A bunch of stuff that I find, photograph, or write.
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You can find more about me at http://about.me/katiejam.
I want to quote big chunks of it, but I won’t: it’s chock-full of spoilers, so if you haven’t seen the movie yet, don’t read it. If you have, let’s geek out. Or come over- my partner and housemate are giant Trek nerds.
Still wish the bad guy had been Gary Mitchell.
Guinea pig yawns are tiny precious gifts from the universe.
And guinea pig poop is a terrible gift from guinea pigs.
- Guinea pigs: YOU CLEANED MY CAGE AND IN RETURN I WILL SING YOU THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE.
- Guinea pigs: WOAH, IS THAT THE FOOD BAG I HEAR? I SHALL SING YOU THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE.
- Guinea pigs: YOUR REFILLING MY WATER BOTTLE? I WILL SING THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE.
- Guinea pigs: DID I HEAR YOU MOVE IN BED? YOU MUST BE AWAKE AND I SHALL SING YOU THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE.
I have eaten and I am full, but I would like to eat a whole bunch of Reese’s cups now, please. I won’t, but I want.
I drove over to one of the local hippie communes for a First Aid class that was also targeted to people in the burn community. Good stuff- I learned the new guidelines for CPR and how to use the AED and I got my own creepy CPR inflatable doll.
Pretty sweet, right?
We improvised splints and talked about first aid for burns. I got to learn how to use an epi-pen- it was expired, so I stabbed a cardboard box with it and saved its life. Using one has always been a nightmare scenario for me: what if I do it wrong? What if I stab with the wrong end? (Then they just get a bruise.)
The instructor is an EMT/fireman who’s involved with our community and who I really respect. At the beginning of class, he asked us why someone might not want to give help during an emergency. My classmates listed a few: lack of knowledge, fear of legal repercussions, panic during the situation. He said there’s one that usually comes up first in classes he teachers other groups but he doesn’t hear as often from burners: fear of catching something. Most of us, he said, are really well-informed on the risk of catching blood-borne or even saliva-transmitted diseases. That’s such a little thing, but it’s pretty neat and not something I’d considered.
An evening at the house of some friends: gaming and swimming and a few beers (well, ciders for me) with some of the people who make me laugh the hardest, which is exactly what I need lately. Everything feels very serious these days, even when it isn’t, even when it’s for fun. It isn’t bad, just stressful.
A year ago- almost exactly a year, 51 weeks-, I went to a party at the same house, and even though it was cold, my friend and I fortified ourselves with bourbon, held hands, and leapt into the frigid water. This time, he turned to me and said, “Let’s see how things have changed in a year,” and considerably more sober this time, we jumped in again.
Yeah, this year is better than last year. It’s a harder year, but it’s a better year. Oh, and it’s summer now, isn’t it?
I held out a wild strawberry from my backyard on its stalk, thinking Cece would smell it before trying to eat it. My plan was to give her a bite and then let Pip have a bite.
There was no smelling, however, as she inhaled the whole wild strawberry, looking around for more as she chewed.
“Oh, no bread, thank you,” also works if you aren’t feeling like Lucille.