Is She Ok?

So far, this blog has been about my life lessons being out in the world on my own, and, for the most part, they have all been rather humorous. Well, my friends, a LOT has happened in the last two weeks, and writing is therapeutic for me. With this in mind, I guess I'm writing this particular entry as a personal release, and a way to dissect the events that have occurred in the recent past. Let's organize in chronicle order, shall we?

1. I got a job working as an office assistant for a Chiropractic Office. I got the job rather quickly, actually. I submitted my resume on a Friday, got a call to set up an interview on Monday, Interviewed on Tuesday, and was working on Wednesday.

The interview process was the ODDEST interview I have ever had. I felt like I was auditioning for a job. "Very New York," I remember thinking to myself. First, I was seated in a room of other applicants. We were called into separate rooms one by one. Each girl was in their interview for maybe a half hour. I watched as each was called in, and each walked out of the office. Finally, my name was called.

I was quizzed on a sheet that I was given to read, asked to sell the Chiropractor a container of alcohol wipes, asked to sell a coloring book without coming across as selling it, asked to follow a manual and enter myself into their computer, asked if I smoked weed because I'm from California, asked if I liked dogs, asked if I was offended by swearing...My interview lasted an hour and a half.

2. I got really sick. I was in bed for 3 days with stomach problems and migraines. This caused me to be out of work for 2 of the 3 days. Fantastic first impression, right? Unfortunately, germs do not wait for a convenient time to attack your immune system.

3. I turned 22 this past Monday! Unfortunately, I was too sick to do anything for it, but Shawn assures me he has a big surprise in-store for me. I will update on this after it happens.

4. Shawn's mom was in a car accident this past Tuesday. We immediately hoped in the car, and drove the 7 hour drive to his hometown to wait for news at the hospital she was taken to. The only information we had at the time we left, was that she was hit on the driver side of the car, and was being rushed to the E.R. I, of course, called in work to let them know my plans.

5. I was "let go" from my job.

6. Today, 4 days later, Shawn's mom was taken off of her respirator, and will soon move out of the ICU. She suffered 3 broken ribs, which caused a hematoma in her lung cavity, which caused her lung to partially collapse, and a broken pelvis. She underwent surgery to remove the hematoma and her lung is now re-inflated. She is bruised, and quite annoyed by the constant poking and prodding of the nurses, who have been extremely kind to us might I add, but is doing well and joking with everyone who comes in the room. She's a fighter, and is fighting with a smile on her face.

Needless to say, Shawn and I have been sleeping very little. We leave the hospital for a few hours every day, but have slept here every night. The first few nights we slept on the floor in the ICU lobby. As you can imagine, it was extremely uncomfortable, and extremely cold. Thankfully, one of his mom's nurses has become a bit of a friend to us, and got us two reclining chairs to place in her room. They recline into a bed. It's fantastic.

This entire month has been a bit of a whirl wind. Usually, I am a Halloween fanatic, and my birthday is celebrated the entire month. This year, however, October doesn't quite feel like October. I don't feel like I'm missing Halloween, or that I didn't really celebrate my birthday. Maybe I will throw a Halloween party in November. ;)

New Monthly Cure

I woke up this morning in a cloud. A big, black, thundering, rumbling cloud. The kind of cloud that I ignore when in public. The kind of cloud that only those "special" few get to see. The kind of cloud that comes once a month to let me know that my beloved Aunt Flo will soon be arriving.

I've become addicted to a game on Facebook called "City of Wonder." I try and stay away from these games for this reason, however, this one sucked me in. I get to create my own little town, explore, generate a population, etc etc. This is what I spent the morning doing. I thought that it was in the best interest of Shawn and myself that I do so.

Shawn went into school early today, but before doing so, thought he would be nice, and take me to pick up my prescription from CVS. This was at about 2pm, and was the first real time we spent together all day. I walked into CVS, all the while trying to ignore my grumpy cloud.

"Hi," I said to the pharmacist in my usual perky tone. "I'm here to pick up a prescription." With that, I handed the man my medical card, and patiently waited for my prescription.

"This isn't the card I need," he said after a few moments of typing away on his computer. "You need a different card."

"This is the only card I've ever used," I replied, trying to readjust my hair to cover the red horns I could feel emerging from my scalp.

"Well, I don't know," he said staring at the card. "Without the other card your total is $35.00, with the card it will only b $5.00. You need a different card."

I sighed, and unhappily handed him my debit card.

"Did you want to take the prescription with you today?" he asked me, looking the prescription bottle over. The bottle that says in all capital letters "TAKE ONE PILL EVERY DAY."

I stared at him, "Yes please," I said growing impatient.

Now, I am normally a very perky, very patient person. I have worked Customer Service, and I understand what it's like to have something be out of your control, yet, to the person, you represent the company/department. I have been screamed at, yelled at, verbally dismissed, etc. and I have always been able to remain calm, and respond with a smile and helpful advice to solve the issue at hand. This guy wasn't wavering. He wasn't being helpful. He wasn't responding to me with a smile or helpful advice. I made it outside before the cloud began shooting lightning bolts, and I sprouted a tail to match the horns that were now un-disguisable.

Every day Shawn and I walk into town, we pass a cookie shop. Every time we pass, I drool and insist that we devour something staring at us from the glass cases, begging us to eat them. Today was the day that this was honored. Shawn ushered me into the cookie shop. Instantly, my horns tucked themselves neatly back into my skull, and my tail retreated. The cloud, however, remained just to see if it would be a match for the power of the cookies I was about to ingest. I ordered three: a chocolate chip cookie, a sugar cookie with chocolate sprinkles, and a house cookie lovingly called "Black and White." We got into the car, and immediately, I pulled out the Black and White. It was easily the biggest cookie I have ever eaten. Not wide, THICK. The cookie is made out of white pound cake. They bake them upside down, then frost half of the bottom of the cookie in white frosting, and half in chocolate. I took a bite. My cloud didn't stand a chance.

I am now happily chomping away at my sugar cookie, and my cloud is nowhere in sight. This, I have decided, is going to be a monthly ordeal.

Is Anybody Listening?

Writing daily is therapeutic for me. It's a way to release the built up emotions that I acquire throughout the day, and reflect on the positive, and humorous, rather that brood about the stupid and insignificant. I know my parents, and my mothers co-workers read along to "stay up to date" on the little girl who ran off to the big city.

With that in mind, is anyone else reading my posts? If so, I would LOVE LOVE LOVE it if you would subscribe, if you haven't already, so I know who is following along with me on my journey, and my experiences. Please feel free to post comments, disclose your own experiences, or give me advice. Just because "my mother never told me," doesn't mean you can't!

My goal is to post once a day, although I understand that things come up, and I may not always be able to do so. In any case, I hope you enjoy keeping up with me.

P.S.
I got call about a job interview! Did I mention I've been unemployed since March...?

Things Your Mother Never Told You: Potatoes and Cheese

Last night Shawn and I were cooking dinner. Shawn was going to steam some cauliflower and broccoli, and fry some Italian sausages. I got the fabulous idea to make twice baked potatoes. Just thinking of them now makes me drool. I had never made them before, but thought I could figure it out.I sat down at the table and pulled out 4 potatoes. I sliced each in half and, using a metal spoon, began carving out the innards and placing them in a bowl.

"This is much harder than I thought it would be," I said to Shawn who was busy at the stove. "I wonder how I get the outsides softer, or if they just soften when I put them in to bake.." I put aside the thought, and hallowed out 4 of the 8 halves. It was at this point, when my arm was about ready to give way, that I decided to call my mom.

"Do I have to boil the potatoes before I cut them in half to make twice baked potatoes?" I asked.

"No, you bake them," she said matter of fact. "That's why they are called TWICE baked potatoes. You bake them twice."

I was silent.

"Why? What have you done so far?" she asked.

"Cut them all in half, and emptied the innards out of half of them," I replied.

"Wasn't that hard?" she replied laughing.

"Well, yea, but I just figured they would soften after I baked them."

It was at this point that she informed me there was no way to continue on the beautiful road leading to twice baked potatoes. Instead, she suggested I chop all of them up and make mashed potatoes.

My dreams were crushed. My hopes were dashed. My glorious potatoes were not going to materialize. I angrily chopped up the potatoes, recalling my conversation with my mom to Shawn.

"They'll still be good, baby. You make awesome mashed potatoes," he said, trying to perk my spirits.

He was right. I do make some B.A. mashed taters, but it was the fact of the matter.

I boiled my potatoes, angrily.
I mashed my potatoes, with a whisk mind you, angrily.
I seasoned and mixed my potatoes, angrily.

Finally, I thought to myself, I'm gonna make these good. They will be BETTER than the glorious twice baked potatoes, and will take less time. Now, usually, I broil cheddar cheese on the top of my taters. We didn't have any cheddar. Instead, I found American cheese squares. I tiled them onto the potatoes, and tossed them in the broiler.

Cheddar cheese, and American cheese squares do NOT melt the same. Nor do they broil to the beautiful crispy golden brown in the same way. American cheese squares burn. They didn't burst into flames, but they might as well have done so. They were black. Charred. Very un-glorious. These potatoes were going to be the death of me.

"You don't have to eat them," I said to Shawn, very disheartened.

"They'll be good!" He said giving me a kiss on the cheek.

That boy piled his plate with my ugly potatoes. We sat down at the table and looked at our plates. Then we looked at each other. The pressure was on of who was going to taste test the hideous mound of mashed dreams that was resting on the white and black plastic dishware. He took a bite.

"Oh-ho my God, baby," he said laughing, "These are delicious!"

I took a bite. He was right. These potatoes were great. They didn't burn, the cheese had just crisped to a different color. And the American Cheese gave an amazing creaminess to the potatoes that Cheddar isn't able to provide.

Although I still want to make proper twice baked potatoes, I'm glad I made this mistake to learn this delicious lesson.

Random Things Everyone Should Know...

I always thought that my common sense level was quite high. I still think that I'm smarter than your average bear, however, I am finding that more and more I am asking myself, "Why did you just do that?"

I have been wanting to put things up on the walls of the new house since day one. Shawn has wanted me to wait to do so. Today, I was given the green light. I whipped out my handy dandy hammer and some tacks, and began eye balling where I wanted things to be placed in our room. Since we don't have a stud finder yet, I chose to only hang the light things.

Random Thing Number 1: Hammers were NOT meant to bang on a tack encased in plastic.

I knew this..I guess I just thought that if I "tapped lightly" on the little buggers they would survive. This probably would have been true, had I not managed to somehow find EVERY stud in our room. When my "lightly tapping" proved no match to the wooden plank cleverly disguised in plaster, I tapped harder...and harder...and harder, until the tack began sliding through the wall. No, not sliding, bending sideways. Shattering. Breaking.

"I'm a beast!" I thought to myself. The fact that a tack is a small piece of metal, and I was wielding a heavy piece of iron and wood was NOT going to tell me otherwise.

Tack numbers two and three shattered as soon as I tapped on them. "HULK SMASH!" I said in my best Hulk voice. When you are alone in a new city, you find "special" ways to keep yourself entertained.

Tacks four and five went nicely into the wall, once I discovered how to keep them upright, and in turn, reinforced with my thumb. No, I never hit my thumb or any other finger with the hammer, however, I still have yet to find the other half of the tacks that shattered.

Random Thing Number 2: When you move into a new house, locate your mailbox, and determine whether or not you can send mail out of said box.

I assumed that the rust covered box nailed by the front door was, in fact, our mailbox. I also assumed that I could place any mail that I wanted to send out in this mail box, and a cheerful mail-person would pick up my happy little letter, and send it off to the recipient.

First of all, I'm pretty sure that mail has not touched this rust covered box in years, yet we have gotten mail since we've lived here. As you can guess, I have not been the one to pick up the mail yet. I also have not seen any mail-persons in my neighborhood. With this in mind, I KNOW that the mail is delivered directly to the house...somewhere. I am beginning to think that it just appears.

Random Thing Number 3: When trying to think of the name of a spice, stand in the spice isle looking confused, and describe the spice you are looking for out loud. Inquiries as to what the spice may be will come from all areas of the isle.

I like to make top ramen and spice it up with "a red spice that starts with a C." I had it in my head that the spice I was looking for was called Cumin. Shawn and I went to the local grocery store, stood in the spice isle, and scoured for Cumin. I began telling him, "It's spicy, and red, and I know it starts with a C...I think it's Cumin, but I'm not sure.."

"Cumin is spicy," said random lady number 1, who was also looking for spices.

"Is it red?" I asked.

Before she had a chance to answer, random lady number 2 shouted "Coriander!" from the pasta area of the isle.

"Thyme!" screamed random lady number 3, who was looking at canned goods a good 50feet away from us.

"No, no," said random lady number 1, "She said it starts with a C."

We bought the Cumin.

I went to make my romin. I opened up what I was sure to be my missing spice. It wasn't. Instead, I fumbled through the other spices in our cupboard, pulling out anything else that I thought would satisfy my taste buds.

Out of curiosity, I called my mom to ask her about the mystery spice, and see if she had any thoughts of what it could be that I was looking for.

"It's red, it's spicy, it starts with a C, and you have a huge container of it at home." I said.

"Cyan Pepper?" She replied.

Cyan Pepper. My mystery spice. Not even remotely interchangeable with Cumin.

Recipe for "Poor Kids B.A. Ramen":
Boil half a cup or so of water.
Crack 1 egg into water, and break the egg up a bit
Pour in 1 package of Beef Top Ramen noodles
Add in beef flavoring, liquid smoke, CYAN PEPPER, and onion powder to taste
Let simmer until noodles are desired texture

Good Morning Sunshine

Shawn is a pre-med student. A "graduate pre-med" student, as I was just corrected. With this title comes a LOT of studying. When we first moved into the house, I had the brilliant idea that he should have his own study room. Did I mention this place has 4 bedrooms, and it's just the two of us? Shawn didn't like this idea.

Shawn lived in California for two years, and attended a college for some post grad classes about two hours away from where I lived. On weekends, I would drive to stay with him in his apartment. Shawn is a dedicated student. Just because I was there didn't mean he was going to put off studying. You see, Shawn likes to get up early, and study when the day is still young. When the hustle and bustle of the day isn't too much to conquer any hope of concentrating. Shawn also likes to be in the same room as me while I sleep, and be what I lovingly refer to as "a creeper." This is why he didn't want his own study room. How could he lovingly watch me sleep if he wasn't in the same room? This is where problems hit.

I am not normally an early bird, although moving to New York is changing that. I quite enjoy sleeping in and basking in the silence that the morning brings. For starters, silence does not exist in New York City, nor does it exist anywhere NEAR New York City. That aside, I am getting used to the screaming sirens of fire engines, the clanging of trucks, and the sudden vroom of cars taking off too fast from the stoplight by our house. Some how, however,  I am still not accustomed to the morning sound that is "Shawn."

I felt him crawl out of bed this morning, and heard the creaking of the bathroom door as it shut. I was lulled back to sleep by the sound of his toothbrush. I remember thinking to myself, "He's quiet this morning." Alas, I thought too soon.  Within a few minutes the door creaked back open, causing my eye to peak open. I closed it again.

CLANG
Something fell off the chair as he was trying to get his books.

SHUFFLE SHUFFLE SHUFFLE
The papers he needed were not where he had thought they were.

CREAK
He was getting back into bed.

CREAK
He forgot something, and needed to get back up.

BANG
His books needed to be placed on the night stand.

This continued for what seemed like an eternity. I glared at him.

"I'm sorry, baby, did I wake you up?" He said with genuine sincerity in his voice.

I continued to glare, and finally rolled over and hid my head under a pillow.

Somehow, I fell back to sleep. Keep in mind that the commotion did not stop just because I had done so. The next thing I knew, the bedroom door was creaking open, and the strong sent of hazelnut overwhelmed my senses. I opened my eyes to Shawn standing at my bedside holding a mug of hazelnut coffee.

I guess I'll keep him...until tomorrow morning, at least.

Things Your Mother Never Told You: Dish Soap

This past weekend Shawn and I went upstate to see his family. While up there, we were given, among other things, a freezer worth of packaged meat, knives, a crock pot, night stands, spices a t.v. and some dishes. While Shawn was studying this morning, I thought I would be a good little house girlfriend, and clean the kitchen, clean out the cupboards, and put everything away.

No good dead goes unpunished.

Our house is filthy from top to bottom. We have been scrubbing base boards, cleaning out closets and cupboards since the day we moved in. The kitchen has been no different. Today, I discovered three cupboards filled with the landlords things. Shawn and I have been using one, tiny cupboard for everything. I started to unpack our kitchen supplies from boxes, and replace them with his. The first box emptied was the dish set bestowed upon us by Shawn's brother. I loaded them all into the dishwasher, along with some other dishes that needed washing as well. I scoured the room for dish tablets. Nothing. I found Dawn soap. I looked the bottle over, and poured a very small amount into the closable soap dispenser. After all, soap is soap...right?

I continued on my merry little way, gleaming with pride on how nice the kitchen was going to look when Shawn came down stairs. Thought of how excited and proud he would be when he saw that I had cleaned out the cupboards and given all of our new things a proper home. Suddenly I heard my name exclaimed.

"EMILY!"

I spun around to see Shawn staring at the dishwasher, and the floor directly beneath it completely covered in soap bubbles. The dishwasher was vomiting bubbles, and had no intention to stop.

"Go get something!" Shawn said  trying to scoop some of the bubbles up and stop the dish washer.
I ran upstairs and grabbed all of the towels I could find. When I got back to the kitchen, Shawn had covered his face in bubbles. Think Santa Clause beard. He proceeded to ladle the bubbles out of the bottom of the dishwasher and dump them into the sink. After draining the machine, and re-running it twice, the bubbles were finally gone. And in case you were wondering, my dishes were spotless.

Todays lesson in "Things Your Mother Never Told You" is that dish soap, while effective when used in a sink, on your hands, or dribbled over a grease covered pan, is NOT a suitable replacement for dish washer soap. No matter how little you think you used...

No, this is not a stock photo from the web. This is my actual dishwasher.

The Beginning..

September 30th, 2010 I embarked on a road trip that would forever change my life. Shawn was waiting for me in our new house, my car was loaded with everything that I could possibly cram into it, and my route was mapped out. But lets rewind...

I grew up in a small town of about 5000 people. Let's refer to this town as LC. My high school only had 600 people, and my graduating class was the largest to ever pass through its doors. Rural America. My home town.

Two years ago, I had a doctors appointment. The kind of appointment with the kind of doctor that ALL women dread. My gynecologist. Due to unexplained occurrences, I wasn't going to see my normal doctor that day, but instead, Dr. Petunia. Dr. Petunia was a well known public figure in LC, and was my sponsor when I was a former Miss of the county. She had never seen me as my doctor, however. During my appointment, the usual questions were asked about sexual history, monthly cycles etc etc, except one..

"So, Emily, do you have a boyfriend?"

About six months prior, my boyfriend of three years and I had broken up.

"Uh..no..not at the moment. Why do you ask?"

I'm sure she could see how puzzled her question had made me. I had never been asked this question by a doctor before.

"Well," she said, becoming much perkier than before, "My brother just moved out here from New York. We are going to a wine auction, and he needs a date. What do you think?"

Dr. Petunia was several years older than myself, and sounding more shocked that I would have liked I blurted, "How old is he?!"

At the time, Shawn was 22. He took me on a bind date two days before the wine auction so we could learn a little bit about each other. When he came to pick me up, I opened the door to a 6'1 dark complected handsome man. I was ecstatic. I had heard horror stories about blind dates in the past, and was a little leery going into the date. As I'm sure you have concluded by now, the date went perfect. I wasn't completely hooked, however, until he called me the next day requesting I come assist in making cupcakes with him and his niece.

Two years later, I'm sitting on my half of the twin beds that we pushed together to make a king sized bed in New York; 3000 miles away from everything I have ever known. We are in a two story house with 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, and a decent back yard, in what I keep hearing referred to as the "suburbs." We don't have a dresser big enough for all of our clothes, so suitcases and trash bags filled with my clothes litter our room as well as the one neighboring.

"This is normal.." I keep telling myself. "Things are accumulated...including places to put your things.."