Diagnosis: Old Lady

Here is a story for you. 

So remember how I sang you that song about how I hurt my back?

Right. So, I thought it was getting better but then two nights ago, Satan inserted his knife of pain into my lower spine. And boyfriend and I were watching Breaking Bad (OMG AUGUST 11 IS COMING I CANNOT EVEN) and I was just laying flat on the floor, 800 mg of ibu profen on board, just crying like a pathetic thing that is pathetic because it hurt so bad. Like, I honestly thought I was gonna vom cause I was in so much pain.

So I was like, OK OK I'll go to the doctor.

So I set an alarm for 9 a.m. cause that's when the Orthopedic Clinic opens and I called them and I was like, "Look, I'm in a whole lot of pain. Can you please see me today?" And somehow I received an appointment at 10:30.

I got there after a few wrong turns (stupid Opelika road) and was chillin in the waiting room and there was this dude sitting next to me, a black guy in his mid-30s I would guess, and he asked what was wrong. And I told him and we started talking and I told him I was from Chattanooga and they have really good sushi there (this will be important later). 

Anyway, he gets called back, and then I get called back, and they tell me they're gonna do an x ray so I have to put on these SEXUAL shorts:

Oh yes. I kept them.

And then doctor man comes into see me, and he gets like halfway through saying, "Hi, how are you, my name is--" and then he lets out this LION'S ROAR of a yawn. Like, how rude right?? I was like, really? You're not even going to muffle it? Nope, he just opened his big ole mouth and let it out. 

And then he sort of tapped around on my reflexes and pulled on my legs and finally was like, "Yeah, so you slipped a disk."

Which I already suspected, but then it was officially confirmed. I was diagnosed as a lil old lady.

So I took my hothothothot shorts and my pain med prescription and left Lion Man to go take a final. And I'm walking out, and I hear someone yelling at me. It was waiting room man. The following is a rough transcript of our conversation:

Waiting room man: HEY. HEY. So....*heavy breathing from running to catch up with me* what did they say?

Me: Oh, I slipped a disk.

WRM: Oh man, I know that hurts. I hope you feel better.

Me: Thanks.

WRM: Man!! You are GORGEOUS.

Me: .....Aww....well thanks.

WRM: You got a boyfriend?

Me: Yeah I do.

WRM: How long y'all been together?

Me: Two and a half years.

WRM: Wow. So I guess I can't give you my number.

Me: Uhhh...probably not....

WRM: Damn. I was gonna ask you to go get dinner. We could get sushi!

Me: Well you should still try it! It's great.

WRM: But I wanted to try it with you!!

Me: Well....sorry....nice meeting you....

And as I said, this dude is like approaching middle age, and in the waiting room we were talking about his job in Columbus teaching and I just assumed that he had, you know, a family and kids and that we were just talking but I guess he was hitting on me?

Oh well. It was still flattering.

And I guess, really, I would have been the cougar in this situation, not him.

HA. See, some old ladies still got it goin' onnnn!

82

Hey guys....soooo here's nice video for you of me singing a parody I wrote of Taylor's Swift's song "22," inspired by my recent back injury.

The lyrics:

It feels like a perfect night to just wear my jammies

And snuggle up in my flannel sheets, oh oh, oh oh

It feels like a perfect night to go to bed at 10 p.m.

To give up and just turn in, oh oh, oh oh

Yeah,

My back, my joints, please pass the aspirin and the heating pad

I’m so miserable it’s laughable

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night I have to sleep in a straight line

Stupid spine

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22

22

It seems like one of those nights

My house is too big

Can’t make it up the stairs, oh oh, oh oh

It seems like one of those nights

I’ll ditch the bedroom

And end up sleeping

In my living room

Yeah,

My back, my joints, please pass the aspirin and the heating pad

I’m so miserable it’s laughable

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night I have to sleep in a straight line

Stupid spine

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22, 22

22, 22

It feels like one of those nights

That I just can’t move

It feels like one of those nights

Couldn’t if I wanted to

It feels like one of those nights

This looks like bad news…

Can’t bend and can’t move

Can’t bend and can’t move

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22, 22

22, 22

It feels like one of those nights

That I just can’t move

It feels like one of those nights

Couldn’t if I wanted to

It feels like one of those nights

This looks like bad news…

Can’t bend and can’t move

Can’t bend and can’t move

I hate cops

So in case you guys didn't know, I have this weird fear of police officers. I mean, I know they're meant to help you and keep you safe and all that jazz, but I can't help it; I get super nervous around them.

My aversion to cops has gotten worse as of late. There is a girl in my class this Summer who is a copper and who felt it was appropriate to come to class in uniform with a loaded gun. Pretty sure that's illegal, ma'am, when you're on a school campus. If you're in school, you're not on duty, and when you're not on duty, why don't you leave that shit in the car?

Anyway, remember my post a while ago about the obnoxious girl in my Abnormal class that my friends and I dubbed "Poop?" Well, this cop girl in my class now is Poop the 4th, AKA Queen Poop, because even if you can't believe it's possible, she's worse. And yes, there were two more Poops in between.

Let me tell you about a few things this chick has said.

Firstly, an incident which I did not actually witness, but which my psychology friend informed me of. I don't know the reasoning behind why they were talking about this in class, but apparently Queen Supreme said something to the likes of, "I don't like my two year old being around my brother, because he's gay and I don't want him to be a bad influence."

Oh right, yes, because A) Gay people are MONSTERS (look out for Gayzilla, in theaters this Fall) and B) Homosexuality is contagious.

Can you imagine how hurtful that would be if you were that brother?? And your sister says you're not allowed to be around your nephew because you like the company of men. Why? Is this something you're discussing with the kid? Like, "Hey buddy, have you ever thought about where you'd like to put your penis once you hit puberty? Because I can give you a few tips."

No. No one says that. Gay or straight. Or Bi. Or whatever. I'm sure the guy would just play trains with the kid or whatever.

Secondly, an incident which occurred only a few days ago in my class. We were talking about portable eye tracking devices, which are actually pretty cool. And our teacher asked us if there were any practical uses for these devices. And some girl jokingly says, "Well you could put it on a pedophile and track his eye movements and if he stares at a kid too long, you could give him a shock."

And we all laughed, because it was kind of funny. And then the shit Queen chimes in with, "Oh well it wouldn't matter. Trust me, those people can't be rehabilitated."

And there was this silence. And me and my two friends in that class looked at each other. And I just went, "Ohhh. OK." And sat there shaking my head.

(Side note: If you are not aware, I am doing research with those friends at a juvenile prison this Summer and part of the population we work with is sex offenders who are either about to receive or are about to leave treatment.)

The professor I'm doing research under was actually hired by the state to begin putting treatment programs in prisons in Alabama, after a new state law decreed that sex offenders be required to receive treatment. So there's just now starting to be a change in the system, and it's so so cool to be on the cutting edge of that. Back to Poop.

Ok, chick, listen. If you're a cop, you should know, first of all, that maybe "those people" haven't experienced successful rehabilitation because there ISN'T any treatment program in most prisons. And as someone in law enforcement, maybe the implantation of treatment plans should be of interest to you.

But no, Poop, "those people" won't get better if they're not getting treated in the first place.

Also, as a psychology major, shouldn't you be interested in learning about this instead of writing it off as something that's permanent and can't be changed? You might want to reevaluate your choice of major.

How did she get into law enforcement? The requirements must be loose for her to have gotten through. I'm hoping that she is a rarity in the line of police work, because I would think knowledge of the prison system would be important to, you know, know.

Ok, ok, rant over. This might not have been the funniest thing, but it's something that is very important to me. A person is a person. A pedophile is still a human being, and is likely suffering from mental illness. I look forward to being able to help "those people" in my career. I want to work in a prison and with other counselors to rehabilitate "those people," because yes, it is possible. In fact, in the prison where I work now, the re-arrest rate has gone down by far more than 50% after the treatment program was implemented. Oh yes, I talk to sex offenders, and I get their stories, and then they go talk to therapists who help them get better. And THAT, miss Poop cop, is what a psychology major should care about.

OOTD Log: The time I got struck by a vehicle

Hello friends.

So, as most or all of you may know already, I added an experience to my life today. I got hit by a car. An SUV actually, that was travelling at approximately 20-30 mph. And when I say I got hit by a car, I mean me. Myself. I was not in my car. Or any car. I was just walking along.

Here's what happened:

We begin looking North down Donahue in Auburn, AL. In the distance, Mama G's beckons students to consume shockingly calorie-laden nachos. Pan left. There's me! I'm just trying to cross Donahue on Heisman drive to go get lunch with my boyfriend before class.

First person view. All of the lights seem to be red at this intersection...but wait, a Tiger Transit is pulling out to turn onto Donahue...so the light facing me should be green too...maybe that light is still red just because no one pushed the cross button? The light on my side is still green....I guess I'll go for it.

Third person view, me running across the street.

Pan left, the light looking North on Donahue has turned green as I'm halfway across the cross walk.

First person view, Shit, better run fast to make that last five feet.

Pan right, speeding SUV.

Pause. Question. Why was this dude speeding up? A) The light was red not two seconds before and therefore he should have been slowing down...right? And B) I know that I'm technically in the wrong here (and I already feel like enough of an idiot, so don't even start with me!) but I was wearing a bright orange T-Shirt...this dude must have been seriously distracted.

Play. First person view, Great, now this asshole is just gunning it to scare me cause he's all pissed off that I was still crossing when his light turned green. Wow, he's really coming fast. Holy shit he's not slowing down. Oh my god. He doesn't see me. I'm about to get hit by a car.

Third person view, I get nailed on my right side, fly into the air, spin around, and land on my right side. Body goes into what I assume is shock or adrenaline overload or something, because when I next realize what is happening, I'm on my back with my hands and feet in the air turtle style and this dude in a construction vest is standing over me asking if I'm OK.

First person view, I can't speak. Cannot. Form. Words. My elbow hurts fucking bad. My ankle feels funny. Wiggle hands and feet about. Everything seems to be working. I didn't hit my head...how? My backpack! Oh Jesus Lord, bless you, backpack. 

Third person view, traffic is stopped up to about ten cars now, but no one is in any of those cars because they've all gotten out to come see if I'm OK. Which was weirdly embarrassing for me...

Everyone is asking if I need an ambulance. "Please, god no," I tell them, "I'm fine, really. I'm just shaken up."

First person view, a cop shows up. They help me move myself from the road to sit in the shade of a tree. After a few minutes, my body starts coming to its senses and I realize I'm ITCHY.

"Hey, I know this might seem ridiculous, but I'm allergic to grass....so...I'm gonna go sit on the concrete."

Cop says OK, I move. Look down and realize my ankle is bleeding and starting to drip. I pull out my water bottle and start pouring what little is left on it. Some blessed lady goes to her car and gets me some tissues. I blot at it for a while but it hurts like hell so I just kind of sit there.

Cop starts asking me questions. I have trouble answering because, you know, I'm crying and also shaking everywhere.

I call my boyfriend. He runs all the way across campus (stopping to get more water as per my request to clean my wounds) to come meet me. He freaks out when he sees me because he thought I was in a car when I got hit and he suddenly realizes that I was, in fact, not.

I keep pouring water on my ankle. People around me keep talking to each other about what they saw like I'm not even there. Cop finishes accident report. The large lady who was actually driving the car apologizes. I say I'm all good. Boyfriend goes to get my car so we can go to the med clinic. I get in, shut the door, and promptly start bawling.

Who the hell does this kind of shit happen to???

Whatever. I'm gonna have an excellent party anecdote.

In all seriousness, this was actually the scariest thing that ever happened to me. The moment right before impact and the actual impact was terrifying. And I cried a lot and it hurt a lot, but I'm OK. I don't know how, but I escaped with minor scrapes, bruises, and some swelling. I'm seriously lucky.

The nurse at the med clinic was a dick, but that's a story for another time, and something which will be documented in my "AUMC patient review" for that visit.

And now I'm hanging out here all by myself, cause everyone is busy or not here. And I want some fucking ice cream. So I'm gonna get my bruised ass in my car and go to Bruster's.

Boosh.

On cowlicks

Please enjoy this rant regarding cowlicks. 

Politically Incorrect

Yesterday, my lovely and wonderful red-haired roomie shared with me this blog post: CLICK ME! and suggested I might have fun writing a response to it on this here blog.

Said red-head and I have similar views on most things political and social, and this was no exception. We both thought it was absolutely ridiculous.

If you don't feel like reading it (although it is rather short, if you want to have a go), it basically discusses modesty and why it's a virtue. As is typical in the south, the subject gets tied in with the bible and religion. The author states that dressing modestly shows what type of person you are, and further states that dressing immodestly as a woman is a temptation to men.

As you may remember, I did touch on this subject a while back, saying (in essence) that I didn't understand why girls got mad if boys hit on them/stared at them when they're wearing revealing clothing, and that I wear revealing clothes because hey, I like boobies, and everyone should appreciate them. So this is sort of an expansion on that I guess.

Here are my first reactions to the post:

1) This is one of those things that just gives Christians a terrible reputation. The post and most of the comments are SUPER judgmental and condescending.

2) Really?

3) .....really???

This is my favorite part: 

"Guys aren’t the only ones who can lose respect for a woman who dresses immodestly. I personally have a really hard time hearing any kind of advice from a woman who dresses for that kind of attention. If you consistently fail to present yourself in a way befitting a lady who professes to worship God (1 Timothy 2:9-10) how can I trust your advice on matters of the heart?"

You can't. If you can see any part of my boobs I am not to be trusted. And if you can see more than half of my thighs, well, then you KNOW you can't take anything I have to say about relationships seriously.

Or maybe I'm just a normal fucking person who felt like wearing a v-neck and shorts. 

I dunno, Timothy, which one is it? 

Of course, I personally think ole Tim here was including more than just way of dress in his definition of self-presentation. 

Another favorite quote: 

"If you are unsure about some of the clothing in your closet, please seek some godly counsel."

Are you serious?? We can't make our own choices about clothing?? We have to go to our damn church and say, "Excuse me reverend, but could I ask your opinion on my pleather skirt?"

No. Just, no. There is no need to ask god about this. Once your parents stopped having to dress you, that's when it became time for you to make your own decisions.  

Ok, now onto boys.

Why is it a big deal to have a lustful thought? Why? Sex is a COMPLETELY NORMAL THING THAT IS COMPLETELY NORMAL TO THINK ABOUT, and if a man were to see a pair of excellent titties, it's NORMAL to think, "Gee, I sure would like to know what those feel/look like." 

And that's offensive?

It's not like they're going to stalk you and follow you home and stare into your windows at night hoping for a peek at those wonderful breasts. It's just a passing thought. He's more than likely not even going to say or do anything about it. So calm the hell down.

I, as a completely straight woman, am an avid admirer of other women. I think we are sexy as hell, and I can appreciate a hot bod as much as any man. Ask any of my friends. I talk about boobs and their awesomeness all the time. Does that make me a shitty person? No. The human body is beautiful and amazing and so incredible, and if you want to make that even more apparent by going extreme wearing a thong and nipple stickers in public, fucking DO IT. 

Or if you're more comfortable in a push up bra and a pair of shorts with a 3-5" inseam, do that.

Or if you want to dress like you are Mother Theresa, rock that frock, baby.

But don't get your granny panties all in a twist if you see a little boobage, OK? 

I am the first one to say that the way you dress is of the utmost importance because it makes a first impression, and there are obvious times when you definitely should dress modestly. It's just that wearing a low-cut top once in a while doesn't make me a shitty friend or someone not to be trusted.

It just does not.  

And I'm not going to bother myself with getting someone else to OK my clothing choices. 

That is all. Rant over. Enjoy your night. <3

Midget stories

Hellooo helloooo helloooooooo!

That was supposed to be sung in a major triad, but I guess that doesn't really come across through text.

Today I have a special treat for you. I have written a series of midget stories about the lives of the good college folk who live in Creekside. I hope that it will give you a glimpse into the daily lives of the people I call my neighbors.

Introducing Jenna

Hey, so....I'm Jenna. I'm 18 and I just got an apartment and I'm in college and I am just soooo excited to be an adult!! I am so grown up. I'm not even living with my parents anymore, that's how grown up I am. I have, like, responsibilities and shit. Ok, I know my parents pay my rent. Ok, ok, they pay for everything. And yeah, I guess I don't really know how to keep my place clean. Isn't it normal to eat and drink on your porch and then leave all your shit out there?? What are bills??

Jenna Throws a Party

It was 11 p.m. on a Tuesday, and Jenna was bored. 

"Hey, wanna invite some people over?" she asked her roommates.

"Sure, it's not too late! Tell them to come over at midnight!"

So Jenna called 40 of her closest friends and they all came over at midnight that Tuesday to party. 

They blared their music and turned the bass up so loud that it was shocking the place didn't just fall to the ground. They drank their bud light and got shwasty. Then when they were nice and drunk, around 2 a.m., they went into the street and yelled about nothing in particular.

"OH MY GOD THIS IS SO COOL," Jenna said, quite loudly.

"HELL YEAH!!" her fratty friend Jake replied, smashing an empty beer can on his head. 

It was so fun staying up late and making noise that they didn't even care about the people in Kazakhstan who were being kept awake by their ruckus.

They were heading back inside when some girl came to the door in her pajamas.

"Hey guys...I was just wondering if you could turn it down a little," the poor girl pleaded, "It's a week night at 2:30 a.m. and I have class tomorrow morning."

"Oh yeah, sure, no problem!!" Jenna said sweetly. 

The girl left. Jenna turned around and said, "Ok, turn the music down for, like, five minutes, and then we'll CRANK it again like nothing ever happened!!!"

Everyone hollered and screamed because that was the greatest idea they had ever heard. 

And so the party went. And no one went to class the next day.

My parents are paying for this college thing, so it's not on me if I don't go to class! Jenna thought as she went to bed at 5.

Jenna Goes to the Pool

It was the weekend, and Jenna was bored.

"Hey, do we have any bud light?" Jenna asked her roommates.

"We always have bud light!!" her roommates replied.

And so they gathered their beer and put it in a cooler and went to the pool.

It was 90 degrees outside, and none of them had been drinking anything but beer, but it was OK because they got in the pool, which is made out of water, so they weren't dehydrated right??

Jenna finished her fifth beer and looked around, confused.

"The only trash can is all the way by the pool gate!! Where the hell do I put my beer??"

Jenna didn't want to get out of the pool.

"Just throw it in the pool! Nobody cares!" said her fratty friend Jake.

Jenna had never heard a better idea.

"What about my cigarette?" Jenna asked.

"Throw that in too when you're finished!"

That Jake sure knew what he was talking about. 

Jenna and her friends sat at the pool all day long in the sun and the heat drinking nothing but beer and smoking cigarettes and throwing their trash in the pool, and it was the best. Day. Ever. 

The End.

I hope you enjoyed my stories. They are very strongly based in reality.

I cannot wait to move out of this stupid apartment complex.