Friday, March 28, 2003

Just letting you know I am still alive. I've been job hunting, and some self discovery things as well. There is a lot about me that needs to change. I realize that my former employers did me a favor, and that I need to go back to a hospital, surrounded by nurses and others who are of my scope of practice and will appreciate and share my philosophy of nursing. I realize I took my last job for the wrong reasons. I have been given a chance to correct this error, and I want to do my best to correct it.

I would not have gotten through any of this without you. I realize how great it is being a part of a community of family and friends that love and support you even when you screw up. Although it's not been easy, it's been a bit more easier having you all to support me. So for that, I say, Thank you.

Saturday, March 22, 2003

I got fired.

To be continued.

Monday, March 17, 2003


The Better Half had two announcements this morning: 1) "I made you a mango breakfast shake." 2) "We are at war."

As I am typing this, we are approximately 24 hours into the second war on Saddam. At least, I think it's the second. Have there been more?

NPR is saying a U.S. Marine helicopter crashed in Kuwait, with no survivors. There is no classical music tonight. All news about the war.

The Better Half is snoozing beside me, an Achilles Tendon injury keeping him from being in Iraq right now. He was medically discharged from the Navy when he tore his Achillies in college. I'm almost ashamed how relieved I am right now. My former coodinator, Laura, told me her boyfriend may get called to go to the Middle East. If so, she said they were going to go to a Justice of the Peace before he leaves and get married.

We went out to the pub tonight. We made fun of some rather nubile kids at a table nearby. We laughed, we drank, we sang to the music. It was a nice escape.

Thursday, March 13, 2003

So, we're a fart smell away from being at war...

And, Elizabeth Smart, thank God, is back home with her family, where she belongs, and her captors are in jail, where they belong...

And, a recent poll states that many Americans are sick of reality TV and it could be on it's way to decline...

And, Russell Crowe has decided to skip nups in Fiji and marry Danielle Spencer in a church that is currently being constructed on his own property...

And I am sooo glad I'm not watching MSNBC right about now. Nope, heard all of these stories on the radio. (Although, when I heard the thing about the Smart girl, I almost drove off the road.) Granted, I have watched a few shows here and there, mostly Discovery Channel documentaries on the Great Pyramids. I've been trying to get out a bit more, which is why I am exhausted today. I didn't go to the pub tonight simply because I was so tired I could cry by 11 this morning. Dr. A and Dr. S kept me busy yesterday. It was all good though. Today was not as hectic, but I was bitchy because I was tired.

On Tuesday night I attended a lecture about Just War and the Catholic Church, and how it applies to the impending doom with Iraq. No matter what, the lecture stressed we should support our troops, because they are the servants of security, helping to maintain peace. I don't condone people who spit on soldiers or call them babykillers. I don't condone war, and I strive for peace, but I love and respect my brothers and sisters who are willing to go and fight to defend my chicken ass against a dangerous menace.

As for this whole Iraq thing, I'm not really sure I can figure out why we're going to fight them. They MAY or MAY NOT have biochemical weapons. Honestly, I don't think Saddam had anything to do with 9/11. According to most reports, he and Bin Laden don't really play well together. Although I think he's still a dick and those South Park parodies of him are awesome! Anyhoo, according to Just War principles, which is what the Catholic church supports, Saddam would basically have to show up on a yacht off the coast of Tampa armed with a big phallic-shaped missile that said "Kiss My Ass Yanks" on the side of it, pointed in the direction of D.C. and he's giving the finger with one hand and has the button in the other, in order for our side to be justified in retaliation. Otherwise, it just ain't right. Nuclear weapons are a big no-no as well, because in a just war, you can't sacrifice innocent civilians. Also, just war needs to be a last resort, declared by a competent authority, and one side must be significantly more right than the other. It's very confusing. So, I've decided to advocate for peace by active nonviolence. It's a bit easier to comprehend:
Don't kill, even if you think he/she deserves it.
Love your brothers and sisters, even if they're assholes sometimes.
Make peace and love, not war. Remember, you gotta strive for it, but it's worth it.
Support those who are willing to defend freedom.
Don't spit on anyone, unless you're Greek and it's a sign of good luck.
Remember it's okay to laugh at Saddam on South Park. It's damn funny.
Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups, like on cable news networks.
And always wear sunscreen and support public radio.

Friday, March 07, 2003

I've been listening to a lot of NPR since I gave up TV for Lent (well, I didn't really give it up cold turkey, but I have strict guidelines involving no violence, no negative messages as the final outcome, and no dysfunction, and that just rules out everything on TV nowadays). And so far, it hasn't been bad. I even caught myself salsa-ing to the Latin jazz featured on the Jazz program while I was making dinner. I never realized exactly how much I rely on TV for background noise while I type, knit, clean, cook, etc. I'm convinced TV does rot your brain, as I feel somewhat smarter in the few short days since I gave it up. I've been keeping up with the news via the internet, as to avoid news channels that drone on and on about a particular subject, analyze it dull, and talking heads that bicker constantly over who is right or wrong. NPR doesn't do debates.

And I've been reading a bit more. The newest issue of BUST came to my door yesterday, and, per my usual BUST self-pleasure ritual, I took myself out to Aunt Sarah's pancake house and read it over French toast and a damn fine cuppa coffee. This issue focuses on women and age. It features Frances McDormand on the cover (have loved, loved, loved her since she was Fargo Marge) and basically says that everyone who tells you that you should base your life on a number should screw off. It also features Moolah and May, two lady wrestlers over the age of 79 (one is scheduled to wrestle a WWF superstar on her 80th birthday- how f***king cool is that?) as well as various other age-celebrating articles, as well as an article praising Kelly Osbourne for being who she is in a pop music world of Britneys and Christinas. Once again, a well-done issue.

My cousin Kristen and I took in the Spring Show. On the way, we discussed how Bruce Springsteen is the epitomy of cool. Kristen bought a bag with cherries on it, and I bought some banana and pumkin bread loaves as well as candy from my coworker Carolyn, who has a catering business on the side.
One our way home, the Better Half called Kristen's cell phone, saying he had to go to a post-retreat meeting. He made it sound that he had no choice- that his sponsor told him that he HAD to attend the first three meetings, despite the fact that he was really tired and wasn't keen on going. He said he would go to the first meeting, but after that, if they pissed him off, he'd have no part of it.

To be honest, the whole structure and concept of this retreat that he attended gave me the creeps. When he described it to me, it reminded me a bit of the Pope youth day- conservative and rah-rah religious (My bridesmaid and great pal Marian gave me that line. Thanks sweetie!) but sort of empty when it came to spirituality. Whereas the one we both attended at St. Mikes was very personal and intimate, and included the family, this one was sort of detatched. Of course I am biased. I was told that I was to attend the sunrise litergy and the closing ceremony so I could hand flowers to my man in a surprise visit. I went out and bought two roses- a red one from me and a pink one from Chessie, and showed up at 6:30AM with a smile on my face. It faded when I handed my flowers to a man hoping he'd give them to the Better Half, but instead handed them to a total stranger! I guess they wanted people to just bring flowers so that the men would have enough to go around. After approximately five minutes of singing, the men went into the breakfast hall. I was told that there was a change of plans, and that only people who had been on previous retreats could go to the closing ceremony so as not to "spoil" the events for people who had not yet gone on the retreat. I thought it would have been better for me to support my man than to have a surprise ruined, but, not wanting to piss people off, I stayed home. Later that night, the Better Half said he thought that what was said to me was utter poppycock and that he would have loved to have seen me there, and he would fill out an evaluation sheet with that complaint.

As for me, I'll stick with St. Mike's retreats. I'm really biased, since they work best for me.


I went with the Better Half and my Maid of Honor, Kristen to the Bruce Springsteen concert last night. We decided to leave early, skip dinner and get down there as to not battle the traffic. We got there at about 6:15. We walked in and immediately felt giddy. We braved the mob to buy T-shirts and then took our seats. We were approximately 60 feet away, on an incline, but we had a clear view of everyone, and a Jumbotron in front of us to catch the close-ups.

Having slurped down overpriced beers, I realized how badly I had to go to the bathroom, approximately five minutes before showtime. Luckly we were on the aisle, so we could get in and out easily. As I got out, I heard the roar of the crowd. The bathroom was about three sections away, and I ran so as not to miss the introductions of the band. I got there just as Stevie and Clarence Clemmons were coming out. As Bruce came out, everyone shouted his name "Bruuuuuuuce!" which horrified my cousin, because she thought the crowd was booing him at first.

It was an amazing experience. I watched the crowds around me, mostly people my age and older (very few teenagers, unless their parents were in tow, and the parents seemed more excited then they were.) dance, clap and sing along to the music. Bruce would walk around the stage on occasion so all the fans could see him. The fans were courteous towards each other- I was witness to one lady offering to help a disabled girl in the bathroom, and there was only one fight between two men that was nipped in the bud within seconds. The people who came to the concert seemed really happy. It was a nice place to be: good music, happy people, all enjoying themselves, cheering not only Bruce but his bandmates as well. My Better Half was untouchable with joy, and my cousin and Chris looked like they were having a ball.

Basically Bruce's sets involved almost all of his classics: Born to Run, Born In The U.S.A, Badlands, Dancin' In the Dark, and Glory Days, along with songs from his new CD, The Rising. The Rising is a lot of songs composed as a result of September 11th. As I continued to listen to the songs, I realized how many Springsteen songs involve a message- usually about peace or getting in touch with yourself and liking yourself. Albeit, there are the songs about motorcycles and other fun things. The tickets were costly, but you did get your money's worth, as the band played for almost three hours! And there was no opening act. All in all it was a great experience, and I can't wait for Bruce to come back to Richmond so I can see him again.

Wednesday, March 05, 2003

Oof. It's been hella-crazy at work these past two days. Laura has resigned, and will be a cardiac tech at a local hospital. I am happy for her, but I hope we get a new boss before she leaves! The back of my legs are throbbing. I feel like I'm running on a hamster wheel. Luckly, tomorrow will be more quiet and on Friday, I go to a wound care conference. Tonight being Ash Wednesday, I am going to Mass. I need it. I need to pray for strength and serenity to get me through this hella-week.

Sunday, March 02, 2003

So, this weekend, my Better Half is on a spiritual retreat, so I had time to myself. I spent it in the most productive way I felt like- I rented DVDs and vegged. Okay, I also went to Mass and our Family Theology Group, as well as The Gap, but otherwise, I spent my time reviewing movies:

1) About A Boy- I love Hugh Grant, and here he was brilliant. The plot is a very shallow man meets a single mother and her nerdy kid. Hugh pulls it off without you wanting to hate his guts. The kid in the movie is great too. The movie is based on the novel by Nick Horneby, and it's apparently better than the movie.

2) Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. The first movie I've seen where Southern women imbibe. And man, do they imbibe. Set in Louisiana, it stars a very talented group of women (Maggie Smith, Sandra Bullock, and the divine Ashley Judd) as a group of friends who've seen each other through thick and thin. Easy to follow. Good message. Funny as hell. Will remind you of your family, if you've grown up in a matriarchial setting.

3) The Miracle Maker. Claymation story of Jesus Christ's later life, which I found enjoyable and not too scary for the kiddies. In fact, some of it is told through the viewpoint of a small girl whom Jesus heals. Ralph Fiennes is the voice of Jesus, and he does a fantastic job. It's a good rental for Lent (for you fellow "church nerds," as Father John calls us.)

Saturday, March 01, 2003

DISCLAIMER: This next post is about slavery. I don't condone slavery in any way. I think it's rather evil to think that you can own another human being because you are rich. However, if you are proud of your family history and it just so happens that your family owned slaves, please know that I don't single out anyone, nor do I think your family deserves any retribution, nor do I judge your family for their past. This post is satire, based on my observations and thoughts that I happen to think are amusing, and nothing else. However, if you are reading this post and you are Jane Seymour, please know that I seriously think you pick really stupid acting gigs. There, I said it.

I was flipping thru the channels this evening, and came across a movie on the Hallmark channel about slavery. It starred Jane Seymour, and it looked like she borrowed the costumes and scenery off of that "Dr. Quinn" show she does. Anyway, the scene was that she was participating in the Underground Railroad, and her hubby, a rich, white, slaveowner, got mad when he found out and set fire to the house in order to kill the runaway slaves. Also, possibly her in the process. And then he blamed her, saying because she loved slaves (except he used a cruel derrogatory term) and not him, she made him burn down the house.

That almost justifies the whole Lorena Bobbitt thing.

Keep in mind, this was a time when a man's wife was his property, so he probably wouldn't have gotten arrested if she did die. It would have been called "an unfortunate stove accident cause by an unintelligent woman who most likely practiced witchcraft in her spare time and is probably burning in Hell right now anyway because she was such a burden on her poor husband."

Okay, it does justify that whole Lorena Bobbitt thing.

Also, something I have noticed about movies about slavery that just didn't seem right. It seems that, in most movies about slavery, that the slave owners are depicted as white, skinny, frigid, puss older men named Percy who look rather frail. And their pale, frigid families in tow. They are rather loathesome, and you grow to hate them because they are really really cruel and one-dimentional, just like the real life slave owners.This movie was no exception. And the slaves are depicted as burly, big, strong, loving, wise people, with great faith, hope and patience, knowing that someday, something good like freedom will come. The frail, nasty Percy slave owner man whips, beats, and humiliates the nice big loving people. The only sweet justice or retribution in these movies for the slaves is when one or two of the frail white puss slave owner's children contracts the typhoid and dies a miserable death in a dramatic scene. I would like to see a movie in which the slaves decide that their lives will continue to stink royally unless they take action, and in the ending climactic scene end up storming the house, snap the frigid slave owner like an icicle, and live happly ever after.

I also didn't want to believe that Old Yeller or Bambi's mom lived long, happy lives ever after in their respective movies. That's just the kind of little world I live in, thank you very much.

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