Obsessing over the details
I would like to address the police officer who saw me today.
I was the person chasing a medium-sized black dog across the very busy Quivira Rd. at the intersection of 109th. I'm 100% certain this officer saw me, and the dog, as he/she paused to let the dog run around, and then swerved to drive around me.
This letter could take issue with the fact that this officer was driving what appeared to be a Chevy Yukon; I'm certain we aren't expecting any blizzards in the next several months, and the off-roading opportunities in the middle of suburban-sprawl Johnson County are few, so the use of this vehicle's 15 mpg seems to be quite an arrogant waste of taxpayer's money. But I'll proceed with more selfish issues, mainly myself and that dog.
The motorists in the intersection slowed down and pulled over, with some eventually stopping and offering their help, due to what was obviously my pursuit of that dog--yes, that dog wearing a collar with the frayed end of a recently-snapped leash, running away from the sweating, yelling, slightly pudgy and red-faced middle aged man who was holding what was the leash's other half. That man was me, and that dog is not mine but I was watching it.
Despite the helpful nature of the other Midwesterners who offered to help, the officer drove on, and left me and the damned dog to run in traffic on our own.
I do not know what the officer was doing at that moment. I can only offer two details: 1) This officer drove away at a rather leisurely pace, so presumably there was not a mission underway; and 2) This officer was headed south on Quivira, driving into what is one of the safest, lowest-crime areas anywhere in the metro area. My parents who live down the street once had a police officer knock on their door to remind them their garage door was open and it was getting dark. There isn't a lot keeping these officers busy. So I can only presume the officer who saw me, as is often the case in southern Overland Park, wasn't super-busy at that moment.
I don't make it a habit to run around in traffic in busy streets. However, even if I did partake in it for some particular reason, the sight that the officer drove past was certainly an abnormality, and he/she could have considered the catastrophe that could have unfolded, with cars swerving around each other, and around me, and around the damned dog that I will never offer to take on a walk ever again. So there's the public safety issue.
However, let's talk about decency. When strangers, who presumably have places to go that inspired them to get into their cars, pull over and offer to help, that's nice. When a police officer who obviously is going nowhere important--and God forbid I ask he/she gets out of the enormous truck to help, no way--could prevent iminent death by simply turning on his/her flashing lights, yet that officer instead drives around other motorists and around me and around an out-of-control dog, that officer is an asshole.
Please let that officer know that if he/she ever drops to the sidewalk with a heart attack, and I see it happen, I'll stop to help. Why? Because 1) I am in a professional role to be helpful in that situation, and 2) I'm not a dick.
Thanks for nothing. Enjoy my taxes. I'm glad the residents' garages are well-protected with you on patrol.
Overland Park Resident
I don't miss living in Miami. I have a love/hate relationship with the city, much like an ex who drives you crazy but you still have a few fond memories. It's best it is over, but still, there were good times.
There are a few things I miss.
I miss the mango tree in my back yard, which had mangoes that popped off the pit like an avocado, none of this "how do you slice it?" nonsense of store-bought mangoes. And the taste...the best taste ever. I had to wake up at dawn to pick them off the ground or my neighbor Phyllis would go out and steal them all for herself.
I miss walking 6 blocks to the hotel strip and sneaking into the fancy hotels to use their gyms and pools. I also miss not having a need to buy a bottle of shampoo or a bar of soap for 7 years because I could just raid housekeeping carts. I never stole towels, however. Whenever I took a towel, I brought it back and left it by the pool for them to collect. No need to be rude.
I miss the filthy coffee place with the best café con leche, on Lincoln Road. And I miss pastelitos.
I miss driving to work or class in the morning, and listening to the morning shows on the salsa music radio stations. Everything was so optimistic and happy.
I miss the guy from Jamaica. I miss the guy from Colombia with the tattoo of the Colombian flag. I'm sure they don't miss me, but still...
I don't miss the beach. I rarely walked over there. But I do miss walking in Key Biscayne, through the mangrove trees. And I miss finding a private mini-beach in there when the tide was out. (...see item directly above this one.)
Finally I miss the smell in the air. The humidity had a very specific scent.
I'm going on a nursing mission to Honduras, and here's the fundraising site.
I don't have any fancy internet viral-video extravaganzas featuring celebrities dumping buckets of ice water on their heads. That may be to my disadvantage. I'm just doing this because I think it's a good thing to do.
Last year, some of my nursing school instructors went to Haiti on a medical mission, and I joined them to get a sample of what the experience was like. We set up our clinic in an orphanage. There is no place more depressing than a Haitian orphanage. Most of the kids had ringworm and, of course, intestinal parasites from drinking the water. And then we opened up to the local community, and that was just as bad. It was really sad, and frustrating, but the people were grateful for the little bit of help we were able to provide. And I ate goat, which was not as shocking as I thought it would be.
So this time I'm going to Honduras, which just as impoverished and perhaps a skosh more violent. Good times.
As fortunate Americans, I don't think there is any point in apologizing for our own lifestyles, affluent or otherwise. But we also need to be aware that there is a world around us. I, sitting at my computer right now, did not create the political and economic problems of Honduran society, but I can go there and use my skills as a Registered Nurse and help out a little bit. Just teaching them basics about health care, I can help a lot, perhaps.
Anyway--if you would like to donate to providing health care around the world, please give a few dollars. I will gladly take $1.
When I am old I want to live in a house, a house with a big front porch.
I will sit on my porch in a chair, a chair that rocks back and forth, back...and...forth.
I will rock in my chair and listen to leaves on the trees, rustling as breezes pass by,
And I will watch people walk by, on their way down the street, passing by like the breeze has caught them too.
Instead of nurses, I will talk to the voices in my head
And I will never be alone
With the people I see around me, whether they are really there or not.
I will talk to whoever comes by, tell great stories true and not,
And hope no one stays long, except those who have fun.
They can stay for as long as they like.
I will walk for as long as I can, and then shuffle with a cane,
And then one day I will begin to roll in a chair,
Until the day the wheels on my chair roll for me no more.
Then from the kindness of friends I will eat what is brought to me
But instead of pills I will eat cookies and cake
And I will say goodbye to the friends who kept me company for so long,
Friends who sat on my porch or laughed with me in my mind.
I will hear no machines, I will feel no needles or tubes,
The voices in my head will drown out the doctors
And the bitter taste of pills will not shrivel my tongue.
I will not stay alive if I cannot live,
I will not be alone if I am on my porch,
Where the breeze blows past the leaves, as the leaves say goodbyyyyyyye....goodbyyyyyyye.
There's a story about a dad who left his son in the car all day. Of course the kid died.
I know nothing about this guy's specific situation other than this article, and if the police say they have evidence, then...
But as a related story:
I was a Humane Society foster parent for puppies for years. An endless train of puppies, destined for pet stores, ended up in my care, and I nursed them back to health (or occasionally was not able to do so, sadly) while hanging on to them until they were old enough to be spayed/neutered and adopted out. While I had them, I took them everywhere with me. I would grab my wallet, my keys, my phone, and a puppy or two and go about my day. I took them to work. To the Apple store. Everywhere. Except Starbucks, the bitch manager at Starbucks wouldn't let me come in with them. Anyway —
One day I went to get my oil changed, and I dropped off my car and walked away down the street. A while later, I literally almost fell over with the realization that I was missing something. I had left a puppy, a fat little yellow lab, in the car on a hot Miami summer day. My car was in the parking lot, in the sun, windows up.
I never, ever left puppies in my car, mostly because I worried someone would steal them. I have love for Miami but the city is a dump, and the people will steal anything that they think they can sell for $10. Plus, there was the heat from the Miami summer. Even with the air conditioning running, I would drive and sweat.
So I ran back. Ran. I envisioned bursting into the garage, screaming at them to lower my car from the lift so I could get the puppy out and face the judgmental stares of the mechanics who thought I was a terrible person. But as I rounded the corner and saw the shop, much to my horror I saw, even worse, the car was still outside in the parking lot.
The puppy was just laying there on the floorboard, snoozing, perfectly fine. Apparently I hadn't been gone as long as I thought. He had enjoyed a lovely little nap down where the air was cooler, and as a result he was wide awake and ready to wiggle around and play. So I ran into the office, asked for my key for a minute, and grabbed the puppy and carried him away. Life went on. But I held him tight for the rest of the day.
This wasn't my only brush with puppy death — portable kennel doors popped open and puppies fell out, unattended puppies playfully jumped into oncoming traffic — but I still get the shivers thinking about what could have been with that lab. Maybe the dad did it to his son on purpose; this isn't about him. I'm just sayin', the story reminded me that there are times when routines fail us.
I walk to work. The hospital is only a few blocks from my apartment.
The walk is across the grounds of my apartment complex, over a bridge, and through the parking lot of the hospital. Seven minutes, a few longer if I stroll.
When I walk home from work, I stroll through the grass so the ground can wipe away the deadly diseases that cling to my shoes. MRSA, C. diff, VRE.
The other day as I walked to work, I looked to my right and picked out the colors of the sunrise: lots of pink, orange, some blue. Then as I crossed the bridge, I looked down and saw a 4-car pile up. I'll probably see some of those people soon, I thought. After they are discharged from the emergency room, of course. Maybe I should go introduce myself, say hi.
I went to lunch and saw the husband of a patient who was dying. He was buying a sandwich. He stood in line to pay, but when the line moved forward, he stood still, lost in a catatonic state. I wondered, Is that ham and cheese? That looks good. But maybe I am in the mood for a nice salad.
Then I went back upstairs where another family was gathered around their grandmother, who was also dying. They mourned in silence, occasionally crying but mostly just sitting in a sad manner. A young girl, the patient's granddaughter, figeted in oblivious restlessness. She tapped her feet on the ground. Her shoes had lights on them that blinked with each tap. Cute shoes, I thought.
Today when I was almost at my front door I saw a dead bird and I was devastated.
Let's get one thing straight: nursing is nursing. There aren't a lot of differences between the way a nurse one one floor cares for a patient than in any other part of a hospital. You assess your patient, you administer medication, you document what you did.
The working environment of each department is where the difference is felt. Choosing what type of nurse you want to be can be a confusing process, but it is important because it means what you want your work day to feel like. So to see where you fit in, here is a breakdown of four basic types of nursing available to new nurses, based on how they would fit into Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the "Harry Potter" series. There are other types of nursing than what are mentioned here, of course; oncology isn't included because that requires extra training, and pediatrics and neonatal are pretty self-explanatory for nurses who want to work in those areas. And also, I ran out of houses.
Want to see in which hospital department the Sorting Hat would place you?
Hufflepuff: Medical Surgical, Med/Surg
Hufflepuffs are loyal, patient, kind, and they work hard. It was claimed that Hufflepuff House would take any student, and that made it nothing more than a refuge for those who simply didn't fit in to any other house, but that perceived weakness is unfair. Hufflepuffs like being surrounded by lots of friends, they don't judge who you are or where you're from as long as you're good peeps, and they're happy for anyone to come hang out and chill with a butterbeer or two. It's a lot easier to get what you want when you're nice to people and you aren't ready for a fight all the time. (Perhaps this is why Hufflepuff House has graduated the least amount of Dark Wizards and Witches from Hogwarts.) But don't let that friendly demeanor fool you. Nymphadora Tonks was a Hufflepuff and she could kick your ass.
The Med/Surg floor of any hospital is where patients go when they don't have a specific problem to put them somewhere else. Med/Surg nurses handle a little bit of everything: infectious diseases, geriatric psych, alcohol detox, gall bladder removal, they've seen it all. They must be very thick-skinned, and the good Med/Surg nurses know how to smile through the chaos. That smile makes a big difference to the patients. Walking from a room where an elderly patient is sundowning and is trying to escape the hospital, and then going directly into another room with a patient with C. Diff. with uncontrolled diarrhea, can be emotionally taxing. But Med/Surg nurses must not only treat what ails their patients, but preserve their patients' dignity.
On a Med/Surg floor, you will run constantly and get yelled at from all angles, but you'll learn a lot about nursing, healthcare, and life in general. Just be ready, because it can be rough.
Gryffindor: Emergency Room, ER
Gryffindors are well-known for being adventurous and courageous, and are often looked at as being natural leaders. They won't hesitate to rush off to battle, ready to save the world, and they will do it all with great aplomb. And they're really good at what they do. Albus Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer and all-around best badass wizard on the planet, was a Gryffindor. People love Gryffindor. Gryffindors are winners.
ER nurses get all the excitement. Broken bones and gun shots, pregnant women in labor, all the action is happening in the ER. They'll run around the room and treat 10 patients at the same time, and remain totally calm while a patient is brought in by helicopter and is laying on a bed screaming in pain. Although don't be fooled — just as Gryffindors must endure taking classes in Ancient Runes and Numerology, ER nurses must also treat people who come to the Emergency Room with headaches and rashes. There can be long lags of those mundane patients before anything exciting is seen. And just as Gryffindors had to do a lot of homework, ER nurses spend a lot of time charting incoming patients and the many details of their health. Charting, charting, charting.
Things certainly move along fast in the ER. The patients don't stay there for long before they are wheeled away to the appropriate hospital department, so there isn't as much emotional bonding going on. But who has time? Next!
Ravenclaw: Ortho/Neuro/Trauma, or Tele
Ravenclaws are the intellectuals of Hogwarts. They enjoy learning just as much as they enjoy the competition of academic achievement. However, they are also fiercely logical, as they recognize that it doesn't matter how much anyone learns as whether a person knows how to use that knowledge. Sometimes Ravenclaws are a bit introverted, but it's just because they'd rather be reading books than playing with the stupid toys from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. And they don't really care if you think they're nerds. They too busy being successful to care what you think.
The ONT floor is for more complex recoveries from bone surgeries, back/neck injuries, or other traumatic situations in need of intensive treatment. The Tele floor is for patients on telemetry, the system of electronic heart monitoring, who have perhaps had a heart problem or have even undergone cardiac surgery. These two departments are completely different in techniques used to treat their patients, but the ideology is the same. Care here is very complex, and nurses must perform lots of documentation and follow strict procedural guidelines.
Each pin site holding a bone together after any reconstructive surgery must be assessed and documented. The EKG strips of a heart failure patient must be constantly analyzed and interpreted, for the nurse to choose and administer proper medication. Each medication's intended effects and side effects must be known perfectly, to watch for any sudden changes in a patient's status. And those changes happen very, very fast and can be deadly.
Doctors aren't there telling the nurses what to do; the nurses must use their heads to know when a patient is healing properly, or when to alert the doctors that changes need to be made in a patient's plan of care. There isn't a lot of time for antics and goofing off when you're on one of these floors. But for those nurses who thrive in a situation of structure and well-defined expectations, ONT or Tele is a place where a nurse can make excellent use of his/her critical thinking skills.
Slytherin: Intensive Care Unit, ICU
Slyterins are cunning, resourceful, ambitious, and independent. Some people think the Slytherins are difficult to work with, and it is true they can come off a bit frosty, but it is only because they are determined to do whatever it takes to achieve their goals.
Although they can sometimes be uninterested in being friendly, Slytherins really do have the best of intentions. Severus Snape is perhaps the greatest hero of the Harry Potter world, despite his scowling demeanor. His critical diatribes against Hogwarts students were harsh, but Snape usually wasn't being mean; he just didn't sugar-coat anything.
Nurses in the Intensive Care Unit must be tough. On other units, a nurse works with support staff to assume partial responsibility for patients, but in ICU the nurse serves the patient one-on-one. They need to know how to do everything. These nurses must think quickly on their feet, they must be resourceful and entirely self-sufficient, and above all else they have no choice but to do whatever it takes to keep their patients alive. Everyone else, just get out of the way. ICU nurses don't have time for your nonsense.
It should be noted that when nurses on other floors need to accomplish difficult tasks, such as starting IV lines, they usually call a nurse from ICU to come help.
I wrote this: Every song performed in the CBGB movie
I went to CBGB in New York...I think just once? The bands that came out of that place were (are) legendary. Too bad it closed, but the club itself was really dirty.
The movie "CBGB" was not so exciting, but the performances of the bands that played there were fun. So I collected the YouTube clips of the original songs. That's what's in the linked story.
There aren't any songs from The Ramones--just one from Joey Ramone, solo--because they couldn't agree on licensing rights. But other than that, the music is pretty stellar.
I am finally finished. After three years of taking classes, starting with A&P I because my pre-requisite courses from my first time in college were taken too long ago to be valid, through my final clinicals of nursing school, then taking the state boards, and finally navigating the "new grad" training program at my job, I am being turned loose to go to work. No more classes. No more safety nets. No more excuses. My first shift, on my own. For realz, with a pocketful of needles.
There are things I wish I had known when I started this process. Some things need to be learned on your own, but I will try to share my thoughts, to shed some light on the process perhaps for you, Dear Reader, who may be thinking about turning your life upside down and giving nursing school a shot as well. Ha. "Shot." Get it? Nursing humor.
1) There are nursing degrees, and there are nursing degrees. Once upon a time, nurses were trained at little career colleges, where young ladies learned how to bandage wounds and mix salt into water for 0.9% saline solution, and they walked away with an Associate's Degree and a nifty white hat (and, if they're lucky, eventually a wedding ring from a doctor). Those little nursing colleges are still around and they kick ass. Seriously, go to one of them and you'll be a really good nurse. But times change, the healthcare industry is changing, and hospitals don't seem to be hiring from those little colleges as much. What happened? Universities have created nursing programs on the Bachelor's Degree level.
Associate's or Bachelor's, you're still a Registered Nurse, an R.N. You don't get paid more when you have a Bachelor's. It's just a title by your name, because you took some additional classes in leadership, community health, and nursing theory. It's a weird loophole — both degrees have the same license, so why bother getting the Bachelor's? Because hospitals get preferred treatment by Medicare if they have a certain percentage of their nurses with Bachelor's degrees, which means those nurses often get hired first.
Every hospital is different. Lots of hospitals prefer to hire people that they like, not just people with good degrees. But there will undoubtedly come a time, probably soon, when the Associate's Degree programs are simply phased out.
2) Check your school's accredidation. Anyone can start an accrediting agency. It doesn't mean that accredidation is worth anything. Most legit nursing programs are either NLNAC or CCNE. For example, those are the only two accredidation agencies accepted if you want to be a nurse in the U.S. military.
3) If you want to see what working as a nurse is like, get a job waiting tables at TGI Friday's. You run constantly, you have to remember a million things, people yell at you for no reason, your coworkers tell you things you need to remember while you are in the middle of doing something else and they make you lose your train of thought, there will always be people you can't please no matter what you do, and you have to clean up stuff off the floor. It can be chaos. If you can't handle remembering drink orders for a table of eight, you do not have the stamina to be a nurse. And getting two new patient admits at the same time feels EXACLY like being double-seated.
4) Compression socks. My God, they will change your life.
5) When you are looking for a nursing job, apply for jobs advertised as "New Grad." It is a specific job intended for people who just finished nursing school and don't have experience yet. Many hospitals refuse to hire below R.N. II, which is a nurse with 6 months or 1 year of experience. But other hospitals like hiring new nurses, because those new nurses can be moulded into the type of employee the hospital wants. The hospital will pair you with a preceptor for 6-12 weeks and basically put you through nursing school again.
6) Before you enter nursing school, or even while you are a student, if you can get a job as a Medical Assistant, or a Unit Secretary, or anything in a hospital where you have interaction with patients — not just a volunteer who delivers flowers — that will help you a lot in your job search. Work PRN while you are going to school. PRN means "pro re nata," which is Latin for "as needed," as little as a shift or two each week. Although Medical Assistants and Unit Secretaries are still specialized positions with skills involved, but that's another story.
7) It's okay if stuff about nursing grosses you out. You just have to fix your face for a few minutes while you're with a patient. You can hold your game face for three minutes. And the first time a patient, who is also someone's grandmother, looks at you with shame in her eyes because she couldn't make it to the bathroom in time, you will learn what it feels like to put aside your own worries and give another person some help.
8) ...and there are people who help you with some of that stuff anyway.
9) If a person asks you for Dilaudid, he/she is in pain. If a person asks for Benadryl after Dilaudid, he/she is having a problem with itching from the Dilaudid, which is a common side effect of the drug. If a person asks you for Dilaudid, and Benadryl, and Phenergan, the Benadryl and Phenergan together increase the high of the Dilaudid, and he/she is quite possibly a drug addict looking for a fix. How you handle it is your dilemma. You will have to make these decisions. If you cannot handle these decisions without passing judgement, you do not have the stamina to be a nurse.
10) I mean it about the compression socks.
I have two very important things to discuss.
First, I must have this chair in my life.
This is at Nebraska Furniture Mart. Yes, there is a store called Nebraska Furniture Mart, and it is glorious. Kansas City is in Missouri, and Nebraska Furniture Mart is in Kansas. It's crazy here.
And seriously this chair is outrageously comfortable.
Second, I am starting a new column at GayCities.com. I have been an on-again/off-again editor there for years, writing when I feel like it and quitting when someone does something I don't like which causes me to throw a fit. But now I'm back again, writing when I'm not working at the hospital. And I need some suggestions for the title of the thing.
The inspiration came from all these stupid companies that don't want to do business with gay people. I.e., 111 Bakery in Indiana said they wouldn't make a wedding cake for two guys getting married to each other. Gay marriage isn't legal (yet) in Indiana, but they can get legally married in another state and then come back home and throw a big formal event. Of course that big event must include a cake! But 111 Bakery doesn't want to be responsible for making it.
It's all just so ridiculous, but whatever.
So this new column shall highlight businesses in the U.S., obviously being the vast majority of businesses in this country, that are perfectly happy to provide good customer service to (and take money from) gay people just like everybody else. We're going to show places that are unique, interesting, or otherwise fun. Also, we're showing how much more there is to the LGBT community than just gay bars and Speedo shops. Not that there's anything wrong with gay bars or Speedos. But there's more out there. And we're going all around the country, not just big cities with big concentrations of the gays and the lesbians and the other relateds.
Sooooo, the powers-that-be at GayCities want me to come up with a name. They want something jazzy, without the word "gay" in it. Because, well, look how many times I have typed the word "gay" already just in this explanation. I have been instructed to develop a brand, not just a name.
Please add suggestions at your will.
I signed a lease on an apartment today.
I then walked into Bed Bath & Beyond, looked at all the different possibilities for a shower curtain, and hyperventilated.
A few months ago when I moved out of my apartment in South Beach, I took everything in my kitchen, my awesome lamp collection, and countless boxes of clothes. The rest? I'd rather not say where it is. It was ugly anyway.
But back to the hyperventilating. Even if I had taken my stuff, I had lived in a studio. I rented this studio month-to-month for eight years, my landlord never raised my rent, and it always felt like I was on vacation because South Beach is such a shithole it's impossible to form any sort of permanence. If you came over for a visit, you sat on my bed because there was no place else to sit. But now in this new apartment, I have, like, rooms and closets and shelves that stand expectantly awaiting the arrival of knick knacks. Where does one acquire knick knacks? I don't collect stuff. It reminds me of time gone by. To quote Edna Mode from "The Incredibles," I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now.
So I have to buy everything. EVERYTHING...except for the aforementioned kitchen stuff, thanks to my assortment of Fiestaware, which my mother would buy for me whenever Macys.com had a sale, and send it to me--which means I now have to pay to move several boxes of Fiestaware dishes that were bought on sale but have now cost three times what they would've cost if I bought them new. But you can't put a price on sentimentality.
This story isn't about Fiestaware.
I have spent years floating through life, doing stupid TV shows and getting roles in schlocky plays, and it was like I had joined the circus. I lived on the road and stayed in random apartments and in awful 1960's motels, which actually are my favorite because they are so romantic. Every place had its own appeal. I had just as much fun in St. Louis as I did in Paris. Although the food in Paris was much better. But my goal was to figure out what I want to be when I grow up before I hit the age of 40. So I went back to school and I now have a job, which I start next week, and I'm 39 and a little extra. Phew! Made it. Barely.
There in Bed Bath & Beyond, with those lights and perky employees which are both somewhat smothering, I walked past a collection of bathroom mirrors. And as I often do when I pass a mirror, I looked. But this time, I stopped and really looked. This is it. This is who I am now. I looked at the gray hair growing on my earlobe over the scar from where my earring used to be. Old. Life is moving by and there's no going back.
So, I thought, I have a new apartment! Congratulations, Self. I guess I need a shower curtain. So I turned, and I took a step, a step, a step around the corner to the shower curtains. Okay. I looked at all the choices, too many choices, and all the colors swirled together and it became hard to breathe and I speed-walked out of the door.
I can't be expected to think of everything. How do people do this? How do people keep making these decisions constantly about their future and repeatedly make commitments with long reaching implications that can't even be contemplated while the decisions are being made? I don't know what kind of a shower curtain I want! And then I need a couch and a table and a TV and a desk for my computer unless I just use the table maybe and a bed and sheets for that bed and towels but the towels need to be the right color for when I hang it to dry next to the shower curtain.
Bed, bath, and beyond, indeed.
I'm an adult.
It finally happened. Peter Pan can't fly anymore, and Tinkerbell has left the building.
But it's been a while since I've been excited for anything. And I'm pretty Goddamned excited for all this stuff. Anyone else who will be there, please excuse me during our New Employee Orientation next week because I'll be sitting in the front row and asking lots of questions.