It was a sunny, brisk Florida morning, and I felt the need to venture out to Target for deoderant and dog food. On the way there, I got stuck behind a blue hair going 15 miles below the speed limit (in the left lane). Driving next to me was a grey bush, also going 15 miles below the speed limit. I had to sit through one green arrow because the aforementioned blue hair didn't feel the need to follow the rest of the cards through the intersection in an expedient manner. So I had a whole set of lights to sit through to calm myself down and tell myself that it doesn't matter, I'm not in a hurry, the elderly are not out to get me. So I get to Target where I was promptly almost backed over by a white hair in a white Lincoln. I got into Target, and was greeted by a plethora of red cart weilding elderly, many of whom were blocking the aisles, and refused to move even when I waited patiently for them to pick out cans of cream of mushroom soup in what turned out to be a painfully slow process. One woman had the audacity to glare at me as I tried to look around, under, and behind her cart to see the items that she had blocked from view. Perhaps if she had parked her cart on the same side of the aisle that she was standing on, not only would my view have not been blocked, but she wouldn't have clogged up the aisle with her slow shuffling back and forth from the soup side of the aisle to the side where she left her cart. But I digress. I finally finished running the gauntlet of carts and their elderly counterparts and practically sprinted to the check-out. At which point I came upon another elderly woman who was doing her best to block the thruway by pushing everyone else's discarded carts into it. She picked up her bags, shoved her cart into the thruway, weaved through the cart maze she had created, and exited the store. I trailed behind her with my own purchases, wanting so badly to scold her for acting like a child, which, in my opinion, was exactly how she was behaving. God forbid anyone else might want to get out of the Target without running into a bunch of empty carts. Where the Target employees were whose job it might have been to clean up the aisles of discarded carts is beyond me...probably cleaning up other elderly messes elsewhere in the store. So I get to my car, but not without almost being run down by a tiny woman in a grand marquis, barely able to see over the steering wheel, handicap tag dangling from her rearview mirror. I felt safe in the confines of my Jeep, and took a short break to brace myself for the upcoming left turn out of the parking lot and into traffic. If that turn was to follow the way the trip had been going, odds are that I would be sitting there for a while, waiting for a member of AARP to find the balls to pull out. The wait in line was surprisngly short, and I was swiftly on my way home. However, as I was making a right on red while a bunch of lefties were making their turn, I was creeping forward only to slam on the brakes because an octogenarian in a knit cap and block-long Buick was making a U-turn. She slammed on her brakes, stopped in the middle of the intersection, and laid on her horn for no less than 5 seconds, glaring at me all the while. "I'll teach you a lesson, you young whipper-snapper" was all I saw in her expression. What she saw in mine was probably something along the lines of, "Get the F-- out of the road you old coot!" I threw my hands up, shouted an expletive, and pointed at her to get her giant Buick out of the intersection because I clearly was stopped, and there was no reason for her to be sitting there. That was it, the last straw. Beware, little knit-capped lady...you WILL end up in the hospital someday, and Lord help you if I happen to be your nurse. That is all. I will not be leaving the house again anytime soon.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Where Are We Going...and Why Am I in the Hand Basket??
A lot of time has passed since my last note! And a lot of stuff happened…some good, some bad, some indifferent. I’ll try to be brief, although that never works!
The biggest change for me in the last few months has been the death of my grandma Ellringer. She’d been declining in health since the spring and had been living in a nursing home. Despite not feeling good, she always kept up a good attitude. She passed away at Season’s Hospice in the outskirts of Rochester, and we couldn’t have picked a more beautiful or peaceful place. I miss her so much, and I think about her everyday. I brought a few things of hers with me…her pink snuggie, her watch, her kitchen apron, and a few brooches that she used to wear. Every time I see any of things, they remind me of her, and it makes me feel like she’s close, rather than so far away. I know that her death was a blessing, the end of a long road filled with happy adventures, and that she’s in a much better place, surrounded by her friends and family that had passed before her. I just can’t help but think that I’m in a worse place, that my life is just a little bit more bleak without her in it. She was the pillar of our family, the beacon in the night. She was the first person that I would stop to see whenever I came home from a trip. The last time Simon and I came home, we didn’t even stop back at the house to drop off our stuff…we just parked the Jeep in front of the nursing home with the trailer attached and the paddleboards strapped to the top…must have been quite a sight for the old people peering out their windows. She always took a private little delight in knowing she got to see me before anyone else, smiling smugly in her chair as I told her that she was first. I used to paint her fingernails, and for a woman who had lead such a conservative, straight-arrow life, she always picked the brightest colors…her favorites being sparkly purple, fire-engine red, and bright blue. It used to make her so happy when we had matching fingernail polish. It makes me sad to know that this will be the first of many holiday seasons spent without her, and that I have to be so far away from my family. It’s heartbreaking to know that I’ll never hold her hand again, never brush her hair, never covet her cute little old lady blouses. It’s like I don’t know what to do with myself without her, especially when I’m home. I know it’ll get easier with time, but part of me doesn’t want it to…I always want her to feel this close, even if it hurts.
Wow…that was a great way to begin the note! I’ll try to perk it up a little bit from here on out. So the night of Grandma’s funeral, we had a huge party of sorts at my parents’ house in Eyota. I’m pretty sure we’ve never had that many people in that house at one time, and probably never will again…unless it’s under happier circumstances. I couldn’t even provide you with a count of how many people were there, but I can provide a count of what was consumed, in no particular order: 3 bottles of Tequila, 1 bottle of Jagermeister, 2 bottles of grenadine, 2 bottles of Windsor, 3 12-packs of squirt, 1 12-pack of 7-up, 9 pizzas, 2 cases of beer, multiple bags of chips (Old Dutch dill pickle and onion and garlic, of course), popcorn popped in bacon grease and topped with garlic salt and parmesan cheese (best.popcorn.ever.), a brick of cheese, a log of summer sausage, a can of mixed nuts, a case of coke, brownies, cake, pasta salad, and pickles…there was probably more, but I think that list is long enough! I got to hang out with cousins, aunts, and uncles that I don’t get to see all that often, and really never see all in one place. They kept me out in the kitchen making the pizzas and fixing the drinks, where a woman belongs, according to my brother Mike. :P The 21-year old Shirley Temple (tequila, grenadine, and squirt) and the Temple of Doom (jagermeister, grenadine, and squirt) were both drinks that were conceived that night, and kept my cousins and I in a near-constant state of intoxication. We ate, drank, played cards, and told stories until the wee hours of the morning. It was the kind of party that Grandma would have joined right into with gusto, so we felt like it was an appropriate send-off for her.
I am proud to announce that my fantasy football team ended the season with a whopping 2-11 record. Not bad, considering I didn’t think I’d get a single win at all. Oh well, there’s always next year. I keep falling back on the excuse that I’ve won the championship twice, it’s only to fair to let some of the other girls win once in a while, right?? ;)
So I am officially done with the Twilight books. Not done reading them, mind you, done as in nothing would satisfy me more than to send them sailing into a dumpster. I’ve had issues with them from the start. I resisted reading them for the longest time, but after reading some reviews online, figured they were worth checking out, for curiosity’s sake, if nothing else. And against all odds, I liked them. I knew from the beginning that it wasn’t good writing (horrible, in fact), and as a collector of Stephen King books, I found myself ashamed to admit that I liked them. I think the concept appealed to me more than the writing…who wouldn’t want to live forever, be undoubtedly strong and fast, and maybe even have a super-power of sorts? I felt like the books appealed to that little kid in me that used to envy Spiderman, Wonder Woman, and the Transformers (even though they were alien robots…I was still envious of them). I was just recently re-reading the third book when I threw it down in anger, claiming bullshit on the entire saga, as it’s called. The main character sucks…I hate her, and seeing as all four books are being told from her point of view, it just kept getting more and more painful. Usually in a series of books, the character development gets more interesting the further into it you get, but her character development just got more repulsive. And I hate how the author wants to skip around all things sexual, violent, and anything else that might be considered untoward. Vague comments and subtle hints at perceived violence and sex leave the reader confused and missing the point. And I understand that these books were written for young adults, but I used to read Christopher Pike books when I was young; they had way more sex and violence in them than the Twilight books. My point being…I wish I hadn’t wasted my time, and I wish I would have come to this conclusion sooner. I woke up in the middle of the night last night and was so angry about seeing those books there that I almost got out of bed right then and there to throw them in the recycling bin. If any of you out there are curious about them, as I was, let me know and I’ll ship them promptly to you, free of charge. If not, they’re taking a trip to the library for donation…although that seems cruel to the young minds that will invariably be reading them. I’d almost rather recycle them, if for no other reason than to take their refuse-filled pages out of circulation.
Before coming to Florida, I brushed off the nagging voice in the back of my head that told me to bring my winter coat. I remembered wearing it a few times when were here in January, but I was told by all the locals that last winter was unseasonably cold and it wouldn’t be like that again this year. Yeah…it was 39 degrees yesterday morning. There was frost on the car. Frost! In Florida. I know I’m not going to get any sympathy from those of you up north dealing with sub-zero temperatures, and I don’t expect any. What I’m trying to say is, 39 degrees is cold enough no matter where you are, and I am inadequately prepared for it. I recently bought some little stretchy gloves at Target just so I would have something to cover my hands, and I sent a pleading email to my mom to ship me my winter jacket, along with some mittens and a scarf. Another reason I seem to be intolerant of the cold is because Simon and I drive the motorcycle everywhere, and in 40-degree weather on a bike, it might as well be snowing. I’ve found that my fleece-lined raincoat seems to block the wind a lot better than my hoodies, so that thing has been a bit of a lifesaver.
Simon and I have come to the conclusion that our friends seem to be falling into one of two groups: training for a marathon, or in the throes of child rearing/bearing. There are those rare instances where some fall into both categories. It’s bizarre! Is that what happens when we start getting into our 30’s? As most of you know, I have no desire to have children…and even less desire to run a marathon. I briefly toyed with the idea of running a 5K (ha…walking would have been more like it), but I never got around to doing it. Honestly, if given the choice between having children, running a marathon, or being bald, I would probably choose being bald. I say that now, of course, since I’m almost as far away as a person can get from being bald, and maybe my choices would be different were this a real scenario and not a hypothetical one. I have to wonder though…having children is definitely out, so that would leave the bald or the run. I think I would still end up bald, not because that would be my choice, but because I’m much too lazy to train for a marathon, and therefore would fail in the running attempt. But maybe, if there was a loophole and I could just attempt the marathon, then I could keep my hair. It’s something to ponder. Wow…those are five minutes I’ll never get back. In all seriousness though, I wonder if my parents and their friends were training for marathons in their 30’s as vigorously as my friends seem to be. The children thing is definitely different, since my parents and most of their friends were mostly done having children by 30, whereas a lot of my friends are just beginning. It’s weird to think of my parents at 30. I actually have recollection of my mom in her early 30’s. I remember her being pregnant with Mike. It’s weird to think about my parents being my age right now, and to see the vast differences in the paths that we’ve chosen. Neither path right or wrong, just different. It works.
And as far as the kid issue goes, I should probably try to clear something up a bit. I’ve gotten the impression that a lot of people think that I hate children. I’m not sure if this is because I at some point may have said that (I hope not), if it’s because I’m choosing not to have my own, or if it’s because I’m really stiff and uncomfortable around kids. Regardless of what started it, I would like to make it known that I don’t hate children. I enjoy them from time to time, but I’m really nervous around them. They make me feel insecure, for reasons even I don’t understand. I feel like maybe I’ve lost my inner child, which is really sad and tragic when you stop to think about it. Maybe it’s just a lack of use of that maternal side of me. I always talk to children like they’re adults, and then I feel awkward when they don’t respond like adults. I don’t know what to do with them when they’re crying or throwing a fit. Simon, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. Kids gravitate towards him, they love to climb on him and play with him and paint with him and show him all their toys. I feel like kids are judging me, and I really shouldn’t even be worrying about that, they’re kids. I want them to like me but I don’t know how to get them to like me because I’m too nervous to let loose and just be a big kid. One would think that with all the poop talking I do and with how immature I am at times, that I would have no problem giving up to my inner kid, but I find it extremely difficult, almost impossible. And granted, poop talking and potty mouth is not exactly the best way to interact with children, as most parents will agree. People always say, “It’s different when it’s your own child,” and that’s probably true. Not that my nephew is “my own,” but I got to spend a lot of time with him in the fall, and while I was uncomfortable at first, by the time they were getting ready to head back to Phoenix, I was actually playing and cuddling with him, and it didn’t feel weird at all. I even changed his diaper, fed him, and rocked him to sleep. Keep in mind, that he was only three months old at the time, so there wasn’t a whole lot he could adversely do to make me feel insecure. I recently made the comment to my friend that the closest I want to get to having kids of my own is spending time with hers. I didn’t realize at the time that that might have sounded insulting to either her or her children, as if my lack of having kids had something to do with them directly, but I didn’t mean it to be. What I meant was that I don’t feel like I need to have my own kids, and that I am content getting my kid fix by just being around other people’s kids. Maybe my discomfort around children stems from a lack of exposure. I don’t know what it is, but there it is just the same.
And before anyone asks me why I’ve decided not to have children, I’ll tell you. I just don’t want to. Simple as that. Life comes down to what you want to have, not necessarily what you can have. I know I could have kids if I wanted them, but I just don’t. Just like I don’t want a split level house, a car with only two doors, or a poodle. People with kids might be offended by that, thinking that I’m trivializing having children by comparing it to owning a poodle, and I’m glad for that. The people that are offended by that statement are exactly the kind of people that should be having kids. I applaud the people that have the balls to bring children into this world, to take on the responsibility of feeding them, clothing them, educating them, and raising them to be good citizens in our society. I just don’t have that in me. I’m not selfless enough to give everything over to a child. Maybe no one is until they have that little bundle in their arms, I guess I don’t know. I have all this guilt about how I’ve behaved negatively towards my parents throughout the years. How did they stand it? How could they possibly still love me after some of the crap I put them through, after some of the stuff that I said to them? How ungrateful was I to behave that way towards the two people that gave up life as they knew it to bring me into this world? How could the good times have possibly outweighed the bad? How would I handle that if it was my own child? I guess maybe the blissful part about having children is that they don’t start out as little deviants, that they’re snuggly and loving and sweet. I feel like it would just feel that much worse when they started to pull away. I don’t know though…that’s all just speculation on my part, having no experience whatsoever to draw from. I’m too hung up on the “what comes next” part of it, I guess.
So Simon and I had a conversation a few months back about deal breakers when it comes to relationships. Luckily, we seem to not have an issue with deal breakers getting in the way of our courtship. Or so I thought. He recently told me that he almost didn’t date me because of my dogs. I was caught completely by surprise, but in hind-sight, I have enough self-awareness to realize that I shouldn’t have been. I’ve had dogs for so long that they’re just a part of me; I don’t picture them as a separate entity like everyone that doesn’t have dogs does. I’ve never considered a life without dogs. I didn’t even realize how difficult it was for him to make the decision to just deal with the dogs and date me anyway, and how close he honestly came to walking away from the four of us. As he so eloquently put it, “I decided that I liked you more than I disliked your dogs.” Thank goodness for that. Who the heck knows where I would be without him? I can’t even imagine, and honestly don’t really want to think about it.
Simon and I recently had three months off from the working world, and we spent a large majority of that living in my parents’ basement. Not exactly the most ideal living situation, but it was free and convenient, and it ended up being a really good thing when we were in the throes of the situation Grandma. That got us to thinking about where we would want to live, should we decide to get our own place. We have a few criteria that we’ve decided are important to us. 1) we have to live near water. Not just a little stream, but something that we can take our paddle boards out on. 2) we love to hike and be outdoors, so a place with adequate outdoor activities is a must. As far as physical requirements, those are pretty much it. We’ve got a few cities in mind: Burlington, VT has everything that we’re looking far…big lake, mountains, lots of outdoor stuff…and as a bonus Vermont is just a really cool place to live…they focus heavily on being self-sustainable and take a lot of pride in their local businesses. We’d be really close to our good friends in Boston. It gets really cold there in the winter though, and it’s very expensive to live there. $250,000 gets you a 2-bedroom condo with either a 1-car garage or none at all. Flagstaff, AZ has the mountains and the nice climate, it’s close to my brother and his wife in Phoenix, and there’s tons of stuff to do outdoors. Flagstaff has a big bicycle culture (for Simon), and they have kind of a green attitude/lifestyle. Unfortunately there’s not really any accessible water nearby, and political arguments aside, I’m not thrilled with the idea of living in such a red state. If nothing else, it makes my job more frustrating. Fort Collins, CO is close to the mountains, lots of outdoor stuff, close to our friends in Denver, snowboarding for Simon, and is the home of the New Belgium brewery, Simon’s personal fave. I haven’t really found much negative, except the proximity to water. I’m not about to go whitewater rafting on my paddleboard. Ashville, NC is a Stefanie-only request, therefore it won’t ever happen, but I feel it should be mentioned anyway…tucked into the mountains of western NC, it’s close to water, hiking, and lots of outdoor activities. They also have a somewhat green lifestyle, and all the sweet tea and BBQ I can fit in my stomach. I’m sure there are some drawbacks, but Simon’s already vetoed it, so that’s really the only drawback that matters. And really, it’s not close to anyone that we know, so it would be for purely selfish reasons if we moved there. And last but not least, the city near and dear to both of our hearts is Minneapolis. Lots of water, great restaurants, close to family and friends. It’s too bad it gets so cold and there’s not much for hiking without a bit of a drive. In all honesty, I really see Simon and I settling in Minnesota, mostly because of the proximity to the majority of those closest to us. Minneapolis is also a great halfway point between my family and his family, which would be ideal. I hate that it gets so cold, but I think being close to family and friends would be worth it. I hope so, anyway. So those are our cities. Not that we’re going to be settling any time soon, but it’s fun to think about every now and then.
Proximity to family is something that’s been on my mind a lot during these past few weeks. Before we left Minnesota, I knew that I would be missing the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s with my family and friends. For some reason I didn’t think that would be a problem…I had gotten in a lot of friend and family time during my break from work and thought that would be enough. Over the last few weeks, it seems to have become somewhat of an issue. I missed the first snow, which is something I’ve never done. I have never gone an entire winter without seeing snow. And I know that it sounds like I’m complaining about missing out on the coldest, most miserable months of the year by spending my winter in Florida. I know for a fact I’m just pining for the nostalgia…the hot apple cider, the coming in to a warm house from the bitter cold, the magical glitter of fresh snow, clustering around the fireplace with friends and family, holiday parties…I could go on and on about all the things that I actually do appreciate about winter. And then reality sets in and I remember how miserable 6 months of winter really is. So I am aware that my current situation is not as bad as I might make it out to be, because I know that cold days in Florida in the winter are still better than warm days in the winter in Minnesota. I just miss my friends and family, more than I thought I would. Most people that seem to ride me about being a little unhappy in Florida for the winter have never lived more than a few hours drive from their friends and families. It’s not that I don’t get their lack of understanding, it’s just that they don’t personally know what it’s like to be so far away, especially this time of year when everyone is getting together for holiday parties and family gatherings. I told myself that it’s just Christmas, it’s just a silly time of year chosen way back in the day by who knows what guy…it shouldn’t matter. But when I’m out and about and all I hear is Christmas music and all I hear about is Christmas plans, I can’t help but be bitter about the fact that I have to miss all of it. I should be home making Christmas cookies with mom, going to the mall with Dana, and attending the Christmas party with all my college friends…it doesn’t matter that I had seen most everyone during my time off in the fall, for some reason I’m having trouble accepting that it’s all going on and I don’t get to go. It makes me sad. And I know that I’ve chosen this lifestyle, therefore I should be afforded no sympathy…but a little empathy once in a while can’t hurt, right? I promise to complain less about the cold days in Florida, and I won’t gloat about the warm ones…just know that no matter how cold it is back home, I still miss everyone and wish I was there.
We’re finding that the drawbacks to living in a hurricane-proof townhouse are that we don’t get cell phone reception while we’re in it. My phone has been pretty silent during the month that we’ve been here…I don’t even remember that I have it most of the time. It just sits there on the charger, searching for service. Maybe I should just turn it off and call it a day. Despite that, this does seem like a really nice place to live. Most of the neighbors have been friendly, and if not friendly, then at least indifferent. No one seems inconsiderate or rude. Well…except for the woman that lives behind us who leaves her stupid wiener dogs out on her patio to bark. After three hours of it one day Simon went over there to ask her to bring them in. He figured he’d come across a little nicer than I would…he was probably right. When he got over there and asked her to take them in, she said, “oh, are they barking?” Are they barking? What kind of a question is that? Actually, no, we just personally take offense to the sight of them. Of course they were barking, you nitwit. I wouldn’t be standing here on your front step having this conversation if they weren’t. And that right there is why it was best for Simon to go over there, rather than myself. Other than the wiener dogs though, things are going good. Well…except for that time I hit the garage door. What an idiot. So we don’t have a garage door opener in the car, so when we get home one of us has to run in and open it from the inside. So I’m sitting in the car waiting while Simon goes in to open the garage. I’m looking at the door, noticing that there are some dents in it. The door starts to go up. I’m thinking to myself, “Someone must have hit the garage door. What kind of idiot hits a garage door?” I start pulling forward, still thinking about how stupid some people are, when I heard a loud bang and a screw came flying down my windshield. Shit. I am that kind of idiot. A) the garage is taller than I’m used to, therefore it takes longer to open all the way. B) the paddle boards were on top of the Jeep, making it that much taller. When all was said and done, the garage door just knocked the fin off Simon’s board, but not without getting a hefty dent in the process. The metal bar running across the back of the door was twisted, but Simon was somehow able to get it straightened out. But that got me thinking…I really don’t think I had hit it hard enough to cause that bar to be so twisted. Some external dents to the door…maybe, but not to twist that bar. We realized that after we straightened out the bar that the door actually closes smoother and more quietly than it had before. So I’m thinking the previous hit did the damage…I’m not totally to blame, right? I hope the homeowner feels that way when he comes over this month to pay us a visit. Yikes.
And that my friends is probably enough for the time being. I hope all is well, and that you and yours have a wonderful holiday season. :)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
From the Sunshine/Wind/Rain State
1. So…I’m very embarrassed to say that I kinda want to see the movie “The Last Song.” Yes, I know it has Miley Cyrus in it, and Yes, I know that it was written by Nicholas Sparks. Get ready for the rationalization! There’s hot guy volleyball action in it. And it doesn’t appear to be the homo-erotic Top Gun volleyball playing…not that I didn’t like that scene in Top Gun…anything with any sort of libido can appreciate that scene. Yes, I said anything…that sentiment is not just aimed at people. Everyone knows volleyball players are sexy, that’s just how it goes. Greg Kinnear, who I secretly have a crush on, is also in it. He pretty much always puts on a good show. Perhaps this movie will cause me to recant a little bit of my Nicholas Sparks hatred. I’ve never read one of his books, and I’ve only caught bits and pieces of the movie “The Notebook.” It was enough to make me vomit into my mouth. What a sap! Seriously, the two people at the end of the Notebook die at the same time while holding hands? Give me a break! Makes me wonder if Nicholas Sparks does, in fact, have a penis. However…given that he’s sold millions of books to millions of adoring fans, and then those books go on to become movies that are cherished by millions of fans and non-fans alike, I guess maybe I shouldn’t cut him off without at least giving him a chance. Of course, given all my disdain for him, should I actually enjoy one of his books or movies, I will never admit it. This is a stance I’ve held for years, and if I suddenly start liking Nicholas Sparks, it’s going throw everything I’ve ever said into question, and I can’t have that.
3. I recently finished doing my income taxes. What a pain in the ass that was. I had to file in four states, and unfortunately, Turbo Tax only allows a person to do three states through their online program. So I had to print out the return for Arkansas and fill it out by hand. “Multiply the number in box 8 by the number in box 10, then divide that by the number in box 2, then subtract from that the number in box 14, then go to the tax table and find out which bracket you’re in, get that number and subtract that from the number in box 5…” It was horrible! All together it probably took me about four hours to complete the entire process. If I was more organized and actually kept track of receipts, it would probably do my brain better to just take my stuff to a tax person and let them have at it. But I’m not organized. That and when I’m buying something in June, I don’t think to myself, “I should probably save this receipt so I can write it off on my taxes…next April.” When all was said and done, I’m getting myself a pretty good tax return. Of course, the first return to be accepted was from the state where I ended up paying in…imagine that. Minnesota is charging me almost $200 a year just to say that it’s my permanent residence. I think income tax should be terminated…what’s the point of it? All it does is stress me out and makes me think the government is doing something sneaky behind our backs. Oh wait, they probably are…and it probably has nothing to do with income taxes. Income taxes are probably just a diversion to keep us occupied so they can do all kinds of messed up crap. They’re probably reading this right now and putting my name down to be audited.
4. While the Olympics were going on, I found myself envious of the professional snowboarders and skiers. Those people have it made. Granted, they engage in a profession where it’s very possible they could die with each run down the mountain, and they always have to do their profession in the cold, but still. That’s a talent you either have or you don’t. Unfortunately for me, skiing and snowboarding seems to be an area of which I have little to no talent. It made me think about my own job, how anyone could technically be a nurse. All you have to do is go to college and someone will teach you how to do it. I was telling Simon this, and he said that while anyone can go to school to be a nurse, it definitely takes a certain talent to be good at it. I think he’s right, and I see it everyday at work. Being a nurse makes me want to avoid being a patient at all costs. There’s a saying around the hospital that nurses make the worst patients, and I tend to agree with that. I’m sure I would be a bit of a nightmare, mostly because I’d be scared of surrendering the nursing aspect of things to someone that I don’t know or trust. And really, I’ve seen both nurses and doctors make mistakes, and I don’t even want to be on the receiving end of a medical mistake.
5. So one morning after work, Simon and I had a lengthy discussion about poop. Well, it wasn’t really much of a discussion, it was more like I was talking, and he was either agreeing or disagreeing by making sounds. Here’s how it started…Stef: I took a monster dump at work last night. Simon: Uh…that’s nice. Stef: Did you poop at work last night? Simon: Why do you want to know that? It was at this point that he left the couch we had been cohabiting to sit across the room at the computer. Apparently to Simon, talking about either of our bowel habits is not funny in the least. And here all this time I thought he shared my humor for all things poop (including our own)…imagine my disappointment when I found out that I’ve been disillusioned this entire time. He actually doesn’t like hearing about bowel habits, mine in particular. When asked if he wanted to talk about bowel habits, his response was, “I’d rather you didn’t” and “why would you even want to know about that?” Which made me wonder…why do I want to know about that? It’s not like I wanted the down and dirty details, I was just curious as to whether or not he had pooped at work. Yes or no, end of story. Well, it probably wouldn’t have been the end of the story, but had he just admitted that he had pooped at work, I probably would have quit pestering him about it. Probably. I may not have. It was after work and early in the morning and I had been awake for well over 16 hours…after having worked 36 hours in three days. With that amount of sleep deprivation, one never knows what direction I’ll take a conversation. This particular morning the conversation led me to a startling conclusion…Simon hates hearing about me pooping about as much as I hate hearing about the Simpsons. For those of you that didn’t already know, I can’t stand the Simpsons. I don’t think they’re funny, and I probably never will think they’re funny. So, in short, Simpsons=Poop when it comes to conversation material that Simon and I would rather not talk about. I get it now. Once I had made the Simpsons/poop connection, of course I couldn’t stop talking about it. On and on I went, giggling maniacally. I started firing questions at him like we were at a firing range. “What if I thought I had to have the assistance of a butter knife to get the turd to go down, would you want to hear about that?” Simon: “No, I wouldn’t. I actually think poop is gross, not funny…especially your poop.” See, I would want to hear about that, because I think any sort of manual assistance required in getting a turd down the toilet is insanely funny. But now I know that if Simon ever had a turd that needed some assistance getting down the toilet, he would never tell me. He would deprive me of that story. Everyone poops, and it’s funny, and I wouldn’t think less of him for answering a few poop questions. He could even say it was the poop of a friend and I wouldn’t care. I just love a good poop story, is all. I do think it’s funny that it took him three years of dating me to get the point across that he doesn’t like talking about our poop. That’s a long time, and believe me, there was a lot of poop talking in those three years. I believe the conversation this morning ended with him saying, “There is something wrong with you, and I don’t mean that in a funny way.”
7. One thing we’ve found interesting about Fort Myers is that it’s a veritable radio time warp. I think we’re in the early-to-mid 90’s. I’ve heard Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Sweet Dreams I don’t know how many times. Not that I would listen to it, but I haven’t found a top 40 station yet. Nor have I found an alternative radio station, or a station similar to The Current in Minneapolis. It’s all early 90’s or classic rock. Weird, right? If we don’t hear either Prince, Tom Petty, or the Stones (or all three, in some cases) on the way to work, it’s a rarity. I’ve been enjoying the classic rock station. The 90’s stations are hit or miss. I don’t mind a little Gin Blossoms every now and then, but I could definitely do without the Creed. We did find a station that plays a lot of hip/hop and the occasional Lady GaGa, but that music is kinda hit or miss for me. So far it’s been a welcome reprieve from the 90’s.
8. I have some heartbreaking news. The other day while Simon and I were in the car, he started reading off the ingredients in a bag of Doritos. Come to find out that my most favorite snack in the whole world has BOTH partially hydrogenated soybean oil and MSG. My heart is seriously breaking. I’m aware that probably unknowingly consume both of those evil foodstuffs on a regular basis, but to knowingly eat them is something I try very hard to avoid. Does this mean no more Doritos for me? It might. The thought of eating them right now kind of sickens me a little bit. What is this damn world coming to?? If anyone has any suggestions for a nacho cheesy snack that might mimic Doritos, please let me know ASAP.
9. Last night I took a shot at making homemade mac and cheese. It was part disaster, part success, and part disappointment. For the longest time I’ve been trying to find a mac and cheese recipe that mimics the Wisconsin mac and cheese that they have at Noodles and Company. So I found this recipe that claimed to be “almost exactly like” the recipe at Noodles. So I gave it a shot. Or I attempted to give it a shot. The recipe begins by making a roux, which I have heard about, but have never done. So there I am, melting my butter and adding my flour, the burner chugging away on high, when I realize that the flour is beginning to burn. So I start to panic and start dumping the half and half into the pan, which causes my burning to roux to turn into big globular clumps in the pan. As I’m freaking out, Simon comes over and helpfully says, “I don’t think you’re supposed to have the burner on that hot.” He was lucky that one of my hands was occupied with a measuring cup full of half and half, and the other was vigorously trying to stir and de-clump the roux. Oh, and I thought that using a spatula in place of a whisk would be all right…it was not. So that’s how the mac and cheese began…with burning, chaos, and inappropriate cooking utensils. I’m glad to report that the rest of the cooking process went off without a hitch. However, I would like to sit down and have a chat with the woman that claimed that the recipe is “almost exactly like” the Noodles recipe, because clearly, it is not. Despite three cups of half and half and three cups of shredded cheese, I could still taste the flour. It almost had the taste of cafeteria mac and cheese, which you know is diluted with water and then thickened with flour, and doesn’t taste unlike the homemade playdoh that we had made in preschool. Come on, you all know you made the playdoh, and that you all tasted it…I’m not the only one. Perhaps it had a floury taste because of the disastrous roux. I know that next time I’m going to skip the roux all together, and maybe add a titch of velveeta, and just enough cornstarch to thicken it up a bit. That ought to do it. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.
10. In light of my recent kitchen failures, I would like to highlight a success. I had this random recipe for peanut brittle that I had gotten out of a magazine a few months ago and had never taken the time to make it. I love peanut brittle. Back when Grandma had her own place and was still making Christmas goodies every year, she always made peanut brittle, and it was the best. Currently I am living with a man that hates peanut brittle, and will only eat it when he is dire need of a sweet and there is absolutely nothing else available. So we never have peanut brittle in the house. Given that this recipe called for cinnamon, which all you peanut brittle people know is NOT a normal ingredient for peanut brittle, I decided to give it a shot and try it out on the hater. He loved it! And I have to admit, it was really good. And for some reason it didn’t stick to our teeth at all. Maybe because there’s no butter in it? I haven’t the slightest idea, but I do know that one batch of the stuff didn’t last longer than 24 hours. I think it made it just past the 15 hour mark. Granted, the batch was little…only one cup of peanuts, but still. Just to be clear, this is definitely not a substitute for old-fashioned peanut brittle like Grandma used to make, but it’s definitely quite a tasty little treat, if I do say so myself.
13. It’s weird to think that we only have 12 more shifts to work before we head back to Minnesota for a while. It was definitely nice to be out of the snow for the winter, and we’ve had more visitors on this assignment than any of our previous assignments. But, now that things are warming up back home and we’ve done most of what we wanted to do down here in Florida, we’re ready to be around friends and family again for a while. I have no idea where we’re going next. We’d like to go back to Vermont for another job, then maybe take August off and then head to Arizona for the fall and winter. That would be ideal, but so far since Simon and I have been traveling together, our plans never quite work out the way we thought they would, and we end up in really random places, usually with unexpectedly good results. Arkansas, North Carolina, Vermont and even Florida were all states where I never thought I would ever work. When I first started traveling, I had it in my head that I would only travel to cities where friends of mine were already living. Kind of like an extended visit, if you will. It worked out great for Colorado (Denice and David), Arizona (Dana, Chris, and Darna), and Minneapolis (all my college buddies). The economic slump in 2009 kinda forced us to take whatever jobs were available, whether we wanted them or not. Our last few assignments have taken us to places where we arrived not knowing anyone but each other. And each place was a new experience filled with new friends and new adventures. I sometimes wonder what I would be doing if I hadn’t started travel nursing. I honestly don’t even know. I’ve become such a different person in these last few years that it’s hard to remember what I was like before. It seems so long ago that I had my cute little house on 2nd St. in Rochester, living by myself in that sketchy little neighborhood. And life was good then. It’s even better now. I’m excited for what happens next. I have all kinds of ideas about where I’d like to go and what I’d like to happen to next. Only time will tell! In the meantime, I hope to see lots of you Minnesota people when I’m home in a few weeks. As for you out-of-staters, perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of working at a hospital by you in the near future. Stay tuned!
Friday, February 5, 2010
Gulf Coast Ramblings
1. I love ice cream and Doritos. I love them so much that I had a bowl of ice cream and half a bag of Doritos last night for supper. It’s hard to look myself in the face this morning. When I was in Burlington, I had this rule that I could either have one bag of Doritos or one tub of ice cream per week…not both at the same time. It was working out pretty well. Then I get here and all I want is ice cream and Doritos. I have this weird thing though…in the winter I have no appetite. In the summer, I have a huge appetite, and just want to eat at a constant. Definitely doesn’t make me feel all that great to be falling out of my thirty layers in the winter and busting out of my swimsuit in the summer. I wish I could blame it on PMS, but that would be a lie.
2. The other night Simon and I went out to eat at a seafood restaurant with our friend Ellen. We got a crab cake, calamari, and crab dip…and girly frozen drinks, of course. I don’t know why, but the dipping sauce for the calamari tasted like dandelion. Ellen and Simon think that I’m deranged, but it’s true. I explained that when I was little I used to snap dandelion stems in half and lick the white stuff that came out of them. Don’t ask me why, I was a kid…it was something that I did. It was gross; I don’t know why I did it. I guess I thought if I tried enough of them, the white stuff would eventually taste like milk, which I loved. It never did. I asked Simon and Ellen if they had ever tasted dandelion milk, and again, I got stares that made me feel as though I got caught masturbating in public. What’s so weird about that? Am I the only person that’s ever done that? To be clear, I’m talking about eating dandelions, not masturbating in public. And, had I not eaten dandelions, I never would have been able to identify the strange tasting mayo. I don’t know what was in it…all I know is that it was gross, and that it tasted like dandelion.
3. So here we are at our apartment. The maintenance people have pretty much rid the apartment of the awful stink that plagued our place. We also found out that keeping the air conditioning set to at least 70 degrees with the fan running continuously also helps. I think part of the problem is the humidity…I think Florida just kinda stinks in general because it’s so damp and humid here all the time. So for those of you coming to visit, you can rest easy knowing that we’ve got the stench pretty much under control. Unfortunately, we have no control over the neighbor in the adjoining building who finds it necessary to sit around in his underpants in front of the screen door. On a kitchen chair, no less. It would at least be a little bit more understandable if he was on the couch or something, but no, there he is, mostly naked on his kitchen chair. He is not cute, nor is he in good shape. We honestly have no idea how he could possibly think that we can’t see him in there…or perhaps he doesn’t care. And it’s not like we try to look, but when you’re walking by a ground level apartment and the windows are open and the lights are on, you just kinda look. Trust me, that’s a not a sight we seek out. You visitors are in for a treat…it’s a nightly showing, usually around sunset or later.
4. I was quite disappointed recently when I learned that pugs did not make the top 10 list of dogs for 2009. Of course all the old stand-bys were there…the labs, the goldens, the german shepherds, the yorkies, etc. Bringing up the rear was the shitzu. Honestly, the pugs got beat by a shitzu? I’m calling shenanigans on that little list. I could think of a million reasons that pugs are better than shitzus. No, I will not list them all here, but I will divulge a few reasons why I think pugs are great. A) you can cover them up with a blanket and they go right to sleep…kinda like a bird. I do this all the time when they are being annoying. B) you can place them in strange and often demeaning positions on the couch, and they’ll stay like that so you can take pictures of them, post them on Facebook, and caption them with phrases like, “look at my retarded, lazy dog.” C) unlike some breeds, pugs are so stupid that you will never feel dumber than your dog. D) they can hold their bladders for like 12 hours or more at a time. One time Brie didn’t go to the bathroom for 16 hours because she was too lazy to get out of bed to go outside. E) they are the best snugglers. Even when you don’t want to snuggle, they force themselves upon you and make themselves comfortable…usually right about the time you have to go to the bathroom, they park themselves directly on top of your bladder. F) you could never in your wildest dreams smell worse than a pug. I could go on, I really could. Basically, I think pugs are the best because they make a person feel good about themselves. Life could always be worse…you could have been born a pug.
5. Now that we’re in Florida, we have access to the Bob and Tom show 7 days a week. It’s awesome. We listen to it on the way home from work…it detracts from the horrible traffic. I have learned a lot of things in the few short weeks we’ve been here. I learned that red-headed people are called Rangas in Australia because their hair is similar in color to the orangutan. Apparently a zoo in Australia was in trouble because they were promoting their new orangutan exhibit by offering free admission to all Rangas. The redheads apparently were upset by this. I’m not sure if it was the exploitation of being a redhead or if it was because they were being compared to giant, ugly, orange apes. Another thing I learned was the term “curiosity delay,” which usually accompanies a traffic delay. It’s basically the term for a traffic delay caused by an accident, only it usually occurs in traffic going the opposite direction from the accident. I’ve always wanted to have a term for that besides rubber-necking…thanks to Bob and Tom, now I do. I also learned that PETA was suggesting that the groundhog for Groundhog’s Day be replaced with a robot, because it’s inhumane to force the little rodent to come out of a hole in front of a crowd. Honestly…a robot. Do these people really have nothing better to do?
6. Simon and I recently had the pleasure of visiting a tourist trap here in Florida that still has me feeling not right. The place is called The Shell Factory. Our first clue to there being something amiss is that this place is in the middle of nowhere and not near the beach at all. But, it was a cloudy day and we had nothing better to do, so we gave it the old college try. We pulled into the parking lot, which was mostly deserted, and had ourselves a little look around. We kind of got a weird feeling about the place…like it was a place where tourists disappeared. We weren’t even sure if it was actually open, since there was not another human being in sight. We started to wonder if the cars in the parking lot belonged to tourists that would never make home…at least not in one piece and without dental record identification (apparently we’ve been watching way too much CSI). So we ambled across the decrepit boardwalk that separated the duck pond from the bumper boats. Both looked sketchy and were littered with all forms of bird poop. Oh wait, the duck pond was actually the fish pond, but we only saw one fish. Perhaps all the fish had died from poop ingestion. That’s my guess. So we’re wandering around, and we made our way to the nature park, which was $10 a person and you had to walk through this tin shed of sorts to even get to the park. It was dark and scary and eerily quiet. We decided that it wasn’t worth disappearing forever and went to the shell factory, as it were, instead. On the way there I made the comment to Simon, “no one knows we’re here right now…we could disappear and no one would know where to start looking.” The shell factory…filled with stuffed African animals…complete with rhino and cape buffalo, a winter scene with grizzly bears, a Christmas room, cheesy Florida souvenirs that were most likely made from shells manufactured in China, shark babies in some sort of preservative liquid, coked-out employees, a creepy pirate room, a deserted, dark arcade that no parent should ever let their kids play in. I seriously could go on, this place was huge. We took pictures. I could feel a look of incredulity and disgust on my face the entire time we were there. The oldies music pumping through the distorted speakers did nothing to lighten the mood. In fact, the music probably just made it worse. It was like being written into a Stephen King book. It was hours after leaving the place before I finally shook the creepy feeling and felt okay with the world again.
7. I don't know why, but I've been craving a hot dog lately. A hot dog is not something I normally seek out, especially given Simon’s disdain for all tubed meats, but I’ve been wanting one, nonetheless. I finally got my hot dog fix a week ago at an Italian restaurant called Taste of New York. It was a giant Nathan's hot dog, which was delicious. The side of hand-cut French fries was also quite good. So now that that's done with, I can finally move on to eating something I can take a little more seriously. Honestly though, I was a little ashamed of myself. Who goes to an Italian restaurant and orders a hotdog? Wait a minute, let me back up...what kind of Italian restaurant has hot dogs on the freaking menu?? Hahaha! To be fair, the hot dog hit the spot, and no matter how strange it is for an Italian place to have hot dogs on the menu, I was thankful for it. :)
8. On one of the only nights in our entire assignment when Simon was working and I wasn’t, I was scared to be home alone. Even the protection (?) of the dogs didn’t do it for me this time. As I heard all manner of noises outside and from the neighboring apartments, I couldn’t help but think about how my trusty t-ball bat was outside in the Jeep, and of no use to me should someone try to break in. Not that I have any reason to think that someone might break in, but you just never know.
9. Mom will appreciate this one…the other day I was outside doing who knows what, and the sliding door was open. The pugs came out onto the screened porch to see what I was doing, so I started to taunt them and make them bark. Lady wanted in on that action and came running out of the apartment onto the porch, and promptly tried to jump through the screen. Unfortunately for her, the screen was stronger than she was, and she bounced off and fell onto the ground. I’ll have to figure out what kind of screen it is since Lady has destroyed two screen doors at my parents’ house by running right through them. We used to have a retarded dog named Lassie that I would purposely try to make run into the screen door. She was the dumbest dog known to man, and I got her every time.
9. This week has been a work-out streak for me. I ran on the treadmill on Tuesday, went for a nice, long bike ride on Wednesday, and then went for another bike ride through a nature preserve on Sanibel on Thursday. Oh, and we took a nice walk on the beach on Thursday too. I’ll have to say, I’m pretty proud of myself. This is the first time I’ve actively worked out since that one time in Burlington. And yes, I worked out exactly one time in Burlington. Or did I? You know what…I don’t think I ever worked out in Burlington…I think I just thought about it, and then when I thought about the fact that the work-out facility was in the laundry room, I found that to be too much of a turn-off and hung out on the couch instead. My bad. I told Simon not to get used to the idea of me being this active, because it probably won’t happen all that often. Although being here in the warm weather is much more inspiring to getting out and being active than a foot of snow and below-zero temperatures ever will be. That and I’ve got to do something to balance out the mass quantities of ice cream and Doritos that I can’t seem to keep out of my mouth.
10. I think my drinking tolerance is at an all-time low. And it’s not that I drink a little and get smashed, it’s that I drink a little and get a massive headache. My mom’s tolerance has now become my own, I’m afraid. Aside from a couple frozen daiquiris the other night with our seafood, I haven’t really had much for alcohol since the first weekend we were here, and that left me with a headache that almost warranted a trip to the ER. Not that I’m a booze hound or anything, but I enjoy my drinks here and there. Lately the only time I don’t get ill from drinking is if I have one drink with a meal. I’ve lost my appetite for beer. Me! Not wanting beer! What in the world is the matter with me? A couple weeks ago, I cheated my way through a game of UNO so that I wouldn’t have to take a shot of Rumplemintz with the rest of the game losers. You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you start cheating at UNO just to avoid taking a drink. Rumplemintz though? Damn…I think I know of a few people that would cheat right along with me to avoid that stuff. Having my mom’s tolerance might not be so bad though. She has her margaritas at the Mexican restaurants, her half a beer at the family gatherings…she does all right. I once watched her sip an entire lemon drop shot through the course of a meal in Denver…I swear she was drunk by dessert. The altitude may have played a role, but I’m not 100% sure on that one. I’ll definitely save a lot of money drinking like Mom.
11. I come from a long line of individuals that have this thing about feeding birds. I don’t know why or when it started, but it’s been something that I’ve enjoyed for more years than I can remember. When I was little, mom would always save all the stale pieces of bread in a paper bag so we could go to Rochester to feed the geese. When we were babysat by my grandma and grandpa Long, we always made our way to Silver Lake for a little bird feeding. Those are some of my favorite childhood memories…feeding birds…and trying not to step in their poop in the process, of course. There was always a thorough shoe check before getting back in the car at the end of a feeding. A little over a year ago, my family and I almost fed an entire bowl of pasta salad to a group of sea gulls when we were having dinner in La Crosse. Simon was absolutely beside himself and physically took the bowl of pasta away from us before we could “waste” any more of it. So engrossed were we in our feeding of birds that it was almost like we were on drugs. So now that we live next to a lake of sorts (it’s actually a pond), there are all kinds of birds around for me to feed. I went to the grocery store the other day and bought the cheapest bag of cat food I could find so I could feed it to the birds. I now know better than to waste good food on birds when Simon is around. It’s so exciting. I honestly could probably feed the entire 3.5 pound bag to my feathery little buddies all at one time. Doing so would probably result in some bird and turtle deaths, but at the time…what fun it would be! So far I have been successful in limiting myself to one cup of cat food per day.
12. As in all cities that we move to, I always have to make sure I know where the nearest mall is, in case I find the need to buy something that I might not already have. Or…perhaps buy more of what I already have in the off-chance that the store quits making it. We went to the regular mall here and I was less than impressed with the majority of the clientele...it was so freaking loud and there were children tearing about everywhere. Where were their parents? I was also not impressed with the women spilling out of what little clothing they managed to force themselves into. That and I had to sit behind some lazy-ass in the parking lot that had to hold up traffic so she could get that front-row parking space. After honking at her THREE times she still didn’t budge. What a lazy putz. Not that that doesn’t happen everywhere, but I’ve never waited that long for someone waiting for a parking space. That’s just rude. That and when all of her children started filing out of the car, they were all chubby. Perhaps parking near the back of the lot may have gotten them 15 minutes of exercise…heaven forbid! Okay, I’m done with that. So…the mall. It isn't a long hallway or a loop like most malls...I would have to say that it's more serpentine in its design...you wind all over the place, feeling like you're going to get either lost or mugged around every corner. Whoever designed it should be shot...or at least lose the privilege of designing malls...or any other dwelling that humans might inhabit. Maybe they could make a living designing those tubes that border collies run through on those agility courses. And there are no short-cut tunnels or hallways…you have to wander the entire, curvy thing to get from one store to the next. That and there were more than a few stores there marketing clothing that would only fit women with obscenely large breast implants…and considerable junk in their trunk to boot. I had never seen a mannequin with boobs bigger than her head until now. And giant nipples too…poking right through the fabric. Really? Is that really necessary? I’ll admit, I stopped and stared.
13. And now the job…ugh, the job. Definitely not what we thought it was going to be. During this time of the year, the population of Fort Myers basically doubles, meaning that the patient population in the hospital usually does the same. Simon and I are stationed on a unit that’s only open during the high-occupancy months of the year. Since it’s not a functioning unit all the time, it’s basically neglected during the months that it’s closed, and they don’t do a whole lot to get it up to speed when they open it. We run out of supplies constantly, and it’s a pain in the butt to go to other units to get supplies. The nurse manager for our unit basically spends all her energy and resources on her main unit, and offers us nothing in the way of support. Our unit is completely staffed by travelers, and we don’t have a charge nurse at night. In most situations, not having a boss around might sound like something dreams are made of, but in this situation, it’s a nightmare. We have no one to turn to when the going gets rough, which is often since we get all the patients that none of the other units in the hospital want…the drug addicts (complete with track marks), the developmentally delayed, the suicide watches. Oh, and I should mention that none of us are psych nurses, yet we’re expected to properly take care of people with psych problems. It’s been very frustrating and definitely not an ideal situation. Luckily most of the nurses that we work with have been great, which helps a lot. One nice thing about this hospital too is that they have a zero-tolerance policy with the doctors. Meaning that if the doctors are rude to the nurses in any way, they can be fired…and it’s happened. It’s crazy! Unfortunately on one of my first nights I had the pleasure of dealing with a doctor that still thinks his shit doesn’t stink…he proceeded to ream me out for not being able to answer a question that he already knew the answer to…just to be a dick. But other than him, all the other doctors have been so nice and approachable. It makes for a really pleasant work environment when you’re not intimidated by those you’re working with.
14. The seafood…I should probably mention the seafood. It’s divine. I’m loving it! I think I could go this whole assignment eating nothing but fish and seafood. And there are a lot of hidden gems for restaurants down here if you just take the time to look for them. We had conch fritters the other day, which are a lot like hush puppies but they have a tasty little seafood treat in them. Oh, and I got my cholesterol checked recently so I’m good to go for mass seafood consumption.
15. So Simon just got back from a bike ride where he unfortunately got caught in a downpour. Seriously, in Florida they sometimes come out of nowhere. Anyway, so I hear the door open, and I turn around to see him running through the apartment, soaking wet…and buck naked. WTF? This can only mean one thing…he stripped out of his wet clothes outside, in what was most likely the full view of the neighbors. My first thought was that he was riding his bike naked…this is what happens I have one idea in my head (Simon bicycling) and something comes along (Simon running around naked) and distracts from that. I guess I can’t really make comments about the almost-nude neighbor anymore…at least he keeps his underpants on. Ladies and gentlemen, this is what I live with everyday.
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