Puppy Love

This is Shasta.

Shasta is 8 weeks old. She is a Miniture Pinscher. She is very cute and loves to chew.

Shasta lives at my house now.

(Yes, her name was Abby. Jenn and I didn't like it so we changed it)

grown ups.

My friend Vanessa is getting married. I'm happy for her! But it got me thinking, I am so not a grown up. And that also got me thinking, actually wigging but thinking was involved. Ness and I are the same age. Actually I'm 6 months older for for the sake of argument we are the same age. We started high school together. She was the person I got drunk with for the first time, and I was in her car the first time she went out without an adult in it. I was also with her the time we borrowed-without-permission her parents car and went to Buffalo to do some shopping. All very immature things to do. They were also quite fun.

And now she's getting married and thinking about stuff like weddings and down payments on houses.

I'm thinking about this research paper on Grey's Anatomy and where am I going to get a Luna Lovegood costume in my size for the Harry Potter Book 7 launch.

I am not a grown up. I feel like I should be since I'll be 23 next month. But I know I'm not one yet. I've been mulling over this whole grown up thing in the back recesses of my mind for a few hours (It was banished to the back because I was working on said research essay). Maybe I'll never been a grown up because my thoughts on what it means to be one keep changing. When I was like 12 I thought being a grown up instantly happened on your 18-th birthday. Boom, you wake up and everything is different. You start worrying about bills and retirement funds and you're instantly responsible for everything in your life. I also thought at age 12 that I would have finished school, got married right away and had kids by age 23. Pffffft. Not interested in that right now.

Later on as the 18 mark drew ever closer and I realised I'd still be in high school when I was 18 because I wanted to go to university now and that required OAC. so I revised the grown up idea and I thought that high school graduation was the magic moment of grown-up-ness. I'd put on my mortarboard and ugly polyester gown, pick up that piece of paper and and Boom! I'd be a grown up. Yeah that didn't happen either. I learned that I wasn't ready to be all independent yet. I still wanted my mommy to do my laundry and I sucked at remembering to pay bills on time if someone didn't remind me.

Then I took a year off, turned 20 ('Maybe when I turn 20. It's a big number. No longer a teenager' I thought. nope). Then I started University. At this point I knew that being a grown up was not in sight. As long as I was in university I wasn't going finish growing up. Its impossible to finish growing up when you're not really exposed to a world outside learning. I'm still here. Trucking away on my useless degree that I can't help up love and a new thought has popped in my head.

We never finish maturing. We get older, we experience new and different things and that means our knowledge of the world keeps growing and how we look at it keeps changing. Sure, that learning curve slows down but it never stops. So do we ever finish growing up? The idea of a grown up seems kind of silly now. I'm not ready to stop being a kid. I'm happy to be getting excited about book launches and spending more hours a week reading textbooks than I spend sleeping.

Why do I care?

I don't like Britney Spears. I didn't like her when I was a teeny bopper and she was the teeny bopper Queen. I didn't like her when she was spouting about her virginity, or when she totally broke her promise and turned giant slut bomb. I really hated her when I had to deal with 8 year old girls imitating her and I despised her when she reproduced with a white trash wanna be rapper and propagated her clearly deficient gene pool. I loath her now that she has fallen off the deep-end, is no longer even attempting to care for herself or her poor children. gone bar hopping with Paris sans underpants and has tried and failed at rehab twice in one week and shaved her head as a giant neon cry for attention.

Now here is the conundrum. Why do I care? As stated, I hate her. So why do I feel compelled click on those links stating Brits latest escapades?More importantly why am I actually shocked when I read about what every stupid this she has done today? I don't get it.

It's actually bugging me that I care. and I'm trying to figure out why. Here are my theories so far.
1. The poor little rich girl phenomenon. 'Look how screwed up her life is. Shes such a moron, she has everything and she throws it all away.'
2. I'm jealous. She has money and fame and super cool houses and designers throwing clothes at her. This is an unlikely reason but I'm put it out there. I don't want to live in giant house in California, I don't like most designers and I'm far too modest and shake my ass in order to earn said money.
3. I distracts me from my own problems and the worlds problems.
4. She's the car accident on the side of the highway that you can't help up slow down and watch even though she know you shouldn't.

Any thoughts?

Yet another blood test

Had another blood test today, but I got the bad techncian. They one who must have had a career back in the 80s as a KGB torturer. She finds the deepest vein she possibly can, ignoring my advice to use the near the surface a little to the right. 'no, you have big juicy one here. I use this one. That one too small. It won't work for long' Dude, I've had enough blood tests to know where my damn veins are and that yes they do work. Now she has to use a big honkin' needle and not my little butterfies.

I was right by the way. On the third of five vial, the 'big juicy vein' has decided not to work anymore. So what does she do? Does she listen to me, break out the butterfly and tap my little vein of perfection? Noooooooooooo, she starts digging around the inside of my arm with her big honkin' needle trying to find more blood. VAMPIRE! Shes a vampire I tell you!! So there I am, with a sadistic tech digging around my arm, and I am trying not to run screaming down the hall and in to the saftey of my mothers van. Three things stopped me. 1. I still had to pee in a cup. 2. there was a pediatrians office was a few doors down and I didn't want to scare the little kids. 3. I was sure she would have chased me with a bigger needle and tried to tap my juggular. No, I sat there, tears in my eyes and trying to thinking of bunnies and knitting (maybe knitted bunnies) and waited until she was done violating me.

So I survive my brush with evil and shakily make it to the car in extreme pain. I've never had pain after a blood test in my life. After they take the needle out the worst thing I have to deal with is the band aid (speaking of which, she managed to get arm hair stuck in mine. I have no idea how! There's no arm hair near my elbow.). Not this time. I am in pain. I ask my mom why its hurting. She told me the evil russian must have ruptured the vein and now its going to hurt, leave a very ugly bruise and maybe swell.

Greeeaaaat....

The Storyteller

The Storyteller is a tragically short run Jim Henson TV show that ran in the 80's. I watched a few episodes at work and I loved it! Krista, the woman I work for, loaned me the DVD while she was on vacation and I am addicted! I watched a few episodes last night before my brain died and I needed sleep and I'm going to watch more after I finish listening to the geography lecture audios for my test tomorrow. I should probably do some of the readings too. On the other hand my bud Shannon doesn't even have the books and she's managed to kick my ass on the two previous tests.

Back to the show, each episode is based on an old folktale from differnt reigons, German, Cletic even the odd greek. I adore folktales. I have the complete Hans Christan anderson and Brothers Grim collections on my ipod.

I hate needles.

So something not right and I need a blood test. I hate getting bloodwork done. Mostly because I hate all needles. Ok not all needles. I'm rather fond of knitting needles, and the Space Needle is pretty damn cool. I"ll rephrase. I hate all medical needles (and the odd sewing needle) that is insert in to any part of my being and causes pain. That include blood work and vaccines.

Don't get me wrong. I can suck it up and take it like a woman, but still. Waaah. Big blood sucking needle this week. I am not happy.

At least the lab I go to uses the little baby needles on me. That's a plus. The name is decptive though. They call them butterflies cause the little plastic thing on the top looks a bit like wings. Or so they say. No, I think it's all a plot to lure you in to a false sense of security. They say 'I
ll use the butterfly for you' and you think oh, butterfly, pretty, happy safe. They then cut off circulation to your arm with their rubber band of tiny hair pulling pain and stab you with a hypodermic device refered to as a bug. It's a plot I tell you! A plot most foul.

I think they should call them bats. Or mosquitos. Something blood sucking with wings. Stop tarnishing the reputation of the butterfly!