CPR For Dummies

As a massage therapist working for a hospital, I have to be CPR trained. Let me just say, that due to the nature of most of my jobs over the years, I have been CPR trained on and off most of my life – and the hospital I work for graciously gives us two reviews a year before we have to re-certify.

Now here’s my problem.

I CANNOT EVER REMEMBER THIS SHIT!! I don’t care how many times I run through it – when review time comes it’s like I’m Nell, the wild mountain girl, being introduced to this stuff for the very first time. It’s ridiculous.

It would be one thing if I had suffered some kind of trauma to my hippocampus, but I seem fairly capable of creating new memories in other areas of my life. I have no problem recalling….and so, it just leaves me feeling like I’m Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates. This crap about your memory going when you get old – hell, at this rate by the time I GET old I won’t be able to remember if I’m really alive or not.
(more…)

The Bloggess Rocks!

So – I’ve been spending more time trying to gather like-minded blogs to list under my, “Blogs I Fancy” category because – Hey! There’s some really good stuff out there. One of the top blogs on my list is TheBloggess. She’s just so darn sassy! As a fellow connoisseur of sarcasm, The Bloggess can dish it up like nobody’s biz…plus I really just adore how her warped little mind works. Case in point: Her last post about zombie babies and the stark contrast of images that comes to mind makes me downright giddy. I actually called a friend so I could read it to her while she drove to work. Nothing makes you forget about heinous traffic than a delightful little story about zombie babies chewing through your achilles tendon. (I giggled when I wrote that.) There are many more Bloggess-isms to be had, but you will just have to check it out for yourself – I’ve got stuff to do.

Stick People Are Hot

I have known my best friend Karen since I was in the 3rd grade, and even though I moved away when I was 14, we still keep in touch.

I moved to Ohio when I had just turned 8, and I was thrilled to be out of the mind-numbing hellhole I call Atlanta. We met when I was walking down the sidewalk on the day we moved in. She beckoned me with a wave to come over. She was sitting on the grass casually digging a small hole – for what I’m still not sure – but whatever it was, it was in a little cardboard box (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t treasure). When I got close enough, I saw her quickly stuff it down into the hole. I walked over and said, “Hi! I live right down there in that house with the yellow door.”

She could have cared less. Instead of acknowledging me, she just looked me up and down before blurting out, “Do you know what a penis is?”

Okay. I guess we can just cut through all the typical niceties kids our age normally engage in – you know, things like “What’s your name, how old are you, what are you burying in that tiny grave your digging?” I mean, shucks! Why bother with boring pleasantries when I could instead discuss human anatomy with the little girl version of Jeffrey Dahmer.
(more…)