Some Say Shaken Up, I Say PTSD

Do you remember last year I made the mistake of my life and bought a dog?  Well I topped that mistake.  Ready. Set. Guess.  WRONG.  I didn't buy another dog.  I lost the one we had.  FAIL.  And I've gone through exhaustive efforts trying to find him.  In my defense, I didn't really LOSE the dog.  He went missing from our back door.  Literally scratching at the door waiting to be let in, while I decided I would wait for a commercial to let him in.  We think it was a coyote.  They are not uncommon in our area.  So so so so sad.  We went searching for him that night, then I began driving around.  I saw a police officer, so I flashed my lights to signal him to pull over.  When he did and asked what he could do, I replied, "our dog went missing"  I started sobbing and said, "I didn't even like him!!!"  Officer responded, "Ma'am, did you say that you don't even like your dog?"  "yes!"  And so it goes, the dog that has literally left me in a heap of tears of frustration has now left me in a heap of desperation.  I've called every police station in the area, flyers, put out our blankets with Mr Incredible's cologne on it (because he was more partial to him than me.  I have no idea why.), visited every shelter, SPCA, craiglist, etc.  No luck.  It's been about 5 weeks now.  AND for all you who think that he ran away.   Peppy never runs away.  A) his electric (controversy!) collar was on B) his breed is known for always following around their owners, and never leaving their side.  C) he always always always comes when he's called (only thing he was *moderately* trained at D) he hates the rain and will do anything to get inside.

turns out Peppy and I had quite the love story, since every lost love country song has left me in a mess of tears.  cue sara evans.  Let's take a moment:

aw baby puppy when we first brought him home

This picture is like I had intuition that he would go missing.  It's very milk carton-esque.

Scrub my Hub. ewww as in clothe him.

Remember how I said that most of my family is in the medical profession?  Yes, let's talk about that.

Unlike most/some people, I have no fear or dread of the hospital, dentist offices, nursing homes.  As mentioned in my previous post, I lovvee them.  Mostly because I've never been traumatized by any of the above (knock on woooooood) but also because I was exposed to these things all the time.  The biggest and probably only problem I've had with my experience with the nursing profession is that no one (Mom, Dad or Sister) let me ever have any say in what scrubs they wore.  Always modest, always blue.  I'm talking to you, too, Mr Incredible.  If I was a nurse, no matter what the establishment (because i do what i wunt) I'd totally be sportin hot pink scrubs.

get this man some SCRUBS!

I remember going into this medical uniform retail with my mom when I was little.  Oh!  The Looney Tunes and the Barbie and the Valentine's Day scrubs.  And my mom bought white.  Probably because her patients- people like that morbidly obese man who kept his gun on top of the donut box, or the woman who claimed that her leg felt "wiggly" when my mom later realized she had maggots crawling in her leg wound- would not've so much appreciated dinosaurs with band-aids.

So here we are, Mr Incredible approaching the end to his nursing school.  I'm waiting, just wondering, even though I know, that he, too, will never ever wear character scrubs.  And I'm starting to appreciate that a little more everyday.  Because who really trusts a man wearing mens' nursing scrubs with designs on them, anyway?  Then again, I don't trust too many men that wear white sneakers, either.  ;)

The Grandiosity of Assisted Living

I went to college to become an Occupational Therapist.  Mainly because I love LOVE helping people.  I don't know why, it's in my bones.  It's probably because I come from a family of Health Care people.  Nurses, mainly.

If I've ever told you anything about my work ethic, we all know... what work ethic?  Zero.  It's embarrassing and shameful that a person like me can really make Denny's have a hard time ticking.   There are two jobs, however, that I positively loved.  Enough to finish my shift and not call in sick once a week.  (I don't know why these jobs kept me around.  I must have the kavorka.)  The first one is a group home.  I LOVED these people.  (Not the workers, though.  Isn't there always one named Kathy The Smoker who hates the world, her ex husband and her daughter that won't move out of the house at age 37?)  One of the residents was always yelling.  HI KIERAAAAA.  MAYBE DA NEXT TIME I CAN SEE YOUR BABYYYYYYYYY.  WHO FREW DAT AT MEEE?  She was also very strong with behavioral issues.  In other words, she could snap your neck if you didn't watch your back.

Then there was the public masturbator.  This is no lie.  This one time I brought him to a baseball game.....

Then there was Doug, who was obsessive compulsive and obsessed over (including but not limited to) my dad, jack fm, me, other workers, anesthesia (my dad's a nurse anethsetist).

Job number two was an assisted living home.  I was a "dietary aide" aka lunch lady.  Then I was promoted (demoted?)  (moted?) to "residential aide" aka the dirty work.  Where I had to scrub just about anything and anyone in the building.  And give medicine!  and put on pressure stockings!  and lotion in unreachable places!  buuut ilovedit.

So maybe I like having "rewarding" jobs, but I think what it really boils down to is shower stools, double shower heads and floral bath towels.  It's like a taste of luxury.  Or is it a taste of what's to come?

You people have me whipped

I know!  I mayyy be getting slef centered, or I just may be bragging that I Was An Irish Dancer.  But BUT you guys want to know details, well, I'll dish the details.

Since I only have so many pictures to share until Shakedown Round II, work with me.  Foxy requested the second picture.  I like her, so like I promised- here it is.

The picture is NOT of me Irish Dancing.  Irish Dancers keep their hands at their sides.  (Also known as  Fire and Ice.  Get it?  Frozen arms, hot feet.  no.  Hott feet.  better.)  But it is me being a seventh grade ham, and that is my cousin in the background with her hair net in keeping her real curls curly.  Sometimes even Irish Dancers have to roll Lunch Lady Style.  Dat coo.

And now I'm going to go retrieve this other photo from the room that the baby is sleeping in.  I told you I was faithful to you.

...

You can rest assured that I'm back, baby didn't wake up and AND I found more than one pictures.  I'm still deciding how much is too much.  But I will share this pic with you:

This answers Kristen and Salt's question about THE HAIR.  Basically the night before an event, you sit at the kitchen table with a bottle of goop goop goop for hair and a hair brush and hairspray, and your mom takes like, 12 pieces of hair, goops it, sprays it then curls it in curlers.  It took probably a good two hours.  and 200 hundred curlers.  (mom correct me if I'm wrong.)  Then you wrap your head with every handkerchief you can find in your house to avoid getting the sleep frizzies.  (see above)  In the morning you pull the curls straight down and VOILA!  Awesome hair.  (Mom, I don't think I've ever said a good hearty "thanks."  THANKS!)

Salt also asked how I got into Irish Dancing.  When I was in kindergarden or first grade I saw some Irish Dancers performing and I beggggged my mom.  We didn't have a school nearby, so we waited.  Then in third grade a new Irish Dancing school opened up in the town I lived in.  My mom signed me up asap.

Also, Salt, when we competed at competitions (called feis' said like fesh) we would win medals and trophies.  But that will be for another post.  Maybe next St. Patty's Day.  :)

I'm leaving this post with a thick layer of self centeredness on me.  But that's just blogging, no?

Put on Christina Aguilera. This post is that good.

Readers:

I hope you appreciate how undyingly faithful I am to you.  I did a shakedown in my parents' house TOP TO BOTTOM yesterday looking for some Irish Dancing photos.  You don't understand.  We probably have THOUSANDS and the fact that I could find nary but a handful was absurd.

And then finally.  After I found every single date dance and prom picture with every boy in Buffalo (lie.  Maybe like 6) and London pictures and carousing like a fool pictures, finally.  I found 2 Irish dancing photos.

I know you don't care that much.

But I am committed to you, you fools.

I do not have their permission to put their photos on the 'net.  I'm on the far right.  This was at the Nationals, and this was my 4 hand team.  Because you care.

That is our real hair.  Danged new fangled kids now wear wigs.  That hair was blood, sweat and tears. 

I am too lazy to scan the other picture, and I know you don't care that much.  If you do, leave a message and if I like you at all, I'll put the other one up there.

I'm in a wicked bad mood today.

Cue Molly Mallone. (you don't know that song? rise up irish people of the world.)

Is anyone else outrageously excited for St. Patrick's Day?  No?  allllright.

St. Patrick's Day is my fav for a few reasons:

• the mark of spring.  I think last year I got sun burned at the parade
• the abundance of beer.  and soda bread with jam.  and cabbage.  I love cabbage.  sick.  
• crazy celtic music blaring IN YOUR FACE ALL THE TIME.  I won't lie.  I've already started it up here in Incredible land (<--- is Incredible land really Michael Jacksonish?  should I change that?)
• Irish Dancing throwback.  Love it or leave it.  Think it's "weird" or know that my hard shoes can make your tap shoes cry.

I think come St Patty's Day (or March) I'll be sad that I shared this pic with you.  No fear.  I'll put up more.