Also hoping this doesn't happen:
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
College
About two weeks before going to college, this is how I feel:
Also hoping this doesn't happen:
Also hoping this doesn't happen:
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Dentists
Dentists have an unenviable job. I mean, they get paid bucket loads of money, but they have to stick their fingers in other people's mouths all day. They have to deal with screaming kids and cranky old people. Not very many people like them, and a visit to the dentist is a pretty surefire way to ruin anyone's day.
Personally, I don't think dentists are all that bad. I mean, I get my teeth super sparkling shiny clean, and that's good, right? As long as I don't need to get a root canal or something, it's OK to go to the dentist's.
At least, that's what I think any time I'm not actually in the dentist's office.
Last week, because of an unfortunate series of events involving cars breaking down in southern Utah, I was left stranded home alone, all day every day, with nothing to do but wash dishes and clean bathrooms. No joke. That's what I did to fill my time. Then my dad informed me of a dentist appointment for the both of us the next day. He came home early from work the next day, and we drove out to the middle of nowhere, because our dentist is approximately 52 miles from our house. We had to stop at every stoplight in the entire city, but finally reached our destination. Once there, we had to sit in the waiting room, where I was glad I'd thought to bring a book, because they have books with titles like, "You and Your Teeth: An Important Relationship," and "The Berenstein Bears Learn How to Floss." Meanwhile, they played music straight from the eighties, while I was waiting for them to just clean my teeth already and get it over with, dang it! I had important stuff to do back at home! Those floors needed to be mopped, and weren't going to wait forever! OK, I actually had nothing important to do back at home, but at least I had a computer there.
It was time for my semi-annual x-rays, so they shoved that weird plastic thing into my mouth for me to bite while they draped a heavy lead jacket around me to protect me from the radiation. Every time they do this, I bite down stoically, looking straight ahead, secretly petrified that they're going to find some horrible cancerous growth in my cheek. I can just hear it now: "Something seems to have gone wrong with the x-ray. We can't see your teeth, because this large gray spot is obscuring our view. Let's try again. Oh wait, it's not our equipment, it's you! You've got cancer. They'll have to remove your entire jaw." Luckily, I managed to make it another year without having to have that conversation. Phew.
They cleaned my teeth, which I guess wasn't that bad. They used that bubble gum flavored foam I've been getting ever since I can remember. I hear tell other people get choices of flavors, like mint, but they always forget to ask me. They've stopped asking how often I floss and brush my teeth, which is good, because I hate that question. I hate having to admit that while my brushing is great, my flossing isn't as often as it should be. I still do it, but it's really hard and time consuming with a permanent retainer. Besides, they'll probably find that out soon enough for themselves, when they're up to their elbows in my plaque. (Disclaimer: I promise my teeth are actually healthy, and I haven't had a cavity in years and years, so please don't judge me too harshly for that sentence.) The whole time I was staring intently at a spot on the ceiling, because I desperately wanted to avoid that awkward moment when you accidentally make eye contact with your dentist as their face is 5 inches away from yours, and they're up to their elbows in your plaque.
I guess the overall experience was fine, but it reaffirmed my conviction to never become a dentist. Afterwards I headed home for an exciting afternoon of cleaning my room and eating what meager food was in my house after being gone for over a week.
Personally, I don't think dentists are all that bad. I mean, I get my teeth super sparkling shiny clean, and that's good, right? As long as I don't need to get a root canal or something, it's OK to go to the dentist's.
At least, that's what I think any time I'm not actually in the dentist's office.
Last week, because of an unfortunate series of events involving cars breaking down in southern Utah, I was left stranded home alone, all day every day, with nothing to do but wash dishes and clean bathrooms. No joke. That's what I did to fill my time. Then my dad informed me of a dentist appointment for the both of us the next day. He came home early from work the next day, and we drove out to the middle of nowhere, because our dentist is approximately 52 miles from our house. We had to stop at every stoplight in the entire city, but finally reached our destination. Once there, we had to sit in the waiting room, where I was glad I'd thought to bring a book, because they have books with titles like, "You and Your Teeth: An Important Relationship," and "The Berenstein Bears Learn How to Floss." Meanwhile, they played music straight from the eighties, while I was waiting for them to just clean my teeth already and get it over with, dang it! I had important stuff to do back at home! Those floors needed to be mopped, and weren't going to wait forever! OK, I actually had nothing important to do back at home, but at least I had a computer there.
It was time for my semi-annual x-rays, so they shoved that weird plastic thing into my mouth for me to bite while they draped a heavy lead jacket around me to protect me from the radiation. Every time they do this, I bite down stoically, looking straight ahead, secretly petrified that they're going to find some horrible cancerous growth in my cheek. I can just hear it now: "Something seems to have gone wrong with the x-ray. We can't see your teeth, because this large gray spot is obscuring our view. Let's try again. Oh wait, it's not our equipment, it's you! You've got cancer. They'll have to remove your entire jaw." Luckily, I managed to make it another year without having to have that conversation. Phew.
They cleaned my teeth, which I guess wasn't that bad. They used that bubble gum flavored foam I've been getting ever since I can remember. I hear tell other people get choices of flavors, like mint, but they always forget to ask me. They've stopped asking how often I floss and brush my teeth, which is good, because I hate that question. I hate having to admit that while my brushing is great, my flossing isn't as often as it should be. I still do it, but it's really hard and time consuming with a permanent retainer. Besides, they'll probably find that out soon enough for themselves, when they're up to their elbows in my plaque. (Disclaimer: I promise my teeth are actually healthy, and I haven't had a cavity in years and years, so please don't judge me too harshly for that sentence.) The whole time I was staring intently at a spot on the ceiling, because I desperately wanted to avoid that awkward moment when you accidentally make eye contact with your dentist as their face is 5 inches away from yours, and they're up to their elbows in your plaque.
I guess the overall experience was fine, but it reaffirmed my conviction to never become a dentist. Afterwards I headed home for an exciting afternoon of cleaning my room and eating what meager food was in my house after being gone for over a week.
Friday, July 27, 2012
The Greatest Romance of my Life
So lately I've been reading my old journals. The really old ones. It's left me hoping desperately that I don't still sound like that in my journal, or I might just give up writing completely. I started my first one in the middle of fifth grade, and I'm pretty sure the only point of letting a fifth grader have a journal is so they can read it later and laugh while secretly trying to pretend that episode of life never happened. Probably that's what I should do with all my journals up till the end of 10th grade, actually. Maybe even later than that.
My first ever journal entry was me rebelliously stating I was going to stay up till midnight for New Year's Eve, even though I was supposed to go to bed. I don't know what my plan for it was; maybe watch the alarm clock change from 11:59 to 12:00, feel silently triumphant because I was supposed to be asleep, then crawl into bed? But it's a moot point, because I fell asleep around 10 anyways.
After this, I have several pages, divided up into several different entries, detailing why I thought a certain boy in my class liked me, and how gross that was. I said, "This is CRAZY! Why does he have to like me? Why can't he like someone else?" Secretly, even though I wouldn't even admit it in my own journal, that meant, "I'm so glad Jonathan likes me, because I like him, too! I sure hope he likes me!"
A typical journal entry about him went like this:
"I think Jonathan likes me. Hear are all the reasons.
1. He gave me a perfectly good pencil.
2. He talks to me a lot.
3. He's really nice to me.
4. He told me his worst fear (it's getting a shot) [After that, I pretended I was afraid of shots for a while, when I've always been fine with them.]
5. Sometimes it seems like he tries to impress me.
6. He doesn't like Christina [my best friend from elementary school] but he's nice to her when I'm around.
7. He helps me with stuff.
8. Once he was talking when I came over there and he said, 'Shh, she's here' and I was the only one in the pod.
9. He's really nice to me [Apparently that was important enough to be mentioned twice.]
10. He sits in front of me and keeps turning around to talk to me.
11. Once Christina saw him staring at me.
That's reason enough for me."
Other entries mentioned him in a more sneaky manner. My code name for him was Joanna, so a few entries mention Joanna, and how I had to write a short story for homework, so I did one about Joanna. Man, was I creepy or what?
One entry says, "New Jersey is my absolute favorite place, that and Wyoming definitely and Utah and Idaho. Specially Wyoming." There are so many problems with this entry. Number one being I only liked New Jersey because Jonathan visited there often. I think his grandparents lived there or something. Number two would be that I said, "specially," instead of "especially." Another problem is, I had the worst favorite places! Idaho? Really? I liked Wyoming because my grandma lives in Teton Valley, which is gorgeous, and I always have a good time up there, so that one at least is explainable. The only reason I even mentioned Utah and Idaho was because I felt obligated to, because I live in Utah and have lots of family in Idaho. And then there's New Jersey...Yeah, remember how creepy I was?
Probably after I got over Jonathan, I decided it was too embarrassing to have written about him at all in my journal, so everything about him is crossed out, in pencil, and is still completely legible. So much for my great fifth grade romance.
My first ever journal entry was me rebelliously stating I was going to stay up till midnight for New Year's Eve, even though I was supposed to go to bed. I don't know what my plan for it was; maybe watch the alarm clock change from 11:59 to 12:00, feel silently triumphant because I was supposed to be asleep, then crawl into bed? But it's a moot point, because I fell asleep around 10 anyways.
After this, I have several pages, divided up into several different entries, detailing why I thought a certain boy in my class liked me, and how gross that was. I said, "This is CRAZY! Why does he have to like me? Why can't he like someone else?" Secretly, even though I wouldn't even admit it in my own journal, that meant, "I'm so glad Jonathan likes me, because I like him, too! I sure hope he likes me!"
A typical journal entry about him went like this:
"I think Jonathan likes me. Hear are all the reasons.
1. He gave me a perfectly good pencil.
2. He talks to me a lot.
3. He's really nice to me.
4. He told me his worst fear (it's getting a shot) [After that, I pretended I was afraid of shots for a while, when I've always been fine with them.]
5. Sometimes it seems like he tries to impress me.
6. He doesn't like Christina [my best friend from elementary school] but he's nice to her when I'm around.
7. He helps me with stuff.
8. Once he was talking when I came over there and he said, 'Shh, she's here' and I was the only one in the pod.
9. He's really nice to me [Apparently that was important enough to be mentioned twice.]
10. He sits in front of me and keeps turning around to talk to me.
11. Once Christina saw him staring at me.
That's reason enough for me."
Other entries mentioned him in a more sneaky manner. My code name for him was Joanna, so a few entries mention Joanna, and how I had to write a short story for homework, so I did one about Joanna. Man, was I creepy or what?
One entry says, "New Jersey is my absolute favorite place, that and Wyoming definitely and Utah and Idaho. Specially Wyoming." There are so many problems with this entry. Number one being I only liked New Jersey because Jonathan visited there often. I think his grandparents lived there or something. Number two would be that I said, "specially," instead of "especially." Another problem is, I had the worst favorite places! Idaho? Really? I liked Wyoming because my grandma lives in Teton Valley, which is gorgeous, and I always have a good time up there, so that one at least is explainable. The only reason I even mentioned Utah and Idaho was because I felt obligated to, because I live in Utah and have lots of family in Idaho. And then there's New Jersey...Yeah, remember how creepy I was?
Probably after I got over Jonathan, I decided it was too embarrassing to have written about him at all in my journal, so everything about him is crossed out, in pencil, and is still completely legible. So much for my great fifth grade romance.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Crazy Customer of the Week
Because I work in a fast food restaurant, I encounter all sorts of crazy people. Or even people who are probably pretty normal, but just don't know how to order food. Or people who are just plain creepy. Because I need to do something to entertain myself at work (other than hanging out with my super awesome coworkers) (or should I say, cow-workers! Ahaha) (Get it? It's Chick-Fil-A, and we've got cows...never mind), I choose one person each week who's extra crazy, and mentally award them ,"Crazy Customer of the Week." There have been some pretty good ones. Well, depending on how you define "good"...
There was the girl who asked for three "melkshakes," then dumped a huge pile of quarters on the counter. As soon as she did, she started laughing really loudly and obnoxiously, and continued to do so the whole time I counted them. I went and made 3 shakes, and by the time I got back, she was still laughing. She walked away with her shakes, still laughing like this was the funniest thing she's ever done.
There was the balding guy in his forties or fifties who I don't think realized I was a minor, and flirted with me the whole time. I mean, it would still be creepy even if I wasn't a minor, because I'm still way younger than him, but really? It was just awful. And he had a complicated order, so it took a while to come out, and the whole time he was waiting, he lurked right by my register, and kept interrupting other customers to say things full of innuendo and creepiness. And when I asked for a name for the order, he said, "Kristina." I explained that I needed his name, not mine, because they would call it to give him his food, and he said, "Just put Kristina. I'll know who they mean."
I'm pretty sure one of the ladies who came in the other day was higher than a kite, and she kept asking to replace a kid's meal toy with some other type of food, like more nuggets.
Customer: "Hi...uh...can I get a kid's meal? But I want to replace the toy with more nuggets."
Me: "Do you just want to get a normal meal? Those don't have toys, and they come with more nuggets."
C: "No, I need a kid's meal...Can I get fruit?"
Me: "Instead of fries? Absolutely"
C: "No, I want both...Can I get fruit instead of the toy?"
Me: "No, fruit is only a side. If you don't want the toy, you can get ice cream instead."
C: "I get ice cream too? OK, I need that. And also fruit."
Me: "So you want to get fries in the kid's meal, and extra fruit on the side? And ice cream in place of the toy."
C: "No, I don't want to get anything extra...Can I just have fruit instead of the toy?"
Finally she talked to a manager, who told her the same things I'd been saying. I don't know what she ended up getting, but hopefully she got her fruit.
Then there was this super awkward guy, who came up and started talking to me by saying, "I was sitting in the food court, looking at your menu, and also sometimes you for entertainment. So I hope you weren't creeped out." In between slowly and ponderously giving me his order, he kept talking to me. He came in close to closing, so people were starting to sweep and mop the floor, and he literally talked for seven minutes straight about how we know the right way to clean floors, and how if he owned a restaurant the kitchen would be sparkling, and how kitchens at the U have cockroaches, and how he washes dishes for a living and it gets really old after 8 hours, but boy do we know the right way to clean, because look at that amazing mopping technique. Seven minutes! As soon as I took his order it went up on a screen with a timer, so that's an accurate time. And that turns out to be an eternity when you can't get a word in edgewise and are wondering if he's ever going to pay. There was a line, and they were all looking at him, then at me, then laughing or smiling sympathetically. I smiled back at them, because this whole situation was just ridiculous, but I think he thought I was responding to him, so it only encouraged him to keep talking for even longer. Those were possibly the worst seven minutes of my life.
Some customers just have odd ways of phrasing things. It's surprisingly common for them to say, "I need..." No, this is fast food, and I promise you, you don't need it. By all means, continue to eat here, because you're providing for my livelihood, but really, you don't need those fries and a shake. And somebody yesterday said, "I'm going to steal two water bottles," as he handed me his credit card. Obviously there was no stealing going on.
Another thing I've come to realize is there's a special voice for, "I'm reading your name off a tag, but also hitting on you." The only people who ever use my name are either parents with small children, or guys hitting on me. The difference is, "Thank you so much, Kristina. Can you tell Kristina thank you?" vs "Hey there...Kristina."
There was the girl who asked for three "melkshakes," then dumped a huge pile of quarters on the counter. As soon as she did, she started laughing really loudly and obnoxiously, and continued to do so the whole time I counted them. I went and made 3 shakes, and by the time I got back, she was still laughing. She walked away with her shakes, still laughing like this was the funniest thing she's ever done.
There was the balding guy in his forties or fifties who I don't think realized I was a minor, and flirted with me the whole time. I mean, it would still be creepy even if I wasn't a minor, because I'm still way younger than him, but really? It was just awful. And he had a complicated order, so it took a while to come out, and the whole time he was waiting, he lurked right by my register, and kept interrupting other customers to say things full of innuendo and creepiness. And when I asked for a name for the order, he said, "Kristina." I explained that I needed his name, not mine, because they would call it to give him his food, and he said, "Just put Kristina. I'll know who they mean."
I'm pretty sure one of the ladies who came in the other day was higher than a kite, and she kept asking to replace a kid's meal toy with some other type of food, like more nuggets.
Customer: "Hi...uh...can I get a kid's meal? But I want to replace the toy with more nuggets."
Me: "Do you just want to get a normal meal? Those don't have toys, and they come with more nuggets."
C: "No, I need a kid's meal...Can I get fruit?"
Me: "Instead of fries? Absolutely"
C: "No, I want both...Can I get fruit instead of the toy?"
Me: "No, fruit is only a side. If you don't want the toy, you can get ice cream instead."
C: "I get ice cream too? OK, I need that. And also fruit."
Me: "So you want to get fries in the kid's meal, and extra fruit on the side? And ice cream in place of the toy."
C: "No, I don't want to get anything extra...Can I just have fruit instead of the toy?"
Finally she talked to a manager, who told her the same things I'd been saying. I don't know what she ended up getting, but hopefully she got her fruit.
Then there was this super awkward guy, who came up and started talking to me by saying, "I was sitting in the food court, looking at your menu, and also sometimes you for entertainment. So I hope you weren't creeped out." In between slowly and ponderously giving me his order, he kept talking to me. He came in close to closing, so people were starting to sweep and mop the floor, and he literally talked for seven minutes straight about how we know the right way to clean floors, and how if he owned a restaurant the kitchen would be sparkling, and how kitchens at the U have cockroaches, and how he washes dishes for a living and it gets really old after 8 hours, but boy do we know the right way to clean, because look at that amazing mopping technique. Seven minutes! As soon as I took his order it went up on a screen with a timer, so that's an accurate time. And that turns out to be an eternity when you can't get a word in edgewise and are wondering if he's ever going to pay. There was a line, and they were all looking at him, then at me, then laughing or smiling sympathetically. I smiled back at them, because this whole situation was just ridiculous, but I think he thought I was responding to him, so it only encouraged him to keep talking for even longer. Those were possibly the worst seven minutes of my life.
Some customers just have odd ways of phrasing things. It's surprisingly common for them to say, "I need..." No, this is fast food, and I promise you, you don't need it. By all means, continue to eat here, because you're providing for my livelihood, but really, you don't need those fries and a shake. And somebody yesterday said, "I'm going to steal two water bottles," as he handed me his credit card. Obviously there was no stealing going on.
Another thing I've come to realize is there's a special voice for, "I'm reading your name off a tag, but also hitting on you." The only people who ever use my name are either parents with small children, or guys hitting on me. The difference is, "Thank you so much, Kristina. Can you tell Kristina thank you?" vs "Hey there...Kristina."
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The Story of How I Got the First Stitches of my Life
WARNING: This story is ridiculously long, and also has gross gory details.
So last Saturday my friend Nels had a party up at his cabin in Big Cottonwood Canyon. Before I went, my mom was very insistent that there had to be at least one adult there, in case a horrible accident happened. I thought she was being slightly ridiculous and over protective, because obviously nothing would happen, but Nels's parents were there, so it all worked out. We were having a grand old time hanging out in the mountains, in all the trees and rocks and undergrowth around his cabin, and it started moving slightly toward evening, so we started playing night games. We wanted to do ghost in the graveyard or murder in the dark, but both of those work better when it's actually dark, so we decided to play capture the flag till it got dark enough for the other games. We were playing capture the flag, and it was getting darker, but everything was still good. Almost everybody got a few scratches and scrapes from all the bushes, especially because most of us were wearing shorts, but they weren't anything big.
I was far in enemy territory, when Seth started chasing me. He caught up with me and tagged me, so I set off in search of the jail, because it was hidden somewhere in the woods. I had seen earlier that there was some wire on the ground in places, but hadn't thought anything of it. Not just one strand of wire, but several, like a fence had fallen over or something. I was running towards the jail, when my foot got tangled up between two strands of wire I hadn't seen, and I fell over. I tried standing back up, but couldn't, and that was when I realized it was barbed wire, and one of the barbs was sticking into my leg, in my calf behind my knee. Whenever I tried to move my leg, I could see the skin just stretching out, farther than I ever thought skin could stretch. The barb was in at an angle, and you could see the contours of it under my skin, but it was not coming back out. I reached back there to feel what it was like, and my hand came away wet with blood. Strangely, it didn't hurt, and I thought it should probably be hurting like crazy, but I think it was my body's way of coping. It wasn't like when the doctor gives you anesthesia and everything is completely numb, but it was a different type of numb, probably caused by shock and adrenaline. In the background of the numb I was vaguely aware of a fiery burning feeling, but it just didn't hurt. However, my brain knew exactly what was going on, and I started freaking out, because the thought of being stuck in barbed wire is pretty horrific. I started screaming, "Nels! I'm caught in barbed wire! It is inside of me! I can't get out!" with a rising feeling of panic. Pretty soon Nels came running over, along with Justus. Justus is adorable and innocent, and seemed traumatized by this new turn of events, and went to go get Nels's dad, and also a flashlight, because it was dusk and hard to see anything. Nels was looking at the barb, trying to get it out, but it was a really weird angle, and dark-ish, so it was quite helpful when Justus came back with a flashlight. I've got no idea what happened to him after that, or who else was there watching me, but I did keep screaming for a little while that I was caught in barbed wire, because I had this strange fear that the game would continue without me, and someone would come tag Nels out for being on the wrong side, and he would have to go to jail, and I'd never get out, so I had to let everyone know of my predicament. Nels shouted, "Seth, get over here!" and Seth came running over, where he was instructed to pull the barb out while Nels held the flashlight. Seth sounded panicked, too, and his voice was all shaky, and asked if he could hold the flashlight while Nels pulled the barb out. So, Nels pulled for at least 5 minutes, trying to get it out, and it wasn't coming. Shock was setting in, and I was trying to balance on one leg and my hands, leaning backwards at a crazy angle, while not moving my other leg, and holding it off the ground, and trying not to get stuck by any more barbs. The numbed, fiery feeling intensified with all the pulling, which seemed to last forever. Besides my irrational fear that nobody would know what had happened to me and keep playing, I was afraid they wouldn't be able to get my leg free and I'd have to be dragged to the hospital trailing a sheet of barbed wire. After pulling hard for a long time, Nels got the barb out, and his hands were all covered in blood, along with his shorts, and I was glad I don't have AIDS. Two people helped me back to the cabin, but it wasn't my injured leg that needed the support; it was my other leg that was weak and shaky, from having to balance on it for the ten minutes (at least) I'd been caught in barbed wire.
At the cabin, Nels's dad had gotten all the first aid supplies ready, and he and Nels started cleaning up all the blood, and cleaning the puncture and cuts. I guess my screaming had worked, because everybody else came in, and while I was being cleaned up, Seth told me all about what happens when you get tetanus, ending in death. I was in shock, and laughing a bit hysterically, while tears were streaming down my face, and I kept saying I didn't know why I was crying, because it really didn't hurt. Then Justus looked like he was on the verge of tears, and said, "Just looking at you is making me want to cry," so I had to calm down and be brave for him. After a while, I looked down and saw another puncture and more cuts on the front of my knee, that I had had no idea existed. I kept finding more insignificant cuts as well, and asked Nels if he had cleaned every single one of them. He had, because he's incredibly efficient like that. I was also so glad I had shaved that morning, because there were a bunch of guys all looking at my legs and feeling them, just to clean up the blood, but still. My injury put a bit of a damper on the party, and we never did play ghost in the graveyard. I called my mom to let her know what had happened, and while I was walking around talking to her, my leg that had been in barbed wire felt just fine, but a tiny insignificant scratch from a bush or something was really hurting. We finally left the party, and I got back to my house at about 11.
My mom thought I needed stitches, so we went to the ER, the only place open that late. My leg still didn't hurt, but I had forgotten how much hospitals stress me out, and as soon as I was led to a room, my heart started pounding and I got freaked out again. But I was there for so long that I got used to it, and we finally left at 2:30 AM. I told so many people what had happened, it sort of lost its meaning, but when the doctor came in and said, "Oh, these are just tiny little holes, and these cuts aren't bad at all," I was indignant, and said, "Well I was caught in barbed wire..." because he was trivializing my wounds! I ended up getting a tetanus shot, antibiotics to take for 10 days, they glued the worst cuts shut, and I got 5 stitches in each puncture, so 10 in all. Apparently to give me the anesthesia for the stitches, the doctor stuck the needle down into the hole and poked it around, giving me several shots, which explained why it hurt so much. Afterwards my mom said, "I learned something new about mending fabric from watching you get stitches! When there's a triangular tear, you just have to cut all the flaps off, and then you can sew it up!" Great, Mom. I'm glad my wounds are so instructional.
Right as we were getting ready to leave, there was this insistent pounding at a door, so the angry old male nurse got up and opened them, and this drunk sounding guy said, "My buddy cut his arm..." while the nurse was screaming, "No! Go away! You're at the wrong door! Gah! You're getting blood everywhere!"
"My buddy cut his arm..."
"No, don't come through here! There's blood everywhere! Don't drop that!" *CRASH*
"He's hurt real bad..."
"Aaah! Don't go in there! You're naked!"
Finally he forced them through the correct doors, and came back into my room saying, "I hate grad night."
So last Saturday my friend Nels had a party up at his cabin in Big Cottonwood Canyon. Before I went, my mom was very insistent that there had to be at least one adult there, in case a horrible accident happened. I thought she was being slightly ridiculous and over protective, because obviously nothing would happen, but Nels's parents were there, so it all worked out. We were having a grand old time hanging out in the mountains, in all the trees and rocks and undergrowth around his cabin, and it started moving slightly toward evening, so we started playing night games. We wanted to do ghost in the graveyard or murder in the dark, but both of those work better when it's actually dark, so we decided to play capture the flag till it got dark enough for the other games. We were playing capture the flag, and it was getting darker, but everything was still good. Almost everybody got a few scratches and scrapes from all the bushes, especially because most of us were wearing shorts, but they weren't anything big.
I was far in enemy territory, when Seth started chasing me. He caught up with me and tagged me, so I set off in search of the jail, because it was hidden somewhere in the woods. I had seen earlier that there was some wire on the ground in places, but hadn't thought anything of it. Not just one strand of wire, but several, like a fence had fallen over or something. I was running towards the jail, when my foot got tangled up between two strands of wire I hadn't seen, and I fell over. I tried standing back up, but couldn't, and that was when I realized it was barbed wire, and one of the barbs was sticking into my leg, in my calf behind my knee. Whenever I tried to move my leg, I could see the skin just stretching out, farther than I ever thought skin could stretch. The barb was in at an angle, and you could see the contours of it under my skin, but it was not coming back out. I reached back there to feel what it was like, and my hand came away wet with blood. Strangely, it didn't hurt, and I thought it should probably be hurting like crazy, but I think it was my body's way of coping. It wasn't like when the doctor gives you anesthesia and everything is completely numb, but it was a different type of numb, probably caused by shock and adrenaline. In the background of the numb I was vaguely aware of a fiery burning feeling, but it just didn't hurt. However, my brain knew exactly what was going on, and I started freaking out, because the thought of being stuck in barbed wire is pretty horrific. I started screaming, "Nels! I'm caught in barbed wire! It is inside of me! I can't get out!" with a rising feeling of panic. Pretty soon Nels came running over, along with Justus. Justus is adorable and innocent, and seemed traumatized by this new turn of events, and went to go get Nels's dad, and also a flashlight, because it was dusk and hard to see anything. Nels was looking at the barb, trying to get it out, but it was a really weird angle, and dark-ish, so it was quite helpful when Justus came back with a flashlight. I've got no idea what happened to him after that, or who else was there watching me, but I did keep screaming for a little while that I was caught in barbed wire, because I had this strange fear that the game would continue without me, and someone would come tag Nels out for being on the wrong side, and he would have to go to jail, and I'd never get out, so I had to let everyone know of my predicament. Nels shouted, "Seth, get over here!" and Seth came running over, where he was instructed to pull the barb out while Nels held the flashlight. Seth sounded panicked, too, and his voice was all shaky, and asked if he could hold the flashlight while Nels pulled the barb out. So, Nels pulled for at least 5 minutes, trying to get it out, and it wasn't coming. Shock was setting in, and I was trying to balance on one leg and my hands, leaning backwards at a crazy angle, while not moving my other leg, and holding it off the ground, and trying not to get stuck by any more barbs. The numbed, fiery feeling intensified with all the pulling, which seemed to last forever. Besides my irrational fear that nobody would know what had happened to me and keep playing, I was afraid they wouldn't be able to get my leg free and I'd have to be dragged to the hospital trailing a sheet of barbed wire. After pulling hard for a long time, Nels got the barb out, and his hands were all covered in blood, along with his shorts, and I was glad I don't have AIDS. Two people helped me back to the cabin, but it wasn't my injured leg that needed the support; it was my other leg that was weak and shaky, from having to balance on it for the ten minutes (at least) I'd been caught in barbed wire.
At the cabin, Nels's dad had gotten all the first aid supplies ready, and he and Nels started cleaning up all the blood, and cleaning the puncture and cuts. I guess my screaming had worked, because everybody else came in, and while I was being cleaned up, Seth told me all about what happens when you get tetanus, ending in death. I was in shock, and laughing a bit hysterically, while tears were streaming down my face, and I kept saying I didn't know why I was crying, because it really didn't hurt. Then Justus looked like he was on the verge of tears, and said, "Just looking at you is making me want to cry," so I had to calm down and be brave for him. After a while, I looked down and saw another puncture and more cuts on the front of my knee, that I had had no idea existed. I kept finding more insignificant cuts as well, and asked Nels if he had cleaned every single one of them. He had, because he's incredibly efficient like that. I was also so glad I had shaved that morning, because there were a bunch of guys all looking at my legs and feeling them, just to clean up the blood, but still. My injury put a bit of a damper on the party, and we never did play ghost in the graveyard. I called my mom to let her know what had happened, and while I was walking around talking to her, my leg that had been in barbed wire felt just fine, but a tiny insignificant scratch from a bush or something was really hurting. We finally left the party, and I got back to my house at about 11.
My mom thought I needed stitches, so we went to the ER, the only place open that late. My leg still didn't hurt, but I had forgotten how much hospitals stress me out, and as soon as I was led to a room, my heart started pounding and I got freaked out again. But I was there for so long that I got used to it, and we finally left at 2:30 AM. I told so many people what had happened, it sort of lost its meaning, but when the doctor came in and said, "Oh, these are just tiny little holes, and these cuts aren't bad at all," I was indignant, and said, "Well I was caught in barbed wire..." because he was trivializing my wounds! I ended up getting a tetanus shot, antibiotics to take for 10 days, they glued the worst cuts shut, and I got 5 stitches in each puncture, so 10 in all. Apparently to give me the anesthesia for the stitches, the doctor stuck the needle down into the hole and poked it around, giving me several shots, which explained why it hurt so much. Afterwards my mom said, "I learned something new about mending fabric from watching you get stitches! When there's a triangular tear, you just have to cut all the flaps off, and then you can sew it up!" Great, Mom. I'm glad my wounds are so instructional.
Right as we were getting ready to leave, there was this insistent pounding at a door, so the angry old male nurse got up and opened them, and this drunk sounding guy said, "My buddy cut his arm..." while the nurse was screaming, "No! Go away! You're at the wrong door! Gah! You're getting blood everywhere!"
"My buddy cut his arm..."
"No, don't come through here! There's blood everywhere! Don't drop that!" *CRASH*
"He's hurt real bad..."
"Aaah! Don't go in there! You're naked!"
Finally he forced them through the correct doors, and came back into my room saying, "I hate grad night."
Monday, April 23, 2012
Tobacco
Whoa. You know you haven't blogged in a while when you get on and the entire set up is different than it was last time.
Anyways.
"Tobacco is a new industry that literally makes the world go round." That from one of the lovely ladies in my gov class. How does she define new? I got some new jeans the other day. They were from DI, and looked like they were a couple generations old, and when I say the other day, I actually mean a couple years a go. But they were kind of beat up. They were literally full of holes.
This is why general classes are the worst, but in a highly entertaining way.
Anyways.
"Tobacco is a new industry that literally makes the world go round." That from one of the lovely ladies in my gov class. How does she define new? I got some new jeans the other day. They were from DI, and looked like they were a couple generations old, and when I say the other day, I actually mean a couple years a go. But they were kind of beat up. They were literally full of holes.
This is why general classes are the worst, but in a highly entertaining way.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Nostalgia
Sorry that I'm the worst at updating. In my defense, I've been really busy. With a play! It was Agatha Christie's Mousetrap, and it was absolutely awesome. Definitely one of the best high school plays I've ever been associated with.
There are oh so many things I love about being involved with high school theater. I love getting to meet so many new amazing people. A lot of my friends do theater, and obviously they're awesome, but I also get to meet brand new people, and be with them basically 24/7 for a couple weeks. It forces people to spend time together who usually wouldn't, but who actually end up having a good time with each other.
I also love getting to use power tools! There is something incredibly satisfying about seeing how all the screws and flats and platforms and paint and tears finally come together in the end to make a set. Also, I think it might just be my egotistical side, but I really like the feeling of being able to say, "Oh, you can't get that screw in? I can," or, "Oh, that screw is stripped? Don't worry, I can get it out, because I'm awesome."
Another thing I love is the paint room. It's a tiny little washroom tucked away in a back corner of the auditorium, down a hallway not many people ever go down. You go in, and it's got a drain in one corner, in a tub sort of thing. There's a hose that's been paint stained over the years, and the handles on the faucet also have paint splotches on them. It used to have writing and handprints painted all over the walls, but those were semi-recently painted over with a layer of tan paint, which now covers all the walls. There's a single folding chair next to the tub, for the designated brush/roller washer to sit on, and there are a few other chairs, and a large barrel, where rollers can be placed to dry. There are also cockroaches in there, which is gross when you're not wearing shoes. It's tiny and claustrophobic and smells weird, but I absolutely adore that place. I thought everyone did, till someone was showing a new techie around and said, "This is the paint room. Nobody likes it." But it's great to sit in there and contemplate life while you're washing out rollers and freezing your hands in the frigid ice water.
Also, backstage is pretty much the greatest place ever. Tech has to be there during the shows, but obviously they can't be onstage, so they get to hang out backstage and associate with other techies and with the actors when they're not onstage. One thing I liked about Mousetrap was it was a really small cast, so there weren't crazy actors running around all over the place getting in the way, and I could get to know and love all the cast.
Unfortunately, it's over now. My last show in high school. Done. It was actually surprisingly sad. And then I made the shocking realization that I'll go through this again in a few months, but saying goodbye to an even wider range of people, and never again to return to high school. WEIRD. How on earth did I end up so old?
There are oh so many things I love about being involved with high school theater. I love getting to meet so many new amazing people. A lot of my friends do theater, and obviously they're awesome, but I also get to meet brand new people, and be with them basically 24/7 for a couple weeks. It forces people to spend time together who usually wouldn't, but who actually end up having a good time with each other.
I also love getting to use power tools! There is something incredibly satisfying about seeing how all the screws and flats and platforms and paint and tears finally come together in the end to make a set. Also, I think it might just be my egotistical side, but I really like the feeling of being able to say, "Oh, you can't get that screw in? I can," or, "Oh, that screw is stripped? Don't worry, I can get it out, because I'm awesome."
Another thing I love is the paint room. It's a tiny little washroom tucked away in a back corner of the auditorium, down a hallway not many people ever go down. You go in, and it's got a drain in one corner, in a tub sort of thing. There's a hose that's been paint stained over the years, and the handles on the faucet also have paint splotches on them. It used to have writing and handprints painted all over the walls, but those were semi-recently painted over with a layer of tan paint, which now covers all the walls. There's a single folding chair next to the tub, for the designated brush/roller washer to sit on, and there are a few other chairs, and a large barrel, where rollers can be placed to dry. There are also cockroaches in there, which is gross when you're not wearing shoes. It's tiny and claustrophobic and smells weird, but I absolutely adore that place. I thought everyone did, till someone was showing a new techie around and said, "This is the paint room. Nobody likes it." But it's great to sit in there and contemplate life while you're washing out rollers and freezing your hands in the frigid ice water.
Also, backstage is pretty much the greatest place ever. Tech has to be there during the shows, but obviously they can't be onstage, so they get to hang out backstage and associate with other techies and with the actors when they're not onstage. One thing I liked about Mousetrap was it was a really small cast, so there weren't crazy actors running around all over the place getting in the way, and I could get to know and love all the cast.
Unfortunately, it's over now. My last show in high school. Done. It was actually surprisingly sad. And then I made the shocking realization that I'll go through this again in a few months, but saying goodbye to an even wider range of people, and never again to return to high school. WEIRD. How on earth did I end up so old?
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