So I haven't posted in a while. I've been thinking about stuff, doing stuff, been running all over the place, eating lots of Chipotle…you know, all the normal things I do that keep me from writing much. I'm in the process of packing my bags for my upcoming trip to Australia. I leave on Tuesday, and I'm geeking out a bit about the whole thing. For someone so terrified of traveling, I sure do a lot of it. I typically really enjoy myself once I get where I'm going…it's the getting there that has me all worked up.
I hate flying. Hate it. Although I hate it less than I used to. I used to worry all the time about the plane crashing. And then one day, while several thousand feet up in the air, I realized that regardless of whether or not the plane crashed, sitting there worrying about it wasn't going to change the outcome. The flight was literally out of my hands, and all I had to do was sit there and just go with it. So I did. And I do. But I still don't like it. Knowing that I'll be sitting on a plane for 15 hours, over nothing but the Pacific Ocean, will be a first for me. Prior to this trip, my longest flight will have been somewhere in the ballpark of 5-6 hours long. The nice thing about this flight is that it'll happen at night, so in theory, I should just sleep through most of it. 15 hours of sleep is a long stretch for me, but I've slept 19 hours before, so hopefully I can channel that again and check out for most of it. I'll also be self-medicating a little bit, so that'll help. Or not. Maybe this will be my body's first time to have a negative reaction to Benadryl and I'll be wired and crazy. I guess time will tell.
So you know why else I don't like flying? I'm a puker. I've puked on planes lots of times. It's always unpleasant, and people sitting near me are always super disturbed by it. Probably because the recycled airplane air, which is gross to begin with, is not helped at all by the smell of someone's vomit circulating through it. And really, it's awful to watch someone puke. Being a nurse, I get to see people puke all the time. And it always sucks. You basically just stand there and watch them do it. Maybe rub their back a little bit, although most people in the throes of vomiting don't really like to be touched, especially not by a stranger. However, if you're ever sitting next to someone who is annoying and doesn't get the hint that you have no interest in talking to them, I recommend throwing up a little bit…or at least making a show of holding the little puke bag whilst dry heaving. Nothing quiets a plane down like someone heaving up their lunch.
So, in the interest of distracting myself from all things relating to airplanes (as I hear one fly overhead at this very moment), I'll just blather on in no particular order or sense, and I'll be thoroughly distracted. Know that I will be leaving the writing at some point to go pick up my Chipotle order.
I know I'm 35, and that maybe I'm a little late to the game, but I don't take selfies. I loathe that word, actually, and I have just about as much disdain for the act itself. I don't quite understand people who constantly take pictures of themselves…and only themselves. Most of the time, the photos are so close to their face that there is nothing else even remotely interesting in the photo…besides their face, I guess. I know what you look like. I know what you looked like yesterday…and the day before that. And here you are again, taking another picture of yourself, only this time you're making a weird face by sticking your lips out. Duckface? Is that what they're calling it? Ducklips? I have no idea. I don't do that. Maybe if I liked my face better, I would take a selfie. But I'm not a huge fan of my face. And I'm not fishing for words of praise or anything here…I just really don't like looking at myself. There are so many other things I'd rather look at than my own face…with the right eye that has developed a weird squint over the years, or the fact that at 35, I still get pimples, or that I still don't know how to put make-up on or do my hair. All good reasons not to take a selfie. Not that everyone needs to look glamorous in a selfie…have a look at the internets and see all the selfies out there…glamorous is definitely not the word I'd use to describe most of them. But they're putting themselves out there…for reasons known only to them.
You know another reason why I don't like pictures of myself? I have come to the conclusion that I have creepily long fingers. Next time you see a photo of me, take a look at my hands. They're weird looking, especially when I'm holding something. And it's not like I have big hands…they're actually kind of small, but the fingers are long and skinny and strange. They're also really really bendy…so maybe that's why they look weird. I don't think they look creepy and weird in real life (unless I'm bending them backwards on purpose to be creepy to Simon), but they definitely do in photos.
Now I must leave to go get my burrito. Chicken, black beans, cilantro-free brown rice, lettuce, and cheese. Arguably, probably the most boring burrito that they make. But hey, it works. Dammit…I was going to do the Quesarito this time…I forgot…again. Fat kid fail…again. I told Simon that I like to eat burritos in the evening as a carb-load for my exercise classes in the morning. He told me that's not how that works. Meaning, I shouldn't be carb-loading for exercise classes. Hahaha! I tell you what though, I kick ass in spin class the morning after taking down a burrito. There's something to it, I tell you! And the burrito so far, is best. Chicken & waffles, pizza, or Thai food? Not so much.
So, the burrito has been eaten, and it was delicious. And I'll have you know, I walked right into that Chipotle in my old man sweater and my Minnetonka slippers with my hair a giant disarray of a slightly unmanageable bun held up by some bobbi pins clinging for dear life. Truly, a sight to behold. The definition of slovenly. And that glorious burrito was enjoyed whilst watching an episode of New Girl, featuring my doppelgänger, Zooey Deschanel. I didn't come up with that, Simon did. I guess if I was going to have a say in having anyone as a doppelgänger, she's a pretty darn good one to have. At least it's not Jack Nicholson or Kathy Bates or the dog from Airbud.
Hahaha! So this blog isn't about me being self deprecating, although it kind of seems that way, doesn't it? I'm just being me…rambling out the realities of life. Sometimes I'm painfully realistic. Having the idea in the back of my head that I'm going to die in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on Tuesday due to a horrific plane crash might have something to do with it. It's not that I'm scared of dying…I'll get to that one of these days; I just don't want to it to happen yet…or as the result of a plane crash. That's all. Makes sense. At least I think it does.
So I went to Vegas a few weeks ago with some girlfriends from college. Vegas is weird. I could write a whole blog entry about that city. I actually have one all typed up, but I don't like it so I'm not posting it at the moment. If I die in the plane crash, maybe Simon can post it for me posthumously, and maybe then I'll be discovered and published and he'll get all kinds of money and won't have to work anymore and can just be an artist. Something like that. Truthfully, the Vegas blog isn't very good. I've done better. And that's why I didn't post it. I think if you're going to take the time to do something, make sure you do it well, and make sure it's something that you're proud of. I might tweak it, or I might scrap it. Or I'll just let it sit there. I've got like 8 blogs just sitting there.
One thing I will tell you about Vegas, is that I learned for the very first time how very awkward I must look when I'm dancing. So awkward, in fact, that I scared some halfway interested boys away. Hahaha! They took one look at me doing whatever it was I was doing, and beelined it in the other direction, leaving their friend, who was hitting on my friend, in the dust. And I looked cute that night, dammit. Little black dress, red high heels, my hair was actually behaving itself…but my dance moves (or lack thereof) betrayed me. Ah well, it's not like I wanted to dance with either of them anyway. To be fair, I overcompensate for my lack of dancing ability by over-doing the most ironic of dance moves…I'm a big fan of raising the roof. It's funny, if nothing else. At least I think so.
I've been having trouble with this whole checked-baggage thing. I can't remember the last time I flew anywhere and actually checked a bag. Honestly, it was probably back in 2008 when I flew to Alaska with my college buddies. I remember the strangest things. Anyway, so there are all these weight restrictions on the bags now. Or maybe there always were, but I think 50 pounds is not very much for a girl going on a trip for 12 days. I have to have shoes, and pants, and dresses, and swim wear…not to mention a voltage converter, 3 cameras, and an iPad. All that crap adds up to 50 pounds pretty freaking fast. But then…my friend Ellen saved the day by telling me that I can have a carry-on AND a personal item, in addition to my checked bag! Three whole bags! Who knew? She did, apparently. And so does everyone else, apparently. And here sits Stef, with the dunce cap on, apparently, wondering how on earth I'm going to get everything to fit and still be light enough to get on the plane without an incident…or without wearing like 5 layers of clothes…you know…I had actually considered that.
15 hours on a plane is a long freaking time…it's a long time to be sitting anywhere. I just keep thinking about it. How many times am I going to have to go to the bathroom? I hope I don't have to poop on the plane. I don't want to be one of those people who poops on a plane. I mean, if you gotta go, you gotta go…I doubt there's really anyone out there who actually WANTS to poop on a plane, right? Maybe there is. I've pooped in a lot of places, but I don't really catalogue them (contrary to what people might think), and I don't have any goals as to where I'd like to poop. In fact, I probably I have goals as to where I'd like to NOT poop, and an airplane is pretty high up on that list. You know what I think would be funny? Taking a poop on a cactus. Like one of those shorter ones next to a hiking trail. People would walk by, see the poop, and ask, "is that poop?" Yes indeed. It is poop. And then they'd sit and they'd wonder about who did it, and why, and then some bizarre story would arise about the cactus pooper. I think that would be funny. I should try that sometime. I'd probably fall over and then I'd be covered in cactus spines and poop. That wouldn't be very funny. Well, it would be eventually, just not right then.
I was in Target today and I saw one of my former patients there, wandering through the aisles getting some groceries. It's weird to see them out and about like that…in normal clothes instead of a hospital gown with their bum sticking out the back. I don't remember her name or even why she was in the hospital, but I recognized her. I don't know if she recognized me. She didn't let on that she did, if she did. I thought about going up and saying hello, but I just don't know if that's appropriate, or if she'd even remember me, or if she'd even want to think back to when she was in the hospital. I remember that she was really nice, and that she grew up in Minnesota…we had all kinds of conversations about Minnesota when I was taking care of her…mostly about food. Us Minnesotans are very food motivated. There are lots of Minnesotans out here in Arizona…I enjoy meeting them, but prefer to do it outside the hospital. What's interesting to me is that in the two years I've been working as a nurse out here, this is the first time I've seen a patient outside the hospital. Flagstaff really isn't all that big; you'd think I would have run into at least one patient before today.
Anyway, I can hear Cooper snoring from the bedroom. He's been trying to get me to come to bed for hours now. He's so weird about that. I'm realizing in the absence of Brie that he's weird about a lot of things. Like how he only wants to be under the blankets on the bed in the morning…not at any other time or in any other place. How he always has to run to his food dish and look inside of it, just to make sure that the food is still there. How he always has to go to the bathroom at least three times when I'm sitting on the couch watching TV…but if I'm reading a book, he just lies there next to me and sleeps. It's all very bizarre. It makes me feel a little bad that I was so wrapped up with Brie and her various ailments, that I don't know if he's always been this weird and that I'm just noticing it now because she's not here taking up all my attention, or if maybe this is how he is without her. Tough to tell. I get a kick out of him though. He's my little buddy.
And with that, I'm going to bed. I've carb-loaded, and I've got a weight lifting class in the morning. And some Victoria's Secret coupons to use. And a walk and lunch with a good friend in the afternoon. And maybe tomorrow, with any luck, I'll manage to get these bags packed.
Cheers!
