Illogical as Ever

        Me: Am I fat like Candy Pants?

        silence


        Eric: Wait, what?!  Who's Candy Pants?

        Me: The girl who was jumping on the broken glass [in America's Got Talent.]

        Eric: I don't even- I wasn't even  paying attention.  What did she look like?

        Me:  Her legs were pretty skinny but the rest of her was a little fat.

        Eric: Okay, well then probably not.

     This is how my Tuesday night conversation is shaping up.  Not to mention I have a smoosh-faced kitty sitting on the couch, snoring.  I think she needs a sleep study and a Craniofacial consult.  (P.S. am I the only one besides Mariah Carey who's in love with Nick Cannon?)

You would snore too if your nose was indented into your cranium

        Luckily, the above scenario about whether I'm fatter than some freak show named Candy Pants wasn't a real panic attack.  Bad news:  my new "doctor" is a hippie that doesn't believe in medication for panic attacks.

BLERG!

        It's a longish, boring story about a nurse practitioner I used to see leaving the practice, and me being too lazy to find a provider in another location.  I was having panic attacks about diseases, and I needed to get my crazy out, so I went to *gasp* a Naturopathic Doctor who works in the same building.  I don't even know what this means, so I googled it- obvi.  Then it occurred to me: if you have to look up the definition of a professional license, it's probably your first red flag if you believe in science.  Which I don't.

This is my most scientific looking picture.  I am actually taking a tour in Alaska about glass blowing

        I had a panic attack tonight that I hadn't correctly ordered pre-operative labs for a patient.  (I did do it right - durrrrrr.)  Except, now that I have a fake doctor who only prescribes herbs (not weed, fools) in capsules for remedies, I'm in trouble.  

        Okay fine, I'll tell you.  She gave me this root that is supposed to help you calm down, but it's all natural and shit, hence, avoiding side effects such as drowsiness or weirdness.  I have tried it a few times just to see if it does anything.  I took it the last time I flew to work on the way there, but I couldn't say if it helped or not because it wasn't bumpy, so I wasn't very afraid of death via metal torpedo hurtling to the ground.  I should have taken it on the flight home because it was bumpy, and I did think my last day on Earth could end with death in a tin can like a sardine.  (So far my scientific experiment  regarding the efficacy of said root with one subject and no control group is not off to a great start.)  It was "too turbulent" for beverage service, so I couldn't swallow the damn root gel caps.  As an aside, what is the point of free beer on the plane if they always weasel out of the beverage service on the way home?!

Don't deprive us Alaska Air

        I tried the capsules again as I started to panic about the labs, but I also looked online to make sure I had ordered them right.  So I calmed down, but I am a horrible scientist, and with more than one variable, I was unable to determine cause of decelerated freak out.  Ratsicles.  Foiled again.  

        At least I don't have to worry about whether or not I look like Candy Pants*. Otherwise, I think I would need something stronger than a root capsule.

I need a root capsule here to relax my face (sorry Mary.)

*Please note: Candy Pants is probably a really nice person, and she really isn't fat at all.  It's more that if you call yourself Candy Pants, you need to look like Pamela Anderson or the modern day equivalent.

   

Who invited this guy?

And why wouldn't I be wearing a crown and sunglasses with a mom outfit on?

        This pretty much sums up how I look before, during, and after a running event:  mentally challenged.  Running buddy Katie and I did the *Inaugural* Portland Rock 'n' Roll 1/2 Marathon.  I thought she would leave me in the dust, but we ended up running the entire 13.1 miles together.  It was fun!  Don't you kind of want to punch someone who says running 13.1 miles is fun?  Me too.  I just punched myself in the arm for you- you're welcome.

We sort of have matching outfits on- doesn't that look like fun?

        Here's what else I've been up to lately: spilling on strangers.  You heard me.  Now, I spill things on myself all the time.  No big deal.  When you start spazzing out and spilling on random fools in public, you might need some anti-epileptic medications.

        A couple weeks ago I spilled beer on a lady's head, which would have been par for the course at a sporting event, except I was totally sober.  I didn't trip and I had plenty of room to move, yet somehow I spilled a blob of beer square on the top of her head.  Luckily, she seemed cool.  I was super embarrassed, and apologized profusely-obvi.

Blerg.

        Today I flew to work again (and barely lived to tell the tale, thanks to a little bastard called Turbulence.)  At the airport this morning I was about to sit down at the gate.  (What I am about to tell you is my real life.)  Somehow, as I sat down, coffee flew from my Americano cup across the aisle, diagonally to land on an unsuspecting random fool's jeans.  I tried to act cool.  Maybe he didn't notice!  Then I snuck a peak at the dude's knee, and there it was.  A painfully obvious coffee stain the size of a silver dollar loomed above his patella.  Our eyes met...

        "I'm sorry!" I giggled, "I don't even know how I did that.  Do you want a napkin?"  Note to self: do not giggle at someone when you have just ruined their favorite pants.  You are too old to giggle and get away with it. Also, you were wearing high water khakis and a cardigan- if you absolutely must giggle, don't dress like your mom.  Do some laundry, will you?

        He just looked at me like the lunatic that I am, and said it was fine.  I'm lucky we weren't flying to New York City- in which case everyone would have been in suits and fancy pants.  Thankfully, we were flying to a place where cowboy hats and denim reign supreme.  What if I f*&#@d up a dude's Armani suit or some crap like that?    What if I someday spill a hot beverage on Dog the Bounty Hunter?!  I could end up dead or badly mangled in either scenario.

I don't think you want to spill coffee on this- I'm pretty sure he shot an old lady once

     ALERT:   I just put the lap top down for a dinner break.  Spilled on myself while writing a blog about spilling on people.  Is the Liz Lemon character on 30 Rock based off of me?  I wish.  At least then I would be a writer for T.V. and Alec Baldwin would be my co-star.

My Co-star sleeps through a lot of our scenes- he gets tired from being so awesome.

        Look people, there is no major life lesson to be learned here.  I'm old and I spill on myself and others.  I guess there is one lesson to be learned: don't wear good clothes around me.   This is why we can't have nice things.

       

  

Oh Canada.

        Eric and I went to Vancouver, B.C. to celebrate our first wedding anniversary.  Yeah, we're a year into this marriage, and I have to say, we are nailing it.  

Obvi.

        Now, I know what you're thinking.  Why Canada, eh?  I have to admit, I asked myself the same question.  Here's what I've come up with as the pros for Canadian living so far...

        1.) You can run around Stanley Park and leave your pepper spray at home.
         I did not worry about getting murdered even once while I was in Vancouver.  If you know me, you know this is really saying something about a city.  Also, I am pretty sure you get arrested if you bring pepper spray across the Canadian border.  Canadians do not carry weapons.  Hence, why a person can run without a fear of getting stabbed by a homeless person- which brings me to my next point.

        2.) I saw 8.5 homeless people the whole time I was there.
        Usually, I see more homeless people by the time I leave my block.  Excellent job, Canada for keeping people employed and preventing public urination- which brings me to my next point.

         3.)  It doesn't smell like pee in Vancouver.  At all.
        Have you been to Pioneer Square?  Furthermore, have you been to Portland?  Then you appreciate a pee free zone as much as I do.

        4.) Poutine.
                Yes, you will absolutely feel like a disgusting human being if you eat this, but it always seems like a good idea at the time.

French fries, cheese curds, and gravy. Sick.  Yum.

        5.) People are considerate. (They get out of your way.)
        So, that f*@# yeah attitude that I love?  Not so much when a burly fool is walking on my side of the sidewalk and refuses to move an inch so I don't trip and fall into rat infested bushes. In fact, sometimes, I purposely bump into people.  Usually, I do this when I am running, and they are looking right at me.  I think to myself, "Look at this asshole, I am clearly working harder than he is," and then I just brush 'em back a bit.  But in the magical land of Canada, pedestrians can spot each other from approximately 6 blocks away, and  promptly cross the street to avoid any conflict.  This saves me from having to act like a jack wagon, and any time this happens, I view it as a plus.

        I hope you're ready for the cons.  (Come on, you had to know they were coming.)

        1.) People don't know how to hustle.
        Here in the U.S., a server at a restaurant will try to up-sell you on everything.  For instance, if you find yourself low on beer, a member of the waitstaff will come by at the perfect time and refill your water glass to ask, yet mostly just tell you, "You guys need another beer?"  In Canada, the servers walk away absentmindedly after pouring your water.  This practically requires the customer to tackle them in order to get refills.  I think they don't want to be pushy (see pro #5) and, therefore, avoid conflict at all costs.  This is mostly fine- except when you need a second beer.  (Which is always.)

Enjoy your beer while you can.  Then get ready to throw down to earn your second pint.

        2.) The ketchup is too vinegar-y.
        Yes, the ketchup has too much vinegar in it; plus, there is not even a bottle on your table.  They bring mini ramekins out by request only.  What if you really like ketchup?  Combine that with the fact that you have to clothesline a server to get an item you are willing to pay for, such as booze, and you realize that you are SOL when it comes to obtaining free condiments.


        3.) Their dollar is better (slightly) than ours.
         Lame.  When a country has coins referred to as Loonies and Toonies (not joking,) it begs the question as to whether this nation's choice in currency names is, perhaps, a commentary on the population's general mindset.

        4.) They still answer to the Queen.
        Queen Elizabeth is the head of state.  You all know how I feel about England.

        5.) There is barely any security when crossing from the US to Canada.
        I have to say, the ease with which we got through the border patrol on the way to Canada was nice.  It took all of two minutes to tell the agent we were visiting Vancouver for our anniversary. Yeah,  it was nice... until I realized she believed us.  Do you know how easy it would be to sneak, well, anything into that place?  I could have brought my pepper spray after all, and those fools would have been none the wiser.  I started to freak about all the terrorists that could sneak into Canada, undetected.  Just when my brain was about to explode (no terrorist pun intended) at the possibilities of a Tim Horton's being blown to smithereens, I realized something extremely comforting.

        Nobody wants to bomb Canada.

        That would be like punching Chuck Norris's little brother in the face to make yourself look cool.  Totally futile.  Canada's big brother, America, would kick that idiot's ass.  The best part is, everyone knows this.   We have inadvertently been keeping Canada awesome for like a million years just because we're neighbors.  You're welcome, little bro.

Happy Nurses Week, fools!

        The good news is that I ran ten miles last Saturday with a friend who I consider a real runner.  The bad news is that I always want a cheeseburger.  No, not just after running ten miles- I want a cheeseburger pretty much at all times.  I'm fairly certain this means I will never run any kind of an ultra marathon.  *surprise*

You're right, that is not a cheeseburger.  It is a pulled pork sandwich  with macaroni and cheese.  I made Eric carry my corn dog so as not to look suspicious.

        Did you ever want to be something ... not you?  I was walking with some friends the other day, and we were discussing what we used to want to be when we grew up.  When I was little I wanted to be an actress.  (And by little, I mean when I was 22 years old.)  One friend wanted to be an astronaut, and the other had dreams of being a marine biologist.  As fate would have it, we all became Registered Nurses. So, yeah, pretty close to our original plans...NOT.  (Remember when it was funny to say something that wasn't true, pause, and then shout 'NOT!" at the end of the sentence?  Me neither.)

"This shirt is NOT black."

        I suspect that I was the last of the three of us to realize that there are dreams, and then there is reality.  

These guys want to be frogs when they grow up. Fools.

        The would-be-astronaut met a real life astronaut at a young age because her parents were encouraging her to chase her dreams.  They got to talking, and it was discovered that my friend excelled at math and science.  A good sign...  However, when asked if she had any health problems, she mentioned an open heart surgery she had undergone as a baby.  Her new mentor informed her, "Yeah, you can't be an astronaut." Waaaaa Wahhhh.  (This is the sound you make when someone is being a real Debbie Downer- my husband responds to my practical warnings and advice with this noise multiple times per day.  Also, sometimes random people that I barely know Waaaaa Wahhhh me.  Rude.  If I warn you of a Costa Rican bug that implants its eggs into your body while you sleep, and then twenty five years later its offspring explode your heart, and you Waaaaa Wahhhh me...Well, don't say I didn't warn you when your aorta is blown to smithereens.) 

        I'm not sure why the marine biologist became a nurse, but I think it had to do with asthma, and the dolphins mistaking her inhaler puffy noise for a hostile beluga whale intrusion.  She's lucky she made it out of that career track alive.  Marine animals are beautiful, but they will turn on you in a second- regardless of any Albuterol requirements you may have.

        As for me, I did not have a financier  to support me in the necessary move to Hollywood to become an actress.  Clearly, this is the only reason I didn't make it big.  It had nothing to do with a thick Wisconsin accent, no connections, and (let's be honest) no real talent.  (5 minutes of fame as Sandra Dee in one's high school production of Grease is likely a big-fish-in-a-small-pond kind of thing if you're from Bay Port High.  So I hear, anyway...)

Luckily, any incriminating evidence that might have existed is in VHS form- suckas!

        I can't quite say exactly how or why I ended up becoming a nurse.

        What I can say is, I'm glad I ended up here.  Being a nurse brought me to Seattle, where I met Eric and some of my best friends.  It has allowed me the privilege of seeing patients and families at their best as well as at their worst.  This profession has given me the gift of glimpsing people as they rarely allow themselves to be revealed - as human.  It is a very humbling way to experience a profession.

         To all my friends who are nurses- accidental or other wise- happy Nurses Week!

Some of the best RNs I know.

Anarchists deserve a time out...with a billy club

        Remember that time you got really mad because your mom wouldn't buy you a toy at the store?  Maybe you threw yourself angrily on the ground, pounding your fists and screaming bloody murder.  Maybe you upset a display of Tonka trucks just to show your mother what kind of crazy wrath she was about to incur.  Maybe...someone had to call security.  Maybe this happened; and if it did, I would probably excuse you because you were three.

She is even younger than three...and oh so sad/mad

        If you are between the ages of 18 and one million years old, and you were throwing a tantrum in down town Seattle today, I do NOT excuse you because you know better.

You dumb ass

        I am all for freedom of speech, and being allowed to have a different opinion.  But do not waste the time of the Seattle Police Department- not to mention tax payer dollars- because your dad never told you he loved you, and now you can't afford therapy.  It's not my fault you're dysfunctional and stupid.  

        If you were on 6th avenue blowing shit up today, and your mission was to make everyone want to punch you in the face, congratulations.  Mission accomplished.  Also, if I see one video on the news of someone crying about how they got pepper sprayed for coming at a cop with a spear made out of a flag pole and an incendiary device made out of a juice box, I am going to lose it.  

This is a horrible picture of me... starting to lose it- probably because I look like Jabba the Hut

        Unfortunately, we all know being in the PC city of Seattle means that once this truly dies down, the news stations will stop playing videos of these assholes smashing citizens' car windows, vandalizing buildings, and getting aggressive with police.  There will, instead, be a constant loop of the one person that got pepper sprayed through this whole ridiculous ordeal.  The foolish public will then turn on SPD, and demand the blood and/or an effigy of the officer who performed this heinous act [of self defense from a lunatic.]  

        All I hope, is that when (not if) this happens, the Chief of Police holds a press conference.  I then hope it goes something like this:

Komo 5 Reporter: Chief Diaz, what is your response to the allegation that officer blabbity blah pepper 

                              sprayed a protester running at him with a bomb made out of a juice box?  

Chief Diaz:             Oh I'm sorry, all I heard was, "Blah blah blah, I'm a dirty tramp.*"

Komo 5 Reporter:  Um, Sir?  The Public is expecting a statement regarding why the SPD turned to 

                                 violence to maintain order on May Day.

Chief Diaz:             You know why!*  

        And then the Seattle Chief of police would leave the press conference middle fingers blazing at the cameras.

        Sadly, this isn't Texas; it's Washington State.  

        Don't worry, when I go running tomorrow I am packing some heat.  I am going to be a freaking vigilante.  I am running sprints with an itchy trigger finger on my pepper spray.  Consider this fair warning. If you are wearing all black, and/or look at me like you want to spray paint the anarchy symbol on my face, I'm ready.  *Note: if you are a normal human, and you just like to wear black, do not look at me tomorrow.

You know why!

*Yes, I believe the best form of a press conference would include the authority figure in the room quoting silly movies like, "Mr. Deeds," and "What Happens in Vegas."  I'm not sorry.