My Dreams: The Final Frontier

Lately I've been having a lot of weird dreams. I don't think it's necessarily new, it's more that I've been remembering the dreams on a more regular basis than I ever have before. I'm finding that it's not something I'm really a huge fan of. I'm learning things about myself that I'd rather have continued to deny. Take for example, my dream from 2 nights ago.

I'm at a huge party in a mansion or similarly-sized dwelling. I don't really know anyone there, but I'm drinking and hanging out and there's music, so it's cool. The next song that plays overhead is "Sweet Child of Mine" by Guns and Roses. All of a sudden, the guy sitting next to me stands up and starts playing the guitar. And I mean PLAYING. Because he is Slash. Slash from G&R was sitting right next to me and now he's jamming out while leaning on me and being altogether awesome. So, he plays the entire song and then people start crowding around him because it's Slash and he has a top hat and is altogether the coolest.


I, since the song's conclusion, am totally freaking out that Slash chose to play while making contact w/ my shoulder. So, I go into the next room to tell someone because HELLO SLASH IS TOTALLY AWESOME. I am making my way into the next room and decide to follow a rather tall muscley guy who is cutting a swathe through the crowd. As I'm trying to get past him, I look over and realize that he is not just any tall goateed man. He is Riker. Commander William Riker of the Starship Enterprise. And this is when I realize several of you will be jumping ship on my friendship*. It's okay, I understand. I'm nerdier than even I realized- as the rest of the dream will illustrate.

So, I strike up a conversation with Riker- something along the lines of OMG YOU'RE RIKER! And we walk together into the next room. I had never understood how he was the "ladies man" on the show, but I started to get the gist in my dreams. That is one charming beardy guy. So, we reach our destination and Riker plunks down next to someone else and starts talking. Guess who? That's right- Picard. Also present are the other main characters from Star Trek: TNG. Including Geordi LaForge who is a double-celebrity because who doesn't love Reading Rainbow? Nobody. That's who. So, we're all talking and laughing and I am seriously star-struck. The night finally ends when Checkov (the Russian guy from original Star Trek) walks in soaking wet. Apparently someone had thrown him into the pool. He walked through the room dripping and cursing in Russian (because I speak Russian in my dreams) and we all shared a laugh. Me and my Star Trek friends. And then I woke up in a great mood.

I'm afraid that my fantasy is a Star Trek cast party with a guest performance by Slash.

Life just got a little bit sadder.

* Except C. You know you love some Star Trek. You've probably already had this dream. :-p

Coming to Terms

Healthcare is full of jargon. Public health is full of jargon. So my job, which includes aspects of both, has a whole frikkin' lot of jargon. This isn't necessarily a bad thing- we have more abbreviations than you can shake a stick at, but it beats the pants off of writing out "arterial blood gas" every 36 seconds. My problem when it comes to the language of my profession, is the buzzwords. Terms that have no real meaning- even for people in the job.

You know that part in "Juno" where people keep asking if she's "sexually active" and she says, "What does that even mean? Can I become sexually inactive or is this a permanent state?" It's just like that. I don't understand what these terms mean, and every time I hear them I want to slam my head into a wall. Por ejemplo:

• Real-Time. As in, "I think it's really important that we take care of this in real-time." or "Oh, you spoke to him in real-time? Then that should be fine." WTF!? What time can I speak to someone when it isn't real? If you want me to speak to someone now, or immediately, I can do that. I refuse to categorize it as a whole new type of time. This isn't Star Trek.
  
• Off-Line. As in, "Well, this is a very interesting conversation we're having, and I think it's very valuable, but let's continue it off-line." If you were referring to working on your computer without the internet, I would be fine with off-line. If all the electronic systems were down, I'd be fine with off-line. You wanna call me back? Fine. I don't need to be told to "take it off-line." Asses.
• Collaborative. As in, "Our plan is to work collaboratively to collaborate on a collaborative plan for collaboration." The problem is not that they don't know how to use it- it's that they use it so much that I feel like my organization is sponsored by the word "Collaborate". And the number 2. It also helps that no one ever works collaboratively. They just talk about it. A lot.

I liked it better at my old job. If you asked to speak to someone off-line in real-time so you could come up with a collaborative plan, they'd probably just punch you in the face. I miss my old job.

Blogpage.

My 93-year-old great-grand-aunt died last week. As a result, my mother has been very busy making arrangements and taking care of estate issues. Unfortunately this has resulted in a lot of back and forth between the bank, lawyers, and funeral home. The funeral has actually been the worst.

Initially my Mom went to the funeral home and asked if my Aunt had made pre-arrangements. The funeral home said no, so my mother went ahead and set everything up and planned to come in a hour before the service the next day to pay for everything. However, when she got home and started going through some of my Aunt's papers, she found where my late Uncle had made arrangements for the two of them in 1984 with this same funeral home. He had recorded the date, time, contact person, exact arrangements, and amount paid. So, my Aunt had ended up re-paying for my Uncle's funeral because the funeral home had denied having any records at the time of his death in 1998, and now they were trying to bilk my Mom for my Aunt's funeral. Unfortunately for them, my Mother is not someone you want to try to rip off...and she's really not someone you want to mess with when she finds out you've already pretty much robbed her sweet elderly Aunt who is now recently deceased. She's gathering her papers for a lawsuit, but in the meantime, she really wants to vent. So she called me last night.

Me: "Hey Mom"
Mom: "Listen: I think I need a blogpage."
Me: giggling my head off "I think that's a great idea. You should absolutely get a blogpage. Why the sudden interest?"
Mom: "I need one so I can warn old people about all these jerks who try to take their money!"
Me: "I'm not certain that a blogpage is the best way to reach that audience, but you should definitely try. I'll set one up for you."
Mom: "It's free?"
Me: "Yup."
Mom: "But I need one that'll be publicshed."
Me: "Are you drunk?"
Mom: "No. I need one that'll be published and read by the public. I just smashed it into one word."
Me: "Like blogpage."
Mom: "What?"
Me: "Nothing. So, make a well-written blogpage and then send the link to AARP."
Mom: "Oh, not AARP. I hate those people."
Me: "So, you only want to help the old people who are not members of AARP? Every old person's in AARP!"
Mom: "I'm not!"
Me: "Why not?! I remember when you were dying to turn 50 just so you could join and get discounts on crap you didn't need."
Mom: "That was before I found out they take your dues and use them to fund political campaigns."
Me: "Ah. I should've known that only your rabid Republicanism could outweigh your love of discount movie tickets."

So, I've created a "blogpage" for my mother, and I'm really hoping and praying that she writes on it. Because I think it would be hilarious. My mother is a riot.

BLOGPAGE!

Observation

I'm in line at the grocery store in a non-express aisle. The woman in front of me is purchasing two bananas. Not two bunches of bananas. Two f-ing bananas. She ripped two bananas off their bunch and then stood in front of me in line.

And then she paid for them with a check.

This is the kind of day I'm having.

In the Basement

My landlady is renovating the basement. She's lowering the floor, painting, adding shelves, the whole nine yards. Unfortunately, the floor-lowering part has been going on for longer than the entire project was supposed to take. For 2 weeks I've been dealing with the fallout from this project.

First to go was the laundry. They had to pour new concrete under the washer/dryer. Thus, I'm unable to do laundry. Of course, I find this out after accruing an entire week of dirty clothing. On the way into the house my landlady spots me and says "Oh, btw, no laundry for about a week or two." Great. Thanks for the heads up. Jerkface.

The next day she calls and offers to let me use her machines, which was very nice of her...but it leads me to think- how can she use her machines (situated directly beside mine) when I can't get to mine? I knock on her door with laundry basket in-hand, and soon have my answer. She has another set. Let me say this again. She has another set. She has two washer/dryer sets and she's complaining to ME about the water bill. Dude- why in the hell would you have two sets?!? And having two sets, why would you make me use a set from 1982 when BOTH of your sets are from 2000 or later? (Actually, I know the answer to that one- I am a lowly tenant.)

So, I put my first load into the washer and she assures me she'll call me when they're done and I can put my next load in/move everything over. A couple hours later, I finally grow weary of waiting for the call, so I give her a ring. "Oh, I went ahead and moved everything over...it should be ready in about 30 mins- I'll give you a call." Umm...you moved everything over? Meaning, you handled my dirty laundry? Gross. Omg my landlady handled my underwear. I'm just a little traumatized.

It's now what feels like day 26 of this nightmare. I've awakened to the sound of jackhammering more times than I'd like to think about, and as I type I'm trying very hard to breathe through my nose so I can filter all of the particulate matter floating about in the apartment. Seriously- tomorrow I'm going to weigh about 10 pounds more because of all the concrete dust that's accumulated in my lungs.

So, to sum up: it's dusty, I'm wearing dusty clothes because I have no laundry access, and somebody's using a sledgehammer on what I can only assume to be the entire foundation of the house. Because it's shaking. Oh, and construction workers are in my parking space. So, situation normal there.

Good Advice Hotline- We're Open All Night

I have a sister who is a perfectionist. This isn't a bad thing, but when you're in college and there is the remotest chance of you not making a perfect score on every exam, evidently life can get a little stressful. So, my sister was having some issues yesterday after doing slightly less than stellar on an exam. I called her as soon as her Facebook status alerted me to the situation (I'm really getting too old to admit I have a Facebook account. And I'm way too old to be constantly motoring around on that site checking up on everyone. Note to self: Get a hobby.) Anyway, so I called her around midnight. She didn't answer, I left a voicemail and went to bed. I was asleep for probably 10 minutes before she called me back. I almost told her I'd call her back the next day, but she sounded so exasperated I decided I'd get on board for the long haul.

I didn't get to sleep til 2 AM. But it was okay, because geez did she need to vent. And not in a Coors Light kind of way. (Brief aside- WTF Coors Light? Those are the dumbest commercials advertising the dumbest concept ever introduced to beer cans. Venting? The beer doesn't get enough air on its way into the glass? Also, keep talking about how cold the beer needs to be. Really. If the number one asset of your beer is its temperature, you should maybe think about what you're doing with your life.)

Basically our entire conversation was one long run-on sentence. Including this exchange:
My sister: "So my friend keeps complaining that she's fat and I try to be a good friend and I always say "aw, you're not fat" but today was just such a horrible day so she said "I'm so fat" and it was the last straw and I said "You're right! So get off your fat ass and go running with me, or shut up about it!" and she did go running with me, and then we went and got coffee and I'm pretty sure her boyfriend is gay. Hey! Did you know that "expresso" is actually "espresso"?"
Me: "Yes."
My sister: "Oh. Well I didn't. And when I call it "espresso" I feel like I'm talking with a lisp. But if I say "expresso" I sound like an idiot! But then I thought I'd rather sound like an idiot than feel like I have a lisp, so I'm just going to keep calling it "expresso."
Me: "You should probably say "espresso"...or quit ordering it."
My sister: "Yeah...you're probably right. And then there's this guy I like but he doesn't like me and I don't even need or want a boyfriend right now! But then I meet a guy who's smart and doesn't have a Southern accent and I think "I better jump on that before someone else does!" and then I get all neurotic."
Me: "Wow. Yeah...you should probably at least wait for finals to be over before you worry about jumping on anything."
My sister: "That's a good point. Okay...well I'm going to bed."
Me: "Okay...g'night."
My sister: "G'night."

This is Public Health

I miss graduate school.

This is Public Health.