"When is the last time someone told you that you were kick-ass beautiful?
Because you are."
This. made my day.
Because you are."
This. made my day.
17 September 2008
13 September 2008
08 September 2008
Sometimes, I think, maybe fear is okay.
So today was the first day of clinicals, Orientation. And I'm, perhaps, more terrified after the visit than I was before. I met my patient, an elderly woman suffering from dementia. She's precious, and I think she hates me.
Yeah, today was only the orientation. We toured the facility, a nursing home nearby, and got the run-down on what we can expect for the next few weeks. For now, we've been assigned one patient each, and our sole purpose is to care for that patient from 6:30AM until 4:30PM, every Monday. [Later, we'll have clinical rotations on Mondays and Fridays.] This means vital signs checks, bedbaths, and anything with which she might need assistance [including---but not limited to---toileting, dressing, mouth care, and feeding]. And I'm okay with that, right? I mean, I think I'm okay with it. But this program advances at the speed of freaking light, and in what will seem [and may actually be] days, we'll be administering wound care and giving enteral feedings and starting IV medications. And therein lies the potential for unintentional harm, but harm, nevertheless. What you may not remember from lecture, that one thing, could cost a life. And, yeah, I'm not so okay with that. Seriously, if you take nothing else from my ramblings, realize that nursing is so unbelievably underrated. I have.
Amidst the fear, though, I'm excited. For the first time, I've found something that excites me. And I want to be great. I want to be a nurse who exemplifies every meaning of the word. I want to be a nurse of whom my instructors can be proud. I want to be a nurse in whom my patients will seek comfort and security. I want to be a nurse who works through both skill and heart. I want to be a nurse who still remembers, in the most trying of times, that each assigned patient is also a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a lover, a child, a friend...
An instructor of mine presented to us this poem, reportedly written by a geriatric patient in Europe and found after her death. It brought tears to my eyes and determination to my heart. [Perhaps it's times like those when you can be sure, you're exactly where you belong.] It's something I hope to keep in mind over the next few weeks, and forever after.
_____
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking, when you look at me --
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice -- "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe,
Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you're looking at ME...
I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still;
As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another,
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet;
A bride soon at twenty -- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep;
At twenty-five now I have young of my own,
Who need me to build a secure, happy home;
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last;
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
At fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known;
I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel --
'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where once I had a heart,
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again,
I think of the years, all too few -- gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last --
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman, look closer, nurses -- see ME!
Yeah, today was only the orientation. We toured the facility, a nursing home nearby, and got the run-down on what we can expect for the next few weeks. For now, we've been assigned one patient each, and our sole purpose is to care for that patient from 6:30AM until 4:30PM, every Monday. [Later, we'll have clinical rotations on Mondays and Fridays.] This means vital signs checks, bedbaths, and anything with which she might need assistance [including---but not limited to---toileting, dressing, mouth care, and feeding]. And I'm okay with that, right? I mean, I think I'm okay with it. But this program advances at the speed of freaking light, and in what will seem [and may actually be] days, we'll be administering wound care and giving enteral feedings and starting IV medications. And therein lies the potential for unintentional harm, but harm, nevertheless. What you may not remember from lecture, that one thing, could cost a life. And, yeah, I'm not so okay with that. Seriously, if you take nothing else from my ramblings, realize that nursing is so unbelievably underrated. I have.
Amidst the fear, though, I'm excited. For the first time, I've found something that excites me. And I want to be great. I want to be a nurse who exemplifies every meaning of the word. I want to be a nurse of whom my instructors can be proud. I want to be a nurse in whom my patients will seek comfort and security. I want to be a nurse who works through both skill and heart. I want to be a nurse who still remembers, in the most trying of times, that each assigned patient is also a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a lover, a child, a friend...
An instructor of mine presented to us this poem, reportedly written by a geriatric patient in Europe and found after her death. It brought tears to my eyes and determination to my heart. [Perhaps it's times like those when you can be sure, you're exactly where you belong.] It's something I hope to keep in mind over the next few weeks, and forever after.
_____
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking, when you look at me --
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice -- "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe,
Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you're looking at ME...
I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still;
As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another,
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet;
A bride soon at twenty -- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep;
At twenty-five now I have young of my own,
Who need me to build a secure, happy home;
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last;
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
At fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known;
I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel --
'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where once I had a heart,
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again,
I think of the years, all too few -- gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last --
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman, look closer, nurses -- see ME!
06 September 2008
Who coined the word gargle, anyway?
Nursing school, thus far, is Hell. Last week sucked, but after examining next week's schedule, I was thrown into an all-out panic. Clinical rotations begin on Monday, gasp! I've got unit exams each day---scheduled around the seven-hour lectures, of course. And a rough draft for the research paper we were assigned only days ago? Due on Friday.
I was eager for this weekend. A time to catch up on sleep, chill out with a Margarita, and allow my mind a break from Pharmacology I. (So, yeah, maybe I should use my weekends to study and catch up on assignments, too. But c'mon, let's be realistic.)
Whatever. My body had other plans.
I'm nearly positive I have a throat infection. And I can say this, I can self-diagnosis because I've had approximately 12,842,687,012 cases in my twenty-four years. No, really, I have. And I refuse to make a doctor's appointment. For one thing, they'd have to "work me in" midday, so I'd be forced to miss class---and seriously, missing class is something you just don't do. If you've suffered a massive heart attack, let's say, you'd better hope it happens early enough that you're still able to make it to class by 8AM. It's hardcore, yo. Oh, and yeah, the other reason I won't see my doctor. I already know what he'll say: "You already know what I'm going to say: We need to remove your tonsils." No, thanks. There will be no slicing or dicing.
Instead, I'm doping on Benadryl (which reminds me, it's high time for another dose). I'm popping ibuprofen left-and-right to lessen the pain just enough that I can manage a few bites of mashed potatoes without their feeling something like shards of glass. And, yeah, the salt water concoctions I dreaded as a kid. (I'll never be able to forget my mom's incessant "Gargle your throat. Have you gargled your throat?") Yuck. I'd almost sooner keep the infection than risk ingesting that warm, salty water. And, even worse, tilting your head too far back mid-gargle, can cause salt-water-in-the-nose, and that shit burns. Still, I'm trying it, the gargles. Every few hours, I'm gargling. I'm all about this self-medication thing, determined to be well by Monday.
I was eager for this weekend. A time to catch up on sleep, chill out with a Margarita, and allow my mind a break from Pharmacology I. (So, yeah, maybe I should use my weekends to study and catch up on assignments, too. But c'mon, let's be realistic.)
Whatever. My body had other plans.
I'm nearly positive I have a throat infection. And I can say this, I can self-diagnosis because I've had approximately 12,842,687,012 cases in my twenty-four years. No, really, I have. And I refuse to make a doctor's appointment. For one thing, they'd have to "work me in" midday, so I'd be forced to miss class---and seriously, missing class is something you just don't do. If you've suffered a massive heart attack, let's say, you'd better hope it happens early enough that you're still able to make it to class by 8AM. It's hardcore, yo. Oh, and yeah, the other reason I won't see my doctor. I already know what he'll say: "You already know what I'm going to say: We need to remove your tonsils." No, thanks. There will be no slicing or dicing.
Instead, I'm doping on Benadryl (which reminds me, it's high time for another dose). I'm popping ibuprofen left-and-right to lessen the pain just enough that I can manage a few bites of mashed potatoes without their feeling something like shards of glass. And, yeah, the salt water concoctions I dreaded as a kid. (I'll never be able to forget my mom's incessant "Gargle your throat. Have you gargled your throat?") Yuck. I'd almost sooner keep the infection than risk ingesting that warm, salty water. And, even worse, tilting your head too far back mid-gargle, can cause salt-water-in-the-nose, and that shit burns. Still, I'm trying it, the gargles. Every few hours, I'm gargling. I'm all about this self-medication thing, determined to be well by Monday.
23 August 2008
This is how I chose to spend my Saturday night.
Crap.
I texted Him.
I went against my better judgement, and I texted him. I'd been doing so well---thinking of him day in and day out, yet not giving him the satisfaction (or dissastisfaction, perhaps?) of knowing it. Until tonight. When I texted him.
Me: Miss you. Hope you're doing well.
Him: :) Thanks. Miss you, too. We'll be there in a few weeks.
Me: Wow. Cool. Maybe we can hang out. :)
Him: Yep, that would be awesome.
He lives five hundred miles away, if I haven't already mentioned it. He plays bass in a band with roots near here, and though they moved those five hundred miles a few months back, they're still good at scheduling local shows fairly often. (Note: I knew the band before they moved, and I'm not one of those ridiculous groupies.) I haven't seen Him since we ended things, near the beginning of June.
To the untrained eye, this textual exchange might seem positive. We're talking. I miss him, he misses me. He alluded to a possible meeting, right? But then, you'd have to know Him. You'd have to know that he's that guy. He's a nice guy who says nice things to nice girls whose feelings he'd rather not hurt. You simply can't read too much into anything. But I do. And I will. For the next... who knows how long. These brief messages are enough to send me spiraling back into that same slump. Once again, I'll be crossing my fingers when my phone rings, wishing with all my might that it's his name that shows on the Caller ID.
But it won't be.
See, a few weeks after we broke up and I didn't hear from him, I texted him. (I told you I was a text whore. I am. And in certain situations, like this one, it's much less risky to send a text. Actually hearing rejection is something I'd rather not.) I told him that, though I'd never before cared to maintain friendship with an ex-boyfriend, I wanted to try with him. Considering he'd once told me that he always preferred to remain friends with exes, I figured he'd be all for the idea. And he was, or so he said. Except, any time we've talked since, it's been by my initiation.
And for a while now, I've tried to rationalize it. He mentioned once that it was hard seeing me, talking to me since the break-up. But isn't it that way with every break-up? How could he find a way to be friends with past exes, and not with me? Why am I any different? And after some time, I've wondered, has it been long enough that he's over the initial heartache and realized that he doesn't need me in his life, that he can do without, that he hadn't cared as much as he'd once thought, enough for a reason to now attempt a platonic relationship? Is he over me, in all respects? Has he moved on, hoping that I'll do the same? Should I?
This. Sucks.
And I now wish I hadn't texted him.
I texted Him.
I went against my better judgement, and I texted him. I'd been doing so well---thinking of him day in and day out, yet not giving him the satisfaction (or dissastisfaction, perhaps?) of knowing it. Until tonight. When I texted him.
Me: Miss you. Hope you're doing well.
Him: :) Thanks. Miss you, too. We'll be there in a few weeks.
Me: Wow. Cool. Maybe we can hang out. :)
Him: Yep, that would be awesome.
He lives five hundred miles away, if I haven't already mentioned it. He plays bass in a band with roots near here, and though they moved those five hundred miles a few months back, they're still good at scheduling local shows fairly often. (Note: I knew the band before they moved, and I'm not one of those ridiculous groupies.) I haven't seen Him since we ended things, near the beginning of June.
To the untrained eye, this textual exchange might seem positive. We're talking. I miss him, he misses me. He alluded to a possible meeting, right? But then, you'd have to know Him. You'd have to know that he's that guy. He's a nice guy who says nice things to nice girls whose feelings he'd rather not hurt. You simply can't read too much into anything. But I do. And I will. For the next... who knows how long. These brief messages are enough to send me spiraling back into that same slump. Once again, I'll be crossing my fingers when my phone rings, wishing with all my might that it's his name that shows on the Caller ID.
But it won't be.
See, a few weeks after we broke up and I didn't hear from him, I texted him. (I told you I was a text whore. I am. And in certain situations, like this one, it's much less risky to send a text. Actually hearing rejection is something I'd rather not.) I told him that, though I'd never before cared to maintain friendship with an ex-boyfriend, I wanted to try with him. Considering he'd once told me that he always preferred to remain friends with exes, I figured he'd be all for the idea. And he was, or so he said. Except, any time we've talked since, it's been by my initiation.
And for a while now, I've tried to rationalize it. He mentioned once that it was hard seeing me, talking to me since the break-up. But isn't it that way with every break-up? How could he find a way to be friends with past exes, and not with me? Why am I any different? And after some time, I've wondered, has it been long enough that he's over the initial heartache and realized that he doesn't need me in his life, that he can do without, that he hadn't cared as much as he'd once thought, enough for a reason to now attempt a platonic relationship? Is he over me, in all respects? Has he moved on, hoping that I'll do the same? Should I?
This. Sucks.
And I now wish I hadn't texted him.
17 August 2008
14 August 2008
a blogthing.
At some point, everyone does it. The 100 Things. Here's mine:
1. My middle name is Nicole. I go by my middle name. Always have.
2. I see the world in Crayola colors. Robin's egg blue is my favorite.
3. I make a mean chicken quesadilla.
4. Aside from quesadillas, I can't cook. Unless it came from a box and with detailed instructions.
5. I've never broken a bone, or gotten stitches. *knockonwood*
6. I'm slightly, just slightly, superstitious.
7. I'm a glutton for punishment. I watch sad movies and listen to sad music, by choice.
8. I bite my nails.
9. After four years of college, I was merely a semester from graduating with a degree in elementary education when I decided I'd chosen the wrong career field.
10. Meredith Grey is my hero.
11. I once had a pet hermit crab. I accidently killed it.
12. I hate mathematics.
13. I hate Arkansas, too.
14. I could go vegan. Easily.
15. I'm ridiculously addicted to MySpace.
16. I want to visit Paris. At night.
17. I go nowhere without my little pink iPod.
18. I've never had a good dream, ever.
19. I am. not. a morning person.
20. I miss 80s television. Who's the Boss, ALF, the Wonder Years? Man, yeah.
21. I tried sushi, and loved it. Except for the raw fish thing.
22. I can't manage money for shit.
23. I had a lip piercing. I lost "friends" after getting a lip piercing. Apparently, it wasn't yet the cool thing to do.
24. I drink tequila, and I hate the taste of it.
25. Generally, I drink to get drunk.
26. I oversleep.
27. I'm a cat person.
28. I have a crush on Edward Scissorhands.
29. I'm extremely unphotogenic.
30. I don't like Dunkin' Donuts.
31. Or David Hasselhoff.
32. My Mammaw's chicken and dumplings are boss.
33. I play piano. I began lessons at the age of five-ish.
34. I still prefer old-school Nintendo over any other game system. Mario kicks ass.
35. I'm anemic.
36. In college, my friends jokingly referred to American Hi-Fi's "Flavor of the Weak" as my theme song. I dated a lot. :/
37. I'm late. Always. No matter what. It annoys even me.
38. I've never seen a Harry Potter movie. I've no desire.
39. I used to dance. I quit for a jealous boyfriend.
40. I love roadtrips.
41. I have three half-siblings, but I count only one.
42. I love Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Especially Everything But The..., Phish Food, and Half-Baked. And all the others.
43. I worked for Wal-Mart. For three completely miserable months.
44. I express myself through music lyrics.
45. And quotes. Obviously.
46. I was in a sorority. And was booted for partying too hard.
47. I like bananas, but only if they're mainly still green. No brown spots, none.
48. I drove fourteen hours, round-trip, to see The Used. Bert McCracken is sick and twisted and wonderful.
49. I'll all-but-pass-out when on the receiving end of a needle.
50. Except with piercings or tattoos, strangely enough. I like piercings and tattoos.
51. I have five piercings, two tattoo.
52. My heart. Never healed.
53. I've never been on a diet.
54. I don't do socks.
55. I don't mind the Summer Olympics. The Ryan Lochte part of it.
56. I'd rather go barefoot.
57. But I have a ridiculous shoe collection.
58. I have the wittiest comebacks. But only after the moment's long passed.
59. As a child, I thought I'd become a writer. Until I realized I can't write.
60. Converse go with anything. You'll never convince me otherwise.
61. I'm a sucker for anything acoustic.
62. Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper from Sonic. Makes me happy.
63. I've driven the same car for 10 years.
64. I refuse to wear orange.
65. My very first concert was Lynyrd Skynyrd.
66. I'm afraid of clowns, as cliche as it might be.
67. I'm addicted to crossword puzzles and rounds of Tetris.
68. I'd love to believe that Seattle Grace exists, and that I'll one day work there. No one crush my dream.
69. I rarely match.
70. I text. A lot.
71. I still think emo is cute.
72. I've seen Juno so many times, I could quote it. And oftentimes, do.
73. I have an addiction to Coca-Cola.
74. I love animals more than I like most people.
75. I call everyone "kid." Age doesn't matter.
76. I'm a night owl.
77. I've never cheated on a boyfriend.
78. I believe in God only because it's surely impossible to be angry with Someone in whom you don't believe.
79. I'm a Leo. Passionate, lively, and a little egocentric.
80. I won the sixth grade spelling bee.
81. I don't wear a lot of makeup. But I can't go without eyeliner.
82. I'm the spitting image of my mother. I also inherited her temper.
83. I don't understand the fascination with the Jonas Brothers. Aren't they Hanson, made-over?
84. At the age of thirteen, I had a rather unhealthy obsession with Hanson.
85. Jack Black annoys me.
86. Animal rights.
87. I'm a procrastinator in the worst way.
88. I hold grudges.
89. I can't play guitar. I've tried. And tried.
90. I have a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. I'd swear it made sense at the time.
91. I was born in Arkansas, but I'm destined for the city.
92. I'm usually a ripped jeans-and-hoodie kind of girl.
93. I have The Hills, seasons one and two, on DVD.
94. I'm a terrible driver.
95. I'm even worse at telling stories.
96. I've been to Disney World.
97. I started smoking at the age of 19, confident that I could quit at any time. And it wasn't until this year that I realized---I'm addicted.
98. I still care, and I'll never tell him.
99. I don't exercise. I wish I did. But I won't.
100. I'm a people-watcher. It's what I do.
1. My middle name is Nicole. I go by my middle name. Always have.
2. I see the world in Crayola colors. Robin's egg blue is my favorite.
3. I make a mean chicken quesadilla.
4. Aside from quesadillas, I can't cook. Unless it came from a box and with detailed instructions.
5. I've never broken a bone, or gotten stitches. *knockonwood*
6. I'm slightly, just slightly, superstitious.
7. I'm a glutton for punishment. I watch sad movies and listen to sad music, by choice.
8. I bite my nails.
9. After four years of college, I was merely a semester from graduating with a degree in elementary education when I decided I'd chosen the wrong career field.
10. Meredith Grey is my hero.
11. I once had a pet hermit crab. I accidently killed it.
12. I hate mathematics.
13. I hate Arkansas, too.
14. I could go vegan. Easily.
15. I'm ridiculously addicted to MySpace.
16. I want to visit Paris. At night.
17. I go nowhere without my little pink iPod.
18. I've never had a good dream, ever.
19. I am. not. a morning person.
20. I miss 80s television. Who's the Boss, ALF, the Wonder Years? Man, yeah.
21. I tried sushi, and loved it. Except for the raw fish thing.
22. I can't manage money for shit.
23. I had a lip piercing. I lost "friends" after getting a lip piercing. Apparently, it wasn't yet the cool thing to do.
24. I drink tequila, and I hate the taste of it.
25. Generally, I drink to get drunk.
26. I oversleep.
27. I'm a cat person.
28. I have a crush on Edward Scissorhands.
29. I'm extremely unphotogenic.
30. I don't like Dunkin' Donuts.
31. Or David Hasselhoff.
32. My Mammaw's chicken and dumplings are boss.
33. I play piano. I began lessons at the age of five-ish.
34. I still prefer old-school Nintendo over any other game system. Mario kicks ass.
35. I'm anemic.
36. In college, my friends jokingly referred to American Hi-Fi's "Flavor of the Weak" as my theme song. I dated a lot. :/
37. I'm late. Always. No matter what. It annoys even me.
38. I've never seen a Harry Potter movie. I've no desire.
39. I used to dance. I quit for a jealous boyfriend.
40. I love roadtrips.
41. I have three half-siblings, but I count only one.
42. I love Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Especially Everything But The..., Phish Food, and Half-Baked. And all the others.
43. I worked for Wal-Mart. For three completely miserable months.
44. I express myself through music lyrics.
45. And quotes. Obviously.
46. I was in a sorority. And was booted for partying too hard.
47. I like bananas, but only if they're mainly still green. No brown spots, none.
48. I drove fourteen hours, round-trip, to see The Used. Bert McCracken is sick and twisted and wonderful.
49. I'll all-but-pass-out when on the receiving end of a needle.
50. Except with piercings or tattoos, strangely enough. I like piercings and tattoos.
51. I have five piercings, two tattoo.
52. My heart. Never healed.
53. I've never been on a diet.
54. I don't do socks.
55. I don't mind the Summer Olympics. The Ryan Lochte part of it.
56. I'd rather go barefoot.
57. But I have a ridiculous shoe collection.
58. I have the wittiest comebacks. But only after the moment's long passed.
59. As a child, I thought I'd become a writer. Until I realized I can't write.
60. Converse go with anything. You'll never convince me otherwise.
61. I'm a sucker for anything acoustic.
62. Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper from Sonic. Makes me happy.
63. I've driven the same car for 10 years.
64. I refuse to wear orange.
65. My very first concert was Lynyrd Skynyrd.
66. I'm afraid of clowns, as cliche as it might be.
67. I'm addicted to crossword puzzles and rounds of Tetris.
68. I'd love to believe that Seattle Grace exists, and that I'll one day work there. No one crush my dream.
69. I rarely match.
70. I text. A lot.
71. I still think emo is cute.
72. I've seen Juno so many times, I could quote it. And oftentimes, do.
73. I have an addiction to Coca-Cola.
74. I love animals more than I like most people.
75. I call everyone "kid." Age doesn't matter.
76. I'm a night owl.
77. I've never cheated on a boyfriend.
78. I believe in God only because it's surely impossible to be angry with Someone in whom you don't believe.
79. I'm a Leo. Passionate, lively, and a little egocentric.
80. I won the sixth grade spelling bee.
81. I don't wear a lot of makeup. But I can't go without eyeliner.
82. I'm the spitting image of my mother. I also inherited her temper.
83. I don't understand the fascination with the Jonas Brothers. Aren't they Hanson, made-over?
84. At the age of thirteen, I had a rather unhealthy obsession with Hanson.
85. Jack Black annoys me.
86. Animal rights.
87. I'm a procrastinator in the worst way.
88. I hold grudges.
89. I can't play guitar. I've tried. And tried.
90. I have a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. I'd swear it made sense at the time.
91. I was born in Arkansas, but I'm destined for the city.
92. I'm usually a ripped jeans-and-hoodie kind of girl.
93. I have The Hills, seasons one and two, on DVD.
94. I'm a terrible driver.
95. I'm even worse at telling stories.
96. I've been to Disney World.
97. I started smoking at the age of 19, confident that I could quit at any time. And it wasn't until this year that I realized---I'm addicted.
98. I still care, and I'll never tell him.
99. I don't exercise. I wish I did. But I won't.
100. I'm a people-watcher. It's what I do.
13 August 2008
Give me chills.
I saw a re-run for So You Think You Can Dance, featuring this piece from Chelsie and Mark. It's easily one of my most favorite routines, ever. Beautifully awkward choreography from Mia Michaels. It's perfect.
And it makes me miss dancing.
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