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
Showing posts with label huzzah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label huzzah. Show all posts
Friday, September 30, 2011
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
#2- I Love the Toaster
Ah, the toaster. It's only purpose in life is to make bread hot and crunchy according to whatever settings its master sets. The toaster we have at the house strangely enough looks like something out of a 1950-60's House Of The Future. It's chrome (because EVERYTHING is chrome in the future) and has funny knobs on it , and even has a button you press when you want to toast bagels, and the bagels don't come out burnt. Even though we've had to take it apart a couple times to fix it, I love our toaster.
Today I was still feeling groggy after forcing myself to take a shower and wash my hair, as it had gotten rather greasy after sleeping last night. So I placed a couple pieces of bread in the toaster and waited. As much as I love the toaster, it's the waiting around that kills me every time. So, after about a minute or so (I dunno, I was still groggy), I said in a rather impressive voice "Toaster, I command you to be done. BE DONE!!"
Sensing that I was anxious to eat, the toaster obliged immediately.
And the toast was perfect.
Thank you, toaster. Your tireless efforts to appease me in the morning will not go unnoticed. If and when it becomes impossible to fix you, I'll personally see you off to Toaster Valhalla.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
Today I was still feeling groggy after forcing myself to take a shower and wash my hair, as it had gotten rather greasy after sleeping last night. So I placed a couple pieces of bread in the toaster and waited. As much as I love the toaster, it's the waiting around that kills me every time. So, after about a minute or so (I dunno, I was still groggy), I said in a rather impressive voice "Toaster, I command you to be done. BE DONE!!"
Sensing that I was anxious to eat, the toaster obliged immediately.
And the toast was perfect.
Thank you, toaster. Your tireless efforts to appease me in the morning will not go unnoticed. If and when it becomes impossible to fix you, I'll personally see you off to Toaster Valhalla.
Warm Regards,
Liz.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)