Capture Mr. Sandy Claws

La, la, la, la, la, la, la,  

I still wonder what time of year I should watch this movie. Hum, oh well.

            October has always been my favorite month. I mean think about it… the best people are born in this month, UEA, fall leaves, and of course HALLOWEEN! What other holiday do you get to dress up and get candy without having to give the givers anything in return? I mean during Christmas you have to give gifts to all the people that give you gifts. What is up with that? This selfish mentality really only lasts until you own a house. Halloween becomes a little more about giving once you become an adult.

            Some of my favorite memories are going to DI with my mom and coming up with a completely unique costume and then going out with just my dad and my sisters to get CANDY, CANDY, CANDY! But then Junior High hit and it wasn’t cool to ‘dress up.’ Curse growing up! But then something else magical happened… college. All of the sudden it was cool to  be something for Halloween. My first year of college I was still kinda in the ‘I-think-I’m-in-jr-high-and-I-can’t-dress-up-because-I-am-so-dang-self-conscious’ mentality. So I put on a cowboy hat and called it good. But it was still an awesome Halloween. We went to my roommate’s house to help with their family tradition of making homemade donuts and rootbeer for the whole neighborhood. It was so fun! We watched Hitchcock movies and ate candy and donuts until we were sick and, although none of us wanted to admit it, a little scared. Needless to say none of us sleep very well that night, but then again who ever does on the night when the magical and sinister are right at the edge of reality.

Lame costume, Danielle. Lame.

            Flash forward to the next year. The year of the epically cool FHE family. We were all really good friends and became like a real family. So, when we all heard there was going to be a custom contest at our ward party, we decided to all win. How did we accomplish this? By raiding DI, again. Who knew you could recreate the whole cast from Toy Story from some cast offs, face paint, cardboard, and pink spandex tights someone got on their mission? Let’s just say we whipped everyone back into place. No one stood a chance.

Much Better! Aren't we all so cute! 

           This year the epic just kept coming. My brother-in-law looks like Mr. Incredible and has the legit costume. So, my sister raided my mom’s closet and DI (are you sensing a theme in this family when it comes to Halloween?) and came up with a complete Elastigirl costume for herself and a Jack-Jack outfit for Mari. My family is incredible.

            But not to be out shadowed by our sister’s family, my other sister and I came up with an equally incredible idea… Minions! That’s right, we found everything we need, at DI of course, to transform ourselves into those cute little minions from Despicable Me. I think we did pretty well.

Whaaaa...?

Next year I think I’ll dress up as a sister missionary. :D

Rolling Veins…A Good Name for a Band

Veins Collapsed, Puncture Wound, and Bruised Arm are good too.

          I also thought about adding Popped IV too, but that was just stretching it. I cannot in good conscience take complete credit for the name Rolling Veins, that was my sister’s idea. Did you think I was going to give credit to Rolling Stones? Pff… you were wrong. My sister is kind of a medical novelty in the fact that every time (and I mean EVERY time) she goes to the doctor she hears at least once, “I’ve never seen this before!” Yeah, that really builds your confidence in the medical professionals. They could really write a whole medical journal on her strange medical behaviors. Besides the fact that we have the same parents and lived in the same house together for 13 years, we have something else in common, our veins. It seems that both of our veins stopped growing about five years before the rest of us did. And they also move. Hence the rolling veins. I cannot tell you how many times I have gotten my blood drawn and the phlebotomist (yeah, I have to look up how to spell that) missed my vein, because my vein was just feeling so trapped and just need a change of scenery. So, it went on a temporary vacation. Veins do not use airplanes or even trains. (vein train… that’s funny!) They are very independent and roll where ever they go.

             Anyways, why all this background info? Because these medical mysteries came into play this week, once again. I had recently gone to get a basic physical, because I will be spending the next 18 months in a place that uses squat toilets, do you really think I’m gonna want to go to the doctor over there? No. So a basic check up included some blood work. Yeah, as expected they missed on the first arm and had to call in someone else in to find a vein. Then the vein they finally did find collapsed. Really? Every time! Add two more nasty bruises to my battered arm. And a scar! What? Yeah, they totally cut me with one of the needles and I have a nice little scar on the inside of my arm. That’s new. So the bruise barely fades into this yellow color and my mom tells me I have an appointment with some specialist about my swallowing problem. Apparently I never learned how to swallow correctly. Another hole in my childhood education.

            They have to knock you out and then stick this camera thing down your throat to see if they can find the problem. So, I’m lying on the hospital bed thinking how hungry I am (I had not eaten in over 14 hours. Apparently they do not want you throwing up on them, I don’t know why) when the nurse comes in with the IV. Oh, yeah another needle!  You mean you can’t find a big enough vein? Shocker! Oh, you’re gonna try that one? Yeah, that didn’t feel right. So I know that getting a IV is not suppose to be pain free, but that one killed!  And then proceeded to bleed. Now, maybe I am mistaken but I distinctly remember something about IV putting fluid into your body, not taking them out. After some ‘rearranging’ as they say or ‘digging’ as I put it, they declared the IV to be place. I am then wheeled into the procedure room. And then! Guess what! The IV popped, which means stopped working. My vein had once again held a revolution and in protest stopped producing blood. So now I have three nurses working on me to try and get in another IV. Did you get that? Three. Count them… one, two, three. How many nurses does it take to find my vein? Three, plus one doctor, and 15 minutes. The doctor, trying to make a joke, stated, “Where did all your veins go?” I think that is a question for you doctor, not me. That was my last thought, because the next thing I know, I am waking up back in the recovery room and my mom is talking to me. I guess I woke up in a better mood then I went under in, because I woke up chuckling to myself. My mom then explained that my muscle connecting my esophagus and my stomach is smaller than normal. Which I then cracked the joke, “Like my veins?” Laugh, laugh, laugh! Yes, Danielle, your esophagus muscle stopped growing about the same time your veins did. I few minutes lapsed, I think, remember I am still under the influence, when I asked my mom what was wrong with me. I had apparently forgotten all about our early conversation. My mom told me the same information and guess what? I cracked the same joke! I am so funny!  And so uninhibited. Everything that popped into my head popped out my mouth. I wondered, yes out loud, if this is what a couple of beers felt like. Many of you by now are thinking, “Isn’t that they way she always acts?” You would all be amazed at the number of things I filter. Amazed.

            When I got home I took off the bandage and found six different puncture wounds and a swollen and painful bruise. Purple, to match my faded yellow one. I looked like a druggy. Anyone that didn’t know me would think I shot up every day. Don’t worry, I don’t need to do drugs, I can just go to the doctor for that. 

Stress, It's A Killer, Sir...

Yes, my inspirational quote of the day comes from Bartok, the bat on Anastasia… very profound.

Anyways, it’s a known fact that as humans we create 85% of our own stress. That’s a lot!  (It is also a known fact that 65% of all statistics are made up on the spot… yeah…) While I did barely pass stats twice, I did pass and I now know ‘a lot’ is in between ‘quite a bit’ and ‘a bunch’. Somewhere in there.  I came to this conclusion by objectively observing others. A true author and scientist never completely immerse themselves into their target population in fear their validity will be lost and therefore compromise the results and findings. Did you get any of that? Cause I didn’t. It’s true, sometimes I throw big words together and teachers give me an A, cause if it is so deep they don’t understand it, it must be good! And sometimes I just write blah blah blah in the middle of the page to see what teachers actually read my papers. Straying, yes I am straying. Back to stress… it’s a killer! So why do we do it? I don’t know.

What sparked this whole thought process (which in turn stressed me out, cause I couldn’t find an answer), was a co-worker. She was replacing me and working the grave. She had to tell me all about this Halloween costume she was working on for her daughter. How she was sewing on the fringe, gluing on the strips and would have to sew it by hand once she got home. As I was sitting there half listing to her (give me a break! I had just finished me shift and really wanted to go home) I thought, “Wow, this is a lot (there’s that word again) of work. She could have easily have gone to DI and found something just as cute and spent WAY less time and money.”  So, why? I still have no idea.

Maybe it was because my mom hated to sew or we didn’t have that much money growing up but we always got out Halloween costumes from DI. And if I do say so myself, I always had cute stuff! At least I could claim I didn’t have the same costume as anyone else in the school. STRAYING! I know, I can’t help it!

(By the way, if you are waiting for a grand and profound solution to get rid of stress, it’s not coming so don’t hold your breath or you might pass out. But then all your problems will go away for awhile, until you start breathing again, so maybe that is the solution. How about you do it and then tell me how it goes… after you have regained consciences)

Just so everyone knows, I thought of that funny comment about loosing consciousness and then found this picture.

So, what it the biological foundation for stress, if it just keeps getting us closer and closer to death? Ok, that was a little melodramatic, but my point? Made. Biology behind stress, that sounds like a great title for one of those self-help books. I’m I stressing you out by straying?

Why can’t we just stop it? (not the straying, but the stressing) Why can’t we as my mother always says do it, “fast, easy, simple, cheap!” Why do we as humans do things the hard way and why is it that when we find a simpler way to do it we are considered lazy or loafers? Human nature. So my advice, be like me and JUST STOP IT! That’s right stop stressing, just do it, I dare you! Mwahahaha! Come over to the dark side of the lazy loafers who work so hard at doing nothing, so they don’t have to work hard. Huh?

Do you remember those horrible French novels they made you all read in AP English, you know, the stream of consciousness ones? Did anyone have a déjà vu moment right there? I sure did! So in summation, stress kills, so don’t do it and it is physically impossible for me to keep on one train of thought…