Thursday, November 17, 2011

My Phone

THe prompt this week from is to write about your love for an inatimate object. I was resistant to admit my love for my phone. Well, it's really more of a love-hate relationship. I love that I can call anyone I choose whenever I want. I hate that anyone can call me. My children are forever telling me to answer my phone, to which I reply, "I only answer it when I want to." I love that I can silence the ring. I hate that the vibration mode always spooks me just a little bit when it goes off in my pocket. My phone has met with a tragic demise. There were warning signs for months that my phone was unhappy. I took my phone on my adventure at sea in April. It lounged around in my locker for 27 days. It's battery never recharged, it became listless and difficult to manage. I charged on my very last day in Peru and cheerfully lavished attention on it in the L.A. airport to alert all my family and friends that I was coming home. It responded by refusing to hold a very long battery charge. I would go from 3 bars of power to one then off and silent in less than 12 hours. I tried recharging it frequently, maybe this was the wrong thing. I caved into its demands, I bought a car charger.
Finally after one too many power outages I gave into my phone's teenage angst and I purchased another battery. A fresh source of power so we could start over and be friends again. Let all the past bygones be bygones. I had hope for a smooth future relationship where I could continue to love and hate my phone. But, by then the damage was done. It may have been depression. It may have been anxiety. It may have been performance pressure. I'm not a doctor, I can't diagnose. But now, my beautiful phone with the new power source became lethargic and distant. It would just turn off. No warning, no demands. It took a careful series of events to turn it back on. The case would have to come off. Then a warm breath would have to be blown across the battery and the sim card would have to be stroked firmly into place. Then the cover would be replaced and usually the phone could be coaxed into returning to responsiveness.
THen tragically last night, it all ended.
My phone in a fit of angst and tantrum vibrated from my kitchen counter to the hardwood floor below. I heard a sound that resembled "a clatter" and when I got there to see what was "the matter" I found my phone powerless and cover missing on the floor. AFter carefully, outlining the scene with a chalk outline, I picked up the phone and returned the cover. My phone has previously made this dive a time or two and been awakened after a brief resuscitive period. But, a las this is the result of last nights tumble.
So to whomever called last night giving my phone the vibration to leap from the counter, I'm sorry I have not responded back and BLESS you for finally putting my phone out of it's misery. It is in a better place right now. And never fear that my addiction with having a phone to call with should cause me to tremor with anxiety at the loss of my phone. I returned my sim card to my previous phone. It's okay, as long as you don't look at the duct tape that is holding it together. I will miss my pretty pink phone but mostly I'm sad because it is not time for me to upgrade so I have to pay for a new phone without any discounts.  Sad face.

All tips on the proper care and feeding of a cell phone should be donated to the comments section. I obviously need a refresher on how to have a better relationship with an inatimate object.

Monday, November 14, 2011

My other language

So in filling out forms for volunteer opportunities I'm often requested to list all languages that I am fluent in. I retained a fair amount of my high school spanish but would never claim to be fluent. Part of the problem is the 3 years I spent living in Germany where I used the language on the German economy whenever I was off the Army base where I lived. So I commonly hear the spanish but my response is usually in german. Few native spanish speakers know german. Thus a miscommunication often ensues. But I do know another language. It's medical. I sprinkle all my communications with things like ABG, CXR and CBC. No translation necessary. As many of my readers may not be so proficient in medical-ese, let me introduce you. Your surgeon will request you have an "I & D". Sounds innocent enough, but really... he's going to enlarge whatever wound you already have with some sharp instrument while you are peacefully sleeping. Then he will blast it with a copious amount of normal saline and let all the icky parts drain out. Not so innocent now, huh? What about an "ORIF". Again, peacefully you are asleep. Your surgeon will enlarge the wound making it "open". Then he will "reduce" it. While it is open, he's going to dig around inside, thus the "internal". Next, comes "fixation" which means he will use a variety of screws, nails, staples and whatever other office supplies are necessary to make your broken bones fit back together again. ORIF sounded a whole lot more pleasant didn't it? Thus, I may know another language but it's not really functional in polite society. So, do you have some medical initials that you want me to interpret? Nah, I didn't think so and I don't blame you. Innocence is always bliss.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Full disclosure...

I've been focusing a little bit on my "about me" page that continues to be blank. Trying to come up with just the right information that won't lead to much more embarrassment for my children then they already feel. People are multi-faceted so I'm considering which of my "warts" are note worthy. Let's first tackle the vices, well at least one of them anyhow. I have an addiction. I like to drink pepsi, from the fountain, the can, the bottle, pretty much in all forms. I have a friend who prefers Dr. Pepper and she even heats it in a pan and drinks it like hot chocolate in the winter. I am not that far gone but I hang with people that are. I'm pretty self-righteous about my addiction. I have other friends that drink diet varieties and I get on my soap box because at least I'm getting sugar from mine. I mean if you are going to drink brown water, you should reap some benefit right? I've read all the literature about how bad it is for my liver, how it contributes to belly fat. I even envision little skull and cross bones when I drink it. Making it a close cousin to poison. Doesn't change a thing. I just chuckle and figure I must be invincible to poison, must be a super-power. (see the next post) It's not that I'm without will-power, I just don't choose to use it. Maybe if it smelled bad? Maybe if it was less socially acceptable and not so ever present in our lives. Imagine having to roll a straw up in your shirt sleeve and take extended breaks out in the parking lot to enjoy your vice. Hunching your shoulders against the elements and the fear of being seen sucking back on 32 ounces. What if leaving your desk to take a bathroom break (the result of 32 ounces) required carrying a small key attached to a large wooden sign that said "soda drinker beware". So now it's up to you. What consequence can you think up to scare me from soda? This is a big challenge. I'm a mother and a nurse, I don't scare easy.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Yikes!! You mean I'm not really a super-hero.

Oh, how quickly have I lost my habit of writing every day or even every week. I was recently asked what "super-hero" I would be. It caused me to pause. I'd like some of those really clever tools, like an invisible plane and a lariat of truth and wonder woman of course was blinged out with those bracelets that could stop bullets. The whole climb buildings and flinging webs really works for spider man and of course bat man has that really tricked out automobile and an assistant named Robin. I think the first thing on my super power list would be language. While serving in Peru this last spring I came to several truths...1) the spanish I learned in high school while studying the male wild life in the class is not the same spanish spoken in Peru or any other spanish speaking area for that matter. 2) No matter how loud and slow you repeat the same phrase in spanish, if I don't know the words, I still won't be able to translate them. 3) I wasted alot of time learning things that have not served me well, like the lyrics to many songs popular in the 70's and 80's. 4) Fashion is relative. Somewhere I am a smokin' fashionista. It may be a once a year 80's party but I can truly work that look.
So back to my super-hero powers, how about to look better than I already imagine I do? It's always shocking to see pictures of myself, because I do a pretty good self-talk. So in the interest of not hurting my own feelings, I'm thinking I should ban all personal pictures. So if you take a picture of me, I would like my super power to step in and make me younger, thinner, and whatever adjective works that day. If I can't have that power, maybe, I should just step on your camera? What super power do you want?