R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

I found this in a random notebook I grabbed to take notes for Microbiology.

2/19/11

Well, my counselor says I should journal about my feelings every night. Feelings...ugh. I guess I've felt mostly happy all week. The baby came last Sunday! He's so beautiful and so fresh. He is without opinion, without prejudice, without hopes or fears or expectations, greed, insecurity, or habit. It's more than a little terrifying to consider how great an impact we, as his family, will have on his developing personality. But great opportunities are always a big scary, aren't they? We have so many choices to make every single day... we can teach this little man to be loving and accepting, hard-working and brilliant, responsible and happy. One thing I hope for him is that he holds on to what little knowledge he possesses right now - and that is that there are basic things YOU need and sometimes you have to scream to get them. We all deserve health, warmth, loving attention, enough to eat, and someone who is careful with us - body and soul. I think too many times we fail to demand these things from the people with whom we surround ourselves. We allow ourselves to be pushed aside, ridiculed, judged, and minimalized. We have to stop standing by quietly, waiting for people to suddenly become decent. We need to scream and yell and refuse to back down. We have to offer those who would treat us with anything less than respect and equality our middle finger and move on to bigger, better things. I really believe we'd be surprised at how much we could change if we were unapologetic. I know it's time for me to be bold. I've taken big steps already and I need to continue on. It's time for me to go live wherever I want, get a job to get by, and finally take hold of that nursing degree I've wanted for so long. I'm going to do it. I'm ready.

-------------------

I came across this today. One week(-ish) after a breakup, and at the beginning of what will be a really long week. I was just telling my mom last night how discouraged I am trying to balance a full-time job and a full class load. I'm so tired. But then I saw this, and I remembered where I was when I wrote it. In the midst of my very first breakup. Still completely shocked by Marcus' death. Utterly, hopelessly depressed. I was so beaten down that the thought of getting out of bed in the morning was so overwhelming it literally made me cry. But look! I got off my ass! I have a job at a hospital, I'm working on my nursing degree. I've cut ties with some people who weren't treating me well. I'm moving forward! I'm proud of myself, and I'm energized.

So if you're discouraged today, think about where you were six months ago - maybe you won't feel so bad. And let's all remember that we deserve so much more out of life than we tend to insist upon. Can you imagine how great life could be? I can, and I'm pretty damn excited about it!

Experiment

I'm in such a crazy mood today, which I'll attribute to sleep-deprivation. But anyway, I'm wearing these tweed pants with really cool pockets and they're making me feel so... literary? I don't think that's an acceptable use of that word. I feel I should be wearing a matching vest with a pocket-watch and bow-tie, sitting in a loft at a type-writer, with my legs crossed, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. There are way too many commas and hyphens in that sentence. Not the point, though. For whatever reason, I have this overwhelming desire to be Jack Kerouac. Have you heard of stream-of-consciousness narrative? That was his jam, man. He loved it. And in case you can't tell, I'm trying it on for size right now. It's not pure, of course. I don't have his discipline, I don't have any practice. There are slight pauses. I still have to focus too much on the sentence I'm constructing to formulate the next in my head in order to write seamlessly. Maybe I'll practice, who knows? I'm thinking I need some kind of theme for now, though, so I'll tell you about the venture I just took to QT. I decided to walk to the gas station because I desperately wanted a popsicle. Walked because I'm low on gas. Irony? Moving on. It was like the Twighlight Zone, no joke. This is a nice neighborhood with nice homes, but apparently its inhabitants are crazy. I saw an old man watering his hedges in his underwear. Briefs... he was showing more leg than my underwear show. I shuddered again just thinking about it. Then I saw a guy in his mid-40s standing on his lawn in comic book print pajama pants drinking a glass of wine. One block over, the whole street was standing outside because a water main broke and everything's flooding. Are we still under the water-conservation mandate? The word fiasco comes to mind, and even though it sounds odd it seems appropriate. So. After this fiasco, not only will we be banned from watering our lawns and laundering our clothes, but they'll probably ask us to stop showering. While we're at it, we may as well just start drinking strictly Mt. Dew and Pepsi. The hill people in Kentucky do it, why shouldn't we? The only side effects are tooth decay, insomnia, developmental disabilities, and the loss of the ability to use proper English. I suppose few people around here know how to speak properly anyway, so it really wouldn't hurt us that much... Isn't any city in the Midwest just the country in a mask? Like...hillbillies in suits. We like huntin', fishin', football, beer, and brats. We hate liberals, Mexicans, atheists, and homosexuals. These are sweeping stereotypes and certainly don't hold true for most Tulsans, of course. Anyway, back to the popsicle. It was Starburst. Rainbow. It was delicious, but sometimes eating phallic foods makes me feel really awkward. Twenty-six and eleven twelfths and I still have the maturity of a middle-school boy sometimes. Oh well. That just completely shut down my train of thought... I wonder if Kerouac ever got writer's block in the middle of a writing session. I doubt it. He was too cracked out for his brain to ever pause, I think. And that sentence just caused me to think of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Hunter S. Thompson...what a freak. Speaking of freaks, this might be horrible to say, but I was wondering earlier how old Lady Gaga is. Is she 27 yet? Because I just have this feeling that she's not going to live very long. Obviously, I don't know anything about her personal life. She may not do any drugs. I really don't see how that's possible, though... I can't think of anybody right now who's really creative and doesn't do drugs. Or smoke pot at least. Honestly. Maybe that's why christian music sucks so much. Maybe christian artists aren't inferior, they just think smoking pot is immoral and that puts them at a huge disadvantage. Creatively speaking. Maybe they should reconsider. I bet God would rather them spoke pot, make awesome music, and reach more people than be so damn uptight. Too much pot talk... I wonder if taking a second to switch playlists would break my stream of consciousness and ruin this entire experiment? I really want to listen to The Kills. I've been totally obsessed lately. I'll put a link at the bottom when I'm finished writing. Just a note, I'm updating my blog right now because my absence as of late caused an uproar. And by that I mean a few people sent me messages asking when I planned to post again. The thing is, I always feel like such a douche updating my blog. Because who cares, right? I don't find my life all that interesting so I'm not sure why anyone reads this. Oh! Wait! Since I'm writing anyway, feeling like a douche, I'll give you a dating update. So... update: I'm dating this girl who's really pretty and really cool and I like her a whole lot. And I'm excited and giddy and nervous around her, and I'm fighting really hard not to be crazy. You know what it's like when you first start dating someone and you're really excited about it. There's a concert you want to go to in 3 months and you catch yourself just assuming you'll go together, then you freak out because your brain just decided you'll still be together in 3 months. It decided without you. And you daydream about laying in bed on a rainy Sunday afternoon, talking quietly and enjoying the storm. And you can't stop your mind from drifting to things like always having a date for everything, and always having somebody to talk to, and having someone anxiously waiting for you to get off work. Everything's all warm and new and exciting and scary. Terrifying, actually. You want to calm down, because what if you like them way more than they like you? What if it ends tomorrow and you're totally heartbroken and you feel like such a dumbass because you shouldn't be so into this so soon? And then you have tickets for that concert. Hopefully you didn't tell them about it yet, because it's only awkward if they know you were planning to go with them. Why am I saying "them"? Her. I'm out, I can say her. I liiiiiiike her. I'm excited. I hope she doesn't sense that I'm such a mess about all this. We're all nervous at first, right? Surely this nervous as hell, terrified of messing everything up thing isn't unique to me. Anyway. I guess the best thing is to hide the crazy from her, but allow myself to be excited. Because if it doesn't work out, it will beat the shit out of my heart whether I enjoyed the hype or tried to stifle it. Also, though, doesn't dating make you incredibly aware of how all your clothes fit you? I mean... I've never been so concerned about how my pants make my ass look. By the way, it looks really good in these tweed pants. The brilliant pocket placement helps a lot. And now that we've circled back to the pants, I think it's time to cut the feed.

Omg, that is ridiculously long. It's stream-of-consciousness, though... I'm not allowed to edit. It will probably bore anyone who dares read it to tears, but it was kind of fun. I haven't even read it - I'm just going to link to The Kills and hit publish. Uh-oh.

How To Not Be Scary

I'm back! I just sat here for a few minutes and tried to figure out why I've had so much time to update my blog lately... It's this sickness that won't go away. I would really, really, really like to go for a run - but I can't. I tried. I made it about ten steps. This is why I can't focus on my homework. And why I'm so grumpy. And why PMS is hitting me so much harder than normal. I've been bat-shit crazy all day long. By the way, who made that the standard phrase for people who are absolutely insane?

I've been saying for awhile that I was going to have my hair cut into a faux-hawk. Well... I did it today. My friend Audra did it, rather. She did a great job, it's fun, and it looks great! But I'm going to have to get used to it. Mostly, I'm thinking about a promise I made to myself back when I was a baby lesbian. Before I knew anything about how I'd want to look and act when I got comfortable with myself. I made a mental list of things I'd never do because I didn't want to become too butch...butch ladies scared me.

So, here it is. A sampling of my rules for how to not be a scary, dykey, butchy lesbian.

1. Never allow khaki cargo shorts to become a staple in your wardrobe.
2. Do not purchase a Harley Davidson. Or wear a Harley bandana on your head.
3. Only wear sporty sunglasses when playing sports.
4. Refuse to wear thick leather AE flip-flops.
5. Stick with women's hygiene products because it's ok to smell like a girl.
6. Collars should never, ever be popped.
7. Don't walk around with a toothpick in your mouth.
8. Be, at the very least, cordial to men.
9. Avoid wallet chains and boxers.
And finally...
10. Never get the Classic Lesbian Cut. Visual aide:

You guys, this is the haircut I got today. Except my hair is standing up.

So I've broken a few of my rules. This wouldn't bother me at all, except... today was the beginning of a very emotional time of the month and when I used the restroom at the grocery store after my appointment, there were a few kids around 10 years old. Once I closed the stall door I heard, "ohmygod did you see that girl?! she looked so much like a boy! disgusting!!!"

And it didn't hurt my feelings. Kids say shit like that all the time - they're honest. When compared to other lesbians my appearance isn't shocking, but compared to the female population as a whole I look pretty boyish. Whatever. What that little brat said, though... I was convicted. I've been keeping this list in my head of things that cross some sort of masculinity line. What is wrong with me?! I know women who break these "rules" and they're sweet, kind people. Operative word being people. People who've had to deal with the same - if not worse - challenges I've struggled with. People who just want to be themselves and be left alone. I've felt like such an asshole all afternoon.

So I just wanted to get that off my chest. I'm judgmental sometimes and it's terrible and I'm genuinely sorry. I'm working on it. I have a new mantra, which will not only remind me to judge not, but also to quit stressing about everything. Every morning I'll look in the mirror and say, Natali. Get the hell over yourself. Can you imagine how much happier we'd be if we just got over all the little crap in life?

Oh, yeah. One more thing. Some girl sent me a message today because she thinks I'm a boy and wants to date me. I wonder if she'd have a good sense of humor about it if I met her for coffee?

:::EDIT:::

Maggie requested a picture. Here you go, friend...

I Can't Remember What I Did Last Night

I had to call in yesterday. I was chugging Dayquil, throwing back ibuprofen, and chomping cough drops like nobody's business. I really did not want to call in sick less than two weeks into this job. Ugh.

- Hi, it's Natali Estes. I'm not going to make it in tonight.

- Um.... hang on. Let me pull up the schedule. Oh. Yeah, Natalia. Ok.

- I'm really sorry, I've just had a pretty high fever all day.

- It's ok, hon. You're just on orientation anyway. Take care.

So that was great. I'm inconsequential. And it's Natali. If my name were Natalia, I would have said that. The fact that I'm a lowly assistant does not mean I can't pronounce my own damn name.

Obviously, all I want to do when I'm sick is whine. I want somebody to bring me soup and feel sorry for me and run their fingers through my hair and watch a movie with me and not get mad when I gripe about everything. But alas, I'm left to my own devices. I went to Walgreen's for medicine and ended up buying a box of Snickers ice cream bars because I feel terrible and I deserve something good. Right? I know I'm not the only one who does this. I'm going to have to break down and go to the doctor tomorrow. I threw up on the floor. Let me say that again: I threw up. On. The. Floor. And I peed my pants during a particularly long coughing fit. I need help. 

The only reason I'm writing this post is because I need to study for an Anatomy exam and I really don't want to start. Since I'm here though, let's talk about Ambien. I've always had trouble sleeping. I've tried OTC pills, "natural" remedies, meditation, therapist-recommended relaxation techniques... Marijuana actually works really well, but of course that's illegal. And I would never do anything illegal. Anyway. Last year my doctor wrote me a prescription for Ambien. I've taken it five times and freaked the hell out three of those times. Once I thought the paint on my walls was melting and would certainly drown me. Another time I called my friend, crying hysterically, because I thought I was turning into a wolf. 

It also causes short-term memory loss, so I have no recollection. I check my call logs, texts, and browsing history the next morning and attempt to make all the necessary apologies and explanations. Tripped-out Natali is getting tricky, though - last night I deleted all the texts I sent. So if you got one from me between 11 and midnight and thought I was on drugs... you were right. Sorry.

I vaguely remember deciding I should have some ice cream. I walked to the kitchen naked. I'm pretty certain I was high-stepping for some reason. And my head felt like jell-o. I decided if I ever made it back to my bed, I'd never leave. Then - according to my browsing history - I watched YouTube break-dancing tutorials for about an hour. (?!)

Why do I keep taking it, you ask? Here's the thing with me and sleep. I'm like a meth addict. I don't sleep for a couple of days. Then I sleep 3 hours a night for a week or two. Then I don't sleep again for a day. And then? I crash. I crash hard. I can sleep an entire weekend, waking only once a day to pee. So, I use Ambien to make the cycle less drastic. I take one, flip out, then sleep like a rock for 14 hours. It's really unhealthy, potentially habit-forming, and I learned today that it studies have shown it to cause people to have sex in their sleep. I don't like it. 

In conclusion: I'm sick. I'm whiny. I may know how to break-dance soon. And if you have any suggestions on falling asleep, pleeeeeease pass them along.

Dancing. All The Time.

I said I'd post on dancing and dating. And since I'm working on finding my back to being a person of my word (more on that later...), here we go. I think I'll give dating its own post later.

So, dancing. Sara told me last weekend she's going to make me a shirt that says, "Ahhhhhhh, I love dancing." Sadly, I think she was kidding... I would wear it all the time. It's ridiculous how much I love dancing, because I'm terrible at it. I like to dance in the shower, in the club, in my car, at the dinner table when I'm supposed to be sitting still and minding my manners, standing around the pool table at a dive bar where nobody else is dancing. I bob to the music in my head when I'm sitting in class. Last night I caught myself waist-up dancing at the nurse's station while I was charting. I'm shakin' it right now. In fact, I was thinking I might be too tired to go meet my friends tonight... but I'm listening to a playlist entitled "Just Dance" and I think I'm going to have to go.

Since I love lists so much, I think we should make a list of rules for dancing in public.

1. Mind your face. If you don't smirk and laugh while you dance people will think you're serious. And trust me, you're not serious. You're not a good dancer even when you've been drinking. Almost nobody looks good dancing.

2. No slapping your own ass or grabbing your crotch. Even in jest. Just don't.

3. If all you can do is step side to side and bob your head, own it! It's a good idea to have somebody to dance with, though. If you're standing in the middle of the dance floor bobbing your head by yourself, chances are you're also looking around. And that's freaking creepy.

4. Drink something. Sober people are way too stiff.

5. Don't drink too much. Drunks are embarrassing. They also tend to hit on somebody else's girlfriend or make out in front of everybody. Nobody likes this.

Well, those are the five I can think of off the top of my head. I'll be on the lookout for more rules tonight. Do you have any suggestions?

I have to go now... time to fix my hair and put on my new fedora. Oh, and one more note. Regarding the last two rules: it's important to find your formula. For instance, mine is one strong rum and coke then a beer every 1.5 hours. I stay loose and fun but I keep my wits about me. Stir in house music, low lighting, and a good crowd. Happy for hours.

I've Been Runnin'

Being a student again SUCKS. I had this elaborate vision of walking around campus in my chucks and faux-Buddy Holly glasses, carrying my North Face bag and pumping indie tunes through my headphones. I was gonna strut through the student union, lookin' all fly and shit, while girls swooned and boys got jealous. And every once in awhile, I supposed I'd stop in for a lecture and learn some big words I could use to impress people.

Well. There's nothing cute about trying to get to class by 8 a.m. And I'm going to a community college... the student union is tiny and ugly and empty, and it's nowhere near the science building. "Impressive" isn't the adjective I'd use to describe myself mumbling anatomical terms and chemical formulas to myself like a schizophrenic. But I've got the chucks and Buddy Holly glasses down. And there are some cute girls in my glass who find me intriguing at the very least. I'm over the whole studying and doing homework all the time thing, though. I have sooooo many more classes to take. Ugh.

Ok, I'm done complaining. I finally started my job at the hospital, and I freaking LOVE it! You guys, my patients adore me. Seriously. And the real nurses actually depend on me for shit. I've never felt so useful in my life. I rush around taking vitals, refilling water pitchers, testing blood sugars, rolling patients around in their beds to clean poop off of them, emptying catheter bags, getting coughed and spit and puked on, running errands, calming families down... for 12 hours. And I swear to you, I have a grin on my face the whole damn time. Despite being broke and flinging myself into the throes of debt, I will never regret leaving accounting. NEVER! When I think about my old job, this really dramatic voice (in my head) screams "GIVE ME FREEDOM OR GIVE ME DEATH!!!" 

So anyway. That's what I've been up to.

I think my next post will be about dancing and dating.

Gracie-isms

I’d been keeping a list of Gracie quotes awhile ago… I opened it up for a study break and thought I’d just go ahead and publish it for the enjoyment of my relatives who read the blog. If you haven’t met Gracie, you’ve missed out. She’s 5 years old, bossy, hyper, and hilarious. Enjoy!

Natali, is it true that deals are made to be broken?

-Fruit Loops. Hmm. Marissa, would you still eat this cereal if it was just called “fruit”?

-Uh, yeah.

-What if it was called “fruits and vegetables”?

-I don’t want to go to gymnastics tonight.

-Why not? You love to jump and do flips! You’ll get to jump on the trampoline!

-Yeah, but when I got to class I have to do what the teacher says. And that’s not fun for anyone.

Twenty-five?!?!?!? Natali, you were born before EVERYBODY!!!!!

I’m not up to nothin’, ha. Just did my makeup, ha. Wearing my pink and white cowboy boots, ha. Welp. I’m going downstairs.

I do not like Justin Beiber. He sings like a little girl and he is NOT GOOD.

What if I farted that loud? It would be louder than the whole world! Maybe even louder than DAD!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! It would be so gross if I farted like a manly man!

Stated matter-of-factly after I explained that we call sponges because they are modeled after sea sponges and function the same way, and people (like her) who notice and remember everything that happens around them are sponges because they “soak up” everything: I want to be a sponge. A sponge named Squarepants.

-Natali, will you go upstairs and get my water?

-No, you can go get it.

-Puh-lease?! I’m pretty much so thirsty I’m gonna pass out!

-Then Cloee said, “we have a passed out one” or something! Hahahahaha!

-No. I said, “man down”.

Natali, why do you always wear those shirts with buttons on them? I like my shirts better because they’re pretty much just easier to put on.

Have you ever seen me drink with my left hand? That would be really hard and pretty cool. Watch, I’m gonna try it!

Um, we might have to tell daddy when he gets home that my light burned out, because I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who knows how to change it. Ugh, I’m so mad at my light. And I don’t even know if we have any more light bulbs.

We already counted backwards like 100 times, don’t they know how to do it by now?! Oh my gosh, Mickey and Goofy are so stupid! I’m not helping them do it again.

Natali, you kinda look like a boy, but you’re the best sister anyone could ever have! Don’t tell Megan I said that, though… the other day I told her she’s the best.

-I did cartwheels the whole time!

-That sounds fun. I’ve never been able to do a cartwheel.

-What?! Not even when you were five years old?!?!

-Nope, not even then.

-Oh my gosh, Natali. I feel SO bad for you. That’s the saddest story you’ve ever told me.

We had these tacos from this taco truck and they were really disgusting, I mean no, the tortillas were gross, but the rice. Oh. My. Gosh. The rice! The rice was soooo good!!!