A World Full of Surprises

I am in a very whiny mood. Even if I was physically capable of smiling, I don't want to. I am fed up of sitting here on this couch all of the time. Mum is taking pity on me and taking me out later and I just stood in a spot of shade in the backyard for a half an hour. It could be worse. I could have taken some people's advice and gotten both done at the same time which would have meant six weeks of no moving at all. There would have been no showers, no standing, no outings, no nothing. I am so glad I listened to my better judgment (not to mention my mother and the doctor). That would have been a stupid thing to do.

But I did have two nice surprises today. The first was that team USA won their soccer game this morning. It was a tense 90 minutes, with no scoring (except a disallowed goal, but that was bologna, because he was totally not off-side). Then in the four minutes of extra play, we scored! It was either minute 91 or 92, I'm not sure... I was too busy screaming. So we're going to the next round!

The other surprise is that I should be able to begin walking again next Tuesday. I have been anticipating it being on Thursday this whole time (all of my appointments have been on Thursday), but I found out today that it is two days earlier! Yippee!!! The silly scheduler tried to rebook it for July 13th, but Mum put her foot down. That would be another two weeks and I am NOT doing that. Nope. No way. Not happening. It's on TUESDAY!!!!!!

The Irony

A month ago I had major ankle repair surgery. Yesterday I had my wisdom teeth out. Strangely enough, the teeth have been worse. My face looks funny. I can't talk, smile, or laugh. The world is all awry.

Only one and a half more weeks of no walking! :)

Twilight Sleep

The anesthesia they used today wasn't general, but something called "twilight sleep." You don't go entirely unconscious. Unlike general anesthesia, you retain your dreaming faculty. This was mine.

The real world faded out and the doctor and the assistants were replaced by some of my good friends. Michelle was the doctor, with Manly-Hanley working as her assistant. Michelle was quite the pro and Jeff was as helpful as he could be while fighting the urge to pass out. In the corner, Chris 1 and Chris 2 stood, laughing at me, cracking all sort of jokes about how funny I looked while unconscious. At my head stood Jacob, wearing his Neo costume from Halloween and holding a large gun. He was protecting me. When I started to wake up (enough to open my eyes, but not be mentally present), they tried to get me to stand up. A man grabbed me, stood me on my feet and when I started to topple, he placed a wheelchair under me and ushered me to the recovery room. Or so they tell me. What I remember (in that sort of way that you remember things, but know they were dreams) is a bad guy grabbing me by the arm, and shaking me so violently that I began to fall down. Then Chris 1 and Chris 2 came to my rescue by scooping me up and running me out of there, Jacob covering us with his large gun. He got those bad guys good.

My heroes *sigh* ;-)

whoa

Pain medication has re-entered my life. whooooaaaa. But I can't really talk. My mouth doesn't really open very much, so when I do talk iih souwns ike iiss. Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Today

Today, Sunday the 20th of June, has been interesting. Life is sometimes called a roller coaster, but today could be qualified as one all by itself. :)

At 12:05 am, I was lying awake. Wanda the dog was curled up in the middle of my bed, on top of the covers. This left me on top of the covers as well, and curled around her in an odd fashion so that I might make use of the available bed space. I don't usually let the dog sleep on my bed. Usually she's gated off in a separate part of the house. Last night, however, the neighbors were playing a loud game of soccer in the street which drove our hyper-sensitive dog crazy. At 10:30 she had climbed onto the bed, shaking. I just couldn't say "no." The game ended at 11, which allowed her to calm down. But then she fell asleep. And when Wanda falls asleep for the night, it takes serious man-power to get her to move. Unfortunately for me, the only people with such man-power had gone to bed. This is what brought me to five minutes past midnight. I hear creaking down the steps and realize Dad has come down for a snack. "Daddy?" No answer. "Dad, help." That got his attention. He dragged the dog off of the bed, but then she wouldn't move. She just crouched there, resisting the collar-pulling. So Dad had to pick up that 60 pounds of golden retriever and put her where she was supposed to be. Kind of fitting that Dad had to rescue his daughter only five minutes into Fathers' Day.
When I woke up later, I wished Mum and Dad a happy wedding anniversary and proceeded to get ready for Mass. When we got home from Mass, I was feeling very blue. Like the type of blueness that needs a banana, chocolate, and a hug. I was tired of just sitting down all day, reading, watching movies, and wasting my life on facebook. I had a little (very, very little) cry under the pillow. Then Scott decided to try to cheer me up.

He fetched his sword, which is a replica of Aragorn's in LOTR. He then proceeded to slash up my mostly deflated "happy birthday" balloon. I was quite fascinated by this. We were then struck with the idea that we could extend this fun by blowing up some of the balloons that we keep in a drawer in the kitchen and pop them. Scott did the first one, and then let me do the rest. I picked up the sword (oomph!) and he gently tossed the balloons at me. I experienced epic failures on my first couple of attempts, but I eventually got the hang of it. I just poked 'em gently and *POP* they went. Of course, I squealed in shock every time; it would have been uncharacteristic of me not to. We then had a little photoshoot with the weapons. I got the sword and Scott pulled out his bow and an arrow. 'Twas fun, as you can see.




After going out to the grocery store with Mum (going to the store is better than staying at home), I was settling back down on the bed and the phone rang. It was handed to me and the voice on the other end caused a grin to erupt all over my face. (sounds kind of violent, doesn't it?) Shelle put the phone on speaker and Chris starts the conversation with, "So, your mom says you're being cranky today." uhhhh. I qualifyed the sentiment as more of a stir-crazy, frustrated, blahhhh kind of day. "Denial" was their response to this. I couldn't help but laugh at the two of them. Those two absolutely, hands down, made my day. I haven't really stopped smiling. Apparently, Mum had sent a note to Chris earlier in the day, telling him that I required cheering up. As always, he and Shelle stepped up to the plate. :) I love them!!! (but not in a creepy way)
I am now back on the bed, after having eaten a tasty spaghetti dinner. The rest of the family is out walking the dog, and when the get back we're gonna eat angel food cake made by my sister, topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. yummm. I'm enjoying chewing while I can: tomorrow morning I get my wisdom teeth removed. hmmmm.

Marriage

A slightly comical observation about marriage from P.G. Wodehouse, but it has elements of truth:

"The fact of the matter is, marriage today is made much too simple for a man. He finds it so easy to go out and grab some sweet girl that when he has got her he does not value her. I am convinced that that is the real cause of this modern boom in divorce. What marriage needs, to make it a stable institution, is something in the nature of obstacles during the courtship period."

Un-birthdays

There is a up-side to having one's birthday in the summer: you never have to go to class or worry about homework while celebrating it. The down-side is that you don't get to celebrate it surrounded by your friends. That is why God invented un-birthdays.

Both Bridget and I have our birthdays in the summer months. Last year, to celebrate her birthday at school, I made cookies in late April and a group of us hiked up to the painter's shack to watch a movie while we ate them. This year, the planning was a little more extravagant: we went off campus. Not only did we leave campus, but we went somewhere, too. Three places, actually. Our first stop was the movie theater where we watched, "How to Train Your Dragon." The rest of the group had already seen it, but it was the only movie out worth watching. Jacob decided to place me in the middle of the group of us, so they could all watch my reactions. (In case you didn't know, I am a very animated movie-watcher). I enjoyed the movie... they enjoyed the movie and me. :-) Our second stop was U-Yogurt, which is one of those popular self-serve frozen yogurt places. Last, but not least, the boys wanted to stop at In-N-Out to ease their budding hunger pains. (College boys are always hungry)

My favorite part of the evening (measured by the size of the grin that dawns upon my face at the thought of it), was the singing of "happy birthday." Jacob, Chris, and Michelle decided that it needed to be sung to both Bridget and I, and, oh my goodness, was it sung with gusto. Jacob started off in that marvelously bassy voice of his, making use of his loud, operatic abilities. Chris, not to be outdone, used a funny accent to serenade us. As for poor Michelle, it was all she could do to sing at all between the giggles that the boys were inspiring. In my opinion, those were the best thirty seconds of the night. =D

Sophmoronic Question

When you buy fabric from the fabric store, is it clothing in first or second potency?

As far as I can figure, unless I wear the blue sparkly fabric as a seamless toga (in other words, don't alter it at all), it's first. It has the ability to become clothes, but it isn't clothes. If it was clothes, but wasn't actually being used as clothes, then it would be second.

I think I'll make a pretty dress for the Christmas formal with it.

Man in the dorm!

Bridget and I have a bit of a tradition for the Saturday night after graduation: packing her stuff. For the past two years, she has left very early Sunday morning for the airport. For the past two years, we spent Saturday evening/night/early morning packing her stuff. Calling it a challenge might be an understatement. The students of TAC are very lucky because, unlike most universities, they allow us to leave a few boxes of stuff in a storage container in one of the parking lots for the summer. Girls, however, need more than a few boxes... especially girls like Bridget. She collects a lot of stuff and brought a lot of stuff from the get-go. Freshman year, we were up til 4 am packing, but we weren't quite done with the boxes. She had to get up at six, however, so I insisted that we go to bed and I'd finish it up the next day. Sophomore year, we were up til 3 am packing, and were actually done packing. The furniture still needed to be moved and the room needed to be cleaned, but I told her that I'd find some boys to help me with that in the morning.

The rules of our campus are very clear when it comes to boys in the girls' dorms: a strict no-no. Move-in and move-out weekends, however, the rule is bent to allow the girls some borrowed arm muscle. It must be cleared with a prefect and be between the hours of 10 am and 5 pm, but it's nice that they allow it at all. So Sunday morning, after Mass and brunch, I wrangled my God-brother and "big brother" (both conveniently named Chris) into helping. Wrangled is the wrong word; I asked, they acquiesced.

(For clarity, I will, hereafter, call my God-brother "Chris 1" and my big brother "Chris 2")

I met Chris 2 outside of Monica's dorm. He was very confused. "Why are we here?"
"Uh, because you said you'd help me move boxes."
"But don't you live in Therese?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then I repeat, why are we here?"
Cue little lightbulb over my head. "Because we're moving Bridget's stuff, not mine."
He laughed. "Oh, that explains things... I was wondering why you were referring to yourself in the third person."
I walked him into the courtyard and led him up the stairs. I told him to wait a minute outside. I popped my head in, looked around, shouted "Man in the dorm!" and waved him in.
"This is really awkward. I'm in a girls' dorm. Ahhhh."
"Don't worry" I told him. I popped my head in the bathroom to shout again. "We expect it during these weekends. Just keep talking and they'll hear the man-voice and stay in their rooms if they aren't properly dressed."
A look of mild horror/amusement crossed his face. "Er, I guess that's a good thing."

We got to Bridget's room and I propped the door open. I explained to him what needed to be done and that Chris 1 would be driving around the back of the dorm in a minute to pick up the boxes to be dropped off in the parking lot. Michelle walked in at this point. Chris 2, impatient to start helping, started moving furniture around. I protested at first, wanting him to wait for Chris 1, but he insisted. We started sliding the bed so it would be in a good position to re-bunk it. My phone rang. "Hello? oh, hi, Mum. You're on campus? I can't hear you, my signal is terrible..." Chris 2 was still pushing the bed and I became caught between it and a pile of stuff on the floor. The bed stopped moving due to this obstruction. "I'll be down in a few minutes, we're moving Bridget's... OW!" Chris 2, not being able to see the obstruction that was causing the bed to not move, had given it a hard shove and knocked me over with it. "Watch it, buddy!" I shouted at him. "No, not you, Mum, you're fine. Chris just knocked me over with a bed. I'll call you back." I untangled myself from the mess of stuff I had fallen into, he apologized, citing a deficient line of vision, and I went outside to check if Chris 1 had showed up yet. He had, right on time.

I walked out so I could escort him in, shouting about the presence of a man. I brought him to Bridget's room, where Chris 2 and Michelle were waiting. Chris 1 and 2 high-fived each other. "Yes, we did it! We got in to a girls' dorm! Yeah!!!" Michelle and I laughed at the boys and we all finished up the stuff. We arranged furniture, vacuumed, and got the boxes to storage. It provided many amusing moments... one of which was that while they lifted the top bunk up, Michelle and I pulled the pins from the bottom posts. Michelle, naturally, picked this side her brother was on. To reach the far pin, she had to scootch between her brother and the posts. That meant I had to scootch between Chris 2 and the posts... slightly awkward. Of course, being immature college students, jokes were made about it. Other jokes were made... about how we were weak inferior females and needed men to do the real work... about how men couldn't vacuum... about the amazing amounts of stuff girls have...

Those two are very silly boys... love them both (but not in a creepy way)

Outsmarting Max

After many sleepless nights, bruises, aches, pains, itches, and general discomfort, I have finally figured out how to get the better of my new ankle stabilizer. At first I just tried putting an old cloth diaper around my foot - wasn't big enough. Then I put a receiving blanket around my ankle and leg - that didn't solve the problem, either. I tried icing it until it was numb before bed, ibuprofen, lying on my back, on my left side, right side - you name it, I tried it. All of these things were planned and executed without achieving the desired results. Most of the irritation was coming from the edging surrounding the air pockets in the boot. The air pockets are there to allow for greater stabilization of the joint. I didn't really need that feature, so I haven't been using it. Until, that is, a thought struck me yesterday: if I inflated the air pockets, that would push the tubing away from my ankle. Ta da! I didn't get to excited about my new plan, just on the off-chance it didn't work. But it did work. I only woke up three times last night due to discomfort, but only needed to make minor adjustments. Fingers crossed it wasn't a weird fluke and that I now can be friends with Max. :-)

A Slice of Humble Pie

Very frequently, humility comes from outside circumstances. A verbal slap to the face, an embarrassing situation, or drawing a complete blank on a test are all ways in which we are reminded of our human condition and its limitations. The way that humble pie was most recently served to me, however, was a bit different. It is in some ways more difficult to swallow when the situation is self-inflicted. At the moment, it's my right lower leg and foot.

You may laugh at such a silly thing, but it's really very revolting to me. Since getting Max, I have had the chance to examine my calf muscle. It's pretty much completely gone. When I say it's the size of my forearm, I am exaggerating, but not by much. Then there is the reality of the layers of skin that are peeling off. I have incisions and bruises all around my ankle and foot. It's absolutely disgusting to look at and to admit that that ugly thing is me.

Happy Day!

This day couldn't get much better.

Item #1
I got an email from Dr. Connolly, president of JPCU this morning, telling me that I could audit the Shakespeare class being offered this summer quarter. This is AWESOME news!!! First, because I am bored silly right now and can't wait to do something academic. Second (and more importantly), MR. LEHMAN, one of the most outstanding, brilliant TAC tutors is teaching it! I. Am. So. Incredibly. Excited. Since he will be commuting and then teaching at TAC come August, he is shortening the class to five weeks. It's once a week, from mid-July to mid-August, and most of the days have 7 hours of class time. But it'll be worth it. :)

Item #2
It's Sunday, so I'm going to Mass. Not only am I going to Mass, but I'm doing downtown to Our Lady of the Rosary, where Mass is celebrated in Latin on the second Sunday of the month. It's nice to go back to it.

Item #3
My family has a tradition of going to In-N-Out after this particular Mass. I love it. Can't wait.

3.9244444444444446

The above is my GPA my sophomore year at TAC (and coincidentally my GPA freshman year as well). My second semester grades came in the mail this afternoon. I will admit that I couldn't bring myself to open them until Mum had. She assured me that I didn't get anything below an A-. Four As and two A-s to be exact. Whew. That always makes me so nervous. I know I did my best and the tutors are generally fair (if someone arbitrary), but I always hate the thought of not getting straight As. I know there's nothing shameful in Bs or even Cs from some TAC tutors, but I would be so disappointed with myself if I got Cs. Does that make me excessively proud? I hope not.

Meeting and Manipulating Max

Max is stout, but short, black, and kinda fuzzy. He's a pest, a bother, and a pain. I don't like him at all. He is superior to Fred and Albert, however, because he allows me to be separated from him for short periods of time. His hold on me is somewhat more relaxed. I still don't like him, though.

Max is a "boot," or a walking cast. It weights approximately twice as much as Albert did. This isn't a problem for the average patient, who acquires this cast when they are able to walk. This little patient isn't quite so lucky. The doc allowed me to have Max so that I might be able to shower properly, but under the strict understanding that I would behave, i.e. not walk or put any weight on it whatsoever. However, Max is not designed to be lugged around in this fashion and he tends to slide down my leg. My heel then ends up hanging out, unsupported, which is rather painful. He also applies uneven and often uncomfortable pressure to various parts of my feet. I am much like the Princess in the story about the pea... I'm very delicate and sensitive.

I acquired him yesterday morning. My day was rather adventurous. My appointment was at 8:30 in the morning and it's an hour away. So after dragging myself out of bed a bit earlier than usual, we scooted out the door. The cast man cut Albert off from around my leg and then the doctor looked at it. He decided that my stitches could be removed. Mum had warned me that it felt weird. She said I should lie down (advice that I didn't take) because I would experience a weird "pulling" sensation. I later learned that she just didn't want to scare me.

The cast man started pulling out my stitches. Ow. The world then started to spin, fade out, and all the sound went away. I then woke up, lying on my back on the exam table. I was sweating and shivering and feeling very strange. I looked over at the doctor and my mother and the cast guy... no one had noticed. Despite the fact that I fainted, there are two sources of consolation: the first is that I'm subtle when I faint and the second is that I've always thought it would be rather interesting to pass out due to pain/stress/being overwrought. All of the elegant females of old literature do it... I guess I do too. So, I'm either an old-fashioned elegant female or a modern wuss.

We went home after assembling and attaching Albert to my leg. By the time I got home, I was in immense amounts of pain. My foot was tingling and cold and it hurt, like someone was stepping on it. So we drove back. This is where I feel like an idiot. The cast guy just un-velcro-ed it, adjusted my foot's position, and strapped it back up. It had just slid out due to the aforementioned excessive weight. Mum and I wasted two hours driving around for nothing. To stay comfortable, I have to adjust Max several times a day, at different intervals, dependent upon how much I'm moving around.

Oh, Max... I must learn to love you since I'm stuck living with you for three weeks.

Sports

Due to an incredible lack of anything to do, I have become a sports fanatic. Obviously not to play, but to watch on television. I haven't watched many sports in the past because I generally have something more productive to do. I could never reconcile myself to sitting in front of a television screen for that long. Now that all I ever do is sit (in the room with the television, no less), I no longer need to justify it to myself.

It started with baseball. I think I was attracted to the sport because 1) there are lots of games on and 2) it's very mathematical. Baseball is all about statistics. There are numbers for every player: batting averages, hits, runs, runs batted in, etc. And I love math. The commentators didn't just talk about stellar performances, but they could quantify those performances. That aspect appeals to me greatly.


On top of this, the World Cup starts today. I missed the first game (since it was on at seven this morning), which was between Mexico and South Africa. It was a tie game. I watched the World Cup last time with quite a bit of interest, and I've always enjoyed watching and playing soccer. Baseball appeals first to my intellect and second to my emotions. Soccer is just the reverse.

Noonan Strikes Again

An excerpt from Peggy Noonan's article in the WSJ about the epically controversial game on Wednesday night. Definitely worth reading.

"It was Wednesday night of this week, and it was a heartbreaker, and you have seen the videotape. Comerica Park in Detroit, the Tigers vs. the Cleveland Indians, and on the mound is Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga, 28. In his brief Major League career, he has not pitched a complete game, never mind a perfect one but here he is. He's retired 26 straight batters. It's two outs in the ninth with just one to go, one out between him and history. Indians shortstop Jason Donald is at the plate. Donald hits a grounder between first and second. Miguel Cabrera, the Tigers first baseman, fields it as Galarraga sprints to first. The pitcher takes the throw from Cabrera and steps on the base. Donald crosses it just a step later. Galarraga gets this look of joy. And the umpire blows it. He calls Donald safe. Everyone is shocked.

It's everything that follows that blunder that makes the story great.

When Galarraga hears the call, he looks puzzled, surprised. But he's composed and calm, and he smiles, as if accepting fate. Others run to the ump and begin to yell, but Galarraga just walks back to the mound to finish the job. Which he does, grounding out the next batter. The game is over.

The umpire, Jim Joyce, 54, left the field and watches the videotape. He saw that he'd made a mistake and took immediate responsibility. He went straight to the clubhouse where he personally apologized to Galarraga. Then he told the press, "I just cost the kid a perfect game." He said, "I thought [Donald] beat the throw. I was convinced he beat the throw until I saw the replay. It was the biggest call of my career."

Galarraga told reporters he felt worse for Joyce than he felt for himself. At first, reacting to the game in the clubhouse, he'd criticized Joyce. But after Joyce apologized, Galarraga said, "You don't see an umpire after the game come out and say, 'Hey, let me tell you I'm sorry.'" He said, "He felt really bad." He noted Joyce had come straight over as soon as he knew he'd made the wrong call.

What was sweet and surprising was that all the principals in the story comported themselves as fully formed adults, with patience, grace and dignity. And in doing so, Galarraga and Joyce showed kids How to Do It.

A lot of adults don't teach kids this now, because the adults themselves don't know how to do it. There's a mentoring gap, an instruction gap in our country. We don't put forward a template because we don't know the template. So everyone imitates TV, where victors dance in the end zone, where winners shoot their arms in the air and distort their face and yell "Whoooaahhh," and where victims of an injustice scream, cry, say bitter things, and beat the ground with their fists. Everyone has come to believe this is authentic. It is authentically babyish. Everyone thinks it's honest. It's honestly undignified, self-indulgent, weak and embarrassing.

Galarraga and Joyce couldn't have known it when they went to work Wednesday, but they were going to show children in an unforgettable way that a victim of injustice can react with compassion, and a person who makes a mistake can admit and declare it. Joyce especially was a relief, not spinning or digging in his heels. I wish he hadn't sworn. Nobody's perfect.

Thursday afternoon the Tigers met the Indians again in Comerica Park. Armando Galarraga got a standing ovation. In a small masterpiece of public relations, Detroit's own General Motors gave him a brand new red Corvette. Galarraga brought out the lineup card and gave it to the umpire—Jim Joyce, who had been offered the day off but chose to work.

Fans came with signs that said, "It was perfect."

It was."

Cute Cousin Clara

I got this in the mail. The artist is an adorable, incorrigible, curly-haired, exceptionally tall five year old. She expressed to her mother a wish to send me a "get well" card. "Well" and "good" haven't achieved distinct definitions yet: telling someone to feel better is just the same as telling them to behave. It translated to, "Bea shore to be good" in the mind of this little girl. She even addressed the envelope herself. The mailman should get an award for interpretive skills. :-)

Genius in a Dirty Disguise

People talk about things not being what they seem. They talk of hidden realities or false appearances. There are similes, analogies, and parables used for the education of the masses. They are, therefore, not necessarily negative. A certain amount of the unrefined seems permissible if the bad is not actually damaging and it achieves a real good.

Hollywood scriptwriters, producers, directors (aka, the film industry) seems to be willing to sacrifice so much good and subject it to being placed in a shell of dirt and filth. Messages of heroism, triumph, and values are debased by "the common" way they are portrayed. We hear that they touch the hearts of the poor individuals who are just generally down on their luck. Fair enough. I agree that you can't sell movies about rich kids succeeding and achieve the same thing that you can achieve by selling a movie about poor, basically illiterate Hispanics who live in East L.A. However, I believe there is a fine line between touching hearts and corrupting people.

Humans are creatures of imitation. That's how we learn. We even teach by imitation; we teach the subject in the same manner we learned it. Presented with beauty, we strive for beauty. Presented with ugliness, we stop striving for that beauty and start down the path of darkness and despair. Maybe it isn't that dramatic of a switch. You don't go from being a saint to a heartless wretch in a day (at least, that's incredibly uncommon). You try toeing the line. "It isn't really that bad..." until it really is that bad. To make a long story short, one must redeem the story with an ugly beginning with a beautiful end. The bad must cease to play an over-archingly influential role in the hero's life. Otherwise, the lesson learned is one which does not lift the individual to the true, good, and beautiful.

This rant is brought on by the movie I just finished watching: Good Will Hunting. Great story, great actors, etc. It's about an young adult who has no family, no money, and no education, but has an incredibly genius mind. He is brilliant like Albert Einstein. The story is about this man and his troubles. He has run-ins with the law which end up with him in a psychologist's office. Drama ensues, things get really bad, but it ends in happily ever after. But some of that happiness was lost on me because of the f-words that were in every sentence. I kid you not, I don't think the main character, his psychologist, or his buddies had the ability to not say that word. (Refreshingly, his girlfriend didn't swear as much. She did, but not to the distracting excess that the guys did.) There was no real turn around for this kid. He "found what he wanted" and that was supposed to be that. He had some healing from his past. Good stuff. He decided he actually loved the girl and wanted to be with her. This meant following her to California where she was going to medical school. Meh.

Why, why, why does the story have to be tainted with so much of the negative stuff from our culture??? Why can't it be a story of conquering sin and temptation, rather than getting through some of it and wallowing in the rest??? I do not understand this. It could have been a movie I loved. Instead, it was a movie I enjoyed moderately, but don't have any desire to watch again. Can anyone tell me, honestly, that having that many F-words made is a more touching movie? I thought not.

The Wanda Saga

Our dog has a fake eye. Yup, you heard (or rather, read) right. She visited the "doggy ophthalmologist" today and was diagnosed with severe glaucoma. Our two options were extensive treatment using prescription drugs or removing her eye. The latter was cheaper and had a higher success rate, so we picked that one. They gave her a fake eye for the sake of upholding appearances. Poor girl :( I hope this doesn't traumatize her too much.

Pretty in Pink

Aren't we cute? :-)

The Three Musketeers

Even though there is a stereotypical TACer, that does not negate the wide diversity of personalities that one encounters there. Even if they are not eccentric, you can have rather odd relationships with them. One prime example of this is the interaction between me, Nathan, and Conor. Mr. Dragoo, our latin tutor this past year, called us the "three Musketeers." He called us a few other things, too, but that's the nicest one ;-)

Nathan and Conor by themselves are a hilariously amusing dynamic duo. They go everywhere together, say and do ridiculous things, and are rather cynical - or as they prefer, realistic. The three of us in combination were a strange combination. My joyous optimism, which they pegged as naivete, was in a constant opposition to their life-view. I called Mr. Berquist a "cute old man"; their response was to look at me incredulously and pull out the dictionary and look up "cute." They liked to prove me wrong. In nine months, I think we all three of us learned things from the other. I learned to temper my happiness and they learned to not squash every little blossom of hopeful happiness they encountered. We argued and we will continue to do so, but I can honestly say that they are two of the kindest and most caring guys I know.

I sometimes wondered whether or not they considered me as a friend. Sure, we hung out together sometimes and had interesting conversations much of the time, but I wondered if they were being authentically friendly or if I was their charity project; perhaps talking to me was their one good deed for the day. I came to learn through various circumstances that it was the former.

One instance of their extraordinary was one particular afternoon wherein my knee was hurting an incredible amount. My kneecaps tend to slide off sideways, which causes both pain and instability. After lab class, I could barely stand, let alone walk. Nathan and Conor expressed concern about it, but I shrugged it off, promising to only walk the necessary places. I hobbled out, my knee buckling every step. I managed to get through the commons and to the mail room where I clocked in for work. I walk out of the mail room and almost ran into Conor. He was holding a banana (why I remember that little detail, I don't know) and Nathan had a wheelchair.
"Get in." he said
"Oh, come on, Nathan, I don't need a wheelchair."
"Yes, you do. Get in. Now."
"Nathan, really..."
"Stop being an idiot, Bridget. You're getting in whether you like it or not."
"What are you going to do, force me?"
("Not a bad idea" mumbled Conor)
"Bridget, please."
Alright, I thought. Fine. I was embarrassed 1) because I had to ride in a wheelchair and 2) that Nathan and Conor were being so insistent. I hobbled over and got in. "Thanks, guys."
We started wheeling out. Nathan says to Conor, "After we drop her off at work, I want a ride." Conor rolled his eyes, but didn't disagree. I, trying to negate some of the humiliation I was experiencing, started waving at people we passed.
"Stop it."
"Why?"
"Do you think you're the only one who's embarrassed here?"
Oh, right. I hadn't thought about that. I guess it could be rather embarrassing to be pushing me around campus in a wheelchair, especially with me waving like an idiot. Then someone across campus waved at me. I waved back.
"Seriously, Bridget, next time you do that I'm going to run you into a wall."
I laughed. "Yes, that would be taking care of me stupendously." I looked up at him and grinned.
Nathan and Conor then started complaining about me to each other. This is a favorite tactic of theirs when I become too illogical or aggravating to deal with directly. ("Why does she do that?" "I don't know, maybe because she's a girl." "I guess they do silly things sometimes." "Good thing we never do.") This is never meant seriously or insultingly, but they're trying to get me to see their point. I usually do.

They are both great guys who are good friends to me. Seeing me every day in class, they came to see how physically breakable I am. All of our section did, for that matter. One day I was limping as I went to collect my math test from her and she asked if I was okay. Nathan replied, "Never ask her if she's okay. The answer is never 'yes,' but only varying degrees of not okay." But we came to understand each other pretty well, even when others couldn't. Mr. Augros called me the translator of Nathan-and-Conor-speak. They did the same for me, but since it was less frequent, it was less noticeable to him.

I'm going to miss having those two in section next year... :-)