are great, plain and simple.
It would take me forever to describe everything about why these movies are awesome, but one thing in particular sticks out for everyone-- the villain, Darth Vader. He was evil, sure, but in the last two movies he slowly became a more and more sympathetic character, and slowly became more and more likable, despite the fact that he was evil. He wasn't evil for the sake of being evil, he was evil because he honestly believed that ruling the galaxy was the only way to bring peace to it. He didn't like working for the emperor, he just got stuck with a psychotic emperor for a master. And just when that psycho is about to kill Luke, he has what is the ultimate redemption scene in history and saves the day.
So when good ol' George decided to make Episodes I, II, and III, which would explain Vader's origins, I was psyched. Sure, I was about 11 or 12, but I was still a rabid little fangirl. (This was, of course, before I had ever watched an episode of Star Trek.)
So the first movie came out. I actually liked this movie, and I still like it today. Despite the unholy abominations known as Jar Jar Binks and the rest of the Gungan race, and despite the podraces being too damn long, it was actually a good movie. The rest of the casting, for the most part, was pretty well done, it was a good story, and the action sequences were very well done. One other problem: the kid they got to play Anakin. That kid is just annoying. His acting sucks, his character sucks, he just sucks. I was rather peeved.
Well, okay, I thought. It's only the first movie, and the kid is fairly young, and child actors tend to be more annoying anyway. This was supposed to be a younger Vader, right? No way. I would not have believed it. But then again, that could be hidden brilliance-- no one ever saw his crossing to the Dark side coming. Maybe the second movie will be better.
BOY was I wrong. What was wrong? Hayden Christensen was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG. You expect me to believe this whiny, angsty, snot nosed, underacting, little bastard grows up to be one of the most badass villains in movie history? What kind of idiot do you take me for?
All the pointless love scenes aside (which I know pissed off a lot of people, but hey, Luke and Leia's mother has to make an appearance somewhere), he whines through every one of his lines, he's completely disobedient and gung-ho about everything when it's painfully obvious he would get his ass killed if he wasn't so important to the story, and when shit hits the fan and his mother dies, what does he do? Throw a huge fucking hissy tantrum. Dear GOD, I wanted to punch him. I understand cutting apart the sand people that killed his mother, that was totally justified. I even understand feeling bad about the whole thing later, that's just part of the grieving process and his psychotic rampage really needed some reflecting on. What I don't understand is him blaming Obi-Wan. Of all people to blame, he blames the one person who had abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with his mother's death. "Holding me back"? How about "knowing you're totally not able to handle yourself yet and you still need more training because you're a selfish, impulsive, immature, idiot"? Then when Obi-Wan gets himself captured (because he is also a dumbass and didn't think to LEAVE the planet before giving his report), what does he do? GET HIS OWN DUMB ASS CAPTURED. Granted, Padme was no fucking help in that department, being the one who dragged him to the dangerous situation in the first place, but who was calling the shots here? He knew for a fact that if she went there she would get into a possibly fatal scenario, and he let her go anyway? He can use the fucking force, why the hell is he letting her call the shots? Because she has more political power? Grow a fucking pair, Anakin! You could've totally steered that ship back to safety if you wanted to, you just didn't want to. I just wanted to knock BOTH their heads together! And they're supposed to be the main characters, the ones we root for! I was hoping she would die. I really was. And he TOTALLY deserved to get his hand cut off. Honestly, the only cool part of that movie was the end, with the Clone army coming in and kicking serious ass, Christopher Lee cutting off Anakin's hand, and then fighting Yoda in a lightsaber battle. FUCK that was awesome. Everything else was agonizingly annoying and painful.
I was not looking forward to the third movie. I went anyway because I like to finish a series that I've started. I'm also slightly masochistic. And this movie was just... just. It was just. I have no adjectives to describe this movie. I loved and hated it.
Again, Anakin was painfully horrid. But at least I was expecting it this time. It didn't hurt so bad because I knew exactly what was coming, so I was able to brace for it. It still didn't make it any better to know that by the end of the movie, he would be Vader. Everything else about the movie was good, for the most part-- it would have been nice to know where the fuck General Grievous came from or why he had such a dumb name or what the hell gave him lung cancer or how the hell he managed to kidnap Emperor Palpatine, but he still managed to be a cool ass villain. And everything else about the movie was great. It had suspense, action, and a total Greek tragedy-esque type of self-fulfilling prophecy there at the end. What I hated was, again, Hayden fucking Christensen. If you had gotten any other heartthrob in the world (his looks were the only reason he got the job, and he's honestly not even that good looking), it would have been a much better pair of movies. But that one whiny little punk ruined both those movies for me.
Thankfully I have the three much better movies with much better acting and much more enjoyable characters and much more exciting story lines and much less glaring plot holes.
Warm Regards,
Liz
Friday, April 29, 2011
#9- Happy (late) Easter
Note: The following entry contains a lot of religious material. The author is writing merely to inform, not to convert. Any comments deliberately trying to start an internet holy war will be mocked mercilessly. Conversely, any comments trying to start a legitimate, peaceful, logical debate about the validity of religion will be met with respect.
Oh, Easter. You're like Christmas-- overhyped and over commercialized, but always welcome anyway. Especially since the last six weeks have been spent in fasting and abstinence due to Lent hanging over our heads. (Well, it has been for me anyway.) And, like Christmas, you always hold the promise of tons of candy, especially Starburst jellybeans. They're like Starbursts, only in jellybean form, so their easier to eat, but twice as delicious, and you don't have all those pesky wrappers to clean up afterwards.
Being Catholic, Easter is a big thing for me, it being the biggest feast in the liturgical year. When I was younger it also meant getting a new dress to wear to church, and only to church, and God help me if I ever get any kind of stain on it. Before I could drive myself anywhere, we were usually woken up at some awful hour of the morning to get all dolled up and go to church. Since I don't sleep well anyway (I refer you to post #6), waking up is even harder for me to do. As I grew older I realized, staying up is a lot easier than waking up. Earning my license began my rebellious tradition of going to Easter mass by myself, the vigil on Holy Saturday night. (For those not in the know, in ye olden days, it was traditionally accepted that the day ended when the sun went down, and the night was actually the start of the next day. Going to mass on Saturday night counts as going to Sunday mass.) The Easter vigil is actually a lot longer than the morning mass. It usually starts around 8:00 PM and, depending on the parish, can be anywhere from two and a half to four hours. There are usually about seven readings, then the Gospel, then the homily, all spliced with a ton of hymns being sung, and then the converts get their baptisms, confirmations, and their first Communions.
The first vigil I went to I was racing down interstate 5 trying to get to my friend R's parish, since they were celebrating their first Easter in the newly-built church (up until that point, they held masses in a community hall), and we were promised a huge fucking Easter bonfire. I got there just in time to watch the altar boys stack the wood and douse every piece with about half a can of lighter fluid each. After the fifth can, the pastor, Father Wallace (nice guy, really, but damn, he can talk for hours) came out to light the bonfire. A couple singed people later, we were all backing up to about 20 paces away from the fire, and we could still feel the heat from the fire, which was nice because Oceanside gets cold at night. And every year, they do a big bonfire, though thankfully not nearly as hazardous as that first one. The fire actually lasts the whole mass, which is pretty awesome.
The mass itself is about four and a half hours- like I said, Fr. Wallace likes to talk- the extra half hour being because of the converts getting their sacraments. The church has a huge, HUGE baptismal font, which is really cool, and folks get their choice of either leaning over and getting water poured on their heads or standing in the baptismal font itself and getting dunked and water poured on their heads. And Fr. Wallace does not spare the water at all, let me tell you. He gets a half-gallon pitcher to baptize them with, and the water is poured three times, so no matter what they do they get soaked. One year, this kid, who can't have been older than eight, actually did a cannonball into the fount. I never caught the kid's name, but he was awesome.
I do normally go to that parish for the vigil, but this past Easter I went to a different parish to support an acquaintance of mine, Crys, who was getting baptized. This parish was completely different- there was no bonfire in front of the church, just a small one inside on a torch, and 80% of the mass itself was in Spanish, which I don't speak well at all but I can read along with in the missals. There were two groups of people singing the hymns, one English one Spanish, and there was one guy in the Spanish singing group who was way too damn close to the microphone, which I guess was okay since it kept anyone from falling asleep. Also, out of the group of people I sat with (who had also come along to support Crys), I think I was the only Catholic there, so being the only one who knew the responses and when to sit, stand, or kneel was a little awkward. Also also, the mass was only two and a half hours. It was actually pretty cool, getting out of church before midnight.
But I think I prefer watching a ton of stuff burn while I celebrate the resurrection of Christ.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
Oh, Easter. You're like Christmas-- overhyped and over commercialized, but always welcome anyway. Especially since the last six weeks have been spent in fasting and abstinence due to Lent hanging over our heads. (Well, it has been for me anyway.) And, like Christmas, you always hold the promise of tons of candy, especially Starburst jellybeans. They're like Starbursts, only in jellybean form, so their easier to eat, but twice as delicious, and you don't have all those pesky wrappers to clean up afterwards.
Being Catholic, Easter is a big thing for me, it being the biggest feast in the liturgical year. When I was younger it also meant getting a new dress to wear to church, and only to church, and God help me if I ever get any kind of stain on it. Before I could drive myself anywhere, we were usually woken up at some awful hour of the morning to get all dolled up and go to church. Since I don't sleep well anyway (I refer you to post #6), waking up is even harder for me to do. As I grew older I realized, staying up is a lot easier than waking up. Earning my license began my rebellious tradition of going to Easter mass by myself, the vigil on Holy Saturday night. (For those not in the know, in ye olden days, it was traditionally accepted that the day ended when the sun went down, and the night was actually the start of the next day. Going to mass on Saturday night counts as going to Sunday mass.) The Easter vigil is actually a lot longer than the morning mass. It usually starts around 8:00 PM and, depending on the parish, can be anywhere from two and a half to four hours. There are usually about seven readings, then the Gospel, then the homily, all spliced with a ton of hymns being sung, and then the converts get their baptisms, confirmations, and their first Communions.
The first vigil I went to I was racing down interstate 5 trying to get to my friend R's parish, since they were celebrating their first Easter in the newly-built church (up until that point, they held masses in a community hall), and we were promised a huge fucking Easter bonfire. I got there just in time to watch the altar boys stack the wood and douse every piece with about half a can of lighter fluid each. After the fifth can, the pastor, Father Wallace (nice guy, really, but damn, he can talk for hours) came out to light the bonfire. A couple singed people later, we were all backing up to about 20 paces away from the fire, and we could still feel the heat from the fire, which was nice because Oceanside gets cold at night. And every year, they do a big bonfire, though thankfully not nearly as hazardous as that first one. The fire actually lasts the whole mass, which is pretty awesome.
The mass itself is about four and a half hours- like I said, Fr. Wallace likes to talk- the extra half hour being because of the converts getting their sacraments. The church has a huge, HUGE baptismal font, which is really cool, and folks get their choice of either leaning over and getting water poured on their heads or standing in the baptismal font itself and getting dunked and water poured on their heads. And Fr. Wallace does not spare the water at all, let me tell you. He gets a half-gallon pitcher to baptize them with, and the water is poured three times, so no matter what they do they get soaked. One year, this kid, who can't have been older than eight, actually did a cannonball into the fount. I never caught the kid's name, but he was awesome.
I do normally go to that parish for the vigil, but this past Easter I went to a different parish to support an acquaintance of mine, Crys, who was getting baptized. This parish was completely different- there was no bonfire in front of the church, just a small one inside on a torch, and 80% of the mass itself was in Spanish, which I don't speak well at all but I can read along with in the missals. There were two groups of people singing the hymns, one English one Spanish, and there was one guy in the Spanish singing group who was way too damn close to the microphone, which I guess was okay since it kept anyone from falling asleep. Also, out of the group of people I sat with (who had also come along to support Crys), I think I was the only Catholic there, so being the only one who knew the responses and when to sit, stand, or kneel was a little awkward. Also also, the mass was only two and a half hours. It was actually pretty cool, getting out of church before midnight.
But I think I prefer watching a ton of stuff burn while I celebrate the resurrection of Christ.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
#8- Road trips: Then, Now, and Later On
I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I grew up in Virginia, where the summers are muggy, suffocatingly humid, and full of mosquitos and thunderstorms. I had accepted it for the most part. My parents, on the other hand, both grew up in California, which gets just as hot but is at least dry enough to breathe in, and even living in South Carolina for a while didn't acclimate them to the southeast coast summer weather. Every other summer we'd drive to California to visit family, and when we didn't go to CA we'd drive to North Carolina where we'd rent a beach house for a week or so.
Yes, yes, you did read that last sentence right-- all of us piled up in the van would drive either to California or North Carolina.
For some reason the trips to and from NC never really stood out in my mind. Sure, I remember actually being there, but I can't ever remember the drives, since they were relatively short. It was always the drives to CA that I remember the most. Three days of driving across country was... well... I never thought it was so bad. We'd at least have each other to mess around with, tapes to listen to, a sibling's shoulder to sleep on, games to play, snacks to much on, and a couple hours to get out and stretch our legs. I do remember how we'd all get excited whenever we came to a state border; we'd watch for the signs that said "You are leaving this state" and count down to when we'd pass the signs that said "Now entering this state". That was always fun, and it was a good way to remember which states were where. But I can only imagine the dread my parents felt every trip we made. Squalling babies and squealing kids can get pretty grating on people's nerves after a few hours, let alone three whole days. It's times like this I like to look back on my childhood and wonder at how my parents never left us at some rest stop in the middle of God-knows-where while they went off to some party scene in Mexico.
But that was then.
Now, I cannot stand driving through cities. They take far too long to get through, with the stop signs and lights and pedestrians and other cars et cetera et cetera. Get me on the open road with a couple of good CD's and I am in Heaven.
Usually I drive out with my folks to Arizona for summer fun, which is a five-hour drive. I can't speak for everyone, but it really is so much fun getting there. However, there was one drive that has forever haunted me. The weather was crap that day, with several storms all around us but not quite reaching us, and I was preparing to drive back home because I had college classes that started the next day. As I'm heading out with my friend B, out of nowhere this storm forms all around us. If I hadn't been driving Sibling #2's truck (which I should point out is unbalanced due to the lack of any real weight in the back) and if I had been more exposed to driving in rainy conditions, I would've been excited. As it stood, however, I had to be trained in perfect California sunny weather and borrowing a very front-heavy truck. On top of that, it rained heavily. In Arizona. Which is a desert. So there were plenty of flash floods for me to drive through. I'd never driven through floods before. How was I supposed to know that you're not supposed to speed through them? Turns out, that actually makes things worse. After about the fifth time fishtailing through a flooded part of the road, I called my dad and he advised me to take things slow (which really helped when I came to a section where, I'm being completely honest, literally half a mile of road was covered in water). A five hour drive turned into a seven hour panic attack with me spouting prayers at every saint I could think of and calling my poor sleep-deprived father every ten minutes bawling my eyes out because, honest to God, I was going to die.
Another memorable road trip, actually my first one made by myself, was when I drove from San Diego county to Merced for my friend's wedding. What made it so memorable was, not only was I on my own, but I was on my own going up Interstate 5 through a treacherous stretch of road known as the Grapevine, which goes up and over the mountains. It's not exactly the safest route. For one thing, it's incredibly steep, so your engine is put under more stress and is more likely to overheat on you. If you ever go up that route, you will see signs that tell you to turn off your air conditioning and other signs that direct you to stations where you can get extra water for your radiator. If you keep your car in good condition, go slow up the mountainside, and turn off your AC, you should be fine. (DISCLAIMER: I am not responsible for your car if your engine fails while you go up the Grapevine in California. I'm an EMT, not a mechanic.) But, because I am prone to *~exciting~* experiences in every fucking road trip I go on, I had problems. I had no idea that the Grapevine was so LONG. I mean my God. I must have spent an hour just going up the damn mountain. Also, my dear friend decided to get married the first week of April, while California's weather is still being bipolar. As a result, there was a windstorm pushing me and my Jeep around. Hooray for me. Also, I think I hit a really big rock, because I know I heard a *ka-THUNK* as I was coming around a bend. Thankfully nothing was affected (I'm sure I would have crashed otherwise), and I successfully made it up and over the damn mountains. I must admit, I've never had a problem with that route again, and honestly it is a beautiful drive.
Later on, I would love to drive everywhere. The US is a pretty big country with long roads. I mapped out a trip with Sibling #6 around Arizona, since it turns out he's never been to the Grand Canyon; we'd go there, and then up around Black Mesa, since he's a big Half Life fan. Another big trip I want to take would be along Route 66, since all the cool kids do it. Also, just for fun, I went on Google Maps and mapped out a route to Alaska. Now that trip would be awesome.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
But that was then.
Now, I cannot stand driving through cities. They take far too long to get through, with the stop signs and lights and pedestrians and other cars et cetera et cetera. Get me on the open road with a couple of good CD's and I am in Heaven.
Usually I drive out with my folks to Arizona for summer fun, which is a five-hour drive. I can't speak for everyone, but it really is so much fun getting there. However, there was one drive that has forever haunted me. The weather was crap that day, with several storms all around us but not quite reaching us, and I was preparing to drive back home because I had college classes that started the next day. As I'm heading out with my friend B, out of nowhere this storm forms all around us. If I hadn't been driving Sibling #2's truck (which I should point out is unbalanced due to the lack of any real weight in the back) and if I had been more exposed to driving in rainy conditions, I would've been excited. As it stood, however, I had to be trained in perfect California sunny weather and borrowing a very front-heavy truck. On top of that, it rained heavily. In Arizona. Which is a desert. So there were plenty of flash floods for me to drive through. I'd never driven through floods before. How was I supposed to know that you're not supposed to speed through them? Turns out, that actually makes things worse. After about the fifth time fishtailing through a flooded part of the road, I called my dad and he advised me to take things slow (which really helped when I came to a section where, I'm being completely honest, literally half a mile of road was covered in water). A five hour drive turned into a seven hour panic attack with me spouting prayers at every saint I could think of and calling my poor sleep-deprived father every ten minutes bawling my eyes out because, honest to God, I was going to die.
Another memorable road trip, actually my first one made by myself, was when I drove from San Diego county to Merced for my friend's wedding. What made it so memorable was, not only was I on my own, but I was on my own going up Interstate 5 through a treacherous stretch of road known as the Grapevine, which goes up and over the mountains. It's not exactly the safest route. For one thing, it's incredibly steep, so your engine is put under more stress and is more likely to overheat on you. If you ever go up that route, you will see signs that tell you to turn off your air conditioning and other signs that direct you to stations where you can get extra water for your radiator. If you keep your car in good condition, go slow up the mountainside, and turn off your AC, you should be fine. (DISCLAIMER: I am not responsible for your car if your engine fails while you go up the Grapevine in California. I'm an EMT, not a mechanic.) But, because I am prone to *~exciting~* experiences in every fucking road trip I go on, I had problems. I had no idea that the Grapevine was so LONG. I mean my God. I must have spent an hour just going up the damn mountain. Also, my dear friend decided to get married the first week of April, while California's weather is still being bipolar. As a result, there was a windstorm pushing me and my Jeep around. Hooray for me. Also, I think I hit a really big rock, because I know I heard a *ka-THUNK* as I was coming around a bend. Thankfully nothing was affected (I'm sure I would have crashed otherwise), and I successfully made it up and over the damn mountains. I must admit, I've never had a problem with that route again, and honestly it is a beautiful drive.
Later on, I would love to drive everywhere. The US is a pretty big country with long roads. I mapped out a trip with Sibling #6 around Arizona, since it turns out he's never been to the Grand Canyon; we'd go there, and then up around Black Mesa, since he's a big Half Life fan. Another big trip I want to take would be along Route 66, since all the cool kids do it. Also, just for fun, I went on Google Maps and mapped out a route to Alaska. Now that trip would be awesome.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
Monday, April 11, 2011
#7- This Image
While following several artists on DeviantArt, I've been in the midst of drama surrounding art thieves. It infuriates me when artists pour their heart and soul into a piece of art, just to have some piece of shit bastard thief come and publish it on their websites (Facebook, mostly) as their own work with no due credit to the original artist. If there's one thing I cannot stand, it's thievery in any form.
Which is why I am coming clean now.
I want to talk about this image:
My computer identifies it as "psl-neon". I found it on the internet, I can't even remember how exactly I found it (I know it was a Google Image search, but I have no idea what I searched for). I have no idea who the original artist is. I took it because, well, it's a beautiful picture, and I'm using it now because I love it so much. But let me please make this clear-- IT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME.
Whoever owns this image, please please PLEASE let me know!! I'll be more than happy to either take it down or post your name/website somewhere on this blog giving you credit. I just need to know who you are.
Warm Regards,
Liz
Which is why I am coming clean now.
I want to talk about this image:
My computer identifies it as "psl-neon". I found it on the internet, I can't even remember how exactly I found it (I know it was a Google Image search, but I have no idea what I searched for). I have no idea who the original artist is. I took it because, well, it's a beautiful picture, and I'm using it now because I love it so much. But let me please make this clear-- IT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME.
Whoever owns this image, please please PLEASE let me know!! I'll be more than happy to either take it down or post your name/website somewhere on this blog giving you credit. I just need to know who you are.
Warm Regards,
Liz
Thursday, March 31, 2011
#6- Sleep and why I suck at it.
I, like many people in their early twenties, have a hard time sleeping. Not just getting to sleep, but staying asleep is a chore for a myriad of reasons.
For starters, I have tinnitus, which is a constant ringing/buzzing/whooshing/humming in the ears usually associated with hearing loss, and have had tinnitus for as long as I can remember. I can hear just fine, but unfortunately the constant ringing interferes with sleep. It's impossible for me to sleep now without some kind of external white noise in the background, like a fan or something, because the ringing in my ears drives me bonkers. Also, I think I'm OCD, because the noise has to be constant. If there's any kind of tapping, clicking, or rustling noises, I have to find out what exactly is making that noise and find a way to stop it. Hunting around the room in the dark wastes an enormous amount of time I could be sleeping.
Noise problems aside, it's hard for me to turn my brain off. It literally will not shut off no matter what I try to do. I can try meditating, I can try focusing on my breathing, I can try counting sheep, to no avail. SOMETHING in my memory banks is always much more interesting than trying to sleep. Then the adrenaline starts pumping because I'm so pissed off at my brain, and we all know adrenaline keeps us awake, so that's another hour or so lost just because I can't turn my brain off.
It's at this point, when I can finally get my evil conscious mind quieted down, that my bladder decides to say, "Hey, I'm full, get up and empty me."
So then I get up, incredibly angry, and by the time I get back I'm right where I started.
Laying there, as the adrenaline starts to wear off, I sometimes look at the clock. This is always a mistake. It always starts a chain reaction in my brain: I look at the clock. Then I calculate how much time I've wasted trying to sleep. Then I calculate how much time I have left to get to sleep. Then the countdown begins. I constantly have to look at the clock every half-hour or so just to see how much time is left. Why? I don't know. It might be the OCD.
Now, some of these problems aren't psycho- or neurological. Sometimes they're external. Such as the two roosters that my neighbors have--those little bastards crow constantly, starting at midnight and going off every two to three hours. That's not when the aforementioned neighbors have their oompa-loompa-Mexican-polka music playing at some ungodly hour of the night.
Or when the cat gets locked out of the main house and comes into my room (out in the guest house) at one in the morning. My door doesn't properly latch every time you close it; you have to fiddle with the doorknob and lift it a bit before it clicks into place, so it's easy for the cat to get in and start meowing.
Or perhaps when my roommate talks/moans in her sleep. This is a recent development, and it greatly concerns me, because it sounds like she's having nightmares. She never remembers them the day after, but she does moan, and it does keep me up at night. The solution to that one is simple, all I have to do is reach across with my leg and lightly kick her mattress so she rolls over and stops moaning. Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.
There's also my mom's little Dachshund who is let out every morning around six-thirty and simply must bark at everything, just in case anyone forgot that we had a dog.
So, because of all of this, I in my sleep-deprived mind at two-thirty one morning decided to go into the spare room to sleep. I turned on a fan, snuggled into bed, and was asleep almost instantly. It was wonderful.
Until the bird started chirping.
Actually, I'm not sure if you could quite call it chirping. I have no idea what kind of bird it was, but the sound it made resembled the sound of two marbles clacking together loudly. (Mockingbird, maybe? Who knows what those critters will imitate.) Anyhow, that one little clacky-bird was almost the cause of a mental breakdown. That day, I remember, was awful.
So that night I took more sedatives than was recommended on the bottle and slept like a baby.
I wouldn't recommend doing that, though-- the next day I was incredibly groggy for my drive into San Diego, and it also really scared the piss out of my mother.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
P.S.-- To all four of you that watch/visit this blog, I've been figuring out how to fiddle around with how it looks. Thank you for putting up with the changes and expect more shenanigans in the future, but for right now I think I like how it looks. Much better than the black background with the neon green font-- what was I even thinking?...
For starters, I have tinnitus, which is a constant ringing/buzzing/whooshing/humming in the ears usually associated with hearing loss, and have had tinnitus for as long as I can remember. I can hear just fine, but unfortunately the constant ringing interferes with sleep. It's impossible for me to sleep now without some kind of external white noise in the background, like a fan or something, because the ringing in my ears drives me bonkers. Also, I think I'm OCD, because the noise has to be constant. If there's any kind of tapping, clicking, or rustling noises, I have to find out what exactly is making that noise and find a way to stop it. Hunting around the room in the dark wastes an enormous amount of time I could be sleeping.
Noise problems aside, it's hard for me to turn my brain off. It literally will not shut off no matter what I try to do. I can try meditating, I can try focusing on my breathing, I can try counting sheep, to no avail. SOMETHING in my memory banks is always much more interesting than trying to sleep. Then the adrenaline starts pumping because I'm so pissed off at my brain, and we all know adrenaline keeps us awake, so that's another hour or so lost just because I can't turn my brain off.
It's at this point, when I can finally get my evil conscious mind quieted down, that my bladder decides to say, "Hey, I'm full, get up and empty me."
So then I get up, incredibly angry, and by the time I get back I'm right where I started.
Laying there, as the adrenaline starts to wear off, I sometimes look at the clock. This is always a mistake. It always starts a chain reaction in my brain: I look at the clock. Then I calculate how much time I've wasted trying to sleep. Then I calculate how much time I have left to get to sleep. Then the countdown begins. I constantly have to look at the clock every half-hour or so just to see how much time is left. Why? I don't know. It might be the OCD.
Now, some of these problems aren't psycho- or neurological. Sometimes they're external. Such as the two roosters that my neighbors have--those little bastards crow constantly, starting at midnight and going off every two to three hours. That's not when the aforementioned neighbors have their oompa-loompa-Mexican-polka music playing at some ungodly hour of the night.
Or when the cat gets locked out of the main house and comes into my room (out in the guest house) at one in the morning. My door doesn't properly latch every time you close it; you have to fiddle with the doorknob and lift it a bit before it clicks into place, so it's easy for the cat to get in and start meowing.
Or perhaps when my roommate talks/moans in her sleep. This is a recent development, and it greatly concerns me, because it sounds like she's having nightmares. She never remembers them the day after, but she does moan, and it does keep me up at night. The solution to that one is simple, all I have to do is reach across with my leg and lightly kick her mattress so she rolls over and stops moaning. Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.
There's also my mom's little Dachshund who is let out every morning around six-thirty and simply must bark at everything, just in case anyone forgot that we had a dog.
So, because of all of this, I in my sleep-deprived mind at two-thirty one morning decided to go into the spare room to sleep. I turned on a fan, snuggled into bed, and was asleep almost instantly. It was wonderful.
Until the bird started chirping.
Actually, I'm not sure if you could quite call it chirping. I have no idea what kind of bird it was, but the sound it made resembled the sound of two marbles clacking together loudly. (Mockingbird, maybe? Who knows what those critters will imitate.) Anyhow, that one little clacky-bird was almost the cause of a mental breakdown. That day, I remember, was awful.
So that night I took more sedatives than was recommended on the bottle and slept like a baby.
I wouldn't recommend doing that, though-- the next day I was incredibly groggy for my drive into San Diego, and it also really scared the piss out of my mother.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
P.S.-- To all four of you that watch/visit this blog, I've been figuring out how to fiddle around with how it looks. Thank you for putting up with the changes and expect more shenanigans in the future, but for right now I think I like how it looks. Much better than the black background with the neon green font-- what was I even thinking?...
Thursday, March 17, 2011
#5- Happy Saint Patrick's day.
Being from a primarily Irish Catholic family meant never missing Saint Patrick's day. Of course Mom always made sure that we wore some form of green to school to ward off any pinches, and she continues to make sure all ten of her kids wear green to this day.
But, as the four oldest of us ten kids (I'm #4) spent most of our growing up in Virginia, we four had another reason to eagerly await March 17; during the night, we would be visited by an honest-to-God Leprechaun.
It was like Santa visiting us on Christmas-- no one actually saw him, but those presents weren't there the night before, so therefore he must have come and put them there. The Leprechaun didn't leave presents; he just left a fucking mess everywhere. And it was hilarious.
For some reason, he always dyed the milk green. Always. At first I thought it meant it was spoiled, but after Kid #1 drank it without immediately throwing up, we all drank it till our tongues were green. So every year we could look forward to green milk in our cereal, nice and festive. Then we would look on the ground and realize that he had left little green footprints that lead from the fridge to all over the house. Seriously, those footprints went everywhere. We'd find other things colored green, like the water in Mom's angel fountain, or the rosary around the statue of the Virgin Mary. Sometimes he'd leave chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil, sometimes he'd leave a note, but he always left that fucking amazing mess behind.
At school I learned quickly that no one believed in leprechauns the way I did. I was shocked to discover that not one of my classmates had a leprechaun visit their house. I must have been in a lucky house!
After suffering though the day's lectures we'd come home and always watch the same movie every year, Darby O'Gill and the Little People. (Actually a pretty good movie, I recommend.)
Then it happened; the year 1999. We moved to California, and the Leprechaun stopped visiting.
It's been twelve years now, and still no sign of a leprechaun.
I wonder sometimes if that smarmy little bastard still hangs around the old house. My guess is no, because we sold the house to a bunch of old people, and older folks don't like pranks too much.
So tonight as you all get drunk, be on the lookout. If, by any chance, you see a leprechaun through your drunken haze, tell him Liz says hi.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
But, as the four oldest of us ten kids (I'm #4) spent most of our growing up in Virginia, we four had another reason to eagerly await March 17; during the night, we would be visited by an honest-to-God Leprechaun.
It was like Santa visiting us on Christmas-- no one actually saw him, but those presents weren't there the night before, so therefore he must have come and put them there. The Leprechaun didn't leave presents; he just left a fucking mess everywhere. And it was hilarious.
For some reason, he always dyed the milk green. Always. At first I thought it meant it was spoiled, but after Kid #1 drank it without immediately throwing up, we all drank it till our tongues were green. So every year we could look forward to green milk in our cereal, nice and festive. Then we would look on the ground and realize that he had left little green footprints that lead from the fridge to all over the house. Seriously, those footprints went everywhere. We'd find other things colored green, like the water in Mom's angel fountain, or the rosary around the statue of the Virgin Mary. Sometimes he'd leave chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil, sometimes he'd leave a note, but he always left that fucking amazing mess behind.
At school I learned quickly that no one believed in leprechauns the way I did. I was shocked to discover that not one of my classmates had a leprechaun visit their house. I must have been in a lucky house!
After suffering though the day's lectures we'd come home and always watch the same movie every year, Darby O'Gill and the Little People. (Actually a pretty good movie, I recommend.)
Then it happened; the year 1999. We moved to California, and the Leprechaun stopped visiting.
It's been twelve years now, and still no sign of a leprechaun.
I wonder sometimes if that smarmy little bastard still hangs around the old house. My guess is no, because we sold the house to a bunch of old people, and older folks don't like pranks too much.
So tonight as you all get drunk, be on the lookout. If, by any chance, you see a leprechaun through your drunken haze, tell him Liz says hi.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
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