Peein in a cup.

I had to get a drug screen today. Drug screens frequently require peeing in a cup. I had to pee in a cup today. No big deal, I've peed in cups before, but none of which ever occurred quite like it did today. After filling out some paperwork I didn't really know how to fill out, and then after waiting in the waiting room for a while, a young man no older than myself comes out and calls my name. I'm next. I felt real happy my peer is going to be holding my pee in his hands. Here ya' go! It's really fresh. It's got a nice little yellow tint. It's kind of warm. Knock yourself out with that. After playing it through in my head, I decide it's going to be a real ego-boosting experience.
 
He takes me back to a special room lined with little bity bathrooms on one side, and a long counter with sinks on the other side. It has a very sterile feel. The guy proceeds to act incredibly strange and uncomfortably awkward. He holds up a cup, with stuttered instructions to "fill it up to about here" as he points to a line. No further instructions. He spoke hesitantly, as if embarrassed. I wanted to ask him what I was supposed to fill it up with, but I decided I would spare him the embarrassment and started to walk toward the indicated bathroom as he says, "Just go in there aaaand uuuh...do your thing." Do my thing? Really? Come on, just say it. It's not that hard of a word. Pee, urinate, micturate, tinkle, take a leak, there are endless ways to put it. Pick one.
 
I walk into the bathroom, and "do my thing", barely able to fill the cup to the line and wondering what would happen if I dropped the cup or kicked it over on accident. Deciding that wouldn't end very well, I determined to be careful. Distracted by the fact that there was no flusher to take away the toilet paper, I go out to give the guy my pee-in-a-cup and ask how to flush the toilet. As I open the door and ask if I'm not supposed to flush the toilet, the door starts to swing closed, hitting my outstretched hand in the process, knocking the cup to the floor, distributing my pee all over the little office space. Oops. Not so sanitary anymore.
 
I kind of freak out a little bit, and I apologize over and over again while he's just staring at the mess with his jaw dropped to the floor a little bit. Both of us a bit unsure of what to do, I continue to apologize incessantly and pick up the cup. There is a bit of drizzle left in it, and he informs me that it won't be enough. Go figure. Unsure of what to tell me or what to do with me, the guy starts to put on gloves as he tells me to wash my hands and bends down to clean it up. Mortified, I tell him to stop and I will clean it up. It's disgusting. He tells me it's okay, and continues to just kind of stare at the whole situation. He humms and ahhhs a little while until he informs me that this has only happened once before, and it was his fault at that. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable and since he won't let me clean it up, I apologize again and ask if I could come back in a little while and try again. With both of us relieved to get me out of there, he agrees and dismisses me.
 
By the time I get out to my car I can't stop laughing. I'm a spazz, it's cool. I down 5 cups of water in 5-10 minutes. Forty minutes later, I feel the need to urinate once again, and I sheepishly and hysterically make my way back. Apparently all he needed was to clean up some pee for his day to break the ice, because when I returned, he was suddenly all jokes and conversation. I know, my bodily excrement is very becoming. Knowing this time that the toilets don't actually flush from the inside, I'm able to successfully make it through the process without distraction or spillage. Despite the fact that we both know that he will forever think of me as that girl whose pee he once cleaned up, he politely calls out to me as I'm leaving, "See ya' later." Really though, let's be honest, hopefully not.

The 24th year and the dentist

"You have 37 cavities," said the dentist.
"But, I don't even have 37 teeth!" I exclaimed.
"uh-huh." was Dentist's nonchalant reply, in a so-what-matter-of-fact tone.
"But, I've never had a cavity before, and you always tell me how beautiful my teeth are every year I come in! I take very careful care of my teeth. How can this be?! I can't possibly have such cavities you speak of!"

This is how I imagined my dentist appointment would go yesterday. This is how I imagined it would go ever since my sister came home with news from her dentist 2 years ago who had informed her that 75% of people will suddenly start getting cavities once they turn the magic age of 24, even if they have never had a cavity before and even if their dental hygiene hasn't changed, and then it's all down hill from there. Well, my dental hygiene changed after that, you bet it changed. I suddenly became quite intent on flossing every single day, and I went and bought 3 bottles of mouthwash the next day, and I used it multiple times a day until it started drying my mouth out, at which time I pulled back to just once a day. The only oral hygienic habit that didn't change was the 3-6 times a day I found myself at my sink brushing my teeth. Despite these efforts, I was just sure that I would walk out of the dentist when I was 24 with my teeth looking something like this:

With these new habits established, and the old habit continued, my 24th year at the dentist has long been approaching, and as it drew nearer, I grew more wary of the dreaded visit. As everything that is never wanted does, the day came much sooner than I wanted, and not to blow the ending of the story or anything, I survived. Here's about how it went after the traditional teeth cleaning:

Dentist walks in to my kind of pounding heart, brand new dentist I have never seen before. "Hi Michelle, let's take a look in your mouth."
Gulp. Are you sure about that?
He looks into my mouth, "Hmmm. Ahhh." Whatever that means, it's making me nervous. "Well, mouths like yours are bad for our business."
"Huh" is the only thing I can grunt out. Again, don't know what that means either.
He taps a tooth here, taps a tooth there. "You're mouth is so boring! How are we supposed to keep up a business with perfect teeth like yours?"
I give a courtesy laugh, because he's still looking. No way am I getting my hopes up yet. 
He keeps talking, "I guess it's good to keep a nice balance. we would be too overwhelmed with problems if everybody had bad teeth. I guess we'll keep your good teeth around."
"Uh-huh," yet another grunt. Do they really expect you to respond? I never have figured out dentist etiquette.
"One more spot here..." He mumbles. This is it. It's all over here. Here it comes, 10 cavities in one last tooth. I'm a goner. "Now stick your tongue out like a 3-year-old." As opposed to a 24-year-old at the dentist? I stick my tongue out. "Alright, looks good! Have a good day!" Dentist leaves.
I sat up, not fully aware of what just happened, shocked. Could it really be? 24 and cavity free? I'll take it. I can relax for another month or two until it will be time to start working myself up for next year's dental appointment.

Christmas Miracle: Fiery Inferno

Q: How many females does it take to build a fire?

1 shivering body. 1 thought to build a fire in the fireplace. 30 minutes of pure sweat and gruel. 30 minutes of defeat. 30 minutes of unsuccessful fire building. 18 graded papers added to the coals. 3 minutes of flame until the papers and cardboard shrivel up and die. 5 minutes of scrounging around the house for more scrap paper and cardboard, and 6 cereal and granola bar boxes taken from cupboards followed by 3 more minutes of misleading flame. 2 girls raised hopes, and 2 girls valiant attempts. 120 minutes of movie watching after failure is admitted, and  2 blankets and 1 sweatshirt extracted to maintain warmth. 10 minutes of lounging on the couch after the movie finishes, and then approximately 1/2 second of spontaneous bursting of flame. 2 very surprised faces. X amount of time of steady fire until we decide to put it out and go to bed. 2 warmed bodies, and 2 happy hearts. 1 Christmas miracle.

A: 0, just some Christmas love.

Kiddos

I just finished up an internship at an elementary school as a speech therapist. It was such a great experience, and I can't even tell you how much I gained from all the people I worked with. Thursday was my last day, and my heart kind of hurts now. We've had many good times indeed. Kids are pretty amazing creatures, and I learned something new from them everyday. I think they taught me more than I taught them. Just see this list of things I could come up with off the top of my head:

• If you wear a ring on any finger on either hand, it means you're married. Just ask every kid that gasped as they asked if I got married over the weekend.
• My supervisor is a God, just ask the 2nd grader I was teaching opposites to--she was a child, and Mrs. Allen is "a God," not an adult.
• If somebody of the opposite gender brings you lunch, it means *gasp* you like them and you're married to them, just ask the giggly 2nd grade boys in the upper learning delayed class who witnessed a lady drop lunch off to their bachelor teacher.
• My hair is messy, not curly. Just ask the little boy with Down Syndrome who would so happily tell me every time I worked with him.
• You're never too young to start schmoozing the ladies. Just ask the 2nd grade boy who, when asked to define the word 'pretty,' immediately exclaimed the little girl's name sitting next to him without missing a beat.
• The opposite of "hot" is "ugly," just ask the learning disabled boy who asked me if by "hot" I was referring to "hot girls."
• If you're going to refer to something as "easy," don't call it a piece of cake. It only gets people's hopes up, just ask the autism unit.
• Life is full of excitement, just ask the 1st grade little girl with pretty severe mental disabilities who always finds so much joy in the hall decorations she walks past multiple times every day.
• It's embarrassing to like girls, even if you can't help yourself, just ask the two fifth grade boys who drew that such unfortunate, much dreaded slip from the conversation jar--"What girl do you like?"
• Miss Hillary (another speech therapist) is cooler than me. Just ask the kindergartner who thinks I'm the worst ever.
• Santa Clause is of course real! Just ask the questioning and confused 4th grader who came into speech, asking my opinion on the matter, and then explaining that he couldn't possibly be fake because the cookies and milk were gone every year when his dad can't drink milk and his mom hates cookies.
• As modeled by a preschooler, the only way to think is when posed in this thoughtful stance:

 

 

Leaving with several bear hugs that all but knocked me off my feet, colored cards written by my life skills class saying thank you and that they would miss me, an offer to pay me $1,000.00 if I stay by a crushing 6th grade boy, the gifting of the Miss Nelson is Missing books, and countless other thoughtful acts made me feel pretty special as I left. I'll sure miss that school. Those darn kids sure have settled into my heart and left it a little fuller, all 65 of those little rascals.

Family Photos



I busted out my camera this past weekend and took it for a whirl and took some quick family photos for my sister. It's been quite some time since I've done much with my photography, and I was a bit rusty, but it gave me the bug again and reminded me how much I do indeed love it. I wish I had time and opportunity to do more. Here are a few photos from the shoot. They're a pretty adorable family, and I don't say that just because I'm biased.

 

Photographing children is always a bit of a whirlwind, and it wasn't until we were about 3/4 of the way through the photo shoot and plenty of attempts at persuading Kimball to give me a nice big real smile did I realize that this was his nice big picture smile, and the more I tried to tell him otherwise, the bigger his mouth opened. 

 

Again, the "smile". It makes me laugh every time.

 

  

 

 

 



All is fair in love and cannibalism.

**If I'm being honest, this is a very true story. In fact, a truer story has ne'er been told. No overexaggeration, no embellishment. I stick only to the basic facts here folks.

Several weeks ago, I made my way to the good state of Arizona. Caught up in the excitement of a dear friend's wedding, I decided to explore around the city before I headed to the reception. Music-jammin, gut busting singing, fast roaming in and out of streets is what I could have been found doing. I could have singlehandedly put a car full of partying teenaged girls to shame.

In my excitement, I didn't seem to notice how my surroundings were gradually beginning to change. The streets became darker and darker, growing ever increasingly less friendly, when before I knew it, I found myself in the midst of complete slum. The "houses" were shabby and colorless, barely standing. Even the word shack would be generous--maybe only something more than cardboard boxes. As I crept through the street in my car, my heart started to beat faster, and I knew my situation was becoming more dire with every half inch I crept forward, my prognosis growing ever worse with every second as glimpses of movement caught my eye every which way.

Friday nights in date central

I live in probably the world's largest dating mecha. Single or married, if you are not having to pencil in real life around your dates, then you will find yourself with a nice view of some nasty nostrils from people looking down the bridges of their noses at you, wondering, figuring, assuming what is wrong with you. "He must have committment issues." "She's probably a 'career girl.'" "He must be totally insecure." "Yup, incomprehnsible social skills. I can tell." "Not the datable type." With this mantra, weedends are very paired off, and very entertaining. So with this in mind, what might you see on a Friday or Saturday night here? Lots of dinner dates, hand holding, eyelash batting, hearty laughter to not funny jokes, late night secluded strolls, star gazers, bla bla bla, but could there be more to their stories?

Sitting at a traffic light in my car one Friday evening, about 7:00, prime date time (that's clever writing because that rhymes), I caught myself people watching the cars surrounding me, and snowballing into ever increasing judgemetns of each person, becoming the insider of what was really going on in the cars around me...the rest of the story.

Car immediately to the left: A young boy and girl. Girl, I imagine as being about a sophmore, has long hair curled to complete perfection, fancy ruffly blousel, and shiny lips. The car exuded stiffened smiles and forced laughter with unnaturall attempts at filling every second with vivid conversation. Both trying entirely too hard to impress. Definite first date. My prognosis for the night: conversation flopping at some mediocre restaraunt with both members of the party staring uncomfortably at their plates as they eat, desperately trying to figure out what to say next. But a second date? Yes, I imagine there was a second date. She was way too cute for him to not ask her out again, and she was way too giggly for there to not be a second date.

Car immediately to the right: A young couple, clearly "a couple," a little more relaxed, a little less impressive. The girl looked nice, but she clearly didn't spend any extra time getting ready for the date. She was in the middle of something great according to her animation, clearly not needing much reinforcement and clearly the subject being only great in her opinion as the dude's eyes led to a dead stare into the road ahead, contributing nothing. Probably not even listening. My prognosis for the night: Relatively newlywed couple trying to fulfill their date night duty by going to a movie, probably a chic-flic. Probably went straight home afterwards. He might have been told off at some point in the night for not being quite attentive enough, but then again, it wouldn't surprise me if she didn't even notice the lack of attention.

Car just behind to the right: Couple sitting in front, car seat and baby sitting in back. Girl slouching in the passenger seat, leaning against the passenger window with her head slung against her fist. Body posture exuding complete boredom. Boy, once again, staring blankly straight ahead. No emotion. No conversation. No interaction. Prognosis for the night: Going to pick up the cheapest ice cream in the nearest grocery store in attempts to liven up the mundane routine of every night followed by an early bedtime.

My car: What might people have been thinking of me, sitting there with, heavenforbid, nobody but myself in my car? "Probably a crazy cat lady." They might say. "Maybe going to drown her bitterness in some Ben and Jerry's the way she's watching us like that." This is probably what the couple in the first car was laughing at so vigorously. I'm sure they'll milk that subject far past its worth. Glad I could be an attempted start at an inside joke. Anything to fill that awkward silence, right?