Again, no secret that I've got some serious shopping issues. But...I've found a way to actually make it somewhat profitable...if that's even possible. Selling things on eBay has practically become a side business for me. In the last month, I've sold over $600 worth of stuff...I'm pretty impressed with myself!
I've been eBaying for almost as long as I've been using the internet. I remember my dad was really big into eBay when I was in high school, buying rare and vintage Boy Scout patches for his collection. I started using it towards my later years in college. I still remember my first eBay purchase...a red and white cheerleader outfit that I planned on wearing for Halloween the fall of my senior year of college. The outfit ended up being a bit snug, so I posted it back on eBay for $20 more than I paid and sold it within a week. And thus, my relationship with eBay had begun.
For the most part, I used to only buy things on eBay. I hadn't really gotten into selling things until the last couple years. I sell the most random things on there, but mostly it's just books, clothing, shoes, and bags. It's true that I have no shortage of Luluemon apparel, and given the brand's rabid fan base, there is quite the lucrative second-hand market for it on eBay. Most of the time I'm able to sell stuff for more than I paid. Not always, but most of the time. Sometimes it's enough just to break even.
Today I sold 7 pairs of knee-high socks. I actually posted the socks thinking that no one would ever buy them, but lo and behold, they'll be heading to their new home in Alexandria, VA in the morning. I found myself chuckling at the idea that someone would buy used knee-high socks on eBay, but given the fact that I posted them initially, maybe it's not so funny after all. Supply and demand and all that. I just have to wonder how out of all the millions of postings on eBay, someone came across my particular auction for socks. I think there are definitely people out there who spend a lot more time on eBay than I do, which is kind of a scary thought.
It's actually kind of addicting, selling my belongings to complete strangers. I get a kick out of scrolling through my auctions, seeing who's bidding on and who's just watching an item. Every time I sell something, I go pawing through my closet for something else to sell. Given that I've been shopping mercilessly for decades, I have no shortage of things to get rid of. The best thing of all though, is that I feel like I'm able to shop for free. All my eBay sellings go into an online bank account, which I can use on almost any e-commerce website. It's been coming in handy given my recent binge on buying baby clothes. Funny to think that I'm selling my own clothes with the intention of clothing someone else.
But it's nice. I'm thinning out my clothing, and I'm putting the money to (mostly) good use. Of course, I still manage to buy a few things for myself every now and again, but I don't feel the pinch in the bank account anymore. Which is interesting...since I've been selling on eBay, I find myself shopping less for myself than when I was trying to stretch my shopping from paycheck to paycheck. That doesn't mean that I'm not shopping for other people, of course...hahaha! Simon has a birthday coming up, and all of his birthday presents were purchased with eBay money. It's like all the presents were free! I know they're not actually free since the initial item was purchased at some point, but it feels like it's free. That's good enough for me. :)
If you're interested, take a peek at my eBay page...You just might find something you like! And yes, my eBay name is littlepugbutt...that shouldn't really be all that surprising...hahaha!
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Monday, April 13, 2015
My Struggle With Vegans
There is this zucchini bread at the one of the local coffee shops here in Flagstaff that I am absolutely in love with. I'm currently noshing on a piece right now. I'm not sure why I used that word...I actually hate the word nosh...it just sounds gross to me. Moving on. I had originally noticed but dismissed this bread when I first saw it, simply because it was labeled as Vegan. I struggle with veganism. Not necessarily the ideology behind it, but because most vegans who I've interacted with in real life are douchebags.
Veganism, in a nutshull, is a dietary and lifestyle choice in which a person chooses to live their life devoid of animal products. They don't eat meat or eggs, they don't eat dairy, they don't eat honey, and they don't wear leather products, etc. All under the premise that they are being kind to animals by not partaking in the behaviors of industries that kill, abuse, or exploit animals. I get it. I get the idea of being good stewards of the earth by being compassionate to all the creatures who inhabit it. I even feel like a terrible meat-eater after watching those PETA videos exposing animal abuse in chicken barns, feedlots, and the like. I get where vegans are coming from by their not partaking in the animal product industry. Funny thing is, I find most vegans are intolerable to be around. In my experience with them, the compassion that they are able to show towards animals does not extend toward human beings.
Simon and I were in a coffee shop in Jerome, AZ not so long ago, and there was a sign on the door that advertised some vegan offerings. Not being vegans ourselves, we didn't really care, but there was a small group of travelers who came in right after us for whom this was a matter of interest. The gal behind the counter making the coffee drinks offered the 5 of us a selection of pastries in the bakery case while we waited for our drinks to be made. One of the gals in the group asked if there was anything vegan in the case. The barrista apologized and said that there wasn't. Instead of being polite and saying "oh, no worries" or "thanks anyway," the gal briskly turned around and said very loudly, "I guess I'll just go sit down then." She then huffed off to her table where I heard her admonishing the place for not having any vegan pastries despite advertising that they had vegan offerings. If I could hear her complaining, I'm pretty sure the barrista could hear her...it was just rude. On the menu, there were plenty of vegan offerings; they were dishes that had to be prepared and weren't ready-made...the girl could have ordered any number of vegan snacks, but instead she chose to be belligerent about it, as if the restaurant was purposely singling her out to ruin her day. Her behavior killed the conversation in the place. Prior to the pastry incident, Simon and I had been engaging in easy conversation this these people, who were traveling from out of state. After her little outburst, conversation came to an uncomfortable halt and we moved on.
And this has mostly been my experience with vegan people...they wear their veganism like a cross upon their backs, berating people and businesses for not respecting their views and dietary choices. Our culture is largely based on animal products...whether that's right or wrong is a matter of opinion, and it's not something that's likely to change quickly or easily. To expect an entire society to make a large cultural shift, and to be an asshole about it besides, is counter-productive. If you're going to be a vegan, then be a vegan and leave other people to their choices. Offer insight and education if people ask, but don't shove it down their throats.
I believe that there is a way to be kind to animals while still partaking in their products. Granted, any industry in which an animal has to die for us to eat or wear is never going to be kind to animals, I'll give you that. But there are still farmers out there who are good stewards of the land and their animals, who do respect that animals are creatures capable of thoughts, feelings, and emotions, limited though they might be. Simon and I get our eggs from a little farm outside of Flagstaff. The chickens run around outside all day long, scratching for bugs, digging through the compost...they've got it made. They're not clustered in cages and wallowing in their own filth. If it was permitted, I'd go so far as to say that they're happy chickens. And their eggs are tasty. And no one is harmed in my consumption of them. There are still dairy farmers out there who know all their cows by name and treat them with respect. There are farmers who make their own cheese and sell their own milk. I get the impression from most vegans I've talked to that it's either all or nothing, but I just don't find that to be true.
To be entirely truthful, there's really no way to live entirely animal-free. There is a book I've been wanting to read called Pig 05049 that factually and without bias follows a pig starting with the slaughter and proceeds to catalog 185 products produced from that pig alone. I'm still waiting to find an affordable copy, as I think $55.00 is pricey for a book with under 200 pages...well, that's pricey for just about any book, to be honest. But it's something to think about. Animals affect our lives in more ways than we know, and I think it's important to be realistic about that. I also think it's important to be kind about it...to both animals and people.
Veganism, in a nutshull, is a dietary and lifestyle choice in which a person chooses to live their life devoid of animal products. They don't eat meat or eggs, they don't eat dairy, they don't eat honey, and they don't wear leather products, etc. All under the premise that they are being kind to animals by not partaking in the behaviors of industries that kill, abuse, or exploit animals. I get it. I get the idea of being good stewards of the earth by being compassionate to all the creatures who inhabit it. I even feel like a terrible meat-eater after watching those PETA videos exposing animal abuse in chicken barns, feedlots, and the like. I get where vegans are coming from by their not partaking in the animal product industry. Funny thing is, I find most vegans are intolerable to be around. In my experience with them, the compassion that they are able to show towards animals does not extend toward human beings.
Simon and I were in a coffee shop in Jerome, AZ not so long ago, and there was a sign on the door that advertised some vegan offerings. Not being vegans ourselves, we didn't really care, but there was a small group of travelers who came in right after us for whom this was a matter of interest. The gal behind the counter making the coffee drinks offered the 5 of us a selection of pastries in the bakery case while we waited for our drinks to be made. One of the gals in the group asked if there was anything vegan in the case. The barrista apologized and said that there wasn't. Instead of being polite and saying "oh, no worries" or "thanks anyway," the gal briskly turned around and said very loudly, "I guess I'll just go sit down then." She then huffed off to her table where I heard her admonishing the place for not having any vegan pastries despite advertising that they had vegan offerings. If I could hear her complaining, I'm pretty sure the barrista could hear her...it was just rude. On the menu, there were plenty of vegan offerings; they were dishes that had to be prepared and weren't ready-made...the girl could have ordered any number of vegan snacks, but instead she chose to be belligerent about it, as if the restaurant was purposely singling her out to ruin her day. Her behavior killed the conversation in the place. Prior to the pastry incident, Simon and I had been engaging in easy conversation this these people, who were traveling from out of state. After her little outburst, conversation came to an uncomfortable halt and we moved on.
And this has mostly been my experience with vegan people...they wear their veganism like a cross upon their backs, berating people and businesses for not respecting their views and dietary choices. Our culture is largely based on animal products...whether that's right or wrong is a matter of opinion, and it's not something that's likely to change quickly or easily. To expect an entire society to make a large cultural shift, and to be an asshole about it besides, is counter-productive. If you're going to be a vegan, then be a vegan and leave other people to their choices. Offer insight and education if people ask, but don't shove it down their throats.
I believe that there is a way to be kind to animals while still partaking in their products. Granted, any industry in which an animal has to die for us to eat or wear is never going to be kind to animals, I'll give you that. But there are still farmers out there who are good stewards of the land and their animals, who do respect that animals are creatures capable of thoughts, feelings, and emotions, limited though they might be. Simon and I get our eggs from a little farm outside of Flagstaff. The chickens run around outside all day long, scratching for bugs, digging through the compost...they've got it made. They're not clustered in cages and wallowing in their own filth. If it was permitted, I'd go so far as to say that they're happy chickens. And their eggs are tasty. And no one is harmed in my consumption of them. There are still dairy farmers out there who know all their cows by name and treat them with respect. There are farmers who make their own cheese and sell their own milk. I get the impression from most vegans I've talked to that it's either all or nothing, but I just don't find that to be true.
To be entirely truthful, there's really no way to live entirely animal-free. There is a book I've been wanting to read called Pig 05049 that factually and without bias follows a pig starting with the slaughter and proceeds to catalog 185 products produced from that pig alone. I'm still waiting to find an affordable copy, as I think $55.00 is pricey for a book with under 200 pages...well, that's pricey for just about any book, to be honest. But it's something to think about. Animals affect our lives in more ways than we know, and I think it's important to be realistic about that. I also think it's important to be kind about it...to both animals and people.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
If I Had a Baby, I'd Be Broke
It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I have a shopping problem. I've blogged about it, I've talked about it, and there are a few of you out there who have actually witnessed it. I'm the person who goes along on a shopping trip to offer support or an opinion, not intending on buying anything, and end up spending more than everyone else. I do that.
There are times when I think that I'm getting better, where I can sit there and tell myself that quality over quantity is a good thing (I used to be terrible at buying in multiples). I tell myself that there's truly no reason that I need backpacks in 25L, 30L, and 38L sizes...yet I have all three of those and am currently scoping out a 35L on eBay. To what end? Why? Most normal people can exist with just one backpack, maybe two, yet here I am with 3 (4 if you count the monster), and find myself wanting another. It all comes down to features. Each of these packs have different features that I like, but not a one of them has ALL the features that I like. If Osprey would have continued to make their smallish packs with the mesh stuffable pocket on the front (back for Simon) of the bag, then I wouldn't be in this predicament. I'm rationalizing...can you tell?
Which brings me to babies. There are a lot of babies in my life right now. Between friends and family, there are far too many youngsters, and there are just way too many cute articles of baby clothing out there. I've lately been stalking www.Carters.com (they have a fantastic clearance selection) and buying copious amounts of clothing for some of the babies in my life. Some, not all, for if I tried to buy clothing for all the babies in my life, I truly would be broke, and that would be sad. I'd have to sell my backpacks, amongst other things.
I'm heading back to Minnesota in a couple days, and I kid you not, half of my rollie suitcase is packed with baby clothes...and I'm only going to be seeing 2 babies. I almost don't have enough room for my own clothes. I, myself, am actually packing light, which is kind of a first. I'm not known for packing light, but in this case my hand is being forced.
Weeks ago when I was purchasing said baby clothes, Simon and I were lounging on the couch. He was watching something on TV, and I was furiously scrolling on my iPad, trying to decide between a set of 3 month onesies and 6 month onesies...it ended up being a moot decision because in the end I just bought both. I'm a big fan of onesies. Odds are good that if you get baby clothing from me, it's most likely going to be onesies. They're so versatile! And really, can a baby have too many onesies? The snaps in the crotch make them easy to get on, easy to get off, easy to change a diaper...they're pretty much the ideal piece of clothing. I figure that having too many onesies is a problem that doesn't actually exist. If I had children, they would be in onesies (and probably little else) until the day they were too big for onesies. And then I would cry because I would actually have to dress my children, who at that point would have been so conditioned to onesies that they'd probably hate me for putting pants on them. Honestly. Cramming an infant into skinny jeans and a cute sweater? Not going to happen. I'm all about the onesie. And people wonder why I don't have children.
Anyway, back on topic...so the purchasing of the onesies played out like that Saturday Night Live skit with Adam Sandler and Chris Farley...where Chris (me) is the old woman reading from the Zagat guide and Adam (Simon) is the old man who just can't listen to his wife blather on anymore. "Ravioli? Holy Canoli!" You know the one. If you don't, you can watch it here. One of my all time favorites. So that's me and Simon on the couch, looking at baby clothes together. Luckily he didn't chuck the iPad across the room, nor did he take an entire bottle of sleeping pills in the interest of not having to listen to me anymore. He did, however, talk me out of several items of clothing...he's good at talking sense into me...most of the time.
So yeah...good thing I don't have children...they'd have a larger wardrobe than me (mostly onesies), and I'd be completely broke.
There are times when I think that I'm getting better, where I can sit there and tell myself that quality over quantity is a good thing (I used to be terrible at buying in multiples). I tell myself that there's truly no reason that I need backpacks in 25L, 30L, and 38L sizes...yet I have all three of those and am currently scoping out a 35L on eBay. To what end? Why? Most normal people can exist with just one backpack, maybe two, yet here I am with 3 (4 if you count the monster), and find myself wanting another. It all comes down to features. Each of these packs have different features that I like, but not a one of them has ALL the features that I like. If Osprey would have continued to make their smallish packs with the mesh stuffable pocket on the front (back for Simon) of the bag, then I wouldn't be in this predicament. I'm rationalizing...can you tell?
Which brings me to babies. There are a lot of babies in my life right now. Between friends and family, there are far too many youngsters, and there are just way too many cute articles of baby clothing out there. I've lately been stalking www.Carters.com (they have a fantastic clearance selection) and buying copious amounts of clothing for some of the babies in my life. Some, not all, for if I tried to buy clothing for all the babies in my life, I truly would be broke, and that would be sad. I'd have to sell my backpacks, amongst other things.
I'm heading back to Minnesota in a couple days, and I kid you not, half of my rollie suitcase is packed with baby clothes...and I'm only going to be seeing 2 babies. I almost don't have enough room for my own clothes. I, myself, am actually packing light, which is kind of a first. I'm not known for packing light, but in this case my hand is being forced.
Weeks ago when I was purchasing said baby clothes, Simon and I were lounging on the couch. He was watching something on TV, and I was furiously scrolling on my iPad, trying to decide between a set of 3 month onesies and 6 month onesies...it ended up being a moot decision because in the end I just bought both. I'm a big fan of onesies. Odds are good that if you get baby clothing from me, it's most likely going to be onesies. They're so versatile! And really, can a baby have too many onesies? The snaps in the crotch make them easy to get on, easy to get off, easy to change a diaper...they're pretty much the ideal piece of clothing. I figure that having too many onesies is a problem that doesn't actually exist. If I had children, they would be in onesies (and probably little else) until the day they were too big for onesies. And then I would cry because I would actually have to dress my children, who at that point would have been so conditioned to onesies that they'd probably hate me for putting pants on them. Honestly. Cramming an infant into skinny jeans and a cute sweater? Not going to happen. I'm all about the onesie. And people wonder why I don't have children.
Anyway, back on topic...so the purchasing of the onesies played out like that Saturday Night Live skit with Adam Sandler and Chris Farley...where Chris (me) is the old woman reading from the Zagat guide and Adam (Simon) is the old man who just can't listen to his wife blather on anymore. "Ravioli? Holy Canoli!" You know the one. If you don't, you can watch it here. One of my all time favorites. So that's me and Simon on the couch, looking at baby clothes together. Luckily he didn't chuck the iPad across the room, nor did he take an entire bottle of sleeping pills in the interest of not having to listen to me anymore. He did, however, talk me out of several items of clothing...he's good at talking sense into me...most of the time.
So yeah...good thing I don't have children...they'd have a larger wardrobe than me (mostly onesies), and I'd be completely broke.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Does Everyone Really Love Their Own Brand?
Years ago, I dated this guy who frequently made a show of acting like he was purposefully sniffing his own farts. Afterwards, he would turn to me and gleefully exclaim, "Everyone loves their own brand!" I was repulsed. A: how many people actually sit around and smell their own farts? B: assuming that there are people who sit around and smell their own farts, how many can actually say that they love the smell? C: why was I dating such a first-class idiot? It was a preposterous concept, but not out of line for this guy's thinking. I then proceeded to date that moron for a year and a half. Live and learn.
Very recently, the subject of the smell of other people's poop came up while a group of us nurses were sitting around talking during some downtime at work. I'm assuming the subject came up in relation to a patient with some rather foul feces, but with nurses you never can tell. Sometimes we talk about bodily functions just for the heck of it.
So one of my coworkers pointed out that it's human nature to think that everyone else's poop smells worse than our own, a concept that I had never once pondered in all my years of poop pondering. How in the world had this ever escaped me?
I came home from work in the morning and there was Simon, roaming about the kitchen in search of something edible whilst caught in the throes of the after-work-munchies (trust me, that's a very dangerous thing). I caught him unawares with my new epiphany on poop. So I point-blank asked him whose poop smelled worse, his or mine. He gave me this look that said, "For Pete's sake....what have I done to deserve the wrath of this crazy woman?" He let out a long sigh, looked away, and said, "Yours." What?? As delusional as it sounds, I thought there was no way that my poop could possibly smell worse than his. I've smelled his poop, and I've smelled mine, and I'd come to the conclusion (erroneously, it would appear) that his poop smelled worse than mine.
Mind. Blown.
I briefly considered the idea that we needed a third party present, to smell both our poops to see which one of us truly had the most foul excrement, as if it was some sort of competition. But that's just weird. Right? In any case, we'd probably find ourselves short a volunteer for that endeavor.
Does this illustrate the point of the douchebag from so long ago? Maybe not so much the part about loving the smell of one's own brand, but perhaps on a simpler level, that we are just able to better tolerate the smell of our own brand.
Something to think about. Or not. I'm sure most people don't really care to think about poop at all. I guess I'm just weird like that. Nothing new to see here.
Very recently, the subject of the smell of other people's poop came up while a group of us nurses were sitting around talking during some downtime at work. I'm assuming the subject came up in relation to a patient with some rather foul feces, but with nurses you never can tell. Sometimes we talk about bodily functions just for the heck of it.
So one of my coworkers pointed out that it's human nature to think that everyone else's poop smells worse than our own, a concept that I had never once pondered in all my years of poop pondering. How in the world had this ever escaped me?
I came home from work in the morning and there was Simon, roaming about the kitchen in search of something edible whilst caught in the throes of the after-work-munchies (trust me, that's a very dangerous thing). I caught him unawares with my new epiphany on poop. So I point-blank asked him whose poop smelled worse, his or mine. He gave me this look that said, "For Pete's sake....what have I done to deserve the wrath of this crazy woman?" He let out a long sigh, looked away, and said, "Yours." What?? As delusional as it sounds, I thought there was no way that my poop could possibly smell worse than his. I've smelled his poop, and I've smelled mine, and I'd come to the conclusion (erroneously, it would appear) that his poop smelled worse than mine.
Mind. Blown.
I briefly considered the idea that we needed a third party present, to smell both our poops to see which one of us truly had the most foul excrement, as if it was some sort of competition. But that's just weird. Right? In any case, we'd probably find ourselves short a volunteer for that endeavor.
Does this illustrate the point of the douchebag from so long ago? Maybe not so much the part about loving the smell of one's own brand, but perhaps on a simpler level, that we are just able to better tolerate the smell of our own brand.
Something to think about. Or not. I'm sure most people don't really care to think about poop at all. I guess I'm just weird like that. Nothing new to see here.
Friday, April 10, 2015
Eat My Dust
So I've always been a really fast walker. I'm not quite sure why, but I have a few theories. When I was a kid, I used to go for walks with my mom. Given her height, which is about 2 inches shy of my own, my mom is an exceptionally fast walker. I remember having to jog every few steps just to keep up with her. Even now she can outpace me when we're randomly out and about. My mom walks with purpose, moving from one place to the other as expediently as possible. Although, now that she's retired, maybe not so much...there's all the time in the world for her to get where she's going. So yeah, from a young age I was always trying to keep up with the speed demon known as my mother. When I wasn't with mom, I was the one that my friends were trying to keep up with. My friend Dana used to yell at me while we were perusing the mall because I'd be walking from to place to place so fast, while she just wanted to leisurely browse.
I've always had this drive to get where I'm going to as quickly as possible. It's not even a conscious thought, it's just there. I don't know why...there's no reason, there's no rush...I just walk really fast pretty much all the time. Simon makes fun of me by walking really fast and leaving me behind on purpose, and there's no way I can keep up with those long legs of his without jogging along. He's such a turd. Half the time I won't even realize that he's doing it until I'm out of breath and practically tripping over my own feet in an effort to keep pace.
And poor Cooper...I'll take him out for a walk, which is supposed to be his time to get out and pee on everything and enjoy his time outside. I'll be walking along at my normal pace, practically dragging him along behind me. Granted, he does feel the need to pee on literally everything, even when his little bladder is completely exhausted of urine. Who has time for that? Not me! I've got places to go...or do I?
My pace has never been more evident than in the the last month when I've been working with nursing students. At work, I walk even faster than normal, my nursing clogs clacking their way down the hallway, notifying anyone in front of me that I will very shortly be coming through. The only time I walk slow at work is when I'm sneaking into a patient's room at night to make sure they're still breathing...I can't go speeding into their room or I'll wake them up. Sometimes even when I'm sneaking I wake them up, but I try not to.
So these past few weeks, I've been very aware of my pace, realizing that quite frequently, I leave my poor nursing student in the dust. I'll fly up out of my chair and and will be in the patient's room before she's even left the nursing station. And I feel bad about it. I don't mean to leave her behind, it's nothing personal, it's just how I walk.
And the funny thing is, being aware that I'm leaving her behind has actually gotten me to slow down a little bit. And you know what? Nothing has changed. If I leisurely walk to a patient's room, the outcome is the same. I really don't shave any time off by speed-walking down the hallway...not that I'm consciously trying to shave time in the first place, but I've noticed that my pace doesn't really affect the outcome when I get where I'm going.
In fact, I've been noticing that when I walk really fast, when I really take the time to think about it, I'm slightly more stressed. And I've noticed that the more stressed I get, the faster I walk. I'm beginning to wonder if my pace in general isn't adding to my overall stress at work. It's like everything is urgent, even when it's not. Delivering a blanket to a patient is not an emergency, and maybe I shouldn't be hoofing around like it is. Again, it's not something that I usually think about, but lately I have been.
Something to work on, at any rate.
I've always had this drive to get where I'm going to as quickly as possible. It's not even a conscious thought, it's just there. I don't know why...there's no reason, there's no rush...I just walk really fast pretty much all the time. Simon makes fun of me by walking really fast and leaving me behind on purpose, and there's no way I can keep up with those long legs of his without jogging along. He's such a turd. Half the time I won't even realize that he's doing it until I'm out of breath and practically tripping over my own feet in an effort to keep pace.
And poor Cooper...I'll take him out for a walk, which is supposed to be his time to get out and pee on everything and enjoy his time outside. I'll be walking along at my normal pace, practically dragging him along behind me. Granted, he does feel the need to pee on literally everything, even when his little bladder is completely exhausted of urine. Who has time for that? Not me! I've got places to go...or do I?
My pace has never been more evident than in the the last month when I've been working with nursing students. At work, I walk even faster than normal, my nursing clogs clacking their way down the hallway, notifying anyone in front of me that I will very shortly be coming through. The only time I walk slow at work is when I'm sneaking into a patient's room at night to make sure they're still breathing...I can't go speeding into their room or I'll wake them up. Sometimes even when I'm sneaking I wake them up, but I try not to.
So these past few weeks, I've been very aware of my pace, realizing that quite frequently, I leave my poor nursing student in the dust. I'll fly up out of my chair and and will be in the patient's room before she's even left the nursing station. And I feel bad about it. I don't mean to leave her behind, it's nothing personal, it's just how I walk.
And the funny thing is, being aware that I'm leaving her behind has actually gotten me to slow down a little bit. And you know what? Nothing has changed. If I leisurely walk to a patient's room, the outcome is the same. I really don't shave any time off by speed-walking down the hallway...not that I'm consciously trying to shave time in the first place, but I've noticed that my pace doesn't really affect the outcome when I get where I'm going.
In fact, I've been noticing that when I walk really fast, when I really take the time to think about it, I'm slightly more stressed. And I've noticed that the more stressed I get, the faster I walk. I'm beginning to wonder if my pace in general isn't adding to my overall stress at work. It's like everything is urgent, even when it's not. Delivering a blanket to a patient is not an emergency, and maybe I shouldn't be hoofing around like it is. Again, it's not something that I usually think about, but lately I have been.
Something to work on, at any rate.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
5 Things
I can't really think of much to write today. I started a blog yesterday that was supposed to be a 10 minute one, but it ended up lasting several hours and it's still not done, so that will be a future Eat.Poop.Live post. That's how it goes sometimes. And truthfully, I'm really, really struggling with this 10 minute business. I should have at least given myself 15 minutes. So, in the spirit of staying within my time frame today, I'm going to list off my 5 favorite things.
1. Love Boat Brownie Batter Ice cream. This is a tough favorite, since it is only available in Fort Myers, Florida. I've had ice cream at other ice cream shops since coming back from our Florida trip in February, and they have paled in comparison. They were so bad, in fact, that I've actually kind of lost my craving for ice cream.
2. Cooper. I love him. He is my most favorite little dog, and I can't imagine life without him. I remember back when I had my three dogs, and I thought that Cooper was the most boring of them all. He wasn't as loyal as Lady, and he wasn't as goofy as Brie. Poor Cooper just kind of fell by the wayside. Now that he is here all by himself, I realize what a delight he truly is, and I hope that we've got a few more good years left together.
3. Simon. Of course Simon would make the list. I hope he's not too upset that he's on the list below ice cream and a dog...hahaha! It's true that I cherish just about every minute I get to spend with him, even when he's gassy and toots under the blanket. Oh wait, that's me. Let me rephrase...I love him because he loves me pretty much all the time, even when I'm gassy and tooting under the blanket. Sometimes I blame it on the dog, but most of the time it's actually me. Haha!
4. Warm towels out of the dryer. Truly, is there anything that feels better than the feel and smell of warm, clean towels? My mom has a goofy little dog who shares my sentiment...she goes crazy when the towels are pulled from the dryer, just waiting for the them to be put down somewhere so she can bury herself in them. I love seeing that kind of delight...it's pure and innocent and completely unrestrained.
5. Mexican Mocha from Late for the Train. Truly, this coffee drink is amazing, and Late for the Train has it dialed in. It's creamy and chocolately and that hint of cinnamon and spice gets my taste buds singing. It's the perfect warm, hunker-down drink now that the spring winds have arrived in Flagstaff. I wish I had one right now. But I hate the wind, so I'm staying inside.
So those are 5 of my current favorites. And I finished within my 10 minute time frame! For the very first time! I still think I should have done 15. ;)
1. Love Boat Brownie Batter Ice cream. This is a tough favorite, since it is only available in Fort Myers, Florida. I've had ice cream at other ice cream shops since coming back from our Florida trip in February, and they have paled in comparison. They were so bad, in fact, that I've actually kind of lost my craving for ice cream.
2. Cooper. I love him. He is my most favorite little dog, and I can't imagine life without him. I remember back when I had my three dogs, and I thought that Cooper was the most boring of them all. He wasn't as loyal as Lady, and he wasn't as goofy as Brie. Poor Cooper just kind of fell by the wayside. Now that he is here all by himself, I realize what a delight he truly is, and I hope that we've got a few more good years left together.
3. Simon. Of course Simon would make the list. I hope he's not too upset that he's on the list below ice cream and a dog...hahaha! It's true that I cherish just about every minute I get to spend with him, even when he's gassy and toots under the blanket. Oh wait, that's me. Let me rephrase...I love him because he loves me pretty much all the time, even when I'm gassy and tooting under the blanket. Sometimes I blame it on the dog, but most of the time it's actually me. Haha!
4. Warm towels out of the dryer. Truly, is there anything that feels better than the feel and smell of warm, clean towels? My mom has a goofy little dog who shares my sentiment...she goes crazy when the towels are pulled from the dryer, just waiting for the them to be put down somewhere so she can bury herself in them. I love seeing that kind of delight...it's pure and innocent and completely unrestrained.
5. Mexican Mocha from Late for the Train. Truly, this coffee drink is amazing, and Late for the Train has it dialed in. It's creamy and chocolately and that hint of cinnamon and spice gets my taste buds singing. It's the perfect warm, hunker-down drink now that the spring winds have arrived in Flagstaff. I wish I had one right now. But I hate the wind, so I'm staying inside.
So those are 5 of my current favorites. And I finished within my 10 minute time frame! For the very first time! I still think I should have done 15. ;)
Monday, April 6, 2015
Can You Teach an Old Dog New Tricks?
For years I've avoided taking Cooper on walks in places where I don't have any control of the environment whatsoever. I know it sounds silly, but Cooper, my little 20 pound pug, is very dog aggressive. I know...have you ever heard of anything so silly? What's silly is taking Cooper to the dog park and seeing him take down a Malamute who was a little too interested in his private parts. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Granted, the Malamute basically tripped over his own feet, so surprised and completely caught off guard by this pug missile that was launched unawares right at his face.
I mostly blame myself for this behavior, as I was a complete and total failure at socializing him when he was young. Cooper was the third dog that I acquired while living by myself in Rochester. Why I thought I needed two dogs, let alone three, is a matter that has drawn scrutiny from almost every person I've met. Simon almost didn't date me when he found out that I had three dogs. Anyway, so Cooper was the third to come along, and to be completely honest, I was already somewhat overwhelmed by the other two that his training was lackadaisical at best, completely inept at worst. Granted, none of my dogs had attended any sort of obedience training, and I was under the impression that good behavior in the house was good enough for me. The problem with that, obviously, is that I had completely unsociable monsters on my hands whenever I tried to go anywhere in public.
Lady, the oldest and largest of the three, would cry and howl bloody murder whenever she saw another dog, so desperate was she to go and say hello. Brie was usually content to bark and carry on and puff up like she had something to prove. Cooper immediately went for the throat. Didn't matter how big the other dog was, didn't matter if the other dog was being aggressive or not, Cooper came out on the offensive every single time. It was embarrassing. And not only that, it was dangerous. I remember him picking fights at the dog park with labs and pits and german shepherds, only to realize too late that he was in over his head and come tearing back to me, 100 pounds of big dog on his heels, ready to take me out in order to silence the little bastard who dared antagonize them in the first place. Needless to say, the dog park excursions were short lived.
Fast forward to now...we live in Flagstaff which is a super dog-friendly city (unless you're looking to rent somewhere...good freaking luck finding a place that will take pets, dogs especially). People are always out and about with their dogs. It's not uncommon to be in a store, any store, and have someone walk by with their dog in tow. And for the most part, all these dogs are extremely well behaved. I find myself out and about longing to bring my little Cooper with me, to join the dog brigade, only to realize that I would have no peace whatsoever as he tried to attack every dog within a 2 block radius of himself.
So it came to pass the other day that I was going for a walk with my friends Emily and Kelly, both of whom were bringing their dogs along. I sat there and contemplated. Did I dare try to bring Cooper along? I did dare...and wouldn't you know it, the little bastard actually behaved himself. Alarmingly so. And I had him off leash for the entire walk. I kept waiting for him to fly off the handle and try to take out one of the other dogs, but he didn't. He was content to trot along at my heels, and I rewarded him handsomely for his good behavior with little bits of carrot...his favorite treat. I was astonished. Of course there was a bit of a scuffle when he realized that one of the other dogs was getting treats of ham, but it was very short lived and easily curbed with a little distraction.
So maybe I haven't been giving my little buddy enough credit. Maybe my anxiety when I'm out with him is part of the problem, putting him on edge when there's no reason to be. I do think that having him off-leash takes the aggression down significantly, but that's frequently not an option. I still don't think I'm going to try to taking him out downtown where I know there are likely be lots of dogs out with their people. At 10 years old, I just don't know how good I can really expect it to get. But for right now, I'm proud of my little curmudgeon, and I feel a little bit bad for doubting him in the first place. I hope that he only continues to improve, and I hope that I continue to find the patience to work with him.
 |
| Cute little bugger...when he's not being a douche |
I mostly blame myself for this behavior, as I was a complete and total failure at socializing him when he was young. Cooper was the third dog that I acquired while living by myself in Rochester. Why I thought I needed two dogs, let alone three, is a matter that has drawn scrutiny from almost every person I've met. Simon almost didn't date me when he found out that I had three dogs. Anyway, so Cooper was the third to come along, and to be completely honest, I was already somewhat overwhelmed by the other two that his training was lackadaisical at best, completely inept at worst. Granted, none of my dogs had attended any sort of obedience training, and I was under the impression that good behavior in the house was good enough for me. The problem with that, obviously, is that I had completely unsociable monsters on my hands whenever I tried to go anywhere in public.
 |
| Hanging out poolside in Florida |
Lady, the oldest and largest of the three, would cry and howl bloody murder whenever she saw another dog, so desperate was she to go and say hello. Brie was usually content to bark and carry on and puff up like she had something to prove. Cooper immediately went for the throat. Didn't matter how big the other dog was, didn't matter if the other dog was being aggressive or not, Cooper came out on the offensive every single time. It was embarrassing. And not only that, it was dangerous. I remember him picking fights at the dog park with labs and pits and german shepherds, only to realize too late that he was in over his head and come tearing back to me, 100 pounds of big dog on his heels, ready to take me out in order to silence the little bastard who dared antagonize them in the first place. Needless to say, the dog park excursions were short lived.
 |
| Getting to ride up front on one of our many road trips |
Fast forward to now...we live in Flagstaff which is a super dog-friendly city (unless you're looking to rent somewhere...good freaking luck finding a place that will take pets, dogs especially). People are always out and about with their dogs. It's not uncommon to be in a store, any store, and have someone walk by with their dog in tow. And for the most part, all these dogs are extremely well behaved. I find myself out and about longing to bring my little Cooper with me, to join the dog brigade, only to realize that I would have no peace whatsoever as he tried to attack every dog within a 2 block radius of himself.
 |
| Napping, his most favorite activity |
So it came to pass the other day that I was going for a walk with my friends Emily and Kelly, both of whom were bringing their dogs along. I sat there and contemplated. Did I dare try to bring Cooper along? I did dare...and wouldn't you know it, the little bastard actually behaved himself. Alarmingly so. And I had him off leash for the entire walk. I kept waiting for him to fly off the handle and try to take out one of the other dogs, but he didn't. He was content to trot along at my heels, and I rewarded him handsomely for his good behavior with little bits of carrot...his favorite treat. I was astonished. Of course there was a bit of a scuffle when he realized that one of the other dogs was getting treats of ham, but it was very short lived and easily curbed with a little distraction.
 |
| The last photo of Cooper and Brie together |
So maybe I haven't been giving my little buddy enough credit. Maybe my anxiety when I'm out with him is part of the problem, putting him on edge when there's no reason to be. I do think that having him off-leash takes the aggression down significantly, but that's frequently not an option. I still don't think I'm going to try to taking him out downtown where I know there are likely be lots of dogs out with their people. At 10 years old, I just don't know how good I can really expect it to get. But for right now, I'm proud of my little curmudgeon, and I feel a little bit bad for doubting him in the first place. I hope that he only continues to improve, and I hope that I continue to find the patience to work with him.
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