a little family time, mixed with skill and coordination

you ask anyone how their thanksgiving was, the answer is almost always, "ok". there may be varying inflations of that "ok" depending on who you ask, or you may even get the liars that say "good!".

you're not fooling us.

thanksgiving is the beginning of the holiday season, and the first time (in probably a while) the entire family gets together for an extended period of time. you have the cook, who is stressed the f out trying not only to get everything done on time - but everything to delicious perfection (this job is usually combined with the host, so add the pressure making sure your house is spotless before the family arrives). you have the complainer, who is never satisfied ("is it done yet?", "these potatoes are too salty", "the turkey is under-cooked", etc.). you have that one family member who is just a little too blunt ("every year, you look a little thicker", "no man yet? you're not getting any younger. in fact, i see some gray hairs", etc.). you have the kids running around screaming, you have the person in the kitchen taste-testing and munching on everything before time to eat, you have the picky eater who you have to cook something completely inconvenient for - the list goes on.

i am one of those fortunate enough to have two thanksgivings to go to come that third thursday in november.

on our way from one thanksgiving to the other, my sister and i take our little cousin home.

[well. not that little. he's 14. a few months ago at a family function, my aunt took notice that he was now as tall as me while we were standing next to each other in the buffet line. disbelieving (i mean i'm 5' 8.5" and this kid is 8 years my junior), i turn to face him and looked him dead in the eyes. little to say, it kind of freaked me out. i used to babysit this kid.]

my aunt and uncle were not quite ready to leave the thanksgiving festivites, and the misery was evident all over the poor guy's face. he is at the stage in his early teen years where you aren't a kid any more - but you sure as hell aren't an adult - and being with your family is an awkward, miserable torture.

so we took him home.

on the way home my sister and i each grab a road beer (obviously not a good idea, or a great influence on our young cousin - but the day called for it. especially since it was only half way over.). my sister and i get pretty giddy around each other sometimes. when you love someone as much as we love each other, and you are so comfortable with them that you feel more yourself when you're with each other..... well, you just kind of loose it. we apologize and try to explain this to my - probably frightened now - cousin in the back seat.

"i was with this person everyday of my life for eighteen years!!" i say to him. it's still amazing to me when i think about that and how long of a time it is. we briefly reflect on when we were finally separated when going to different colleges.

"well, besides that time you went to camp," i say to my sister. "then i got a week vacation from you. ...i never went to camp." i turn to my cousin, "did you ever go to camp?"

my cousin shakes his head no.

"yeah. everyone always has camp stories and talks about how much fun it was. and now i'm too old. i feel like i missed out on something, like something is missing in my life."

my sister opens her beer and takes a sip. "this tastes like shit," she says.

"it's probably old. who knows how longs it's been in that fridge." my other aunt, who always hosts thanksgiving, is a huge hoarder. and that's an understatement.

"throw it out." she says. when we hit bluff road, with the bluffs to our left and fields to our right, i roll down my window. as we pass a sign i chuck the bottle. in slow motion i watch as it floats, spinning top over bottom, to the metal pole of the sign where is hits dead center and smashes.

"holy shit." i say.

"did you hit that?? i heard it smash," my sister says.

"yeah. i can't believe it. i've never actually done that. i always try to hit those and always miss. that was awesome...." i say. "....i am actually going to tell people that i did that." my cousin is laughing now, but probably thankful he is almost home.

i'm silent, still in shock of my own skill and coordination. "....kind of makes up for not going to camp..."

@ thxgiving. you can see my cousin - trying to hide how thrilled he is to be in this pic - and me and sister on the end :)

also, this is what happens when my uncle decides to deep fry a turkey--

petrified.

ghetto-pon

so i don't know if you guys know, but there's this website called groupon.com..... just kidding, i know you cool cats are with it. you probably use it more than i do.

...cheap asses (but who isn't these days?).

anyway, i had been keeping my eye out for a dry cleaning deal - as winter is quickly approaching and my winter coat could use a little washy wash. [i'm also keeping my eye out for a good laser hair removal deal, but that will be different blog... or maybe not]. finally, the day came when my inbox presented to me the daily deals: 68% off an hour long massage, 55% off hair salon services, $10 for $17 at your local grease joint, 42% off of a good time with Candy (....just kidding - this is groupon, not craigslist), $10 for $20 worth of dry cleaning, with free pick-up and drop-off.

winner, winner, chicken dinner.

the place was just off south grand a few miles from my house. a few weeks after i bought the deal, i call up there. no answer. hmmm. since it's just a few miles down grand, i decide to just drive up there and drop my stuff off. as i'm driving there, i realize - a lot changes in a few miles.

when i get there, the place looks similar to this. only smaller.

shit.

besides the sign with the business' name, there was a board over every surface of this little building. it is so boarded up that i'm not even sure how to get into it. i'm not sure what is a door and what isn't.

well. i already paid $10 for this...

there is a car parked out front as i approach the building and try to find anything that looks like a door knob. as i start to go to pull on what i think might be a door, a woman exits from another side of the building and goes to the car.

"front door is over here," she tells me.

"ok.." and i go towards her direction and see a pull handle hidden between a break in the wood.

"we're remodeling," she tells me, probably because the look on my face tells her i'm about to run. i walk into a 4x4 ft room that leads to a window with a man behind it. it is dark as the only light is shining through a small window to his left. does this place have electric? there is clothing in clear bags hanging up behind him.

"i, uh.... bought a groupon," i tell him, handing him my coat. "it's for $20, but i didn't know how much it would cost to get this cleaned."

he takes the coat, looks at it and says,"8 or 9 bucks."

"oh, well, can i bring in another coat, then? or something else to get cleaned?"

"well you're supposed to bring in $20 dollars worth of clothing at the same time."

"oh... so.. there's nothing you can do?"

after some persuasion, i get him to allow me to bring in another coat when i come to pick up the one i'm dropping off now.

"we'll work something out," he tells me. as i go to leave the small building, he rushes out,"don't slam the door! it is heavy and will slam down!"

"ok..." i say as i slowly close the piece of plywood with a pull handle, watching him disappear behind it. why, because if it slams the whole house will fall down? as i walk away i make a mental note: research places before you buy their groupon deal.

about an hour later i get a phone call from the dry cleaning place. a woman explains that she saw a missed call and was calling the number back.

"oh, i called earlier to see if you were open - but i already dropped my stuff off," i explain.

"oh, ok! i just saw a missed call and wanted to make sure! we were busy and it gets loud back here with all the fans!" she says cheerfully. i just think to myself...where are you in that little shack? because it was not loud in there. and i'm pretty sure if i looked further into the window i could view the entire building.

when i go to pick my coat up, i take kylie with me. not because i'm afraid, but i'm afraid.

"holy shit," she says when we pull up, despite my warning on our way there.

"yeah..." i reply. same thing i thought when i first saw it.

it's the same man behind the window counter. i exchange him my dirty coat for my now clean coat, reminding him of our little deal. he smiles when i express my thankfulness of his rule breaking.

when kylie and i leave, i forget to tell her to not slam the door. it slams. hard. the sound of the slap was loud to us on the outside, so i can only imagine the echo it made inside that little building.

"ohhhh, man!!!" i hear the man behind the window call out.

"sorry!" i yell back at the building, figuring he had to hear me through the plywood.

as we get in my car and start to drive away, kylie yells for me to stop. and then i see the man besides my drivers side window.

"i told you not to slam the door!" he exclaims. "and now you almost ran over my toes!!" despite him trying to be angry, i see a smile in his eyes.

"i'm sorry!" i say, trying not to laugh from the shock of him coming out to scold me. he walks back to the little shack door, and we drive away.

"...that was messed up." i say.

"i think he's really sad in there," kylie says in sympathy.

"who wouldn't be?"

"he just wants someone to talk to."

"...i'm glad i didn't use the free pick-up and drop-off. i'm not sure i want anyone working there knowing where i live."

Timon vs Pumba

i've been asked out by men before. and i've been asked out by more than one man in-relatively-the same time frame before. [does that happen to anyone else? all of a sudden guys remember you at the same time and they all call you at the same time? ...like, am i ovulating or something?)

but never at the exact. same. time.

as i said in the previous blog, i had been spending a lot of time at the stadium the past few weeks... and here's where i introduce Timon and Pumba. and i refer to them as such because... well, they couldn't be more opposite-except that they are both cooks. timon is a soft-spoken (yet aggressive), giving, sensitive type of man that has facial hair resembling a genie. he is african american. Pumba is a grungy, outgoing, bearded man. a man's man. he is also probably 300 pounds. both of them i had spent time talking with. both of them are good people. yet at the same time, both of them i would not really be interested in pursuing more than a friendship with.

one night at work, i'm restraining myself from dancing around the room and singing along with the band they had hired for a gala put on by the cardinals.

"gahhhh!" i say throwing my arms out in frustration. "i just want to party!"

"well maybe we should go out and do that sometime.." says Timon.

"...yeah...maybe..." i say in a voice that was less than optimistic and walk/dance in the other direction. hopefully that got the hint across.... i say in my head.

it didn't.

they next day at work, Timon helps me find some frozen food in the cooler and asks me if i thought about his question from the previous night.

"uh.. about going out?"

"yeah," he replies.

"uh.. no, not really." i say back. hey, it was the truth.

"well, think about it." he says.

"ok..." as i stand there not knowing what the hell i'm going to say the next time he asks.

meanwhile, pumba is actually taking time to talk to me, learn about me, and have more than just small-talk conversations. and i gotta say, i like the guy. he's a cool dude. Timon and i have only ever had little side conversations in the kitchen. needless to say, i don't know very much about Timon-or vice versa.

later that night, it just so happens that Timon AND Pumba are scheduled to the same carving station for the post-party we were working. before we open, i go up and talk to both of them. Timon starts to inquire again, obviously not shy in front of Pumba.

"so what are you doing this weekend?" he asks. oh no...

"well i'm working now then i'll probably just go home..." i reply.

"what about saturday? can i take you out saturday?"

"uh... tomorrow i'm... going to a concert...." i pull out of my ass.

"well, can i get your number," Timon says at the same exact time as--

"--well, i'm taking her to brunch on sunday, man, so.." Pumba interrupts.

at this point, i'm not sure what's happening-but i know it's not good. i have to get out of hereeeeee!!!

"uh... yeah," i start. "well, i'll let you two talk about this." and i practically run to my bar.

the next time i see Timon, is the next series of games the following week. and he's even more persistent.

"hey," he follows me out of the kitchen. cornered. f.

"i have to get your number," he says. oh?

"oh really?" i say, matter-of-factly.

"yeah," he says.

"and why is that?"

"'cause i want to take you out," he says sheepishly. i'll admit. it was kind of cute. but no.

"i don't know...." i start, hoping that i don't have to finish. i just keep staring at him, waiting for him to catch on. but he continues to follow me. "....you're not... going to let this go... are you...?"

"i'm just walking this way to go eat," he says.

"oh, ok," i say.

"....well, you working the party later?" i ask, not wanting to end things awkwardly.

"yep."

"i'll see you then," i say, and keep walking.

later on the same day, i see Pumba. i go over to him, glad to just talk and feel normal.

"so did you give (Timon) your number?" he asks.

"uh...yeah, no," i say as he laughs. "God, he asked me again today, too!"

"yeah the other day he was mad at me when i interrupted and he was trying to ask you out."

"really?"

"yeah he said, 'she's a shy girl, man, you can't be doing that.' and i was like, 'dude. that girl is not shy.' A shy girl doesn't walk into the kitchen and go, 'Yo! YO!'" Pumba says.

now i'm laughing. yeah... i guess i do do that...

"but," he continues," you should take my number. that way if you want to hang out you can call me. and there's no pressure for you to give me your number."

i smile. i like this. so much better than creepy Timon harassing me. "ok," i say.

later in the kitchen Pumba stops me, "here's that business card i was talking about." and he winks. when i look at it after i get home, the card not only has his number, but is a free drink coupon to a well-known bar in soulard. smooth.... very smooth....

;)

world champions and heavyweight champions

i know it's been a while since i've posted. but something happened.

something i'd like to call the Cardinals winning the 2011 World Series Championship. (WwwOOOOOOOOooooOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! yes. yes. yes.)

i know you feel the same.

this is when my love for cardinal baseball and working at the stadium triples. times a million. for playoff and world series games, my days consisted of 12 hour shifts at the stadium. pre-game parties, post-game parties, clean up, again and again and again. until finally.... :) well, you know the ending.

the parties i worked were for AB, Cardinals, and MLB. A lot of media, press, draft pickers, analysts of stats, etc - some pretty high up people. Not that i would know who any of them are...

which leads to my next story. i was bartending a post-game party and was talking to a lady who i noticed was slightly more in shape than the average woman. let me rephrase that. she was buff. damn buff. and the guy she was with was huge. they have to be somebody i should know... body builders? weight lifters? competitors? fighters?

finally i just ask.

"so.. do you work out?" i ask the guy with biceps bigger than my head. when they laugh, i say, "no but really, are you somebody i should know?"

"you don't know who that is??" the woman asks, amazed.

i look back at my fellow bartenders, shake my head, "uh... no?"

"that's John Cena!" she says.

"uh......oh?"

"famous wrestler??" she continues in response to a lack of recognition on my face after hearing his name. apparently he is also an actor.

"oh, ok.... yeah, i don't watch wrestling."

so. this is who was at my bar --

pretty scary. and he and his wife go back and forth from making out to him pretending to get pissed and hit her.

not really sure what to do now, i say, "well, you guys look great."

"what about me?" says a bald, middle-aged man next to them at the bar.

"your hair just looks great," i say to him. while the rest of the crowd laughed, he wasn't pleased. after trying to coax him into forgiving me by offering the next round on me (at an all-inclusive food/drink party, this is strictly to be charming), he informs me that he is a retired pitcher for the cardinals. ...or at least he claimed.

.... note to self... start watching what i say...

i also heard the host of Real Housewives was at one of the parties. since i barely watch tv, and when i watch it i'm watching for pleasure, i don't know who he is either.

one night i meet a guy who drafts for the cardinals (living in Orlando) along with his father (living in New York), who is charmed by me. They met in st. louis for the game, but won't be back for any of the series. after telling me stories of wild times at buffalo bills' games, the father tells me that even though they aren't coming back to st. louis, he wants to see me again.

"now, i'm going to be watching the game tomorrow. i want you to run out onto the field - and even if it's too small too see your face, i'll know it's you." i happily oblige, and he says that if i ever attend a buffalo bills game i must find them. while knowing it will never happen, i really wish that i could.

needless to say i met a lot of people at these parties. and to top it off with winning the world chamionship, it's definitely an experience i never will forget.

what's my name

i'm very into guys who actually have the balls to come up and approach girls. but...

....i guess beggers can't be choosers.

last friday night (not unlike the katy perry song), a group of friends and i were downtown celebrating my friend anna's last weekend as a single lady (because he liked it, so he put a ring on it.... alright, i'll stop with the sing-a-longs). only there was a little confusion. the date of this bachelorette party was thought to be saturday night - by everyone but the bride. unfortunately, almost none of the other girls could come due to other engagements. so this "bachelorette party" was now basically a "forcing my roommates to go out with the soon-to-be mrs. and get her drunk" party.

[this is when my friend/roommate kylie tells me that if her bridesmaids didn't show up to her bachelorette party, she would kick them out of the wedding. she also tells me that if i don't get a stripper for the event, she will kill me. ]

we end up at Hair of the Dog on Washington Ave by anna's choosing. i have never been there before, but i notice that there are quite a lot of lesbian's there.

.....is this a gay bar? well this bachelorette party is taking a weird turn.....

turns out it's not a gay bar - just a full moon - and Anna's cousin is a bartender there. he makes us shots called "silk panties". the guy trying to chat me up thoroughly enjoys the name of this shot, although it just tastes like black licorice to me.

rewind a little to the man chatting me up. first of all, i am wearing heels. on an occasion where i choose to wear heels, i've described it this way to kylie: "if a guy wants to talk to me, he'll either have to be taller than me or he's gonna have to have some balls." ...or be really drunk.

the guy chatting me up was not taller than me.

he comes right up to me and introduces himself, taking my hand. hello.

then he interrogates, asking everything from what we're up to tonight, if we are from st. louis, our jobs, etc. we are pretty vague on our answers. i really don't give him a solid answer for anything, and i avoid all job-related questions because i really don't feel like talking about work right now. [i'm not telling you anything about me until you tell me a) you're a pro-baseball player b) you're related to a pro-baseball player c) you're a millionaire....or you at least somewhat charm me.]

so i give him the 3rd degree back. only this guy doesn't want to tell me anything about himself either. he will tell me he is from new york city (he shows me his new york drivers license when i say i don't believe him. um hey, i like, want to go there, take meeee). but he will not tell me where he went to school or why he is in st. louis for a few months...

um...ok?

this goes on for a few minutes before finally i get out of him that he is a business major from NYU, has an internship with Wells Fargo here, and is living in an apartment on Washington Ave that mommy and daddy pay for.

....

ok. if you're going to try to be mysterious, at least have something good to pull out of your ass. like a secret agent, or i don't know, illuminati or something.

so we were finally getting somewhere with the conversation, but now he keeps interrupting me when i'm in the middle of a sentence to tell me how beautiful i am. ok, 1. it's getting to be more than obvious that you are a little more than drunk 2. you're little mystery game was a disappointment and bullshit 3. you're shorter than me in my heels 4. listen when i'm fucking speaking.

and now i just want to get away from this guy.

as i'm trying to say sayonara, he's whipping out his phone. jesus. alright dude, you may think that because i spent the last 10 minutes talking to you, things are going to work out for you here. they're not.

after asking for my number, i reply, "alright, if you can answer me this: what's my name?"

his eyes freeze where they are, and i can see him searching his brain for any hint that could lead him to the answer. finally he hangs his head in sad defeat. and i had told him my name twice.

"bye, justin," i say and walk away, my friends laughing in his face as they follow me.

it's that time again

i know i have a post on here somewhere about friends and classmates my age - the ripe age of 22 - getting married and having babies. the more it keeps happening, the more time i have to give up of my precious weekends going to baby showers, wedding showers, and 1st birthday parties. and the more money i have to give up from my precious pay check to support you and your new family in your new happiness.

screw you.

(i won't say weddings, because honestly i love weddings - drinking for free, dressing up, drinking for free, dancing, drinking for free, hot cousins of your aunt's friend's grandma's nephew's ...whatever. ...did i mention drinking for free?)

and the rate it keeps happening (seriously, i knew i'd probably be the last of my friends to do either - but i didn't expect that everyone would be settling down so soon. i mean, i wasn't planning on settling down until.... i don't know, never?), the more i'm getting used to it. i realize now, after the initial shock, that i am just brushing the beginning of what will be the next 10 years of my life.

i attended a friend's baby shower a few weeks ago. i hadn't seen her in maybe a year, so besides my mom and sister and a few familiar faces - including a high school classmate and the friend's mom - i knew no one. and now i must tell you something.

i'm not to keen on babies.

for years my friends have been disgusted with my less than enthusiastic view of the miracle of birth and the small human that comes with it, begging me never to have children. honestly, i think it's just where i am in my life right now. i am no where near ready or mature enough to begin thinking about having kids. to me, the scariest place on earth is Babies "R" Us. this is why it's such a shock to see friends of mine becoming mothers. are they crazy???? sure, i'll love my kid and think it's the most beautiful thing that's ever dived head first out of a vagina. and use it to fulfill all of my childhood dreams that were left incomplete. that's what they're for, right?

we walk in to the party and say hello to the soon-to-be mom and the rest of the strangers. little was i aware, but i had an admirer.

across the room from me he sat. on the lap of another party attendant. smiling. straight. at me.

"look at him smiling at you! he loves you!" my mom gushes.

...

i look to my right and see him. "he's been staring and smiling at you since you walked in!" my mom continues. "GO HOLD THAT BABY!!!" my mom shouts at me.

....wtf.

besides being embarassed by my mother, i'm now aware of the room full of people staring and waiting. i'm in a room full of baby lovers - obviously i can't say no without looking like an asshole. i pause, standing across the room from him. we're eye-to-eye.

i be the bigger man and make the first move (obviously. he's a sack of smiling lard with wobbly cartilage appendages attached.). the room is quiet. i step up, reach for him, and set him on my hip. he clings - immediately starting to rub his gums and tongue on my shoulder.

after a few awkward seconds of standing in the middle of the room where, literally, every chair is pointed and focused, i look around.

"uh... who's baby is this?" i ask the room of strangers.

a happy voice speaks up and claims him, and the room seems to unfreeze, continuing paused conversations and activities. i start to relax a little, looking down at the thing sucking on my sweater. i'm not one of those people who find every baby cute. in fact, it's almost the opposite. they all look the same to me- like short, fat, bald, toothless aliens. but i had to admit, for a baby, this one wasn't that ugly. and he had slip-on skull shoes. i later ask the mother where she got them. my mom doesn't hesitate to inform her of my motives, "she's just curious because she wants some for herself." ...thanks, mom.

not too much later, another member of the crowd can't take it any more and has to hold that baby. relieved, i hand him over and make my way to the food table - the real reason i came here. later, we put the baby on the floor and watch as he chews on empty water bottles.

i text my friends after:

me: my mom made me hold a baby at the baby shower i was just at.

friend: how pissed were you

me: it wasn't that ugly, so it wasn't that bad

again, i'm urged to never become a mother.

at least for right now, i'm perfectly fine with that.

Wiseman Lesli

my mom has given me a lot of good advice.

my dad has also given me a lot of advice. if i had listened to him, i probably wouldn't have spent my entire senior year of high school grounded.

but my mom has told me things that have just stuck. they are literally etched into my brain.

here are a few things that i question to myself on a regular basis:
1. is that really what time it is
2. did i put deodorant on
3. what's for lunch
4. what's for dinner
5. how much are those shoes
6. is he single

7. what about his friend

8. am i doing what i am supposed to be doing in life
9. should i move
10. where should i move
11. did i have homework (before i graduated, this was a question i asked myself everyday)
12. why did i do that
13. why did this happen
14. why are there so many asians here

these are just a few. sometimes i think too much.

and, although i hate to admit it, sometimes i'm a mess. when this happens, usually i want to know the why's. why this. why that. why did i do that really stupid thing. why does this person suck. why am i being such a pussy about it. i feel like if i can just know why something is the way it is, if i can understand why something happened, i'll feel better. and maybe that's true sometimes. but a lot of the time, it really doesn't matter why something happened or why things are the way they are. they just are.

i know i'm not alone in this. in fact, i'm pretty sure if you're human, a vampire, or this small kitten --

you've felt this way. at least once.

(if you laughed when you just saw this picture, you are not a human, vampire, or small kitten - you are satin. the kitten is in serious distress and calling to God on his grief and angst. shame on you. ...and no, that is not a cat toy swinging down tormenting the kitten.)

usually when i'm in the state of mind of asking why's, i go to my mom. she's the most comforting person i know to go to when i'm feeling less than myself. not only has she been through pretty much everything that life can throw at you, she's still mostly normal [ :) jk, mom]. which means she can pass on how the hell she made it through life to me so that i can survive. basically, she's my wiseman.

one particular late night when was in distress, i went to my wiseman. and when wiseman lesli spoke, this is what she said:

"you're not going to know why. you're never going to find out why this happened, or why that person did this, or why you did that. no one may even know exactly why. the only person that knows is God. and there is nothing you can do about it. you can't keep asking why, you just have to accept things as they are and give the rest to God. Let Him take care of it."

wiseman has spoken.

an old pic of me and wiseman. i had to threaten a life many times to get this off facebook. it never worked, so i settled with an untag. but by this picture, clearly i need wiseman's help.

and that's how it's done

towards the end of my clinical rotation at St. John's cancer center, i was getting a little anxious about getting a job.

specifically, a job at St. John's as a PRN therapist that had opened up.

i had applied for this job a few weeks before i was to start my clinical rotation there, and within a week of applying the HR department had contacted me. i figured they were just calling all the applicants, but i still felt this was a good sign. when i started my clinicals there, i busted my ass to prove myself to the therapists and staff in the department.

one therapists in particular kept bothering me to hand in a hard copy of my resume specifically to the manager. this was a good idea - not one that hadn't crossed my mind - so obviously, i agreed that i would. everyday of that week, this therapists would bother me about it. it got a little redundant. especially due to the fact that the manager, Joe, was on vacation that week. i physically couldn't hand him my resume until the next week. so after the fourth day of this therapist hassling me (and the third day i had told him that, again, i would as soon as Joe was back), i was thinking dude. calm. down.

"has Shelly applied for the position?" i asked him after one of his pesterings. Shelly was a student from another program who was there on a clinical rotation for at least a month prior to my arrival.

"i don't know," he says as quick as he brushes of my question.

....well, ok then.

chatter was going on about the PRN position around the center like whispering church women. and majority of the time, it was in my favor. i did hand my resume to Joe personally, who politely took it while telling me that HR generally handles the application process-not him. yet in a conversation later that week he referenced my resume, so i knew he read it.

although i had initially wanted to move far, far away, i was starting to realize some things. one being that, in having my clinicals in 5 different sites around St. Louis, i've already established connections. i've already made impressions -whether bad or good - on the therapists and staff at these sites. and let me tell you, word travels fast. the radiation therapy community in this city is like an all girls high school cafeteria. everyone has their certain table they sit at with the same group of people everyday, but everyone knows each other. and everyone sits and talks about everyone else not sitting at their table. it's a sensitive bunch, too. cat fights are not uncommon. but this system can be used to your advantage, too, if you know how to work it.

even though i didn't realize it, the day i started clinicals was the day i made a bed in this radiation therapy web. i had established a place in this professional community, whether i was wanted or not. people met me, formed opinions about me, and told other people. and like i said earlier, word travels fast. they tell you before you start clinicals that everyday will be a job interview. and they're right. because one bad day is the day people will remember. and they're going to tell their friends. one bad day, and you won't be able to get a job in the entire city.

another thing i realized: i wanted to work.

i wanted to work bad. i didn't want to wait forever after graduating to find a job, whether in st. louis or not. i didn't want to lose all of my applied clinical knowledge i'd built up over the past 9 months.

i wanted this job.

as my clinicals are coming to a conclusion, i get another call from HR asking one question: was i a certified RT(T). i replied no, but that i was planning on taking my certification test within a month after graduation. shit, i thought, there are probably other applicants already certified.

after discussing this phone call with my teacher and therapists at St. John's, i decided i need to talk to Joe about it. At clinic one day, i call him in his office upstairs.

"hey, Joe, it's Nicole. are you busy right now? can i come up and talk to you?"

"uhh... yeah, if you hurry up. i'm leaving in about 5 minutes."

i hang up the phone and race to the nearest staircase, where i run up the three flights of stairs to Joe's office. two steps at a time (two steppin', if you will). now, i'm not out of shape. but i'm pretty sure i caused some alarm when i burst into his office panting like drowning hippo who just came up for air - something like this:

"i just...(panting)...wanted to ask you...(panting)...again about the...(more panting)...PRN position." he stares back at me-eyes slightly wider than usually, mouth slightly ajar. i go on telling him how i am afraid HR has thrown out my application, explaining the phone call i had received from HR asking if i was yet a registered RT(T).

"no, i've talked to HR. they know that we can hire you before you are registered and that you have a certain time frame to get accredited," he explains.

"oh, ok," i respond. but i don't get up. this isn't good enough for me. i'm done with my clinicals in just a few short days, and then i'll be gone. i'm not leaving his office until i have more.

so we sit. silent. staring back at one another. my face saying, i'm not leaving until you tell me if i have this job or not. it felt like an hour went by, but considering he had to leave his office in a matter of minutes it was probably less than that. [in the movie of my life, it will be a dramatic scene: me intensely staring into his eyes through my brow, not blinking. sweat starts to form on his forehead as he starts fumbling with his hands. and then he cracks-]

"......so, there's 2 PRN positions open. we are going to offer one to you and one to Shelly."

"ok! thank you!" i jump up and prance out of his office. that was all i needed.

the day after officially graduating from the RT program and receiving my diploma, i get a phone call from HR formally offering me the position. and i accepted. :)

and that's how it's done.

my new place of employment. pretty.

job me

here are all of the cities where i have applied for jobs. [i'm noticing a water or mountain trend here...] i can't remember all of them, and i will continue applying until i get a job - so don't limit my final destination to these locations. you may picture me in these places as you please.

duh.
salt lake city
san fran

phoenix

jacksonville, where my mother was born
staton island
brooklyn
albuquerque

texty time

here's some dialogue between me and a man friend. enjoy.

"so you know how i was getting tattooed today well i went and waited 2 hours and the dude never showed up. i think i'm the only one that has ever happened to."

me: "it's a sign"

"i was afraid of that"

me: "what do you think"

"i don't want to agree with so i'm pushing those thoughts away even though you might be right"

"but hey they have my 100 dollar deposit so i better get some ink on my body"

me: "dudeee yeah you have to"

me: "get my name on your butt"

"i would but i have a small ass and would only be able to fit 'nick' on there even tho we both know what it would mean other people might take it as gay"

me: "that excuse was gay"

"maybe it's a sign"

me: "if you're gay, does that mean i'm a lesbian?"

"idk that's kind of hot"

me: "yeah, you're def not gay"

soul (wo)man

Lately I've been working on something. My soul.

While talking with a friend about her recent break up with a guy she had been dating for about 6 years (and trust me, I can’t even comprehend this. I’m not even really sure what the word “relationship” means yet—and Webster gives too many options.), she said something that kind of rose my soul from the dead. Well... it wasn’t dead. But it woke up.

She was explaining her ex’s sad, then angry post-breakup behavior. My response was, stating the obvious, “You broke his heart.”

“Yeah, well, he kind of crapped on my soul.”

Of course I laughed when she said this. And I’m not surprised to hear something like this come out of her mouth. This friend of mine is very in-tune with the realm of wholeness and nature, without even trying. It’s like she some kind of spiritual guru in the body of 22 year old who knows how to work hard but knows how to party harder. I’m not saying she’s some loony meditating in a Zen garden somewhere whispering to herself. She has stress and anxiety just like anyone (and maybe even more at times) – and the girl can drink natty light like no other girl I know. I’m just saying she’s very in-tune with her inner self.

And when she said this, my insides sort of went zap and my soul – clearly pissed – said, “Yeah, I’ve been right here the whole time you selfish bastard, thanks for remembering.”

I think that subconsciously, I’ve been working on my soul for a while, I just didn’t realize it. I’d started paying attention to little things—things that affected my mood. Getting enough sleep so my brain can work. Pretty much sleep is like feeding my brain. Without food, we can’t live. Without sleep, my brain can’t. My brain feels full when I’ve had a good night’s sleep, and my mind is clear. I’ve paid attention to what foods make my body feel like shit after I eat them (for example, below),

and what foods don’t. Exercising has always been important to me. When my body doesn’t feel strong, the rest of me is weak.

All these things involve my soul and how I feel inside, but I realized there’s more to my inner health than the basics. Being happy and feeling whole is more than getting enough sleep. It’s loving the person you are.

And that’s when my soul said, “Show me the love.”

her soul, my soul. ....yeah.

no game at the ball game

so, i am happy to say that i have started work again with the beginning of the new baseball season. thank god. i'd almost forgotten what it's like to have an income. and not to mention how much i've missed baseball. (I love you colby rasmus!!!!)

.....

anyway. the other thing i love about my job is getting to meet people who love baseball as much as i do. and by people, i mean men. and by men, a mean cute men.

i was bartending in bank of america club at the stadium, which isn't my favorite place to be. the bar is pretty busy all night long, and i would rather keep it chill, talk to customers and (of course) watch the game. but this night ended up being pretty fun... for the most part.

it was the beginning of the night and i was still carding people who looked younger than 30. this is always tricky. some people are very sensitive about this. you always get the person who asks, "don't you want to see my ID??" ok. one. if i had wanted to see it, i would have asked you. two. no. if i don't card you, it doesn't always mean that you look older than 30. it means you're clearly older than 21 and there are 20 people in line behind you. and three. shut up.

but there are people who try to beat this system. these are the people that are clearly (by far) older than 21, who come up with their ID already in hand, nonchalantly outstretched across the bar. this pisses me off. i do not card these people. i laugh inside as they realize that i am not going to take their ID from their outstretched hand to analyze, and as they fumble with it to put it back in their wallet before i am done pouring their beer.

example of that this person looks like:

people. you know how old are. and you know how old you look. don't make an ass of yourself.

as i'm carding some 20 year olds, a cute guy steps up. i check his ID. 88. my age. drinking? Budweiser. a man, ladies and gentleman. this isn't his first rodeo. hmm.....

[side note: another man will come up later, drop his cup on the bar and chase it with his hands in a dancing matter. i laugh. "getting a little excited there, huh?" i ask. "only excited to see you," he says back. really, dude. you're gonna pull that card? "haha, ok," i say in a non-believing way. "no, i'm serious!" he says. "dude, the beer's free, you don't have to butter me up." ]

cute guy is sitting at a table directly across from the bar. he comes up for another beer. the bar is busy and another co-worker - a very blunt co-worker - is standing there helping me. i point to him and say/ask, "Budweiser?" he smiles, handing me his cup, "yeah! how did you remember?" (for the record, i try to remember everyone's beer preference. in small groups, i try to remember everyone's name, too. it just happens to be easier to remember attractive guy's orders. sue me.) i - already getting nervous, fumble with my words, "uh, i don't know, i just remembered." um, ew. who am i? usually when this happens i will say how i try to remember everyone's or, i don't know, something where i don't sound like a dickhead. my co-worker pipes up.

"she remembers what hot guys are drinking." oh. my god.

"what?" he says. which i call bullshit, because the whole bar could hear it. so she says it again, and this time the whole room could probably hear it, "she remembers what hot guys are drinking!" oh my god. i look to the ground, my face red. and he laughs, says thank you, and walks away.

i hit my co-worker. who also laughs and walks away. ...i hate you.

the next time he comes up, i wait to see if he will come to me or the other bartender. and at first i don't know which i prefer - if he goes to peggy, that means he feels awkward and is avoiding conversation with me (i don't blame him). if he comes to me, he either wants a good laugh or is possibly intrigued by me as well. ...or both. since i have no idea what i would say to him now, i hope he goes to peggy.

he comes to me. f.

as i pour him his Budweiser, (which is probably the slowest pour of my life--i think the earth did a full rotation before the cup was even half full.) we awkwardly shift in silence. i avoid eye contact at all costs. as i am handing him his beer, he says, "gotta love co-workers, haha." "hah, yeah..." i say back. ...i hate her.

the next time he comes up, i am determined to redeem myself. so i go to my go to, "how's the weather outstide?" question. it was pretty breezy that day so when he says cold, that he forgot a jacket, and so on--i'm not surprised. but i did not think about how i would respond to this. nervously, i say the first thing that comes to my mind. "haha, well, pain is weakness leaving the body, right??" oh.....my.....god. what? who said that? because i know it wasn't me. please tell me it wasn't me. this is probably my most hated quote. i hate it. i hate people that say it. i hate people that wear it on t-shirts. hate it. and it doesn't even make sense with anything he just said, i mean wtf? i usually have pretty good game. in fact, another guy tries to get me to go out with him after the game that very same night. how can i be so lame and awkward with this kid?

it's past the point of redemption. he awkwardly laughs and walks away. i'm surprised he doesn't run, which is what i do every time he comes up to the bar after that.

let's learn something

i want to clarify something. my career.

it is very rare that someone actually knows what i'm talking about when i tell them what my degree is. i say the words "radiation therapy" and you would think i spoke another language. one i made up. at first, the confused look on people's faces amused me. like i had a secret. like i know something you don't. but after about 27 times of having to explain what radiation therapy is (which isn't always easy--there's a lot of jargon that can't be translated into simpler lingo), i'm getting tired.

and this problem isn't just limited to those with non-health careers. for example, during spring break we met a proud nurse anesthetist from wisconsin (my response to his self-esteem,"you have high practice insurance."). he broadcasts his career to us, especially when he finds out that meghan and melissa are nursing majors-giving them employment tips that they are well aware of. he looks at me and asks what i do.

"radiation therapy."

"oh so, like CTs and x-rays and stuff?" he asks.

no. this is the common response from people. yes, i do take x-rays and do CT scans - but this is not my primary duty.

"no, like cancer treatment." i wait for recognition in his face. nothing. "i work with linear accelerators and different machines to radiate cancer?"

his eyes go wide and he gets a horrified look on his face. while shaking his head, he says, "i don't do that." huh?

"i know. i do."

[this is him (on the right) with his cousin (left). when we first started talking to him, he was alone. we asked him who he was here with. he said his family, and then says, "we got a ginger." --whom he then brought to us.

later when we ask how old he is, he ashamedly looks to the ground and says, "old." then tells us he is 25. i laugh. "that's not old. that's young. you don't need to be ashamed of that." then i think for a minute. "...unless you're lying."]

sad, but usually the only people who know what i'm talking about are those that have dealt with cancer directly.

so to put it visually, here is what i do:

this machine here is a standard linear accelerator (actually, it looks a little outdated but i didn't feel like going through 8 pages of google images). on the table, is a cancer patient. the women standing next to her is me. ...with a bad haircut and sense of style.

what happens is, i will set this patient up on the table, line them up with lasers such to make sure they are in the right position, add any other necessary treatment devices, step out of the room and close the big lead door, and - with the computers outside the room (like below) - run the machine and radiate the patient. zap.

along with treatments, there is the treatment planning, assessments, machine calibrations, quality assurance, production of treatment devices, etc. if you're really interested i have about +200 powerpoints, books, and lectures i can send you. i won't even charge you tuition.

age is irrelevant

so here is how i end up almost naked on spring break.

(trust me, it's not what you think)

day 3 (...or was it 4?) of our spring break vaca, we - as usual - get up and go to the beach in the morning to spend the day laying out hoping (and for me, praying) we get tan before we have to trek back to the last minute snow storms/oh-so conveniently unpredictable st. louis weather. it is around 10 am, we grab some chairs by the pool and bask. not 2 minutes later, some men - probably in their late 40s? yet with the swagger of 19 year olds - come up to us and announce that we have taken their seats. too bad. and that these were the seats they were sitting in yesterday. too bad. the seats, which were in perfect alignment for the morning sun, were still damp from being sprayed off that morning. as the men were still jokingly badgering us about the prime spot, karen pipes up, "you got them all wet!!!"

.......

not the choice of words i would have gone with.

prime spot>>
the gentleman move on to the front of the deck. but not to be unheard, yelling out to each other even though they were less than a foot apart each.

"are they drunk?" i ask.

this continues throughout the week. on st. patrick's day, the men dress accordingly - one even had enough irish spirit to sport a headband with little leprechauns on green antennas. they also invited us to a barbecue at their condo, "free of charge". how generous. as we continue to find out over our trip, there's no age limit on spring break. i could've brought my dad afterall.

but it was this day- it was afternoonish and i was reading at the front of the deck, in a chair, facing the beach, praying to get tan. yeah. i'm a great multi-tasker. the rest of the girls were behind me laying in our chairs back in our prime spot. it was very suddenly, that i felt my swimsuit top become unhooked in the back. i grab it and hold it in place. well.... this is convenient. i look around... who can i ask to help me?

the closest people are behind me--one of the drunk, +40 year old guys and a lady friend he found. [he bought her a drink after she helped him rub sunscreen on his back. they were discussing small-cell lung carcinoma. she was listing off facts about this type of cancer - all of which i was silently concurring in my head as i eavesdropped. a member of her family had had this disease. apparently drunk, +40 year old guy had also had lung cancer, because he was crying. she was comforting him. she had an annoying southern accent.]

....i should not interrupt that.

i move my book to one hand. my other arm i cross against my chest to hold my top in place so i can walk to the girls to get some assistance. i am one arm stretch away from flashing the poolside.

--let me remind you, we are in destin. not panama city, where flashing the poolside may not only be accepted, but encouraged. this is a family place. ...plus drunk, +40 year old men.

as i walk up to our prime seating, kaylin spots me and starts hooting at me, thinking that i am just mockingly hiding my chest (yes, my chest is that small that my scrawny arm can cover all i possess. in a few days while laying by the pool, i will decide out-loud that "maybe i should get a boob job". a woman stranger responds, "i second that."). after a few hoots, kaylin -realizing the situation- states, "oh, you really are naked." yep. just about.

she stands to hook me back up. which is when we find out that my clip is not unhooked, but broken. ...well, f.

solution one: "just put on your swim suit cover," suggests kaylin. well, i didn't wear one today.
solution two: "just put on my swim suit cover," again, kaylin, while handing me her thin, skin tight, little black dress of a swim suit cover. honey, my nipples will poke out of that like a shark fins out of water. i decline her offer.
solution three: "welp, time to go home."

i end up putting on Celeste's jean shirt-which didn't look too shabby with my black string bottoms. in fact, it was damn sexy. this new confidence brings me to wave at every male we pass on the way home. age was irrelevant.

read a book, grow a vagina

just so you guys know, i read books.

i know. i know you're thinking, "omggg you're so vintage i got my kindle, like, eighty billion years ago."

shut up.

anyway, when i'm not on here, facebook, twitter, gmail, hotmail, youtube, hulu, wanelo, google images of this>>

in other words -- when i'm not nose to nose with my computer, i'll read. sometimes.

recently, my english-major roommate has been feeding books to me. first i read Looking For Alaska. This book was awesome. i think i cried. i can't remember. i either did or i almost did. and by "cry", i mean a tear slithered out, went half-way down my cheek, then crawled back up into my inner canthus before even God saw it. i blame my childhood.

here are some of the best quotes from this book:

"Truth or Dare, Pudge?"
"Dare."
"Hook up with me"
So I did.

"What the hell is that?" I laughed.
"It's my fox hat."
"Your fox hat?"
"Yeah, Pudge. My fox hat."
"Why are you wearing your fox hat?" I asked.
"Because no one can catch the motherfucking fox."

When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.

Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.

yeah. it's awesome. and you could read it in a couple hours. it's only 160 pages.

the rest of the books i've gotten from my roommate are the problem. they are Nora Roberts novels. romance novels, people. romance. and it's a problem because they are putting all these ideas in my head. seriously. they're turning me into a huge pussy. i find myself talking about things that i don't talk about. things like "when i get married..." and "i want a boyfriend" --and i think this may be the first time i've ever said this in my life. i don't think i'm even thinking these things when i say them, they just come out.
immediately after, i freeze and look around to see if anyone heard me. my roommates will be quietly sitting, eyes-wide, jaws-opened, with the most frightened look on their faces. no one moving, no one breathing. shit.

this is what it would look like in a perfect world, because ideally my roommates would be asian:
"...i'm just kidding you guys."
"no you weren't."
"yes, i was." then i'll leave the room.

next. we are all in the living room. watching a movie, messing around on our laptops.

"...nicki, what are you doing?"
me: "...nothing."
"are you looking at wedding dresses?"
me: "no."
"um, yes you are, nicki, what the hell??"
"I'M CURIOUS," i angrily stab back.

so. this is what these novels have done to me. i'm a violently defensive, mushy love ball. i hope you're all happy.


this concludes my book review because now i'm getting pissed off. BYE I LOVE YOU.

spring break apprehension

a converstation i had the other week:

correspondent: father
subject: spring break

"dad, are we going on vacation this summer?"
--"yeah, i think so. Shari says she needs to go somewhere this year."
"well, because if i'm going to take off a few days to go on spring break i need to figure out what i'm going to do." (i only get a total of 64 hours-essentially 8 days-to take off from clinicals between january 3rd to august 8th. ahhwooga.)
--"you're going on spring break? man, you're too mature for that."
"no, i'm not." definitely. not. "besides i've never gone anywhere for spring break before." this is my last chance, senior year of college, if i don't go now my soul will be incomplete....or something.
he then goes on about the stereotypical things that happen on spring break (girls taking their tops off, people getting blackout drunk, etc.). i know. i watch mtv.
"dad, we're not going to panama city."
--"who's going, where you going?"
"well, kaylin has a condo down in destin-"
--" oh, i'm downnn."
"what? no, you're not invited. this is spring break dad. besides, it's a girl trip."

really, i added that last part in to seal the deal that- no, there are no boys going (unfortunately) and that noooooooo way in hell are you coming. not that he really would've. ....i think. in actuality, he was probably joking. but the fact that i'm still uncertain of whether he was or not- and just the thought of him actually coming- was enough to cause alarm. i love my dad. and i love going on vacation with my dad. but this is not vacation. this is spring break.

now to be clear, this is what i think when dreaming of the up-coming spring break:


me and the girls ( there are 4 of us) relaxing on the beach, boy-scouting, and possibly in the company of oneee too many margaritas. pretty standard. nothing crazy.

and this is what my dad thinks:
now. here is my concern. my father just invited himself and said he was "down" for the above image.

..........

it was a joke. he was joking.

reunion

recently, i had a run in with an ex at the bar.

well, not really an ex. we were never actually dating. we just... spent some time together? in all honesty, it was more of me having a huge grade school crush and waiting around for him to realize how awesome i am. well, that never happened--due to a variety of possibilities: a) he's a slow learner b) i got tired of waiting c) he was a jerk and d) most likely, he just didn't like me that much. throughout our entire relationship-or whatever it was- there wasn't one day that i wasn't utterly confused about what was going on. using one word to sum up the affair: exhausting.

anyway, we had a falling out. occasionally-rarely-we'd see each other. a few texts exchanged here and there. really, i was just trying to keep my distance so that i didn't have to waste any more life with the anxiety, worry, and stress of overanalyzing mediocre flattery and indecisive behavior.

with all this said, one would wonder why i was smiling like a school girl, completely smitten when i bumped into him the other night. ...damn it.

we say hello and bicker about why neither of us has contacted the other. i'm sure i laugh at his bad jokes and swoon at his lazy attempt to converse while thinking "what is wronggggg with me???" (in his defense, he was pretty drunk already. and i was drunk because HERMAN was buying me shots... but that's another story). he leaves shortly after our conversation. through my peripheral vision i see him walking to the door. i turn my head and look at him. he's looking at me. he stops, stares, and smiles. ...i'm a goner.

the next day, he texts.

"good to finally see you. but i was absolutely hammered last night."

me: "yeah i wasn't too far from that also hah"

"we will have to try again another night when i can remember stuff"

....oh, we will?

me: "you know where to find me"

"not really haha"

...i meant you have my number, and you are capable of calling or texting me if you would like to find me. but i'll play along.

me: "***** (the bar we were in) is a safe bet"

"hahaha well i've been almost every night the last five or so"

....cool dude.

me: "damn kid. might as well move your stuff in."

"my point being how is that the only time i've seen you"

...where is this going...

me: "must have not been looking"

"oh i have been"

...oh...no... oh no. this can not start again. this is where i run into the living room to ask my roommates what to say because my brain is no longer capable of reasonable thinking. this is what we decide-

me: "haha not hard enough"


and that's it. a good conclusion.



....what is happening?

tweet tweet

hello all. i need to reflect. you may all think i write this for your entertainment, but really it's my therapy session. [....and how does that make you feel?]


update:
herman has not telephoned but bravely approached me at the gym again a few days after our reunion. again, he caught me off guard, as it was more of him bravely sneaking up behind me. i had just got there so i was not sweaty nor a tomato shade. this time-my pants were on backwards. luckily, i'm pretty sure i was the only one aware of this. like before, he seemed to be in a hurry so there was even less small talk than before. i'm just glad he didn't hug me.


so, i recently made my own twitter account - mostly because i was seriously bored over christmas break and so i can stalk my girl crush, nicole richie (post her simple life days, of course). but i discovered something interesting...

...celebrities are obsessed with twitter. not all of them. but a lot of them. and not just celebrities, but people in general. exhibit A: kelly osbourne ranting about her now ex-fiance after xmas (which she deleted a lot of them off) and every other detail of her personal life. i was scared just reading the tweets. i could feel her yelling and in my head i saw kelly osbourne ripping her hair out, screaming at her computer as she punched the keyboard with her black nails. or a butcher knife. personally, i think he looks like an anorexic transvestite. probably because he posed for Candy - the first fashion magazine dedicated to cross dressing.

exhibit B: chelsea handler twitting pictures every 20 minutes of her dogs and her book agent, of whom she makes very clear is a homosexual-with every word and depiction>> existing for that label. i acutally enjoy this. i like having a visual paired with words. she's hilarious. and i love her for her whole relationship scandal with 50 cent. personally, i approve. who doesn't love a thug-rapper with bullet wound scars and a criminal record?

i could continue with examples but it would probably be boring. my point is - people love it. people try to tell me that they don't understand twitter. they tell me that they don't understand why people have the need to tell people what they are doing every hour of the day. but most of all they say, "who cares?"

we care. we are obsessed with knowing about other people's lives. it's the same reason why reality tv is such a hit (although 90% of that isn't real). we're curious-it's human nature. and there is no "not understanding" of twitter. it's a simple concept. as for the "need to tweet", i don't find it surprising that celebrities are twitter crazy. if they didn't like the spotlight, they wouldn't be in it advertising their lives. as for the rest of us, some people just want to be heard, some are just curious, and some are just bored.

whatever the reason, i've gotten a fair share of entertainment from it.