Random Thoughts of the Day

You know how tabloids have those shots that are celebrities at the grocery store? And they always wear big glasses, and have one article of clothing that makes them look like they're not a complete slob? Yeah. I'm rocking that look today. Aviators, messy bun with a giant headband, eight-year-old ballet flats, jeans from the dirty clothes bin, a white Haines undershirt with a beater underneath--and an adorable scarf.

I'm working on making workplace violence training packets, and the stapler shot a stable at my eye. Clearly, this is a violent workplace.

A resident of mine told me that he doesn't wear condoms because they decrease sensitivity. My reponse? "You know what else decreases sensitivity? Herpes."

I'm the most gaseous person I know. But coffee burps are more professional than beer burps. And champagne burps--those are just classy.

I Don't Need a Relationshit

One of my friends--well actually, he's my ex-boyfriend, but it's not bitter or anything because we broke up in middle school, oh, and he's actually gay and has a boyfriend; they're so cute together--anyway, he told me that I should write a book about my life because it's so interesting.

I don't know if interesting is the right word, and I don't have the attention span to write a book (clearly noted above), so maybe I should take this blogging thing a little more seriously.

I mean, whenever I tell a story, I often hear something along the lines of, "only in your life..." So maybe it's time I start to share my story with the world...or the select people I invite to follow this blog. Well, right now I'll just talk about what's going on now. I'm sure I'll have some fun stories to share later on.

Let's talk about boys. They have been on my mind a lot lately--and not in a good way.

I was in a committed relationship for over a year and a half to a wonderful boy who was in the Army. But that's the problem. He was a boy (you thought I was going to bring up the distance, didn't you?). He lacked confidence. In fact, he didn't text or call me ever because he wanted me to take the lead.

I remember watching the movie He's Just Not That Into You and falling in love with it. So, I read the book. It just so happens to be a self-help book. But I finished it nonetheless. I was wondering why I didn't suffer from any of the problems described in the book. I was contemplating this on the phone with one of my older guy friends. We finally came to the conclusion that I am the man in the relationship. I cause the problems in the book. I don't suffer from them.

So, since I'm the man, I need a man's man to make me feel like a woman. Make sense? Didn't think so. Anyway, even though the boy was a great boy, and was very cute, and very sweet, and very respectful--he wasn't a man. He wouldn't fight with me. He wouldn't stand up for myself. I was always right--even when I was wrong. Oh whoa is me! A boy treats me too well, so therefore I dump him. Daddy issues, for sure.

So, I picked up my baggage and moved onto the next one. Jaded as I currently am, I don't want a serious relationship anytime soon. So I have a frienafits thing going. (GASP! Christian girl is doing the dirty!) Nope. Just good ol' meaningless tonsil hockey with a good friend. We get together, hang out, wrestle like bros, and end the night with hour long make-out sessions. A girl has needs, you know.

We established our relationship status (clearly, not FBO) on Friday night...er...Saturday morning. Well, I'll back up. I worked 15 hours on Friday from 8 a.m. until 11 p.m. I fully intended on doing laundry, going to bed, and sleeping in. Instead, I realized I had packed my detergent, so I couldn't do laundry. And I offered for my friend to come hang out with me since he had to stay up all night to flip his sleep schedule to work a 3rd shift.

I expected him to say no to the hour-plus drive down to Columbus at midnight. He said he was on his way. Darn.

We stayed up just talking...seriously, just talking...until about 9 a.m. Then, I realized I was going to fall asleep. So I started making out with him. My logic is great, I know. We ended our make-out session to go get some Ethiopian food around noon thirty. Yeah, my lips are chapped BAD. We established ground rules. We're honest about who we're dating. We don't tell our boyfriends/girlfriends if we choose to continue our relationship while in a "monogamous" relationship. No sex. Sex is for relationships (and in my belief, marriage). And we stop if one develops feelings for the other.

But, according to Hollywood, I'm going to fall for him. I won't realize it until I'm spilling the beans on why I'm overwhelmingly happy to a really close and witty girlfriend, most likely of African decent. She will make some statement along the lines of, "why buy the milk if you can get the cow for free?" and urge me to give him an ultimatum. I will do so. He will break it off. I will be devastated. Then he will realize that I am worth more than his commitment issues and come running with a handful of roses in the pouring rain to declare his love for me.

Except, in these stories, the girl always does this. And as we have stated above, I am the man in relationships. But, is he a man's man that will make me feel like a woman? So, will this actually happen? Honestly, I don't know. Right now, I'm not hanging on every word he says or waiting for text after text. We actually haven't talked much since Saturday. He's a good friend, and a better kisser. But I don't have feelings for him.

Regardless, somehow this will turn into a trainwreck, because my life always does. I will be sure to inform you in a somewhat comedic fashion as soon as this disaster transpires.

Working Girl Swag

Not to brag, but I'm a hard worker. I've wanted to work--to earn money--for as long as I can remember.

In middle school, I stuck mainly to babysitting and chores around the house. Eventually, I got hired as a maintenance woman to power wash and paint a fence at the nursing home my mom managed. I would get up and go to work with my mom, work until noon, walk to Subway or the gas station to buy lunch, walk to cheerleading practice at the school, walk back, and work until my mom left. This job held my interest for about a month. Then I just stopped showing up. But honestly, I don't think a 13-year-old is allowed to use power tools, so it probably only saved the company from some child labor suits.

One of my mom's employees hired me to work her lemon shake stand at various festivals around the Centerburg area. I hated being covered in sugar and lemons on the hottest days of the summer. I felt like a sticky three-year-old again. And I hated being a sticky three-year-old when it was acceptable to be a sticky three-year-old. Plus, I never got to run around with my friends and ride the rides. But, I stopped complaining as soon as they handed me the wad of $250 that I promptly spent on my emo music collection and decorations...yeah, I went through that phase.

I picked up babysitting again. Cool move on my parents' part to force me to do this. I am still scarred for life and don't want any screaming, poopy, smelly, whiny, sticky children. I didn't like being sticky; why would I like other sticky kids?

Then I finally got my first REAL job. I had to clock in and clock out, pay taxes, wear a uniform, and everything. Don't get it twisted. It was not glamorous. I was a cashier at CVS. It was a decent high school job. And this was also a smart move for my parents. I got to see a ton of strung-out pill addicts, people buying mass amounts of cough syrup to catch a buzz, and people buying cigarettes at the front and buying their COPD medicine in the back. Parents, if you want DARE to work, dare your kids to work at CVS. I left this job to go to THE Ohio State University.

I have held more positions at OSU than I have in my entire life. I started as an office assistant for the Blackburn, Haverfield, and Nosker complex. Then I got a job as an office assistant for summer conference housing. I worked that job while working as (this is not a joke) the personal assistant to the assistant to the Assistant Vice President of Student Life. Yes, that is my real title. No, I don't get coffee. I'm the gofer. I go for things that other people need. I also organize things. Clearly, this is the most glamorous job ever.

I'm working at Summer Conference Housing and the office of the Assistant Vice President of Student Life for another two weeks. Then, I'm done....kinda.

The next position I will hold will be resident advisor to a floor of 23 freshmen girls. I'm sure I'll have tons of stories to post about that.

Until then, hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go.

Friday, I woke up at 6:30. I clocked in for work at my job at Facilities, Management, and Logistics at 8:00 a.m.

Health vs. Education

I'm not a very political person. In fact, I can see both sides of most arguments. It's a blessing and a curse. I have a very hard time making a decision about what is right and wrong politically. However, there is one thing that I know for certain: we need healthcare reform.

I grew up in a very bigoted and Republican home. "It's the poor's fault that they are poor, and they have to live with the consequences," "they just don't want to work because they're lazy," etc. were some of the things I often heard and believed.

My education helped to enlighten me a bit about the different social stratification problems that keep the poor in a cycle of poverty; however, I held onto my "you get what you deserve" philosophy...until I got sick.

I've been dealing with reoccurring sinus and ear infections due to an allergy for about 5 years. I would get put on an antibiotic and Mucinex. This in itself isn't cheap. Mucinex over the counter sometimes gets up to $30, which may not seem like much, but it's a lot of money when you get sick every other month. Finally, the doctors caught on that it was happening frequently, so they put me on Patanase and Nasonex, which was $80 a month. My mom send me some money when I called her bawling because I had overdrawn my account paying for the Urgent Care visit ($35 copay) plus the medicine. I began to buy CVS off-brand Claritin and sudaphed and try to take that, but clearly that wasn't strong enough.

Two months later, I have vertigo so bad that I am stumbling around like a drunk person and throwing up from motion sickness. I am taking Mezclizine around the clock (which is about $15 for a month, but it's not covered by my insurance). I went to my family doctor; $20 copay plus $40 for Nasonex. I didn't get better. I went to an Urgent Care; $35 copay, $25 for Mucinex D, $15 for more Antivert. Then I got a referral to an ENT; copay $25. The first visit ruled out that I needed tubes in my ears, so I had to wait almost two weeks to get a CT scan to see what was putting pressure on my ears causing vertigo. CT scan proved that my sinuses are small, and that any amount of swelling can almost close them off, causing many symptoms. The cause for the swelling is, of course, an allergy. The ENT referred me to an allergist to find the allergen and figure out a treatment, plus gave me a prescription for Singulair. That medicine costs $50 per month after insurance. I walked out of the pharmacy empty-handed.

My family is middle-class. We aren't living in a shack, but we're not rolling in dough. We have enough money to live normally, but nothing significantly extra to spare. Thus, when I entered college, I was quickly informed that my parents would TRY to help me, but I'm going to have to support myself most of the way. My mom has paid for two quarters of the four quarters I've been here, and my dad has helped me pay for one. Other than that, I'm paying my own tuition, books, fees, etc. Thank God my dad works at the University, and I get half tuition, plus I have a scholarship. And I got an RA job next year. Regardless, I don't have an extra $3,000 laying around that I can just give to OSU. Furthermore, my father won't let me withdraw any student loans. Thus, I must make lots of sacrifices. One of them being my health. My justification is that the choices are pay for health now, or pay for education now so that I can get a good job and have enough money to pay for my health for myself and my family.

Furthermore, there needs to be education reform so that parents and students are able to afford college without fear of the child being over $50,000 in debt by the time he/she graduates.

If I'm working two jobs (three, really, if you count the RA gig) and coming from a middle-class family and still facing this dilemma, then what are the people living in poverty facing? I think about all the sacrifices I make because of my financial situation, and I can't even imagine being unemployed with no one helping me.

So, for now, "hello, hello, I'm in a place called vertigo" waiting for an allergist to tell me what I'm allergic to and hope that it's something I can choose to avoid. Or I'll wait until they come out with a generic for Singulair, Patanase, and/or Nasonex. And I'll pray that those in poverty can somehow find a way to put their health first. And I'll pray that someone, somewhere in Congress takes this perspective into thought when talking about the healthcare system.

Salud.

Big Legs, Big Problems

As I was walking out of Jones Tower today, my traction-less gladiator sandal slipped on the mock-marble floor, and I fell up the stairs. This is not a rare occurrence. But, the large housekeeper who was following me up the stairs exclaimed, "be careful! You don't want to hurt your big legs, mama."

I was shocked for a second. Big legs? Big legs? Big legs? I must admit that she was not bearing false witness. I am 5'2", I wear adult small in T-shirts, and large shorts. I am the quintessence of the "pear shaped" body type. To say it bluntly, my ass is huge, and my legs aren't far off.

Though she was speaking the truth, I was appalled at first because she was so unapologetically straightforward. In fact, as she followed me out the door, she kept repeating the phrase. "Don't hurt those big legs. You don't want bruises on those big legs."

I walked away, and like every woman would, I began obsessing about what she meant about big legs. Did she mean to be so curt? Did she mean big as in muscular? Was she intending to be hurtful? Was that a fat joke? Am I one of those people that is so large that it's ok to make fun of them publicly because it's obvious how large I am, and I should be used to it by now?

After the half-mile walk to my car, a construction worker begins to speak to me...I think.

"I got 14 mo' checks comin' in. Gon' help me spend 'em, girl? Ooh. I like those legs, mama. Gochu a boyfran?"

I quickly answered "yes" and proceeded to my car.

Let's play "guess that race." Based on the phonetic spelling of what he said to me, I bet you can guess that this guy is Black, or a White guy trying to act Black.

I'm not being racist. I am just acknowledging that there are distinct cultural differences in language between stereotypical White people and stereotypical Black people. In most cases, people do not fit the stereotypes. However, in this case, he did.

It was during this thought process that it hit me. When the housekeeper (who was also black) was talking about my "big legs," she was complimenting me, which is why she found it appropriate to be so blunt.

Any normal person would have come to this conclusion early-on. But, I must confess, that one of my major quirks is that I dissect what anyone says to me, no matter how simple.

Clearly, this conundrum could be solved if I acknowledge cultural differences...or stop over-analyzing what people say...but that's not going to happen!