The Writing on the Wall

"King Belshazzar gave a great banquet for a thousand of his nobles and drank wine with them. While Belshazzar was drinking his wine, he gave orders to bring in the gold and silver goblets that Nebuchadnezzar his father had taken from the temple in Jerusalem, so that the king and his nobles, his wives and his concubines might drink from them. So they brought in the gold goblets that had been taken from the temple of God in Jerusalem, and the king and his nobles, his wives and his concubines drank from them. As they drank the wine, they praised the gods of gold and silver, of bronze, iron, wood and stone. Suddenly the fingers of a human hand appeared and wrote on the plaster of the wall, near the lamp stand in the royal palace. The king watched the hand as it wrote. His face turned pale and he was so frightened that his legs became weak and his knees were knocking."
-Daniel 5:1-6
I was sitting on a gas station toilet (well not really sitting, that would be gross. More like squatting or hovering) when I became suddenly inspired. The human race as a whole has such an obsession with writing on things. What causes us to be so inclined to do so? I pondered this question and started thinking of all the different places people tend to "throw their piece up" or whatever the cool kids call it.

1. "Written on a Subway wall...And tenement halls."

What are tenement halls anyways?
The most typical place people write is on walls. Some people term it graffiti. Sometimes it’s names and sometimes it’s something guttural or gang related. Some of them you can't even read. This is probably the most artistic writing I have seen. The vibrant colors and odd letter shapes. Have you ever tried your hand at Graffiti? I did. It was pretty gettolishous. We had a school project on bullying. My task was coming up with an activity. I took a large piece of cardboard and made it look like a brick wall. I put "STOP BULLYING NOW" in Graffiti-like letters. It looked trashy to me but I figured that it would look cool to 4th and 5th graders. The activity was to have bullying situations on the wall and the kids came up with solutions. Anyway, that stuff is not as easy as it looks or as the graffitists make it look. It took lots of studying and a steady hand to make it come out right.
But...have you ever seen PROFESSIONAL graffiti? It's like perfect on the first shot. And you know that the person isn't standing there for five hours doing it. And how do they know how the letters fit together? Amazing. True Artists.

2. "Jenny, I got your number, I need to make you mine. Jenny, don't change your number, 8-6-7-5-3-0-9. I got it, I got it, I got it! I got your number on the wall! For a good time, for a good time call..." -Tommy Tutone "Jenny"

One place where human markings are prominent and that never seizes to amaze me is bathroom stalls. I love how people put stuff like "Magpie wasz here" as if we know who the heck you are. Or when people write:
YAY! Celebrate your love by writing your initials in a heart with the one you adore on a wall probably covered with unimaginable microorganisms in the most degrading place: public bathrooms. I mean come on people! People pee and poop in those stalls! Maybe even ON the stalls! Well, I guess nothing says "I love you, you are the one for me." like putting it up on a bathroom stall wall. Just make sure you etch it in so it doesn't get covered up with paint when the janitors decide to paint over the sharpie marks.
People write their phone numbers or others’ numbers up there. Have you ever been tempted to call the number and be like, "Hey, it said for a good time in this Soldier Field's bathroom stall to call this number. I am just sitting here pooping so I thought I'd call because I'm bored." I wonder if the numbers are fake. I should try that sometime. With my luck, I would probably get some old man who use to be an CIA agent and will trace the number back to me. Not good.
Some people write some funny stuff. In Jolly, Tx, there is a gas station and restaurant right off of 287-S. You can't miss it. There is nothing in Jolly, Tx but that. Unfortunately, I was unable to hold my pee any longer and needed to use their high class facilities. By the way, if you can manage to hold off until the next town, you might want to do that. Anyways, people started conversations on the wall.
Have you ever been so desperate to pee here you don't think about how gross it is?
Reply: Sadly yes
The weirdest one was the following:
Please don't throw toothpicks in the toilet because the crabs use them to vault.

Whaaaaaaattt? Who comes up with this? Plus, do people have THAT much time sitting on a gross public gas station toilet to think that up? The biggest question...who carries a sharpie with them 24/7?

Mark Your Territory

There is an old love tradition that two love birds write their initials on a tree with a heart. Romantic or Cheesy? Is that some sign of immortalizing that love?, what happens when the tree goes through a drought and due to extreme heat spontaneously combusts in to a burning pillar of flames? Or what happens when a housing development company decides that it wants to build some multi-family housing and cuts the tree down? Does your love dwindle? Do you fall apart? Or does your love burn as an eternal flame? *wink* Romantic or Cheesy? I think it can go either way depending on the person.

"I'll get you my pretty!!!"

Has anyone ever offended you? Has anyone ever hypothetically ripped your heart out and held it beating before your eyes? And then squeezed it as they laughed? Has anyone ever angered you to the point where you see red? Yeah? Well, what are you going to do about?
Announce to the world how that person is a complete and utter JERK! That's right folks! Write it up on a billboard! Write it on the side of a train! BETTER YET! Write on the trailer of a semi. That way the WHOLE world will see how horrible Nick or Betty or Richard or Mollie is. So who cares if there are a million other Nicks, Bettys, Richards or Mollies? Well maybe not Betty. I haven't seen that many Bettys. Anyway, at least we know they are a jerk and we can stare at them with evil eyes. YEAH!
So, in the end, look around. You're eyes will be opened to a whole new world of vandalism. Believe me, as you start thinking about it, it is pretty interesting. And you too might find humor in the words written on the wall.

Until next time,


From Vampire to Jesus

As a nurse, you have the option of working all sorts of shifts. 7am-7pm, 7am-3pm, 3pm-11pm, 7pm-7am, 3pm-3am, etc. For the past year, I have worked the night shift, grave yard shift, shift of the dead. Whatever. For the most part it was great. I worked on a "regular" floor. When I moved and joined the Army Nurse Corps, I became the night shift worker for the Maternal Child Unit. In other words I was a mommy/baby nurse. Nonetheless, things start to change after working night shift.

1. "IT BURNS!!! IT BURNS!!!!!"

Night shift makes the sun become your enemy. It sears through your skin and burns your very soul. Sometimes you forget that it exists. You come in with the sun down (or going down) and you leave when the sun is coming up...if it has even woke up yet.

After working the night shift for such a long time, I started to CRAVE blood....literally. So my higher superiors thought it wise to move me to another unit. So Magpie the Vampire gets moved to Perianesthesia Care Unit (PACU). Operating Room is only open during the day. DAY SHIFT!!!! Man, the first time I walked into the daylight I felt like my eyes were receding into the back of my head. My body quickly began self destructing. This isn't right. What is this highly intense light source? Why does it burn? WHAT DOES IT WANT FROM ME?

I became accustomed to the light soon and became a new living being. As if I rose from the dead. It was pretty amazing.


Another thing that was different for me was the patient care. Here I was already caring for patients who were awake, could wake up on command, or were at least functioning in some capacity.

Now I wasn't. Now I was waking people up from a slumber during which they were cured or fixed. It was like being Jesus! Sitting by their side, being the first thing they see. Telling them that everything went fine. Telling them that they were cured! Man, Jesus had a life...

3. Things actually exist during the day

No one exists during the vampire hunting time AKA the night. Stores, malls and other merchandise-carrying places are closed. Restaurants are closed after a certain time. Even bars stop serving alcohol after a certain hour. It is hard to find anything open 24 hours. Denny's, IHOP, Walgreens and your occasional Meijers (props to those who know what that is).

My favorite pastime is moseying through Walmart. I would walk around, view the people, try on clothes, play in the toy aisle. Early on my relationship with my boyfriend, when we were still just "hanging out" with each other, we played catch in the sports aisle. I would sit in the patio furniture. Oh and take random artsey pictures. No one bothered me there. Try doing that during the day!

When I switched to a day shift schedule, a whole new world was opened up to me. I was able to shop at the mall! I was able to eat where ever I wanted. People watching was AMAZING. SO MANY PEOPLE!!!!! Yet with this newly discovered attribute to the day life, chaos overwhelmed my brain. This many people really exist in one place? How do they all function together? How do they not bump into each other like ping pong flubber in a tiny glass box? I can't follow everyone! I can't seem to get out of their way! Amazingly, they seemed like they could. They navigated around and through each other's paths sometimes, without even looking up at the person. Wow...just wow. I adapted as quickly as I could to this phenomenon. I reach way back into the recesses of my mind to my pre-night shift coping skills. It was sorta like trying to ride a bike after having amnesia, not that I know what that is like.

So no more hiding in the shadows; no more fear of being melted away like the Wicked Witch of the West only with the sun rather than water; no more living the life of a vampire. I was now a new woman. I was a healer.

Just in time too! A couple months later and I moved to the Emergency Department...on night shift.

With all my love, my deliciously blood filled readers!


What's on your armpit?

So I was putting on my deodorant (and antiperspirant...they just so happen to be in the same container/tube) and I decided to take a nice long whiff. It had a flowery, fruity sweet smell. I turned it around to read what it was that I was smelling considering I had forgotten what I bought at the store months ago.

Rain Kissed Water Lily

That is my flavor.

It got me thinking. What exactly does a rain kissed water lily smell like? Has anyone gone out after a nice gentle rain to a pond, waded out to a water lily and smelled it? Did they get water in their pants while doing so? As I pondered these complex questions, I thought about what a rain kissed water lily SHOULD smell like.

Most people have smelled the air right before a big storm or spring rain. I can't explain the smell exactly but it is similar to wet dirt. Wet dirt smell is like when you open a bag of warm, fresh, moist top soil you potted plants in, only less concentrated. So take your bag of top soil and spread it across the earth. That is what rain kissed smells like to me.

Now let's work on the water lily. Has any of my readers smelled a water lily? I have a water lily back home in our fish's pond. Just to let you all know THAT one does not smell. Looks beautiful...just no scent pours forth from the delicate pale pink petals. You can smell the fishy smell similar to smelling Lake Michigan water (a rather outdoorsy smell than a deterrent smell) but no fragrance from the delicate bloom.

So the question exists...does any water lily really have a perfumey scent? Upon further research using google and wikipedia, the answer is yes. Its name: Nymphaea odorata aka...dun dun duuuuunnnn.....Fragrant Water Lily or.....Beaver Root whhhaaattt??? Somehow Beaver Root has no resemblance to Fragrant Water Lily. But that is just me.

Ok, so we confirmed that a fragrant water lily DOES exist and it is called some weird unfragrant names. But honestly, people, has anyone smelled that flower after a rain? And can rain even kiss? Fairies can...I don't know about rain.

But, my readers, Rain Kissed Water Lily is not the only flavor that doesn't seem to make sense. What about Old Spice Swagger? How does anyone know what swagger smells like? To me, when I hear swagger I think of a rustic, scruffy bearded pirate who reeks of stale old rum and urine. Swagger.

I will admit, it does smell godly.

Secret has a lot of "don't make sense" smells. "Green Euphoria"? Sounds like deodorant just took some acid. Degree is a little more conservative until you go to their "Girl" series. "Love"? "Just Dance"? As far as I heard in some songs, love actually stinks. And just dance reminds me of sweat. So not exactly scents that I would like to wear. The men's side is just as funky (excuse the smelly description-AH HA HA...that was a joke). "Adventure" and "V-12" makes me think of FlapJack the cartoon and a diesel truck engine. I don't know what Flapjack smells like but a diesel engine is not something I want to cuddle up next to.

Let this blog not discourage you from wearing deodorant/antiperspirant. Believe me, you are not an aura of smell good when you don't wear it. I have experienced it. I have been to Europe several times. Some people over there do not wear any type of scent but B.O. aka body odor. When I was in Ireland on a bus ride to the Wicklow National Park, there was a girl about my age there from Bologna who probably didn't shower in two days and didn't have deodorant/antiperspirant. I was nauseous the whole way until I got some nice fresh Ireland mountain air. Then I had to ride the way back.

Nothing, and I repeat NOTHING beats the smells of World Youth Day. World Youth Day is a gathering of youth from around the world in one concentrated spot to celebrate being Catholic and to see the pope. It can get very crowded. Talk about some interesting smells. One time, my group was standing on a subway going somewhere. We were packed in there. By packed I mean clown car packed. Like sardines. You got to know your neighbor very well. Riding on a subway means to brace yourself on poles and loops from the ceiling which would, if you are not familiar with riding subways, would require you to raise you arm exposing the arm pit. We were surrounded by armpits who hadn't seen a cool, refreshing breeze probably since three days ago. And nothing stopped the heavy smell from escaping and lingering in front of our noses. I looked over at my brother whose nose was practically bumping into some Italian's hairy armpit by the jolts of the subway car.

One tradition of world youth day is to trade things. You can bring medals or cards or gifts from your state, country etc. I brought some cards and medals. I should have brought travel size deodorant/antiperspirant. "Here! A gift from the Americas!!!"

Anyway, place your deodorant/antiperspirant on your underarms. Don't be afraid to wave hello, fully extending your arm into the air. Be proud to smell like rain kissed water lily.

Until next time,

The wonderfully scented,


Yan Can Cook...but can Magpie?

So, today I had the irresistible urge to do some home cooking. So I broke out the Kitchen Aide, flour and sugar and started on my adventure in cooking. Usually things go pretty smoothly and I have no issues. Yet there was a black rain cloud over Magpie's new apartment kitchen today.

I started out with pretzels. They turned out ok. I mean they didn't look like the ones in the picture but the taste test proved to be good to go. Tasted yummy. I sent them off to family and friends plain with the intention that when they arrived to their destination, the receivers would make their own topping. I considered setting baked goods at random people's doors but thought that would be a bit creepy. Can you imagine trying to send pretzels all buttery and gooey with sugar and/or salt toppings? Disastrous! Well my puffy little fat pretzels came out and that was the start of the day. Good start, you say? Read on, my on.

Dinner fast approached and I pondered what to make for it. After all, I needed to eat something as it was 2300 (11pm for those of my readers unfamiliar with military time). For the past week, I was craving breakfast food. Not cereal or hash browns or eggs but I was craving French toast. Moist French toast that is slightly buttery and covered in sweet gooey syrup. I pulled out my fancy Teflon frying pan I bought in a set from Walmart and set to cooking. After putting a slab of butter in the bottom of said frying pan, I turned on my stove and started mixing the eggs with just a tad scootch of milk. A scootch (pronounced like scotch except with a long o) is when you hold the milk over the bowl and just wiggle the jug so some splashes out, just fyi. The butter starts sizzling, notifying me that it is now time to add the eggy bread. Smoke begins rise from my frying pan so I turned on the over head thingy that sucks the exhaust from the oven. Exhaust fan, yeah. I get two slices of bread freshly placed in the pan when all of a sudden a loud piercing alarm goes off. After, regaining my bearings, I quickly abandon my feast (after turning off the heat source) to climb a chair and press the button on the smoke detector. Silence in sued as I tried to plan how to get the smoke out of my apartment. I turned on both bathroom exhaust fans, opened my porch door and turned on every blessed fan in my abode. As I turned to go back to cooking, I found that a great deal of smoke was pouring into the air above my frying pan.
"What the heck??? I turned off the stove!" I found myself saying aloud. (I am finding that I talk to myself much more now that I am living alone.)
Apparently, you have to REMOVE the cooking utensil from the burner on electric stoves as the burner does not cool down as rapidly as on a gas range top. Another lesson learned in the world of the independent Magpie. I went to turn off the lights in my apartment so that bugs wouldn't come in attracted to the light (and so that my neighbors would only hear the insanity and not see it). The alarm rang out yet again so I re climbed my alarm chair and pressed the standby button. And then I stood there. On the chair. Waiting. Waiting for that alarm to go off again. It happened one more time. Then I ate my French toast (slightly soggy due to sitting in egg and butter for a good half hour) by light of the t.v.
BUT the night is not over yet for night shift Maggie! I've got to add insult to injury! I promised the brothers and some friends cookies! Can't let them down! Things calmed down alarm wise so I was able to resume my night life in somewhat normalcy without fans going and doors opened. I turned on the stove and began preparing the cookie sheets, as I already made the dough. I have to say, I was a little tentative about the electric stove. I didn't have a whole lot of experience baking in one and the last time I did, my cake didn't turn out cooked right. However, my first few batches came out amazing. Delicious, I might add. I guess cooking with an electric stove wasn't all THAT bad.
Spoke too soon.
I dapped on the fourth batch. The timer went off suggesting that it was finished. But they were still raw. So I added more time. The timer went off a second time. Nope, still raw. Maybe I need to turn the temperature up. I turned the dial from 375 degrees to 400 and reset the timer.
Still raw.
Hmmmmm.......450. Reset timer.
STILL raw. 500. Reset timer.
Raw...crispy...and I could touch all of the inside of the oven. It took two hours to bake that one batch that didn't even BAKE! AND it was now something like 0200 (2am). I was tired. I was discouraged. I was fed up. How many cooking disasters need to occur in one day!?!?!? I threw the rest of everything away. No more cooking for the Magpie tonight. I'll pick it up another time. Maybe even earlier in the day so as not to wake up my sleeping day shift neighbors.
Now, I hope that I did not chase any of my readers away with my cooking story. I am actually an EXCELLENT cook and LOVE to bake for my family and friends. Next time you come over I'll show you. Till next time!

PS. I thought I broke my stove. I was really frustrated. But then a few days later it worked again. I am now convinced that either my kitchen hates me or is laughing at me while I sleep.

What's In A Name?

One of the first things people ask me when I introduce myself is if I go by any nicknames. This is a long and complicated answer that I usually just reply, “You can call me whatever you can remember me by, as long as it isn’t anything bad.” I remember when I had to put that clarifier on. Someone turned around and called me a name which I cannot repeat on my family friendly blog. It started with a B and ended with an H. Yes, even the good can be classified as bad. That is if you consider me a good person. Most of you internet readers don’t know me beyond the letters formed into words on this page. Muhahahhaha I shall use this to my advantage.

Anyway, over the years of telling people to call me whatever, I have found a wide variety of nicknames that are not the usual nicknames found with Margaret. Yes, you have gotten the inside scoop on my real life non internet name! Consider yourselves blessed. My first name is Margaret.

If we Wikipedia Margaret, we come up with a whole list of nicknames. Meg, Meggie, Madge, Maggie, Mag, Meghan, Megan, Peggy, Peg, Marg

The first nickname was given to me by none other than myself. I renamed myself Margi (pronounced Margee with a hard “g” sound). This lasted all the way pretty much until I reached middle school. My dad also called me Pooks during my younger years. Sounds like spooks without the s. I am not sure where the name came from but that was my nickname from dad. Marg is also a name that is used quite frequently around the house. I think it is just a nickname made out of laziness. Which is fine. I like Marg a lot.

In middle school, my brother nicknamed me the longest nickname I have ever had. Ready? Go.

“Margie Pargie Pudding and Pie kissed the boys and made them cry. When the girls came out to play, Margie Pargie Ran away.”

This was after the nursery rhyme:

Georgie Porgie Pudding and Pie, kissed the girls and made them cry. When the boys came out to play, Georgie Porgie ran away.

It was quite annoying when he wanted to ask me a simple two or three word question.

““Margie Pargie Pudding and Pie kissed the…” he would start

“What?” I asked

“…boys and made them cry. When…”


“…the girls came out to play,”


“ Margie Pargie Ran away?”

“Ok, what?”

“Can you pass the milk?”


This nickname still carries on today, with my seven year old brother pulling the same thing. Only thankfully he does not go on to say the whole poem. He just greets me with the first line. Still, in the morning, it is not exactly the thing I want to hear.

In high school, I received the nickname that I carried on and titled this blog. I was honorably nicknamed Magpie by one of the band members. Sometimes it was shortened to Mag or Mags but it was mostly Magpie. This was one of the more unusual ones I received.

College brought a new nickname to the table. A friend of mine fondly started calling me Marg—ź. (Pronounced Marga soft “g” long “a”) This stuck pretty much my whole college experience. It is hard for people to pronounce so I tend not to tell people this one. The say Marge like Large Marge from Pee Wee Herman’s Big Adventure. Ten points for you if you’ve seen the movie. Five points for you if you only heard of the movie. Twenty points for you if you’ve heard the movie, seen the movie and know the scene in which I type of.

After I graduated and started my career as a professional nurse, I had to start initializing everything. Well fortunately, I have the best initials in the world: M.E.G. So I would just initial everything Meg. All my coworkers began calling me Meg. I explained that it wasn’t my real name but my initials but the name stuck. At the hospital, there was also a nurse from the ER who would call me Maggie May after the Rod Stewart song. But no one else really called me Maggie. Anyway, you all have to guess my middle name.

Now that I have moved on, the nicknames continue to come. I am now officially a Maggie and I love it. Maggie is more of an Irish nickname so maybe that is why I am drawn to it so much. However, almost everyone calls me that here. Maggie. I like the ring it has to it. A couple of people use derivatives of Maggie like Mags, or Mag. But Maggie is always the more common.

I will always have nicknames given to me. I believe that Margaret is the most versatile name for nicknames. I wouldn’t change my name for the world. I love all my nicknames. To me, nicknames are a sign of comfort and ease. If people are comfortable around me enough to make a nickname for me, then I am happy. My mission is complete. Nicknames are also a personalizer. People “adopt” me as their own when I am given a nickname. Weird, I know.

TTFN! (Ta Ta For Now!)

Magpie (or anything else you would like to call me)

California Dreamin'

So the other night I saw the midnight showing of Nightmare of Elm Street and thus began thinking about dreams. My dreams can be really incredibly real sometimes. The movie kind of reminded me of it. Yes, readers, the subconscious mind of Magpie is just as crazy as the real awake version. Here are some of the top dreams of mine. And for fun, I have interpretations too!

#1 Scariest Dream
I would have to say the scariest dream I ever had would be years ago. I guess I am not easily scared. I was eating at a restaurant with a family friend and my brothers. After we were done, we began walking to the car. We were not on a good side of town and I sensed that something was going to go down. All of a sudden a shot was fired and another. People started running from behind buildings. I started running to get to cover and somehow got disconnected from my brother. We were in the middle of a gang gun fight. I could hear the shots being fired. It was seriously real to me. I looked around and could not find my little brother. I started to panic. I found the family friend but could not find my brother. The family friend got shot. I started to freak out and finally woke up. I was still freaked out and still wondering if my brother was ok. Yeah, I admit it. I was pretty sweaty. I mean I had just gotten out of a fire fight. The only thing that would help was going to mom and dad.

*Knock knock*
"Huh? Wha? Who's there?" a low sleepy drone voice asked
"Dad...." I whispered, "I had a nightmare..."
"It was real."
"Go back to sleep."

Yeah, that was all I needed. A though back to reality. And yes, readers, I was still in high school.

A gang represents a group of fears, aggressive tendencies, or parts of myself. The shooting represents the destruction of a part of myself by another which is demanding energies in an aggressive way. Losing my brother represents some feelings about a lost opportunity, something that I have forgotten that I need to remember, or the loss of an important personal quality of mine. So I conclude that it is time for me to find that sock that I lost on June 13, 1999 because I am afraid that I will have a mismatched pair for the rest of my life.

#1 Saddest Dream
I think my saddest dream, again, had to do with my ex. We were still in that broken up state as I mentioned before. So we were in his car driving down a street near my house. We were discussing how we were broken up. I was asking if we get back together. I wasn't being annoying or whining just pleading with my misery that I wanted to be with him. Well he told me no in the dream. Yeah, not a happy wake up for Magpie. Meh, I am good to go now.

Interpretation: The car represents me being influenced by someone know what....I'll tell you what it means without the help of a book. It was my mind telling my heart to stop mulling over something I knew wasn't going to work. But sometimes your heart doesn't want to listen to your mind. Sometimes your emotions over rule logic and you don't want to listen to the people around you or yourself. Therefore, it had to tell me while I was sleeping that it is not going to happen. Geez, my mind is a genius.

#1 Happiest Dream
There was a point in time where my ex and I were not together. We had broken up for a few months. I really missed him and it was hard during that time. One night, a few weeks before we started going out again., I had one of my favorite dreams.

It was spring out and I was sitting on our deck in the backyard. Everything was green and the birds were chirping. The flowers were all blooming and the sun was nice and warm. I liked the outside but on the inside I was not happy. I was apart from the guy that I loved. I turned around to go back inside and instead saw my ex standing at the bottom of the deck stairs. I didn't say anything because my heart was pumping and skipping around.
"Hello" he said
"Hi" I said, "I really missed you."
At this point, he reached up to hug me. I reached down and instead of a hug he lifted me off of the deck and held me for a little before he set me on the ground. After my feet hit the ground, we just stood there. He just held me in a hug. It was the most comfortable feeling in the world. I felt safe and felt like all my pain and hurt was done with. When I woke up, I still had the feeling of his arms around me.

Interpretation: Springtime represents a new beginning in some area of my life. My ex represents my felt relationship with a particular man, or males in general. The hug represents the feelings of control. So basically in this dream, I am not wanting to move on in my new single life and want to hold on to what I see as comfortable. What does this all mean? Suck it up, Magpie, and dive in! The water's fine.

#1 Saddest Dream
I think my saddest dream, again, had to do with my ex. We were still in that broken up state as I mentioned before. So we were in his car driving down a street near my house. We were discussing how we were broken up. I was asking if we get back together. I wasn't being annoying or whining just pleading with my misery that I wanted to be with him. Well he told me no in the dream. Yeah, not a happy wake up for Magpie. Meh, I am good to go now.

Interpretation: The car represents me being influenced by someone know what....I'll tell you what it means without the help of a book. It was my mind telling my heart to stop mulling over something I knew wasn't going to work. But sometimes your heart doesn't want to listen to your mind. Sometimes your emotions over rule logic and you don't want to listen to the people around you or yourself. Therefore, it had to tell me while I was sleeping that it is not going to happen. Geez, my mind is a genius.

#1 Zombie Dream
It never fails that after a zombie movie, I will have a zombie dream. Now, if you read an earlier blog, you will find that my ultimate zombie plan is inebriation. I actually find the topic of zombies interesting, stimulationg and deep. Yet at the same time utterly laughable. So after watching Dawn of the Dead, I had my #1 Zombie dream.

I was somewhere in New York just running. I think it was Central Park but I have never been to New York or Grand Central Park so I can't say for sure. But anyways, it was dark outside and I could see only the streetlights and the things underneath them. It kind of looked like the Twilight Zone. I heard a low drone which was a classic sign of a Zombie somewhere. I started running again, looking back behind me to see if I was outrunning the unseen Zombie. As I entered a tunnel, I faced forward. Before me stood a zombie. He didn't move. He just stared at me. I stopped running and watched him. He honestly just stood there. I mean he saw me. He just didn't move toward me. I went up close and sure enough, he was "alive". Why didn't he attack me? I just didn't get it. I started laughing. This was totally not for real. Then the zombie started laughing. We both had a good laugh together, we walked off like old buddies conversating. Then I woke up laughing. It was pretty good.

Interpretation: The zombie represents that I feel emotionally disconnected from things going on around me. Running represents trying to escape from some emotion or some fear. So what did I gather from this dream? Dream interpretation is a bunch of crock sometimes.

#1 Funniest Dream

By far the funniest dream I had occurred quite recently. I was going through BOLC and having some funky dreams. I would wake up half asleep and notice two people from my platoon trying to get me up to formation at o'dark 30. Ends up no one was waking me up and I was dreaming. As we were going through our field training, this occurred more frequently. One night, my dream became reality.

I was sitting under a tree in full battle rattle with two other fellow soldiers. The other two were sleeping. I started to hit the soldier next to me.
"Hey! Hey! Hey! We have to get to formation. Wake up!"
They didn't wake up so I moved to the next soldier.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" I said as I hit the other soldier.
"WHAT?" a voice said.
"Who is this?!?!" I asked.
"It's me're roommate...I've been sleeping next to you the past month."
"Oh....well then who is this?" I asked as I hit the "soldier" next to me.
"That's your duffel." Meghan replied, "Go to bed, Crazy."

So apparently, I was hitting my duffel trying to wake it up and then hit my room mate who was sleeping in the cot next to me to wake her up. I thought for sure it would be my head in the morning for waking anyone up. However, it was a good laugh instead. I am actually amazed at my mad skills of not falling out of a tipped cot from reaching across the abysses to hit her.

Interpretation: I honestly think that the reason I had this dream was my paralyzing fear of being late to formations and anything else in the army. I have a tendency to be late to everything so I had to try extra hard and be very vigilant to not be late. I managed pretty well thanks to my roommate and my developing sense of time. Oh, and a watch did help. I think this dream was my stressor spilling over into my dream state.

So in the end, dreams can tell you a lot. They can tell you your fears and they can reveal things to you that you refuse to see even though your subconscious is screaming. Or they can just be fun.

Anyway, go see Nightmare on Elm Street if you haven't already. It is a pretty good flick and worth it.


Gag me with a spoon...

So the other day as I sat in another boring PowerPoint brief, I began to allow my mind to wander. Now you all know what happens when my mind wanders. It can get a little crazy. Anywhos, I began to think about how much I miss my kitchen aide. I just want to bake something! Like muffins with my silicon muffin cups that I can reuse for the rest of my life. I want to turn on the candy apple red mixer and hear the hum and smell the ingredients as they are gently thrown against the side of the shiny metal bowl. I almost cried thinking about the beautiful scene being played out in my head.

To prevent tears from spilling forth from my eyeballs I began to think about the other tools in the kitchen that are utilized. Then my thought shifted. What is my favorite kitchen utensil? HEY! BETTER YET!!!!!! What kitchen utensil would I be IF I were a kitchen tool???? Clever eh?

So while we learned about mentors and proteges and mentorees (which I think sounds like manatees which I would rather not be compared to but, meh, it is not my presentation) I began to list out the utensils and think about which one resembles me the most.

The curvy spoon. For some reason I think of a spoon as something cuddley. I think because when they sit in the drawer they all nestle together like I do when I curl up in my blankets at night. Maybe because you can't really make a good batch of comfort food like chocolate chip chunk cookies or a cup of delicious steamy, creamy hot chocolate. Mmmmmmm. Well, I guess you can make it with a fork or a potato smasher but it would not be the same. I don't think it will taste right.

Also nothing beats a good wooden spoon. They are sturdy. They are reliable. Some families have a wooden spoon that gets passed on from generation to generation. That is way awesome. They are comfortable to hold. Ever try mixing a stiff batch with a metal spoon? It hurts after a while. Wood is the way to go. Yeppers, good old oak or pine.

Face it spoons are pretty cool. Without a spoon you could not eat soup or oatmeal. I mean you can just drink it up from the bowl but then, at least in today's society, you will look barbaric(don't worry I do it all the time). Not a good first impression if you are trying to make a good first impression.

Plus, they come in every MRE. Actually they are the only utensil that comes in an MRE. I have a ton of MRE spoons. They are that cool.

So, could I be a spoon? I can be part spoon I guess. I am curvy. But something just seems to be missing from a spoon that I couldn't quite pinpoint at the time of my logical thought process. So I moved onto the next utensil

Forks are pretty awesome, you have to admit. How many people can eat spaghetti without a fork? I would like to see you try! Plus why wouldn't you want to? It is fun to twirl that thing. Admit it. You know you like it.

They also stabilize articles of food. Try stabilizing, using a spoon, a hunk of awesome juicy grilled peppered piece of cow while you cut it. Yeah, not going to happen. Everyone around you will laugh and you are probably not worthy of eating Bessie who died for your meal. (I love beef) Forks. They way to go.

But can I be a fork? Nope. Not prongy enough. Plus forks look mean. I don't think that will work.

Knives are one of the rare kitchen utensils that can cross into the magical world of the Home Depot cutting aisle. It crosses over into the world of self defense. Knives are not only a kitchen utensil but so much more. You can't cook without a knife. I don't now about you but soup with whole pieces of celery, carrots or onions is not very easy to eat. Presentation is everything. Hunks of food is not easy to eat. It is hard on your stomach. Chunks are no good.

You can't cut with a fork or spoon. It will take you forever. Like that moose on Happy Tree Friends. It took him forever to free himself from under the tree with a spoon. And painfully slow. And you will look stupid.

I am not cunning like a knife. I try not to cut like one. I am not handy like tools. Knives are definitely unrepresentative of me.

So what utensil am I? I had to talk to some friends. Both of them said the same thing right off the bat.....


Yeppers, the rare, almighty, unique spork. That is the one. It is odd shaped. It is dually used as a spoon and fork. It is almost human! I am unique and I am just a little weird. I say things that most people don't even think about (although I believe you do, you just don't vocalize it). I am just me. Sporks are just them. Sporks also make people happy. Who picks up a spork and say with fiery anger, "I HATE SPORKS!!!"? Sporks are just cool. People smile with sporks. I am happy. I like to smile. I hope I make other people smile and happy. So in the end, I had no choice but to agree. At last I felt comfortable with my kitchen utensil choice.

I am a spork.
What are you?

Magpie :)