new blog link!

Everyone is commanded (uh, nicely) to check out mmr's new blog, penguins and people, a documentary of her New Zealand and Australia travel going on this very moment. so, while you're sitting here reading about mmr's blog, you could be reading her blog. So Act now, don't delay! Operators are waiting!

I've taken the liberty of adding it to my Sphere O' Blog links, too.

Then, you, too, will know what Flat Lily is all about. (No, I'm not linking it. That would be cheating. You have to go to mmr's blog to find out more).

So, homework? Go click on the link to mmr's new blog!

P.S. Loz: You'll have to let mmr know where and what is not to be missed in Sydney!

more bathroom humor

Okay. So the first pictogram, I understand. But the second? What's the message, here? Sniff the exhaust fumes emitting from the hand dryer while waving goodbye?

crazy mountains

So, Amy has a cousin who has claimed for over a year now that one contracts Bell's Palsy from sleeping on the ground. Specifically, from sleeping on the ground in the mountains.

Her cousin Swears This Is Gospel Truth, and won't hear otherwise.

I know Bell's Palsy doesn't make you crazy, but it is a neurologic condition, so when I came across this sign in Montana, I thought of Jerry Joe, and his infamous Bell's Palsy warnings:

You can probably read the story yourself if you enlarge the photo, but it's rumored that the mountains got their name after a pioneer woman went crazy during a wagon trip out West, and ran away, and they found her in the mountains.

I'll bet she went crazy because her husband insisted for 2,500 long, arduous miles, that one could contract Bell's Palsy from sleeping on the ground in the mountains.

Their conversations probably went like this:

PIONEER MAN:
Did you know you can get Bell's Palsy if you sleep on the ground in the mountains?

PIONEER WOMAN:
[annoyed]
No, you can't.

PIONEER MAN:
Yes, actually you can. It's been scientifically proven.

PIONEER WOMAN:
[even more annoyed]
It's 1848. Nothing's been scientifically proven yet, idiot.

PIONEER MAN:
No, I'm telling you. I saw it on the The Montel Williams Show at our last camp site.

PIONEER WOMAN:
[completely exasperated]
There's no such thing as The Montel Williams Show yet, either.

PIONEER MAN:
[stubbornly]
Fine, but I'm telling you, woman, Bell's Palsy. You can get it just by lying on the cold hard ground, so watch out.

PIONEER WOMAN:
No you cannot, you crazy old pioneer coot, so shut up!

PIONEER MAN:
[simply]
Yes, you can.

PIONEER WOMAN:
[jumps off slowly moving wagon and runs for the hills]

PIONEER MAN:
[mutters under his breath]
Crazy woman.

rabbitch

I learned a great lesson on my trek out to Seattle: rabbits do not like being in a car for 15 hours a day. (Humans like it even less).

Ergo, once the bunny got out of her cage, she proceeded to Run Awry for several days in my home, earning herself the nickname Rabbitch.

Here's a shot of Rabbitch acting queenly and like the spoiled turd she is, in Some South Dakota hotel room (you can tell she's in Rabbitch mode by the red gleam in her eyes. Just kidding. That's just my sucky picture-taking again.)

The look on her face seems to say, "Come near me with that goddamn camera one more time, and I'll chew off your hair while you sleep."

rear window

Naughty blogger was not being at all cooperative yesterday in posting pictures, so the post ended up rather truncated. But, I forgive Naughty blogger, because they've now tweaked the composition page so you can actually cut-and-paste pictures in the HTML compose mode. I don't know why they didn't do this before, but apparently, it's kind of like having a cell phone. We lived for years and years without the buggers, and never knew what we were missing. Or maybe that's a poor analogy. I don't care, though, as I'm not getting paid any money to write coherently or elegantly. (If someone does want to pay me some money for writing this blog, I won't say no, though.)

Today, we continue on Magical Mystery Tour of Pictures That We Can't Figure Out Why Jamie Took In The First Place Because By Jove, How Fugly! Mea culpa, as these pictures are also from last week (because I've been too lazy to go out and get batteries for my camera).

So, just to get your bearings, here's a look-see at My Apartment Building, By Jamie:



To clarify further, my building is the Tall Grey One, not the Clay Orange Short One. If you were really bored, you could actually pick out my apartment, as it indeed faces the street/bay (depending on what floor you're on). (Don't ask me why I use the British English spelling of "grey." I just like it better.) I know it looks very impersonal, like some kind of Soviet era housing, but it's actually quite a nice building. There are actually four buildings in the apartment complex, and a 24 hour desk service, which is good if you call and get any one else whose name is not Jennifer, because she doesn't seem to know a lot about her job yet, and asks you who she's supposed to send to your apartment. Like, if I knew that, why would I waste time calling the front desk?

I think I had this problem at another place I lived, but I've lived so many places, it hardly matters.

Any way, here is another view (from my balcony) of the traffic I don't have to commute to work in:

I live about a mile from work, all local roads. Even with parking, it only takes about 10 minutes to get to work. Sweet.

And, here is my lovely view from my SW facing balcony:


I know you're thinking I feel shafted by this view, but actually, it's kind of interesting. First of all, the building to the right is very Mysterioso, with the people in lab suits walking around every once in awhile, but otherwise no one seems to be around.

I'm pretty sure this building where they filmed that godawful Tarkovsky movie, Stalker. In fact, I think those poor bastards who were running around in The Zone, or trying to find The Zone, or whatever the point of the stupid movie was, are still stuck on that set, having gone mad due to the incredibly slooooooow panning shots that probably took two months alone to film.

I mean, it takes about five minutes to open a damn door in that movie. I know I will be torn to pieces by the Intellectual People, who love this movie, but I just think Tarkovsky could have done us all a big favor by editing it down to about fifteen minutes of footage, half an hour, tops. I mean, if I wanted to see people rummaging around looking for a pile of trash, I'd go outside and check out the homeless people right over on 5th Ave.

And, the building to the left is an office building, which means I can't walk around naked in my living room--unless I wish to attract a lot of attention--but I can emulate Carey Grant, minus the broken leg, in Rear Window, and watch People Working When I'm Not Working. (I also don't have a pair of binoculars. That would be pretty creepy.) This Watching Employees Making Phone Calls And Photocopy Stuff, in turn, give me a feeling of vast superiority, because "Ha ha, you corporate slaves! It's Wednesday, and I'm not working and you are." Hopefully, I won't witness any murders, because I don't want to explain what I was doing home alone, spying on office workers from my dinner table at three in the afternoon.

Also, on the rare days I've had to be up at some godawful time like six thirty in the morning, I've noticed Early Guy sitting at his office window, working away diligently. I don't know if he comes early and leaves early, to avoid traffic, because He's Google Like That, or if he's a Crazy Person. You know, the kind that comes in and does extra work for free, and works all this unpaid overtime. Like nurses, only he's Office Guy.

I also live so close to the bay (about two blocks) that while I could see it from my apartment if I lived on, say, the ninth or tenth floor instead of on the seventh floor, I can also go see it any old time I wish.

And, I can also journey up many, many steps to improve the tone of my calves:


I mean, there's so many steps, I couldn't even take pictures of all the steps (well, that's probably because I'm such a shitty photographer, actually)!

Um, okay! So when I get off my lazy ass (and friggin' Rite Aid stock their AA battery section, those bastards!) and buy batteries, you'll have more pictures of Seattle! And maybe even another Piper picture!

almost paradise.

I find I must steal Loz's moniker for her flat in London (The Pixieflat), because, first of all, she is a mighty, powerful trademark and IP lawyer, and I like putting the idea of plagiarizing an IP lawyer's blog. Because I am stupid. Second, I think my apartment (because it is an American blog, and we must use American English now, or else the U.S. readers of this blog will be confused and turned off by the Eurocentricism) qualifies for Ultra Deluxe Pixieflat Status. Because of the tininess. But, I will have to check with Loz on that, because I can't, offhand, translate square feet into square meters, or whatever they use to compare and contrast sizes of flats in the UK and the rest of the "metric-speaking world" (that's a fake Bushism for you!).

My apartment is "tee-tiny" as my friend Cathy from divinity school (who is now a lawyer, too; phew, maybe I should rename this post "A Somber Tribute To All My Friends With Way More Impressive Careers Than Mine.") Realtors would call it "charming and cozy." I call it "small, but home." I also don't require a large amount of space, because I'd just Accumulate Stuff In It Any way.

And, it fulfills my requisite needs for apartment dwelling: clean, quiet, comfortable, and with my own special view of The Seattle Steam Company from my balcony:

grauitous Piper picture

For those of you who just can't get enough of Piper, here's another random photograph. As you can tell by the nondescript tan carpeting, he's in Seattle. I'm glad I thought to choose such an outstanding, tell-tale background!


Piper says, 'Why are you taking my picture again instead of taking me for a walk, woman?"

proof of life.

Hello, gentlereaders!

I've been in Seattle for a little over a week now, and so far, happy as a clam. Living right downtown, I can be One Of Those Tourists, Taking Pictures of Everything And Driving In A Sucky Manner Which Pisses Off and Scares the Beejesus Out Of A Bunch of Random Pedestrians I've Nearly Killed While Running Red Lights. (Nota bene: Accidentally running red lights. I'd never break the law on purpose. Snarf.)

Dude, man, I'm not used to all this city-living! I am a country bumpkin, from flat-land Florida, where we have tons of space to lay pavement across our precious wetlands (read: swamp) and construct 8 acre parking lots for the convenience of our hot, sweaty, heat-beleaugered population! Where one way streets don't exist (much!). And, where traffic is just as shitty as any major metropolitan area, but without interesting things to do and see.

But first, because Jamie is Jamie, and Must Do Her Daily Quota Of Bitching Or Else Swell Up, Implode, and Die, here's a quick list of slight dislikes. (There's only two, and it's barely even a paragraph worth--you can make it, readers, I promise!)

First of all:

The cold weather was kind of, umm--cold. Like, with the wind and stuff? I was a little disturbed at first, but just this past week it turned crispy-cool in the morning, to downright pleasant in the afternoon!

And second:

The horrendous price of gas (3.31/gallon USD is as cheap as I've seen it, and some places want your first born, plus the title to any property you own.)

Now, on to the Tasty Goodness of Seattle!

So, I'm all agog-with-wonder at the hills! And mountains! And the sort-of-fresh air! And the parking ramps, mysterious, labrynith-like underground parking lots and bi-level Targets!

Because I have recently rediscovered my midwestern roots (thanks in part to David) I must pause to spend a few luxurious moment talking about This Great Midwestern Institution. (Yes, I'm sorry, Amy, we have to talk about Target now. It's like, practically required reading in grade schools across Minnesota.)

So, I am officially instituting a Target Time Out (like in the OR, get it?!) I kill myself with the nursing jokes, I really do. No wonder they give me all the demented patients--they think we'll get along really well as we have similar mental issues.

Okay, so I admit to being kind of fascinated and yet weirded out by the bi-level Targets with elevators and escalators with the Cart-o-Matic feature. (Okay, I made up the Cart-o-Matic feature. I have no idea what it's called, but it's a little automated ramp for your cart which works in concert with the escalators, because It Would Be Bad, Probably, if we all just through our Market Pantry goods down to the first level and pray for the best.

Of course, upon seeing Cart-o-Matic, the first thing I thought was: I wonder if people have left their kids in the shopping carts on the way down the ramp.

The answer didn't remain a secret for very long, as I noted a pictogram on the Cart-o-Matic which seemed to be telling Stick Figure Parental Figure: GOD FORBID YOU LEAVE YOUR STICK FIGURE PROGENY IN THE CART DURING THE TRANSPORTATION OF YOUR CART .

The good news is, it didn't exactly say what would happen to the kid, or to the parent, if the kid was left in the cart, so we can allow our imaginations to run free.

Also, I'm sure Cart-o-Matic has been trademarked by someone else (Lawyer Loz would know) but I am going to commit TM Mortal Sin and use it any way. Because I like it.

Being kind of a curmudgeonly bitch when it comes to small, annoying kids who whine and scream too much--probably remind me too much of myself as an adult--I'm seriously tempted to stick a kid in the cart on the way down the Cart-o-Matic and see what happens.

I'm guessing it probably offbalances the cart, and the kid would go flying out of the cart. Hey, as long as my precious Target goods weren't disturbed, who cares. I wouldn't use my kid or I kid I actually liked, any way. Maybe, though, I'd experiment all Rube Goldberg experiment-style using the random screaming, annoying kid who won't shut up and is driving every one secretly batshit. I'm sure his/her mother wouldn't mind losing Screaming Annoying Kid--especially if she has like two or three spare kids laying around in case she loses one to the jaws of Cart-o-Matic. I'm sure she could get an nice settle-out-of-court-for-an-undisclosed-sum-of-money lawsuit against Target as a bonus for losing Screaming Annoying Kid, any way.

Okay. End Target rhaposdy. I wish I had thought to bring my camera and take pictures of Cart-o-Matic. It really is worth a separate blog entry.

Any way, with much effort, I am extracting myself from the Target train of thought...

Oh yeah, and then there's downtown Seattle. I live right near the water, and Pike Place Market. Piper and I go a-wandering, but the batteries in my camera are dying, and I haven't remembered to buy more, but last week, in between sleeping off TheCross Country Trip for twenty hours at a time, I took pictures of A Portion of the Amazing Seattle Skyline, By Jamie:


Yes, if you look very closely (or click on the picture to maximize it) that little bit peeking out shyly from the building at the left edge of photo is the infamous Space Needle. I wanted this experience to be a Where's Waldo of Seattle, you see. (Actually, that's not true. I just can't photograph anything worth a damn).

The grey building is the Seattle Aquarium, which has been recently renovated (and, if you click on the hyperlink, you can actually see the front of the building. You can tell photography was not an elective I chose to pursue during college. The Seattle Aquarium also boasts salt water sales (apparently for salt water aquarium enthusiasts). Is this a boon for Aquarium People? I have no idea, the practice of lugging mammalian pets cross-country being enough of a project for me, personally, without adding cold blooded water-dwelling creatures, etc, to the fray.

David and I liked the Meet Leonard link. I like the idea of the fish underdog (yes, I know that's an oxymoron). (Be sure to click on "My Life" and "Menu" to learn more about Leonard.)

Piper and I also went down the... I don't know... Wharf? Is that what it's called? We don't know, but we liked the view:


You might have enjoyed it better, actually, if I wasn't such a suck-ass photographer (or snap-shot taker, really; I have to downgrade myself from such a lofty title as "photographer"). I always insist on taking pictures when the sun is shining directly on the scene/person/whatever. Maybe I should start a new, postmodern school of photography, called solafoto (that looks like a nasty Italian swear word, doesn't it?). Hmmm. Maybe not.

We also walked around the Fake Wharf (I'm assuming fisherman in days of yore did not toss off their fishing gear and walk into a climate controlled restaurant at the end of a fishing trip and say, 'Ar, I'll have a Sam Adams and some fried lard." Or maybe they did. I don't know.):


(Yeah, I know, It's another sideview of the building. So put me in the Cart-o-Matic thingie and be done with it, already.)

westie appreciation day

I just went outside to walk Piper, and came upon a couple who wanted to meet him. They were visiting the city, and had a Westie at home.

When I asked them where "home" was for them, they said, 'Sarasota, Florida!"

Small world, isn't it!

Ah Piper, once again, acting as an ambassador of canine goodwill around the continent!

Jamie

and now, a word from our sponsor

I know devoted readers are thinking, "Okay, so the Piper pictures are cute, but we're a little sick of Wall South Dakota Rhapsody #5, and what's going on with all the lighthearted fun?! Where's Cranky Bitchy Wurk Jamie we all know and tolerate benevolently?!"

O ye of little faith! She's lurking right around the corner, as Wurk starts Monday. At least they've cut down substantially on the bullshit orientation; I'm only required to go to human resources, get my ID badge and sign some papers.

All of my shifts are 8 hour shifts this week. In nursing work terms, this is practically like winning a vacation.

So, I'm doing the Traditional Start A New Job Freak Out and wondering if maybe I should go back and read my ACLS algorithms and stare at some telemetry to see if I can recognize Stuff.

But, I'm not really freaking out that much, and this has to do with the fact that I'm kind of tired and only just today woke up enough to hunt down a Target and try to find New Hospital. I hope I make it there tomorrow, because while I did eventually find Large Hospital Main Campus, I still have no idea how I actually got there, having come by a circuitous route per The Branch of New Hospital down the street.

When I get more organized, I'll throw some Seattle pictures on the blog.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out what the hell to wear tomorrow. I UPS'ed a bunch of clothing which won't get here tomorrow, and I either have jeans or some very beat up cargo pants. Oh well. Hopefully, in Seattle, they won't mind the just-came-from-a-hiking-trail business casual look.

big sky country

A very kind lady accompanied by her husband offered to take our picture right before we crossed the Montana border into Idaho.

I think I had already been driving about six or seven hours by this point, and would be driving for another nine or ten by the time the day was done. I'm only smiling because that is what is generally societally acceptable in pictures, especially when total strangers offer to take them for you.

But Piper looks full of pep, doesn't he?

pet stop.

I thought the following would make a cute little Piper picture for a Montana Rest Stop Entry:


Piper, however, had other, very clear ideas about his wishes to be photographed, as evidenced by the petulant look below, which dared... no, defied me to take his picture again that day:


Thus, being a wise woman, I chose to put the camera down and backed away slowly.

And thus ended Day #2 of our Epic Journey..

i didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

No comment. But you, dear blog readers, no doubt may have some choice words.

car fifty four, where are you? oh, there you are.

This is Another Thing I Loved About Wall, South Dakota: not only did this building qualify as their police station, but...

They even had a OPEN sign in the front window. Apparently, this police department has business hours, and only catches criminals--(doing what?! defacing the restroom signs?!)--between the hours of 9a.m. and 5p.m.

Thank God, then, with that level of rampant crime, that they have one designated parking spot for police vehicles!

rabbits with antlers and gold diggers: these are a few of my favorite things.

I liked Wall, South Dakota a lot. One of the reasons was the juxtaposition of the sacred and profane.

Just kidding.

What I meant to say is: the juxtaposition of kitsch and absurdity just sent my postmodern mind a'spinnin'.

It was beautiful, I tell you! I could have spent hours (well, one or two, any way) in that little town, taking pictures and wondering what it would be like to live in a town this small and so proud of itself that practically every single institution in the place was named "Wall."

And, there were several mind bending mysteries to ponder for the next gazillion miles of South Dakota, such as:

I'm still trying to understand why they didn't make this rabbit something more like an antelope, rather than... well, a rabbit. I don't understand: why the antlers?! Why the saddle?!

And, "gold digging" and "gold diggers" has come to mean something very different in the colloquial parlance of young people today. Therefore, the naively named Gold Diggers has a sort of innocent poignancy to it:

Plus, what does a faux-medieval castle look have to do with midwestern gold mining?


Ah, Wall, South Dakota. We love that you live perpetually in 1965. We never, ever want you to catch up!

south dakota bathroom seriousness redux

I wasn't kidding, man, these Wall, South Dakotans just don't take "no" for an answer when it comes to sufficient amounts of toilets per capita (wish the same could be said for Montana, the state where due to some freakish genetic trait passed down by their hearty pioneer ancestors, apparently no one needs to eat, and therefore use the restroom, if Interstate 90 lack of reststops and restaurants is any indication).

But in Wall, South Dakota, the Restroom Is King:


Plus, if "huge rest rooms" aren't good enough for your all your toileting needs, you'll be glad to know that Wall, South Dakotans won't be bested by any other city or state in the next Restroom Facility State-Wide Competition 2007:

I'll bet Wall, South Dakota, gets an award yearly from the AARP for "most toilets per square foot of any city in the U.S."

a huntin' we will go.

On our Wall, South Dakota detour, Piper got down to his cave dog roots:


An expanded view of the terrifying creature:



Proof that Piper is nonplussed by very large stationary fakey predatory statues, apparently:

the wall

For various reasons, I had to stop off for a half an hour or longer in Wall, South Dakota. One reason was because I feared blood clots in my extremities if I sat in the car any longer.

Another reason is because the ubiquitous signs had been brainwashing me for about a hundred miles with their urgent advertisements for Wall Drugs. By the time I reached Wall, South Dakota, I felt like I might regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't see what "Wall Drugs" was. I kept waiting for the sign to say, "Wall Drug Store" or "Wall Pharmacy," but sign after sign remained insistent that highway road travelers not miss the attraction, but kept mysteriously coy about elaborating what Wall Drugs actually was. In fact, some of the signs simply said, "Wall Drugs," period, with no other explanation.

It's a clever marketing scam, actually.

I loved Wall, South Dakota.

Why, you ask? Because it's Wall, South Dakota, duh.

And, the signs told me to go there.

What did I see there?

That, dear blog readers, is a story for another billboard. I mean, blog post.

field of Piper

Piper and I stopped off at 1880 Town--which doesn't appear to have an actual population--somewhere in South Dakota, which was contained behind a tiny Shell gas station, in front of which five old men stood and talked about Agricultural Things Jamie Knows Nothing About. (Okay, so I lied; those men up the population of 1880 Town to five).

When I automatically locked my car doors after getting out of my car, one of the old men saw this City Slicker for what she really was and said, kindly, "Why you locking your doors? Ain't nobody out here gonna take nothing."

So off Piper and I went behind the gas station, where Piper kindly modeled for me in a field of dandelions:

And in front of this Dances With Wolves sign:

Then I took a picture of this little train diner:


And then Piper jumped up in this wheelbarrow and looked straight at the camera with a winsome look of pathos. (Second lie of the day: I forced him up on the wheelbarrow, bad Overbearing-Push-My-Dog-Into-Stardom Mom that I am).

And thus concluded our The Next Canine Super Model Photo Shoot of the Day.

Or so we thought...

P.S. To mmr: You're a blogger genius! You've saved me from BDS, or Blogger Despair Syndrome. Your suggestions worked! The blogging experience is now heightened to a new level for me. My blog will never be the same... sniff. I'm teary eyed in joy and appreciation.

And, I'm impressed with your diligence and research on the coin/bead issue. I seriously thought those were rubber-bands, as I didn't notice them when I took the picture. Wow. Impressive. I hereby give you an honorary Blogger Techie and Research PhD.

To amy: Mrs. W. should enjoy these pictures.

To David: No, the dog isn't really being entered in a beauty pagent. Yes, I did let him roam around off the leash.

we interrupt this blog...

I made it to Seattle last night!

More to follow, complete with photographic proof!

And now, back to Epic Trip, Days II and III.

signs.

The juxtaposition of these signs--not to mention the plausible possibilities of the casual reference to "melon" and "thump"--leaves me utterly puzzled, but deeply intrigued. It's kind of like the Stongehenge of South Dakota.

Are these postings real, government sanctioned signs? Funny jokes by a silly but good-natured resident of the fine state of South Dakota? What is the ontological nature of these signs? Dude, are the signs and their contents even remotely related to one another?

I invite others to ponder these questions as well.

Notes to fellow blog readers as follows.

Katy: I think you should reference this photo somehow in your dissertation. If possible, put it in an Appendix. It might be hard to index, though. Would it go under T for "thump," or M for "melon," or possibly even R for "rattlesnake"? PJ would know, but he might be too busy inspecting my blog for errant comma usage to respond to your professional query.

Amy: I think it would be wise not show this picture to AH, Mrs. W., or Jerry Joe if you plan to go out West. AH will start complaining about the immorality of legal gambling in South Dakota, Mrs. W. will panic and buy you fifty hospital-quality seizure helmets, and Jerry Joe will just laugh his ass off when he sees it and make a comment about how he was right about how one contracts Bell's Palsy. However, I might show it to Angry E., who will say in an annoyingly superior tone: "Any choice you make will be the right one, grasshopper."

David: I think this would make a good, cheerful sign to put rooms of patients the hospital has identified as neuro/ fall risk protocol.

More pictures to follow!

camp disappointment.

Again, mea culpa for the inexcusable paucity of knowledge when it comes to the recollection of my own country's history, but is/was there really a camp called "Camp Disappointment?"

This to me sounds way too postmodern.

But, if I had to name a Camp, that's what I'd call it. Except I'd contract Katy--who I instantly knew would enjoy this picture for similar reasons as I (me?)--to find some 95 letter German word that explained in precise, painstaking detail the qualitative and quantitative description of this camp of disappointment, or failing that, a twenty five word, rambling, incoherent, quote from Foucault.

But, if brevity is the soul of wit--Camp Disappointment works for me. Especially if you're depressed, because that's still a long word to have to spit out when you're too melancholy to use actual words to describe your psychic pain.

(Also, I'm curious as to the juxtaposition of the donkey/horse with the overly long neck. Why is s/he standing there, exactly, and could that mysterious facial contortion be an expression of aghast disappointment with its creator's unfortunate artistic ability?)

maps and mugs.

Piper was kind enough--okay, so more like, captive enough--to model my AAA map today.

From his petulant expression full of injured dignity, I surmised he was clearly thinking, "Why is this stupid bitch propping this map in front of me?"

don't point. it's not polite.

Even if you are Lewis and Clark and Explored Everything West of The Mississippi, or something like that, because I can't remember fifth grade history properly and need to learn about the United States from billboards place in public rest stops.

Observations:

Every state I've driven through west of Kentucky claims Lewis and Clark as their own.

But that's not what I'm worried about:

Good Lord, doctor, where are their legs?!

P.S. Free car-lint to the blog-reader that correctly identifies both the multicolored objects and the historical/cultural significance/relevance to South Dakota--if any--to the thing or things above and slightly to the right of Pointing Explorer's (Lewis's?) head?

I vote for mini rubberbands stuck there randomly by the "pop machine" sign creator.

pop goes the weasel. or prairie dog. or gopher.

This sign's jargon reminded me fondly of clearskies475 ("pop" = "soda," not "dad" for all you non-midwesterners out there who are envisioning, with puzzlement, mechanized, coin-operated paternal figures). Also, check out the prairie dog to the right of the sign. These little critters are ubiquitous midwestern icons.

Are they the same thing as gophers? (The prairie dogs, I mean, not the pop machines).

south dakota: where people take bathrooms seriously.

I meandered through South Dakota (from east to west) and a chunk of Wyoming, and a chunk of Montana today.

Because of the bonus hour granted by virtue of entering Mountain Time, I was actually on the road from 3 a.m. this morning until 5:30 p.m.

Also, because a picture is worth 1,000 words (or in my case, about two, due to the unfortunate but acute case of travel-induced aphasia) I've chronicled my Trip Through Mostly South Dakota Today in photographic form.

Geriatric people and people with 30 milliliter capacity bladders such as myself will appreciate this post.

Nota bene: I was attracted to this particular rest stop because a prominent sign at the entrance strictly forbade the visitor from hunting. I was confused. Hunting what? For toilet paper? Paper towels? I may have been on the road for about six hours at that point on three hours of sleep (yes, completely safe driver alert!) but a girl knows when something ain't quite right with a place.

Any way, I couldn't get a picture of that sign, but it inspired me to take other random photos of my trans-america sojourn.

And don't ask me what's going on with the pictures above the text, or why they're first, and not in the order I wished. I don't understand why blogger always puts the picture at the top of the blog, no matter where you actually want it to go in the text. Some one more blog savvy can solve this for me, I know it. You , dear readers, are the clever people who solved the mystery of the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center, after all! I'm counting on you to solve my blogspot tech frustrations!

Pictures, above: So, are the recycling bins only for the convenience of visitors to South Dakota, or can other people, who live there, use them, too?

Picture, below: Uh. I mean, I know it's art, and rules of perspective are not necessarily observed in contemporary forms of expression.

But why is the buffalo the size of a bull mastiff in comparison to the Native American? Are those secret, hitherto unknown species of midget buffalo? And what's with those prairie dogs, man?! I'm more afraid of those lard ass suckers than the buffalo, frankly. They have some serious growth hormone issues! They're almost as big as the buffalo!

I'm extremely worried about that Native American. Not only is he depicted in an anatomically impossible and most likely therefore extremely painful position--not to mention have some serious-rival-Barbie's-problems-with-proportion--but what's with the Speedos?



P.S. It isn't over yet. I have more stupid pictures.

missouri: the "why show me" state

I started out this morning at 3 a.m. from Fort Campbell, KY and fifteen amazing, fun-filled hours (of Missouri! and more Missouri! and gasp! still more Missouri), am in Sioux-Spin-Off City, SD.

Using what I call Special Math, I calculated the distance of todays sojourn. (This secret, passed-down-from-mathematically-genetically-deficient generations of my kin, involves the square root of caffeinated beverages divided by the number of rest-stops required, per hour, plus how many states the dog managed to pee in, among other variables).

The distance? Very A Lot Big.

That's about all I can say at this point, I'm so tired.

Oh, and Katy: there's a state park or something with the name Katy, in some state. Maybe Missouri, since that's the state I spent about 12 friggin' hours traveling across, and up, today. And, Katy in the park name was spelled K-A-T-Y in case you're having trouble remembering how you spell your name.

Amy: There's a town called Craig. I resisted the temptation to spray paint the highway sign so it'd would say "Graig."

To All: If you ever have a town to name, and you can't come up with a single damn thing that makes sense, pick a word. No really, any word will do. This is America, after all! Land of the free and all that! Then, once you pick a word, add the suffix "ia" to it.

Then you, too, can live in a place smack dab in the Northern Hemisphere called Amazonia!

I have to go to bed now. Have to. So that tomorrow, I can stake my claim on a parcel of land and call it Sleepia.

P.S. Somewhere in my travels today, I came across The Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center. If someone wants to research this curious name (or even google it; I'm even too tired for a google search, so you know how tired I am) I would be obliged.

Or maybe, I should just leave it an enigma, like Amazonia, Missouri, or why Premium gas is cheaper than Unleaded Regular here in South Dakota.

cujo terrorizes local burger joint

There are reasons why I love The South. Subtle, mysterious reasons that I can't quite explain at present.

And also, glaringly obvious reasons, like the following conversation I overheard at a monolithically giant fast food chain in Podunk, Tennessee, between a manager and his erstwhile employees. (I must here confess I was ordering that traditional American favorite, Deep Fried Lard Masquerading as Potato Pieces:

MANAGER:

[to employees]
Now, y'all, I don't wanna know what it is y'all know.

EMPLOYEES:
[Chuckle vaguely, apparently unsure what it is they know the manager doesn't.]

MANAGER:
But, y'all gotta protect the food, 'cause there's this big ol' dog who's been loose around these here parts for hours now. Sheriff's out looking for him and all.

JAMIE:
[thinks]
Protect the food?!

driving yourself insane.

So, the one thing I didn't really, truly factor into this whole driving from sea to shining sea thing, was how much driving is really involved.

As an example: I woke up at 3:30 a.m. and was on the road at 4:30 a.m., and drove until 5:00p.m. I am in a different time zone! I've been in three different states today! I almost got crushed by a semi-truck due to inattentiveness at the 12 hour mark! (Note: My mother does not read this blog, so I can say things like the last part without having the National Guard come crashing through my hotel door post haste on account of maternal distress).

All in all, this was not one of my better-thought-out-plans. Sure, it'll be cool to say, "I drove cross-country by myself, with a dog and rabbit for companions!" But that's assuming I even make it to Seattle. Which I'm beginning to doubt. My Lewis and Clark sense of adventure is a lot less Lewis and Clark today than it was at 6:00p.m. yesterday.

I can't imagine those pioneer women that followed their men from East Coast to West Coast. It sounded so romantic when I read Laura Ingall's Little House on the Prairie series.

Oh yeah: I went through Nashville and got nostalgic for my College Days (Katy! I passed by the Briley Parkway and Opryland exit! I thought of Opry Mills! Fondly, if you must know.)

Now what?

in which Jamie freaks out

So, I had a moment when I saw an overhead view of Seattle and thought, "Wow. That's a really big city. Really big."

Then I realized I was going to be there, and started getting Anxious. Sure, I've done adventurous, potentially career-destroying things like deciding "Hey, I'll become a travel nurse with less than a year's nursing experience!" And it was fun, and I learned a lot, etc. etc.

But, moving all the time is getting exhausting. I'm not sure what I expected, but probably I was hoping to find a staff job by now, or something. But, the more time I spend traveling, the more confused I become. Should I do ICU? Should I become an NP or CNS? Should I go back to school and get an MSN or a PhD? Should I have a bagel or an English muffin? Etc. etc.

I figured by now in life I would have figured some stuff out, like what I really wanted to do, where I really wanted to live, and how I really felt about all kinds of stuff I think of as "grown up stuff."

The truth is, I have no fucking clue.

But, I am going to the Northwest Pacific!

Maybe I would have been better off being born in the former Soviet Union, and some bureaucrat in Moscow could have decided when I was ten that I was going to be a potato farmer in or a secretary, and that would have been that.

the long haul

I probably should have left earlier, as it would have possibly circumvented Bunny Home Redecorating Episode Number 647, but, I've been enjoying the thought that my 3200 mile drive is really fake. You see, I'm fantasizing about an intervening feat of magic, like I'll be able to Apparate myself and all my junk (three boxes of which are on their way via the almost-magic UPS Ground service) and crazy pets to Seattle without having to do anything more than land in magical world of wizards and witches.

Clearly, my pets aren't crazy. I'm crazy.

I'm fearing this drive not so much because I fear of Danger and The Modern Driving Woman, but because the thought of driving for four days straight is almost as terrifying as being forced to read all the major works of Martin Luther in four days, and then, on Monday, have a big exam.

And how is it I still have slightly more packing up to do?!

bunnicula

I could make my impending trip to Seattle much easier: just drop the rabbit, cage and all, into a nearby wooded area.

This strategy, however, isn't obviously a real choice, because I love animals, and adult reponsibility and all that crap. Also, the rabbit wouldn't last very long out in this heat, and if the heat didn't stroke her out in five seconds flat, she doesn't have a lot of innate survival instincts intact, what with having been selectively bred to be a shocking "Free Tasty Morsel" white in color and pampered and spoiled beyond reasonable belief--especially lately, with the gourmet blueberries and Land of Free Flowing Carrots going on around here.

She's been staying with a clearly overly generous friend this week, and managed to do absolutely no damage to the apartment up until yesterday, when she decided the Call of the Baseboard was too strong to overcome even her refined urban tastes and nibbled on very visible, at least an eight inch segment, which is one of the reasons Free Range Rabbit Owners Must Be Very Tolerant.

We might be flying our Bunny Pride flags around here, but the Bunny Honor System will have to be revoked until further notice.

The repair itself required a surprise trip to Home Depot and Fun With Spackling Products. The spackling still isn't dry; then I have to sand it down, pray the whole cover-up job doesn't look glaringly obvious, and paint it, and pray again (maybe to a different god this time) that it... well, doesn't look glaringly obvious.

In the meantime, bunny foo foo has earned herself a trip to the slammer. Tough luck, wabbit.

nurses appreciation week

It's funny how I've been a nurse for nearly two years, worked in a hospital for going on almost four, and never knew this nurses week thing was, you know, a thing.

One thing I really miss about my old staff job is the nurses with whom I worked. I would never say work was "fun" but I worked both swing shift and day shift, and I used to remember, especially on evenings, when the shit hit the fan, and things would go completely bonkers, that those nurses always had each other's backs.

With every travel assignment, it's getting harder and harder not to have those nurses around. I really, really miss having friends at work I look forward to seeing. It was one of the reasons I stayed at that job as long as I did, actually, and when nurses started leaving the floor in droves, it played into my burn-out, and eventually, I left, too. I knew when I left, though, that I would regret leaving those nurses.

I thought the facility sucked, I thought management was a bunch of 'hos, but I loved working with those nurses. They were teachers, mentors, and friends. Even though many of my friends left before or after I did, we still keep in touch.

If I hadn't worked with those nurses, my get-away plan would have been perfect.

mission: possible. maybe.

So, I've literally been sleeping and grazing my way through my visit to my parents'.

I can't help it; I'm just so... somnolent all the time. The good news is, I seem to have gotten an appetite back again, and can now eat an entire bowl of chili without severe gastric distress.

Mom is being mom, repacking all my clothing and ironing clothes that don't seem to really need ironing, and packing clothing Very Neatly in clear plastic bags which adds a layer of redundancy to the whole concept of needing a suitcase, somehow.

I'm also getting stern maternal lectures to "gain at least five pounds" because I am clearly "emaciated," although I have yet to pin down exactly what compromises the medical/scientific criteria of this definition.

Meanwhile, I feel thoroughly exhausted. I don't think I've ever been this tired. I don't remember ever needing this much sleep. What's wrong with me?

burning bush.

[I'm] occasionally reading, I want you to know, in the second term." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., March 16, 2005

"In this job you've got a lot on your plate on a regular basis; you don't have much time to sit around and wander, lonely, in the Oval Office, kind of asking different portraits, 'How do you think my standing will be?'" --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., March 16, 2005

"In terms of timetables, as quickly as possible -- whatever that means." --George W. Bush, on his time frame for shoring up Social Security, Washington D.C., March 16, 2005

"I like the idea of people running for office. There's a positive effect when you run for office. Maybe some will run for office and say, vote for me, I look forward to blowing up America. I don't know, I don't know if that will be their platform or not. But it's -- I don't think so. I think people who generally run for office say, vote for me, I'm looking forward to fixing your potholes, or making sure you got bread on the table." --George W. Bush, on elections in the Middle East, Washington, D.C., March 16, 200

"Who could have possibly envisioned an erection -- an election in Iraq at this point in history?" --George W. Bush, at the white House, Washington, D.C., Jan. 10, 2005

mortal kombat

"As you can possibly see, I have an injury myself -- not here at the hospital, but in combat with a cedar. I eventually won. The cedar gave me a little scratch. As a matter of fact, the Colonel asked if I needed first aid when she first saw me. I was able to avoid any major surgical operations here, but thanks for your compassion, Colonel." --George W. Bush, after visiting with wounded veterans from the Amputee Care Center of Brooke Army Medical Center, San Antonio, Texas, Jan. 1, 2006

the dalai lama and costco

Okay, so it would take me about five hundred words to explain thoroughly why this link is so funny, but you're going to have to trust me, if you think there's no way the words Costco and Dalai Lama can be used together in a sentence, you need to go review The Four Noble Truths, STAT.

the demonstrative pronoun sweeps America!

So, I'm preparing for The Big Move, which entails Putting These Things Into This Box, and Those Things Into Another Box (uh oh. I feel a Latin Pedantry Moment: The Demonstrative Pronoun In All Its Shining Glory, coming on strong).

It also entails Stealth Mingling of my 100,000 paper towel rolls, instant oatmeal packages, and various half-used cleaning products amongst my parents' cupboards. This is called "downsizing."

I am also trying not to look at my AAA TripTik, which is probably a good many pages more than I care to study, for fear of chickening out, getting to Missouri, and begging my recruiter to find another contract for me in Missouri, because there is no way in hell I can drive any more.

In other news, the dog got sick two days before I left Central Florida Nightmare Of Doom assignment, requiring a midnight $200 emergency vet trip for what essentially turned out to be A Very Bad Tummy Ache. He's better now, even though I have officially burned a hole through my already singed-looked pocket.

Nothing more to report here, except I am still feeling exhausted and the most philosophical construct I can come up with at present is, "Does my charity knitting project exist in some kind of time-warp, wherein it is possible to knit on the damn thing for five months and still not come up with a finished blanket despite hundreds of hours committed to the stupid f-ing thing?"

The answer my friends, is blowing in the wind.

And that answer is: yes.

the lights they are going dim, mother

Oh my god. This f-ing GI virus, or whatever it is.

I'm so dehydrated I'm constantly headachy.

And, I can't seem to put anything in my stomach and keep it there.

But, I have to say, this has been one of the longest bouts of GI misery I've had in awhile.

In the meantime, packing up and psyching self up for trip to Seattle.

This is gonna rawk kids, yeah?

Or at least, I'm trying to talk myself into it "rawking" because I don't know, it can't suck, right?

And, I can take Piper around Elliot Bay, and I can take pictures of something interesting for a change, and put them up on the blog.

If, you know, I make it out to Seattle, and don't end up dessicated somewhere right outside of Yellowstone, due to this crappy GI virus.

Eh.

go west, young woman

So, in a life redolent of bad fuck ups, I've decided to really, truly commit to going to Seattle. And that means doing a four to five day car trip, most likely by myself.

On the other hand:

Everyone says I'll love this city.

Well, hopefully, it will prove interesting and fun to explore on my days off.

I still think this idea of going all the way across the country, to a big huge city where I know no one smacks of stupidity.

Still, who knows. Maybe watching the 5th Harry Potter movie in Seattle theaters and buying the 7th Harry Potter book in Seattle bookstores will be more meaningful this summer.

deus ex machina pooh! (aka, random pooh).

Imagine, if you will, waking up in the a.m. to throw out your trash. Suddenly, out of nowhere, you've come face to face with a damn-near-lifesized version of Pooh!

And, Pooh is clad in what appears to be a rather revealing nightdress and nightcap in superhero colors.

I'm trying to remember if any of the people on my floor have kids, and if so, if this Uber Plush Toy could possibly belong to one of them, and Mom is trying to get rid of it to make room for the kid's paintball guns, or life-size statue of Monty Python. I can just see the conversation, now, when the kid finds out Pooh is gone: "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Pooh told me he had to go away and accost some other girl half his size with his very yellow fur and expression of benign pathos. I'm sure you understand, don't you?"

I mean, there's no note attached to the Pooh, or anything, so I'm assuming maybe some trash dude was carrying it around and set it down to pick up my trash and then "forgot" to pick it back up.

I don't get this place. Did my disgruntlement at the Mr.-Toad-and-His Used-to-Be-Wild-Now-Completely-Defunct-Ride somehow take tangible form and fly out in to the cosmic Foucaultian universe, to be swept up by some unintelligible Hegelian Geist, whipped around Dasein Alley, and then cranked through some post-modern object generator, to return to earth, in the form of Pooh (Toad's usurper, in terms of attractions)?

Somewhere, a witchy little Foucault is up in his Spectacle World, casting a beneficent Gaze down at us little people, and just laughing his/her ass off.

I would ask someone to explain the meaning of this Pooh thing, but I doubt I'd want to know the answer, because it probably involves words like "five finger discount" and "teen druggies" and "framing someone else for the Pooh heist."

The thing does look brand new, but that doesn't mean very much. I've seen kids throw perfectly good stuff, emulating the non-earth nuturing qualities of their own wasteful DNA contributers.