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Archive for the ‘Insane Ranting’ Category

Had the family over for Thanksgiving. Well, about half my family- my cousin Brad and his brigade of crotchfruit had dinner with my aunt and uncle. Rather glad about that, to be honest. For some reason, my aunt has taken to toting her dog, Toby, around like a football. I think it’s her version of a safety blanket. This dog is rather rowdy and combined with Brad’s brats chaos obviously ensues. This past June I had a family barbecue, partly to hostess the innumerous June birthdays and partly to inaugurate my new grill. I would say it was mostly a success, except for the tray of margarita glasses that I dropped after tripping over Toby. Brad’s children, in the face of a patio full of sparkling broken glass, gurgled with glee and ran for the shiny objects. It’s very hard physically restraining four children.

Now I have my nephew, Alex, staying with me for the next two days. He’s 18 mos. and he genuinely understands what you’re saying, tilting his head and listening inquisitively. He was trying to put his shoe on the wrong foot this afternoon, and after I explained “no, it fits on this foot” and tapping the right foot, he changed feet and wrangled the shoe on. I am convinced he is a genius and am attempting to teach him Vescere bracis meis (Latin for “Eat my shorts”) before he is returned to his parents. I worry about him. They feed him junk and they listen to Kid Rock. Ugh. I made a Debussy reference at dinner and they just blinked at me.

I wouldn’t be surprised if my brother came to pick Alex up in a white Ford350 with those gigantic tires that come up to my shoulder and a decal in large serif font flourishing the eponymous “Hillbilly De-Lux” on the rear windscreen. I get the feeling sometimes that if Alex were my kid he’d love brussels sprouts, philanthropy, wire-rimmed glasses and would read Tolkien as a six year old, but if he stays with Sean and Danielle he’ll be picking his nose in high school and hold books upside down because he doesn’t know “what those funny shapes mean.” Sometimes I look into his big brown eyes and I see “HALP” written in their inky depths. That’s when I hand him my TI-83 calculator and speak to him in Esperanto for fourty-five minutes. It’s like fiscal offsetting.

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It’s that time of year again when all the little kiddies start thinking about back-to-school. Even though I am nearly an old fart(tm), I’m one of those little kiddies. This time of year sucks balls, because this is when you have to wade through all the financial aide bullshit and get your grants and loans lined up in a row and then shoot them, one by one, until your school has sucked you dry. I*** has been the most inconvenient school to attend, really. They are so confusing, backpedaling between answers depending on which rep you get on the phone. It gets so frustrating to talk to the fin. aid reps that I just want to shake them upside down until the right answer falls out of their pocket and skitters across the floor.

So I need to wade through all that bullshit, plus figure out a way to get my CPR certification by 15 August AND get it for free. As a hospital employee, I have access to classes like CPR cert., Spanish, etc. as a benefit. But, I don’t start until 4 August. I’m not sure if I can swing it. I really, really don’t want to pay $55 for something I could get for free. There is also this huge fucking list of shit I have to do before 15 August for my clinicals (like obtain and pay for a complete criminal history check), and if I don’t get them completed, I’m out of the program. Fuuuuuuuuck. I’m not made of money, you bastards!

Finally, there is a bunch of shit I need to do around the house. The whole upstairs is a disaster area. I need to sort through all the crap into boxes for sale and to keep for when I move out. I’ve been slowly buying sundry items for the Move, and it’s all just sitting around. I also desperately need to weed the garden. It’s looking, erm, bushy out there. I’ll take pics of before and after. When you see it, you’ll shit brix.

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New Perspective

I am a different person than I was two weeks ago. I’ve had a lot things change concerning school, all of which are bad. For one, I no longer can receive Stafford loans- I am at my limit (which is $23,000 for undergrad degrees). I didn’t know this until nine days ago. Secondly, I was misguided by a financial aid officer and signed up for an expensive DVD/online class for a grant that I am not applicable for, and now have to pay tuition for the class (two days after I signed up for the class, tuition reimbursement for dropped classes dropped down to 40%). So, I have to figure out a way to come up with $1,200, pronto. If I would’ve stuck with my instinct (not sign up for the class) I would owe a measly $300. I’m still angry about this.

I have had to come to terms with just how much money I will owe at the end of my schooling- about $40,000. I’ll have a B.F.A. and an A.S.N. I won’t be debt-free until I’m 35 (from school debt, at least). My loan payment will be close to $400/month. The first few years of nursing, I can expect to make $25-30 K/year. Add that one up in your head.

I am so full of regret that I feel like I could spit it from my mouth like venom. I am so angry with myself for messing my life up so badly. About 50% of this debt I could avoided. I made the wrong choices, the easier, more exciting choices- vacations, material items, working less, buying more- instead of the practial choices. For example, at 18 I thought that getting an art degree would be a wise career choice. WRONG! I chose an expensive Catholic school instead of I*** because it was smaller and less intimidating, instead of putting on my big-girl pants and dealing with it. WRONG! At 22 I used bonds my grandparents saved my whole life to go to Europe for a month, instead of using it for tuition- WRONG! At 23, I blew through 8,000 on two holidays and a bunch of shit I didn’t need, instead of using it for tuition- WRONG! Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I understand now those middle-aged guys who talk about “the good old days” with that misty look in their eyes. They regret wasting their opportunities, their youth, their innocence on such idiotic choices. I regret wasting money, wasting my youth on the wrong career path, on wasting two years of my life being depressed, on being too fat to enjoy my beauty. Now I am getting wrinkles, grey hair and I’m so, so angry at myself. My heart aches. I was wrong.

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The semester ends for me in six days. I am so panicked. I have seven chapters to read and digest between now and then. Took my Anatomy Lab Practical today. I feel pretty confident about it- I’ll find out my score on Friday. There were three questions I am unsure about, but I had some wiggle room (I could get an 85% on both my practical and final exam and still receive an “A”), but I don’t want to act cocky until I get my grade. Then I can do a happy dance!

I got an e-mail today from my Classical Mythology professor today. I’m taking that class as a requirement for my BFA degree next semester . He says he’s “ruthless about attendance.” This makes me want to drop the class, ASAP. I’m taking this class because it would fulfill a prerequisite for my Bachelor’s of Art degree that I was working on at U**. According to I***, I am eight classes away from completing the BFA program. But, because of university policy, I can’t work on this art degree while I am a nursing student- conflicting majors, blah, blah. So I was just going to plug in any prereq.s that I can while I’m in nursing school. Classical mythology is one, and I need another Art history, a Math statistics class, and something else. Anyway, thinking about it all exhusts me and I wonder why I’m even bothering. Maybe I won’t.

My foot still hasn’t healed, and we leave for New Orleans in eleven days. I’ve lost 12 pounds and am in between a size 24 and 26 pant. I’d love to lose some more weight before we leave, but school is seriously kicking my butt and between that and my injury, exercise isn’t happening. I walk 30 minutes on the treadmill (1.5 miles) a few times a week but that’s about it. I am so pissed that my foot is still injured, I just want to scream. This whole shoe thing is so frustrating- the leather upper on the shoes I have stretched significantly, so my foot is sliding up and down just like the other shoes. I have to tie them so tight that the leather is buckling around the tongue. I could just cry. Why does my right foot hurt so badly and my left one is just fine? Why can’t a get a shoe to fit properly? AAAAAH!! For those of you who don’t have foot pain, you are so lucky. Having a foot injury sucks the fun out so many things- I no longer dance that often because the pain shoots up my leg and cripples me, and I can’t work long hours like I’d like to because the pain lasts for days and days. I am a really good dancer, but you’d never know because half the time I’m limping. I am angry that this happened to me, because I am a fun loving person. Being in pain makes you surly and nasty, and I hate being that way. DAMN!

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I turn 25 tomorrow (10 October). Here are a few things I’d like to avoid in the next 365 days:

1. Making Thanksgiving dinner for my family. Last year I spent $$$ on a hand-selected cheese table that I researched for months and in two instances had special ordered (“That ash-rubbed, cave-aged goat’s cheese from the south of France sure doesn’t taste like Kraft!!”), a case of Beaujolais Nouveau I schlepped home AT MIDNIGHT on Thanksgiving morning after harassing my local sommelier to hand it over, and rolled wee little truffles for two hours just so my pinheaded uncle could complain that they’re too CHOCOLATE-Y and he wuzn’t eating any! Oh, and BTW, fuck you, Aunt K who exclaimed in horror to her husband that I had no DIET COKE and that she couldn’t drink wine with her meal, it’d taste funny! I have no idea who’s hosting Thanksgiving this year, but it sure as hell isn’t me.

2. The subject of travel, Texas, tooth repair, great deals at Big Lots, what I could’ve done with that old hand towel, or garage sales with my grandparents. I know, Grandpa, that I’ve been to New Orleans before, and yes, it would be like seeing a movie twice, but I’m still going. As much as I’d love to agree that a $3 house tour in Galveston, TX would be so much better and culturally-enriching that revisiting a centuries-old, beloved city, but I’m going to have to pass. And I’m sure that the river canal in San Antonio is just like the ones in Venice. And yes, if ever I need dentures, I’ll be sure to look into permanent tooth caps from your 85 year old dentist. And damn, if only you knew that I was in the market for an oil-heater from 1978, you could’ve bought one for me- like new!– at that fantastic garage sale just down the street for $3. No, no, no, no, and no.

3. Errand running with my mother. This is a periennial mistake of mine. My mother cannot a.) leave the house before 1 PM, and b.) go anywhere and be back in less than 3 hours. My mom gets up at 8:30 every morning, drinks her coffee, gets in the shower, and proceeds to watch 4 hours of daytime TV. The Today Show, The View, Regis and Kelly- all of them, she watches. She even TiVo’s Martha so she can watch it in the afternoon. It drives me crazy. For example, today I didn’t have class because I’m on fall recess. I get up and fart around, get in the shower and start to get ready. I tell her that I’m going to the pet store to get some dog clippers. My mom leans over the computer and yells, “Oh, I’ll go with you! I need to return something.” That was at 12:30. Okay, I tell her, but I want to leave in 10 minutes. Okay, all I have to do is get dressed.

Cut to 3PM. My mom has called her mortgage company complaining about some insurance charge, made pancakes and burned some “berry compote” she forgot on the stove (this happens about once a week), visited with my grandmother, and is still in her housecoat. I’ve knit 3″ on a sleeve, watched a movie, and gone to the bathroom twice waiting on her. I’m so pissed.

We finally leave and I want to be home by 4 so I can study. She can’t find her receipt after pawing in her purse for 10 minutes and the store has no clippers. I’m ready to go. “Oh, can we just stop in Marshall’s for a minute?” I always lose my mother in Marshall’s. It’s like a blackhole for mothers. I have to call her cell phone, she won’t answer because she doesn’t want to waste minutes talking to me in the same store so I get her messagebox, and we waste another hour of my life in some shit store because she was “looking for a purse.” GODDAMMIT WOMAN.

We finally get home at 7 pm, we have to visit my sick grandfather for an hour, make dinner, attempt to groom the dog while watching “Dancing with the Stars,” (there is now white fuzz covering every surface of my living room) and before you know it it is 11 PM and I haven’t studied at all and it all started at 12:30 PM when I wanted to run to the pet store when my mom was on the computer.

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I really don’t like children. If I see a woman who is dragging around a bunch of kids, I take a moment and thank G-d that I’m single. I judge parents by their ill-mannered kids, something I wish I didn’t do. I just wish people didn’t procreate so much.

I live in Midwestern America, where there are a lot of families with 3 or more children, all lined up in a row like matryoshka dolls. Why so many? I can understand two kids- you’re replacing yourself and your spouse. But 4, 5, 8 children? I don’t get it. My friend E comes from a family of 4 kids, she’s the oldest. She told me a few weeks ago she always thought she wanted 4 kids like her Mom, but now she’s unsure. I have three siblings and I have always felt like I wanted no children. I feel like having so many children is a little greedy. There are too many people on Earth and no enough resources.

I don’t think babies are cute, I don’t think their mannerisms or poopy diapers are adorable. I think babies are stinky, soggy little humans. They have their good moments. I watched my nephew for a few days and I had some fun. I love him, he’s family, but being around him- and he’s a really good baby- made it that more obvious I am not maternal. My mom was talking baby talk to him, blowing raspberries on his stomach and tickling him while she changed his ever-poopy diaper. Man that kid can poop. Mucus-y, green, smelly poop five, six times a day. When I changed him I was all business, trying to keep him from rolling over and smearing the poo on his back and front. No baby talk, no raspberries. Just me trying not to vomit on a six-month-old. And did I mention how soggy he is? He drools constantly, and smears it all over his hands and face, making his appendages clammy. Ew.

I am the only grandchild on my mother’s side that hasn’t procreated. I don’t know if that makes me the pathetic one or the smart one. Given that they’re all divorced and living back at home, I’m leaning towards the smart one.

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