The last movie I saw was Thor. Hazards of being married into the comic book business, right? Although I missed out on Captain America and am not planning on going to Conan, either.
Thor was pretty good! I liked his character, I freaking LOVED the Rainbow Road (me and the Bestie that lives far, far away are wishing we had one so we could pop in and visit one another) and I thought the Frost Giants were pretty awesome. Natalie Portman was decent, the actor that played Thor was handsome and funny.
All in all, thumbs up.
Man, writing about movies on here makes me miss Bev (the little old lady I used to take to a movie every week). Do yourself a favor and click on the tag at the end of this post that says "movie reviews" to find out what Bev thought about Eclipse: The Twilight Saga and Dinner for Schmucks. She was so, so great. I miss her! She's dead, and if I weren't protecting her privacy, I'd link to her obituary - it's very, very sweet.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Day 1: First Crush
1 - Write about your first crush. Who was it? Do you still talk to them?
My first crush (you'll remember this one, Dad) was my neighbor Brennan. He lived a few houses down the street, and I was friends with his big sister too. He and I were inseperable; he'd come over in the mornings sometimes to watch cartoons and eat cereal and yogurt with me before school. We went to preschool together, and kindergarten too. We used to sneak out over his back fence and play in the abandoned, crumbling barn that was slowly sinking into the wetlands behind our street - we thought it was the coolest thing in the world. One time we decided to make a parachute by taking a sheet and holding all four corners of it, then jumping out the 2nd story window ... luckily we tested it by jumping off the top bunk of his bed first and realized it didn't work. We used to tell everyone we were going to get married when we got old enough. Like 12 or so.
When we got older, we went to different schools but still played together in the afternoons. At some point his family moved away, but near enough that we still got together fairly often, but that was when we were at the age where boys and girls aren't usually friends so I spent more time with his sister. In high school he did some things I disliked and that freaked me out, and I told him he had gotten mean and I was disappointed in how he was turning out. We haven't really talked since. I keep in touch with his sister, but not him. I'm sure he's probably over that phase now, and is a decent guy and all, but he probably didn't like being judged by me back then (I don't blame him for that) and so he's probably not a big fan of me.
And no, we didn't get married at 12. Or ever!
My first crush (you'll remember this one, Dad) was my neighbor Brennan. He lived a few houses down the street, and I was friends with his big sister too. He and I were inseperable; he'd come over in the mornings sometimes to watch cartoons and eat cereal and yogurt with me before school. We went to preschool together, and kindergarten too. We used to sneak out over his back fence and play in the abandoned, crumbling barn that was slowly sinking into the wetlands behind our street - we thought it was the coolest thing in the world. One time we decided to make a parachute by taking a sheet and holding all four corners of it, then jumping out the 2nd story window ... luckily we tested it by jumping off the top bunk of his bed first and realized it didn't work. We used to tell everyone we were going to get married when we got old enough. Like 12 or so.
When we got older, we went to different schools but still played together in the afternoons. At some point his family moved away, but near enough that we still got together fairly often, but that was when we were at the age where boys and girls aren't usually friends so I spent more time with his sister. In high school he did some things I disliked and that freaked me out, and I told him he had gotten mean and I was disappointed in how he was turning out. We haven't really talked since. I keep in touch with his sister, but not him. I'm sure he's probably over that phase now, and is a decent guy and all, but he probably didn't like being judged by me back then (I don't blame him for that) and so he's probably not a big fan of me.
And no, we didn't get married at 12. Or ever!
A Shorter Blog Challenge
I liked doing that other challenge that went around earlier this year (even though I totally didn't finish it in 30 days). So why not do another one?
10 Day Blog Challenge (source: HeckYeahTumblrChallenges)
1 - Write about your first crush. Who was it? Do you still talk to them?
2 - What was the last movie you saw in theatres?
3 - What’s something you think of all the time, but never say out loud?
4 - Do you have a job? If you do, what is it and do you like it? If not, what job would you like to have?
5 - What’s in your bed right now? Take a picture of your bed.
6 - What’s a picture of yourself that not a lot of people have seen?
7 - What’s something you don’t usually blog about?
8 - Who’s someone that you used to be really close to, but you’re not anymore?
9 - What’s something you worry about for the future?
10 - Do you play any sports?
Anyone want to join me for this one?
10 Day Blog Challenge (source: HeckYeahTumblrChallenges)
1 - Write about your first crush. Who was it? Do you still talk to them?
2 - What was the last movie you saw in theatres?
3 - What’s something you think of all the time, but never say out loud?
4 - Do you have a job? If you do, what is it and do you like it? If not, what job would you like to have?
5 - What’s in your bed right now? Take a picture of your bed.
6 - What’s a picture of yourself that not a lot of people have seen?
7 - What’s something you don’t usually blog about?
8 - Who’s someone that you used to be really close to, but you’re not anymore?
9 - What’s something you worry about for the future?
10 - Do you play any sports?
Anyone want to join me for this one?
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Cooking every night? Just crazy enough to work.
I've been making an effort to cook healthy, especially things from my new favorite cookbook, "Appetite for Reduction". So far, everything I've made out of there has been a winner. This is saying something! I'm one of those people who writes in my cookbooks, so I can remember what I thought of a recipe or adjustments I think would improve it. I forgot that I did this until I lent out my copy of "Deceptively Delicous" (that one Jerry Seinfeld's wife wrote where you puree fruits and vegetables and sneak them into everything under the sun) where I'd written "NOT GOOD. Tastes like wet bread. Not enough marshmallows in the world to save this." on her coffeecake recipe. This was before I was vegan. Anyway, my lucky friend Jessica knew not to try that recipe, for sure.
Now I've traded in this
for this
I bought a huge amount of "great northern white beans" (aka those white beans that are bigger than navy beans) from the bulk section of my grocery store the other day, and cooked up a gigantic pot of them. I usually make hummus out of them, since they puree up easier than chickpeas and I like them that way. I got a really easy recipe for that online, and I go by it, basically, adding or subtracting whatever I feel like. Here it is, if you're interested:
Take about 3 cups white beans, 1 tsp salt, a pinch of pepper, a few shakes of thyme, 3 TB olive oil and 2 TB lemon juice, and 1-2 cloves of garlic, minced. Puree that in your blender or food processor, adding warm water as you need it to make it smoother. Usually 1/4-1/2 cups of it.
pretty easy!
Anyway, I've been coming up with ways to use all these cooked beans, now, and there's a great recipe for Pasta e Fagoli in Appetite for Reduction. I tried it out and took some pictures.
It starts with a pretty basic tomato sauce (I even found some old sherry cooking wine in my cupboard, so I did it like a big girl instead of with vegetable broth like usual - score!).
I picked tricolor shells from (natch) the bulk section for my pasta.
Added the beans to the sauce ...
and when everything was cooked, mixed it all together with a bunch of spinach while the sauce was still hot enough to wilt the greens. Hooray!
Very good, and it's got everything all in one bowl, which is awesome. Less packing for me in the morning. I'm one of those dorks that literally packs a lunchbox for work. And it's a pink one, too. I usually bring some leftovers from the night before and some fruit. I might be one of the only people in the world that works in a nursing home and actually still likes and eats applesauce. I even pack it in my lunches sometimes. Even now that I sometimes give people meds crushed into it.
Me and my applesauce are freaky like that. And me and my kitchen are BFF these days.
Now I've traded in this
for this
I bought a huge amount of "great northern white beans" (aka those white beans that are bigger than navy beans) from the bulk section of my grocery store the other day, and cooked up a gigantic pot of them. I usually make hummus out of them, since they puree up easier than chickpeas and I like them that way. I got a really easy recipe for that online, and I go by it, basically, adding or subtracting whatever I feel like. Here it is, if you're interested:
Take about 3 cups white beans, 1 tsp salt, a pinch of pepper, a few shakes of thyme, 3 TB olive oil and 2 TB lemon juice, and 1-2 cloves of garlic, minced. Puree that in your blender or food processor, adding warm water as you need it to make it smoother. Usually 1/4-1/2 cups of it.
Anyway, I've been coming up with ways to use all these cooked beans, now, and there's a great recipe for Pasta e Fagoli in Appetite for Reduction. I tried it out and took some pictures.
It starts with a pretty basic tomato sauce (I even found some old sherry cooking wine in my cupboard, so I did it like a big girl instead of with vegetable broth like usual - score!).
I picked tricolor shells from (natch) the bulk section for my pasta.
Added the beans to the sauce ...
and when everything was cooked, mixed it all together with a bunch of spinach while the sauce was still hot enough to wilt the greens. Hooray!
Very good, and it's got everything all in one bowl, which is awesome. Less packing for me in the morning. I'm one of those dorks that literally packs a lunchbox for work. And it's a pink one, too. I usually bring some leftovers from the night before and some fruit. I might be one of the only people in the world that works in a nursing home and actually still likes and eats applesauce. I even pack it in my lunches sometimes. Even now that I sometimes give people meds crushed into it.
Me and my applesauce are freaky like that. And me and my kitchen are BFF these days.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Oh, yeah, you're so special.
Right after I go on about how happy and pleasant I am, here I am hopping on my computer to rant about a new employee at the GreatRep. Already, I'm a little iffy about the activities department. You might remember a while back about how I had a run-in with a homophobic employee who used hand gestures to demonstrate how she thought gay sex "doesn't work" and that the best she can hope for the gays is to "hate the sin but love the sinner"? And you might remember how I went over this person's head and discussed it with her bosses, who let her know that it will never, ever happen again. Ever.
Anyway, said idiot is in charge of the activities department and has hired some real winners in the past. Looks like she's done it again. She hired a delicate flower named "Daisy" who is home on summer break from college. Daisy's aunt has volunteered at the GreatRep for years and wants her to work at the GreatRep for a month to get "life experience". Daisy is one of those people I just want to throttle. Why? Because I hate it when people say they can't work with elderly, sick or disabled people because it's sooooooooo sad. Screw that.
What, you're so terribly amazingly compassionate that you can't find it within yourself to do anything to help these people that your heart is bleeding buckets for? You're so fragile and sensitive that your feelings of boo-hooing are more important than doing your damn job? BS.
If you don't want to work in dementia because it's hard, underpaid, involves bodily fluids and very rude people, or it's just plain not your thing? That's FINE. But don't insult all the residents and employees by saying that you're somehow too compassionate to do this job.
It makes it sound like you think the only way the rest of us could be doing this work is by not caring at all. And that's not the case. It makes it sound like you think being old, sick, or disabled is the worst thing in the world and they have no quality of life and should all just die, apparently, because what do they have to live for and why would anyone spend their time helping them live?
And to top it all off, Daisy confesses that she's "terrified" of this place, after watching a caregiver transfer someone with a sit-to-stand. Really? You find moving someone from one chair to another terrifying? Stay far away from children's birthday parties, then. They might play musical chairs, and you'll have an aneurysm.
Daisy, I hope you don't even last the one month you're slated to be here. You're disrespectful of everyone in that building and you just don't get it and if you come up to me looking like someone had a stroke and is dying and then all you want is to say tremulously "Ummm... Millie says... she needs to use the bathroom??" I might have to slap you.
I hope you're going to college for something with no human interaction necessary.
Anyway, said idiot is in charge of the activities department and has hired some real winners in the past. Looks like she's done it again. She hired a delicate flower named "Daisy" who is home on summer break from college. Daisy's aunt has volunteered at the GreatRep for years and wants her to work at the GreatRep for a month to get "life experience". Daisy is one of those people I just want to throttle. Why? Because I hate it when people say they can't work with elderly, sick or disabled people because it's sooooooooo sad. Screw that.
What, you're so terribly amazingly compassionate that you can't find it within yourself to do anything to help these people that your heart is bleeding buckets for? You're so fragile and sensitive that your feelings of boo-hooing are more important than doing your damn job? BS.
If you don't want to work in dementia because it's hard, underpaid, involves bodily fluids and very rude people, or it's just plain not your thing? That's FINE. But don't insult all the residents and employees by saying that you're somehow too compassionate to do this job.
It makes it sound like you think the only way the rest of us could be doing this work is by not caring at all. And that's not the case. It makes it sound like you think being old, sick, or disabled is the worst thing in the world and they have no quality of life and should all just die, apparently, because what do they have to live for and why would anyone spend their time helping them live?
And to top it all off, Daisy confesses that she's "terrified" of this place, after watching a caregiver transfer someone with a sit-to-stand. Really? You find moving someone from one chair to another terrifying? Stay far away from children's birthday parties, then. They might play musical chairs, and you'll have an aneurysm.
Daisy, I hope you don't even last the one month you're slated to be here. You're disrespectful of everyone in that building and you just don't get it and if you come up to me looking like someone had a stroke and is dying and then all you want is to say tremulously "Ummm... Millie says... she needs to use the bathroom??" I might have to slap you.
I hope you're going to college for something with no human interaction necessary.
Friday, August 5, 2011
And on my day off, I talk about ... me!
I've got several friends right now who are online dating, and one who just married a man she met that way. One of these friends is very, very smart and keeps an interesting blog about her process of going from newly-divorced to dating at: Struck by Lightning 2.0. Her recent post about statistics reminded me that she'd previously linked to a really interesting site where you can participate in positive psychology research by taking some inventory questionnaires about your own happiness: Authentic Happiness Tests.
I generally score pretty high on happiness, which probably won't surprise those of you that know me or read this blog regularly. Even though there are some really difficult aspects of my life, on a day-to-day basis I'm very happy. I love Mr. Polly tremendously and have a great time with him, I feel that I'm doing the sort of work I'm meant to do and that I'm taking steps toward being where I want to be (in nursing school), I love the town I live in, and have good friendships. I do have some troubled family relationships at time, worry about Mr. Polly's disease, and am constantly frustrated by our neverending medical debt. But overall I feel that most of that is something we can overcome.
But my positive psychology scores aren't really the stuff I'd put on a dating profile, or anything that I lead with when I meet new people. I just took a Briggs-Myers test again and scored as an ISFJ (Introverted Sensing Feeling Judging) type. Apparently I'm a Guardian Protector type. I don't know if my reserve is actually very obvious to others, but I feel it. I've been at my current facility for 6 months and, although I like a lot of my coworkers, I only have the phone number of one of them, and he's the only one I've considered socializing with outside of work so far. I've gently turned down other invitations because I just don't know if it's worth it to me since nursing homes are often such little drama hotbeds. So I wait a long time to see if I hear someone gossiping or being a jerk before I decide if I want to hang out with them. That's pretty reserved, I know, and sometimes I wish I were less so. But I'm cautious that way.
One of my friends that's online dating has her type on her profile (INFP) so maybe that's a decent way to give someone a shorthand of who you are. I'm partly thinking about this because down the road I foresee some "I want to be a nurse because" essays in my future for scholarships. And no one wants to read "because I want to help people" over and over again. So I could say "because I 'have an extraordinary sense of loyalty and responsibility in [my] makeup, and seem fulfilled in the degree [I] can shield others from the dirt and dangers of the world' but also because I find it funny when old ladies come up and try to hand me a handful of poop and I can look at a stage 4 tunneling wound (and smell it) without vomiting. Give me some money for education!"
That'll go over well, don't you think?
Or "Our premarital counselor told me that even though I seem sweet as can be, I'm secretly made of cast iron."
On second thought, it's a good thing I have a long time to work on these pitches, and it's a really good thing I'm not trying to find a husband online. Although, wealthy gentlemen of the world, if you are reading this right now and thinking "I wish I could marry Polly and pay her way through school then let her divorce me and remarry her own Mister" send me a comment and we'll talk. This applies to well-to-do ladies living in states where gay marriage is legal as well, of course.
Maybe this blog is the best scholarship app/personal ad ever in life. Ha.
I generally score pretty high on happiness, which probably won't surprise those of you that know me or read this blog regularly. Even though there are some really difficult aspects of my life, on a day-to-day basis I'm very happy. I love Mr. Polly tremendously and have a great time with him, I feel that I'm doing the sort of work I'm meant to do and that I'm taking steps toward being where I want to be (in nursing school), I love the town I live in, and have good friendships. I do have some troubled family relationships at time, worry about Mr. Polly's disease, and am constantly frustrated by our neverending medical debt. But overall I feel that most of that is something we can overcome.
But my positive psychology scores aren't really the stuff I'd put on a dating profile, or anything that I lead with when I meet new people. I just took a Briggs-Myers test again and scored as an ISFJ (Introverted Sensing Feeling Judging) type. Apparently I'm a Guardian Protector type. I don't know if my reserve is actually very obvious to others, but I feel it. I've been at my current facility for 6 months and, although I like a lot of my coworkers, I only have the phone number of one of them, and he's the only one I've considered socializing with outside of work so far. I've gently turned down other invitations because I just don't know if it's worth it to me since nursing homes are often such little drama hotbeds. So I wait a long time to see if I hear someone gossiping or being a jerk before I decide if I want to hang out with them. That's pretty reserved, I know, and sometimes I wish I were less so. But I'm cautious that way.
One of my friends that's online dating has her type on her profile (INFP) so maybe that's a decent way to give someone a shorthand of who you are. I'm partly thinking about this because down the road I foresee some "I want to be a nurse because" essays in my future for scholarships. And no one wants to read "because I want to help people" over and over again. So I could say "because I 'have an extraordinary sense of loyalty and responsibility in [my] makeup, and seem fulfilled in the degree [I] can shield others from the dirt and dangers of the world' but also because I find it funny when old ladies come up and try to hand me a handful of poop and I can look at a stage 4 tunneling wound (and smell it) without vomiting. Give me some money for education!"
That'll go over well, don't you think?
Or "Our premarital counselor told me that even though I seem sweet as can be, I'm secretly made of cast iron."
On second thought, it's a good thing I have a long time to work on these pitches, and it's a really good thing I'm not trying to find a husband online. Although, wealthy gentlemen of the world, if you are reading this right now and thinking "I wish I could marry Polly and pay her way through school then let her divorce me and remarry her own Mister" send me a comment and we'll talk. This applies to well-to-do ladies living in states where gay marriage is legal as well, of course.
Maybe this blog is the best scholarship app/personal ad ever in life. Ha.
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Codger Whisperer
Just got home from my shift with the combative ex-alcoholic that lives at the CrapDorable facility that I used to work at and hated. Whew!
Let me tell you, walking into a place, saying "I'm here to pick up Mr. Codger for his doctor's appointment" and hearing "Ohhh, yeah, he's in a really bad mood. He was out here in the lobby but they took him back to his room to use the bathroom because he can't use the main one." (??) That's not how you want to greet any outside providers that come into your facility. If I hadn't known what I was getting into, I'd have been tempted to walk right back out.
The receptionist remembered me from my brief and hellish stint there months ago, and gave me her key so I could go find Mr. C myself. Which I did. Sitting in his wheelchair in his room with 2 aides trying to pee in a urinal & yelling at us all to get the hell out. I grabbed the paperwork I needed from his room and did so, waiting out in the hallway to work on it there. After his urination, Mr. C seemed in a better mood, and he and I sat in the lobby of the CrapDorable facility chatting while we waited for Dial-A-Lift to come pick us up (you know, those bus system buses that will take you door-to-door if you're disabled and have a wheelchair lift on them). Bus came, we went, he crabbed the whole way there. Arrived, read to him from a travel magazine in the lobby (his favorite topic) and got him all cheerful and pleasant for his appointment.
Then the doctor, who looked to be my age or younger, walked in. And told Mr. C he was there to consult on whether or not to remove his toe. OMG. They pulled out the offending toe, and I'm no expert but it looked like a good candidate for removal to me; lots of necrotic black flesh, and ooze, and bleeding. Yuck. Apparently Mr. C didn't have any pain from it though. Then came the awesome part, in which the doc said we needed to transfer Mr. C to the exam bench, Mr. C refused, the doc seemed completely unaware that his patient had dementia, and I pulled the MA and the MD out into the hall.
"Look, I just met this guy today, but I picked him up from a dementia care facility. He has dementia. He also gets physically and verbally combative. He is a 2-person transfer and can't walk or really bear weight. So we can transfer him if it's absolutely necessary, but he may not like it."
They came back in, we tried, Mr. C grabbed on to his wheelchair, refused, and started swearing at us all. At this point, I figured we were just going to have to do it anyway, but the MD backed down and said never mind, even though he was supposed to be examining the codger in other areas for cancer. Some people might consider follow up to a biopsy a little bit IMPORTANT.
Instead, he chickened out and said "Uh... well, we won't make any decisions about that surgery, and I'll have you come back in 3 weeks so we can take another look at that toe." and he and the MA rushed us out of there as fast as possible.
Sheesh. So the codger just spent a bunch of money for this appt. plus someone to shepherd him there and back, and all he got was a clean dressing for his horrible toe. Great.
We then had a half hour to kill before our ride back to the CrapDorable, so I chatted and read to the codger until then. He freaking loved me. Just not anyone or anything else, today, unfortunately.
I brought him into the facility with an admonishment to behave ("I find it difficult when you aren't here, dear") and watch his language, and then set about coordinating his follow up appt. I told the homecare agency CareCo that I'm happy to take him BUT
1. He needs to be premedicated, because clearly dermatologists are afraid of pissy old men who swear at them. If he gets premedicated, he probably won't do that.
2. I want CareCo to call ahead to the doctor's appt. and make sure the physician understands what's happening and what needs to be done.
Jeez, people. How scary can one wheelchair bound old man be?
Let me tell you, walking into a place, saying "I'm here to pick up Mr. Codger for his doctor's appointment" and hearing "Ohhh, yeah, he's in a really bad mood. He was out here in the lobby but they took him back to his room to use the bathroom because he can't use the main one." (??) That's not how you want to greet any outside providers that come into your facility. If I hadn't known what I was getting into, I'd have been tempted to walk right back out.
The receptionist remembered me from my brief and hellish stint there months ago, and gave me her key so I could go find Mr. C myself. Which I did. Sitting in his wheelchair in his room with 2 aides trying to pee in a urinal & yelling at us all to get the hell out. I grabbed the paperwork I needed from his room and did so, waiting out in the hallway to work on it there. After his urination, Mr. C seemed in a better mood, and he and I sat in the lobby of the CrapDorable facility chatting while we waited for Dial-A-Lift to come pick us up (you know, those bus system buses that will take you door-to-door if you're disabled and have a wheelchair lift on them). Bus came, we went, he crabbed the whole way there. Arrived, read to him from a travel magazine in the lobby (his favorite topic) and got him all cheerful and pleasant for his appointment.
Then the doctor, who looked to be my age or younger, walked in. And told Mr. C he was there to consult on whether or not to remove his toe. OMG. They pulled out the offending toe, and I'm no expert but it looked like a good candidate for removal to me; lots of necrotic black flesh, and ooze, and bleeding. Yuck. Apparently Mr. C didn't have any pain from it though. Then came the awesome part, in which the doc said we needed to transfer Mr. C to the exam bench, Mr. C refused, the doc seemed completely unaware that his patient had dementia, and I pulled the MA and the MD out into the hall.
"Look, I just met this guy today, but I picked him up from a dementia care facility. He has dementia. He also gets physically and verbally combative. He is a 2-person transfer and can't walk or really bear weight. So we can transfer him if it's absolutely necessary, but he may not like it."
They came back in, we tried, Mr. C grabbed on to his wheelchair, refused, and started swearing at us all. At this point, I figured we were just going to have to do it anyway, but the MD backed down and said never mind, even though he was supposed to be examining the codger in other areas for cancer. Some people might consider follow up to a biopsy a little bit IMPORTANT.
Instead, he chickened out and said "Uh... well, we won't make any decisions about that surgery, and I'll have you come back in 3 weeks so we can take another look at that toe." and he and the MA rushed us out of there as fast as possible.
Sheesh. So the codger just spent a bunch of money for this appt. plus someone to shepherd him there and back, and all he got was a clean dressing for his horrible toe. Great.
We then had a half hour to kill before our ride back to the CrapDorable, so I chatted and read to the codger until then. He freaking loved me. Just not anyone or anything else, today, unfortunately.
I brought him into the facility with an admonishment to behave ("I find it difficult when you aren't here, dear") and watch his language, and then set about coordinating his follow up appt. I told the homecare agency CareCo that I'm happy to take him BUT
1. He needs to be premedicated, because clearly dermatologists are afraid of pissy old men who swear at them. If he gets premedicated, he probably won't do that.
2. I want CareCo to call ahead to the doctor's appt. and make sure the physician understands what's happening and what needs to be done.
Jeez, people. How scary can one wheelchair bound old man be?
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