February

Because of my bipolar depression, I’m careful to note changes to and patterns in my mental state.  This past November was rough, despite the fact that autumn and Thanksgiving are some of my favorite times of the year.  I love autumn.  Its cooling temperatures are a relief after a baking hot summer.  It heralds the start of school, and even though I’m not a student, it still fills me with optimism for the upcoming year, and feeds my hungry need to keep learning new things.

No, it’s February that’s supposed to be my worst month.

I first realized this when I was in college, even before I knew I was bipolar.  Like any good liberated woman on campus, I listened to my fair share of chick music; Ani DeFranco, Dar Williams, Indigo Girls, etc.  I was only a few steps away from dreadlocks and patchouli.  Fortunately, I liked washing my hair and smelling like flowers, albeit chemical flower odors manufactured by brand-name shampoos.  Don’t judge; this was before I knew about Aveda.

Anyhow, my senior year in college was marred by a rough February.  The thing is, nothing was really going wrong.  I was getting straight A’s in school.  I had an awesome group of friends.  I had a loving boyfriend who would later become my husband.  I had a part-time job in student leadership that was fulfilling enough that it would command a place on my resume for the next five years.  Everything was going right.

So why was I so depressed?  I wondered.

Walking to and from class and work, I’d listend to *OLD LADY ALERT* mixed-cd’s on my brand-new discman.  Every time this particular song came on I’d cry.  Despite the tears, I always seemed to listen to this song rather than skip it over.  I think, in a way, it was cathartic.

From “February” by Dar Williams:

First we forgot where wed planted those bulbs last year,

Then we forgot that wed planted at all,

Then we forgot what plants are altogether,

And I blamed you for my freezing and forgetting and

The nights were long and cold and scary,

Can we live through february? 

You know I think christmas was a long red glare,

Shot up like a warning, we gave presents without cards,

And then the snow,

And then the snow came, we were always out shoveling,

And we’d drop to sleep exhausted,

Then we’d wake up, and it’s snowing.

So... that's it.  February is here, and I'm on alert.  So far I'm doing ok.  I have a lot of anxiety about something that I can't discuss here right now.  The anxiety is bad, and I'm fighting to keep it at bay, lest it render me utterly catatonic.  But it's entirely situational and as time passes and life events unfold, it will hopefully ease up.  

Until then, I'll continue plowing through February, one day at a time.

Remember That Time In College When Your Apartment Was On Fire, Except Not Really, But No One Would Believe You Anyways, Because You Were Dressed As A Mad Scientist? No? Me Either.

In college, my two roommates and I rented an apartment on the main drag of our college town.

Halloween in my college town has always been a spectacle.  Basically thousands of people from all over the state, and even out of state, dress up in outrageous costumes and go galavanting up and down the main pedestrian mall until they’re too drunk or too cold to feel their own feet.

Having participated in this event the previous three years, I knew better than to go outside.  Not because of the crowds.  Not because of the debauchery.  Because October in Wisconsin is FREEZING, especially when you are trying to parade around dressed as a “sexy vampire” or “sexy butterfly” or whatever they were trying to sell college girls that year.  

Nope.  Our awesome apartment looked right over the pedestrian mall, so we could watch the reverie and drink all the beer we wanted, without having to leave our warm apartment or wait in line.  

Now, we were still in costume (it was Halloween, after all.)  I was a car-crash victim, since it meant I could still wear a sweatshirt and yoga pants.  All I had to do was smear on some fake blood, and make my face look dead(er) using makeup I already owned.  Who knew all that purple eyeshadow would come in handy?

My roommate, Eunice, was a great deal more creative than I. She dressed as a mad-scientist.  She got her hands on a lab coat and safety goggles, and used black makeup to make it look like something just blew up in her face.   I’m not sure if my other roommate dressed up.  I’m pretty sure Husband (then Boyfriend) didn’t.  

The evening was quiet.  Once or twice we had people ring the doorbell, asking to get into the party.  We loudly informed them that there was no party at our place (4 or so people do not a party make), but maybe check the apartment across the hall from us, as they were having their own celebration with a number of guests. 

For some reason (I don’t remember why), around midnight, I opened our door to see the hallway FULL of smoke.  You couldn’t see the front door.  My roommates, boyfriend and I decided it was in our best interests to leave.  Actually, I may have hollered at them something along the lines of “HOLY CRAP, OUR HALLWAY IS ON FIRE!” and forced them out the door.  The tenants across the hall were also trying to escape.  

As we walked down the steps leading to the front door, we started stumbling and falling over one another.  For some reason the carpeting on the stairs was ripped out and pulled up.  We all spilled out into the mob outside our front door. 

Several of the tenants called 911.  Actually, I think I probably hollered something along the lines of “CALL 911!  QUICK! DO IT NOW!”  Apparently I become loud and bossy during a crisis, instead of actually doing anything myself.

Luckily, there was a noticeable police presence that night, trying to control the horde of partyers, so Eunice, the mad scientist, went to find one.  It didn’t take her long.

“Sir!” she said, “Our apartment is on fire!  Please come help!”  He took a look at her.  With a lab coat.  Covered in (fake) soot.  With her hair sticking straight up.

“Yeah right,” he replied.

I’m pretty sure at that moment Eunice’s brain exploded.  But she did drag the officer to our building.  At that point, the firefighters also showed up, and headed in the building. 

There was no fire.

Turns out some one (probably one of the persons turned away from the party that didn’t exist) broke in through the back door, tore up all the carpeting and sprayed several fire extinguishers into the hall, creating the “smoke” that sent us all catapulting out of the building.

Oops. 

Apparently, landlords don’t like to have to account for their tenants’ unnecessary 911 calls at midnight on the craziest night of the year.  Though she was MAD, our landlady was ultimately a good soul and didn’t hold the nights events too much against us.

Lesson learned: It’s better to go bar-hopping on Halloween than it is to stay at home.  

Excuse Me, I Have A Date With A Mud-Puddle

The temperature outside is creeping above freezing, and, per government mandate, the days are growing longer.  Spring is here.

If I can use one word that describe spring for me, it’s "rush."  And "mud."  Ok, two words.

I have nothing against Spring, but I’m always in a hurry for it to be over.  Growing up in Wisconsin, we weren’t really free-and-clear of any late season snowstorms until April.  Imposing the Easter Bunny on the land when there’s still a noticeable amount of snow on the ground, strains the very elements of logic.

 Rebirth, my ass.

So, the quicker we blast through spring, the quicker we’re safely in the realm of summer, and the quicker we’re out of winter’s long reach.

If you just moved to Florida, you’d have nothing more to bitch about.  

Also, Disney World.  Hooray!

In addition, Spring always seems to engulf me in copious amounts of mud. This is probably because I’m in such a damn hurry to rid myself of winter, that I engage in springtime activities ridiculously early.  I’d be the one trying to ride my bike in March with ice still on the ground.  Needless to say, I’d fall in the mud.

It doesn’t stop there.  In college, a friend and I attempted to fly kites in April. The ground was still rock hard, but we didn’t let that deter us.  We walked downtown, purchased some kites, and ran back and forth over the playing field in front of our dorm trying to launch our kites skyward.  I don’t think I had flown a kite for 10 years, so it took a few tries to get the kite in the air.

There were three notable events surrounding this victory.  One was that a kind but misguided young man bum-rushed us, proclaiming his joy at finding other kite-fliers.

Him: Oh my God!  There are other kite enthusiasts here!  Oh, man!  What kind of kites are you flying?

Us: Er...um...they came from the store?

Him: blink.  blink, blink.

Us:  Sorry.  We don’t really fly kites that much.  We just wanted to get outside now that the weather is nicer.

Him: Oh....ok.  Well, if you ever want to fly kites, let me know.

The second notable event was that we both got sunburned.  Badly.  Apparently having skin that can only kindly be described as “alabaster” is no match for April sunshine capable of warming the earth to a whopping forty degrees.

The third notable event was that was that, despite the ground being completely frozen, I still managed to find the sole mud-puddle, and inadvertently sink my right foot ankle-deep in it.  It was a portent of things to come.

The mild temperatures continued for the next few days, and I was emboldened to take a long walk on campus.  I walked to the top of one of the highest hills, and looked over one of the lakes forming the isthmus that my college-town sat on.  The vastness of the sky and water makes it look like you’re standing in a big blue sphere.  I felt a wave of calm wash over me. 

Full of joy, I took one step further and thought, “Wow, the ground is kind of squishy.”  And with that, I slipped and fell down the length of the hill, only to end up in yet another mud puddle. 

I trudged back to my dorm, covered head to toe in mud, garnering the concern of my fellow dorm-mates.

Them:  Oh my god, what happened?

Me:  I fell down a hill.

Them:  Are you hurt?  Do you need to go to the health clinic?

Me: Uhh...No.  No I do not.

I got to repeat this exchange about ten more times.  Unfortunately, there’s no cure for klutziness.

Long story short, I have nothing against spring, only that it’s too wet.  Bring it on!

Don't Worry - I'm An English Major!

Disclaimer: This post is about grammar. I sincerely apologize, and may God strike me down dead, if I am incorrect or if the post itself contains grammatical errors. Alas, no one is perfect.

Grammatical errors make me angry. They make me want to stab unicorns.

Don't worry, I only hunt unicorn for food, not sport.

I don't look down on any one who makes a grammatical mistake, or uses incorrect punctuation. I make those same mistakes as well. That being said, let me take you back to high school English class ....

English teacher: If you’re combining two independent clauses you should use a comma and a coordinating conjunction. Here’s a fun acronym to help you out.. FANBOYS!

For
And
Nor
But
Or
Yet
So

Student: Wha..? And also, Zzzzzz.....

Forward five to ten years in time. You’re writing an academic paper, or maybe a memorandum for work. You don’t remember how to use commas, and the phrase FANBOYS conjures some sort of vague memory involving pop music and perhaps Bartles and Jaymes.

For heaven’s sake don’t just make up grammar as you go along! Consult a manual, a website or a friendly English major for advice.

The following errors make me particularly twitchy...

1) Their / There / They’re

“Their” is a possessive adjective

“There” refers to a place

“They’re” is short for They Are.

Example: They’re grateful their ponies are over there in the kitchen.

2) A lot / Alot / Allot

"Alot" is not a word.

This sentence should not exist: I have alot of beer-drenched ponies in my kitchen.

"A lot" means a large quantity.

Example: I have a lot of beer-drenched ponies in my kitchen.

"Allot" is a verb. It means to distribute.

Example: I allot each blogger one beer-drenched pony.

3) Affect / Effect

"Affect" is a verb. It means, “To influence or to have an effect on.”

Example: The type of beer used affects how many beer-drenched ponies will fit in your kitchen.

"Effect" is a noun. It means, “Something brought about by a cause."

Example: A positive effect of the beer-drenching incident was ponies with a rich malt flavor balanced by a slight hoppy bitterness.

4) All Right / Alright

"All right" is a synonym for okay or satisfactory. It can also mean “all correct.”

Example: It's all right to store your beer-drenched ponies in the kitchen.

Alright is not a word. Neither is gorleshabib. No amount of non-standard usage will make it so.

This sentence should not exist: You should always store your beer-drenched ponies in the kitchen.

And don’t even get me started on “Irregardless...”

Another Story About Fish

When I was in college, my dorm-mates and I peeled ourselves from our beds one Sunday morning, and headed to the girl’s bathroom where we were faced with fish.

Tens of goldfish were swimming around in the toilets. They’d swim through the pipes, popping up in random bowls.

We called in the RA in to assess the situation.

“Yup, those are goldfish,” she assessed.

We started discussing what to do. “Flush them” was the general consensus.

I’m no animal lover. I mean, I like animals, but not those with slime or scales, or those that eat bugs, or those with an instinct to burrow, or those with the word “naked” in their name, or those that breath fire.

But the thought of 40 goldfish being flushed as if they were sucked into the mighty craw of Charybdis, was just too much for me and for my roommate, who was an animal lover, and even liked animals with slime, or scales, or that ate bugs, or burrowed, or with the word “naked” in their name, or those that breathed fire.

“NOOOOOO!!!!!” we cried. “Don’t flush them!”

“Why not?”

“They’re alive!”

“Well, you figure out what to do with them.”

I borrowed a small plastic aquarium net from a guy who actually had a fish tank, and spent the next 3 hours carefully scooping fish out of the toilets and into various cups and bowls filled with water.

Finally, I found about 20 people willing to adopt a couple of toilet fish. My roommate and I each kept one as well. We named them Mr. Hanky and Michael Jackson.

Problem was, we didn’t have a fish bowl. We were able to find some fish food at a local Walgreens, but we couldn’t buy a fish bowl because there were no pet stores within walking distance.

We decided to wait until the next weekend to take a bus to a pet store. In the meantime we kept the fish in a plastic water pitcher. Hey, it’s better than the toilet, right?

Right?

For a few days all was well. Mr. Hanky and Michael Jackson swam around their new home, eating all the fish flakes they wanted. I think I saw Mr. Hanky smile and nod once.

But then we started noticing tiny bubbles...lots of tiny bubbles hanging around our fish, and in the water.

The next morning we were dismayed to find Michael Jackson laying on his side at the bottom of the pitcher. By that evening both fish were dead, and we were forced to flush them back down the toilet from whence they came.

I think I should just avoid live fish altogether. It always seems to end in disaster.

Zombie Fish

My first summer after college I worked as a ticket attendant and concessionaire at a county park. Mostly the job involved selling tickets in a booth at the entrance, but occasionally I’d get to leave the booth to sell chips, soda and candy bars at the concession stand, or to do menial maintenance jobs around the park.

This was a welcomed respite until the day all the fish died.

The park had a small lake with a beach area. The lake had fish. One day the fish all caught fish ebola or something, and died. The next day we were faced with hundreds of fish floating belly-up in the lake and washing up on shore.

The beach was closed for weeks while various state agencies tried to figure out why the fish died and whether it was safe to swim in the water. They took a few samples of dead fish, and came to the conclusion, “We don’t really know why the fish died, but it’s probably safe to swim. Have fun!”

This meant there were approximately 3902 dead fish to clean up off the shores of the lake. For 3 days straight I’d walk around the lake carrying a bucket and using a pair of garbage grabbers to place dead fish in the bucket.

Good times.

Now, I’ve never been fishing. So on one sojourn I noticed a fish quite close to shore. It wasn’t floating belly-up, but it definitely wasn’t moving. I figured it had only recently died, thrust the garbage pickers into the water, and pinched it by the tail.

The fish immediately wiggled around furiously trying to swim away. I had apparently caught a zombie fish by the tail. I panicked (OMG ZOMBIE FISH!!!), pulled it out of the water and put it in the bucket with the rest of the ex-fish.

The fish flopped around in the bucket and quickly attempted to evolve and grow lungs. Oops. It wasn’t dead, it was just resting.

I felt bad, but the deed was done. The next day the park re-opened to patrons and I spent the rest of the summer sitting in an booth the size of a broom closet, sans airconditioning, collecting money from people who were pissed off that they had to pay to park their car at a county park.