I sincerely believe that the over flux of reality TV shows is dumbing down societies intelligence. I am not looking down on those who watch reality shows, because I, myself, wonder what in God's good name is John Gosselin doing with cubic zirconium studs in his ear, with his shirt half buttoned and parading in front of TV cameras while his soon to be ex-wife is at home with eight kids- and all the women say, “that’s a man for ya!"- And why do I know so much about this couples situation? Why do I care? Because I'm a victim of reality TV.
One reason I enrolled in classes this semester was to keep my brain from dry rotting. To often, I found myself in front of the “tele” watching people live there lives while I lay on the sofa living mine. It's depressing when you think about it. At one point I contemplated canceling the cable; my husband, of course, wouldn't let this happen. I needed a reason to break the habit in order for the habit to be broke. I enjoy learning, but I was tired of learning about "The Girls Next Door" and rationalizing my addiction as a "guilty pleasure."
After watching a good few hours of so-called "reality", I would, somehow, be mentally and physically drained of energy. I felt as if the couch and the TV were in alliance to eat my brain, and I was the unassuming schmuck unaware of their partaking. At some point I became aware, which is when I decided to go back to school, for no other reason then to prevent my mind from becoming void. Being in school forces me to read, and forces me to think; yes, sometimes I need to be forced to think.
If the couch and the TV have this effect on me, I assume it has this same effect on others. What if we all replaced TV with books? Would there be less violence, illiteracy and unemployment? People could save money on $1500 flat screen HDTVs and $100 a month cable bills and use that money, instead, towards their mortgage payment so that the government wouldn't have to come up with some sort of bail out bill to bail them out. Seems common sense, to me.
I would be lying if I said that I don't watch TV. I do, but not near as much. At the end of the day, after having established a certain sense of accomplishment, I still turn the TV on and veg out to some mindless show on E! At times, I need a state of mindlessness, and that's okay because my mind is already filled enough not to let the mindless banter of reality TV to enter.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
My Backyards Ecosystem
I have these little piles of dirt that are randomly scattered throughout the yard. On occasion, I'll see small throws of dirt sputtering out like an anemic waterfall from these mounds. Yes in deed, I do believe that I've got a mole. When we first noticed this, I was excited, much to my husbands chagrin. I am an animal lover and I have never in my life seen a mole. I was intrigued. My imagination pictured a fuzzy little hamster-like creature with no eyes and human-like hands living in our backyard, living in his natural habitat. And being the nice, tolerable people that we are we would not mess with Mother Nature and her animals. This resolution to not bother the mole in his habitat quickly absolved when he began digging up flowers and making bigger mole holes. I began rationalizing my annoyance with him in my head- "Who is paying for the mortgage on this house anyways?"
One night we had a few friends over in our backyard when we began discerning little sprays of dirt coming up form one of the mole holes. Frankie, my cat, quickly rushed over to the hole and stuck his nose in it. We were all cheering for him because we thought, of course, that he would capture and kill the mole. Are thoughts were wrong, because Frankie turned around, stuck his butt over the hole, and began to defecate right into the hole. Needless to say this didn't kill the mole, although it did give Frankie a new idea that the little mounds of dirt would be his new bathrooms.
A curious thing began to transpire with the mole's holes. We got a puppy, named him Gumbo, potty trained him, taught him how to walk on a leash and how to fetch a tennis ball, you know... puppy training 101. But we were never quite sure why when he would come in from the back yard he would smell like a horse. My attempt in figuring out what exactly a horse smelled like-so that I could pin down the smell-led me to the conclusion that a horse smells like feces, and our dog, therefore, smelled like sh$%! I couldn't find the source. I checked all four paws, his nose, his ears, his butt....I couldn't find anything.
The next day my husband and I were throwing the tennis ball to our dog and he would fetch. The last throw of the day landed in a hill of mole dirt. Gumbo ran towards the ball, stuck his nose in the dirt, and came up eating a cat turd. That was it for playing fetch. He could not be distracted from his tasty treat, and we could not pry the nasty waste matter out of his mouth. He was as happy as a puppy could be.
So it is what it is, and I can't do anything about it. The mole digs a hole, makes a heap of dirt, which the cat poops in, and the dog eats the poop. I wonder if the cycle ever completely revolves? Does the mole eat the dog poop and will the cat ever eat the mole? All I know is that I have no control over this situation. Mole traps, enticing my dog with real dog treats-nothing works. Ecology is a phenomenal science and I realize every living thing does its own thing to keep the world turning, but why does my dog eat poop? I LOVE LOVE LOVE my dog, but this really makes me question his animals instincts. Maybe his instincts are telling him to do it for the ecosystem; maybe it's his way of "recycling". I doubt it.
One night we had a few friends over in our backyard when we began discerning little sprays of dirt coming up form one of the mole holes. Frankie, my cat, quickly rushed over to the hole and stuck his nose in it. We were all cheering for him because we thought, of course, that he would capture and kill the mole. Are thoughts were wrong, because Frankie turned around, stuck his butt over the hole, and began to defecate right into the hole. Needless to say this didn't kill the mole, although it did give Frankie a new idea that the little mounds of dirt would be his new bathrooms.
A curious thing began to transpire with the mole's holes. We got a puppy, named him Gumbo, potty trained him, taught him how to walk on a leash and how to fetch a tennis ball, you know... puppy training 101. But we were never quite sure why when he would come in from the back yard he would smell like a horse. My attempt in figuring out what exactly a horse smelled like-so that I could pin down the smell-led me to the conclusion that a horse smells like feces, and our dog, therefore, smelled like sh$%! I couldn't find the source. I checked all four paws, his nose, his ears, his butt....I couldn't find anything.
The next day my husband and I were throwing the tennis ball to our dog and he would fetch. The last throw of the day landed in a hill of mole dirt. Gumbo ran towards the ball, stuck his nose in the dirt, and came up eating a cat turd. That was it for playing fetch. He could not be distracted from his tasty treat, and we could not pry the nasty waste matter out of his mouth. He was as happy as a puppy could be.
So it is what it is, and I can't do anything about it. The mole digs a hole, makes a heap of dirt, which the cat poops in, and the dog eats the poop. I wonder if the cycle ever completely revolves? Does the mole eat the dog poop and will the cat ever eat the mole? All I know is that I have no control over this situation. Mole traps, enticing my dog with real dog treats-nothing works. Ecology is a phenomenal science and I realize every living thing does its own thing to keep the world turning, but why does my dog eat poop? I LOVE LOVE LOVE my dog, but this really makes me question his animals instincts. Maybe his instincts are telling him to do it for the ecosystem; maybe it's his way of "recycling". I doubt it.
Tired, Confused and Fed Up
This last week rode rough as a corn cob. I am attributing it to working nights for the the past 3 years- I think it's finally catching up with me. The days that I am not working I can only sleep 4 hours at a time, which means that I might wake up at 3am, go back to bed around 10am, wake up again around 4pm and so on and so forth...
I once read that working night shift for a long time can diminish your life span about 10 years and that it even increases your risk of cancer! This shouldn't be worth the extra $4/hr they pay me to work nights, but even still, it is hard for me to walk away from the extra money. Why is this? Why am I putting more value on money than I am on my health and well being? Why, for that matter, am I even doing something I don't even enjoy? Sure, it's a job and no one likes to work, but I don't mind work, I just want to do work that I like. Am I naive thinking that this is possible? This is the main reason I am back in school- I'm casting myself out into a sea of possibilities waiting for something to bite, but attending classes from in front of my home computer makes it difficult to discern when my fishing lure bobbles; something seems to get lost in the distance.
Maybe it's not because I work nights that I am feeling so tired and worn, maybe it's nursing in general. Everyone always says, "That's the great thing about nursing, there is so much you can do with it", to which I say: Most of the nursing jobs available involve doing more or less the same thing- being overworked and under appreciated. People assume that nurses just pass out medications and take vital signs. This assumption is why so many new nurses leave nursing with in the first few years of their career and is why their is a nation wide shortage of nurses.
Nurses are with a patient for 12 hours, while doctors are only there for 10 minutes- at the most. Doctors do not get pooped on, slobbered on,and bled on every single day, which is why they can wear white lab coats; you hardly ever see a nurse wearing white. Whatever happens in those 12 hours is the nurses responsibility;nurses are the "eyes and ears of the doctors". Doctors have a HUGE responsibility; I'm not saying they don't. I'm just saying that nurses do, as well.
Hospitals do not staff enough nursing assistants and ancillary staff to help fill in the gaps and so the nurses are not able to give patients the attention they deserve. A nurse should not be given 10 patients to take care of, this is not safe. Families end up bitter, rightfully so, because they don't feel that their loved one is getting enough attention.
One main reason that nurses have been taken away from the bedside is because of the amount of charting that is required. This is to protect the hospitals and nurses from over zealous lawyers who want to find any reason to sue and end up driving up the cost of health care and diminishing the quality of care; therefore, they are essentially kicking themselves and there loved ones in the rear. I can't even begin to describe the amount of time I spend dating, signing, putting check marks here and there. It has gone too far. Nursing has become a paper trail.
I'm not sure what led me on such a tangent. Maybe I didn't realize how much of this nonsense is what makes nursing unenjoyable for me. I feel I am catering to hospitals and lawyers more than I am taking care of patients. The satisfaction I do get from nursing comes, not when I get a raise or on Nursing Appreciation Day, but when I am at the bedside giving care and the patient, or the family, say's "Thank you".
I once read that working night shift for a long time can diminish your life span about 10 years and that it even increases your risk of cancer! This shouldn't be worth the extra $4/hr they pay me to work nights, but even still, it is hard for me to walk away from the extra money. Why is this? Why am I putting more value on money than I am on my health and well being? Why, for that matter, am I even doing something I don't even enjoy? Sure, it's a job and no one likes to work, but I don't mind work, I just want to do work that I like. Am I naive thinking that this is possible? This is the main reason I am back in school- I'm casting myself out into a sea of possibilities waiting for something to bite, but attending classes from in front of my home computer makes it difficult to discern when my fishing lure bobbles; something seems to get lost in the distance.
Maybe it's not because I work nights that I am feeling so tired and worn, maybe it's nursing in general. Everyone always says, "That's the great thing about nursing, there is so much you can do with it", to which I say: Most of the nursing jobs available involve doing more or less the same thing- being overworked and under appreciated. People assume that nurses just pass out medications and take vital signs. This assumption is why so many new nurses leave nursing with in the first few years of their career and is why their is a nation wide shortage of nurses.
Nurses are with a patient for 12 hours, while doctors are only there for 10 minutes- at the most. Doctors do not get pooped on, slobbered on,and bled on every single day, which is why they can wear white lab coats; you hardly ever see a nurse wearing white. Whatever happens in those 12 hours is the nurses responsibility;nurses are the "eyes and ears of the doctors". Doctors have a HUGE responsibility; I'm not saying they don't. I'm just saying that nurses do, as well.
Hospitals do not staff enough nursing assistants and ancillary staff to help fill in the gaps and so the nurses are not able to give patients the attention they deserve. A nurse should not be given 10 patients to take care of, this is not safe. Families end up bitter, rightfully so, because they don't feel that their loved one is getting enough attention.
One main reason that nurses have been taken away from the bedside is because of the amount of charting that is required. This is to protect the hospitals and nurses from over zealous lawyers who want to find any reason to sue and end up driving up the cost of health care and diminishing the quality of care; therefore, they are essentially kicking themselves and there loved ones in the rear. I can't even begin to describe the amount of time I spend dating, signing, putting check marks here and there. It has gone too far. Nursing has become a paper trail.
I'm not sure what led me on such a tangent. Maybe I didn't realize how much of this nonsense is what makes nursing unenjoyable for me. I feel I am catering to hospitals and lawyers more than I am taking care of patients. The satisfaction I do get from nursing comes, not when I get a raise or on Nursing Appreciation Day, but when I am at the bedside giving care and the patient, or the family, say's "Thank you".
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Pursuit in Selflessness
Like an only child I am into self evaluation which is probably a form of narcissism. This can make for an exhausting day. It's funny, and a bit ironic, that the more time a person spends thinking about themselves the more miserable they become. I always try to remember this when I am feeling melancholy- that it means I'm spending too much time dwelling on myself.
The other day at work, I was in the midst of a self loathing funk. As I was plodding along towards the coffee machine, I was asked into a patients room to assist another nurse in repositioning a patient. I walked into the room and saw a face mirroring an age close to my own. His mouth was open, allowing the drool to slide down his chin; his body was contracted and was leaning towards his left side. This is not an uncommon positions to see patients in, especially in the ICU, but it's usually seen in older patients with a neurological defect. This patient was only 28 years old and had been this way all of his life. Needless to say, my gloom turned into guilt- guilt about being healthy and guilt about being so self centered.
I try to catch myself when I notice I'm falling into an egomaniacal vacuum, but while doing so I trip up by obsessing about why it's so difficult for me to maintain a selfless perspective.
I looked at this boy as his eyes blinked and occasionally shifted direction; as I thought of his unfortunate situation I couldn't help but compare my life to his. His was a life that had been given over to the state by his parents; he is from a State School. I'm not sure what is meant by this. Are they teaching him anything? Is he learning? I think it is, more or less, a term used to describe a nursing home for patients who are not elder. Children who don't make the cut in life and whose parents aren't able to take on the burden.
My life has consisted of exploration and driven by my own aspirations. What are his? Is his life fulfilled in his imagination? Does the imagination compensate for what is lost in these circumstances? What is an imagination to a life that is not fully lived? Is he miserable because all he has is his own thoughts to which he is locked in or is he completely catatonic and ignorant to even think anything? It is so sad. How can I even begin to complain about being at work when I have a healthy mind and body?
Because my body healthy, I'm able to enjoy this beautiful day.
Because my mind is healthy, I'm able to pursue my endeavors.
The reality that it takes another persons misfortunes to appreciate what you have is an upsetting truth. The Bible says in Galatians 6:5-Do not compare yourself to others for each man will bear his own burden.
Why, then, are some more burdened than others? The old adage life is not fair is learned in childhood when your mother doesn't let you eat ice cream for dinner, but it is made into a profound truth when as an adult you realize the real meaning of the childhood proverb.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Not Always on Time
I believe that I'm living a day behind everyone else. Maybe I somehow got off the worlds calender and on to the Mayan calender,which means that my world will be ending in 2012. This could mean that it really doesn't matter that I turned the second draft of my essay in a day late, because I won't exist two years from now.
I am writing this with urgency because I have to leave for work in less then an hour, and being that I thought it was yesterday, I didn't realize this was due today (today meaning Oct. 10 2009). My anxiety about this, coupled with the big cup of coffee I just guzzled, has given me shaky hands and a palpating heart. What good is all the anxiousness? What, in the grand sense if things, does it matter if I don't get an A in this class; I should really be more concerned with what I have learned opposed to what letter grade I made. Does one reflect the other? Maybe, but maybe not. If I had not taken this class then I wouldn't have learned anything, which would qualify as an F, not actually or concretely because I wouldn't have been in the class to begin with, but intellectually. Regardless of what I make in this class, I am a more educated person because of it. Focusing on a letter grade, instead of focusing on what you are comprehending and how you can apply it to life, is shallow.
Phew...I might be rationalizing unacceptable behavior, but I needed to give myself a pep talk so that I could persevere. I don't want to be the one always late in life, I've always heard that it's a form of passive aggression and I don't like the idea of being an aggressive person. Thanks for listening to my ramblings. I feel slightly more centered and a little less late.
I am writing this with urgency because I have to leave for work in less then an hour, and being that I thought it was yesterday, I didn't realize this was due today (today meaning Oct. 10 2009). My anxiety about this, coupled with the big cup of coffee I just guzzled, has given me shaky hands and a palpating heart. What good is all the anxiousness? What, in the grand sense if things, does it matter if I don't get an A in this class; I should really be more concerned with what I have learned opposed to what letter grade I made. Does one reflect the other? Maybe, but maybe not. If I had not taken this class then I wouldn't have learned anything, which would qualify as an F, not actually or concretely because I wouldn't have been in the class to begin with, but intellectually. Regardless of what I make in this class, I am a more educated person because of it. Focusing on a letter grade, instead of focusing on what you are comprehending and how you can apply it to life, is shallow.
Phew...I might be rationalizing unacceptable behavior, but I needed to give myself a pep talk so that I could persevere. I don't want to be the one always late in life, I've always heard that it's a form of passive aggression and I don't like the idea of being an aggressive person. Thanks for listening to my ramblings. I feel slightly more centered and a little less late.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Foggy, Frantic, Fickle Fancy
Here lately I have been having a very tough time writing. Some days it is easy, these last few days it hasn't been. I'm struggling with the next writing assignment, the words just aren't seeming to come out right. Should I blame it on the weather? Could it be because I've had a slight temperature lately? I'm not sure, but it is very frustrating, especially since there are deadlines. Even a pretty new journal with a bird etched on the cover, and walks around the block hasn't helped shatter the glass house I feel I've been living in. I'm foggy minded and heavy headed; this time of year is normally like Spring to me, fall is when I am supposed to feel my most alive. So this is my next attempt, to write about my discouragement in hopes that it will somehow blow the top off this house of a thousand corpses.
I've been spending way to much money shopping for inspiration. And by that I mean, getting a manicure and pedicure, spending $50 worth of Snuggies for my dog, and then turning around and spending another $50 at Pet World so that he could have some Halloween toys to play with.
So I sit here at the computer antsy, determined not to run my bank account dry; I cross my legs , and then I uncross my legs. Nothing feels comfortable, not even with my Snuggie in my lap. Maybe I'm just itching to be outside, but when I go outside feelings of guilt flourish because I'm not in front of the computer logged on to lsus.edu. Maybe I ought to try something completely out of the ordinary...hmmm... oh shucks! I'm too foggy headed to even think of anything!
What do people in very high positions do when they go dumb for a few days? Like the President. Does he have days like this? Is he just extremely clever at covering them up? Is the pressure alleviated because he has other people writing his speeches for him? I like the idea of having a stand-end, someone akin to a stunt double, maybe I'll just settle for an identical twin. Either way, I could stay in bed until I felt fit enough to crawl out, when my mind is more astute and doesn't feel like a run away train. Since that probably won't happen, I guess the best way to deal with my fickle fancy is to buckle in, accept my frantic self, and humor it by singing a soothing lullaby... "I'm going off the rails of a crazy train... doodododo."
Ahhhh music, now there is my sweet inspiration!
I've been spending way to much money shopping for inspiration. And by that I mean, getting a manicure and pedicure, spending $50 worth of Snuggies for my dog, and then turning around and spending another $50 at Pet World so that he could have some Halloween toys to play with.
So I sit here at the computer antsy, determined not to run my bank account dry; I cross my legs , and then I uncross my legs. Nothing feels comfortable, not even with my Snuggie in my lap. Maybe I'm just itching to be outside, but when I go outside feelings of guilt flourish because I'm not in front of the computer logged on to lsus.edu. Maybe I ought to try something completely out of the ordinary...hmmm... oh shucks! I'm too foggy headed to even think of anything!
What do people in very high positions do when they go dumb for a few days? Like the President. Does he have days like this? Is he just extremely clever at covering them up? Is the pressure alleviated because he has other people writing his speeches for him? I like the idea of having a stand-end, someone akin to a stunt double, maybe I'll just settle for an identical twin. Either way, I could stay in bed until I felt fit enough to crawl out, when my mind is more astute and doesn't feel like a run away train. Since that probably won't happen, I guess the best way to deal with my fickle fancy is to buckle in, accept my frantic self, and humor it by singing a soothing lullaby... "I'm going off the rails of a crazy train... doodododo."
Ahhhh music, now there is my sweet inspiration!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
I'll Fly Away
My husband and I moved into our house back in May. It is a perfect home for us to start a family, but I am beginning to be quite concerned about one thing: the flies! Never in my life, of all the different places that I have lived, have I had to deal with so many darn flies! Not only that, but they seem like some pretty freaking intillegent pests, at least the ones that live and breathe around me. Musca domestica Linnaeus, or the house fly, is a vector for pathogens, so when I see these little buzzing bodies I am completely disgusted, not to mention they meander around poop, and nobody likes poop.
It confounds me to have recently heard that PETA was all over President Obama for swatting at a fly during an interview; do they promote the spread of disease? If flies do have "feelings", surely it's only one, and how bad can one "feeling" hurt? I detest the abuse of any animals, but a fly!?... which actually came from something more disgusting: a maggot! So would PETA be all right if they saw a family of maggots writhing around in heir granola? It's hard for me even to write the word maggot without gagging.
With this fresh on my mind, while I was on my weekly Walmart excursion I remembered to buy a fly swatter; prior to this I had never bought one and so I had no clue what aisle or even what area code of Walmart I should look. I was sent to the cleaning supplies department, then to the fishing/hunting department, and then back to the cleaning supplies department, where I finally found one fly swatter left that was stuck randomly in between a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner and a bottle of Windex ( the toilet bowl cleaner, I can maybe rationalize, being that flies have an affinity for poop, and toilet bowl cleaner gets rid of poop, and therefore gets rid of the flies... like a fly swatter ... but Windex???) Needless to say, I purchased the fly swatter and the toilet bowl cleaner, and I am now feeling pretty domesticated.
Once at home, I start fixing myself a turkey sandwich, their one goes bzzzzzzz... bzzzzzzzz... all around my mayo. I grab the fly swatter and try to affix the fly in my sight, when I noticed that he was not landing anywhere, and when he would land, it would be on the blinds on my kitchen window (a very precarious place to try and swat). That's also when I began to wonder, how something that may be little more then a single cell organism, knows that I am on a mission to destroy it. Is it years and years of built in instinct past down from generation to generation? If so, what are they trying to preserve? Their lifespan is only, what, like a month? And in that month, what are they living for exactly? To share love? To be an asset to the great fly community? To bring joy to human life? To eat poop?
My husbands friend witnessed my pathetic attempt in stalking the fly; I was waiting until I was certain I'd be able to nail it to the intricate weaving of my fly swatter. He then showed me that I don't have to wait for the fly to land in order to swat. Wow! A mid-air attack! My power was awakened, and flies started dropping. I don't intend to mislead, we still have a fly problem, but I do feel that I am better equipped and skilled to take on the task and do my part in ridding the world of disease, one fly at a time.
It confounds me to have recently heard that PETA was all over President Obama for swatting at a fly during an interview; do they promote the spread of disease? If flies do have "feelings", surely it's only one, and how bad can one "feeling" hurt? I detest the abuse of any animals, but a fly!?... which actually came from something more disgusting: a maggot! So would PETA be all right if they saw a family of maggots writhing around in heir granola? It's hard for me even to write the word maggot without gagging.
With this fresh on my mind, while I was on my weekly Walmart excursion I remembered to buy a fly swatter; prior to this I had never bought one and so I had no clue what aisle or even what area code of Walmart I should look. I was sent to the cleaning supplies department, then to the fishing/hunting department, and then back to the cleaning supplies department, where I finally found one fly swatter left that was stuck randomly in between a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner and a bottle of Windex ( the toilet bowl cleaner, I can maybe rationalize, being that flies have an affinity for poop, and toilet bowl cleaner gets rid of poop, and therefore gets rid of the flies... like a fly swatter ... but Windex???) Needless to say, I purchased the fly swatter and the toilet bowl cleaner, and I am now feeling pretty domesticated.
Once at home, I start fixing myself a turkey sandwich, their one goes bzzzzzzz... bzzzzzzzz... all around my mayo. I grab the fly swatter and try to affix the fly in my sight, when I noticed that he was not landing anywhere, and when he would land, it would be on the blinds on my kitchen window (a very precarious place to try and swat). That's also when I began to wonder, how something that may be little more then a single cell organism, knows that I am on a mission to destroy it. Is it years and years of built in instinct past down from generation to generation? If so, what are they trying to preserve? Their lifespan is only, what, like a month? And in that month, what are they living for exactly? To share love? To be an asset to the great fly community? To bring joy to human life? To eat poop?
My husbands friend witnessed my pathetic attempt in stalking the fly; I was waiting until I was certain I'd be able to nail it to the intricate weaving of my fly swatter. He then showed me that I don't have to wait for the fly to land in order to swat. Wow! A mid-air attack! My power was awakened, and flies started dropping. I don't intend to mislead, we still have a fly problem, but I do feel that I am better equipped and skilled to take on the task and do my part in ridding the world of disease, one fly at a time.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Maybe She's Born With it...
Recently I was coerced by my Mom to go make-up shopping. I hardly wear make-up and when I do it seems to melt off my face faster then it takes for me to put it on. For me, the most fascinating thing about make-up shopping is the overwhelming variety of colors. On this particular trip, I couldn't help but be infatuated with the assortment of mascara that was being peddled. Mascara, after all, was once rumored to be made of bat poop; I can neither confirm nor deny this allegation.
Anyhow, it amazes me how a little wand can be transformed into accomplishing so much; let's name a few: High Impact Volumizing/Thickening , Lash Doubling Volumizing/Thickening, Long Wearing, Long Pretty Lashes, Natural Gloss, High Impact Curling, High Definition, Gentle Waterproof, Waterproof ... the list, and hopefully your lashes (bad joke), goes on and on and on. The whole experience left me in desperate want for a long, curly, "everlasting", Jessica Rabbit lash. The kind of lash you could bat a baseball with.
So now I'm starting to see commercials for some prescription eye lash creme that promises "longer, fuller, darker lashes", it also warns that it may cause " skin darkening which may be reversible"..."potential for increased brown iris pigmentation which is likely to be permanent", and "potential for hair growth to occur in areas where the solution comes in repeated contact with skin surfaces". Geez...all for the price to seem alluring? From where this arbitrary idea of darkening and lengthening your lashes originate? Well, apparently Egyptians use to darken the area around their eyes, with something they call kohl, to ward off evil spirits. As for adding to the length of the lash...maybe they battled the evil spirits with there long lashes, using them as spears. What ever the case was, somehow this transpired and fixated into our definition of beauty.
Needless to say, I was allured into buying a $16 wand of mascara that promised to be "smudge proof". While it is that, it clumps and flakes and I have to use something like a Brillo Pad to remove it from my face, yet somehow it makes its way into my hair. What can I do but go back to the store and buy the eyelash primer, the eyelash separator and the mascara remover. Shouldn't that have come with the mascara, in a little kit? Maybe I should just dig up some kohl and use it to encircle my eyes? At least then the evil spirits wouldn't try and mess with me, then again nobody would.
Anyhow, it amazes me how a little wand can be transformed into accomplishing so much; let's name a few: High Impact Volumizing/Thickening , Lash Doubling Volumizing/Thickening, Long Wearing, Long Pretty Lashes, Natural Gloss, High Impact Curling, High Definition, Gentle Waterproof, Waterproof ... the list, and hopefully your lashes (bad joke), goes on and on and on. The whole experience left me in desperate want for a long, curly, "everlasting", Jessica Rabbit lash. The kind of lash you could bat a baseball with.
So now I'm starting to see commercials for some prescription eye lash creme that promises "longer, fuller, darker lashes", it also warns that it may cause " skin darkening which may be reversible"..."potential for increased brown iris pigmentation which is likely to be permanent", and "potential for hair growth to occur in areas where the solution comes in repeated contact with skin surfaces". Geez...all for the price to seem alluring? From where this arbitrary idea of darkening and lengthening your lashes originate? Well, apparently Egyptians use to darken the area around their eyes, with something they call kohl, to ward off evil spirits. As for adding to the length of the lash...maybe they battled the evil spirits with there long lashes, using them as spears. What ever the case was, somehow this transpired and fixated into our definition of beauty.
Needless to say, I was allured into buying a $16 wand of mascara that promised to be "smudge proof". While it is that, it clumps and flakes and I have to use something like a Brillo Pad to remove it from my face, yet somehow it makes its way into my hair. What can I do but go back to the store and buy the eyelash primer, the eyelash separator and the mascara remover. Shouldn't that have come with the mascara, in a little kit? Maybe I should just dig up some kohl and use it to encircle my eyes? At least then the evil spirits wouldn't try and mess with me, then again nobody would.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Pound Puppy
After spending two weeks in the Azore Islands, I turned on the TV for the first time since I had left the US, and the first commercial I saw was the tear jerking, snot slinging End Animal Cruelty Campaign with Sara Mclaughlin. That very same day as I was running errands with my husband, we made a beeline to the Bossier Parish Animal Control . Besides the vet, I had always avoided places with caged, sad eyed animals, pet stores were no exception .
Upon arrival, we told the lady at the front desk our intent, and a volunteer led us down a narrow hall to a dingy room lit with fluorescent lighting that echoed a cacophony of barks, howls and whimpers. My husband, walking ahead of me, looked back to find my eyes reddened and filled with tears. Upon this glance, I began crying uncontrollably like a blubbering two year old being weaned from his pacifier. After some encouragement, we walked past the fenced cages where eyes were peering up at us as if they knew what we were there to do. They were mostly sweet eyes, some scared eyes. In retrospect, I think maybe the sweet eyes were the oblivious ones. It reminded me of a scene from the Holocaust movie "Life is Beautiful" that depicts a young boy whose dad convinced him that what they were going through was just a game.
This first group were the older dogs, the dogs that, more than likely, no one would adopt. Although most of the dogs were "muts", I specifically remember a big hound dog with droopy eyes and ears like wings, he must have been at least 10 years old. Each dog we passed, I thought about what I would name him or her, I idealized about buying some land and adopting all of them, do you think I could get a government grant for that? I still wonder...
After having been taking through the emotional torture chamber, the volunteer asked if we would like to see the puppies. Need she even ask? The first one I saw was the first one we got. He is a Blue Heeler mix and he is perfecto, he likes to chew on my shoes, but other than that, he is perfect.
I feel in my heart, had we not adopted him someone else would have. However, by adopting him someone else will just be forced to adopt another puppy and so on and so forth. With the adoption, which was $50, we got a voucher for $50 off the cost of him being neutered. Animal adoption is not only cheaper then buying a dog from a pet store, but you are also saving a dogs from being euthanized.
Upon arrival, we told the lady at the front desk our intent, and a volunteer led us down a narrow hall to a dingy room lit with fluorescent lighting that echoed a cacophony of barks, howls and whimpers. My husband, walking ahead of me, looked back to find my eyes reddened and filled with tears. Upon this glance, I began crying uncontrollably like a blubbering two year old being weaned from his pacifier. After some encouragement, we walked past the fenced cages where eyes were peering up at us as if they knew what we were there to do. They were mostly sweet eyes, some scared eyes. In retrospect, I think maybe the sweet eyes were the oblivious ones. It reminded me of a scene from the Holocaust movie "Life is Beautiful" that depicts a young boy whose dad convinced him that what they were going through was just a game.
This first group were the older dogs, the dogs that, more than likely, no one would adopt. Although most of the dogs were "muts", I specifically remember a big hound dog with droopy eyes and ears like wings, he must have been at least 10 years old. Each dog we passed, I thought about what I would name him or her, I idealized about buying some land and adopting all of them, do you think I could get a government grant for that? I still wonder...
After having been taking through the emotional torture chamber, the volunteer asked if we would like to see the puppies. Need she even ask? The first one I saw was the first one we got. He is a Blue Heeler mix and he is perfecto, he likes to chew on my shoes, but other than that, he is perfect.
I feel in my heart, had we not adopted him someone else would have. However, by adopting him someone else will just be forced to adopt another puppy and so on and so forth. With the adoption, which was $50, we got a voucher for $50 off the cost of him being neutered. Animal adoption is not only cheaper then buying a dog from a pet store, but you are also saving a dogs from being euthanized.
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