Shit Rocky's Eaten: Part II

Since my post about all of the crap Rocky has eaten, several of my friends have reminded me of more things he has eaten.

-A canister of Parmesan cheese.
-Dry soup.
-A bag of Kit Kats, including the wrappers.
-A birthday cake.
-A piece of steak that was on my fork.
-Grey's Anatomy: Season 1.
-A bag of raw bread ingredients: This one was kind of my fault.  I left the bag out where he could easily get to it, but who would think he would eat raw bread ingredients?
-An entire ham that was in my parents garage.

Again, that's all I remember for now, so keep the reminders coming.  I'm enjoying putting this list together.

And then there were two.

Yesterday afternoon, I pulled some chicken from the freezer and left it on my counter to defrost.  I had planned on using it for dinner, but a friend of mine came over and instead of eating dinner, we drank it.  In the form of wine.  Anyway, I left the chicken on the counter with every intention of putting in the refrigerator.

I finally walked downstairs to go to bed about 2:00 a.m. and was getting ready to take Rocky out when I suddenly heard something fall in the kitchen.  I went to check it out and right before I walked in the kitchen I saw Liza, my roommates cat.  I picked her up and took her back upstairs and didn't give it much more thought.  I took Rock out and went to bed.

Fast forward to this morning, when I walk into the kitchen.  I look around to see what Liza might have knocked over and that's when I see the package of chicken upside down on the floor.  When I pick it up, I realize that it's been opened and one of the breasts has little bites taken out of it.

I could only stare and think, "Damn.  Now there are two of them."

She's like a little Rocky in training.

Shit Rocky's eaten

Last week I received this text message from my friend Maegan:

"I left Shadow alone for 1 hour and she ate a whole loaf of Amish bread and then tried to eat 3 raw potatoes and a can of Pringles!"

I should back up.  I don't think I've mentioned my friends Maegan and Kurt or their dog, Shadow.  I met them (actually I met Kurt first) at our apartment complex in Charleston, SC.  They had just gotten Shadow at Pet Helpers.  Shadow is gorgeous.  She's half shepherd, half husky.  It took Rocky all of about ten seconds to fall in love with her and she's been his "girlfriend" ever since.  It's awesome.  They're about the same size and they get along really well.  When we were living in Charleston, we saw each other pretty much every day.  They moved to Maryland last year and I followed them about a year later.

Anyway, Shadow is the better behaved of the two.  She can actually be left alone without being put up and away from the kitchen.  Or at least she could.  Rocky has always been the bad one.  The one with the funny stories and the diarrhea.  So you can imagine my utter delight when I received the above text message.  I was not supportive at all and I actually encouraged Shadow to try harder to get the Pringles can open.

This whole incident got me thinking about everything Rocky has eaten.  I've decided to start a list.  I'm sure there's no way I can remember everything he's eaten, but I'm going to try.

Here goes nothing:
- my paycheck: he got this out of my lab jacket
- a pound of DRY pasta
- a tin full of treats: he opened the tin himself
- an entire bag of caramel candies, sans the wrappers
- unsalted pumpkin seeds
- rotten blueberries: he ate these along with the pumpkin seeds
- a box of Triscuits that he got down from the back of the stove
- a box of Lucky Charms off of the top of the refrigerator
- 2 pounds of meat, cheese and Hunt's tomato paste:  He ate this out of a crock pot.  He got the crock pot down off of the counter then preceded to help himself and destroyed the crock pot in the process.
- a half of can of queso dip:  he unscrewed the top off of the can

I KNOW there's more and I just can't think of them all, so I welcome any comments from anyone who remembers something I don't.  I plan to keep adding to this list as I'm sure it will grow.

Adult Forced Immunizations? Really?

Let me start this post by saying I am a STRONG supporter of immunizations.  I was a microbiology major in college, so there's no swaying this girl.  My brother almost got punched just by even questioning the pediatrician's stance on immunizations.

I believe firmly in childhood immunizations and even certain immunizations as we get older, i.e Hepatitis, so I'm not going to discuss those.  Although, I won't have any trouble about talking about the so-called "autism" link, if anyone wants to go there.

The immunization I am questioning is one that most people don't even think twice about, the flu shot.  The seasonal flu is responsible for an estimated 25,000 deaths annually.  That's more than HIV (in the United States).  Granted, most of the deaths from seasonal flu are the elderly, the very young, or those who are already immunocompromised, but still, that's a lot of people.  Every year doctors' offices, clinics, and hospitals are flooded with people suffering from symptoms related to the seasonal flu.

That's where I come in.  I've worked in the medical field for almost 13 years.  Either in the pharmacy or in a hospital.  I've never had any trouble with the flu shot.  Needles don't bother me, I'm not allergic to eggs, and I don't pass out if I see a drop of blood.  Whenever the flu shot is available to me, I get it.  Fortunately, there has only been one year since I began working that I haven't been able to get the flu shot.  That was probably my worst winter, sickness wise.  I constantly had either a runny nose, cough, respiratory infection, or just ached all over.  I swore then I would not miss another one.

Unfortunately, not everyone is as lucky as I have been.  I've never gotten sick from the shot, but I know lots of people that have.  I also know people who haven't had the flu shot in 15 years and haven't suffered a day with the flu.  For most of my life the flu shot has been optional.

Until now.

The hospital I work requires every employee to get the flu shot.  Seriously, if an employee hasn't been vaccinated by December 1st, they lose their job.  Not suspension, but lose the job.  The only way out is an allergy to eggs. From what I understand, even religious reasons cannot keep you from facing employee health nurses and their happy syringe filled hands.  For some reason, this really bothers me.  I understand that I work in a field that is quite literally face to face with people.  I get closer to most people than I want.  I get coughed on, spit on (usually by accident), and I've even been urinated on, so I understand that the hospital wants to protect its patients and its employees as much as possible.

It just doesn't feel right.

I work with a guy who is terrified of needles or really any kind of sharp object.  He went to get his teeth cleaned and had to get gas to get through the process.  His mom had to leave work early to pick him up because the dentist wouldn't let him drive home.  Last week he went to get the flu shot.  He broke into a sweat and had to lay down on a stretcher because the nurses were worried that he was going to pass out.  He's never been sick with the flu or called out a day because of it, yet he is forced to get the flu shot or he loses his well paying, union protected job.

I would be more understanding about the process if it was a once in a lifetime thing, like Hepatitis.  It just seems forcing people to get the immunization year after year is going a bit too far.

What does everyone else think?  Am I completely alone is this opinion?

I know, I know. I'm behind.

So, I just got a text message from my brother complaining that I haven't written a new post in a while.  I decided that while I'm sitting in this big house alone (aside from the snoring dog sleeping next to me), fighting a cold, icing a sore foot, and no car to go anywhere, I would finally write my Rally to Restore Sanity post.

First of all, I have been a little hesitant to write this post because of some of the feedback I was getting on Facebook.  I have a lot of friends and family that are on the conservative side and feel that the Rally was an attack on those principles.  It wasn't.  The point of the rally was to bring common sense back to America.  And not the common sense Glenn Beck preaches about, but the type of common sense that brings people together.  Everyday, we deal with people who have different opinions, work ethics, and personalities.  Everyday, we learn how to work and love all of these different types of people.  We've learned how to compromise and make sacrifices for the good of everyone.  Even with all of the differences, we still manage to get things done.  The whole point of the rally was exactly this.  We need to bring basic decency and tolerance back to politics.  Also, the rally was extremely calm.  There weren't any fights. In fact, the extra security wasn't even needed.

The rally seemed to be some kind of sign making convention.  Here is a website that showcases some of the rally's signs:
The 100 Best Signs At The Rally To Restore Sanity And/Or Fear

Some of my favorite signs that I saw:

-I'm a socialist and I'm pretty sure Obama isn't.
-Palin and Pelosi: Both nice ladies.
-Ain't no party like my Nana's Tea Party.
-My text messages are grammatically correct. (Quite possibly my favorite)
-Jon Stewart: I want to have your anchor baby.
-More Doctors, Less Jails.
-Scientists for Sanity.
-Someone said there would be beer?!
-Anyone 4 scrabble later?
-Be the change you want to see in the world.
-Read books.
-Jump rope with a Muslim (you could actually jump rope with a Muslim).
-I may disagree with you, but I'm pretty sure you're not a Nazi.

As you can see, these are not people who wanted to start a riot.  I heard a girl a few people away try to start the chant, "F**k, Glenn Beck."  She was quieted before she could say it twice.  There was a video montage which basically poked fun at cable news.  Yes, Glenn Beck and the Foxnews network were featured, but so was MSN and CNN which are two of the networks accused of being a big part of the "liberal" media.  No one was safe from Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.

I also heard a lot of people say that nothing was accomplished.  I beg to differ.  I think this rally is the beginning of a change.  It may be a slow change, but there will be a change.  My generation is becoming less tolerant of the intolerance.  We want to see people compromise in the political landscape so real change can begin.  None of us like to see the huge divides that are created when there is so much fighting that our elected officials won't listen to one another.

Okay, I'm done.  I know this was a bit modest, I could go on for a long time, but I'm going to stop now.  Except for this.  The Rally to Restore Sanity And/Or Fear had more in attendance than Glenn Beck's rally.

Jon Stewart Rally Attracts Estimated 215,000

As a side note, Metro ridership was up about 30% the day of the rally compared to a normal Saturday.  I know several people who lived here during Obama's inauguration and said that there was even more people on the Metro during the rally than the inauguration.

Metro sets new record for highest Saturday Metrorail ridership
Transit Frustrations at Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear

Also, just to point out the difference of the people in attendance to Glenn Beck's rally compared to the Rally to Restore Sanity, here are a few signs from Beck's rally:

The Dumbest Shirts At The Glenn Beck Rally

Okay, I'm really done now.  If this post seems a little disjointed, blame it on the cold medication.

I'm right! I'm right!

So, a couple of days ago I posted about rolling bags.  Specifically, how much I HATE them.  Anyway, I'm hear to say, I'M RIGHT!!!  For those of you who don't know, there was a bomb threat on some of the Metro stations.  Here is a link to an article in the Washington Post:

Suspect in D.C. Metro bomb plot sought to fight U.S. troops overseas, records say

My favorite part is this:

"Ahmed proposed an additional Metro station target, suggested locations to place bombs and even recommended that putting explosives in rolling suitcases instead of backpacks would be more effective, Dayoub wrote."


So, basically rolling suitcases are now considered terrorists.  I'm not crazy.  But I am RIGHT!!!


Also, Mom, none of the Metro stations are anywhere close to where I live or work.  

Today, I hate....

Those stupid rolling bags.  I HATE them.

Let me put those god awful things into perspective.  Today, I was getting off of the Metro and veered to my right to get to the stairs, when "Bam!"  I'm on the ground.  My glasses fell off and my hand bent one of the sides.  I fell over one of those horrible contraptions.  To top it all off, the lady has the audacity to yell "Watch it" to me.  Seriously?  (How many of you have caught on that I'm a big fan of Grey's Anatomy from the number of times I say seriously?)  I immediately realized that she had one of those rolling bags.

The thing about these bags is that the people who carry them take no responsibility for how much they annoy other people.  Especially people who routinely use public transportation.  Another example.  Last week, I'm getting on the Metro with a guy I work with.  We happen to get behind this woman (I'm seeing a trend) who is also getting on with one of those horrible bags behind her.  She is taking her sweet time and there is no one in front of her.  We are getting irritated because we hear the bell signaling that the doors are about to close.  My friend, who is in front of me, is about halfway on when the doors shut with his bag hanging out and I'm still outside.  I had to wait eight more minutes for another train.  My friend told me later that he had to wait until the next stop to get his bag out from the door.  He said something to the lady who shrugged and said we should have taken another car.  Very frustrating.

So hear is my plea.  Please, if you have one of these bags, be courteous.  FYI, lady who I ride the bus with, I'm talking to you.  Your bag does not deserve it's own seat in the front, when the 80 year old lady has to stand the whole way.  Also, when on the escalator, the bag should either be in front of you or behind you.  Not beside you.  There are people (usually not me) who want to walk up the stairs of the escalator and they can't because your bag takes up the whole stair.  Also,  I hate little kids rolling their bags along.  The next generation of kids is going to be lazy anyway, do we really need to get them rolling bags?  Also, what's up with briefcases on rollers?  I thought the whole point of briefcases was to carry them.  Also,  those stupid bags are top heavy and fall over a lot.  So when you're not paying attention they fall over and hit a stroller on the Metro.

You know what?  I have no plea.  I hate those stupid, God-awful things.

Missing fall

For the past three years (give or take a few weeks), I have lived in Charleston, SC.  Charleston is a gorgeous coast city that's full of palm trees and stays about 100 degrees for six months of the year.  I loved it.  It never really got cold until late November/early December.  It would stay that way until February/March and I was back in my flip flops by my birthday in April.  Basically, there weren't seasons. It was either summer or a sorry excuse for winter.  Earlier this year, it snowed for the first time in over 20 years.  And by saying it snowed, I mean it snowed maybe an inch, it suck on the ground for one night, and it made the roads look like it rained.  It didn't even freeze.  However, you would have thought it snowed 70 inches and Charleston was going to be cut off from the outside world from the way people reacted.  It was kind of like Tennessee whenever there is a threat of snowstorms, except 20 times worse.

Anyway, I really loved the set up.  We would deal with cold weather for a couple of months, then it was back to sunshine for most of the year.  I didn't really miss the spring or fall.  In fact, I became increasingly annoyed when I would go home for Thanksgiving and it was in the thirties while Charleston was sitting in the sixties.

Living in Washington, DC is going to be more like living back in Tennessee season wise.  It's already starting to get a bit of chill in the air.  Leaves are turning and on my walk home I'm starting to hear the familiar crunch of leaves that have fallen from the trees under my shoes.  The mornings are freezing and it's not hard to get out of bed (yet), but it is getting harder and harder to leave the shower.  I realized this weekend that I need to go shopping, that I'm hopelessly unprepared for this winter.  I'm already dreading the snow and ice that is sure to come.  I've also started complaining about the cold weather.

However, on my afternoon walk with Rocky, I found myself standing in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes closed, just breathing in the crisp, fall breeze.  I could feel fall.  The cool air wrapped me like a warm, cozy blanket.  I could feel the leaves falling from the trees gently brush by.  I could hear kids laughing and dogs barking.  The sun was just starting to fade and the last bit of sunlight was hitting my face.  A huge smile spread across my face.  In that moment, it hit me.  I missed fall.  I miss this time of year when the day is just cool enough for a long sleeve shirt, but too warm for a jacket.  I miss the hot chocolate, the scarves, and the boots.  I miss watching my breath in the air (I'm going to regret saying that in about a month).  Mostly, I miss watching the leaves changing colors.

I never knew how much I missed fall.

And I'm feeling old

So, this week I have felt nothing but old.  There have been a lot of references to the fact that I'm old.  There was the whole iCarly backpack incident.  I thought iCarly was some kind of computer, apparently, it's a show on Nickelodeon.  I told a kid on the bus how old I was and he responded with, "Wow, that's old."  Compared to the age of his teenage parents, I probably was ancient.  Anyway, there has been a lot of the fact I'm not 21 anymore right in my face.

Tonight took the cake.  There is a guy moving into the open room upstairs.  I've met him a couple of times and he seems perfectly nice.  Earlier I was in my apartment with the windows open.  It was a beautiful day.  It was one of those days where you don't need the air or the heat on.  It was perfect.  Anyway, I'm sitting in my apartment when I hear the guy with his girlfriend walking up the front stairs.  She asked who was home.  He responded with, "Byron and the lady who lives downstairs."  The lady?  WTF?  When did I become a lady?  Ma'am, I can live with.  I'm a Southerner, I've been called a ma'am since I was 18.  But, lady?  Seriously?  Seriously?  Do I really look that old?  I'm sure he meant no harm, but seriously?  Lady?  I feel like I'm halfway to crazy cat lady.  I should just start collecting the cats now.

Here's hoping!

Tomorrow is my first evaluation at my new job.  It probably wouldn't be a good idea for me get drunk tonight and come in hung over tomorrow.  Here's hoping I don't get fired!

Boys and Girls

Here is an actual text conversation my brother Jared and I had earlier this evening:

Me: Please explain to me how 1 min left on the clock in a football game turns into an
        hour.

Jared: Timeouts, official replay reviews, squeezing the last paid commercials in.

Me: It's a little ridiculous.

Jared: If u like football, then it just prolongs the celebration of great theatre.

Me: Are you really comparing football to great theatre?  Like a Titans football game is
       the same as watching West Side story?

Jared: No, I wouldn't want to insult the art form and human drama of football by
          comparing it to West Side Story.

Me: I just want you to know that I am shaking my head at you right now.

Jared: That was my plan.  Different course for different horses.  U like theatre, I like
           sports.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a complete side note, there are now mice in the house.  Byron found a couple of traps and graciously set mine up for me.  As I was watching him set them, I screamed like a little girl on more than one occasion.  I kept thinking he was going to hurt himself.  Of course, he would have been a lot less likely to hurt himself if he wasn't laughing so hard at me screaming like a little girl.

The living situation

I live in a "basement" apartment of a three story house.  I put basement in parentheses because it is not what I traditionally think of as a basement.  The entrance is only 4 steps below ground level.  To me, a basement is an entire floor underground and cold, dark, dreary, and concrete.  Mine is warm, has hardwood floors, and not really that dark.  I have my own kitchen, bathroom, and living room.  Above, there are four rooms rented out and they share a kitchen, bathroom, and living "area".  I've never quite lived in a situation like this and, so far, I'm really enjoying it.  Rocky loves it.  Everyone has been great about him.  Whenever Byron, one of the housemates, comes home Rocky barrels upstairs and they have a lovefest for about 15 minutes.

Even though I like hanging out with everyone, on my anti-social days, I can basically lock myself into my apartment and never see anyone.  That's really nice.

Anyway, having all these different people in the house makes for some interesting situations.  For example, I came home late the other night and heard Byron in the kitchen upstairs.  The kitchen is right off of the stairs to my apartment, so I decided to run up and say hi.  I was a little more than halfway up when Byron, without even looking in my direction, says, "I don't think you should come up here.  You're not going to like what you're going to see."  I do what everyone would do in my situation would do, I run up the stairs even faster.  I get to the kitchen and see Byron pulling a dead mouse of a white bag that I know for a fact sits in the freezer.  I ask in a horrified voice what exactly is he doing with frozen dead mice and why is he putting them in water.  "I'm defrosting them for the snakes."  I guess this is a good time to mention that Byron has three snakes.  After a couple of minutes of light conversation, the defrosting of the baby mice, and a tour showing off all three snakes (including the mean one), I called it a night and went downstairs.  As I was getting ready for bed, I couldn't help but think that I just had an encounter that I would never have had in South Carolina.

I'm liking DC more and more.

The right time

I have always believed that things happen for a reason.  That everything happens to/for me propels me towards an unknown goal.  Sometimes, I think that unknown goal is to leave me cold and destitute somewhere where it snows 350 days of the year.  Regardless, I believe that everyone you meet plays a role in your end goal, as you play in theirs.  Never does this mean more to me than at work.  As most of you know, I work almost exclusively with oncology patients.  One bad experience at a hospital and it can change their entire outlook on their prognosis.  I always try to make it as easy as possible on them and in return, I get some of the most heartfelt thanks a person can receive.  Anyway, back to my point.  I believe that people come into your life, as fleeting as the encounter may be, for a reason.  I've had a couple of encounters recently that have enforced that belief.

About two weeks ago, I read my cousin's blog (jenniferandtrent.blogspot.com).  I often check it because Jennifer is really good about posting pictures of three of the most adorable boys known to men.  I checked it and she had posted that they had just put down one of their labs, Oscar.  This really got to me because a) Oscar is a yellow lab mix, just like Rocky (my dog) and b) the way the boys responded by wanting to bury a treat in the backyard so Oscar would have it in Heaven.  I was actually pretty sad about it for a week or so when I just happened to strike up a conversation with a patient's family member.  She was an elderly lady who had been married to her husband for over 60 years!  Anyway, she asked me the question (actually two) that almost every married woman asks me.  "Are you married?" and "Do you have children?"  My answer to the first question is always, "God, no!" While the answer to my second is, "I have a dog, that's plenty."  The lady preceded to tell me about all of the dogs and how all of them died at an early age of some weird, rare disease.  I guess she could tell she was depressing the hell out of me because she looked me dead in the eye and said, "I may have lost them all early, but I wouldn't change a thing.  I've never learned more than when I owned a dog.  I keep getting more.   That means something."  For some reason, this made me feel better about the whole thing.  I just hope the boys remember how much they loved Oscar, not how badly they felt when he died.

My next encounter was just plain funny.  I have major issues with balance and coordination.  Anyone who knows me, or has seen me walk, can back me up.  I was running down the stairs trying to get to work, late as usual (thank you Washington, DC public transportation).  When I misjudged a step and fell backwards on the stairs.  Don't ask me how, it just happened.  As I was doing this remarkable display of gymnastics, the director of my department walked into the stairwell and saw the whole thing.  My ability to speak completely left and I was mortified.  Inside, I was beating myself up and thinking that something like this could only happen to me.  My director looked at me and said, "Well, if the only bad thing I can say about you is that you can't walk down stairs, then I think you're doing alright."  I don't think there is anything else he could have said.  His little off the cuff remark has made me feel much better about taking the leap to move to a much bigger city.  Things have been a little rough, but something tells me it might just be working out.

Yes, I'm a dork

So, this weekend was pretty much the first weekend I actually spent in DC.  Luckily for me it also happened to be the weekend that the Library of Congress was hosting the annual National Book Festival.  I can't possibly describe how excited I was to hear this news.  I was originally planning to go to a museum at the suggestion of my friend Elizabeth Martin.  Saturday was also Museum Day, but when I heard about the book festival, I couldn't resist.  I live in DC, the museums are free here, I can go any Saturday.  But the Book Festival is only once a year.  It was just too much to resist.

For those who have never been, a book festival is a book lovers dream.  I went several years ago with my mom and a friend of hers to the Southern Festival of Books and was hooked.  I heard Mitch Albom speak and I was also able to have him sign a couple of books.  I also was able to hear a new author by the name of Meghan Daum.  She had just released the book The Quality of Life Report and I had been dying to read it.  Unfortunately, it was only available in hard back and I, a poor college student, couldn't afford to buy it. Fortunately, a book salesman overheard me tell my mom how much I wanted to read it, gave me the book for free, and also showed me where I could get her to sign it.  That was when I fell in love with book festivals.

I'll be honest, even though I would have gone regardless, my main reason for going was Jonathan Franzen.  I wanted to hear what he have to say.  He was cool, but my favorite author was one that took me quite off guard. I was headed to the children's tent, when I heard someone speaking very passionately about immigration.  I stopped and turned.  His name was Steven Roberts.  The woman interviewing him about his book?  One of my heros, Cokie Roberts.  Now, you may not know who Cokie Roberts is, but let me tell you she is badass.  Not only is she an author, journalist, mother, grandmother, wife, political correspondent, but she was able to do all of this carrying around the name Cokie.  Can't you just imagine the jokes she had to endure?  My last name was Wilber and that was bad enough.  But a first name of Cokie?  I just can't imagine.  You know she had to work twice as hard to get half as far, but she did it.  I have nothing but the utmost respect for her. 

Steven Roberts spoke about immigration with a passion I had only heard from a negative side of the argument.  I'll admit, I don't have a fully developed opinion on immigration, other than the fact that this country was built on immigrants.  I understand both arguments.  Those who want strict regulations and others that say we should give immigrants the benefit of the doubt.  It's a subject I definitely need to do more research on and one that doesn't get me going.  When I heard Steven Roberts speak, I realized that there is a much larger argument that needs to be had.  He produced hard cold facts about immigrants "stealing our jobs" (aka, they really don't) and intertwined it with stories of immigrants from all walks of life.  From Hispanics to Asians.  He even spoke about German citizens who immigrated during WWII. 

I won't say he got me on his side, but he as propelled me to do more research about the topic.  That is the point of books.  They are there to push you, help you look at things from a different angle, and most of all, to think. 

I hope that there will always be a book festival with speakers like Steven Roberts.  And, I hope the electronic age helps us, as a society, to expand things like this, not deter them.

Laughing at my expense

I, like many others my age, have a complicated and complex relationship with religion and God.  No, I'm not really interested in talking about it now, so don't bother.  However, God was definitely laughing at my expense yesterday.  After a funny incidence or two at work (which I don't want to talk about because, well, I don't want to get FIRED), I then got lost walking around DC trying to find a Bank of America.  Then, last night was the icing on the cake.  I had been sitting in bed after posting for a couple of hours and chatting on Facebook with my friend, Tracy.  Rocky began to get restless when I noticed it was after 11:00 and he needed to go outside.  I was dressed in sweats and a tank top, and (warning about to talk about boobs) no bra.  Now, I didn't mind taking Rocky outside, but I was dreading the thought of putting on a bra.  It's the whole process really and they are very uncomfortable.  Seriously, when I'm old and retired, I'm taking mine off and never putting one back on.  Plus, I'm, um, well endowed.  They are embarrassing without a bra on.  Someone two miles away could tell I wasn't wearing a bra.  Anyway, I saw a sweatshirt and put it on thinking that it would somewhat hid my embarrassing "fun bags".  It was about 11:30 and I knew that not very many people would be out walking.  I thought I had gotten away with it when on the last leg of our walk, I ran into a lady who I met on Sunday.  She too was out walking her dog.  I immediately crossed my arms and said hello.  The next thing I know her husband, two friends, and her neighbor were outside.  Apparently, they were having a dinner party and everyone wanted to enjoy the nice night.  My anxiety was rising and the only thing I could think was, "I have to get inside and away from these people."  I quickly mumbled something about it being late and started walking away.  That's when I heard my name.  I looked up to see my neighbor waving.  Suddenly, my body jerked forward and I was looking at the sidewalk.  I had fallen.  Tripped over some invisible something.  Everyone was around me.  My neighbor, the lady walking her dog, her husband, her neighbor, and her two friends.  I was trying to get up so no one would notice my bralessness.  Unfortunately, my sweatshirt had creeped up my back and no one was going to let me get up with out help.  Let's just say having someone help you get up while trying to pull your shirt down and cross your arms across your chest, is a big fat fail.  I'm pretty sure everyone noticed I wasn't wearing a bra because they averted their eyes and walked away quickly.

The only thing I could think was, "I'll never call a 7-11 or Bank of America manna from heaven ever again, God.  Happy now?!"

Manna from Heaven

Today Manna from Heaven, for me, came in the form of a Bank of America and a 7-11.  Before you judge and throw actual pieces of manna (am I even spelling that right?) hear me out.  So, I've been using my credit card for most of my daily expenses.  I plan on paying it off fairly quickly, but I checked it today and the balance almost made me cry.  I desperately needed to get to the bank.  I had a couple of checks that would easily take over my bills and everyday stuff.  I looked online and there was a Bank of America just a few blocks away from my apartment and was sorta on my way home.  I calculated it and is only six blocks out of my way from my usual route home.  There was no way I was driving my car for six blocks.  So, I carefully mapped out the way to get to the bank from Union Station.  I just forgot I was going to be going at rush hour.

My problems started at Union Station.  The platform was incredibly busy.  Much busier than the actual Metro.  I was riding towards the front of the metro which was unusual for me.  When I got off, the crowd was pushing everyone who was getting off to a different set of stairs than what I'm used to.  I decided not to fight it and just go with the flow.  I had never been this way but I shrugged it off thinking it couldn't be too hard to find my way to the correct exit.  Yeah, no.  I got outside and I was at the back of Union Station.    To get an accurate picture of what I was dealing with, Union Station is about five blocks front to back.  I was about a block from the very back of the Station and on the wrong side.  I walked around to what I thought was the front, but it wasn't.  Instead of wasting time, I decided to walk until I ran into the street I needed to turn on to.  The street name was 'H' and I was starting at 'I'.  No biggie, right?  I started walking.  I'll admit I was taking my time and looking around at everything trying to get a feel for the area.  When I realized that I had been walking for a while, I looked at the nearest street sign.  I was on 'B' street.  So I backtracked, looking for 'H'.  I went past 'E', 'F', 'G' and then look, there's 'I' again.  No 'H'.  I walked down to 'G' and walked a block and then went back up a block.  No 'H'.  Again, I walked down a block and over.  No 'H'.  I repeated this two more times. Finally, I saw 'H'. But the sidewalk I needed to go down was under construction.  I went up two blocks then walked ten blocks to the street I thought the Bank of America was on.  By this time, I had walked WAY more than the six blocks out of my way than I originally thought.  Also, I had worn my Dansko's to work.  For those outside the medical profession.  Dansko's are clogs that are slip-on.  Extremely comfortable, but they weigh about five pounds and are not meant for city walking.  I tripped no less than 15 times on my little adventure.  So here I am tired, sweaty, my feet are aching, I am very thirsty, and I really have to pee.  Then, suddenly out of nowhere... Bank of America!

I finally get inside, but can barely deposit my checks because I am dancing I have to pee so badly.  I manage to get everything done.  I go out the back part of the building and I see.....a 7-11.  I feel like my problems are solved.  Air conditioning, water, and a place to pee.  At that moment it looked like the Taj Mahal.  It was my manna from heaven.

Exhaustion

The exhaustion has set in.  These past few weeks have felt like they have gone at warp speed.  There have been so many changes in the past month and a half that everything has hit me.  Hit me like an 18 wheeler going 60 miles per hour.  I'm having trouble getting up in the morning and getting home in the afternoon.  I seriously want to get on the metro, lean my head against the window and just sleep.  I fantasize about riding for hours and no one bothers me.  This is just so I can get enough sleep and energy so I can walk home in the afternoon.  I have also thought about starting a petition so that maybe a Starbucks can be placed inside the Metro.  Who's with me?

But then were we would put all of the tourists?

On a side note, I came across this article in Newsweek about more women earning Doctorates than men.  I think it nicely ties in with my last blog.

www.newsweek.com/2010/09/15/women-earn-most-doctorates-but-find-colleges-not-family-friendly.html

Generational Gap

Before I left for my spontaneous weekend at home, I told my co workers where I was going and why.  As soon as I got back, I was pelted with questions about the baby and some general questions about my family (keep in mind I've barely been there two weeks).  I happen to work with two older women, about my mom's age, and a younger guy about mine.  One of the women asked if getting married and having kids was on my bucket list. I kind of shrugged my shoulders and said I was indifferent.  If it happened, it happened.  If it didn't, it didn't.  They both drew in their breath and had that look on their face.  You know the look I'm talking about.  It's the same look Mom gets when she completely disagrees with a decision I make.  I suddenly felt really uncomfortable and a little less like a person.  

Maybe I just had really good parents, but I was never led to believe that my life would ever be wrapped around a man.  I was never told that I had to be married when I was 20 and my first kid by 21.  The only thing I was told is that I was going to college.  On this, I had no choice.  I'm not saying people who do get married at an early age are wrong, just that it was never on my agenda.  Do I see myself getting married?  I dunno.  I don't see myself spending the rest of my life alone.  But getting married?  That's a huge thing.  It's not something that is to be taken lightly.  

Most of my friends are the same way.  Sure, many would like to get married and have kids, but most want to go to college, travel, make stupid decisions, and have a career first.  Both of the women I work with, got married, had kids, then had a career.  My mom was the same way.  She went back to school when I was in kindergarten and started working when I was in third grade.  This is such a foreign idea to me.  If I had a child at 21, they would probably already be in juvenile detention, smoking 3 packs a day.

If I was one of those really cool people I would have looked up all sorts of stats about how there are more women in the workplace, more are getting married and having babies later, and more and more women are becoming the primary breadwinners in the family.  But I'm not.  I just wonder when this shift happened and why.  I'm also grateful that I have really cool parents who are completely supportive and don't care if I get married OR have babies.  

Sorry about the rambling, but I just couldn't get this conversation out of my mind.

According to my mother....

Darby is already gifted.  That's right, my four day old niece is apparently gifted.  But, maybe I should back up first.  My brother, Matthew, and my sister and law, Alison, had a baby on Thursday, September 9, 2010.  Her name is Darby Kay Lynne Wilber and she weighed 6 lbs, 10 ounces, 20 1/4 inches long and has a head full of hair.  Oh, and she's perfect.  I'm not saying that because I'm her aunt, I'm saying it because it's true.  Okay, I might be a little biased, but not much.  I meant to let everyone know the news, but I was able to catch a flight on Friday and I spent the whole weekend at home.  I had a great weekend and was grateful that I was able to catch a flight and that Darby has good timing.

Anyway, so Darby is gifted.  This whole gifted came about on Saturday night.  I was holding Darby against my chest, when she lifted her head slightly and looked around.  I know it sounds like I'm crazy when I say a two day old lifted her head on her own, but I'm not.  There are pictures to prove it.  So, anyway, after Darby did this I looked at my Dad and asked if this is normal.  My mom overheard the conversation and said, "It is if they're gifted."  Mom may think she is gifted because she has lifted her head, I think she is gifted because she has peed or pooped on my brother at least two days straight.  Other than the gifted comment, my parents are over the moon at the birth of their first grandchild.  I'm surprised my mom has been able to limit herself to daily visits.  I expected her to rent out the hospital room next to Alison's so she could have unlimited access.  Darby doesn't stand a chance.

Over the last few months and even this weekend, there's been a lot of "I hope Darby is ______."  We would feel in the blank with drummer (Matthew), clean (Alison), a liberal (me), a reader (Mom), you get the idea.  And even though I have grandiose ideas for her, what I want most for Darby is that she is Darby.  I want Darby to be whoever (whomever?) she wants to be.  I want her to run around in the rain, get dirty, go to the zoo.  I want her to play in mud puddles.  I want her to skin her knee while learning how to ride a bike.  I want her dance and tumble and laugh.  I want her to give her parents a hard time when she is three by repeating everything they say at the worst times.  I want her to realize how lucky and loved she is, but without feeling she will never be good enough for that love.  I want her to have slumber parties, giggle with her girlfriends, and read a book with a flashlight under the covers.  I want her to be a kid.  One that can just be a kid, and doesn't have to grow up before she is supposed to.  I want her to know that there always be a place for her in this world.  I want her to know that my door is always open to her.  I want her to grow up to be whatever she wants to be.  Whether that be a stay at home mom, an astronaut, a nurse, the president of the united states, she has the whole world open to her.  Darby is perfect the way she is and there is nothing wrong with her.  God created her to be her.  And I want nothing more than she be Darby.  She is going to be her own person.  A person that I will always be proud to call my niece.

First Day Nerves

Yesterday was my first day at my new job and I don't think anyone ever gets over the first day anything.  These past few weeks have been CRAZY.  I haven't had any time to wrap my head around everything.  I got a new job, had a major move in less than three weeks, my grandfather had a heart attack, and my sister in law is pregnant and due sometime this month.  The only thing I can say is, my poor parents!  My respect for them has quadrupled over the past year.

So, all of this has resulted in my being very stressed and continually pissing my friends off.  I haven't meant to, it's just been part of the whole deal.  Anyway, so my first day.  I have to admit, it didn't even hit me that I was starting a new job until halfway through my first day of orientation and we were going over HIPAA training.  I had a, "That's not the way MUSC does it" moment.  And that's when it hit me.  I have a new job.  I have to learn everything over.  I have another probation period where I can't mess anything up or I can get fired for no reason.  None.  That's when I started looking for a place to throw up.  I think I'm so nervous about this job because I thought it would be a long time before I had to look for another one.  I really thought I would be in Charleston for much longer than I was, but that's not the way things worked out.  So, I'm back to square one.  Which means my stomach hurts constantly and I'm not sleeping because I'm worried that I won't hear my alarms.  Which means that I'm exhausted when I'm at work and not sleeping when I'm at home.  So yeah, you can imagine where my performance level is right now.

My first impression of the hospital is a good one.  I have to say it's mostly of this video they showed of a dog getting better treatment at his vet than his owner did at the doctor.  Which is the way God intended it.

Sirens

I plan on writing a much bigger and better post about my day today soon, but I have to figure out a few things first (i.e. I'm a moron).  In the meantime I thought I would leave you with this tidbit.  My mom is incredibly freaked out about this move.  She's gotten tons better since I first told her I had an interview in Washington, but she's still not entirely comfortable with the whole thing.  Example: today I was walking Rocky to the park and talking to my mom on the phone.  Out of nowhere, I hear sirens blaring.  I look up in time to see an ambulance flying down the street towards me.  On the phone I hear, "Are those sirens?"  "Yes, mom, " I respond, "Sirens from an ambulance."   Silence.  At this point, I think the aneurysm that has been building up finally burst.  Finally, after some poking, she sighs.  "Well, it's time to watch the game."  At least she has college football to help soothe the pain of sirens.

Adult content

I was messing with some of the settings on here, when I came across one labeled "adult content".  Apparently, if you check "yes" all of your visitors will get a warning box about adult content on this blog.  Don't be surprised if I do this just to mess with my mom.

First Impression

My first impression of DC is that I feel really safe here.  Shocker, I know.  I feel safer here than I did living in Charleston.  That's not really saying much since the last two places I lived were a little sketchy.  I'm glad I feel comfortable already.  I need to because I am out and about a lot more.  A big part of that is because of Rocky.  In my last place, I had a sliding glass door that led out to a yard.  I would just open it, Rocky would go out do his business and then come back inside.  It's not the same here.  I live in the city.  My apartment is the basement of apartment of a three story house.  It's very narrow and the house next door is connected to ours.  The idea of a yard here is laughable.  So, Rock and I go for walks.  Usually, it's just around a two block radius, but at night we go to the park.  The park is maybe three blocks away, a ten minute walk at the most.  The reason we go at night is because it's cooler.  I can't tell you how many people have already told me Rocky looks tired when we go for walks.  This may be because he doesn't typically try to drag me when he's on a leash.  He's usually pretty good about staying right next to me.  Either that or he's three steps behind me and I look like I'm dragging him down the street.  Regardless, we go to the park and play ball at night.  There are lots of other dog lovers doing the same thing.  It's not exactly like the dog parks in Charleston, but it's close.

I haven't really driven anywhere except to Target.  It's took me 25 minutes to go four miles.  And that was in light traffic (I think).  I'll talk more about this subject later, but I can already tell you that I have no idea what the speed limit is.  I'm staying at 30 and praying that's right.

I'll talk more about moving later.

Also, I'm sure when my mother reads this, she's going to freak out.  You walk at night?!  You're going to get shot!  That's okay mom, I have a vicious guard dog living with me.

No clue what I am doing...

This is officially my first blog post.  I am starting this blog so I can hopefully keep in touch with everyone I've meet along the way.  I am in the middle of moving from Charleston, SC to Washington, D.C. (and, man, has it been interesting).  So, this is just to say hello, hello!