It's crazy--life.  I thought today, "I need to start blogging again.  I need to get some of this shit out of my head, even if no one reads it."  So I logged into my blog for the first time since April 2013 and what was my last blog post about?? The rapid passing of TIME.  For those of you who know anything about what's been going on in my life recently, you may understand how painfully ironic that is.  Just over a year before my life came crashing down around me, I wrote this: 

"I think that we as a society have become all too accustomed to thinking "we have time", when that couldn't be further from the truth.."

I wrote that then promptly forgot about it.  I spelled out this incredibly honest sentence for the world to read and then didn't even take the time to read it myself.  Now, almost 2 years later, I wish I had read what I wrote more carefully.  I wish I would have applied it because maybe then, on the day someone's clock ran out of time, I wouldn't be filled with suffocating regret.

June 11, 2014 started like any normal day.  I was working and about to get off shift.  7:30am could not come soon enough, the night had been slow and tedious.  Time dripped by and I was ready to be at home in bed.  I reported off to the new nurse then went to leave to go home and sleep before coming back to work that night.  As I was walking out of the hospital with a group of my coworkers I suddenly got what I've been calling "heart pain".  It wasn't chest pain. I'm an ICU nurse, I know what that entails.  It was deeper than that.  It hurt to breathe and the onset was so sudden.  I remember saying to my coworkers, "My heart hurts."  I remember one of them making the witty retort, something to the tune of, "This place makes everyone's heart hurt."  We laughed, we parted ways, we got into our cars.  The drive home was tough.  The pain got worse and worse to the point where it was worrying me.  I almost went back to the hospital to get checked in the ER.  But I kept telling myself, "It's fine.  You're tired.  You drank too much coffee.  Suck it up."  So I did and I kept driving, in spite of the pain.  

When I finally got home, I went to let my dog out and passed the "Clean Linen" candle that's now probably sunk to the bottom of the pond behind my apartment by now (thrown there by yours truly in a fit of rage).  I saw the candle and smiled.  I smiled because the night before, I fell asleep in my chair and woke up barely in time to make it to work.  I had a candle burning in my apartment--the "Clean Linen" candle.  I rushed around getting ready, ran to my car and flew to work.  The instant I hit the parking garage, I thought, "Shit.  I don't know if I blew my candle out." So I texted Nikki.  Nikki, my best friend, who lived in the same apartment complex as me.  We had moved here together the September before.  We were kind of like neighbor roommates and it was awesome.  Anyways, I texted Nikki and said, "I lit a candle this afternoon before work then fell asleep without an alarm set.  I woke up late and can't remember if I put it out or not. Could you check?"  Her response, "No worries, love."

Later that night, this was our conversation:
Nikki: "Your candle was in fact out."
Me: "You are, in fact, the bestest friend."
Nikki: "Ohh hush.  I walked 400ft and checked on a damn candle lol."
Me: "When you could have just let my apartment burn."
Nikki: "Lol"

Hence the smile when I saw the candle.  Her words "I walked 400ft and checked on a damn candle" made me laugh all over again and instantly my heart stopped hurting.  Weird, I know.  I let my dog out then went to bed.  Shortly there after, I got a phone call from a strange number.  I ignored it because I was trying to get my sleep on.  They didn't leave a voicemail.  3 phone calls later, they finally did.  The voicemail, "Caitlin.  It's Lindsay from work.  Call me as soon as you get this."  Lindsay?  She's a shift coordinator.  She's essentially one of my bosses.  So immediately I thought I was getting fired for something.  I remember thinking, "Worst case scenario, I lose my job.  There are other jobs.  Or I could just go back to nannying."  Irony again.  That was far from the worst case scenario.  I called Lindsay back, bracing myself to get fired.  She picked up the phone and that was the instant my world stopped.  Came to a screeching halt, in fact. Her words, "Nikki's on life support.  You need to call her mom."  I remember handling it so chill.  My response something along the lines of, "Ok. Thanks."  That's shock for ya. I called Nikki's boyfriend who confirmed the news.  My beautiful, hilarious best friend was on life support.  As he was going through some of the details, my ICU nurse side kicked in.  The details were spilling out of his mouth and they were adding up in my head.  Still, without any shedding of tears, I hung up the phone and called my mom.  My mom said, "Hey sweet girl" and the tears started.  The only thing I could say was, "Mom, Nik's dead."  The details that the stupid nurse inside of me had been adding up?  Those details pointed to this being non-survivable.  And the stupid nurse inside of me would NOT SHUT UP.  Logic won out instead of the hope and support I should have been feeling as her best friend.  

The next few days were a blur.  A loving and amazing coworker who shall have my eternal love and gratitude drove me 3 hours round trip to see her in the hospital.  She looked beautiful. Here I was, living this horrific nightmare that I prayed and prayed to wake up from and there she was, this beacon of beauty.  Saying goodbye to her was the single hardest thing I have ever done.  I held her hand, made her some promises and told her I would never forget her before I climbed back into my coworkers car and sobbed all the way home.  NIkki passed away peacefully on June 13, 2014 at 11:09am.  She was 26 years old and the most fun-loving, loyal and hilarious friend I've ever had.   

That's when I learned, for the first time, what ADULTHOOD really is: hard.  It's the expectation that when your world turns upside down, you figure out how to keep functioning.  It's the realization that your fridge doesn't magically refill while you shed your body weight in tears laying in bed.  It's understanding that the words "I'm sorry for your loss" don't help, but you force a smile and say, "me too" anyway.  It's saying, "I'm hanging in there" instead of saying, "I'm still really fucking heartbroken."  It's trying to forgive yourself for picking stupid fights and wasting valuable time.  It's things you wish you had said and things you wish you could take back.  It's heartbreak, regret, happiness, memories, firsts, lasts, smiles and tears all rolled up into one.  They say beauty is pain.  I used to only apply that to things like tweezing my eyebrows or wearing high heels.  Now it has a different meaning.  There's beauty in the heart pain I felt the morning of June 11.  I tell myself it was her leaving and a piece of my heart going with her. There is beauty in the pain of grief.  The only reason one grieves is for a life worth grieving. Tears aren't shed over people unworthy of tear shed.  There have been lakes of tears shed for Nikki and there is beauty in that.  When your heart is breaking into a million unrepairable pieces, people swarm you to let you know they care.  They literally come out of the woodwork. There's beauty in that.  You re-prioritize your life to try to make your loved one proud.  There's beauty in that. Life is put into perspective.  There's beauty in that.  My beautiful bestie moved on to her next adventure nearly 7 months ago, yet she still manages to teach me something new every day. There's beauty in that. 

Time runs out, beauty is pain and the world doesn't stop turning.  That's adulthood and there's beauty in that.

"If you're a bird, I'm a bird."
 
Surprised?  Cuz I am.  People read this and have actually been asking me to write a new post.  It looks like I may have to make a schedule to ensure I write atleast once a week.  I need to come up with "Blog Post Saturday" or something ridiculous like that.  Anyhooter, I come to you today to catch you up on my life.  For your reading pleasure, I've split up the topics into different paragraphs.  You're schawelcome.

Paragraph 1: My Job Hunt
It's over.  I got a job.  And it's awesome.  After submitting a total of 76 (yes, I counted) applications, I was offered a position on a Neruo Critical Care Unit.  High Action? Check.  Cool People? Check.  Lots of Neat Activities? Check.  Therefore, I took the job. It starts in the very near future and I.AM.AMPED.

Paragraph 2: My Trip To North Carolina
I took a solo trip to North Carolina in celebration of my graduation.  I went out to visit a family I nannied for.  I got to meet the newest member of the family, a 5 month old precious little girl.  She slobbered, she cooed, she spit up and she was all sorts of cute.  I was covered in barf for nearly 2 weeks straight and it was glorious!!  The other 2 kiddos were full of ninja moves, funny kid-isms (example: "I'll have a swirly temple....or whadeva it's called to drink."), and dance recitals.  Sully, my dog, got the fleas. He was miserable.  My vet had to call a script into a Walgreens so he'd stop itching and keeping me awake at night.  There were times I'd wake up terrified I was in the middle of the movie "Bambi" and a pissed off Thumper was bustin down my bed.  When I picked up the meds, I noticed the name on the envelope was "Sully Dog Camp".  I guess they didn't want to confuse him with "Sully Human Camp".  I also shaved him.  He looks great.  I think I'm gonna let it grow back a little and shave in a mohawk.  Hey Ryan Gosling--my dog will have a mohawk too.  Let's get married.


Paragraph 3: Movie Premiere
I went to a movie premiere for a movie I was in!!!  I was credited as "Woman In Restaurant" which makes me pretty much famous.  My best friend edited it.  I felt like a proud mama at that premiere. I got to get all glammed up and rub elbows with Mac from Super Troopers and the ORIGINAL Wal*Mart Guy.  The movie is called "I Heart Shakey".  Watch it.  Now.

Paragraph 4: Honesty
I recently overheard someone say, in reference to me, that I am "too honest".  Based upon the context, it was not meant to be an insult however it intrigued me so let's briefly talk about it.  What does "too honest" mean?  Is that the same as you saying, "I only want the truth if it's nice.  If the truth isn't nice, please lie?"  If you walk up to me and say, "Does this dress make me look fat?" would you rather me say, "Ehhhh.....it doesn't really flatter your curves." or have me say, "You look great!" when in fact you look like an overstuffed Dyngus Day sausage?  Which is it?  You can't have both.  That's the rules.  You want the truth or you want lies.  I'll give ya whatever, just make it clear.  Until then, I'll just resort to my default settings of being "too honest".  And yes. If you're looking in the mirror thinking the dress makes you look fat, you're probably right.  Try something with rouching.

Paragraph 5: Mondays
Since 99.5682% of the population always has a bad case of the Mondays, I've decided Mondays will be the day I will try to remember to post a blog.  If something incredible happens, you may get a bonus blog.  Perhaps on a Thursday or Saturday or whenever I freaking feel like it.  It will officially be Monday in 4 minutes.  I'm going to wait to post this blog so that today can be the first official "Manic Monday" blog post.  Saweeeeeeet.
 
Picture
In addition to forgetting I have a blog, these last few days I have been catching up on some much needed "hang out time" with my dear friend from nursing school, Laura.  Let me state, for the record, that Laura and I have a friendship unlike any other.  Some may call it "unusual", some may call it "ridiculous", we call it "normal".  Allow me to share with you 2 short stories that have occurred within the last 2 days.  We'll go in chronological order:

1) Yesterday, Laura (who is REGRETTABLY APPLYING FOR THE AIR FORCE AND POTENTIALLY ABANDONING ME) returned from her Air Force interview, which REGRETABLY went well. ---And for those of you wondering, I am NOT suffering from anticipated seperation anxiety.  I am simply distraught because she and I wear the same size clothes head to toe.  That means double wardrobe.  You only find a friend like that once in a lifetime---Moving on.  She came over so we could work together applying for jobs and studying for the NCLEX.  We are hard at work, minding our own business, when Laura gets the genius idea to start "meowing"....LOUDLY.....and to a tune.  Why?  I have no idea.  But it seemed appropriate to her, I guess.  I tolerate it for a short while, then get sick of it so I tell her to can it.  We immediately afterwards decide to rent a Redbox movie.  I gather my things to leave and Laura is doddling.  Because she is a QUEEN at doddling.  She knows it, I know it, the world knows it.  So I pull the old nannying trick and threaten to leave her.  This strikes a cord because Laura has a fear of abandonment.  I decide it would be a GREAT idea to use this to my advantage.  So I got up, walked to the door, grabbed my purse and keys and said, "Laura.  I'm leaving." and shut the door.  I hear her yelp, "OOOOHHHH NO!!!!!" along with a few other choice words which wont be repeated.  I climb the stairs of my apartment complex, which overlooks the front door, to watch how the situation unfolds.  I hear scrambling inside my apartment and I start to fill with anticipation and excitement.  What happens next, there was no preparing for.  Laura comes BARRELING out of my apartment, slams the door, cries, "CAAIIITTTTLLLIIINNN??????" and starts running to the door like a toddler who just learned to walk.  For those of you who have no idea what that means, please observe the picture below:
 

She then ran to the door, saw my car outside and slowed down, realizing she had just made a fool out of herself--most likely in front of me.  Come to find out, the reason she was delayed was because she was posting a facebook status.  About her "meowing".  And me telling her to shut up.  Because apparently it was just that important.

2) We got into the car and drove to the Redbox.  Nearly the WHOLE parking lot is empty.  There is one senior citizen sitting in their car.  That was the only other person in the WHOLE WALGREENS PARKING LOT.  And my dear Laura decided this parking space was the most appropriate for our quick trip to the Redbox:
Naturally, instead of waiting patiently in the car, I got out and took a picture of the situation as she PRANCED (see above picture) to the Redbox from her car, 4 spaces away.

This concludes the short segment about my frand, Laura.  I'm sure she will make appearances throughout the existence of this blog.
 
Dear Mother in the Silver Minivan Driving Through Broad Ripple,

I was just trying to go to show choir.  As we were driving along, I couldn't help but read your 47 bumper stickers about how much of a hippie you are.  Yes, I love the earth too.  I thought we had common ground with that.  I saw your 39 kids playing in the car, horsing around, having a grand old time--they appeared adorable.  Then I saw you stop.  No turn signal, not pedestrian traffic, nothing.  You just stop.  In the middle of the road.  So I stop too because I don't believe in rear-ending soccer moms who have young children in the car. As I was sitting there, behind your sticker covered hatchback, I saw you throw your hands up in frustration.  "What is the deal?!?" I thought?  "Did little Timmy throw his Cheerios at Sally?"  Nope.  Because you threw your mom van into reverse and start backing up.  That's when I got pissed.  "Why are you doing this?!?  There's no backing up on streets!  Is this lady crazy?!? GAAAAHHH!" I also start to back up, but there is only so far for me to go before the person behind me is 1.5" from my back bumper.  I'm trapped.  There's no where to go.  I've got Victoria Beckham wannabe in front of me, and confused college boy behind me.  That's when I realized what was going on.  I was stopped next to a parallel parking spot this woman apparently wanted.  How was I supposed to know this?  Apparently by using the psychic abilities I mentioned in my "About Me" tab.  Because here, in the United States, we don't believe in informing other drivers of our intentions by using our turn signals.  Nevertheless, I tried to remain calm.  "Call Me, Maybe" was on the radio, I had the windows down, life was going pretty okay and this woman with her 97 babies (probably from different daddies) WASN'T going to ruin it.  I jostled my way out from in between psycho-mom and frat-man to try and free up some room for her to back into this highly coveted parking space and drove through the turn lane to go around her.  As I turned to offer an "I'm sorry but you didn't tell me you wanted that space" wave, her and all her hooligan children were giving me the thumbs down (INCLUDING the toddler in the car seat).  Real mature, lady.  Read my freaking parenting blog by scrolling down.  You're an asshole and your children are well on their way.  Go back to hippie land.

Sincerely,
The Girl Who Can Recite Paragraphs From Her Drivers Ed Book

To the rest of the American population: use your turn signals and if you forget (which everyone forgets), don't get pissed at fellow drivers because they can't hear your thoughts.  Common sense, people.  Common sense.

On a completely different note---
Today I got authorized to take the NCLEX (the licensing exam for nurses).  It is a hella big deal and it is crazy hard.  I take it in June although that's as much of a timeframe as you're getting.  Please start praying now.  Keep an eye on the blog, though, because the night after I take it, there is going to be a massive sob fest in my apartment because as we were told during our review "You will leave the test confident that you failed."  Nurses: Always the optimists.  Please excuse me while I go puke 


 
Raise your hand if you know what a Stage 5 Clinger is.  Now look around.  You aren't alone.

Lets talk about this term for those people who are blissfully married and unaware of the modern day dating battles. A "clinger" is a person who nags you for communication.  They can be rated on a scale of 0-5.  A Stage 0 Clinger is awesome, chill, enjoyable to talk to.  A Stage 5 Clinger requires immediate intervention and escape because they WON'T.LEAVE.YOU.ALONE.  Usually when people refer to clingers, they are talking about females.  Females are the dominant species guilty of this because we have a need for reassurance and we aren't fans of feeling alone.  

Occasionally, though, you come across a man that's a clinger.  If you are like me, you frequently encounter them.  Male clingers are like a rare breed.  They are the Komodo Dragon of the dating world.  And when you encounter a male clinger, it is like encountering an angry bear in the woods.  It is lethal for a budding relationship, especially for a girl like me.  I'm independent.  I like to do my thing, when I want, how I want.  I need a guy that trusts that I'm behaving--because I am due to the fact that I'm BORING.  

I have recently made a poor attempt to rejoin the dating world after a 3 year relationship.  I say "poor attempt" because I really don't care about dating.  Not because I'm not ready, but because I don't really care right now.  I'm happy with my life.  I'm content being alone with my studio apartment and my jerk dog.  I'd rate my life a perfect 10 right now.  But....there's the pressure to date.  The constant questions like, "So....you dating anyone?  Any wedding bells in the future? Blah Blah Blah."  That being said, it doesn't mean I'm closed off to dating.  If I find a great guy, sure we can date.  My point is that I don't NEED a guy right now.  Because of the pressure, though, I date.  

Lately, I've been on what I've termed "The Clinger Streak".  I'll meet a great guy--cute, charming, smart, interesting, funny, etc.  We'll talk for a few days, it's all great and wonderful.  And then it happens.  He turns into a Stage 5er.  I will forget to respond to a txt or simply choose not to respond because I can't think of anything to say and I'll get a txt like, "Did what I say turn you off?  You never responded." or "Do you not like me anymore?" or "Why don't you txt me back?"  And that, right there, ends it for me.  It's the kill shot.  Done.  You're out.  

One particular recent occurrence:  I met a guy and he calls me one night.  We have a mildly awkward phone call that lasts one hour.  Finally, I tell him I have to go because I promised myself I'd be going to bed at 10:30, it was already 10:20 and I wasn't ready yet.  We said our goodbyes, I got ready for bed and fell asleep.  At 11:45, he txts me saying, "I can't stop thinking of our conversation.  Do you think we could talk again soon?"  Ok.  That's kinda cute.  I'm not really the "cutesy" type and if you go overboard on the fru-fru stuff, it makes me want to vomit, but that comment wasn't across the line.  Clearly, he was laying awake thinking I was awesome--which I personally think I am.  What happened next made me want to jump off a cliff when I read it the next morning.  An hour later (12:45 for those of you who aren't counting), he txts the following: ".....or not."  Hold the phone, jerkwad.  I SPECIFICALLY said I was going to bed at 10:30.  It's now 12:45.  Slow your roll, I'm sleeping, cut me a freaking break.  I don't sleep with my phone in my hand.  The next morning, I was trying to be open-minded and forgiving, so I texted back and said, "I went to bed at 10:30 like I told you and I just now got your txt.  Sure.  We can talk again." To which he responded, "That sounds enthusiastic."  Aaaaaaaaaand I'm done with you.  We've known each other 5 days and you're already pulling this crap?!?!  Imagine 5 years down the road!!  I probably wouldn't even be allowed to close the bathroom door to pee!! No thanks.  

A similar situation happened this evening.  I met a good guy over the weekend--cute, smart, funny.  We've been talking, it's going well.  Last night he txts me and I don't respond.  I don't respond because my friend got robbed.  I was a little preoccupied making sure the police report was filed, she remained calm and she got home safe.  That kind of takes MAJOR precedence over the petty 20 questions game you've been wanting to play the past few days.  Sorry I didn't respond.  It's no big deal.  It's not like we're in a serious relationship.  We aren't even dating.  We are talking, that's it.  Then today, I'm at show choir and I see my phone light up.  My kryptonite was on the screen, "Sooooo was what I said last night a deal breaker?"....You told me you were a student.  Let's be reasonable.  How is that a deal breaker?!?  I just didn't txt you back.  The reason I didn't txt you back isn't important to you.  All you need to know is that it just didn't happen.  It doesn't mean I don't like you or I'm not interested.  If that's how I felt, I'd tell you.  I just didn't respond.  End of story.  Instead, you say something that immediately turns you into a Stage 5 Clinger and the relationship is over before it even starts.

It is experiences such as these, which have both happened within a months time, that makes me want to be the crazy dog lady (because I hate cats).  Who knows though, maybe a chill guy will come along some day and woo me.  Until then, I'll just talk to my dog.
 
*Went to bed at times that would make only the elderly proud.
*Looked at the dishes in my sink and thought "Someone should really wash those....".
*Ate a cupcake that had bacon on it.
*Watched The Bachelorette.
*Went to the movies alone.
*Realized that no amount of oxyclean will remove grease stains from yoga pants.
*Tripped and fell in my apartment due to one of my dogs many death traps.
*Observed my dog pee all over my new neighbors Sperry's.  She only glares at me now......
*Accidentally inhaled one of these little cotton wisp things that are blowing around.  My nose tickled for 2 hours.
*Climbed onto the top of my car to wake up my friends sleeping husband in his second story bedroom at 1:30am.
*Tried to convince an armed police officer to join my show choir.
*Decided that EVENTUALLY, I will make a jewelry hanger for my wall.
*Thought about doing laundry but ultimately decided against it.
*Discovered my stalker got a membership at my gym.
*Came home to find 4 men in my apartment, "sniffing" around because it smells like something (or someone) died in my building---It wasn't my place, woohoo!!
*Put money aside for my road trip to NC.
*Decided I need to go to Mexico.
*Contemplated purchasing an eReader or iPad.
*Gave myself a mani/pedi.
*Bought a groupon for 2 oil changes (for $24 heeeeyyyyyy!!!!)
*Wore sunglasses that perfectly matched my outfit to intentionally pretend like I was "that girl" for the day.
*Moved my "You Did It" sticker from my office phone to my office scanner.
*Discovered that my left hand falls asleep faster than my right hand.
*Slept in.

So far, I think I'm getting an A+ in adulthood.
 
I love kids.  Everyone that knows me, knows this about me.  Little people are my people.  We have this profound level of understanding; they get me, I get them.  I don't have children of my own yet, but I have played a role in helping raise many, many children.  There are multiple kids that I would lay down my life for, just like their parents would.  So although I don't have biological children, I have adopted children that I love as if they were my own.  Because of this, I feel like the following is not being said out of ignorance or lack of experience:  

Sometimes, kids are assholes.

I'm well aware that I didn't give my parents any breaks while growing up.  I cut my brothers baby curls off, tried to iron my other brother (the iron was plugged in, on and HOT), I put 3 daycare ladies out of business, I had to be trapped in my crib, I ran away, I threw tantrums, I broke things.....  Yes, I was an asshole.  But most kids are.  They go through this phase where they can't help it.  Their hormones go all wonky and they become brainwashed.  Are they guilty?  Yes.  Do they feel badly about it?  Yes.  Will they play it off like they could care less about the consequences of their actions?  Yes.  And 99% of the time, that's ok.  I would even go so far as to say it's normal.  Because 99% of the time they actually regret what they did.  That's how they learn.  Really, it's the only way they learn--by making mistakes and having to fix them.

Then there is the other 1%.  There are the kids that don't learn.  There are the kids that don't think.  There are the kids that are just plain awful.  Those are the kids that break my heart the most.  They have this opportunity to be normal assholes like the rest of their peers, but instead, they go above and beyond and get themselves into so much trouble that it could affect the rest of their lives.  These are the kids I pity because these are the kids I believe will truly not grow out of it.  They won't ever be "okay".  It makes me sad because what kind of life do they have at home?  How do they learn how to take being a normal teenage asshole to a new level?  They usually learn it from their parents or their big brothers or sisters. I can't help but wonder "what if they witnessed something else growing up?  What if they had a better example?  What would these kids grow up to become?  Doctors?  Lawyers? The President?"  But instead, here they are, making huge mistakes that ruin their chances.  They are taking people's purses from a middle school while the owner is at show choir practice.  Why?  Because they feel like going on a shopping spree at Target.  What is so important that you need at Target?  A new Wii?  Some fly kicks? Candy?  That's more than being a normal teenage asshole.  That's being a disrespectful, ignorant fool.  A fool that will get caught.  A fool that has now made a negative name for himself with law enforcement--a name that will follow him forever.  All for a shopping spree.  

So to kids, I say this:  It's okay to be an asshole.  It's a part of life.  Your mom did it.  Your dad did it.  I did it.  But there is a line.  Throw your tantrums, iron your brothers but NEVER disrespect anyone: elders, adults, children or peers.  Because disrespect harbors ignorance and stupidity and opens the door to a whole lot of hurt.  Disrespect is what is going to cause humanity to fail.  ALWAYS show respect, ALWAYS show remorse and ALWAYS learn from your mistakes.  If things continue the way they are, this world is going to be a very scary place.  Why let that happen?  Fix it with respect.

To adults, I say this:  Let your kids be assholes.  It's a part of life.  You did it.  Your spouse did it.  And now your child is doing it.  But there is a line.  Let them throw their tantrums, don't really let them iron their brothers and NEVER let them disrespect anyone.  Never let them see you disrespecting anyone.  Kids are sponges, they watch you like hawks.  Be the kind of person you want them to be. If you are disrespectful, your child will be disrespectful.  If you don't achieve your goals, your child won't achieve their goals.  Teach them to always show respect, always say they're sorry and MAKE them learn from their mistakes.  Guilt trip them, enforce punishments, be strong.  Because as much as it sucks, they remember.  They learn.  I did (and I tried to iron my brother).  

Society is on a downward spiral.  It's getting scary and it's getting scary fast.  I've cracked the case.  I've found the cure.  All we need is a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
 
Today I was scheduled to participate in a research study here on campus for mad cash that involved me getting an MRI.  I had to be at the hospital at 7am, so I woke up early, fumbled around getting ready and drove in to the city.  I showed up on time, in my pajamas, with no metal on me, ready to rock and roll.  They weighed me (uggghhhh), measured me (why do they always assign me the nurses that can't reach over my head??) and took me to my room for breakfast.  The thing about research is: it's all about consistency.  They like to keep the different factors from patient to patient as even as possible to provide the most accurate data.  As a result, they bring us a predetermined breakfast that we have to eat all of.

So in walks my oompa loompa sized nurse carrying a tray of what I'm sure is soggy hospital food and sets it down in front of me.  "What do we have here?" I ask myself as I inspect the contents of the tray.  1 Sarah Lee banana nut bread muffin that is WARM (delicious), cheerios with VITAMIN D MILK (what the hell?!? You give that to babies and old people to fatten them up, not a 23 year old who is trying to lose weight) and a banana.  So far, so good.  Then I see them: 2 cups of orange juice, a cup of coffee and a cup of water--all of this in addition to the fat milk.  My mind immediately focuses on the fact that I will be literally stuck in a tube for an undetermined amount of time, with a cage over my face preventing me from moving, and they want me to drink my body weight in liquids?!?!  You've gotta be shittin me.  So I politely ask, "Do I have to drink all of this?  I'd hate to have to use the restroom during the scan."  With 1 simple word, my entire morning was ruined: "Yes."

So I did.  And boy did they regret.  To help matters, not only did they make me drink 1,576 gallons of liquids, they then laid all these gadgets RIGHT ON TOP OF MY BLADDER as they slid me into the scanner.  They give you this little headset, you see, kind of like what telemarketers wear.  It's got headphones and a microphone so you can talk to the people in the control room (or "Mission Control" as I call it).  Then, right on your chest, they place *drum roll please* THE MAGIC BUTTON.  This button has the almighty power of stopping the scan in its tracks and sliding the table you're laying on out of the MRI tube within a matter of seconds.  This is usually reserved for people who have anxiety and start to meltdown in this teenie tiny tube.  I'm always afraid to push that button because it pisses the MRI techs and the study coordinators off.  But today......today I was forced to push that button 3 times.  I would inform them that I had to pee and they'd say something cute like, "We only have 3 more scans lasting 7 minutes each!  Let's try to finish them up so it doesn't throw off the order of things!  We know you can do it!  We believe in you!!"  Ok.  Thanks.  That's fine and dandy and I appreciate your support, but the fact of the matter is you pumped me full of fluids then shoved me in a tube, told me not to move and then revoked my bathroom privileges.  I'm Irish.  I'm feisty.  And even when I am consciously trying to cooperate and be nice, subconsciously I'm still Irish.  You tell me I can't pee for another 21 minutes?  Mentally, I'm going to say, "Yes Sure.  I can hold it.  I can do this."  But my bladder is going to go into a code red emergency just because you told me to hold it with the sole intention of mocking you.  It's the nature of the beast.  By the end of the study, I had 5 people frustrated with me.  Normally I would care.  Today I didn't.  To those 5 people and also anyone else in the medical field, I say this:

Don't shove fluids down your patients throats, set 20lbs on their bladders and tell them they can't use the restroom because that move will blow up in your face right quick.

As a side note: What idiot gives a cup of coffee to a person who has to go lay completely still in a tube for 3 hours?!?!?