Wednesday, June 30, 2010

The day I almost died

I am having the hardest time getting this post to start. I either try and do this universal introduction of the topic at hand like I do with my research papers like "In this world, there is oxygen. And oxygen is used to breathe. And that is why stupid people live." You know, you start out really broad to get the ball rolling, and then get really specific and then make an awkward jump from one thing to the other because you realize that your topic is really specific and getting to the specifics in your round-about way would take the entire length of the paper. And you know you need to revise it but you don't because you use the excuse of being edgy in the world of writing.

I tried doing that. And then I tried just typing the topic and getting into it. But then it felt like a monologue. But that's just stupid because that's all a blog is: a written monologue. So I guess I could do that now. But I feel like explaining my difficulty in introducing a topic. It's always existed. But this discussion in its full length is for another day.


There. I did it. That's what I'm gonna talk about. So, to the rest of the family that is last in knowing what the heck happened to me Tuesday (which is probably Julina, though I think she knows. Sorry if you don't, Juli! You know now!) and whatever smattering of readers I get like those Asian people who leave Asian characters as a comment and I'm forced to delete them, I had an allergic reaction Tuesday. Tuesday night, actually. At approximately 8:43 pm. I can't be sure since the clock in my car is 15 minutes fast and I have to subtract and wasn't concerned with specifics amongst all the internal commotion.

Of the many reactions I've had (4), this was the worst. I was headed from Institute to Cracker Barrel to visit Elise and buy a dessert, possibly. As I was on Broadway (not the one in New York, the street in Columbia), I noticed that my eyes and throat were particularly itchy. As always, I satisfied my throat itch by doing that weird thing at the back of your throat and it sounds like you're imitating a lion or something that roars. I get great satisfaction from doing that, but this time I didn't. After doing said technique, I started coughing. And my skin got all crawly. I checked for hives immediately and saw that there was one. Swelling right before my eyes. I redirected my path and started to head home, knowing that this was an allergic reaction. But not without enduring the worst traffic ever! Slow people were in front of me and I was screaming (which probably didn't help the reaction) at the top of my lungs "I'M DYING, STUPID PEOPLE! DO YOU WANT THE DEATH OF A 19 YEAR OLD ON YOUR CONSCIENCE?!?!?!!11!!!@@21!" (To those curious, yes, I did scream two @ signs.)

Well, that didn't do jack squat. I still dealt with traffic and finally made it home, but not without speeding about 20 over the limit the last mile or so. I park my car, get my stuff, and run inside. I immediately yell for my mom, who's at the computer watching "The Young Victoria", and tell her I'm having an allergic reaction. I grab for a towel. Get it wet. Go to the sink where my Benadryl is sitting. Take two of them. Go to the sofa. Lay the towel over my eyes. And hope to goodness that my eyes don't swell to the size of Montana. 

My mom comes to my side, not sure what to do. I told her that we could just wait it out because it'll go away after a while. Mom thinks differently. She goes down to wake up the doctor in our basement, Allen (true story. We have a doctor in our basement. Well, a resident. But who cares that much anyways?). He calmly tells me to take more drugs, ingest Flonase, and call an ambulance. Because I felt the ambulance was a bit dramatic, we decided to drive to the emergency room.

At this point, my eyes have almost completely swollen shut, my nose is leaking fluids I didn't know I had in me but is completely stuffed otherwise, my throat is so swollen no one can understand what I'm saying, and the hives are EVERYWHERE. And now I'm tired of giving a play by play of everything that happened so yada yada yada, I'm in the emergency room with monitors all over my chest, an IV in my arm (EEEEEK!), and a sore stomach from the epinephrine shot (the mark is still there).

In true Lambson fashion, my mom snaps a picture of my face after all is said and done to document how puffy it got. She shows it to friends, colleagues, and probably random people in the street (I'm only kidding, mom. I know you only talk to people in grocery stores, not the street.) So I'm put on a drip of Benadryl followed by a whole bunch of other drugs that make me have to go pee really bad. And I'm stuck in the ER for 4 hours! Bleh. And the swelling won't go away for days, which will have me be a hermit for the course of those days.

By 2 am, I'm allowed to go home and try and sleep. Because I have so much Benadryl in my system, I conk out.

Long story short ("Too late!") I almost died. I was prescribed some steroids to take to prevent a rebound reaction and was told to take Benadryl, Allegra, Zyrtec, Zantac, and Claritin for the next few days as well. So from Wednesday to about Sunday, I was in a drug-induced buzz, but not a good kind. It was very bleh. And the fact that my face was fat and puffy didn't help my overall mood.

I also have to carry around an Epi-pen, just in case I decide to puff up again.
I feel like I'm carrying a weapon of some sort, except instead of using it on others it will have to be used on me. That's actually not what MY epi-pen looks like but I'm too lazy to take a picture, get my SD card out of my camera, put it in my laptop and then download the photo and upload it onto this post. Mine has a tough plastic casing and has a set of animated instructions on how to properly jam that bad boy into your thigh. *Shudder* I'm done talking about this. Needles give me the jibblies.

Now you are all thinking: what is the cause of such a severe reaction? Well, here is my answer: I DON'T KNOW! AH! How scary is that? I have an inkling but its only that. We got a blood test after the first reaction two years ago but the results weren't very helpful. I have a mild allergy to corn as it turns out, and so that's what we've honed in on as far as the real cause. It's the only common factor since High-Fructose Corn Syrup or HFCS is in everything.
Because of such deductions, I am now on a HFCS diet. And it really is in EVERYTHING. Except fruit. And other raw/natural things. I'm slowly becoming a raw-foodist. But, as it turns out, there is no corn in Cheez-its. So my favorite food is still safe. Yay!

I'll be going to an allergist in a few weeks and they'll hopefully determine the real culprit. I'm hoping it's not HFCS or corn in general because I love corn and corn on the cob and all the unhealthy processed foods that has high levels of HFCS. I'm hoping its something like mayonnaise or needles because I hate both of those and that is easily avoidable. Or hopefully the Twilight Series because I hate that too. Can you be allergic to literature? I think I'll be allergic to it just so I have an excuse to sneeze disgustingly on any copy of the books or films. It's decided! I'm now allergic to the works of Stephenie Meyer and any by-product!

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Bangin'...TUESDAY? and misc.

Sorry for the lack of a post on Friday. I was out of town enjoying being away from my computer and having a life for once. Not that I don't have a's just very much the same thing over and over again (as seen in a previous post). This will not be as I've planned. And I decided to revise my plan. Instead of a picture for EVERY day, I will post the most eventful thing about my bangs or maybe a particularly great day with my bangs. Like a "best of" sort of thing since most of you see me daily anyways or see me enough that seeing my face on a blog post is too much of me. Get it? Also, I had an allergic reaction that greatly changed how my face looked and so there would've been half the amount of pictures anyways. That story is to come.

This was last Tuesday AKA the day I almost died. This is ACTUALLY how my hair decided to be. No exaggeration, no photoshopping skills. Perfectly normal on the right side of my head, but SKEEWONKY on the left side. Thankfully, that's the smaller portion. And I didn't force the bangs to separate at my natural part. I think that crazy left side just hates being associated with the right and so they branched off. Like my personality, my bangs have a non-conformist sect that don't just skew a little bit: they REALLY take nono-conformity seriously. I mean, really?! That's just not natural! Its at a 45 degree angle, for cripes sake!

I ended up pinning that part back and am now prone to doing that on a daily basis because that section of hair does not like to listen/feel the heat of the curling iron. What I need is a flat iron for that chunk. Maybe I'll invest in one, maybe I won't. Eh, who cares anyways?

So, now I'm on a rant. About absolutely nothing. Except that my life is the same old same old. No, wait. There is a change: so you remember CG (counter guy) from my work? Well, I think he's been promoted...or he quit or something. I don't see him as often as before. But, I think I mentioned a guy with a buzz cut, and now he's the eye-candy of the day. It's not so much a buzz cut(which sounds hideous) as the Wentworth Miller hair-do:
He looks like that...except less terrifying and more "hey, I'm friendly and totally approachable. Don't be scared of me like you're scared of that Wentworth Miller picture." I think the guys name is Charlie. Or maybe Darius. I can never sneak a look at his name-tag. I don't wear my glasses (except when I had major case of swollen face last week) usually and so I have to squint to see small print. I've tried twice to read his nametag and both times I'm pretty sure I look like I want to kill him or something. But he still smiles and asks how I'm doing. Maybe he's asking to make sure that my response isn't something like "Oh, nothing, just plotting your painful death" since that's most definitely how I look.

Long story short, he's really nice. And we've talked more than I talked to CG. And CC (creepy co-worker) is still as creepy as ever. Except maybe more so since I've been told by him and my manager that he doesn't want me to leave at the end of the summer. And I just watched "The Lovely Bones" so now I think he's a serial killer and wants to build an underground room just so he can murder me there. What's with me and MURDER?! GAH!

 Andy Roddick and Lleyton Hewitt are of Wimbledon. Argh. Andy Murray is still in as is Novak Djokovic and Federer. Of course, Djokovic is still in at the expense of Hewitt. I guess I can't have everything. But I was so hoping for an Andy final (Murray vs. Roddick). Oh well. I'm still hoping for Murray vs. Federer. Murray to take the title and win one for England.

That is all.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Tumor, part I

WARNING!!! This post is not for the weak-stomached. Vomiting will be discussed in detail.
I think I have a brain tumor (*queue family member with a butchered Arnold Schwarzenegger accent* "Eet's NOT ah Toomah!"). Most everyone I know also knows that I'm a borderline hardcore hypochondriac, so take that blunt statement with a grain of salt. A very BIG grain of salt. But to explain why I've come up with that deduction, I'll discuss, in this post, the first symptom of my self-diagnosis.

Lets start with my headaches. Actually, they're migraines. I've had two memorable migraines in the past that have induced vomiting. The first was in the middle of the night sometime during my senior year of high school. I woke up after feeling extreme pain in my head for a couple of hours. I sat up. Realized that I had nausea. And a lot of it. It was overwhelming. I tried to drink some water and take some pills for it to go away. I went to the bathroom and debated if this nausea was the throwing-up kind or the kind that just feels uncomfortable but sits there and does nothing. I leaned over the toilet bowl to test my limits. I didn't have to try too hard to get something out. I threw up instantly very violently. After I was sure it was over, I leaned over the bowl to look at my vomit (when I'm tired, I'm pretty delirious) and saw the pills that I took not too long ago. In my delirious state, I got a bobby pin and poked the pills that sat in my own vomit. Yeah. I played with my vomit. Don't judge me. I threw the bobby pin away, for those curious. Or maybe I accidentally dropped it in the toilet and flushed it down with the rest of the disgusting mess. I can't be sure on details in my half-sleep state.

My first migraine-vomiting episode was awful. I took more medication and ate something (I have no idea why I did that since if it was the stomach flu it was going to come right up). But it wasn't the stomach flu and it stayed down and I went back to sleep after an hour and half of staving off the urge to throw up again. I woke up later that day and went to school, not entirely sure if what happened last night was a really vivid dream. But I get into the bathroom and see multiple bottles of pain-killers and a wet towel and decided that it really did happen. I didn't know what to make of it at the time, so I went on with my day.

Second instance was maybe two months after that night. Me and my sister had been working at our favorite restaurant, Bob Evans (I'm joking when I say it's our favorite. It's quite delicious if you know what to get, but FAR from my favorite). We wanted to go see "Angels & Demons" but before our shift was over, we got some food with our 50% discount (I don't know why it isn't free...stupid corporations). I had the quesadillas for the first time and was quite impressed with them at the time.

We then left to go home, clean ourselves up and change out of our work clothes, and headed out to a late showing of the movie. I had started feeling a headache near the end of the shift but thought nothing of it. When we get to the theatre, it's a dull throb. And for what it's worth, I have to wear glasses when viewing movies. Otherwise I squint and look ridiculous. I don't wear them all the time because I don't like the idea of being enslaved by an inanimate object to function normally in society. That, and my eye-lashes always rub up against the lenses.

So I put on my glasses and get prepared to watch a movie with the oh-so-attractive Ewan McGregor. I get through the first third okay, but the headache starts getting worse. We're sitting close enough that I could see without the glasses...for the most part. So I take them off, thinking they're the reason why my headache was getting worse. But the nausea comes and it's now what I call a migraine. The nausea comes in waves that I have to fight. It's a mental battle. I close my eyes, concentrate really hard on swallowing and not spewing. I swallow as much spit as I can muster to keep the vomit from coming up. I also concentrate on my breathing and making sure it's stable. When I get the urge to throw up, my heart rate gets very rapid as does my breathing and succumbing to those things will most definitely end in vomiting. After I fight those urges, it goes away for about 3 minutes. And those 3 minutes are pure bliss. And then another wave comes...

 I vaguely remember, in my delirium, scenes that may or may not have occurred in the film: Tom Hanks being stuck in a vault of some kind with poisonous gas, Ewan McGregor flying, a man being burned alive, a guy with a glass eye (random detail...), A really annoying guy who doesn't die (I remember feeling pissed about that), someone being framed, and Ewan McGregor, wait, that's "Moulin Rouge!".

Sarah, at some point, asked what my problem was. I think she even had a tone like "What's your deal?!" and I told her, trying not to break my concentration, that I needed to throw up. She said that we could leave, but since we paid good money to see the movie, I didn't want to ruin it for her. She told me to go to the theatre bathroom, but I refused to throw up in a public bathroom. That's just inconsiderate to the people in the bathroom and the prospect that my face would get close to that bacteria-infested plague of a toilet bowl almost made me throw up all over again, despite all my efforts. So I sat there, half the time watching and half the time clamping my eyes shut and breathing rhythmically while swallowing my own saliva, until FINALLY the film ended. We walked out of there when I was under enough control and made it to the car.

On the way back, when I didn't have to concentrate on not yarking, I told Sarah NOT to talk to me. It breaks my concentration. But the entire time, she was asking stupid questions:
Sarah: "You need to throw up?"

Me: "Yes. I already told you. Now don't talk to me before I throw up in the car."

Sarah: "What do you want to listen to? I don't want to play something that will upset your stomach."

Me: "Shut up."

Sarah: "Don't throw up in my car, okay? Let me know so I can pull over..."

Me: "What did I say about not talking?!...Okay, a new wave of vomit is trying to come up. Now, shut up!"

Sarah:.............."Want me to pull over?"

Me: *Doesn't say anything, just sits in the fetal position, trying not to vomit*

The moment the car pulled up by the house, I grab the popcorn bag that I carried with me in case I did throw up (I remember it had a picture of the new "Star Trek" characters as a promotion for the upcoming movie) and ran into the yard and threw up in the bag. Once I was finished, I folded the top neatly and placed it in the garbage can that's kept in our garage. After I threw up, I felt LOADS better. I took some medication and then asked Sarah if she wanted to do something else that night and told her that I was hungry and wanted to eat Jimmy John's or something like that. She was concerned because I had just thrown up and she thought I was sick with some sort of bug. I was feeling so chipper after holding in vomit for 3ish hours that I think I was giggling and smiling and maybe even dancing to a song stuck in my head. My migraines make me feel a wide spectrum of emotions.

Anyways, the rest of the night was uneventful, but from that point on, I never had the desire to eat Bob Evans quesadillas. Ever. Gross.

Long story short (too late), the migraines have come back, but I know now to catch them early, or else I'll spew. I haven't vomited from a migraine since those two instances thanks to the fact I can read the signs early and catch it before it gets out of hand. In fact, I think I feel one coming on...better go take something before I throw up on my keyboard a la Strong Bad. <-----WATCH THIS. It's amazing.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Somehow, it always comes back to "Buffy"...

I had a completely different post typed up and ready to be posted a few hours ago. Don't worry, it's saved and will be posted another day.

Back when I was staying at my Grandma's house with my dad for that week before coming home to Missouri, I was thinking about the Seven Deadly Sins: Greed, Envy, Lust, Sloth, Vanity, Wrath, and Gluttony. What brought on this thought was my sudden burst of rage when I realized that the internet connection at my Grandma's house was less than acceptable and I really wanted to watch Buffy on Instant Netflix and the streaming was really slow. I've always known that anger is an emotion I frequently feel. I guess I shouldn't say true anger or wrath. Its more of a petty annoyance at certain things in life: traffic, stupid people, the ratio of peanut butter to jelly on a PB&J, romaine lettuce, humidity, Michael Bay, small talk, and most recently sticky hand prints on glass. But that petty annoyance rises in me multiple times a day.

I went downstairs after realizing I wouldn't get a good Buffy Binge in before dinner and discussed the Seven Deadly Sins with my dad (I feel like I have to capitalize the Seven Deadly Sins like I have to refer to Voldemort as the Dark Lord or You Know Who, even though he's been destroyed for 13 years). I told him that my Sin was most definitely Wrath and I told him about my random outbursts of anger about something of little to no importance. Random interjection: spell check does not recognize Voldemort as a word. Guess computer programmers aren't wizards...

I have paid special attention recently to my irrational anger. Recently, though, most of this anger I'm feeling is very rational. I won't get into details since that anger does have a reason and has not been resolved. But the rational anger is dipping into the irrational anger and all of a sudden, now, I'm even more irrationally angry about really stupid stuff like "why does that guy have a dead animal on his face? Oh, wait, its just a nasty beard!" or "Are you serious?! Why isn't this bottle of windex full? Am I the only one who knows how to do actual work around here?" or sometimes "Gosh! Angel never closes his mouth! What a disgusting mouth-breather!" (I'm referring to Angel from his self-titled TV show "Angel"). I actually had that thought about 10 minutes ago. That's why I bring it up.

Sometimes this anger that's starting to blend within itself has me screaming randomly in my car. I do it in my car because if I did it at home or work, someone would come running to me asking what my issue was. And I'd probably grab the nearest object (in my room's case, it's a lamp. Or a pillow. I'd probably use the lamp since it's heavier) and toss it in their direction. Toss isn't the right word: it's too nice. And "throw" is so generic. And I'm too lazy to do a thesaurus search. Dang sloth. That's definitely my second Deadly Sin.  Argh, why do I have such a strange, sporadic brain?! Why can't it stay on one track?!!!!!11!!@@@

See what I mean? Goodness gracious, I need to resolve these anger issues. Either have my own talk show in which I just come onto the air and say things like "Seriously, people, too much peanut butter on a PB&J is the dumbest thing ever! Don't do it!" or I should brainwash everyone to listen to what I say and trust that it's the right thing and all of these issues wouldn't be in the way. I also like the idea of banning small children with sticky hands from the Student Rec Center. Maybe just ban people altogether so that I don't have to keep cleaning the same things over and over and over again. Yeesh!

Thank goodness I'm not a Vengeance Demon from Buffy (have I mentioned this show enough in this post?). I'd be too good at destroying mankind one vengeance act at a time.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Bangin' Friday #1

So, this is the first of I hope to be many Friday posts concerning my newly acquired bangs. This is how it works: I will post pictures of my bangs for every day of the week. So, theoretically, there will be 7 pictures. I will take a picture of them no matter how rebellious they are or how awful a state I'm in physically. But since I came up with this idea on Wednesday of this week, there will be only 3 pictures. Though I could post more since I had a LOT of fun getting bizarre faces of myself. Yes, I'm a vain creature. Though vain would mean that I would be getting glamor shots of me, and these pictures certainly won't exploit my beauty.

Anyways, here we go.

This day in "bang world" wasn't so bad, actually. They were pretty awful in the morning, but I eventually tamed them into submission. Though if you look closely enough to the gap in the hair, there is a burn. I received that token of gratitude a few days ago. I also have another burn underneath the initial bangs, though that one is a few days older.

You can see the burn a little better here. Maybe because I was picking at it earlier...probably the case. It itches like crazy! And I just realized that my left eye is bigger than my right eye. Or maybe I'm making a stink-eye face? Though I usually squint my left eye when making my stink-eye face. Huh. Well, my bangs were decent that day. I'm surprised, actually, since yesterday was pretty humid and I was out and about more.

Ahhh, this morning. I woke up with sinus pressure, a runny nose, and an attitude of really not wanting to clean up after little snot-nosed brats (meaning myself). If you look closely, my little tuft of bangs that refuses to be a part of the rest of the group is sticking out all skeewonky-like. This is their usual behavior. I try and curl them into something more flat and normal but once they're out of the jaws of the curling iron, they shoot in a completely different direction. Argh. Today was a BAD bangs day. And that's my work shirt, for those of you curious as to why it looks like I'm wearing a pseudo futbol jersey.

Yeesh, my hair is long. I always forget how long it is. Anyways, that's how it's gonna work. Every Friday you'll see my face making rather bizarre expressions and I'll be analyzing the behavior of my bangs. They're truly becoming their own personality. It would be more funny if it weren't the major factor in how attractive I feel that day.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Rinse. And repeat.

For some reason, I've had this strange desire to blog today I say strange because I have this thing where I think that if I blog more than once a week, then I'm an over-achiever and people are going to stop reading my blog because I update it too much.  Or they get excited about the amount of updates and crave my posts. Then I go through those times where I don't update for months at a time and my ravenous audience AKA my family is expecting something and they think I'm teasing them with my ample posts at one point in time and then radio silence for twice that time. That's when I get angry calls/texts from all of you family members telling me to update my blog, even if it's something lame like "hey. I ate bread today." And then I don't because I don't like listening to people and I have to have true inspiration to write in a blog.

This is also something that happens in my journal, except no audience. Just my own guilt and conscience when I see the date of the last entry or if I have this desire to write in it more than once a day. But I still do it. Because I am my own person and I can do that! So deal with it.

Today's post will be all about what I do Monday through Friday in the mornings besides watching ESPN and eating left-overs for breakfast. I work from 9-noon at MU's Student Recreation Center. Here is my regular schedule:

6:30 am-Alarm goes off. Hit snooze. Repeat however many times necessary.
7:30 am-Get up. Complain about not having any time to get ready. Feel guilty.
7:35 am- Bottle of water in hand and maybe a muffin and some leftovers, watch ESPN (recently, FIFA world cup) or "Saved by the Bell" reruns.
8:00 am- Keep ESPN on and return to room. Look in mirror. Contemplate the level of submission bangs will be at this morning.
8:05 am-Get on internet. Check email/Facebook/Twitter
8:10 am-Decide to take a shower. Tell self that it needs to be fast. Go in shower.
8:25 am-Get out of shower. Look at time. Curse inwardly. Get changed.
8:30 am-Try and get bangs into submission. There is a 1 in 3 chance they will on the first try.
8:35 am-Do make-up. Brush teeth.
8:38 am-Get stuff collected. Run out the door.
8:40 am-FINALLY leave for work.
8:54 am-Try and get through construction on campus and through the parking garage behind slow drivers.
8:58 am-Park car on the 5th floor of the parking garage because stupid summer orientation is going on as is swimming lessons and so finding a closer spot at that early in the morning is IMPOSSIBLE. Grumble.

9:01 am-Walk through the check-in and explain to worker that I work here and that I don't need money/ID.
9:03 am-Get to break room. Ditch bag. Pick up walkie and keys. Look at white board of instructions from Manager,  John Paul. Ignore them initially and start out the day with cleaning glass and avoiding creepy co-worker AKA CC.
9:05 am-Walk by towel and basketball check-out and see if Counter Guy AKA CG is working. I think his real name is Dustin, but it could be Justin. Or Tom. He looks like a Tom. Let's just call him CG.
9:06 am-Start cleaning windows in the Aquatic Mezzanine. This is where I get most of my deepest thinking done, like "Should I clean the racquetball glass or restock bathrooms next?" or "Why didn't my parents ever enroll me in swim lessons officially?"
9:20 am-Move on into the East entrance to clean glass. Clean the doors. Have awkward small talk with parents laughing about how tedious my job is. I agree hesitantly, not wanting them to fully have the satisfaction that their lives are much better despite the fact that their child is hyperactive and actively trying to chew a hole through their bathing suit.
9:35 am-Start cleaning the Jungle Room glass. Try to not make eye-contact with people inside so it doesn't seem like I'm watching them. Look only at the spots on the glass. Or higher than eye-level. Wave awkwardly at old men and pretend you can't hear what they're saying.
9:50 am-Venture inside the Jungle Room to clean back windows? Usually I just go downstairs and spot clean the Grotto area, except when there are TONS of little kids inside. I don't want to seem like the creepy cleaner lady who stares at little kids.
10:00 am-Move on to other cleaning, which is usually the tedious task of polishing the black railings around the indoor track. I get my best people-watching done during this, though. So despite all tediousness, I can watch people play basketball, volleyball, jump on the diving trampoline and, of course, watch people run. Make more awkward small-talk with old guys and old women. Why is it always the old people?!
10:45 am-Get up, walk around and get circulation going in legs. Clean water fountains. Find out that Creepy Co-Worker (CC) is behind you somehow and endure a 3 minute conversation with him.
11:00 am-Do more dull cleaning tasks or finally get around to doing what Manager wants you to do. Smile at Counter Guy a few times whilst passing by his counter (if he's there, of course). Or feign a coy attitude and look everywhere but there. I love our distant relationship. Audible connections are so overrated.
11:40 am-Restock bathrooms. Flush toilets that haven't been flushed for whatever reason (THEY'RE AUTOMATIC! I don't understand!!)
11:50 am-Have final conversation with CC. Put walkie back in the dock. Go to the Grotto to clean glass since kids have ended their lesson by now.
12:00 pm-Get bag. Exchange last look with CG. Go upstairs. Leave through the East entrance. Wave goodbye to workers and say "bye" to buzz cut guy. I should probably start reading name tags. Hm.
12:01 pm-Notice that the doors are all hand-printy again. Get pissed, but not enough to go down, get cleaning supplies, and clean it. Save it for tomorrow.
12:05 pm-After walking up 4 flights of stairs, get to car, all sweaty and such, get inside, start it, and remember why stick shift is such an inconvenience.
12:16 pm-Get home. Eat. Sleep. Do all that stuff and whatnot.

I would go through my nightly routine but since that's so sporadic, I don't think making a schedule would work out. Too many factors. But I most definitely always take a 2 hour nap, intending it to be 1 hour. And then waste a lot of time doing absolutely nothing. All of a sudden, it's evening and then I realize that tomorrow will be the exact same thing. And I cry a little. Suck it up. Watch Buffy or Angel or a random Instant Netflix movie that piqued my interest and then dance around my room to Lady Gaga while Sadie watches me. Yell at the finches who are SO LOUD, especially at night.

I don't know where I'm going with this. But this is an introduction to something that will be frequently blogged about. Also, I've decided, as of yesterday, that every Friday (which means tomorrow) that I will blog one picture a day of my bangs. And analyze their behavior. Because I can. But I have this paranoia about blogging tomorrow because that means I blogged 3 TIMES THIS WEEK. NO! That can't happen! I need to get over my random fear of things.

P.S. WIMBLEDON IN 3 DAYS! YEEEEEE! I have an excuse to watch tennis all day and watch the film "Wimbledon" all night. Oh, Paul Bettany...

Sunday, June 13, 2010

What's in a name?

On the epic trip I went on with my family not too long ago, I had this discussion with my sisters, in particular Elise and Juli, about names. To be specific, my name. While we were in Boston, Elise's old mission companion came by to spend the day with us. Elise introduced me as Kirsti, the name she usually calls me apart from Booger (the STRANGEST nickname I've had, and also the oldest one). When I was caught in the rain with her and she decided to ask me how I liked BYU (her Alma Mater), the friend addressed me as "Kirsti" and it threw me for a loop. I had to shake off the feeling of weirdness so that I could respond to her inquiries.

To help me and you to understand WHY I felt such a strange reaction, let me go ahead and describe the usage of both names.

Kirsti [KEER-stee]
This is what my family calls me. Kinda like a pet name, since Kiki didn't stick (and it NEVER will!). Also, since my parents are active members in the church, most of the older people in the church know me by this name. This also includes old friends in the church. My friends I met through school don't know me by this name. Only one has called me this and we are no longer friends. So it comes as a shock when someone outside of that small circle addresses me by this name. And I thought that if you were a member of the church and knew my family (even new members or people who've moved into the ward) that you could use it freely. But I have recently discovered that only FEMALES can use it. Once a member of the opposite gender uses it and they're a member of the church, it's the same strange feeling. Unless you're a kid. Even when guys who I've known since I was WAYYY young would use it, it would still be weird.

Friends like Mariah and Leigh, who are both girls from my stake and go to BYU with me, introduce me to people as Kirsti. But the whole female/male thing still applies. I'm more okay (though still weirded out) when females call me Kirsti. But once a male utters that name, I have a strange impulse to correct them. But I don't. And then there were people who would know me as Kirsten initially, but then would hang out with Mariah and Leigh and then change over to Kirsti, almost as if because they were with people who used that name, they were now entitled to such an intimate level without getting permission.

So, really, I have no idea WHO is allowed to call me Kirsti. Maybe if you do, ask me if its okay. Or call me by this name instead to be safe...

Kirsten [KEER-sten]
This is how I introduce myself. This is what I call myself. This is what my BEST friend knows me as. It's technically not my full name, but this is my name in its fullest form that I accept. Everyone that I meet knows me by this name. Not Kirsti. Not Kirsten-Anne. But Kirsten. It's the one I'm most comfortable with (unless you're family. If anyone in my family calls me Kirsten, it freaks me out a bit, like when people call me Kirsti when they shouldn't).

But sometimes I wish that people knew me as Kirsti. Kirsten is such a harsh name. The "ee" verses the "en" is such a difference. Kirsti is definitely the informal version. If my name were a French salutation, Kirsti would be the lesser known "salut" and Kirsten would be the very formal and traditional "bonjour". Yeah. That describes it very well. "Salut" is only acceptable in French society amongst familiar people and peers. "Bonjour" is uttered to strangers and people in formal settings and superiors.

Anyways, I've tried to figure out the rules to which name is proper, but maybe, if you really are unsure as to what I'm comfortable with, just approach me and ask. Or say "Kirsti" and see if I wince. Or punch you in the face. Both are prone to flash through my system when such a name is uttered at an inappropriate time.

Monday, June 7, 2010


So, this new layout is really adorable...but I'm frustrated that I can't get to my blogspot dashboard from this page. Sigh. This layout is turning into high heel shoes: definitely not used/worn for the convenience of things. But like my wearing of high heels, I'm willing to sacrifice comfort for the sake of beauty. Yes, I'm a vain creature. So is my blog.

This is gonna be boring. Mainly I'm killing time while my pictures from the road trip I'm currently in the middle of is downloading on good ol' Facebook. There was probably a million grammatical errors in that last sentence. But I'm so sleep-deprived from the traveling and whatnot that I really don't care. Nor will I ever, unless I read over my blog post again, which I rarely do. Some of you will notice two things that have changed about this blog: one, I deleted the post I said I wasn't going to delete. I reread it and it was painful. So I got rid of it. But I have a hardcopy of it somewhere...I forgot where I put it. Microsoft word? Probably. And secondly, the devoted coverage of Roland Garros/French Open that usually riddles my blog at this time of year is absent. For one, by the time I was invested enough to post something, all my favorites (namely Andy Roddick, Lleyton Hewitt, Andy Murray...) were all ousted. And then I was going to write a post about how much I wanted Novak Djokovic to win (he's another favorite) and then he was eliminated. And then I was gonna write again about how Roger Federer almost always wins anyways and writing a post about others winning is pointless when HE was eliminated! By Robin Soderling of all people! YEESH! And then I was gonna half-heartedly support Soderling in his endeavor for his first grand slam title when stupid Rafael Nadal won. Ugh. Stupid Spaniard. With his nasty long hair and tacky cut-off capris. Yuck.
Look at him! Forget how bulging his biceps are (which, by the way, do NOTHING in support of his serve. You'd think he could get a ball to zoom faster than 120 mph with those arms. But, alas, they look more powerful than they are), he is NASTY. Ew. Ugh. Nadal. Stupid.

So, I just nutshelled the French Open Mens Singles. I'm not even going to mention the Womens Singles (except I just did). Two old women made it to the finals. One of them won for the first time ever. Big whoop. Venus Williams sported a SCANDALOUS outfit:
That brownish-skin-tone thing is an undergarment. I don't support the posting of innappropriate images, though this is pushing it. Anyways, what was she thinking?! No wonder she lost singles. She and her sister won doubles, though, but she was wearing something different. Good. Burn this tennis outfit. NOW.

So. Tennis. I can't WAIT until Wimbledon (2 WEEKS!) and will post more then. The French Open is always a crapshoot since clay is so much harder to play on and so the good players on grass and hard surface are always inconsistent. Except Nadal, who unfortunately, is the king of clay.

I was gonna post something else. But I forgot. Huh. Well, the trip is going well. My bangs are not behaving currently. They're extra buoyant today. Annoying. I walk around and they move like I'm in a tornado. BLEH. Hair. Maybe I'll shave my head.

My pictures are still not done uploading. This is taking forever. I take a TON on pictures. Oh well. I hope this post wasn't a complete waste of time. It kinda was on my part. Have a good life.