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,

Magpie.

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 friends...read 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.

DING DING DING

Still raw.

Hmmmmm.......450. Reset timer.

DING DING DING

STILL raw. 500. Reset timer.

DING DING DING.

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!

Magpie.

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…”

“WHAT?!?!?”

“…the girls came out to play,”

“WILL YOU JUST ASK ME ALREADY!?!?”

“ 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 Margѐ. (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."

"Ok."

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

Interpretation:

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 else...you 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 else...you 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 Meghan...you'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.

Magpie

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.

Spoon

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

Fork

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.

Knife

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.....

SPORK

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 :)

Touchy Feely

I am not one to share all my feelings and rants on a blog. If I do, it is more in an educational, story telling mode that usually ends up funny rather than a gar rar rar fest. Anyways, today is one of those rare days that I will. I will write here my feelings so hold on to your hats. Cherish this day, reader, because I guarantee it is not going to happen often.

Just as a background to all readers, new and old alike, I love trauma. I know that it is sick in a twisted way. Yet, if I did not love trauma, then who would take care of your family members who God-forbid, might end up in a trauma-like situation? Just like there are nurses who love doing Cancer and nurses who love catching slippery cheesy babies, I like trauma. Before you think that I am sadistic or evil or cold hearted, stop. Like I said, everyone has a passion in life. If your passion is sitting in front of a computer and invoicing the heck out of your company so be it. Leave me to my ER. I don't want to see anyone get hurt. Trauma, as much as I love it, is horrible and devastating. However, if it happens, I want to be there to fix things.

Recently, I have been getting frustrated. I can't use the word discouraged because that would mean that I am giving up. I am not discouraged, just frustrated.

I cannot begin to explain the feelings I get when I see firetrucks, fire engines, ambulances and, my favorite, helicopters (particularly Blackhawks). They all signal trauma. During one of my field training exercise, a Blackhawk came to pick up "casualties". I turn to the Captain next to me and said, "That...is...so...cool!" He just shook his head. I asked, "Don't you get that feeling? hat feeling when the Blackhawk comes soaring over and lands? That awesome overwhelming feeling?" "No," he replied, "You are just too Army."

I am just too Army.

Another time, I was watching Blackhawk Down with some of my fellow BOLC officers. The scene where the medic is trying to clamp the severed artery? That is the type emergency medicine I want to practice. I want to be a first responder! I want that! I want to be able to make that first critical vital difference in the life of someone. I want to have to think quickly and innovatedly to save the life of my patient. I mentioned that out loud which was my mistake. "THAT is the nursing I want to do." "No you don't" One of my fellow classmates told me.

Nope. Obviously I don't. Because this officer who knew me for at the most one month can read my heart, mind and soul. Obviously, he, like so many before him, know and dictate what I should like to do in my life.

I know what I want. I know what I feel. I know what gets me going. Maybe I don't look tough enough. Maybe I don't look like I can handle stress, physically or mentally. Maybe people are afraid that I will break.

Granted, I know that people mean well. But let me do what will make me happy. Face it, trauma happens and sometimes unfortunately people die as a result. So if it happens and I know that people die regardless of everything I might do to them to save them, why prevent or discourage me from doing what I want to do? Death is not easy whether it is a person bleeding out because he was in a three car crash or a person who was blown to pieces from an IED or a person who died a slow painful death from ovarian cancer. They are different for every person and family. Yet it is death. It still hurt when my oncology patient screamed out in pain for medicine and I was unable to help him/her. It still hurt when they died after knowing them for months and caring for them and their family. How can you tell me that I will not be able to handle my trauma patient screaming out or dying? Do people think that medical/oncology or any other nursing is a "softer" form of nursing? No, it is all hard physically and mentally and emotionally. Why not let me do what I want and love?

It is hard enough to fight to get ahead of the game. It is hard enough trying to get into an ER when everyone else wants to get there too. Discouragement is not what I need.

I will become who I want to be. I will save lives. I will become a highly skilled critical care/ER/flight nurse. It will take work. It will take sacrifice. It will take time. It will take experience. I am willing and ready to do all of that. Just stick around...you'll see.

Thank you for your time. Now back to the regularly scheduled magpie blog posts.

Paranoid

Finished with my woman 'cause she couldn't help me with my mind
People think I'm insane because I am frowning all the time
All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy
Think I'll lose my mind if I don't find something to pacify
Can you help me occupy my brain?
Oh yeah
I need someone to show me the things in life that I can't find
I can't see the things that make true happiness, I must be blind
Make a joke and I will sigh and you will laugh and I will cry
Happiness I cannot feel and love to me is so unreal
And so as you hear these words telling you now of my state
I tell you to enjoy life I wish I could but it's too late

Ok, so I don't have a woman and I am not sad or unloved. I just like that song. It rocks my socks. But, on with the blog...

So there are many different forms of paranoia. It is a paralyzing irrational fear. Some people are claustrophobic or afraid of small closed spaces. Some people have arachnophobia or a fear of spiders. I have none of the above. I have an irrational fear of public bathrooms.

No, I am not afraid of grossness or of the strange forms of undiscovered bacteria that might loom there. I am irrationally and deathly afraid of being in the wrong one. So here goes my confession. I am crazy.

Well it all started back when I was on a date at Chili. I needed to use the bathroom so I went towards the sign that directed me to the restroom. I entered the bathroom and saw baby toilets. I pondered what this new addition to the women's bathroom might be. I began to list all the possibilities.

This is odd. Why are there little toilets in the women's bathroom? And there is no stall around it. This is just not making sense. Maybe it is for mom's when they bring their children into the bathroom. Yeah. That has got to be it.

I make my way into the stall. I was still rolling this solution in my head. The decision making committee within my brain was not in agreement with my solution. Questions and doubts were being raised by the mental decision making panel. The realistic logical brain cells protested this ridiculous though "Magpie, you gotta rethink this through." Other cells were firing rapidly, "Yeah, it makes total sense! Why even question it."

With the fight still on within my noggin', I exited the stall and went to wash my hands. Finally, the brain matter stopped mid-fight and I looked at myself in the mirror. I stared into my own eyes as the realization hit me. Those little toilets were not for kids that moms brought in. Those were URINALS IN THE MEN'S BATHROOM.

"Oh.....no..."

The bathroom door opened and I said the quickest most sincerest prayer I have ever said, "Please don't let that be a guy." I opened my eyes after my prayer and saw a guy pass behind me. Purse on my forearm, I scooted as quickly out of that bathroom as humanly possible. I don't think he saw me. I am stealth like that. Ohhhh.....Yeah.

The second incident occurred in Union Station in Chicago. I had just finished my NCLEX AKA the Nurse License exam and was heading home with a clouded mind. Medications, patient care, and thoughts of failure were all zipping through my brain. I walked absent-mindly into the bathroom because sitting for 2 hours after coffee was not exactly that appealing to my bladder. As I entered the bathroom I was faced with the back of a tall slender guy staring at the wall. I stopped as I was only 3 feet within what I realized was the men's bathroom. Remembering my stealth skills from my previous wrong bathroom experience, I spun on one heel only to face a really cute guy.

"Uhh....I'm in the wrong bathroom." I managed to get out.

"Yeah...you scared me." cute boy replied.

Yeah, the whole train ride home I had to stare at that cute guy...until I arrived home.

I began to have nightmares at this point. Nightmares that I was in the wrong bathroom and the only way I could get out was by walking past all the guys standing at the urinals. In real life, I started double checking signs before entering bathrooms. I began to stare at bathroom signs that people made in other languages or that people made all cutesy just to make sure it all translated to "Ladies" or "Women" or "Female Species". Even when entering the right bathroom, my heart would drop when I heard the door open and I would peek through the cracks of the stall to see if the girl at the sink was a girl. Or I would peek at the stall next to me to see if it was a female shoe beside me.

My most recent incident was actually in another country. I was at Powerscourt Estate in Ireland. The bathroom was covered in ivy leaves and I located the sign of a stick person in a skirt. Without looking around, I entered the stall and did what I needed to do. I heard the bathroom door open.

My heart sank.

I hope I am in the right bathroom. What do I do if I am not???? HOW EMBARRASSING!!!! I know, I will just wait until I hear them go and I will leave. I am sure I am ok.

I heard the door open again and there was silence in the bathroom. I cracked the stall door open and peeked out. Before me, staring at me, laughing at me, were a row of pristine, white, ceramic urinals. I ran for my life hoping no one was on the other side of the door. Once I was outside, I glanced around to see if anyone caught me in the wrong bathroom. A lady on a phone sitting on a bench minding her own business. Good. I am safe. I turned back to see how I could have missed the sign that I double checked. Covering the males midsection was an ivy leave. This gave the bathroom sign the illusion of being a female stick person rather than a male stick person. Not my fault. Still made me even more paranoid though.

So anyways, this week is field training at BOLC. We had a briefing about staying in your gender appropriate tents. We could get in serious trouble if we are found in the opposite gender's tent. They said it will be clearly marked. And I am sure that the tents will not have ivy growing on them. I am still nervous. Not a paralyzing nervous but I guess a good healthy look-alive nervous that I will enter the wrong tent and be kicked out of the Army.

Ok, so I know that I won't get kicked out of the Army. But I know I will be reprimanded. With my awesome winning streak of bathroom mishaps, I am bound to walk into the wrong tent. I know it. Give me any insect and I will deal with it. Well, except centipedes. I will not and could not deal with those things. And I hear that they are huge down here. I am not excited about that but that is a story for another day.

Come on in, friend!

So nothing tells the Walgreen's cashier that you are on the rag like piling on the counter a package of tampons, midol and beef jerky. We've all been there. Yeah, unless you are a guy but sometimes I still think you get visited by the period fairy just because it seems like everyone has "that time of the month."

There are a lot of misconceptions and myths that surround the mystified spirit that comes to women in the form of pain and hormonal fluctuations. The things you hear in the media and in cartoons are not blanket statments for everyone involved. Each person is different.

1) The low down on PMS

PMS gets such a bad rap. Someone is crabby and automatically they are PMSing. So not true. I am rarely crabby. I usually get crabby when people are idiots. Not because I have my Crimson Tide. I will admit, some people get INCREDIBLY irritable. It drives me nuts. Throw some ambien their way so that they sleep through it. Or just don't hang around them.

Before women get their period, hormones drop drastically. Thus the title of this section is the "low down" AH HA HA HA. Ok, I have to laugh at my own nerdy jokes, I know. Anyways, I am sure that everyone has had the drop feeling. Let me explain, has anyone ever had that dream of falling off a cliff and you jump in your sleep? How about being on a rollercoaster or other ride with a sudden drop? You know that feeling you get inside? Try imagining that with hormones. That is sorta what occurs. Everything is pretty much level and then it drops like a sack of heavy potatoes. This occurs usually before Aunt Flo visits. The drop in hormones is what tells the blood to start flowing basically. This sudden drop in hormones also causes a wide array of symptoms classified under the dreaded and feared phrase Pre-Menstrual Syndrome or PMS.

For some women, they become irritable. This is what the world around us protrays as the "classic" symptom. They show women, ranting about like they are going to chop someone's head off. Although some women are like this (I've seen it) this is not the typical scenario. Women will become more weepy, a little more on edge, and just have a shorter fuse in the inside. The woman you pass in the store today or the co-worker you sit next to every work day just might be PMSing and you don't even know it. Now you will look at her in a different way. Just watch. You are going to go to work and look at her and think, "I wonder if her hormones dropped today." Do us all a favor and don't ask her. That will be unwarranted and unwanted.

For me, I tend to just get more teary eyed. Thoughts of Dumbo's mom being incarcerated and Bambi yelling for his shot up mother in the fog seem to follow me everywhere. I might just start crying out of no where. If this occurs and you are around me, a hug would be nice. Hugs are always a good cure for the PMS blues.

Don't hug a psycho woman. You will not be well off after that. Let me repeat. Hugs do not cure psycho behavior. Only time does.

Some women also get physical complaints. They will state that they have bad cramps or a bad headache. I find that if you over hydrate before your period, your cramps are significantly better. My main issue is for a day, my back will be very tense and it will hurt. So will all my joints. I will also be super sleepy for a day. Midol is the miracle drug. I should make a song for Midol. Midol should pay me for putting a plug in my oh so famous blog.

Chart to help those understand.

I like charts. They help me.

I love this chart.

Heck, I love studying the whole menstrual cycle.

Yes, I am a freak.

And a nerd.

2) Cravings

Another misconception is that all women who have received the Monthly crave chocolate. Women crave a lot of weird stuff when their friend comes a callin'. Many women eat chocolate. Chocolate has natural happy stuff in it. Of course, and maybe I shouldn't be admitting this, but I will definitely use period sometimes as a way to eat chocolate guilt free.

I mostly though crave salt and protein. Like, I just want to take a hunk of beef and chow down. Just the other day I had like two tablespoons of peanut butter. It was so good. I wanted to eat the whole jar. My hips disagreed. I had to settle for the two tablespoons. I also love beef jerky. It is so good. I love the salt and the beef. Oh my gosh. I want some right now. Man, it is so good. So so good.

Some women will eat ice cream. Ice cream is good comfort food. My favorite ice cream will contain chocolate and peanut butter in some form. Moosetracks is a personal favorite. But when I'm on the rag, I go more for salty than I do for sweet.

3) What to do when a loved one has entered her monthly time.

Just love her or show you care really. That is all she needs. If she is crabby or irritable then just kinda let her be. Don't antagonize or try to pick fights. If a fight starts just know that she will be a little unreasonable. Let it go. You are not going to win and if you try to win you will ultimately lose in the end. Believe me, you will want to slap her, shake her, whatever to get sense into her mind. That will put you in jail. Just leave the room and let her rant it out. Its painful.

If you have someone like me who doesn't really get crabby but gets teary eyed, then again, just love them or care for them. Hug them and hold them. They might cry and cry. There might not be a rhyme or reason to them crying. It might be really "Nothing" behind those tears. Just random emotions that cannot be pin pointed. Hugs are good cures. Holding them is a good cure too. Soon they will be bouncing back to their random selves again in no time.

How long will this hell last? Again, it totally depends on the woman. If the girl is always PMSing chances are, she is just a jerk. You decide what you want to do with that. There is no way that a girl can crabby all the time and blame it on that. There is a personality thing that is happening. If she were a guy she couldn't blame it on hormones. She'd just be a prick. However, for girls like me, it is just a day of misery and then we're back to normal. Others have it more, lasting the whole time.

4) Facing the fact.

I was once embarrassed to buy my necessary items from the store. In fact, in the beginning, I would look around and wonder if anyone knew that Aunt Flo was staying with me. I felt like I had PERIOD written across my forehead in a purple permanent marker.

Then one day (not long after all this started) I realized that I am not the only girl who has period and that all girls get them. But I had to yet face my biggest fear...buying tampons, pads or anything to that nature...BY MYSELF! Mom would do it. I admit it. Mom did it for me. Dad on some occasions if he were going to the store at that time. Thank you Dad.

Well there came a time where I had to actually buy feminine products because no one could do it for me. I gathered my courage before I gathered my tampons. My heart was pounding so loud I thought everyone around me could hear it. Then tried to camouflage it with other useless items that I really didn't need at the time. A soda. Ketchup. Coffee. Pickles. Magazine. Socks. Mind you, this was the time before self check outs. All the cashiers (which was one or two) just HAD to be men right? Yep. So onward, soldier onward. I drew in a deep breath and piled the stuff on the conveyor belt all the while keeping my eyes down.

*beep*

Ketchup

*beep*

Coffee

*beep*

tampons

*Magpie breaths a sigh of relief while still maintaining non-eye contact with young male cashier*

*beep*

rest of items

Ok...mission almost accomplished. All I have to do is pay and then run. Pay and run. Pay and ru...

"Do you want any garbage stickers, stamps or our value item of the day?"

"WHAT??!?!?! NO!!!! I AM NOT ON MY PERIOd!!!!!"

Ok, that is what went through my mind. Not in actual life. Luckily my filter was turned to the on position and I did not yell that to the good cashier only trying to do his job.

"Um, uh, no that's ok. I'm good."

"Ok, your total is $whatever.00"

Pay.

Run.

Now, I don't care. I am all out there with my tampons. Yes, Young Male Cashier, I am a woman. I have my period. Hear me roar...rawr...

So here's to the a long life of monthly visitors. One of the many signs of my womanhood. Even if I could go for it being like two days instead of 4 or 5. And I could go without the aches.

Magpie.