What's in Your Wallet?

Actually, this blog post is brought to you by my friend Jill, who got the challenge here. Again, I've been feeling a little low on bloggable material lately, so I decided to play along.

The challenge, in case you don't want to follow my link trail, is this:
~Dump your purse
~Take a picture
~Analyze what the contents of your purse say about you

So, without further ado, I bring you my purse. (I've numbered the items to satisfy my organizational tendencies and to make this blog a little easier to follow):
1. My adorable purse. My sister gave me this super cute purse for my birthday. Curious George doesn't like it. He says it looks like it's wearing a skirt, and that purses don't need clothes. I love it. It holds a ton of stuff without looking like I'm carrying around a duffle bag.

2. My mirrored makeup bag. This bag doesn't actually hold makeup. It has various lotions, hand sanitizers (hey, I'm a nurse), and probably 8 different chapstick options. It also holds various "unmentionable" feminine products.

3. I always, always, always have a book with me. I go a lot of places where I end up waiting for whatever reason. Currently I'm reading "Running With Scissors." Pretty disturbing, but also laugh-out-loud funny.

4. Yes, that is a gun. For my 25th birthday I got myself a concealed weapons permit. I don't carry all the time, mostly just if I know I'm going to be outside, alone, at night, etc. I'm just exercising my 2nd amendment right.

5. Oakleys, along with their carry bag. Love these sunglasses. And, shocker here, they're not pink!

6. My Palm Centro phone. I never leave home without it. Yes, the cover is pink argyle.

7. My wallet, pretty self explanatory. Really, it could hold a blog post all on it's own.

8. My ipod, complete with pink skull candy ear-buds. I love my music, and sometimes night shifts get REALLY loooooooooong.

9. Yep, a tube of hydrocortisone cream. Trust me, when you're allergic to the sun you need it a lot.

10. My cutesy coin purse. It also holds extra bobby pins... just in case.

11. A single piece of gum. Huh?

12. My point-and-shoot camera. Pink again!

13. My favorite pen. My husband "borrowed" it from the Joseph Smith Memorial Building on one of his runs at work. I love this pen so much. As a nurse, I get rather attached to particular pens.

Eek, I just realized that I had an unlucky 13 purse items. What does that say about me? It's a little ironic that I would choose today to dump my purse. Just this afternoon my little brother told me that if I dug deep enough I might find a third-world country in my purse. So, those are my deep, dark, purse-hidden secrets.

I'm not sure exactly how to psychoanalyze myself, so what do you think my purse says about me?

Nurses Are People Too

Sometimes I don't understand people. I don't understand why they do the things they do, say the things they say, or act the way they act.

I realize that in my work as a nurse I see people at their worst. I see them when they are scared, frustrated, and at their wits end. I know that the area that I work in is a difficult one for patients to accept. When I see them, they are learning how to live their lives again... while dealing with the changes life has dealt them.

However, I don't think that being a patient in the hospital entitles you to be rude. When I chose to be a nurse I wasn't choosing to be any of the following:
~A doormat
~A personal slave
~Silent

I am here to help patients heal. I am here to educate, to push you, and to help you while you learn to do hard things. I realize that patients aren't always going to like the things I'm making them do. But...

That doesn't give you the right to be mean to me.
It doesn't give you the right to call me names.
It doesn't give you the right to attack me on a personal level.

I am still a person. I have feelings.

And it hurts when I don't get the respect that all human beings deserve.

Porsche? Yes, please...

I've always loved Porsches. My favorite? Easy: Porsche 911 Carrera. If that's not sexy, i don't know what is.

So, flash back with me to the Sunday following my 12th (I think) birthday. Church was over for the day, and my family was just hanging out enjoying a leisurely Sunday afternoon. Suddenly, I hear a car horn honk in the driveway. "I think that's for you, Pippi," my mom said. I ran to the door, peeked out, and there in my driveway sat the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen... a Porsche 911 Carrera.

"Hop in, little one, let's go for a ride," said the gentleman standing there, holding the car door open for me.
"Can we go fast?" was my intelligent response.
"Of course we can, what do you think Porsche's are for?" he replied with a chuckle.

I climbed into the car, barely containing my excitement. The car looked, felt, even smelled like luxury. The gentleman got behind the wheel, and we were off. We purred our way through the streets of Holladay until we reached Van Winkle Expressway. "Rule number one of this trip," he said to me as we pulled up to a red light, "You can't tell your mom and dad the numbers you see on the speedometer." The light turned green, and we were off. I watched the needle climb higher, and higher, and higher. I felt like I was flying. I grinned so hard that tears came to my eyes. "Rule number two of this trip," he said with a smile, "Forget that it's Sunday while I stop for some gas." Oh yes, did I mention that this lovely gentleman was in my bishopbric?

An hour later he returned me to my home a changed girl. He'd given me my very first taste of "rich". I liked it. But more than that, he gave me a birthday that will live on in my memory forever.

I will never forget that day as long as I live. I will never forget the kindness of that man for making my every 12-year-old wish come true. I will never forget the impressions he made on me that day. I will never forget...

New BFF

So, I've had a lot of new friends cropping up on my blog lately. Most of them have wandered over from Mormon Mommy Blogs (which I will now be contributing to about once a month, hooray!), and a few I don't know where they've come from. Anyway, in light of these new friends I've decided to let you all in on a few secrets to being my friend:

1. If I invite you over for dinner, don't offer to do the dishes. You are my guest, and I am very particular about how my dishwasher gets loaded.

2. If I'm at your house and I use your bathroom, just know that I'll probably look in your medicine cabinet. This is mostly because I'm nosy.

3. I wish that life really were like a musical, with random song and dance numbers interspersed throughout.

4. I will probably talk to you about my diet. My husband doesn't really care, so I have to talk to someone.

5. I will monopolize your baby. If there's a baby in the room, I want to be holding it.

6. I want a drag queen to teach me how to put on fake eyelashes. So, if you have a friend that's a drag queen I expect you to share.

So, now that you know a few of the rules of being my friend, what are some of your dirty little secrets?

A Bit of Spring

My life is really boring. It's true, you can ask anyone who knows me. Pretty much all I do is eat, sleep, read blogs, work, and sew baby quilts.

Speaking of baby quilts: I know 35 pregnant woman. Yeah, you read that number right: 35. Yikes. Apparently I'm not drinking the right water, or making enough soup, or something. Spring really is in the air. It makes me think of that one song from 7 Brides for 7 Brothers. You know the one, where they're all sitting in meadows, and holding baby animals, and then Millie has her baby. Spring. Finally.

I'm excited that it's finally warming up. Maybe Curious George and I will take the motorcycle out this weekend. Yeah, I'm the girl on the back of the bike. You know you envy my utter coolness. Or at least we'd be cool if we didn't run out of gas in Parley's canyon, and our bike weren't older than the hills, and my helmet matched my jacket. I should remedy the pink-helmet-but-red-jacket issue.

I've been spring cleaning my house and it's a glorious feeling. I love throwing the windows open so the sounds of Mexican party music from the next apartment building over and the sirens from the passing fire trucks can flood my house. At least it lets a little sunshine in. Really, though, the fresh air has been wonderful. I hate that stuffy feeling and smell that fill a house after a long winter of being cooped up inside.

Weight Watchers is going well. I lost 5 pounds during week one. It's actually been easier to stick to than I thought it would be. I'd probably lose more quickly if I exercised more. Now that it's finally warming up I can start walking more. Hopefully I can keep up the plan and the weight loss.

Who else is ready for spring?

Tag, you're it!

I was tagged by my lovely friend Jill in a game of blog picture tag.
The instructions were this: Go to your first picture folder and pick the 10th picture and explain what it is.
The picture:The story (get ready, it's a good one):
At work we sometimes have a little problem feeling compassion. I know, probably not the best thing for a nurse to feel. Anyway, something was said one night about needing the Compassion Fairy to come visit to bestow upon all of us the gift of compassion. So, Jill and I had the brilliant idea to create a magic Compassion Fairy wand. It came complete with glitter and curled pipe cleaner. It was a sight to behold. So, this being 3 in the morning and all, I decided to take it one step further and made some ultra-fashionable Compassion Fairy wings. They were made of (unused) bedpans, wrapped in some elastic-y stocking, and tied on. This picture is of me modeling this seasons latest Compassion Fairy Couture. Lovely, aren't they? Anyway, we decided that we needed some photographic evidence of the night the Compassion Fairy visited rehab... just in case anyone doubted us.

I sort of hoped that these pictures would never surface, bedpan wings are not my most flattering of outfits. But alas, now they are out there for all of the blogosphere to enjoy.

Oh, I tag: Mom, Greg, Amber, Tara, and Elmo. Have fun, friends!

The Other Woman

Curious George is having an affair. It's purely emotional in nature, but I know it's going on. He's never tried to keep it a secret from me. I've met the Other Woman. I like her. In fact, we're rather close. I'm sure some of you have met her, as well. But I'm tired of this being a dirty little secret in our house. So, I'm calling out the Other Woman.

Her name is Gunna, Gunna Ammo to be exact. Yeah, my husband has a deep and abiding love of his mistress. In fact, Gunna and her sisters have taken up permanent residence in our home. He drools over pictures of her online. He takes her out on dates while I'm sleeping. He buys her expensive things. She's even been in my bedroom. Sometimes he likes to bring her with him when we go out together. What's a girl to do?


In all seriousness, however, I knew when I married him that Curious George was a "gun guy." I just don't think I realized that it would occupy his every waking thought. He eats, sleeps, and breathes guns. I thought that some of the mania would slow down when we both got our concealed weapons permits. It didn't. I thought it would slow down after we both got our "carry" guns. It didn't.

When we did our e-free week the thing I missed the most was blogs. The thing he missed the most? Shopping for guns on KSL Classifieds.

I told him once that when I married him, I married HIM. I didn't marry his motorcycle, his cars, his tools, or his guns. I love that he loves all of those things, but I love him. The person. I embrace his love of everything redneck (sometimes). I support that he has hobbies different from my own. In fact, for Valentine's Day, I bought him a belt buckle and cufflinks made from shotgun shells.

However, I'm afraid that he feels like he is defined by his stuff. What I see, from an outside of his head point of view, is that he loves these things because he loves people who love these things. So he loves motorcycles because his friends like motorcycles. He loves cars because his dad belonged to a car club. He loves guns because all of the important men in his life love guns.

I like guns too. I like to shoot. I like that I have a power beyond my own body for self-protection. But I don't want to lose him to his love of guns. I want to be able to talk to him about something else. I want him to be able to talk to other people about something else.

I'm afraid that his love of all things gun-related is going to overtake his ability to have a real connection with other people. But how do I tell him that?