M: "Oh my goodness! Jonathan, look! A bunch of baby strawberries!!!"
J: "Baby strawberries?"
M: "You should eat one. Strawberries are best when they're babies like that."
J: "Why don't they have any seeds yet?
M: "Because they're babies. They'll get their seeds when they grow up."
Cue my 3 year-old chubbster punk of a kid brother taking a bite out of a small, bright red product of our back-yard family garden. I knowingly smiled as he chewed and swallowed. Then toppled over in hysterical laughter as he began to turn bright red, while his wide eyes became wet with tears in the middle of his tiny little fat face. As he "sprinted" (*Read as waddled) towards the house screaming/crying for my mom, I realized that my 6-year old self might have failed to think all the way through my seemingly harmless prank. You see, we didn't grow strawberries in our garden. We grew carrots, pumpkins, zucchinis, tomatoes, bell peppers, and a cornucopia of other vegetables; but no strawberries. And as my furious mother came running out of the house with a teary-eyed Jonathan in tow, the pit in my stomach suddenly gave way to pure fear as I realized I had absolutely failed to think through my little joke.
MOM: "MORGAN!! Did you trick Jonathan into eating a jalepeno?!?!?!"
M: "Yes mom." Gulp...
I remembered that story driving to school this morning when Red Hot Chili Peppers' Higher Ground came blasting through my car speakers as took one look at the freeway and decided to bypass the 101 altogether. And though I was driving North on Price, I was mentally transported back to mine and Jon's backyard days. When we were kids, we practically saw the sun rise and set from our tree house and would spend entire summers living in our make believe world of the day. I guess that day, we were pretending that I was an evil older sister whose sole purpose in life was to make her adorable 3-year old brother's mouth burn with the intense pain of a freshly picked jalepeno pepper. Hey, I'm not saying I'm proud of that particular moment in my childhood, but I like to refer to those moments now as "character building." And obviously, the little punk turned out okay. With Jonathan completing his first week at West Point and me starting my last semester at ASU, those days seem further away than ever. So today, I was particularly grateful for my sweet little trip back in time to homegrown gardens and well deserved spankings.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The Ex-Files, Ep. 3
It was about a month or so into my first semester of college and I had learned a few things...
1) 7:30am classes are ALWAYS a bad idea.
2) 7:30am classes in a foreign language are also not a good idea.
3) Sometimes a stomach ache is not a stomach ache, but acute appendicitis.
4) Dorm "quiet hours" are anything but quiet.
5) The Office was probably the funniest show on television.
6) Having a total stranger for a roommate, regardless of said roommate's sexual orientation, can make for some very interesting/uncomfortable moments.
Like I was saying, I had survived my first 6 seeks of college, despite a rogue organ and super weirdo for a roommate. I was hanging tough and feeling pretty good. Rachel (Remember, its spelled exactly like "Rachel," but pronounced "Rachelle") and I had learned how to avoid/live around each other and so far, things were still relatively normal. Ish.
One day I got back to the dorms to find her crying. She had just gotten off the phone with her mom, who had called to tell her that her grandfather had died. I started blurting out all of the "appropriate things" to say. After a very awkward hug (Hey, it seemed like the right thing to do "in the moment") she went to go hang out with her real friends and I started studying. *Read as looking through my Religions of the World text book while watching The Office.
A few days passed. There were some teary moments where she told me that he was her favorite grandfather and they were very close. But, all in all, things kept chuggin' right along.
Then, one evening I got home from having dinner at my mom's to find a large brown box on her bed. It had been opened and a bunch of old-ish looking "stuff" had been haphazardly strewn about her side of the room. I didn't really think anything of it and started working on a paper for my ENG105 class. After an hour or so, Rachel got back to the dorm, mumbled some greeting, and immediately went over to the box on her bed. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as she gingerly pulled out an old, over-sized green wind breaker, put it on and slowly zipped it up. Then she started sorting through an envelope of what appeared to be old photos. After a few minutes, she went over to her bag and pulled out a glad-ware dish. She carefully opened up the container and walked over to me.
R: "Look."
M: "Oh, grosse. What is THAT? Is it sand?"
R: "No. It's my grandfather."
M: "....Oh!!" Crap crap crap! Morgan, come ON, SAND??? "Wow....So he was cremated, huh?" Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
R: "Yeah. My mom sent him to me. I'm going to get a tattoo soon and I want him to be in it."
M: "Oh. That's nice! Like portrait of him or something?" Him??? And why the heck do you need ashes? Is it legal to even mail ashes?? How would you go about packaging something like ashes? And WHY are they still in front of my face??
R: "No. I found a tattoo artist here in Tempe that will put ashes in tattoo ink."
M: "...Wow! I have never heard of that. That sounds really...special!" This is the weirdest moment ever. And seriously, why is "he" STILL in front of my face???
R: "Yeah. You don't need a lot of ashes though. So today I kept him with me and was scattering him all over campus."
M: "..." Come on. Something! "Oh gosh, that's really nice....Um, where exactly did you take...erm...him?" Correction, THAT was the weirdest moment ever.
R: "All over. Outside the dance studio. Next to the MU. In the bushes outside out window. The secret garden. Anywhere that I thought he might like to go."
M: "Oh wow. That does sounds really, really nice." Mental note, never go to any of those places wearing sandals. Or in windy, or even potentially windy, conditions. Wow.
The next week, Rachel invited me and all of her other friends to go watch her get her tattoo. Unfortunately I was unable to attend the event. Shucks. But when I got back to the dorm she was of course, very excited over her new "ink" and asked if I wanted to see it. Now, I have watched my fair share of L.A. Ink and had a general idea about what RIP tats were about. And while I don't think I will ever get a commemorative tattoo honoring a loved one's life and passing, I was at least familiar with the concept. I was expecting maybe some symbol that represented how important her relationship with her grandfather was. Or maybe a portrait of him and her. Something sweet. Something normal. Something that wasn't even remotely similar to what she actually got permanently tattooed on her body. When Rachel lifted up her shirt and folder down the top part of her dancer pants, I found myself staring at a recently balmed pair of closed black and white hand cuffs. Strategically placed over her uterus. To symbolize the oppression she had overcome in her 18 years here on planet earth.
R: "Well? Isn't is awesome?!"
M: Never mind that OPEN handcuffs are usually representative of overcoming oppression. Never mind that it's exactly over your UTERUS. Never mind that IT HAS YOUR GRANDFATHER IN IT!!! Just...nevermind."Yep. Looks great!" Awesome.
1) 7:30am classes are ALWAYS a bad idea.
2) 7:30am classes in a foreign language are also not a good idea.
3) Sometimes a stomach ache is not a stomach ache, but acute appendicitis.
4) Dorm "quiet hours" are anything but quiet.
5) The Office was probably the funniest show on television.
6) Having a total stranger for a roommate, regardless of said roommate's sexual orientation, can make for some very interesting/uncomfortable moments.
Like I was saying, I had survived my first 6 seeks of college, despite a rogue organ and super weirdo for a roommate. I was hanging tough and feeling pretty good. Rachel (Remember, its spelled exactly like "Rachel," but pronounced "Rachelle") and I had learned how to avoid/live around each other and so far, things were still relatively normal. Ish.
One day I got back to the dorms to find her crying. She had just gotten off the phone with her mom, who had called to tell her that her grandfather had died. I started blurting out all of the "appropriate things" to say. After a very awkward hug (Hey, it seemed like the right thing to do "in the moment") she went to go hang out with her real friends and I started studying. *Read as looking through my Religions of the World text book while watching The Office.
A few days passed. There were some teary moments where she told me that he was her favorite grandfather and they were very close. But, all in all, things kept chuggin' right along.
Then, one evening I got home from having dinner at my mom's to find a large brown box on her bed. It had been opened and a bunch of old-ish looking "stuff" had been haphazardly strewn about her side of the room. I didn't really think anything of it and started working on a paper for my ENG105 class. After an hour or so, Rachel got back to the dorm, mumbled some greeting, and immediately went over to the box on her bed. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as she gingerly pulled out an old, over-sized green wind breaker, put it on and slowly zipped it up. Then she started sorting through an envelope of what appeared to be old photos. After a few minutes, she went over to her bag and pulled out a glad-ware dish. She carefully opened up the container and walked over to me.
R: "Look."
M: "Oh, grosse. What is THAT? Is it sand?"
R: "No. It's my grandfather."
M: "....Oh!!" Crap crap crap! Morgan, come ON, SAND??? "Wow....So he was cremated, huh?" Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
R: "Yeah. My mom sent him to me. I'm going to get a tattoo soon and I want him to be in it."
M: "Oh. That's nice! Like portrait of him or something?" Him??? And why the heck do you need ashes? Is it legal to even mail ashes?? How would you go about packaging something like ashes? And WHY are they still in front of my face??
R: "No. I found a tattoo artist here in Tempe that will put ashes in tattoo ink."
M: "...Wow! I have never heard of that. That sounds really...special!" This is the weirdest moment ever. And seriously, why is "he" STILL in front of my face???
R: "Yeah. You don't need a lot of ashes though. So today I kept him with me and was scattering him all over campus."
M: "..." Come on. Something! "Oh gosh, that's really nice....Um, where exactly did you take...erm...him?" Correction, THAT was the weirdest moment ever.
R: "All over. Outside the dance studio. Next to the MU. In the bushes outside out window. The secret garden. Anywhere that I thought he might like to go."
M: "Oh wow. That does sounds really, really nice." Mental note, never go to any of those places wearing sandals. Or in windy, or even potentially windy, conditions. Wow.
The next week, Rachel invited me and all of her other friends to go watch her get her tattoo. Unfortunately I was unable to attend the event. Shucks. But when I got back to the dorm she was of course, very excited over her new "ink" and asked if I wanted to see it. Now, I have watched my fair share of L.A. Ink and had a general idea about what RIP tats were about. And while I don't think I will ever get a commemorative tattoo honoring a loved one's life and passing, I was at least familiar with the concept. I was expecting maybe some symbol that represented how important her relationship with her grandfather was. Or maybe a portrait of him and her. Something sweet. Something normal. Something that wasn't even remotely similar to what she actually got permanently tattooed on her body. When Rachel lifted up her shirt and folder down the top part of her dancer pants, I found myself staring at a recently balmed pair of closed black and white hand cuffs. Strategically placed over her uterus. To symbolize the oppression she had overcome in her 18 years here on planet earth.
R: "Well? Isn't is awesome?!"
M: Never mind that OPEN handcuffs are usually representative of overcoming oppression. Never mind that it's exactly over your UTERUS. Never mind that IT HAS YOUR GRANDFATHER IN IT!!! Just...nevermind."Yep. Looks great!" Awesome.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
BR's: The Help & One Day
Ok, we're going to take a mini-break from my mini-series for a mini-book review. :-)
My two most recent NON-SCHOOL RELATED (aka...Fun with a capital F!) reads were The Help and One Day. While I wish I was one of those uber cool people who stumble upon books they want to read sifting through old books stores or over great cups of coffee with friends, most of my non-syllabi required reading begins with me. Sitting at Harkins. Watching previews for the next big major motion picture... Hear that? It's the lit. major in me cringing with shame/disgust. I blame it on my culture. And by "culture" I mean being white. (If you don't get this reference, you will need to take the next 4-7 minutes of your life - depending on your reading rate - and click here. I promise you will not regret it.)
Welcome back! So, here goes...
"Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask yourself, "'Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?'" - The Help
Hits:
- Stockett's writing style. It's fantastic! I was hooked after the first paragraph.
- The story itself, such a great glimpse into our country's not too distant past.
- The ending. I'm not going to say anything else about it, except that I was really happy when I finished that last page.
Misses:
- Nothing!! Absolutely would not change a thing about this book. :-)
Final Score: LOVE! Go read this book right now! You will not regret it. Yes, it deals with some very deep/intense issues, but it's a story that needs to be read and is definitely one of my favorite books of the year so far.
"You're gorgeous, you old hag, and if I could give you just one gift ever for the rest of your life it would be this. Confidence. It would be the gift of confidence. Either that or a scented candle" - One Day
Hits:
- I really enjoyed how he chose to tell this love story by only writing about a single day each year. I think writing this way could easily produce a fragmented story that would be more cause for a headache than enjoyment. But he does a superb job of keeping the story flowing.
- It makes you think! I couldn't help but wonder what my life story would look like if it were told for only a single day each year...probably pretty boring. :-)
Misses:
- The characters. I had a really difficult time relating to them and if you do decide to read this book, be prepared to be frustrated with the leading male, Dexter, for pretty much the entire time, with the exception of a few chapters.
Final Score: LIKE. It's an easy, creatively written book and I don't regret reading it at all. If you're in the mood for a sometimes-sweet but throroughly realistic love story, you will definitely enjoy it.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
The Ex-Files, Ep. 2
R: "Hey R U staying at the dorms 2nite?"
M: "Well, I was planning on it."
R: "Oh...k"
M: "But I can totally stay ay my mom's if you want some space!"
R: "Yeah that would be great."
That was a little snippet of a normal text convo between Rachelle and I. (Notice the TOTAL lack of punctuation. I'm just saying...how many extra milliseconds of your life does it take to add a period???)
It had been a few weeks and we had settled into a somewhat normal routine. This said routine consisted of me staying in the ancient ASU Best dorms (gotta love the total irony of that nomenclature...) for as long as I could bear, before making the 14 minute drive home to my mom's for a much needed hot, STD free shower and home-cooked meal. On average I lasted about 3.2 days.
At the time it didn't seem so bad. Especially when you consider that during that same 2007 fall semester a girl at U of A stabbed her roommate to death in her sleep. So, all things considered, I thought I was ok. Or at least shank free.
Before we knew it 3 weeks had gone by and it was time for the first round of tests to start. The night before my first french test I reviewed after dinner (I had been conjugating verbs and memorizing vocab all week) and went to bed around ten. My class was at 7:30am and it was my first test in college. Ever. So needless to say I was a little panicked/worried. I finally fell asleep listening to James Blunt (Oh come on, You're Beautiful was THE song then!), with my ear-buds shoved in my ears in a vain attempt to block out some of the noise my fellow Best residents were making -- the Best dorms were NEVER quiet between the hours of 8pm and 4am. I can only assume that the endless stampede of feet running up and down the halls, as well as the spontaneous shrieks of laughter that erupted every time a door was loudly opened or shut, were just the audio side effects of young people making memories that I am sure will last a lifetime.
Anyways, like I was saying, I finally fell asleep around ten only to be woken up an two and a half hours later to sound of the TV. And after several minutes of me failing (miserably) to ignore it, I sat up in bed ready to kick some seriously roommate butt.
"Who does she think she IS??? This is ridiculous! Come on, I have a test in about 6 hours. One that DOESN'T involve me plie-ing across the floor. Or "moving my body to the music in whatever way I'm called to." But an ACTUAL test. In ANOTHER language! AND It's my TV anyways. She can do WHATEVER she wants WHENEVER she wants when I'm gone but right now I AM here and I would really LOVE it if I could just get some FREAKING sleep!!!
And with that, I jolted myself out of bed. In my mid-sleep daze I had failed to notice one thing. Rachel ("Rachelle") was not the only one in our room. So when I threw myself up out of my bed I was wasn't just looking at Rachel, but about half of ASU's LGBTQ (Lesbian-Gay-Bisexual-Transgender-Questionable) Organization. Apparently, midnight seemed like the perfect time to start Clockwork Orange. So Rachel invited everyone over to our dorm for a midnight movie.
All of my sleep deprived and derived gumption fled me in about 2.7 seconds when I met the confused gazes of 13 of Rachel's brand new best friends huddled in front of the TV.
R: "Um...are you ok?"
M: "Oh, yeah! Totally, must have just been a bad dream or something...ha ha!"
R: "Oh cool. Cause if we're being too loud we can always turn the TV down...a little bit."
M: "Yeah if you could that would be great. I just have a test tomorrow and am trying to get some sleep...ha ha!" (Yeah, I was still super nervous/awkward around her and basically lived my life trying to avoid any kind of confrontation with her at all costs...hey, a girl at U of A had just been STABBED!)
So Rachel turned the TV down (like 2 notches, but I'm over it...almost) and I went back to bed. Completely mortified. I think/know I would have just grabbed by toothbrush and ran barefoot all the way home to my mom's, if a giant, tattooed, darkly-clad, cluster of spikes and shaved heads hadn't been between me and the door.
I forget what time I finally did fall asleep. And Rachel did apologize the next day for waking me up. The rest of my anger/frustration at that night dissipated when I pulled a 107% on my french test. Setting the curve for my class and receiving a capitalized, red "BIEN!" from my smokin' hot French, French TA.
But unfortunately for me, (and fortunately for you!) things were about to get much, much weirder.
To be continued...
M: "Well, I was planning on it."
R: "Oh...k"
M: "But I can totally stay ay my mom's if you want some space!"
R: "Yeah that would be great."
That was a little snippet of a normal text convo between Rachelle and I. (Notice the TOTAL lack of punctuation. I'm just saying...how many extra milliseconds of your life does it take to add a period???)
It had been a few weeks and we had settled into a somewhat normal routine. This said routine consisted of me staying in the ancient ASU Best dorms (gotta love the total irony of that nomenclature...) for as long as I could bear, before making the 14 minute drive home to my mom's for a much needed hot, STD free shower and home-cooked meal. On average I lasted about 3.2 days.
At the time it didn't seem so bad. Especially when you consider that during that same 2007 fall semester a girl at U of A stabbed her roommate to death in her sleep. So, all things considered, I thought I was ok. Or at least shank free.
Before we knew it 3 weeks had gone by and it was time for the first round of tests to start. The night before my first french test I reviewed after dinner (I had been conjugating verbs and memorizing vocab all week) and went to bed around ten. My class was at 7:30am and it was my first test in college. Ever. So needless to say I was a little panicked/worried. I finally fell asleep listening to James Blunt (Oh come on, You're Beautiful was THE song then!), with my ear-buds shoved in my ears in a vain attempt to block out some of the noise my fellow Best residents were making -- the Best dorms were NEVER quiet between the hours of 8pm and 4am. I can only assume that the endless stampede of feet running up and down the halls, as well as the spontaneous shrieks of laughter that erupted every time a door was loudly opened or shut, were just the audio side effects of young people making memories that I am sure will last a lifetime.
Anyways, like I was saying, I finally fell asleep around ten only to be woken up an two and a half hours later to sound of the TV. And after several minutes of me failing (miserably) to ignore it, I sat up in bed ready to kick some seriously roommate butt.
"Who does she think she IS??? This is ridiculous! Come on, I have a test in about 6 hours. One that DOESN'T involve me plie-ing across the floor. Or "moving my body to the music in whatever way I'm called to." But an ACTUAL test. In ANOTHER language! AND It's my TV anyways. She can do WHATEVER she wants WHENEVER she wants when I'm gone but right now I AM here and I would really LOVE it if I could just get some FREAKING sleep!!!
And with that, I jolted myself out of bed. In my mid-sleep daze I had failed to notice one thing. Rachel ("Rachelle") was not the only one in our room. So when I threw myself up out of my bed I was wasn't just looking at Rachel, but about half of ASU's LGBTQ (Lesbian-Gay-Bisexual-Transgender-Questionable) Organization. Apparently, midnight seemed like the perfect time to start Clockwork Orange. So Rachel invited everyone over to our dorm for a midnight movie.
All of my sleep deprived and derived gumption fled me in about 2.7 seconds when I met the confused gazes of 13 of Rachel's brand new best friends huddled in front of the TV.
R: "Um...are you ok?"
M: "Oh, yeah! Totally, must have just been a bad dream or something...ha ha!"
R: "Oh cool. Cause if we're being too loud we can always turn the TV down...a little bit."
M: "Yeah if you could that would be great. I just have a test tomorrow and am trying to get some sleep...ha ha!" (Yeah, I was still super nervous/awkward around her and basically lived my life trying to avoid any kind of confrontation with her at all costs...hey, a girl at U of A had just been STABBED!)
So Rachel turned the TV down (like 2 notches, but I'm over it...almost) and I went back to bed. Completely mortified. I think/know I would have just grabbed by toothbrush and ran barefoot all the way home to my mom's, if a giant, tattooed, darkly-clad, cluster of spikes and shaved heads hadn't been between me and the door.
I forget what time I finally did fall asleep. And Rachel did apologize the next day for waking me up. The rest of my anger/frustration at that night dissipated when I pulled a 107% on my french test. Setting the curve for my class and receiving a capitalized, red "BIEN!" from my smokin' hot French, French TA.
But unfortunately for me, (and fortunately for you!) things were about to get much, much weirder.
To be continued...
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The Ex-Files, Ep. 1
I didn't think she would be my best friend. I didn't think we would bond over cups of Ramen at 2am, forging a friendship that would last a lifetime. Maybe even past our lifetime. (Hey, our kids could have been friends, and then their kids, and then their ki...well, you get it.) I knew she probably wouldn't come from a moderately wealthy East coast family who wintered in Aspen and summered in Greece. I didn't honestly think she would have a perfectly handsome and intelligent older brother with a flare for the outdoors, ambitions of law school, and a face reminiscent of a young Robert Redford whom I would one day marry, cementing our friendship and places in each others' lives. Forever. I promise you. I. Did. Not.
I really was just hoping for nice. Clean. Normal. And really, not even completely normal. Maybe just in the range of 60-70% normal. Instead, the universe gave me Rachel. (Spelled exactly like Rachel but pronounced, Rachelle...ugh). That's right friends, we're opening up the ex-files. The Ex-roommate-files to be precise. Instead of a new bosom-buddy-forever-friend-future-sister-in-law, my freshmen college roommate was a lesbian/bisexual-gothic-satanic-worshipping-dancer. From New Mexico.
I have decided, at Shannon's request, to do a blog "mini-series" on my freshmen fall semester housing woes. I promise all stories and events are true and no names have been changed to protect the innocent. Mainly me. (Hey, I/the district attorney might need proof/motive one day. She was, and probably still is, cook-your-rabbit-crazy. Plus anyone can find anyone on the internet nowadays.)
So. Once upon a time, two future roommates had their very first phone conversation. I'm not sure who called who but our first conversation included normal freshmen roommate things. Things like who was bringing the microwave (me). Who was bringing the mini-fridge (her). Who had a tv (me). Who was a big lesbian (her). Who almost died a little inside (me).
If we were a made for TV MTV movie, I think our screenplay would have gone something like this:
M: Hey! It's so good to talk to you, finally!
R: Yeah, you too!
M: Move in day is getting close, aren't you like so excited?!?
R: I know, it's crazy! We should figure out what each of us is bringing.
M: Ok, cool! I have a TV and microwave.
R: Great, I have a mini fridge!
M: Oh, awesome. I wasn't sure whether to get one or not. Well it was great talking to you and I'm sure we'll talk again really soon!
R: Yeah you too!
M: Ok, well bye!
R: Oh wait, one more thing. (Initiate panic mode, cue heavy breathing) It's totally ok if you're not ok with this, but I don't really date boys.
M: Oh, yeah that's no problem at all! I'm not dating anyone either right now! College boys are stupid anyways...
R: No I am dating someone, they're just not a boy.
M: Oh...? (Panic level increasing...)
R: Yeah, I date girls.
M: Oh!!!!!(Full panic level reached, voice jumps 2.3 octaves higher. Morgan, be cool.) That's totally and completely ok!!!!! (Great self, keep it going...) Yeah, I don't care at all. (Yeah, you really don't!) Whatever you want to do, that's ok by me! Really, I'm not even a little worried...besides I have a lot of girl friends who date girls. (You do?...Who?) And its not an issue for me at all!!!! (Alright, cut it off, cut it off now!)
R: Ok, great! Well I'll talk to you soon. Bye!
M: Mhmmm, bye! (NOOOOOO!!!!!!)
And I did mean what I said. Maybe not as enthusiastically as my initial response indicated (I'm pretty sure I made it sound like I would be disappointed if she did date boys), but I really don't care who other people date or marry or whatever. Whether its boys or girls or movie popcorn or chocolate. The heart wants what the heart wants. But I was a sheltered, Switchfoot-loving, church grown 18 year-old. And I definitely was not ready for what was coming.
To be continued...
I really was just hoping for nice. Clean. Normal. And really, not even completely normal. Maybe just in the range of 60-70% normal. Instead, the universe gave me Rachel. (Spelled exactly like Rachel but pronounced, Rachelle...ugh). That's right friends, we're opening up the ex-files. The Ex-roommate-files to be precise. Instead of a new bosom-buddy-forever-friend-future-sister-in-law, my freshmen college roommate was a lesbian/bisexual-gothic-satanic-worshipping-dancer. From New Mexico.
I have decided, at Shannon's request, to do a blog "mini-series" on my freshmen fall semester housing woes. I promise all stories and events are true and no names have been changed to protect the innocent. Mainly me. (Hey, I/the district attorney might need proof/motive one day. She was, and probably still is, cook-your-rabbit-crazy. Plus anyone can find anyone on the internet nowadays.)
So. Once upon a time, two future roommates had their very first phone conversation. I'm not sure who called who but our first conversation included normal freshmen roommate things. Things like who was bringing the microwave (me). Who was bringing the mini-fridge (her). Who had a tv (me). Who was a big lesbian (her). Who almost died a little inside (me).
If we were a made for TV MTV movie, I think our screenplay would have gone something like this:
M: Hey! It's so good to talk to you, finally!
R: Yeah, you too!
M: Move in day is getting close, aren't you like so excited?!?
R: I know, it's crazy! We should figure out what each of us is bringing.
M: Ok, cool! I have a TV and microwave.
R: Great, I have a mini fridge!
M: Oh, awesome. I wasn't sure whether to get one or not. Well it was great talking to you and I'm sure we'll talk again really soon!
R: Yeah you too!
M: Ok, well bye!
R: Oh wait, one more thing. (Initiate panic mode, cue heavy breathing) It's totally ok if you're not ok with this, but I don't really date boys.
M: Oh, yeah that's no problem at all! I'm not dating anyone either right now! College boys are stupid anyways...
R: No I am dating someone, they're just not a boy.
M: Oh...? (Panic level increasing...)
R: Yeah, I date girls.
M: Oh!!!!!(Full panic level reached, voice jumps 2.3 octaves higher. Morgan, be cool.) That's totally and completely ok!!!!! (Great self, keep it going...) Yeah, I don't care at all. (Yeah, you really don't!) Whatever you want to do, that's ok by me! Really, I'm not even a little worried...besides I have a lot of girl friends who date girls. (You do?...Who?) And its not an issue for me at all!!!! (Alright, cut it off, cut it off now!)
R: Ok, great! Well I'll talk to you soon. Bye!
M: Mhmmm, bye! (NOOOOOO!!!!!!)
And I did mean what I said. Maybe not as enthusiastically as my initial response indicated (I'm pretty sure I made it sound like I would be disappointed if she did date boys), but I really don't care who other people date or marry or whatever. Whether its boys or girls or movie popcorn or chocolate. The heart wants what the heart wants. But I was a sheltered, Switchfoot-loving, church grown 18 year-old. And I definitely was not ready for what was coming.
To be continued...
Monday, June 27, 2011
When You Come Back Down
Today is R-Day (Reception-Day), aka J-Day's first day at West Point. I've had this song stuck in my head all day. It has been a favorite for years. I love that it mixes the bitter sweetness of goodbye with the pride and joy of seeing the people you love achieve their dreams.
Jon I am so excited for you. Watching you accomplish your dreams and persevering through the ups and downs of this process has been motivating beyond words. West Point or no West Point, it always has been and always will be an honor to be your sister.
Congrats again to my amazing kid brother, and New Cadet Jonathan Day.
Jon I am so excited for you. Watching you accomplish your dreams and persevering through the ups and downs of this process has been motivating beyond words. West Point or no West Point, it always has been and always will be an honor to be your sister.
Congrats again to my amazing kid brother, and New Cadet Jonathan Day.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
You and I
"So, I was reading this article about these two roommates who graduated from Annapolis in 2003. They're buried next to each other at Arlington."
Then you went on to tell me about two best friends, a Navy Seal and a Marine, while we were driving home during a perfect Arizona sunset. A couple years after graduating, the first room mate was killed by a sniper while he was trying to move his injured comrades to safety. Three years later, the second room mate was killed in a helicopter crash.
I fumbled some sympathy about how sad that was. And you said that it was something that you couldn't shake, something that stuck.
"I guess its different when you're in the military, than when you're looking in as a civilian. Its sad, but not in the same way. I mean even if there was some way you could tell those guys that end up dying they would be killed, most if not all of them, would still enlist and serve anyways."
And it wasn't until we were almost home that I realized in four short years you will officially be one of "those guys." And I guess, unofficially, you already are. And maybe you always have been. But for now you're here. And safe. And close. And, in my mind at least, you're still just my kid brother who makes me laugh and gets straight A's. And even though I know it can't stay like this forever, tonight "it" is this. And you're still just reading about danger instead of living it.
You closed our conversation by saying, "Yeah, I mean if its what you know you gotta do, you do it." And the thing that stuck with me, the thing that I can't shake is the overwhelming feeling of pride and fear in knowing that you meant it.
Then you went on to tell me about two best friends, a Navy Seal and a Marine, while we were driving home during a perfect Arizona sunset. A couple years after graduating, the first room mate was killed by a sniper while he was trying to move his injured comrades to safety. Three years later, the second room mate was killed in a helicopter crash.
I fumbled some sympathy about how sad that was. And you said that it was something that you couldn't shake, something that stuck.
"I guess its different when you're in the military, than when you're looking in as a civilian. Its sad, but not in the same way. I mean even if there was some way you could tell those guys that end up dying they would be killed, most if not all of them, would still enlist and serve anyways."
And it wasn't until we were almost home that I realized in four short years you will officially be one of "those guys." And I guess, unofficially, you already are. And maybe you always have been. But for now you're here. And safe. And close. And, in my mind at least, you're still just my kid brother who makes me laugh and gets straight A's. And even though I know it can't stay like this forever, tonight "it" is this. And you're still just reading about danger instead of living it.
You closed our conversation by saying, "Yeah, I mean if its what you know you gotta do, you do it." And the thing that stuck with me, the thing that I can't shake is the overwhelming feeling of pride and fear in knowing that you meant it.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Welcome to the Jungle
My professor was proceeding to explain the obligatory relationship leaf cutter ants have to fungus when some very loud rustling followed by the sounds of a dropped computer and a very panicked student started happening across LSA 191.
This rustling was followed a moment later with a very loud and panicked "What the FRENCH?!" (I might have edited that slightly. I've gotta keep things PG here.)
Mr. French then proceeded to jump up, freak out and start trying to get something off of him. People around him, completely clueless as to what was happening, started running away and screaming as well. (Ah, mob mentality.)
Then the girl sitting next to Mr. French, ran up to him, grabbed whatever was on him and ran out the door.
All of this happened in about 20 seconds.
"Um, what was that?" my very alarmed and puzzled professor asked.
"It was a snake," a bunch of girls said.
"No it was definitely a bird," one guy yelled out.
"Actually I think it was a rat," another girl stated.
With that, the tattooed 5'11 Mr. French replied, in a very emotional tone, "It was some kind of animal!"
Then the guy sitting behind Mr. French said, "Dude, I think it was a sugar glider."
Sure enough, my professor pulled up a google pic of a sugar glider on the projection screen and Mr. French confirmed his attacker's identity.
Well ASU, that's definitely a new one.
This rustling was followed a moment later with a very loud and panicked "What the FRENCH?!" (I might have edited that slightly. I've gotta keep things PG here.)
Mr. French then proceeded to jump up, freak out and start trying to get something off of him. People around him, completely clueless as to what was happening, started running away and screaming as well. (Ah, mob mentality.)
Then the girl sitting next to Mr. French, ran up to him, grabbed whatever was on him and ran out the door.
All of this happened in about 20 seconds.
"Um, what was that?" my very alarmed and puzzled professor asked.
"It was a snake," a bunch of girls said.
"No it was definitely a bird," one guy yelled out.
"Actually I think it was a rat," another girl stated.
With that, the tattooed 5'11 Mr. French replied, in a very emotional tone, "It was some kind of animal!"
Then the guy sitting behind Mr. French said, "Dude, I think it was a sugar glider."
Sure enough, my professor pulled up a google pic of a sugar glider on the projection screen and Mr. French confirmed his attacker's identity.
Well ASU, that's definitely a new one.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Elements Combined
It would be impossible for me to make a list of everything I learned and saw during my ten 12-hour emergency department shifts. But, I've been attempting to mentally review my time there now that I have officially completed my 120 hours. So, here are some lessons learned and things remembered.
- Do NOT under any circumstance make the nurses mad/annoyed. Or remind them they are hungry.
- If you walk around purposefully, people will think you have a purpose.
- Drunk people are exponentially more dumb in a hospital.
- Drunk patients are the worst.
- Never step on the chest saw cord.
- Doctors are people.
- Pitbulls may be dangerous, but they make for some very anatomically educational injuries.
- In most cases of broken bottles v. frat boy faces, frat boy faces lose.
- Dumb people should not carry 38's.
- Those same dumb people should not smoke weed while attempting to handle 38's that "aren't theirs."
- Patients are people.
- Teach your children how to dial 911.
- If you have made the decision to drink all day, make the decision NOT to continue drinking on a poorly gated third story balcony.
- Its unrealistic to wear Converse shoes while riding a motorcycle and expect to escape an accident with all of your toes.
- When a trauma surgeon tells you it's time for surgery, it's time for surgery.
- Sometimes broken necklaces can look like bullets in an X-ray.
- The ED is a cold place. Wear layers.
- 97 years old is too old to be jumping on a couch.
- Neurosurgeons stand out. They just do.
- Scrubs are not flattering.
- Sometimes the Emergency Department is exactly like ER.
- Most of the time the Emergency Department is nothing like ER.
- Defibrillators really do make that Hollywood "charging" sound AND people really do say "clear!"
- Anesthesiologists have it MADE.
- XXL wheel chairs are not easy to maneuver.
- Sometimes miracles do happen.
- Putting on sterile gloves is SO much harder than they make it look on Grey's.
- Po-go sticks are good precursors to broken noses.
- Elmer's glue + gauze = an effective way to remove cactus spines.
- The human body has some very "interesting" smells.
- Chaplains can bring more comfort than doctors and pain meds.
- 12 hours is a long time.
Friday, April 1, 2011
43
“Morgan, will you please hold the phone for him?” the nurse asked me. I quickly took her place and held a clunky white hospital phone up to a middle-aged man’s bloody ear. A ground level fall patient, he had been brought in half an hour earlier after being found collapsed outside of a local Petco where he worked. I stood there, trying to hold the phone to his ear, though he was in a neck collar. I quietly listened to him comfort his wife, telling her that he was fine and to go back to sleep, that she could come in later that morning after she had rested, rather than make the 20 minute drive to the hospital at 3:30 in the morning. After listening to them exchange “I love you’s,” I hung up the phone and finished assisting the nurse drawing blood and running iStats.
An hour later, he was intubated, cathed and sedated awaiting his bed in the ICU. His CT scan had shown a massive brain bleed and no one, including neurosurgery, was hopeful he would wake up. I listened to the nurses and doctors refer to him as 43, his bed number, while I tried to wrap my head around the fact that I had witnessed the last moments of his conscious life. I had held the phone the last time he told his wife he loved her. I had awkwardly patted his shoulder and mumbled reassurances while he unknowingly tried to fight the restraints holding him to the bed. And now he would go up to the ICU, sedated with a plastic tube down his throat, while his wife and son were on their way to say goodbye in a cold and sterile room.
When you work a 12 hour shift, inevitably all the hours begin to run together until nothing in particular sticks out. But patient 43 stuck with me. Maybe it was the randomly tragic nature of the situation or maybe it was something in the way he told his wife he loved her. By the time I returned to the hospital later that week I was still thinking about 43 and how his life had ended so abruptly. Mid shift, on my way back from the lab I heard a familiar voice. “Morgan!” I turned around to see patient 43’s nurse form the shift before. We briefly exchanged “how are you’s” and I asked her if she had any interesting patients. As I turned to walk away she called back, “Hey remember the patient from last week with the bad brain bleed?” I felt my stomach start to sink a little. Here it comes. She went on, “He got better and went home on Thursday.” “Seriously?” I replied, stunned. “Yep.” We both started walking away when she jokingly called back over her shoulder, “Hey, sometimes miracles happen.”
And I know she was joking. But whenever I walk by room 43 I can’t help but think of someone who got better. Someone who went home. And someone who I will always remember as the first miracle I witnessed in medicine.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
22
One week from today I will be 22. I can't really believe that just yet, but I guess I still have 7 days to process.
This semester is crazy. From taking 20 credit hours, working at the lab, prepping for the MCAT, starting my Honor's Thesis and working a weekly 12 hour over night shift at a hospital, I basically have no time. The endless hours of studying and chronic sleep deprivation that this past month has brought me have left me feeling burnt out and feeling very disconnected with my friends and family. I've been grouchy. I've been moody. I've almost eaten an entire box of ice cream bars in one week by myself (yeah, they're WW bars but still, points are points people!). But mostly, I have been so completely and whole-heartedly focused on myself. Which is not good. Not to mention ironic, since the whole reason I'm going to school is to pursue a career helping other people. Amidst the late nights, early mornings and multiple cups of Dunkin Doughnuts Coffee (my new fave) the sane, normal side of me has been quietly praying for something, anything to wake me up from this funk. I needed something to remind me that everything going on in my life right now is going on because I put it there. And that maybe, it might not be just as bad as I make it out to be. Maybe. Because the reality is I am where I am at right now because of choices I made. I clicked enroll on all 20 of those credit hours. I applied and got the internship at a hospital. I told by boss 20 hours a week was no problem. I decided to take the MCAT in April. And I am the one who wants me to go to medical school. No other outside, uncontrollable force is pushing all of this on me. Just me. So, today God answered my prayers, even when not all of me knew I was praying to begin with. He reminded me that people everywhere are dealing with real problems. Painful, scary, heart-breaking problems beyond anyone's control but His. Problems bigger than the MCAT. And sleep deprivation. And honors theses. I wish after almost 22 years on this planet I remembered this more often.
God's wake up call came in the form of one very brave little girl. I've been following Kate's story for some time now. Yesterday, after months of improvement and good news, Kate and her family found out that her brain cancer is back.
What if there’s a bigger picture?
What if I’m missing out?
What if there’s a greater purpose
I should be living right now
Outside my own little world
Father break my heart for what breaks Yours
Give me open hands and open doors and put
Your Light in my eyes and let me see
That my own little world is not about me
-Matthew West
Thank you for 22 healthy years. Thank you for the wake up calls. Thank you for being bigger than the MCAT and cancer and life. Thank you for being bigger.
This semester is crazy. From taking 20 credit hours, working at the lab, prepping for the MCAT, starting my Honor's Thesis and working a weekly 12 hour over night shift at a hospital, I basically have no time. The endless hours of studying and chronic sleep deprivation that this past month has brought me have left me feeling burnt out and feeling very disconnected with my friends and family. I've been grouchy. I've been moody. I've almost eaten an entire box of ice cream bars in one week by myself (yeah, they're WW bars but still, points are points people!). But mostly, I have been so completely and whole-heartedly focused on myself. Which is not good. Not to mention ironic, since the whole reason I'm going to school is to pursue a career helping other people. Amidst the late nights, early mornings and multiple cups of Dunkin Doughnuts Coffee (my new fave) the sane, normal side of me has been quietly praying for something, anything to wake me up from this funk. I needed something to remind me that everything going on in my life right now is going on because I put it there. And that maybe, it might not be just as bad as I make it out to be. Maybe. Because the reality is I am where I am at right now because of choices I made. I clicked enroll on all 20 of those credit hours. I applied and got the internship at a hospital. I told by boss 20 hours a week was no problem. I decided to take the MCAT in April. And I am the one who wants me to go to medical school. No other outside, uncontrollable force is pushing all of this on me. Just me. So, today God answered my prayers, even when not all of me knew I was praying to begin with. He reminded me that people everywhere are dealing with real problems. Painful, scary, heart-breaking problems beyond anyone's control but His. Problems bigger than the MCAT. And sleep deprivation. And honors theses. I wish after almost 22 years on this planet I remembered this more often.
God's wake up call came in the form of one very brave little girl. I've been following Kate's story for some time now. Yesterday, after months of improvement and good news, Kate and her family found out that her brain cancer is back.
What if there’s a bigger picture?
What if I’m missing out?
What if there’s a greater purpose
I should be living right now
Outside my own little world
Father break my heart for what breaks Yours
Give me open hands and open doors and put
Your Light in my eyes and let me see
That my own little world is not about me
-Matthew West
Thank you for 22 healthy years. Thank you for the wake up calls. Thank you for being bigger than the MCAT and cancer and life. Thank you for being bigger.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)