Archive for Adventures

The emergency room-Not as exciting as I’d hoped

In my lifetime, I have had to go to the emergency room or visit doctors for perhaps some of the least-exciting reasons ever.  Today, another lame emergency-room-necessitating events transpired.  But first, you shall be graced with a brief synopsis of some highlights.

Age three: I was attacked by a wild swing, perhaps pushed by a rabid cousin, and received stitches right above my right eyebrow.  But, instead of a super-awesome scar, I received a scar that may be described as “cute,” which I still have to this day.

Age eighteen: I lift my (nearly empty) backpack following a convocation at my college, only to feel something in my lower back pop, causing me immense, recurring pain.  I eventually sought treatment from a chiropractor, who informed me I had “spondylotheosis” (or something like that)–a common ATHLETIC injury, commonly seen in football players.  Am I athletic?  In no way.  Have I ever played football?  No.  Do I even LIKE football?  No.  I was just lifting my backpack.

Age 21/22:  A few days prior to my 22nd birthday, I wake up around 3 in the morning to stabbing pains in my gut and abdomen.  I try to ride it out, taking some pepto bismol.  This was no help, so I had my dear, cute, panicking husband take me to the emergency room, where they filled me up with some wonderful medications and told me it was probably my appendix.  Long story short, after an MRI and a visit with the surgeon (who reminding me vaguely of Dr. House), he determined it was NOT my appendix, and prescribed me a clear-liquid diet, Maalox, and Dulcolax to help whatever was in my system “move on out.”  And move-on-out it did.  About every twenty to thirty minutes.  And I got nothing but Jell-o and apple juice to eat on my birthday.

Today, age 23: I am making myself a sandwich. It was not to be a special sandwich, just a simple turkey sandwich with relish and cheese.  I have prepared everything to perfection, except the cheese.  Out I pull the cheddar cheese, and out I pull our brand-new Ikea cheese slicer:

Along I go, trying to slice myself a perfect slice of cheese, when this scumbag decides that my thumb is also cheese, and slices it open.


For a moment, I am confused, then begin to panic as I realize that there is blood coming out from under this flap of skin (for that was what it was).  However, being the smart person I am, I cover it with a paper towel (dripping a very small drop of blood onto the paper-towel holder, which will come into the story momentarily) to put pressure on it and staunch the pretty red color from getting on the cheese (no cheese was bled on during the process of creating this wound), but not before I had the fleeting thought of poking it in such a way that I could use it as a puppet and make it talk like a mouth (yes, I have done that with more minor injuries and cuts before).

Then, I stand there for a moment.  I had to make a decision.  Shall I just put a band-aid on it?  Shall I drive myself to the emergency room?  My husband has just gone to work, shall I call him?  The last idea seemed to be the smartest, as it is difficult to drive one-handed, so I call him.  At this point, my body is creating some cuh-RAZY endorphins to compensate for the tingling throbbing bleeding nastiness on the thumb, so I am both crying and having a giggle fit.  I think somewhere in that conversation with my husband, I said something to the effect of “blood is EVERYWHERE,” and by everywhere, I really meant that little drop on the paper-towel holder, but this freaked him probably a lot more than I was freaking out.  This wife-induced panic attack is most evident in his now-broken phone, which he threw against the dashboard in frustration when the directions it was giving him to the clinic seemed to be entirely inaccurate.

So, about 30 minutes after the incident (maybe longer) we finally make it to the clinic and into a room to get everything taken care of– except for the worst (and eventually best) part, where I, once again, get shot up with drugs to numb the pain.  It is now that I would like to make a public apology to the nice nurses who were helping me, as well as the wonderful parents who raised me, for I was QUITE a potty-mouth (a teary, giggly, angry, humiliated, manic potty-mouth–it was quite confusing).  However, my dear husband thought it was hilarious, and he is worried now that the nurses probably thought he was a total uncaring scumbag.  But I know it was laughter of love.

Anyway, the numbing stuff was AMAZING, and they were able to give me three stiches without too much more cursing from me, as well as a TOTALLY AWESOME circus band-aid to go over my tetanus shot!

Also, the nurse disagreed with my strongly that this was the most stupid injury ever.  She claimed that I was at least using the correct tool for the correct job.  So, on the plus side, at least this one wasn’t THAT stupid…

And now, J.D. will get to cut ALL the cheese in our house! *feel free to laugh at the pun I just made.  Because… Well… He’s very good at cutting the cheese… In many ways… Snicker snicker… Hey, I think the hydrocodone I took is having fun!*

Or something like that.

P.S.  My husband is amazing and wonderful and is taking care of me like a CHAMP!  There are SO many things I need him to do now that I can’t use my left thumb for anything, and he’s doing everything and is letting me sit back and watch episode after episode of Parks and Recreation guilt-free!

Me and my awesome pink-camo thumb bandage. Underneath that is PURE LAME-INJURY HORROR.


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“Quality Time”

J.D. and I have been spending some serious quality time with each other lately.  Since I’m basically all done with school and schoolwork for the semester (and he’s just a procrastinator), I’ve started playing Zelda Ocarina of Time on the Wii we “borrowed” from my family.  After I had reached the Temple of Time (a good few days of playing for me, because I’m… not very good), J.D. decided that he NEEDED to play as well.  Lucky for him, we also have an N64 and Ocarina of Time for that system.  So, today, we spent most of our free time playing our separate games.  At the same time. On the same TV.

How?  We managed to fangle a giant TV from his friend’s parents, who were just going to throw the thing away.  And I mean, this thing is huge.  Pre-flat-screen-huge.  82-inch screen, two feet from front to back.  It was interesting to fit it into our tiny apartment.  Anyway, we discovered that we can split the screen into two and play on two separate systems.  Of course, the sound only works for one of the games, but… We could both sit and enjoy our games together, and J.D. was always there to help me get through the difficult parts.

Yeah.  We’re boring.  But we’ve had a busy semester, and I’ve earned it.  (He’ll officially earn it by the end of the week)

Speaking of J.D.’s game, he named his character on Ocarina of Time something… Rather derogatory and mean.  So, everyone in the game sounds like a pretentious, sarcastic jerk every time they say something to him.  Like this, “Great job getting up here, stupid.”  Or, “Hey, stupid, get up!” It’s juvenile, but so far, we’re still laughing every time it happens.

P.S. On another note, I keep having dreams of being on a cruise again… My family and I, minus J.D., as it was a few weeks before we got married, went on a cruise.  And I keep dreaming about going on another one.  And drinking lots and lots of hot chocolate.


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Planning a wedding

So, guess what, internet… I’m planning a wedding.  For myself.  Because I’m engaged.  I figured you should know.  So I think I’ll share some of my thoughts on planning a wedding, specifically in Utah.

I recently printed out a checklist of all the things I have to do before I get married.  It’s a long list, but we’ve been working on cutting out things we don’t need.  Like a wedding coordinator.  Why would we need someone to tell us what we want for our wedding (which will be in a free venue, mind you–a huge perk to LDS-dom–in a beautiful, pre-decorated castle), and what we want our decor to be in our also-free reception venues (two receptions, one south, one north Utah).  In this day of the internet, where I can find all the ideas I need (and some I don’t need) for this stuff, what would be the point to pay someone to look on the internet for me?

Another thing I’ve crossed off because we don’t need it?  Bridesmaids.  For an LDS wedding, there’s not a huge procession where all the women involved have to wear matching dresses.  In all reality, I don’t see a point in having bridesmaids except to pose for a few pictures wearing dresses that are only flattering on 50% of the girls (unless you were part of the “popular” crowd, where all of the girls you would ask to be your bridesmaids were carbon copies of each other.  This is probably what my insane roommate’s wedding will look like, however.  I believe she is also engaged.  Although, I haven’t had occasion to ask, or even talk to her.  But that’s beside the point.  In fact, I don’t even know if I’ll find a maid of honor.  I’ll probably just have my mother help me out.  I can’t imagine asking one of my few female friends to do it–I’m not necessarily close enough with any of them to ask anyway.  I can’t imagine any of them WANTING that kind of responsibility on my behalf.  It just seems very silly when I have a mother and myself who are both very capable of taking care of ourselves and this occasion…  Although, this may mean I will likely have the tamest-ever bridal shower, filled with gifts like nice hand soap from Bath & Body Works or a gift card to Maidenform or Target.  Perhaps a nice bath rug or framed picture.  Which is cool, too.  That’s how I roll.

Let’s see, what else… Ah. Reception entertainment.  Now, we haven’t necessarily nixed this concept altogether.  I’m actually throwing around the idea of hosting an drum circle for the So-tah (southern Utah) reception, inviting all of J.D.’s percussion friends and letting them have at it with their djembes. Which I probably didn’t spell right.  Other than that, there will be plenty of children running around to keep everyone entertained.  I think we’ll have a table for them, though, with coloring books and games so they’re not SO all-over-the-place.  Haven’t decided if we’ll do much dancing.  I can’t say I’m really INto the whole Utah dance thing… I still have memories of those awkward middle school “dances” (which I ended up calling “stands” because that’s really all it was–standing, perhaps swaying, and doing a lot of perspiring) and remain jaded.  Oh, and church dances.  Those were relatively similar.  I was never really into the whole standing and swaying thing.  I just ended up talking a lot and being three times my awkward self.  I don’t think I ever talked so much in my life than I did when I was swaying awkwardly in tandem with a young man who was far more adept at keeping his mouth shut than I was.

Probably why I went to prom with my 11-year-old brother…  But hey.  J.D. loves me for it. 🙂

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Sometimes, it’s NOT the only good thing that happens after midnight…

Denny’s is well-known amongst college students to be a great place to go around midnight–and only around that time.  It’s just not as great before then.  However, I had an experience last night that I’m not sure how to feel about it.

It began with a trip to St. George with my Guy to visit his friend who was down for the weekend and wanted to hang out.  We met up with him (after a trip to the mall to replace my Guy’s destroyed and over-youthful shoes) at another friend’s house, where we enjoyed watching A Goofy Movie, drinking soda, and throwing water bottles and stuffed animals in Santa hats at one of the other guys there.  We then made our expedition to Denny’s around 11:00.  By this time, the rest of the young men with us and I were very hungry people, and probably would have killed a cow ourselves if it meant us getting our food faster.

We were quickly seated in a booth for six (as that was how many people we had in our party, however, with no offense intended, some in our group seemed of the breed that loved food and should not often be shoved into a booth with more than one other person of their particular interests) and looked over our menus for our meal of choice.  Soon after, our waiter, Tyler, I believe his name was, arrived.  He was of a rather small stature, with blonde hair and rose studs in his ears.  He appeared to be of the breed who ought to still be working in his family’s five-buck-pizza or McDonald’s, but I suppose Denny’s is okay, too.  Everything seemed to be in order as he took our orders–he had originally come just for our drink orders, but we were all already ready to order our meals.  Four of them ordered the slam burger–including Myguy, to my… well.  I don’t agree with all that food being shoved into one’s larges facial orifice–and I ordered an Ultimate Skillet (only after being told they were out of soup after 10).  Tyler even managed to create a chuckle and gain some rapport by jokingly telling our last member, who ordered the all-you-can-eat pancakes, that he expected great things of this young man, and something else about eating at least three plates.

Tyler took our menus and walked away, and we had little idea what interesting things were about to befall our poor table.

The real fun began about five minutes after Tyler had left to take care of our drink orders.  Another waitress was passing by and offered to take our orders, to which we informed her that we had already had our orders taken.  Another five minutes passed.  No drinks.  Finally, another woman approached our table and asked us for our drink orders again.  I thought nothing of it, as when I worked at Dragon Hill, drink orders would occasionally get jumbled up with other drink orders.  We told her and a few minutes later I received my hot cocoa and everyone else received their own various drinks.  Then Tyler returned to re-take our food orders, graciously apologizing about how this was his first day, and he was originally a cook and they had pulled him out that night to wait tables and blah blah blah.  We laughed and told him it was okay–especially me, as I am familiar with how bewildering waiting tables can be.  However, I had no idea it was THIS bewildering, especially when one has been provided with pen and paper to write down our orders.  I wonder what he was doing with the pad the first time he took our orders? I imagine it to look something like this:

Either way, I think he did the same on both tickets because approximately fifteen minutes later, as we were about ready to resort to cannibalism, our table was approached by yet another waiter offering to take our food order, and apologizing profusely for the confusion.  When asked about Tyler, he appeared to be ready to embark on a rant that would likely surpass anything I could write here, but instead continued taking our order and said “I don’t want to say anything bad…” and shut his mouth on the subject with a very uncomfortable chuckle.  It appeared that everyone in the restaurant was in a state of confusion, as this same man who finally seemed capable of getting our order through to the cooks had previously been wandering from table to table with a small tray of beverages (come to think of it, they may have been ours) and a look on his face similar to this:

I lost track of him as he continued wandering around until he came to take our order.  And thus, about ten minutes later, around 12:15, we at last received our food from an angel of a woman named Dee, who did a wonderful job taking care of us and even brought us a caraffe of water and me another cup of hot chocolate.  I could have hugged her had she not been rushing to take care of her own assigned tables.  Instead, I may just name my first child after her.

In the end, we got our drinks for free because all our tickets said “no beverage” on them, and they were “giving away the farm in Tyler’s section tonight because… Well…” and then she left us our receipts before she said something truly passive aggressive.  I think I was the only one to leave a tip, specified to go to Dee.

And that is why I love Denny’s.  Or something like that.

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This blows, dude

For those who live in this state of Utah, it may come as a surprise to find out that it is, in fact, March.  Yes, it has been spring for a good two or three weeks now.  Of course, we would never know, because it’s snowed at least fifteen times in the past “spring” time.  What makes it worse in my area is one thing — WIND.  And this is no normal wind.  This is wind where you can look out one window in your house and it will be blowing one direction, and you can look directly across the room out another window and it will be blowing in entirely the opposite direction.  Perhaps even blowing up.  Or straight sideways.

This vortex of wind creates a very interesting (and rather painful) phenomenon known as NO MATTER WHICH WAY YOU’RE WALKING, THE SNOW IS ALWAYS BLOWING STRAIGHT IN YOUR FACE.  Well.  My face.  I don’t know about everybody else, but that’s what it does to me.  However, today, as it is not snowing, it is more often blowing sideways, which i am perfectly okay with as long as I’m not wearing a backpack.

Wearing a backpack in this wind is another story.  I am not the largest person, nor the most grounded (both mentally and physically), and have nearly been knocked over by this wind on many occasions.  I don’t have the smallest backpack (as I am quite an over-achiever and have many books in my backpack along with my heavier-than-rocks laptop [which I am so grateful for anyway!]) and this broad, sail-like side is not conducive to staying upright in a windstorm.

Moral of the story, I want spring to be here.  I’m really okay with the wind, as long as it’s warm.  But it’s not really all that warm today, and I am sad.

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A Terrifying Ordeal

When you think of the “scariest place on Earth,” what sorts of places come to mind?  Haunted houses?  A cornfield?  The top of a building?  The bug and spider house at the zoo?   How about your local Japanese Steakhouse?  You know, the ones where the cooks cook the food right in front of you?  I myself have come to the conclusion that the last is by far one of the most terrifying and demeaning places for just about anybody.

I recently went on an excursion with my family to the local Japanese steak house chain Tepanyaki.  This was my second time going, and the first time was nearly as terrifying, but it wasn’t near as frightening as this time.

We arrived and the cook seemed harmless enough, and we actually had the same waitress as the previous time we had gone.  He began with the customary fireball on the grill, and began cooking our rice and noodles, harmlessly setting our portions on our plates and doing the customary small spoonful of rice on one of our plates (which just so happened to be my grandmother, lucky person), followed by the customary group chuckle, and the customary “aww, just kidding” blah blah blah.  He then proceeded to throw rice at us, drop cooking utinsels, and throw rice bowls around, which was very stressful for me, as I highly doubt anyone’s ability to catch things, especially oddly-shaped things like rice bowls.  He then made the vegetables while making some smalltalk jokes about volcanoes and onions, and squirted us all with a rubber peeing boy — this was the beginning of the onslaught.

Our main courses went by harmlessly enough, but after he is complete with giving us our main courses, they always attempt the “throw shrimp into the unlucky patron’s mouth” trick.  My younger brother, 17, was smart and opted not to try, as he hates shrimp anyway.  My youngest brother was not so lucky, and failed both attempts at catching the shrimp in his mouth.  My father also declined, and my mother managed to “catch” one of two pieces.  My older brother had three tries, but to no avail, and then it was my turn.

I was rather excited — the shrimp is very good there.  So, I opened my mouth and had my hands around my mouth to catch it if it didn’t quite make it in.  I believe the first one hit somewhere around my cheek and bounced to the floor.  Oh well, I said, thinking it was over, as he was beginning to run low on shimp.

But alas, there was more to come.

He said, “one more time!”  So I obliged and opened my mouth again, and again, it hit my other cheek and bounced to the floor, but before I realized what had happened, he was trying again, and it hit my head, and before I could tell him to stop, he was winding up for another one, and all I could do was put my hands up and plead for mercy!  But still, they kept coming, hitting my head, my shoulder, getting in my hair, smudging my glasses, all the while my family was laughing riotously and they kept coming!

Eventually, though, I believe he stopped.  I don’t know how many peices of shrimp he threw, but he finished off by throwing the remaing pieces of shrimp at one of the cooks at another table, while I picked pieces of shrimp out of my hair and off of my clothes.

My mother said it was the funniest thing she’s ever seen.

And I’m looking forward to going again.  Kind of.

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The Semi-annual stuff-your-face fest

It’s that time again — When you’re counting down the days until the next school break, you brain having shut off the Monday before the actual break began.  You teachers are complaining that the break isn’t until NEXT week, but you’re still shutting down and halfway packed by Wednesday.  The current upcoming break is none other than spring break, but this also applies to all breaks of at least a week in duration.

Now, as you go about packing and getting ready to leave, you realize that you have a lot of food in your apartment that you will be leaving behind and has the potential to go bad while you are away to cause your entire apartment to reek for days and days.  So as for myself and my roommates, we do what is called the “semi-annual stuff-your-face fest” (so dubbed by me as I was writing this).  Usually, it’s all of us trying to eat our leftovers, finish up our milk and juice, etc. etc.  It’s usually not a big problem…

This year, it’s all up to me.  Both of my roommates have left early and left me not only with the remaning dishes to put away and trash to take out, I am left with half a gallon of milk, a small tub of mini-muffins (which I’m working on as I write this), my roommate’s leftover tuna helper (which she tried to eat last night, but just couldn’t bring herself to do it), 3/4 a loaf of bread, a package of shredded cheese, three bananas, an apple, and a can of spaghetti sauce.

So, what am I to do?  Stuff my face, of course!  I can’t just waste all that food!  Except the tuna helper, i think I’ll skip that.  Sorry Jordan!  I know there are starving children in China…

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