I am in a spectacularly horrific mood today. I don't know if has to do with the commute from the suburbs we've been experiencing this past week (dogsitting. yeah, we do that), or if it's related to the overwhelming workload of my new class, or if it's all hormonal, or if it's just sleep deprivation (please also see dogsitting). I actually can't remember the last time I've been in one of these please-God-take-me-now moods, where the only thing that sounds good is sitting on the couch in a blanket watching cable and eating cookies and thinking horrible nasty thoughts towards life in general.
There are only six weeks left in the semester, and then I can officially have senioritis. It's so close I can almost feel the heat and the freedom of summer, and the amazing realization that I will NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN. My last time registering for classes, last winter break, last finals week, last time getting up for clinicals at 5 am. I have no delusions of nostalgia right now. This summer, and next year, and especially next summer, cannot come fast enough. Really. I spend an embarrassing amount of time thinking about our pinning ceremony and graduation and the day I pass NCLEX and the first day I get a paycheck.I know I am getting a little ahead of myself - I still have a whole year of school left to plow through before those days - but I feel like focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel is the only thing keeping me sane. Otherwise I just feel crushed by all the things that are left to do before I can scribble RN, BSN behind my name (and you better believe I will be writing that on every scrap of paper I can get my name on. People are going to have to beg me to stop).
I spent the day at Ikea - which was a horrible idea. I didn't go for myself,I was lured with the promise of free Starbucks to help a friend pick stuff out for her new apartment. Still, when you would like to be curled up in the fetal position and hanging out with the Food Network, Ikea is a nightmare. I am sad to say that I was absolutely no help at all. I kept wandering into different aisles and displays like a four year old looking at all the pretty colors, and all the cheap crap, and all the overwhelming possibilities of self-assembly. I tried at one point to pick out a large flower pot for our apartment (one of our more ambitious plants just outgrew its current home) and then my head fell off and I collapsed in a heap on the floor sobbing with the difficulty of it all.
Ok, no, I didn't. But that was what it FELT like - and so I bought myself coffee and
oatmeal chocolate crisp cookies and tried to sedate myself with sugar and saturated fat (25% of my daily value! In ONE cookie! HOW DO THEY PACK IT ALL IN?!?!). Add in the Chinese takeout we grabbed for lunch, and fast forward to me sitting in my lonely, dog-free apartment with some serious bloating and a headache. I am scrupulously avoiding Other People until I am forced to go to class at 6:30. I am also praying for some perspective and a slightly brighter outlook, because I recently walked passed a mirror and noticed that I looked like death dropping by for a visit. It's not fair for unsuspecting and possibly good-natured people to have to encounter THAT.
In other news, one of the dogs we are feeding and walking and generally keeping alive thought it would be fun to chew up the slippers my mom got me for Christmas. This is a dog that has not chewed anything for the entire week, even alone and uncrated for eight hours a day. Then Joshua stayed there sick today, and instead of being GRATEFUL that someone was there to play with her and let her out five times an hour, what does the dog do? CHEWS MY POOR, HELPLESS SLIPPER.
It just isn't right, people.
29 March 2007
22 March 2007
Today I woke up and saw that the grass was greener on the other side of the street.
Luckily, it was green on my side as well, and really the whole point was that it was green. Not brown,not cracked and gray and looking sad and defeated, but a real, springtime, St-Paddys-beer color of green. There might not be any leaves yet, I haven't seen a flower yet, but I can see life in the green grass and in the fact that I wore flip flops to school yesterday (and then yes, soaked my bare feet in a March thunderstorm - but it's ok, i painted my toenails hot pink and so it's hard to get me down). All the plants in our house, which are kept alive and thriving by Joshua only, are having growth spurts. The calla lilies that I had no idea were annuals are suddenly 6 inch shoots. I really thought we were keeping that planter of dirt on our windowsill because we were being too lazy to throw it away.
In much more important life-affirming news, my foxy mama is just fine and CANCER FREE. It was a bit of a scary appointment because her first mammogram showed a very large area of density that apparently sent the radiologist into a panic attack. However, on the second, more precise mammogram (which sounded pretty painful and involved some nasty breast-smushing techniques), that dark area turned out to be just dense breast tissue that hadn't been flattened out enough to get an accurate picture. The only bad news is that my mom will probably have these terrifying, "get back in our office before it spreads to your bones" kind of call-backs after her mammograms every year now. The areas of density may change in size and shape and location and she will probably have to always have the Mammogram of Torture to get good pictures. But she is WELL, and healthy.
And then this morning I was reading the news and discovered that Elizabeth Edwards' breast cancer has come back, and is now in her bones. She has two young children and a husband running for president...and just yesterday the doctors told her that at this point, her cancer is no longer curable. Just treatable. Just treatable is an incredibly devastating and inevitable thing to hear. I immediately had the selfish thought that I was so glad my mother was not the one who had THAT appointment yesterday. Then I had the much more appropriate thought that no one's mother should ever have to have that appointment.
Even before my mom's scare, and before Elizabeth Edwards' terrible news, my best friend Amy and I had decided to walk these 60 miles in August. In order to participate in the 3 Day, you have to raise a minimum of $2,200. That's a lot. But I think it will be worth all the letters and phone calls and training and sweat and of course,the absolute psychosis of attempting to walk SIXTY MILES over three days. In AUGUST.
Also, I have these new shoes? These ones?
They are absolutely amazing. I have been working out like crazy, because running in these babies is similar to springing on air (or, what I imagine that to be like) and I think these shoes can take me sixty miles. In fact, I wear these shoes everywhere now and if you know me, I am not exactly a sneakers and jeans kind of girl. Or a tennis shoes and jeans kind of girl either - and they are NOT for tennis and I resent that entire Midwestern term!
In non-cancer and running shoe related news, we've been trying out this radical new lifestyle. It's called...Save Money. I know, it's shocking. We have actually eaten every lunch and dinner at home since Sunday, which has quite possibly never happened before in our lives. Have we eaten a little too much pasta? Yes. But have we also eaten more fruits and vegetables and whole grains than ever before? YES! Unfortunately, the downside of this great marital experiment is that the house looks like a tornado blew through, so I should probably attempt to fix the chaos before my wonderful husband comes home and really starts asking questions about what I do all day.
Which is, of course, work out in my new SNEAKERS and then browse the internet, interspersing homework here and there. SHHHHH....
Luckily, it was green on my side as well, and really the whole point was that it was green. Not brown,not cracked and gray and looking sad and defeated, but a real, springtime, St-Paddys-beer color of green. There might not be any leaves yet, I haven't seen a flower yet, but I can see life in the green grass and in the fact that I wore flip flops to school yesterday (and then yes, soaked my bare feet in a March thunderstorm - but it's ok, i painted my toenails hot pink and so it's hard to get me down). All the plants in our house, which are kept alive and thriving by Joshua only, are having growth spurts. The calla lilies that I had no idea were annuals are suddenly 6 inch shoots. I really thought we were keeping that planter of dirt on our windowsill because we were being too lazy to throw it away.
In much more important life-affirming news, my foxy mama is just fine and CANCER FREE. It was a bit of a scary appointment because her first mammogram showed a very large area of density that apparently sent the radiologist into a panic attack. However, on the second, more precise mammogram (which sounded pretty painful and involved some nasty breast-smushing techniques), that dark area turned out to be just dense breast tissue that hadn't been flattened out enough to get an accurate picture. The only bad news is that my mom will probably have these terrifying, "get back in our office before it spreads to your bones" kind of call-backs after her mammograms every year now. The areas of density may change in size and shape and location and she will probably have to always have the Mammogram of Torture to get good pictures. But she is WELL, and healthy.
And then this morning I was reading the news and discovered that Elizabeth Edwards' breast cancer has come back, and is now in her bones. She has two young children and a husband running for president...and just yesterday the doctors told her that at this point, her cancer is no longer curable. Just treatable. Just treatable is an incredibly devastating and inevitable thing to hear. I immediately had the selfish thought that I was so glad my mother was not the one who had THAT appointment yesterday. Then I had the much more appropriate thought that no one's mother should ever have to have that appointment.
Even before my mom's scare, and before Elizabeth Edwards' terrible news, my best friend Amy and I had decided to walk these 60 miles in August. In order to participate in the 3 Day, you have to raise a minimum of $2,200. That's a lot. But I think it will be worth all the letters and phone calls and training and sweat and of course,the absolute psychosis of attempting to walk SIXTY MILES over three days. In AUGUST.
Also, I have these new shoes? These ones?
They are absolutely amazing. I have been working out like crazy, because running in these babies is similar to springing on air (or, what I imagine that to be like) and I think these shoes can take me sixty miles. In fact, I wear these shoes everywhere now and if you know me, I am not exactly a sneakers and jeans kind of girl. Or a tennis shoes and jeans kind of girl either - and they are NOT for tennis and I resent that entire Midwestern term!
In non-cancer and running shoe related news, we've been trying out this radical new lifestyle. It's called...Save Money. I know, it's shocking. We have actually eaten every lunch and dinner at home since Sunday, which has quite possibly never happened before in our lives. Have we eaten a little too much pasta? Yes. But have we also eaten more fruits and vegetables and whole grains than ever before? YES! Unfortunately, the downside of this great marital experiment is that the house looks like a tornado blew through, so I should probably attempt to fix the chaos before my wonderful husband comes home and really starts asking questions about what I do all day.
Which is, of course, work out in my new SNEAKERS and then browse the internet, interspersing homework here and there. SHHHHH....
16 March 2007
My aunt died of breast cancer when she was only 28. My mom was 18 at the time, and in the thirty years of life she's lived since then, she's told me that only one situation has compared to the pain of her sister's death. And indirectly, that other situation was caused by her sister's death. So my mom's life has been marked by this incredibly sad and twisted mess that is breast cancer and it's lingering after-effects on the lives of everyone it touches.
About five years ago, another aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was in her early forties, did well with treatment and did not have to have chemotherapy. She's a very private person and did most of her suffering in silence. She didn't want her family to go through it with her. I have to admit that I felt relieved we aren't biologically related, and then felt awful for even thinking of my connection to her personal hell.
This year, on the day my mother-in-law broke her ribs and settled in for an extended stay on my couch, my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. In her case, it was small and slow-growing. She's already had surgery, which was so successful that she may not even need the radiation treatments she was originally dreading. She is in her eighties, very cheerful, and she and my grandfather are determined to get through this together.
Today, my mom emailed to tell me that her mammogram was inconclusive and she needs to go back for a consult and another mammogram. I know this is not as serious as a panicked phone call telling her she needs a biopsy, and I know that she is religious about her mammograms - so whatever is there, if anything, must be small and new. However, that does not change the fact that I stopped breathing when I read those words. My mother already has lupus and sjogrens. In other words, all the autoimmune diseases a woman needs. The logical, nursing school part of my brain is telling me to slow down and put things in perspective - many, many mammograms have to be redone and there are a hundred reasons they might need a better picture. Operator error? But another part of me is already galloping down this road called Cancer, wondering if her immune system could handle chemo? Could my parents - who have one kid in college and another about to graduate, with my dad in a new job and my mom not always healthy enough to work - even afford it?
It is at times like this that I think my faith should sustain me, but instead it fails me. Even if my mom doesn't have breast cancer, which I am praying for desperately, this is a reminder that at some point I will lose her. Hopefully, to the quiet of old age and a full life. But even the idea that there is uncertainty - that something more vicious might rear up and take her instead - drives me wild. It seems so unfair. Cancer has already snatched my aunt, Joshua's uncle and several of his grandparents and other relatives. It's this fear looming over my head. 28 is not too far away for me...I can't imagine dying of cancer before I reach 30.
I can barely fathom my mom having cancer before 50.
see? she's way too foxy for cancer.
About five years ago, another aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was in her early forties, did well with treatment and did not have to have chemotherapy. She's a very private person and did most of her suffering in silence. She didn't want her family to go through it with her. I have to admit that I felt relieved we aren't biologically related, and then felt awful for even thinking of my connection to her personal hell.
This year, on the day my mother-in-law broke her ribs and settled in for an extended stay on my couch, my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. In her case, it was small and slow-growing. She's already had surgery, which was so successful that she may not even need the radiation treatments she was originally dreading. She is in her eighties, very cheerful, and she and my grandfather are determined to get through this together.
Today, my mom emailed to tell me that her mammogram was inconclusive and she needs to go back for a consult and another mammogram. I know this is not as serious as a panicked phone call telling her she needs a biopsy, and I know that she is religious about her mammograms - so whatever is there, if anything, must be small and new. However, that does not change the fact that I stopped breathing when I read those words. My mother already has lupus and sjogrens. In other words, all the autoimmune diseases a woman needs. The logical, nursing school part of my brain is telling me to slow down and put things in perspective - many, many mammograms have to be redone and there are a hundred reasons they might need a better picture. Operator error? But another part of me is already galloping down this road called Cancer, wondering if her immune system could handle chemo? Could my parents - who have one kid in college and another about to graduate, with my dad in a new job and my mom not always healthy enough to work - even afford it?
It is at times like this that I think my faith should sustain me, but instead it fails me. Even if my mom doesn't have breast cancer, which I am praying for desperately, this is a reminder that at some point I will lose her. Hopefully, to the quiet of old age and a full life. But even the idea that there is uncertainty - that something more vicious might rear up and take her instead - drives me wild. It seems so unfair. Cancer has already snatched my aunt, Joshua's uncle and several of his grandparents and other relatives. It's this fear looming over my head. 28 is not too far away for me...I can't imagine dying of cancer before I reach 30.
I can barely fathom my mom having cancer before 50.
see? she's way too foxy for cancer.
08 March 2007
Last night, I was supposed to be studying for my 8am, 20% of my grade, use-it-or-lose-it 100 question OB final. I am a horrible study-er (is it studier? that sounds like I am more of a "stud" than others, which is obviously also true). Anyways, because I am so bad at studying, I did several other activities like: search Craigslist, stalk bloggers, hang out in the library hoping to catch a glimpse of motivation, and then go out to Chilis in the suburbs to have dinner with Joshua's dad, who flew into town for a whirlwind meeting with the Higher-Ups at his company. I also managed to read a wonderfully humorous book that Mel lent to me, entitled Marley and Me. I highly recommend it - it's hilarious, easy to read, and if you love dogs like I do (especially labs!), you will love it.
Now I am going to go ahead and ruin the entire ending of the book, so if you are desperate to read about Marley with any hint of a surprise ending, STOP HERE.
Ok,you were warned. Here's the thing - MARLEY DIES. Since this is a memoir, you might think I saw this major plot twist coming, but I was just plowing through the book happily, chuckling at the many misadventures of this out of control animal. There were signs that death was impending; his stomach flipped, the vet mentioned putting him down (yeah, I know, that one should have been a BIG CLUE), and the author noticed Marley aging for pretty much the last 4 chapters. By this point, I should have been emotionally ready to say good-bye to this dog that I had never met.
Or not. If you are going to read this book, please come more prepared than I was - a box of tissues should do it. We were supposed to be getting ready to go out to dinner while I was finishing the book (who am I kidding, I was supposed to be STUDYING), but instead I was sitting at the dining room table CRYING.MY.EYES.OUT. Not a sniffle, sniffle sort of "oh, that's too bad" cry. This was the heaving, gasping, sort of crying that I usually associate with the end of Forrest Gump - you know, when he's standing at Jenny's grave and telling her how smart little Forrest is?
I never had a dog growing up (my brother's allergic, my dad's ambivalent, and we lived in a shoebox), but my grandfather always had Labs like Marley - Hunting dogs with lots of energy who are absolutely devoted to their owners and become as much a part of the family as any parent or child. My mom still tears up talking about the many dogs who were part of her childhood. Last year, my brother finally broke my father down and convinced him that despite the threat of asthmatic asphyxiation, his life would not be complete without a dog. Unfortunately, the dog Aaron brought home was a lab/pit bull mix who looked a little too pit bull and had way too much energy for the shoebox and the neighborhood. Yes, the pit bull breed suffers discrimination, and I don't want to talk about that here. Basically, my parents' homeowners insurance said, "Ditch the dog, or we ditch you."
Sunny the Discriminated Pit Bull slept on Aaron's bed. He went to bed when Aaron went to bed, and woke up with him. He followed him through the house and stuck his nose to the window when he was gone to look for him. He would run off for different reasons, but check back at the window every few minutes. When a car pulled in the driveway, he was so deliriously happy that someone was back to play with him, he would run circles around the kitchen until he slid into the stove. He would catch a glimpse of his tail behind him and instead of just chasing it in a circle, he would leap backwards into the air to "catch it". He was a wonderful, friendly dog whose only mistake was being born a stereotype. The day Aaron had to give Sunny away was the worst day of his life - if anything will make a 19 year old boy cry like that, it's a dog. He didn't speak to my parents for weeks. We still do not mention that dog's name around him.
So if you can handle the fact that Marley is going to kick it (luckily after a very long, very adventurous life), I think everyone who has ever loved a dog should read this book. We already know that the first thing we're doing after I graduate - and I mean that very afternoon - is getting a puppy. Getting your first dog as a couple seems like the ultimate grown-up activity to me. (Kids are the ultimate terrifying grown-up activity that we are currently postponing, much to the dismay of the in-laws).
I am so tempted to name our future dog Marley.
Now I am going to go ahead and ruin the entire ending of the book, so if you are desperate to read about Marley with any hint of a surprise ending, STOP HERE.
Ok,you were warned. Here's the thing - MARLEY DIES. Since this is a memoir, you might think I saw this major plot twist coming, but I was just plowing through the book happily, chuckling at the many misadventures of this out of control animal. There were signs that death was impending; his stomach flipped, the vet mentioned putting him down (yeah, I know, that one should have been a BIG CLUE), and the author noticed Marley aging for pretty much the last 4 chapters. By this point, I should have been emotionally ready to say good-bye to this dog that I had never met.
Or not. If you are going to read this book, please come more prepared than I was - a box of tissues should do it. We were supposed to be getting ready to go out to dinner while I was finishing the book (who am I kidding, I was supposed to be STUDYING), but instead I was sitting at the dining room table CRYING.MY.EYES.OUT. Not a sniffle, sniffle sort of "oh, that's too bad" cry. This was the heaving, gasping, sort of crying that I usually associate with the end of Forrest Gump - you know, when he's standing at Jenny's grave and telling her how smart little Forrest is?
I never had a dog growing up (my brother's allergic, my dad's ambivalent, and we lived in a shoebox), but my grandfather always had Labs like Marley - Hunting dogs with lots of energy who are absolutely devoted to their owners and become as much a part of the family as any parent or child. My mom still tears up talking about the many dogs who were part of her childhood. Last year, my brother finally broke my father down and convinced him that despite the threat of asthmatic asphyxiation, his life would not be complete without a dog. Unfortunately, the dog Aaron brought home was a lab/pit bull mix who looked a little too pit bull and had way too much energy for the shoebox and the neighborhood. Yes, the pit bull breed suffers discrimination, and I don't want to talk about that here. Basically, my parents' homeowners insurance said, "Ditch the dog, or we ditch you."
Sunny the Discriminated Pit Bull slept on Aaron's bed. He went to bed when Aaron went to bed, and woke up with him. He followed him through the house and stuck his nose to the window when he was gone to look for him. He would run off for different reasons, but check back at the window every few minutes. When a car pulled in the driveway, he was so deliriously happy that someone was back to play with him, he would run circles around the kitchen until he slid into the stove. He would catch a glimpse of his tail behind him and instead of just chasing it in a circle, he would leap backwards into the air to "catch it". He was a wonderful, friendly dog whose only mistake was being born a stereotype. The day Aaron had to give Sunny away was the worst day of his life - if anything will make a 19 year old boy cry like that, it's a dog. He didn't speak to my parents for weeks. We still do not mention that dog's name around him.
So if you can handle the fact that Marley is going to kick it (luckily after a very long, very adventurous life), I think everyone who has ever loved a dog should read this book. We already know that the first thing we're doing after I graduate - and I mean that very afternoon - is getting a puppy. Getting your first dog as a couple seems like the ultimate grown-up activity to me. (Kids are the ultimate terrifying grown-up activity that we are currently postponing, much to the dismay of the in-laws).
I am so tempted to name our future dog Marley.
05 March 2007
Why does Monday always come so quickly?
We had a wonderful weekend that started with two amazing culinary experiences. First, we braved the wind advisory to find parking in Lincoln Square on a Friday night to pick up the Indian food I've been craving since my horrible illness (Dear vegetable korma and aloo paratha bread, I love you forever). Then, while I waited for our food, Joshua ran up to CVS to grab a bottle of wine to bring to our friends'apartment,and he found Our Favorite Wine. Not only was this the first time in almost a year that we have been able to find this amazing, velvety, perfect Pinot Noir (CVS! Of all places!), the bottle wasn't labeled and the cashier gave it to him for $12.99. Approximately 50% off - so who cares that pinot isn't exactly the drink of choice with spicy curry?
Because we are such hip young twentysomethings who live in a exciting city and just love to partyparty, we stayed in and played Disney Scene It. And because my girly friends love wine that I love to hate (please see: anything in the zinfindel or blush families), that pinot was all me and Joshua. Which worked out fine until we decided to ratchet Disney up a notch and turn it into a drinking game ("What? You mean you didn't know that Pocahontas takes place in Jamestown, VA? Take a shot!") Miraculously, I won - must be all the babysitting - but as it turns out, the excitement of even a fabulous pinot and a fabulous dinner can be offset by shooters of Malibu and Coke. I went to bed at 2am and slept til noon and I can honestly say it was the laziest and most satisfying sleep I've had since Christmas break.
Saturday was a blur of laundry and an impromptu dinner at home with Joshua's sister and my friend Emily. I made angel hair pasta with the same chunky vegetable sauce I've been making for weeks and yet I still want it EVERY NIGHT. The only absolute mandatory ingredients are corn (fresh? frozen? who cares?) and feta cheese (thrown in AT THE LAST MINUTE) everything else is whatever you've got laying around. On Saturday, it was canned organic whole tomatoes, and green, red, and yellow peppers. Saute or roast all the veggies (roasting is so much better, but we didn't have the time after the laundry took forever!) and then simmer them down into a "sauce". The corn stays crunchy and the tomatoes stay sweet and the feta is salty and crumbly and oh my gosh I want to go make another pot of this right this very second.
Unfortunately, what I am really doing this very second is packing up my stuff in the computer lab at school and preparing for my very informative presentation in gym class on HPV. So far, people have presented on rather safe topics like hypertension and chiropractors. I'm hoping to go out with a bang - and nothing's more banging than a STD that up to 65% of the American population has and doesn't know it!
All that's keeping me going today is Muscle Pump at 4:30 and Paula Deen's Taco Soup!
We had a wonderful weekend that started with two amazing culinary experiences. First, we braved the wind advisory to find parking in Lincoln Square on a Friday night to pick up the Indian food I've been craving since my horrible illness (Dear vegetable korma and aloo paratha bread, I love you forever). Then, while I waited for our food, Joshua ran up to CVS to grab a bottle of wine to bring to our friends'apartment,and he found Our Favorite Wine. Not only was this the first time in almost a year that we have been able to find this amazing, velvety, perfect Pinot Noir (CVS! Of all places!), the bottle wasn't labeled and the cashier gave it to him for $12.99. Approximately 50% off - so who cares that pinot isn't exactly the drink of choice with spicy curry?
Because we are such hip young twentysomethings who live in a exciting city and just love to partyparty, we stayed in and played Disney Scene It. And because my girly friends love wine that I love to hate (please see: anything in the zinfindel or blush families), that pinot was all me and Joshua. Which worked out fine until we decided to ratchet Disney up a notch and turn it into a drinking game ("What? You mean you didn't know that Pocahontas takes place in Jamestown, VA? Take a shot!") Miraculously, I won - must be all the babysitting - but as it turns out, the excitement of even a fabulous pinot and a fabulous dinner can be offset by shooters of Malibu and Coke. I went to bed at 2am and slept til noon and I can honestly say it was the laziest and most satisfying sleep I've had since Christmas break.
Saturday was a blur of laundry and an impromptu dinner at home with Joshua's sister and my friend Emily. I made angel hair pasta with the same chunky vegetable sauce I've been making for weeks and yet I still want it EVERY NIGHT. The only absolute mandatory ingredients are corn (fresh? frozen? who cares?) and feta cheese (thrown in AT THE LAST MINUTE) everything else is whatever you've got laying around. On Saturday, it was canned organic whole tomatoes, and green, red, and yellow peppers. Saute or roast all the veggies (roasting is so much better, but we didn't have the time after the laundry took forever!) and then simmer them down into a "sauce". The corn stays crunchy and the tomatoes stay sweet and the feta is salty and crumbly and oh my gosh I want to go make another pot of this right this very second.
Unfortunately, what I am really doing this very second is packing up my stuff in the computer lab at school and preparing for my very informative presentation in gym class on HPV. So far, people have presented on rather safe topics like hypertension and chiropractors. I'm hoping to go out with a bang - and nothing's more banging than a STD that up to 65% of the American population has and doesn't know it!
All that's keeping me going today is Muscle Pump at 4:30 and Paula Deen's Taco Soup!
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