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Goodbye M’Erle

So a few months ago my life turned upside down…(I got in one little fight and my Mom got scared, she said your moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel Aire; sorry I could not resist)….I left grad school and moved to Pittsburgh, preparing to go fight a war. There I was getting settled into a new place when all of a sudden my big toe started hurting. It was a funny thing really, nothing to major to worry about. I honestly thought nothing about it. However as I shrugged it off by that Sunday my foot was non weigh bearing. For you non medical people that meant when I did walk I had a hell of a limp. Now just being new to the city I had not doctor really to go to. Truth be told I don’t really go to the doctor. I know, I know, I am an odd hypochondriac. I am also the worst kind of hypochondriac, a low income one. I digress.

On Tuesday night I was in so much pain that I woke up and decided to drive myself to the ER. However as I drive by at 1:00a it looks like there are way to many people in the ER. I honestly thought it was a club, raise the roof.  So I drive myself back home deciding that I could live with the pain a bit longer. I return back and my new roommate, the girl on the couch wakes up and says, “Where have you been”? Well, GOTC I drove myself to the ER. She then tells me if I need to go back to wake her up and she would take me. Now I can spot a half-hearted attempt a mile away. I am a supper sensor in vain of Scooby Doo. I know she would have taken me but lets be real, she was fast asleep.

Finally at 2 am I drove myself back to the ER deciding that I could not take the pain. I honestly wanted to recommend amputation it hurt so badly. A bit extreme yes I know. In the long run I am so glad I still have the foot, trust me. So they decide I have arthritis and reffer me to the Ortho Surgeon.  Dr. Please at the ortho clinic sends me to get an MRI and they come back to say I have an OCD. What can I say my foot likes it clean. So there is talk of surgery, drills, ankle replacement, and old age. I then get a second opinion from my roomate and her doctor, he too is a ortho surgeon.  While he confirmed the OCD he also confirmed that it was the gout. In fact we only found the OCD because of the gout. How ironic.

So here I am two months later on meds and the fluid in my foot is slowly draining away and I am almost back to walking normal. How exciting.

 

Philanthropy at its best….

So in my lifetime I have given back some. I have donated money to my Alma, joined the local science center, and frequently give to charities. I feel these things make me a holistic functioning member of society. Now granted I generally do not donate a lot of money at all, in fact I will tell you that all of my donations rack in under $100.  Now those same said wonderful organizations that I feel make me a holistic member of society also have aresnal weapons at their disposal know as the telemarketer that they choose to use against me at any given time. The telemarketer will call to solicite money for donation for their wonderful organization, as if you have not given enough already. While I fully support that 100%, I think money should be dontaed I just do not want them to ask me to donate 100 spot when previously I have only given like 25-50.  So today when I recieved a call from the telemarketer I just on command started crying explaining that my cat ran away last night and my gold fish was losing gills. Now I am sure there is a special place in hell for people like me. I made someone prob feel awkward but it was at least funny.

 

so i hate babies..right?

Okay for those who do not know I had to go to the Soldier Readiness Processing (SRP), this weekend and go through admin paperwork and medical to determine if I could deploy to Iraq. Well I was surprised when I got to my unit to leave for SRP that morning  and found 12 other people there going to. Sometimes I forget that deployment just does not affect me. Wow, there was Mike, Walter, Norm, Eric, Ed, Mark, Megan, Jessica, Hiedi, Morgan, Emily, and Kimberly. In the last few months it has been mostly males from my unit deploying so I was shocked to see the females. 

As the story goes we all travel to Ft. Indian Town Gap, PA and process. There were two No-Go’s, people that did not pass the medical selection, in our group. Not to worry the Army gave them paperwork were they are to have a further eval to determine if they can go. 

So we get back to our unit and Kim’s husband and 7 month old daughter, Emma,  are at the unit waiting for her. I look at this baby and literally see her face light up at the sight of her mom. I mean this kid’s eyes became wider and her face was so full of excitement. I felt something inside of me smile for them in that moment and I found myself wishing that Kim would never have to leave her daughter. It sucks when parents leave you. So I was a creeper and I watched the whole family as we waited for our bags. 

On my way home I found myself crying hysterically for Emma who is going to miss her mom so much, I cried for Kim who is going to miss her daughter’s 1st birthday. I cried and cried and cried.

Now there are two things you should not mistake this blog for, 1. a turnaround of love for babies; or 2. my stance on war (I am writing another one about that).

 

It’s just what I do…

So here I am again tonight sitting in a new and strange city missing all my friends who are so far away. Calm down I will see them again. I just think its funny I am in the same place I have been many times before. You know how everyone just wishes they could leave and start all over, break all the ties and binds that hold you to who you were, what you were. Well, I did that. I left it all. It was quite a rush decision as most of my life choices are. My life moves fast, I’m a mover and shaker. I want to do something, I do it. So in 2003 I made the choice to move to California, PA. What a town, one stop light, and not a sign of a dentist in sight. I was pretty scared shitless even though I was movin’ and shakin’. I rocked it out started life fresh. I did very well in college in ol’ CAL. I even grew a fondness for that one stop light institution. Although I did not realize it at the time until Summer of 2007 when I went to the ol’ IUP. Now IUP was a place of just ugh for me. I hated my assistantship, my boss, and my classes. The only thing I loved from that place was Rufus, Beefcake, No Beans, Tiffers, Miss J, and Mo Rizz. 

One year later from IUP here I sit again in a new town. Now this town is old familiar, but new as well. This is the place where I am to regroup. Find my inner self, make peace with it, and figure out what the hell I am supposed to do. It’s just what I do.

 

Dinner and a concussion….

So a few weeks ago I drove to Indiana, PA for a birthday function in honor of Ms. No Beans. It was her 23rd birthday and there was food, laughter, friends, and mashed potato cake. I had a great time. The evening winds down and we all go to say goodbye and promise to see each other on Saturday for the final tri-birthday celebration. As we all go to our respective cars, I locate my gas guzzling monster in sapce #3. Now it is important to note that this car I have now I have to get a running start and jump into it or use the running boards. This particular night I chose to use the running boards. This car sits about 800 feet off the ground. I digress and you get the picture. Just an FYI I don’t hate my planet I am actulally a green patch supporter, protea plants unite, just check facebook. Now in order for me to get my 5′8 self into this car like I said I either run and dive in, praying the door is open or use the running boards. A key element to this story is to know that my shoes are made of wood. Kid you not wood. So i step up on the running boards and swoosh. My arms went up and back, my feet slide one way and my body fell on the ground. However, the most important aspect of this story is to know that my head refused to be left out of all the comotion. Smack my head went on the pavement. Ouch was all i could muster. Rufus came over to check me out and I assured her I was okay. So driving home i somehow could not remeber singing happy b-day to Ms. No Beans and what b-day is complete with out a song. Sometimes a jig too. Well apparently we had already sang, who knew? Everyone but me. So I spent the next few minutes on the phone answering a series of questions. Can count down from 100 reducing by 7 each time, who can do that without stopping to think first? You have to think, use finger and toes. I assured my friends that I would have the girl on the couch check me out when I got home, she is a PA. They were reluctant to let me go, that is why they are the kind of friends I need. So I get home and Jenny checks me out by giving me a complete physical and asking to see my insurance card, bill me later girl on the couch. The next morning I called my DOC since my head is still pounding, wow, like it is pounding. His advice, get some rest. Noted! So here I sit with this puonding headache at work and this ladi is asking me what kind of bologna I like, the squre or round kind. To hell with this I am going home to get some rest.

 

The Kind of Friend I Need

I have always said that I have often felt like I was a better friend to people than they were to me. Honestly, up until this year I could probably say that with truth and even some acknowledgements. The shame of it all is I got so so caught up earlier in pettiness of friends opening up and saying they could not be the kind of friend that I needed. Wow, I was shocked that people would open up and say that. Now this is not to say that maybe I expected more from these people than they were ever capable of giving, my bad. Now a bitter war ensues, but its only from their end. Honestly I am so over it and done with the “fight”, I wish that others would get that a person just wants to “be”, rather than live in the fight However, in all of this “drama” I didn’t notice how much someone was being the kind of friend I needed. Not to worry I am not some lame T.V. character I realized it very soon. Rufus was always there for me, always. She was the kind of friend that brought me soup when I was sick or the kind of friend who stopped down to chat just because she wanted to say hi. I am Martha to her. For that I will always be happy and thankful. It gives me great joy to know that I am someone’s Martha.

 

I miss my Southern Accent…

Inspired by a conversation with Ms. No Beans…..

I have been out of the south now for almost 7 years. It seems like such a long time ago since I was there. I miss it so. I never new I would miss it. There are a lot of things I left in the south my family, my home, myself, and my accent. Well the last one depends on who you ask. You see down south your accent is not just speak easy. It’s the way we talk, how we recognize each other, it’s a way to identify each other; one of your own. 

Seven years ago way back in 2001 if you can imagine it a young boy age of 20 who had long ago left his home for great promise in the Army. Now do not fool yourself this boy never joined the Army for promise of education or riches, he joined to find himself some. He wanted to be someone he wasn’t. He wanted to be a straight man that got married and lived in the finest trailer park there was in the south. Just kidding about that last part.  Seriously though, he was just a confused boy/man trying to win approval from his dad. Joining the Army was the only time his dad had ever expressed any sort of compassion or love for him.

This story though is not about that, this story is about a man on a journey to accept that he has a southern accent.  Traveling all over the world and being exposed to things he had never done before, these things were eye opening to say the least. The boy longed for the sophistication he saw on PBS. He wanted to appreciate the art paintings of Michelangelo, Picaso, Da Vinci, and not the motel motif of painted fruit he was so acustomed to seeing. Now it is worth noting the boy’s mother had grown up in a fine european family but she left that life behind when she married his father, a Marine stationed in Spain. How could she have denied the boy his birthright, she chose love. Alas, our story is also not about her or the life she left behind.

So the boy grew more into a man with each one of his life choice and of course the war would help sober him up to realize that life was his and he needed to make it what he wanted or else one day there may not be a second day. He chose to choose his words carefully and always go for pronunciation, even though he gets it wrong so often. He finds he is only comfortable speaking when he lets go and that damn southern accent creeps in. His words become long and each syllable takes a few minutes to pronounce. July becomes Joo-lye, you all becomes ya’ll, and not become ain’t. Ode to the south, teaching greatness one vocabulary lesson at a time. 

Now the time has come for the boy now a man to start a new journey. This journey is a path that he has taken twice before but each time it has been different. Will the third time change who he is, will he speak in his southern accent? He hopes so.

 

Why I believe in birth control…

Okay so here I am tonight going to Sheetz to get some dinner. Yes my life has come to eating at convenience stores. I know classy. Nonetheless, so here I am at the store and these damn kids are running all over the place. They are knocking people down, things are flying off the shelves, screams are yelled through the store, and the best one is the unattended baby. Then because the Cheese loves me so much my prayers were answered and I was behind them in the line to pay. So instead of me worrying if everyone was looking at my health food purchase of chips and soda to go along with my hot dogs, I got a reprieve because I knew for sure they were looking at this woman’s monster children. 

It is important for you to know that I am no fan of kids so the rest of this story may have some bias in it. So while in line the Monsters throw up on the counter their 9 purchases that they want and all for some reason need. I am not sure if the mother agreed to purchase these items or if they have just worn her down that she just has no fight left in her. Then the Monster boy does something so unspeakable he just literally drew his whole arm back and kidney punched his sister. Really. The mother of the monsters did not once say no, nor did she do as my mom would have and snatch him up right on the spot, no she pretended not to notice. Really. Like there was no acknowledging that this sucker punch had occured.

Me being the upstanding citizen that I am said, “Are you fucking kidding me, are you not going to say anything”? The Monster mother turned around and rudley told me to mind my own business. Well this is my business by ignoring the behavior you are reinforcing it and you might as well teach him its acceptable. Great job there. Now I am not saying that being a parent is not stressful. Trust me, I have a neice and nephew and have had to ignore a couple of temper tantrums from them and just not indulge them but a kidney punch?, not something you ignore. So a shouting match almost ensued but I composed myself and tried my hand at redneck logic. So I tried explaining why she should care but she didn’t. I am so frustrated. I can not believe that this behavior was ignored. 

So world be on the look out for one aggressive Monster boy and his mother who just does not see it.

 

In defense of Rufus…

Unto each generation a cohort is born. They and they alone will undertake the graduate program know as SAHE. The cohort will study the ancient magic of student development. There will be times when the cohort becomes confused.

Recently Rufus, my BIFF, published a blog regarding how a cohort is not a pledge class. Now many students have felt that they for some reason were personally attacked, although there is a disclaimer that the blog was about no one. Now to the ones yelling wolf, is this because you would have to admit to any of the items in the blog. Hmm.interesting. I see. However, Rufus’s blog was more of a concern about an organization in our SAHE program called ASD and how essentially no one is participating. There is a grand solution to turn the organization into a Greek system and magically everyone will want to participate because that gives the organization creditability and gives an overall more importance to the mentor/mentee functions. Ha. Being Greek has a special meaning to people who become Greek in undergrad and it carries with it importance to those who are Greek and made that their choice. Currently as ASD stands, you have to be a member, if you want to or not. P.S. if you leave they will not credit back to you the unused dues, not that they have paid anything in advance on your behalf, you do not even get a lousy T-Shirt. So then, the question goes how do you plan to tell people they have to be Greek, even if they do not want to be. Hmm, you already do that but you call it ASD. Number two being a part of the Greek social system or the current ASD does not make you a better mentor or mentee just ask all the mentee’s who’s mentors had to be reminded that they agreed to mentor someone and the same for the mentee’s that had to be reminded they had a mentor to respond to. I know I am guilty of barley talking to my mentor. 

So when you read a cohort is not a pledge class just ask yourself is it worth getting all riled up for and if so why blame Rufus that you can see your bad actions in the blog. It is not her fault.

Peer Reviewed: Miss. J

Eds. Wifey Nicki C.