Ordinary Life, Extraordinary Living

Didn't I just see you yesterday?

2012-01-23T20:46:00.003-07:00

When I am with my closest friends, it is as if no time has passed and we pick up right where we left off. It's like you saw a matinee movie on a Tuesday afternoon and now it is Wednesday morning, and you're chatting over coffee about your date with your latest beau the night before.

So let's pretend that my post 361 days ago was Saturday night when I was dressed up in heels ready to hit the town, and now it's Sunday morning and my mascara has dripped to my cheeks and my hair resembles Medusa's.

Hey blog, can I get an extra shot of espresso in that latte?

Man, my work week in the ER was so exhausting. Don't get me wrong, I really like my job, I strive to learn something new every shift, but I just found the first hole in my Dansko clogs! I stretch my brain and my feet for 12 hours every shift; and I mourn the decline of my leopard print patent leather footwear.

Yeah, I've been studying for the Miller Analogies Test in preparation to apply to graduate school. Standardized tests have never been my forte, so I'm a bit nervous. Want to be my study buddy? You always encourage me to think outside the box, even when it's conveyed in size 12 font, in the style of Georgia.

Isn't this winter weather so strange? It's nearly February and my body is finally sore from bombing down the ski hill! It's nearly February and I finally get to scope out the men who are bombing down the ski hill next to me! No, none of them have caught my eye yet; they're all 5'8" and don't have jobs.

I'm totally digging my own new apartment in downtown Boise. It has me written all over it: bright colors, sparkles and funk. And when I want to watch Pride and Prejudice over and over, I can. And I do. "Oh, dear, I cannot tease you about that. What a shame; for I dearly love to laugh," is still a personal mantra.

Beach Body Spring Break 2012 is in full swing. Sort of. West Valley Medical Center's white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies might be my downfall. I'm hoping dreams of the sandy beaches of Cancun will be more persuasive than the seduction of butter and sugar on my tongue.

Before I've gotta go, dear blog, I want you to know that I'm a happy girl. New black satin Victoria's Secret pajamas, Sean Minor wine, receiving flowers from a patient's family, lazy movie nights with my family, a ring made out of a seashell, starting IV's with the ultrasound machine, passionate and intimate kisses, Anthropologie scented candles, and pounding the pavement in Nike running shoes to new tunes... are just a few reasons why I am a happy girl.

I'll see you tomorrow.. ;)

Early Twenties Renovation

2011-01-27T01:25:00.007-07:00

For posterity sake, I guess I need to update my blog about where I've been, what I've been doing, for the past 6 months. Since the cyberspace inanimate object cares so much... I will start from the beginning.

An old friend, who looms around and can sneak up on you and scare you, or who can gradually work its way back into your life and offer some excitement, made its presence known in May 2010. This old friend's name is Change.

Change, meet Meredith.

Meredith, meet Change.

"Oh I know you...," said Change, "remember me?"

Of course I do.

I, reluctantly at first, welcomed Change back into my life.

What Change meant for me was a position in the Emergency Department. A position for which I have always longed.

But this position wasn't in Salt Lake.

This position was in Idaho.

Okay, Change, I accept.

And accept I did! In a matter of days, I packed up my little life in Salt Lake and moved 5 hours northward to a little place I call Home.

Change and Home have kindly offered me a chance to fall in love with the ER and (most) everything about it. From intubating patients who have overdosed on any drug known to man, to cute old men who come in with chest pain, to exposed bones from deep lacerations, to tying people down to beds because they won't cooperate (and are high on any drug known to man), to little kiddos with appendix's that are about to burst.... I have learned so much.

I didn't know I could learn so much!

I have found that ER nurses are jack of all trades, but master of none. Except for IV's.

I place about 5-10 IV's a shift. Vein acupuncture is my new black.

I still can't cook, or sew, or paint my nails... but damn, I can give you an IV....

And I can put really good things through that IV. Like Ativan, or Versed, or Morphine, Or Propofol.

If you are not familiar with such goodies, google it. You'll see why they're goodies.

The ER physically and mentally drains me; but, no matter how exhausted I may be at the end of a 12-hour shift, it really does hurt so good.

The best thing Change has given me is the chance to be closer to family. I get the opportunity to see Tanner and Abby grow up right in front of my eyes!

Have I told you in awhile that Abby is only one inch shorter than me? And that she is wearing my old clothes from high school? Do I need to remind you that she is a mere twelve years old?

Have I told you that Tanner is 5 inches taller than me? And that he broke his collarbone during football season, but still received a scholarship offer from Boise State? Do I need to remind you that he is an aged seventeen year old?

I am constantly on the road of Change. I will be applying to graduate school in the fall, with 14 schools in mind scattered about the country. I am single. I do not have any children. Looks like Change and I will be remaining close for awhile.

However, there are a few things that my friend Change has not, and will not, alter.

I am still 5'10". Still a brunette. Still love to run. Still love to ski. Still love Diet Coke. And I still turn one year older every June 25th.

And I still sleep with my baby blanket.

Mortal Vitality

2011-01-22T01:48:00.003-07:00

I am well aware I have stepped away from my blog for over half a year.

I allowed life to continue, and I unintentionally allowed myself to not chronicle it.

I certainly have been enjoying life these past months; and though I have had more time on my hands because I blog less, I have found I have enjoyed life less because I have not blogged more.

When I take the time to pause, reflect, and write, on ideas and events that I find passionate, those ideas and events become something even greater.

Though I have been encouraged by the few blog fans that I may have to start writing again, what spurs me to write today is an event where, within its borders, I found passion and was significantly moved.

I was motivated to write because of the deaths of two young people, who departed this world too soon. One person whom I knew, and the other I did not.

A childhood friend passed away in her sleep, and she returned home to Boise, to be celebrated and mourned by her family and friends. I was fortunate enough to attend her funeral, and feel of the passion people felt for her. And I was much more emotional that I had anticipated. She was beautiful, kind, quirky, artistic, never judged another, and saw the technicolor side to life.

By remembering Aubri, I was reminded that I need to be more like her. I need to learn how to be slow to anger; to have more patience; and to exhibit more kindness to others. I want to touch others, as Aubri did in her short time here.

It was a beautiful memorial service honoring Aubri and I felt so fortunate to be able to share it with my parents. And it was a beautiful car ride home with my mother, as I cried, and so did she.

It was later that same evening, when my thoughts all day had been turned to Aubri, and death, and living with passion while we can, I learned of the second death. A boyfriend of an old soccer teammate was killed in a motorcycle crash in Honduras. He had been traveling the world, living a life long dream.

My heart ached, more than it already had, for my friend and her loss. I was privately overcome with thoughts of losing such talented individuals from this earth and not knowing when others, those who are closer to me, may have the same fate.

I laid in my bed silent, alone, until the early hours of morning thinking, pondering, wiping away tears, inquiring, about how fragile life is, and always will be.

Though I was tempted, I never did ask the question, "Why?"

"Why so young? For what purpose?" For we will never know why, and I have never been one to drown myself in something that cannot be solved.

The question I did find myself asking was, "How?"

"How can I live more like them? How can I find, search, and live the passions that mean most to me?" For this question has an answer.

I started with hugging my mother a little bit tighter and longer. I played with my little sister's hair and scratched her back. I told friends that I loved them. I offered more smiles to patients who walked through the Emergency Room doors.

Though death is painful, tragic, scary, and sometimes seemingly unbearable; I found that Thursday, January 20th, as I learned of death, was filled with passionate moments and emotions that I will never forget.

And now that I have chronicled those moments, they are even greater.

Thank you Aubri Chance and Matty Lee; for you have touched others, and me, in more ways than you thought possible.

Patience is a Virtue...

2010-05-25T15:42:00.004-06:00

...as defined by Benjamin Franklin.

He also routinely practiced what he preached. How else did the lightbulb come to be?

Welp, this virtue is on my list, too

My one-day-someday list.

Right now, as I recover from ACL surgery, patience is not my best attribute.

To read how I am trying.... go here.

Warrior Status

2010-05-24T17:18:00.002-06:00

So I had that date with the doctor. Wanna know how it went?

Read here.

With love from the girl with new battle wounds...

Take Action

2010-05-21T15:14:00.003-06:00

It is Emergency Medical Services (EMS) week.

Read my article, "CPR Certification for Every Capable Citizen" here.

Are you prepared?

xoxo,

Nurse Mer

The Low Down

2010-05-11T16:36:00.005-06:00

I promised more details were to follow my last post, didn't I?

Well, because I never break a promise made on my blog, here are the dets....

My column is up and running on Examiner.com! Go here to take a look. And then take another look. Hey, while you're at it, might as well go for a third trip!

(And no, of course I would never ask you to make several stops at my column because it means I get paid more. Psssh who does that. Not me. Nope. Never.)

Happy Examining, folks!

Drafted into the Pros

2010-05-06T15:17:00.003-06:00

Dear Blog,

May I reintroduce myself to you not as your keeper, but as your professional blogger extraordinaire.

Humbled and excited, I have landed a cool new (part-time) gig. A gig that doesn't involve needles and answering gastrointestinal questions, but that involves a computer keyboard, the internet, and stringing sentences together.

I recently applied for a professional writing position for Examiner.com, as their Health and Happiness Examiner (not a blogger, but an examiner) for the city of Salt Lake.

And welp, I got it!

Compensation is based purely off of generated revenue from site hits and advertisements. So the hope for you, dear blog, is to decrease hits to you and increase hits to my page for Examiner.com. I know this may hurt at first, but it is for the best. You'll see.

More details, like my personal URL, to follow...

Your Partner in Success,

Examiner Mangum

Did I seriously just personify my blog and write a post specifically dedicated to him/her?

Thanks, Mr. Whitby....

You know this was for you.

No Such Thing as a Stupid Question

2010-05-05T11:33:00.003-06:00

Working in an office, I don't experience the hands on stories that many hospital floor nurses do. But I am just fine with that. Actually, I prefer it.

Teaching classes to patients pre-surgery and moderating our online forums, I get asked a lot of questions. And without fail, those questions turn gross, or socially inappropriate, but they make my job so much more interesting.

Even though I don't really want to hear about what's coming out of one of your orifices, I actually maybe really do. So.... what's your question? Oh that's gross, but here, I can't wait to give you my answer...

Sometimes the questions are straight sassy and sarcastic, and those are, by far, my favorite. I get to be sassy and sarcastic in return.

Oddly enough, I have to sensor my responses to females. if I am sassy and sarcastic to a woman, she hates me. And I have to follow it with, "I'm just giving you a hard time...." accompanied by the biggest smile I have ever produced in my life. But if a male receives my response? He laughs and dishes it right back. Oh, gender dynamics!

Well every Monday and Wednesday mornings, I teach a lengthy pre-surgery class. Yesterday was no exception. I gave my lecture on appropriate diet measures the day before surgery, including that the definition of a "light" lunch does not mean steak and potatoes. I then mentioned that nothing but clear liquids should be consumed after 6pm. After defining what fits into a clear liquid category, a patient (male, of course), then asks,

"Does Corona count?"

Fair game, sir.

Fair game.

Show Me the Money

2010-04-30T11:29:00.003-06:00

There have been many valuable lessons learned as I have entered the real world post college. Some were more grand than others. Some were more difficult than others. But a common theme amongst many of the lessons learned was money.

I have said this before and will continue to release it from my lips into the air...

Adulthood is expensive.

It's always been a strange idea that we have to make money to simply survive. If I want a roof under which to live, I have to make money. If I want to make my bi-monthly trip to Smith's Marketplace for groceries, I have to make money. Gas for my car? Money.

I also know that I am certainly one who works to live, and does not live to work. I love being a nurse and the many ways I get to help others find better health, but the job title is not at the crux of who I am.

With a pricey knee surgery and school bills headed my way, I have felt the need to create a more concrete budget and follow it closely.

Oh, look, another adult life lesson. Budgeting.

Like my mother mentioned the other day, "What has happened to Franklin Covey? They make such great daily planners. I would like an app for that."

Because we all want "an app for that," why not get a budget app?

So I did! It's called Budgetroid. And it rocks.

Now I can forget about saving receipts (like I did much of that anyway), and having to record each purchase into a Word Document, or Quicken (if I had that...). I simply whip out my cool new 3G android phone and access my app.

My uber cool Budgetroid app.

I select which category the purchase falls under, I type in the purchase amount, and wah-lah! I have a color coded, organized, and efficient method to keep on track.

Though often my blog posts are simply for me to record my own thoughts and experiences, I think this was subconsciously written for my parents.

See mom and dad? Your coaching has paid off. Cha-ching!

November Baby

2010-04-29T12:16:00.006-06:00

I have this girlfriend. Well, more like a sister.

She is tall and blonde and pretty.

She has a delightfully funny potty mouth and can make me laugh more than anybody else.

I have often told her that if she were male, she would be my soul mate.

She is super athletic and loves to road bike.

She is kind, sweet, and sarcastic.

Her name is Jessica.

A year ago, she married a guy named Tony.

And today...

she is ten weeks pregnant.

Congratulations Jessica and Tony!

And thank you for making me an aunt. Cannot wait to meet the little person this fall...

Tough it Out

2010-04-28T13:33:00.005-06:00

I am a healthy individual. Lately, I have filled out so many health questionnaires for doctor's offices and surgery centers that I know when asked the question, "Do you have a history of..." I say no. To everything.

Same goes for seasonal colds and flu's. I rarely get sick.

Well, last weekend, my older and wiser brother, Parker, graduated from Brigham Young University.

My immune system must have known my family was coming into town, thinking it would be alright to let down its guard because outside help would be close by. More specifically, my mom would be there. And moms make the best nurses.

During Thursday's commencement proceedings in the Marriott Center, my body began to ache all over. It made me think, "Is this what fibromyalgia patients suffer from everyday?" But then I began to fidget so much from feeling so uncomfortable, I felt bad for the people sitting behind me. Maybe I should have popped a Ritalin just to appease their judgmental eyes.

As we made the drive from campus to a neighboring city for dinner, I stepped out of Jamal (our black Toyota Sequoia) and knew this was more than a flighty case of body aches. Sans bathroom, my lunch made it's reappearance next to a silver truck, with my mom and little sister standing guard. Needless to say, I had to constantly divert my senses away from the meatball sandwiches and pesto chicken pasta ordered that night by family members to prevent any future gravity defying stomach spills.

The saga continued, including Friday morning when I received a phone call from a friend, Derek, to ask an important question at 8am. He told me to suck it up and put my game face on. I responded with a good laugh and I fell back asleep.

With a little bit of luck, I made the trip back to Provo for the convocation ceremonies with my mom at the wheel of my car. Despite getting to know the Marriott Center's bathrooms a little too intimately that afternoon, it was an absolute pleasure to watch Parker strut across the stage and receive his diploma.

What. a. stud.

That night my mom made an emergency trip to Albertsons for the necessities and my little sister helped peel off my knee high boots and crawl into a cozy Boise State soccer sweatshirt.

Hopped up on Tylenol PM and a belly full of Sprite and Saltines, my fever broke that night.

Thank goodness, because I had to get up the next morning to teach a weight loss surgery class to potential patients.

Now how's that for a game face, Derek?

Medical Courtship

2010-04-27T15:34:00.004-06:00

Wednesday, May 12th, 2010... I have a date with a surgeon.

No, not that guy.

This guy...

He technically is the same age as my dad.

He happens to be married. (But apparently these days that doesn't matter.)

I will be asleep for the duration of the date.

I may even wake up from said sleep and vomit all over him from nausea.

I am also planning to wear a sexy cotton backless gown.

And I will pay.

In 15 days I will be going under the knife for left ACL repair, for the third time.

Despite my date giving me a swollen and incredibly pained knee, he does give me some good drugs out of the deal. (But then again.. he prescribes, I pay.)

Until then, I'll ice my knee and pop ibuprofen like candy. It's like going on a carb-free diet before swimsuit season. (But then again.. I've never done that.)

Wish this gimp luck.

Be Positive, Lose an Electron

2010-04-19T14:27:00.003-06:00

I'm not going to try and be eloquent, here.

It's torn. My Anterior Cruciate Ligament (ACL) is torn. Again, times three.

Dr. Kirk Lewis' repair didn't hold. Now Dr. George Wade's repair didn't hold either.

Will Dr. Michael Holmstrom's surgical gift be the one to survive until the day I am laid to rest in the ground? (Or burned to ashes? Haven't yet decided which, but I think I have time).

Clearly the surgeons are not to blame, as they each gave me 3-4 years of high school and collegiate soccer. I even "medically retired" my career at Boise State a year early to prevent any more ACL tears.

Well, call me crazy, I decided to join an indoor coed league in Salt Lake because I didn't think the level of competition would be as intense. Just as previous tears have proven, the competitive nature of the game doesn't really matter.

All three tears have stemmed from planting and cutting and ZERO contact.

Hell, I can be shopping and tear my ACL! The sudden marked decrease in my walking speed can be seen as soon as I hit the sale rack at J. Crew and can cause a tear. It's true.

But this go around really hurts. Really devastates. Really disheartens.

The second play into the game late Thursday night, I came from behind and stuck my left leg out in front of a guy ready to release the ball. I planted with purposeful force and my weight plunged forward all onto my knee.

And snap.

I felt and heard the tear. Sounds like the loudest knuckle pop in the world.

The pain was unprecedented. And I knew exactly what I had done (even though I still paid the $25 copay to hear it from an MD's mouth).

As soon as my teammates helped me to the bench, I immediately began to feel physically nauseous and I began to hyperventilate. A combination of knowing the road that lie ahead of me and the actual response to the physical pain, I had to lie down to prevent throwing up or passing out.

For the next 40 minutes, I had to rest on the chipped paint bench and stew over what had just taken place. It felt unreal, like a bad dream that I couldn't wake up from. Or like I could somehow pretend that this actually didn't happen. Well unlike Michael J. Fox, I myself cannot go back in time and reverse unfortunate events. What's done was done.

As Dashboard Confessional's "Vindicated" played through the facilities speakers, I stared up at the high ceiling and cried.

And I cried some more.

I called my parents later that night (nearing midnight) and I cried even more.

I threw on some freshly washed undies and my Harvard Medical School t-shirt and hobbled into bed.

And I cried myself to sleep.

But like most things in life, time heals wounds and my emotional strength is already gearing up nicely to tackle a third surgery and the long arduous consequential recovery.

Tomorrow at 8:45am, I see Dr. Holmstrom at The Orthopedic Specialty Hospital (woohoo for SLC having a plethora of surgeons readily available) and the journey will begin.

Your Official Plans for Saturday Morning

2010-04-12T15:19:00.002-06:00

Saturday morning, April 17th, Salt Lake City is hosting their annual marathon races! Full 26.2 mile marathon, half marathon, 5K, and a bike race make up the events for the spring morning. The half marathon starts at the University of Utah and finishes at the Gateway mall. With the race starting at 7am, you should expect runners, one in particular, to cross the finish line around 8:45am.

If you love to run or enjoy sports in any capacity, this is where you should be Saturday morning.

If you want to see a particular blogging brunette running the streets of Salt Lake in Nike and Aasics, this is where you should be Saturday morning.

Or even if you don't give a damn about exercising and adrenaline and me, this is still where you should be Saturday morning.

Find a copy of the half marathon route here.

Your Official Plans for Saturday Night

2010-04-12T14:59:00.003-06:00

Saturday, April 17th, @ 7:30pm, Salt Lake Community College is hosting their annual Raw Couture Fashion Show at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center (138 West 300 South).

If you love fashion, this is where you should be Saturday night.

If you want to watch a particular blogging brunette strutting a runway, this is where you should be Saturday night.

Or even if you don't give a damn about clothes or couture or me, this is still where you should be Saturday night.

For $19, buy your ticket here.

Embrace

2010-04-07T11:40:00.007-06:00

So just for fun, I do a little bit of modeling. The occasional gigs I actually get do pay some green stuff, but the art form is more like a hobby of mine. Like crafting or sewing or cooking or walking on a runway or posing in front of a camera. They're all one in the same, right?

If you disagree, the questioned posed is rhetorical.

My hobby is defined as a hobby because I don't get paid nearly enough to make it more of a source of income. I do it because it is so fun and even produces the same adrenaline created in playing a game of soccer or running a race.

My jobs are few and far between. And I am more than okay with that. I have a college degree for a reason.

Well, yesterday I met with a world-renowned modeling agent, Paul Fisher. Sir Paul has personally represented supermodels with names like Naomi Campbell, Brooke Burke, Janice Dickinson, Kimora Lee Simmons, and Nicky Hilton. Yes, I am totally name dropping.

He chose to meet with the models within the McCarty agency and evaluate where we could fit in with "The Network." This is a business method for models/agencies who normally are offered local bookings to achieve larger, more profitable jobs.

As usual, when I walk into modeling auditions, I know that no one cares about how well I can articulate and express myself. It's more about the cheekbone's altitude, the fullness of the lips, or the choreography of an outfit. Understandably, auditions feel shallow.

But this time, as I walked in to meet Paul, he looked at me and studied me, as if I were a geometry equation and the angles of my facial features needed to be determined. It felt mathematical; and moreover, non-judgmental.

He asked me what types of jobs I typically get for McCarty. I responded with commercial and runway. He nodded in agreement and then said, "And I bet those jobs are few and far between."

Not offended, I also nodded in agreement. I trusted his experience and his ability to see something and know where it belongs.

And he knew where I belonged.

"You would be PERFECT for my Natural Beauty group."

I'm wearing loads of make-up right now. I'm calling BS on that one.

"Currently, there are really only two categories of models: Twigs and Plus-Size."

Yes. I am following. Continue.

"The Natural Beauty group is for sizes 6-8 who fall in the middle ground. Don't lose any weight and don't gain any weight. You are perfect."

Will you repeat that? I don't think I heard you right. I think you just used the P-word.

And with that, Paul Fisher became my personal saint.

I have always valued my opinion of myself and my ability to find confidence from within. But to hear my thoughts echoed from an experienced professional's mouth was so satisfying. Redemptive. Exciting.

I am not sure what bookings will come from this interview, if any.

But what I feel to be the most gratifying element from meeting Paul Fisher is that perhaps our social standards are expanding. One body ideal is not another's body ideal. And that encouraging women to love their bodies just as they are, and to describe them as a "natural beauty" is a fantastic thought.

I am a firm believer that if a woman humbly thinks of herself as beautiful, she looks beautiful to those around her. Confidence speaks, and people listen.

Rock on my lovely lady friends!

Dub-Ya

2010-04-02T13:29:00.003-06:00

Last night, our indoor coed soccer team experienced the first sweet taste of victory.

The key to the game? Have half the team either go on a Mexican cruise or to Las Vegas the weekend prior, and make sure they come home with severe needs of recuperation. This will ensure total domination on a Thursday night in the competitive arena.

Seems irrational?

It works.

We know.

Can it be?

2010-03-30T16:50:00.004-06:00

When I turned 2, my parents thought I was getting too old to use a binky. And apparently, I agreed, because I didn't put up a fight. Or so legend has it.

When I turned 10, I thought I was getting too old for curly perms (until I turned 19, and thought a "hair wave" for a trip to Italy would be tres chic, but that's another story).

When I turned 16, I thought I was too old for church dances.

And now at 22, I think I am getting too old for three consecutive nights of fun in Vegas.

Did I really just say that?

Too old?

Well, when I came home with a head cold the size of America's budget deficit (it made it's evil return from one week prior), and fatigue that couldn't be satiated by a straight 24 hour rest (I'm just guesstimating here), I realized....

Yes.

I might just be too old for this.

I'm definitely not complaining. I had a fantastic time spent by the pool under a 75 degree sun, with long time girlfriends at my side, eating sushi and drinking mojitos by day, and rockin' dance clubs and Denny's breakfast by night.

Great memories were made. And there's a quote I like that says this....

And I definitely like looking back at this past weekend. And with a plethora of pictures snapped over 72 hours, it sure makes it easy to wax nostalgic.

Still...

when DayQuil is the only thing pushing me through this first day of my work week, I think it's safe to say,

that, yes, indeed,

I am getting too old for a 3 day crusade.

But... I don't think I heard anybody discount aging bodies taking it to the mattresses 2 nights in a row....

Sweet.

Like a Bird

2010-03-26T12:54:00.004-06:00

And so I will.

I will land at 5:20pm in the rockin' city of Las Vegas.

Reality, I will see you on Monday at 3:40pm. Don't get too excited, because such an emotion will not be reciprocated.

"Wuv... Twue Wuv...."

2010-03-23T16:41:00.005-06:00

This past weekend, my cousin Brad got married to an adorable girl named Beth. I had the privilege of participating in many events surrounding the ceremonious occasion, and always feel grateful for such opportunities.

1) Big life events usually summons copious amounts of extended family members- many of whom I only see at said events. Great opportunity to catch up and enjoy the company of those I don't get to see very often.

2) Chance to spend quality together time with my own immediate family. Mom, dad, Tanner, and Abigail made the 5 hour journey from Eagle (can I still say Boise?), Idaho to Salt Lake last Thursday. Parker and his wife Meegan made the 45 minute drive north from Provo. And I, stayed put.

We stayed up late watching movies (never realized A League of Their Own had so many great one liners), drank Nyquil together (a family that gets sick together, stays together, or so I say), and ate late night Wendy's (the use-french-fries-as-a-spoon-in-your-chocolate-frosty combo is so bomb).

My family is the ultimate gift that I have been given. When my friends took off for Vegas, I went home. Okay, so what if I am going to Vegas this weekend and I can't handle two Vegas excursions in one month. I still really, really wanted to see my family.

And here in Salt Lake and in Boise, my friends and I have created our own family. They, too, are my greatest gift. I hope to never take these two families for granted.

But....

3) The faith I hold in family, and in particular, marriage, is always renewed at weddings. My family is chalk full of couples who have not only made marriage work, but are still so in love with one another. My own parents included. I strongly believe in the idea of fidelity and that living in a monogamous relationship is not only functional, but wonderful.

Though I feel far away from entering into a marriage (gotta meet the guy first...), I feel my own optimism waning when you hear stories of family members, friends, politicians, athletes, and celebrities succumbing to the temptation of infidelity, with abolished marriages as direct consequence. The latest examples being Tiger Woods and his wife, Elin; Jesse James and Sandra Bullock. Makes my stomach churn. I consider infidelity to be one of the most selfish acts in which one can engage.

With the divorce rate holding steady at 50%, I fear for the concept of the family. Will it become an everyday thing for children to be passed from house to house, every other weekend? Are we truly understanding the psychological effects this can have on a child?

I believe I have a soul. I believe that God, in whatever form God may be in, allowed us to gather with a group of other souls to create incredible bonds. I believe this to be a family. I also believe that these bonds are at it's strongest when all souls are connected. Connected by a marriage.

There are clearly times when divorce is necessary, particularly when it comes to the physical safety of either spouse or child. I do not want to patronize such unique situations.

However, I feel that divorce is too often used as an easy escape. I cannot speak from experience, but I feel I can understand that marriage takes work, effort, sacrifice, and compromise. But in the end, is worth it. It is worth having a companion at the end of the day, for the rest of your life.

So before I wax too strong on societal ideas, I want to thank my own parents for their example. I'm sure it hasn't always been easy (like when your own daughter was a rebellious teenager?), but I love and appreciate that you two still love and appreciate each other. And I like how you show your love for one another. Mom lets dad go hunting and fishing. Dad goes grocery shopping and does the dishes. It doesn't take grand events to show your love.

Congratulations to Brad and Beth. And congratulations to my mother and father, and the many other examples who have proven that marriage is good and right.

Ripe for the Coughing

2010-03-18T15:18:00.003-06:00

For the past two weeks, I have been on the cusp of falling ill. Scratchy, but not quite sore, throat. Fatigued, but not quite weak, body. Patronizing, but not quite productive, cough.

I was proud of my immune system for battling so well. It was fighting the good fight with its master in mind.

I even went home to Boise with hopes that a relaxing weekend with my family would reward my white blood cells for their efforts on my behalf.

Not so.

Thankfully, I do not feel ill. I can carry on as usual, but...

That fruitless cough decided it, too, was sick of hanging onto it's contents. Suddenly, I have very productive cough.

And it is disgusting.

Clearly, I have no shame. Because, I am the first to admit. It's gross!

So then I ask myself. I can still physically function and perform my job well, should I call in sick?

Nah.

I'll just pull the, "Oh I'm sorry. That sounded gross." And cough into the V-shape my right arm creates when bent at the elbow. That'll have to do...

PS; Didn't you just love this post?

PPS; As gross as my cough is, the first draft of this post was even more gross. I think you should feel grateful for my ability to exhibit restraint. You have to remember, I am a nurse after all.

PPPS; Tara, the picture of the little green booger germ thing is just. for. you!!!

Spring and Green

2010-03-18T10:51:00.003-06:00

It was a beautiful day in Salt Lake City yesterday. It's becoming a more common theme these days. I don't want to count my chickens before they hatch, but I think spring weather may finally be winning the war against winter.

As I left work yesterday fully adorned in running attire, I walked outside and realized my extra Nike Maria Sharapova jacket was not needed. I decided to leave it on anyway because a little extra sweat prior to exercising is a plus. That way, after only ten minutes of running, I look so sweaty that passersby think I have done a half marathon and I have an excuse for already needing to take a break.

But as I felt the warmth of the outdoors, the first thought that crossed my mind, after deciding to leave my jacket on of course, was: You know winter in Salt Lake City is coming to a close when 52 degrees makes you want to lay out on your porch...

and tan.

I didn't. But I sure thought about it.

As Tara, my good friend and roommate, and I walked from our downtown apartment to the Green Pig pub to watch the Utah Jazz game and do a bit of St. Patrick's Day celebrating, it was STILL nice outside. It was nearly 8 o'clock at night. Do I thank Daylight Savings for that? Because if I shouldn't, I won't. I am still bitter about losing that one hour of sleep.

I had on my "spring" lightweight coat and, as habit has demonstrated, I left it on despite warm temperatures. But this time, it wasn't such a good idea. It now looked like I did my hair all nice and put on a J. Crew camel colored sweater to then exercise. Again.

Thankfully, chips and dip, time with two girlfriends, and green mardi-gras-like bead necklaces distracted my focus from my uber rosy cheeks and perspired brow.

Ghrelin's Hayday

2010-03-15T14:21:00.004-06:00

My order of Girl Scout cookies arrived at the office today.

And I already ate 5 Tagalongs. More than double the serving size. Planning to go for a run anyway today... so I guess I will eat 5 more.

For posterity sake, when I am 90 years old and decrepit and the Girl Scout cookies are the size of Big Macs, I will want to look back and show my grandchildren the definition of inflation.

Hence, here are some of my personal fatty, sugary favorites...

It's just too bad that as the recognizable boxes were delivered to my office, a class full of potential weight loss surgery patients saw them plopped onto my desk.

My credibility may have been totally lost, but at least my stomach remained loyal.

"For the Shelter of Storms"

2010-03-11T14:45:00.008-07:00

As I was listening to my litany of selected artists on Pandora radio this afternoon, a favorite played it's melody over my computer speakers. Music is a fascinating medium that can produce emotions for me by simply hearing a tune. It can spur on nostalgia, excitement, the desire to dance and move, the motivation to sit and think, even tears and sadness. And then there are some songs that can produce vivid images of my home and those people who belong in my home; my family.

I find the music that inspires the aforementioned comforting thoughts usually stems from music played by those family members. In particular, if I hear any songs or artists my father listened to, I inevitably think of home. This time, Pandora graced me with the vocals of Mary Chapin Carpenter, and as she sang "On with the Song," my thoughts turned home.

And that is exactly where I am going tomorrow.

Home.

I am going home for no particular reason, other than longing to spend time with those who carry my same DNA.

And because I can.

I can pick up and leave and go home whenever I like because I only live 4.5 hours away. For this I am very grateful. As much as I hope to never make that distance farther, I know that the powers at bay beyond my control, may at some point extend the gap. So I want to take advantage of the current situation that sits before me.

I am looking forward to hugging my younger, but taller, brother tight, and holding my 5'6" eleven year old sister on my lap. She is still my baby sister, and even when she will tower over me at full growth, I will still hold her skinny, bony body on my lap.

I am looking forward to sitting and talking with my parents, and picking their brains for parental wisdom. It is amazing that even thinking about doing this makes me feel so loved.

I am looking forward to staying up late watching movies and eating junk food with my siblings, and to catch up over lunch with two of my best girlfriends.

And to try on my bridesmaid dress for one of those best girlfriends' summer wedding.

And like Karen says from one of my favorite movies, Love Actually, in reference to listening to Joni Mitchell, "I love her, and true love lasts a lifetime. Joni Mitchell is the woman who taught your cold English wife how to feel."

Except, this time it's Mary Chapin Carpenter who taught me, an unmarried American girl, how to wax nostalgic of home.

And what I find even more intriguing, when I thought of home, I thought of my parents welcoming me inside the doors of our new Eagle, Idaho home. Even more proof that home truly lies where the heart is....

I'm coming home!

Shopping Bill of Rights

2010-03-09T14:47:00.003-07:00

I consider myself to be a fantastic bargain shopper, rarely purchasing anything full price. And I know my mom would agree. (I had to add that in just so you wouldn't think such self-flattery was ill-conceived).

Well, on Saturday at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, I fell in love...

with these Betsey Johnson's....

And of course, they were on sale!

As all you women know, when you experience love at first sight while shopping, there is absolutely no other choice but to buy it.

Or is that just my rule?

Two Firsts

2010-03-02T17:23:00.003-07:00

Yesterday, March 1st, at four o'clock in the afternoon, I went for my first run outdoors since November. It was a warm, blue sky, gorgeous day in Salt Lake. It felt incredible to run for a full hour without staring at a mirror in a gym. Trading the treadmill for pavement is something my mind absolutely craves. I simply wish my knees could feel the same...

And today, I officially registered for the Salt Lake City Half Marathon on April 17, 2010. Feels really good to have another race on the agenda!

“I always loved running…it was something you could do by yourself, and under your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted, fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs.”

— Jesse Owens

Diary of a Bariatric Nurse

2010-03-01T10:41:00.004-07:00

I am the daughter of a dietitian. I am a nurse for a weight loss surgery clinic. I learned about nutrition consistently throughout my childhood from my mother and I now preach nutrition in classes daily to patients.

You'd think my personal diet would be flawless, but it is definitely not without blemishes.

I definitely indulge in my fair share of Kraft macaroni and cheese, Hawaiian pizza, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, french fries and candy. Some of my weaknesses, to name quite a few.

But more often than not, I frequently make food selections from the healthy section of restaurant menus. I routinely add a side salad to my chicken sandwich at St. Mark's cafeteria. I value how such foods make me feel and the lasting energy they offer. Recently, a patient offered in one of our classes, "No food tastes as good as thin feels."

I am also a firm believer that it is possible to make healthy selections from the grocery store, making the end price result the same as buying Spaghetti O's and frozen chicken nuggets.

So when I see my own hospital's cafeteria pricing not reflecting this promise I make to patients, it frustrates me.

When I stray from appropriate eating behaviors and I order a grilled cheese and a side of fries, I pay $3.15.

But when I stick to what I know to be good nutrition, I am punished. When I order a salad with veggies, beans, and light ranch dressing, I pay $5.90.

Nearly double the price of fried food.

I don't know if this is St. Marks' attempt at keeping their weight loss surgery program running, or to keep their cardiovascular surgeons in business, but this price imbalance is one that should not exist, particularly in a hospital setting.

Currently, more than 15 million Americans are obese, including the fact that 1 in every 4 children are obese. Likewise, if trends continue, it is predicted that by 2020, 40% of Americans will be obese. Clearly, we have a surmounting problem.

The underlying cause stems from a conglomerate of issues. Fast food. Dollar menus. Huge portion sizes. Large eating plates. Lack of knowledge/awareness. Genetic predisposition (yes, it is true). And the aforementioned pricey healthy food options.

Though I don't have a clear solution to this growing problem beyond what my surgeons and our practice does currently on a daily basis, I needed a chance to step on my soap-box.

That I did.

And now, I will step down.

Raw Couture

2010-02-25T11:25:00.004-07:00

Salt Lake Community College's Fashion Institute is presenting their annual Raw Couture Runway show on April 17th, 2010. This event showcases the creations and designs of the graduating students. The inspiration behind the madness this year stems from different countries and their cultures. The show has grown in popularity over the years, often now achieving sell out crowds.

Much to my delighted surprise, the students chose me to model several of their original and unique pieces. The cultural inspirations I will be wearing include two from Russia and one from Scotland.

Last night was the first fitting. Models meet designers. Designers meet models. And, in a very local sense, it felt a lot like Project Runway!

As soon as you meet the designers, they then ask you to... undress. As comfortable as I am with myself, this common indecency in modeling never fails to surprise me. I know it's coming, but even though my actions don't show any emotion, my mind is whirling. It' s like a handball in soccer; you know you just slapped the ball, but you act like it never happened.

The nudity (except for a strapless bra and a nude thong) made me blink twice this time, however. Because this time one lone male model was also in the group. And he was hot. If nothing else, I found a new way to introduce myself. "Hi, my name is Meredith, and here is my naked butt." I'll let you know how this forward approach works out.

Nonetheless, I am uber excited for this very cool runway job. The clothes, the couture atmosphere, the music, the lights, the catwalk, and a packed audience...

it is an art form that really is so much fun.

House Mangum

2010-02-23T10:28:00.005-07:00

Though only four Mangums remain in Boise, Idaho, all seven of us in spirit are making the move to...

Eagle, Idaho.

Leaving our home of 25 years and the City of Trees...

my parents have purchased a new lovely home 20 minutes west of Boise.

As our family will only grow in size, a home that better suits our needs was much in order. And with a little bit of luck, my parents nabbed a foreclosure. Bad time to sell, but GREAT time to buy.

I will miss waking up on Christmas morning and posing for our annual family photo on the stairs, donned in our pajamas and our inevitable puffy eyes squinting.

I will miss looking into my front or backyard and seeing the trees that Maddie, my childhood best friend, and I climbed. We played with our plastic reptiles and made forts in those trees. We watched butterflies consume the branches one summer, covering every square inch of bark.

I will miss Lakewood garage sales and gathering quarters from my parent's stash to buy the most ridiculous junk, like a barbie-sized mermaid beach made of foam.

I will miss driving past our stone lampposts that garnish our driveway, and remembering how I smashed our Land Cruiser into not one, but both posts.

I will miss my old running routes that have been apart of my Boise routine since I was 15.

I will even miss our cranky and stubborn front door that refuses to open and close efficiently.

The house has character. A few repaired punches though the walls and an apple stain on the ceiling. A burning wreath hanging inside during Christmas dinner. Bedrooms that have seen tears of heartbreak and tears of joy welcoming in a new baby. We all took turns occupying each bedroom. I am sure the middle bedroom hated me the most, as Leonardo DiCaprio and Titanic posters suffocated the walls. And the kitchen floor has felt pumpkin guts and seeds hardening against the wood during carving at Halloween. That same wood has felt dozens of shoe covered feet gather for birthdays, celebrations, and graduation parties.

This house has been well loved. And it most certainly has seen love be created within its walls.

Thank you, 267 Old Saybrook. You were good to us.

Two Brothers Mangum

2010-02-23T10:15:00.004-07:00

I feel the need to brag about my two brothers that sandwich me in the hierarchy of Mangum children.

The first born: Parker Knight Mangum. He recently earned a beloved internship with the company that makes these shoes.

In this uber hip city. (Portland, Oregon). He and his cute wife, Meegan, make the move in June.

Middle child: Madison Clifford Mangum. He is currently serving an LDS church mission for San Antonio, Texas, speaking Espanol.

Thanks for letting me brag, boys. You've earned it.

The 5 Year Plan

2010-02-22T13:20:00.002-07:00

Where will you be in 5 years? 10 years? 50?

I can't answer the latter two questions, because I really don't know. I hope for certain aspirations and lifestyles, but it requires another individual of the opposite sex to make it happen. So I don't really know when or how it will happen.

But what I do know, and can plan for in my next 5 years, because it is solely up to me, is this:

If all goes according to plan...

By Spring 2011, I will not just be an RN, I will be an RN-BSN. A Nurse with a Bachelor's degree in tow from Boise State's online/distance program.

And by Spring 2013, I will be a Family Nurse Practitioner, from Westminster College.

This is it. This is my final decision to move forward with the intense, but rewarding schooling.

I have been feeling uneasy, as of late, and I wasn’t sure why. I was feeling thoughts like, “What now? Is this the end? Where do I go from here?”

All those thoughts, however, were silenced recently, upon coming to this decision. The empty void has been filled. I feel comfort that this is a great step in the right direction and ultimately what I want for myself. I am young, without any dependents. Now is the time.

So, anyone have some good advice about student loans....?

Green Turf

2010-02-19T12:47:00.006-07:00

The above picture represents what I did nearly every day of my life for 16 years.

It also represents what I could not, or chose not to, do for 2 years because of a knee injury.

But most of all, it represents what I did...

...last night.

I have never felt so rusty or worn out before whenever I have stepped onto a soccer field than when I did just that...

...last night.

My lungs burned.

Clearly, I am so out of shape. I can run marathons, but can barely tolerate 15 minute increments in an indoor soccer game.

But, why I feel so compelled to share is this:

Sans knee brace and any hesitation in my playing efforts, I DID IT.

I PLAYED SOCCER.

I CAN DO IT.

Yes, this is definitely a pat on my back from my own hand. But 2 years of wonder and doubt have now been silenced and, hopefully, put to rest.

If not, I have great health insurance.

Windshield Woes

2010-02-17T12:35:00.007-07:00

I exchanged that....

For this....

On her....

After I got pulled over by him...

Moral of the story:

One thumbs up for Big Girl Panties!

But, two thumbs down for expensive adulthood.

My Own Valentine

2010-02-17T11:36:00.009-07:00

Since my eligible dating years began 6 years ago, I have been single for 4 of those 6 Valentine's Days.

I, by no means, am complaining.

I have learned to find happiness, love and trust in myself by being unattached. So when my also-single girlfriends and I planned a fun Sunday treat for our Valentine's Day, I was very excited. I have grown accustomed to such events on romance affiliated holidays.

We decided to treat ourselves to Rodizio Grill and gorged on a variety of meats, salads, and fried bananas. Though pricey, it's a lot cheaper when it's just for one. (Another minor perk of singledom). We each received a long-stemmed flower from our waitress, and though it came from a stranger who is not male, I still loved it. It smelled fresh and sweet. And it was my lone gift of the day. Although, I am sure my bill factored in the price of the flower.

We then ventured to the Gateway movie theaters, purchased MORE candy and Diet Coke, and enjoyed the movie, "Valentine's Day." Expecting the movie to be yet another cheesy chick flick, I was very pleasantly surprised! It is fun, touching, humorous, and lighthearted. In a movie theater packed with couples, I feel it is safe to say that we were the lone "unashamed girls only" group.

Nonetheless, to satisfy a need I have on February 14th, I wanted to give a gift to a man who means the world to me. So thanks to Barnes and Noble and UPS, my father received the new K.D. Lang CD, accompanied by a small, pink card, which read:

To the man on whom I can always count and has never let me down.

Happy Valentine's Day.

I love you!

Meredith

The Boston Post

2010-02-10T16:58:00.002-07:00

This post is dedicated to my dear baby sister, Abigail. She states that she “will die” if I don’t post again, and because I kinda like having her around, I will preserve her life with my words. Thank you, sweet sister, for kicking my blogging bum into gear.

Here goes.

After a long dry spell of not publishing my life, it’s hard to know where to begin. So, I will pretend like I never stopped blogging, and I will pick up right where I should: What happened last week.

Boston, Massachusetts is what happened last week.

Furthermore, Harvard Medical School, happened, too.

And so did a friend, Derek Erstad.

All three converged for a cross country trip that was well anticipated, and well executed.

I made the full day journey from Salt Lake City International Airport to Boston Logan International Airport. But there is a marked difference in the definition of Salt Lake International and Boston International. When you arrive in Boston, attractive female voices pipe up over the PA system speaking in various languages, informing travelers that it is the last boarding call to Belgium. Or that Sophia Loren needs to get back to France. Okay, not really to the latter. But it sure feels that way. I really was now in international waters.

This big girl hailed down a taxi (okay, so what if they are lined up in a nice, neat row outside the airport waiting for desperate passengers, such as myself), and I paid the cabbie $41 to take me to Vanderbilt Hall at Harvard Medical School. Though pricey, it was well worth it. Otherwise, if I had attempted a run on the Subway, big brown suitcase in tow, I could not make the aforementioned claim that the excursion was “well executed.”

Friends since we were 15, Derek met me outside his dormitory hall and we exchanged a warm embrace. Boy, was I glad to see a familiar face. He gave me an abbreviated tour of his accommodations, which included the 4 security checkpoints just to get into his room. If it weren’t for the Victorian-esque décor of the ceilings, the hardwood floors, and the warm rich colors of the social hall, I would have thought they kept their medical students in prison.

Afterwards, Derek took me to a restaurant known as “The Pig.” Apparently it is a well known place for brilliant professors and their studious tutees to converse over a good drink and even better pulled pork. And that we did, but in this circumstance, exchange brilliant professor for wannabe shameless westerner and her genius partner in crime.

And so the plan was laid out, the standard had been set and we lived up to it every moment of my 4 day escape from reality.

On Friday, we ventured onto the Boston Subway system known as the “T” and the “M2” and toured Harvard Square. As I had borrowed one of Derek’s fellow classmate’s Harvard ID, I again pretended to be a wannabe, and we snuck into the Harvard Law School Library. For once, Hollywood got it right. Legally Blonde tells no lies. The buildings are just unique and architecturally incredible as Reese Witherspoon experiences. And I got to be apart of it, if only for one weekend!

Furthermore, the weekend allowed for eating Ethiopian food with your bare hands and sharing a bottle of wine (can I call it that, Derek? I know, I was selfish). Boston also meant I could participate in a quasi pub crawl with a bunch of super rad and super humble medical students. It meant I could go into Harvard Medical School and see the classroom auditoriums, the labs, and the more intimate tutorial rooms. And I thought to myself, “So this is where all the magic happens.” This is where Derek has run off to, to dedicate his life to the world of medicine. Yeah, I totally dug it.

I experienced Bertucci’s pizza and Long Hammer IPA. I saw Sherlock Holmes in the local movie theatre (in between my mid flick naps) and I bought $10 sunglasses from Urban Outfitters. A keepsake that whenever I put them on my face, reminds me of wandering around the store, trying on my usual bug-eye glasses, but being convinced to purchase a new style.

We watched episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on Derek’s Macbook when it was absolutely too frigid to venture outdoors. We discussed philosophy, religion, spirituality, and healthcare reform.

We had a blast.

And so the weekend went just as soon as it had come, and I made another full day of travel back to the motherland. Thank you, Derek, for sharing your time, your lost study hours, your new found Boston expertise, and many a good eats with me. I think I’ll keep you around.

PS- Got a call today. I landed my first paid Salt Lake City modeling gig. Apparently, these conservatives aren’t afraid of a girl with a little extra boob and a little extra hip.

Please Pass the Catch-Up

2009-11-20T13:57:00.002-07:00

My former teammate, Molly, mentioned that I should have plenty to write about for my next blog post.

But I feel blank!

Which means.... I have waited so long to blog again, that all my fun has clustered into one big mess; a mess that I am having a hard time de-cluttering!

Let's see. Here is what comes to mind.

My brother engaged in a commitment to marry his sweetheart on December 5th! Parker and Meegan, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g... Honored to be her bridesmaid.

St. George Marathon. Shaved off 46 minutes from 2008's finish, coming in at 3 hours and 44 minutes. Missed Boston by 3 minutes and 1 second. Yes, I was very, very bitter about the latter, but very pleased of the former.

My super hot and super fit mother finished the marathon for the second time, too. After having pulled her medial gastrocnemius 3 weeks prior, she still shaved off 4 minutes and made the age of 51 look SO. DANG. GOOD.

I had a small surgery. Nothing major. At least maybe not to the untrained eye.

Thank you to October 31st and the chance to be anything you have ever wanted. So, naturally, I chose to live out my childhood dream and be Disney's bravest little Fish, Nemo, for a day. Yes, I had fins and a tutu. No, I was not covered in a giant fish suit. You get the idea.

A couple of my girlfriends and I braved the 6 hour drive from Salt Lake City to.... Las Vegas! We exchanged a chill in the air and a conservative nightlife for 70 degrees and 5am bedtimes. But we all know I can't share any more sin city stories; what happens in Vegas....

I have thoroughly enjoyed witnessing first hand Real Salt Lake barely squeak into the playoffs to now playing for all the marbles on Sunday against the Donovan-Beckham duo.

And what's on the menu for this weekend?

Why, New Moon, of course! I am sure no one fell out of their chairs in disbelief as they read such a plan.

Tangent: Still slightly obsessed with Robert Pattinson. But ever since rumors have been surfacing about him dating Kristen Stewart, my crushing has certainly taken a backseat. Ugh. How could he?

Okay, it's official. There is too much to catch up on; I am enjoying my single, independent life too much to go so long without posting.

Thank you for your forgiveness. I hope to never have need to clean my slate again!

Calling on Repentance

2009-11-13T16:39:00.003-07:00

Oh my gaw. It's been 2 months and 2 days since I last posted.

And I think one of my New Year's resolutions was to keep blogging.

Please do not fear (needed more for my own convincing, really), I have not given up!

This post stands as a teaser to you, and a reminder to me, that I will post something of more substance....

very...

soon.

Yes, Ambiguity is necessary.

Do forgive me.

Where were you...

2009-09-11T14:28:00.002-06:00

...on this day, eight years past?

Undoubtedly it was a day that changed our country forever. A day that affected millions of people across the world, reaching those who have never even dipped a toe on American soil.

And undoubtedly, it has created a lasting impact on my life.

I was merely 14. And on September 11, 2001, I went to Les Bois Junior High just like any other day. Early morning church seminary went on as usual, without one hint of disaster looming. We entered first period at 7:50am and I took my usual seat in Ms. Adam's US History class. (Ironic?) And that's when word broke. News stories clamored on the television showing a New York World Trade Center billowing with black smoke. Confusion, apprehension hung over our heads like a dark rain cloud indecisive to let down it's guard. Was it just a terrible, but accidental, plane crash?

I couldn't conjure up the idea that this was bigger than my impressionable young teenage mind would understand. The televisions were left on in the classroom, as we all turned to whisper to one another what could be the crisis? We were left in the dark. Being two hours behind New York City, I imagine much of the west coast felt similarly.

I remember sitting puzzled, not moving to speak to my neighbor, or to engage in predicting the verdict. As we watched the first tower burning and news reporters spouting off their own media analyzed answers, the second tower was hit by another airplane. Innocently, I thought to myself, "ANOTHER plane crash accident?" And just as quickly as I murmured the last word, it became more clear.

This is not a coincidence.

This is not an accident.

We had been attacked. Terrorized. Murdered.

I had never and have never since felt, so much pride for my country. I wanted to scream from the rooftops that I am an American, born and bred. This is my home, and everything America stands for represents who I am. Me.

Parents began to call into the school, demanding televisions be turned off. Perhaps it was the conservative Idaho environment, but we did not receive one more lick of information. A once blackened room, given one shred of light, was now locked and silenced. We had to bear the rest of school as if nothing had happened.

As 2:35pm rang it's closing bell and I hopped off the final step of the yellow school bus, I ran straight home. Without stopping to take off my backpack, I flicked on the tube. And there it was; everything I had missed for the past 7 hours coming to light. I sat with my father as we took in the tragedy that lay before us. I had so many questions, and I let them fly one right after the other. My patient father did his best to answer, and to keep the mood calm. (Gracious man, my daddy.)

The days following my thoughts were consumed with powerful images of collapsing steel building, sheets of thick black smoke, papers of all colors flying from windows, and god forbid, my fellow Americans following the same destiny as the paper. Screams from different directions penetrated my ears, some from the throats of frightened people fleeing the scene and others from the sirens of fire trucks headed in the opposite direction.

To those who ran to, and not away from, burning buildings and injured Americans, your efforts are unparalleled. I have recently thought that if my services as a nurse were needed in a dire life threatening emergency, would I have the courage to follow through? The bravery and selflessness? Would my sense of duty to my country carry me through? My gratitude to those who did follow through and execute is unexplainable. Words are not enough, and never will be.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

A Citizen of these United States,
Meredith Kaye Mangum

Straight males DO know Boys 2 Men!

2009-09-04T12:03:00.004-06:00

Q: Does a California vacation ever fail to satisfy?

A: No. Hell, no.

{Please don't wash my mouth out with soap, mom}

A vacation to San Diego with one of my best girls yet again proved that I love that sunny state.

Loved pampering ourselves with my first ever "spa day." Massages, mani's, pedi's, uber relaxation!

Seized every opportunity to run alongside beaches, harbors, and bays. And felt stinging pains of nostalgia as I watched herds of soccer teams fill Mission's grassy parks. I wanted to jump in and play with them. The lone white girl who can actually play. But then I remembered I am grateful my body still has the capability to run. Have I ever told you that knee joints need serious re-engineering by the big man upstairs? Yeah, I thought so. Ten times over.

Late nights and late mornings.

Glorious sunshine and tanning my 9am-5pm indoor white skin.

Finding the best place to usher in our SoCal vaycay... the Sandbar. San Diego style.

And best of all, getting $$paid$$ all the while!!!

Usually the jet lag post vacation due to reality checks and piles of work completely negates the benefits of time off.... But not this time.

This week has been a RIDE! Everything that I love about the wonderful world of futbol.... all came together in my kitchen one late Tuesday night. In one big human train. And though I do not expect anyone to understand the aforementioned memento... I wrote it for me. For future memory reminders. And there it shall remain.

Wildfires

2009-08-25T00:31:00.002-06:00

Tomorrow evening, I will be floating westward for the beach sunshine that belongs to the Golden State. (and suddenly my mind is taken to the shoebox float representing California that I created in 4th grade; it was decked out with Sunmaid raisins and the hotshot license plate that only looks good on beamers and range rovers).

But instead of homemade school projects, I will exchange dried grapes for flip flops and sunglasses by day. And I will trade sexy car plates for Paten leather black high heels by night.

I am all packed; stuffed to the brim, but what's new?; so ready to escape somewhere not completely imprisoned by land. (Side note: Fear not, my love affair with the Wasatch mountains remains just as hot and heavy as ever.)

But one thing I am SO looking forward to upon my return home... USA Men's Soccer versus El Salvador in SLC! Clearly my love affair with my 17 year played sport remains even more hot and heavy than mountainous grandeur. Not even shredded knee ligaments can put out such a fire!

And sometimes that burn is so strong, my body physically aches. It pounds like a broken heart. So despite singeing my bare skin as I watch others play the sport I love, I can't help but revel in the beauty of the game. Even as I engaged in a small pickup game with people ten years my younger a few nights past, I couldn't help but feel... SO ALIVE!

Sweaty, but alive.

Bottoms up, Cal-ee-forn-I-ay!

Pictograph

2009-08-18T21:34:00.003-06:00

So this is what it feels like.

2009-08-15T01:00:00.004-06:00

I can barely keep my eyes open. My fingers are slow to follow the command of my brain. And I desperately want to retire my weary frame and sink into my foamy mattress. But I feel so much tonight. I feel something that I must share before the moment passes me by. I cannot forget because it proves something that science nor pessimists can legitimately explain.

I may be speaking too plainly. But I don't care. These are my thoughts.

I have had a friend since I was 15 who has positively impacted my life in multiple facets- socially, academically, romantically, spiritually. His name is Derek.

Like I said, I may speak too plainly. But remember, I don't care.

My connection with another human being has yet to reach the capacity as the one between he and I. The definition of a dearest friend.

As he departed for the east coast today to partake of the Harvard crimson at the medical school, I felt something unparalleled. With genuine care and without expecting something in return, I am absolutely elated for him and his accomplishments. No reserves. No compromises.

It feels as though I am about to enter medical school. Which clearly I am not. Nurse Mer for life. And yet, I feel for him, as what I would feel for myself entering a dream long awaited. I feel giddy, and eager, and confident, and happy, without hesitation. A tear fell down my cheek. A tear of excitement and pride.

It's incredible.

I said to my sweet girlfriend, Carley, that I know this is exactly what he wants to be doing, and he will be so damn good at it. I feel such satisfaction in knowing that someone in whom I have vested sincere care is walking the walk. Making his story a good one. Grabbing life with full grasp and not only taking the leap, but giving himself a push start.

I feel absolute happiness when thinking of Derek wearing his white coat and connecting with a patient who needs him. Needs his brilliant mind and compassionate spirit.

Perhaps this is a glimpse of heaven, where only joy and love can linger.

Go and do what you were born to do, Derek. You have a friend a couple thousand of miles away who cherishes your strong (and stubborn) spirit.

xo.

Cheesy Philosophies

2009-08-05T21:47:00.003-06:00

As you well know, I have been contemplating writing a book; a novel; short stories; something. But I cannot seem to figure what exactly to write about. Yeah, I've gone over this time and time again.

While on my 7am run this morning (shocked? I was!), I had an idea. The thoughts that flash through my exercising mind, the people I encounter along my route, the snot rocket that occasionally sprays all over my cheek. They all are stories in and of themselves.

I could write an entire biography on the small, stout, man who resembled perfectly the father from My Big Fat Greek Wedding perfectly. He clearly was quite surprised to turn around while standing on the edge between lawn and sidewalk, and find a tall woman running past his sprinklers. Having to quickly acquire lip reading skills to negate my blaring ipod earphones, his shining eyes, happy-go-lucky smile and eastward pointing finger gave the message away as soon as I passed the next green bush. Soon two young guys emerged into my periphery as they tinkered away at yardwork.

As far as my Hollywood knowledge of Greeks goes, their attempts to play matchmaker for any creature with two legs, even for quickly passing strangers, could very well be true. A smile slowly snuck across my face, and a soft laugh escaped my lips. And of course, I stole a glance at the males laboring on Grecian grass. To my surprise, that single glance turned into a second.

But mid-run is not the most appropriate time to meet someone new. I can't stop my rhythm. I'm a woman on a mission; a mission to shrink my hips and improve my mile time. Nothing can stop it.

But is it not fascinating to think about the connection of one human to another?

I make the decision to get up for some pavement pounding, the timing of my route lands me at the exact moment my Greek friend turns around to face the sidewalk, and I get a complimentary nod from the lawn mowing lookers, despite said loogie on my rosy cheek. And then to be thinking of those fellow earth inhabitants and their possible life stories, as it consumes my mind for an entire exercising hour.

I find it to be one of the most important and valuable facets of feeling alive. Connection one to another.

East Coast Delivery

2009-08-03T17:54:00.007-06:00

A wonderful surprise greeted me on my doorstep this evening, as I arrived home from work.

I grabbed the mail from our mailbox, fiddled with my keys to find the right golden puzzle piece, and then the simple cardboard brown package caught my eye. I quickly noticed my name written in black sharpie on the side; my next glance flew to the top left hand corner to see who the gracious sender could be...

Julie Kupper

Englewood, New Jersey

A smile immediately permeated my face and I wasted no time as I headed to the kitchen. Soon the knife was in my hand, slicing open the taped box. Beyond the bubble wrap and tissue paper, the suspense was coming to a climax. And there it was; the greatest belated birthday gift I have ever received.

A comical card with sweet hand written sentiments inside was the perfect appetizer for the main dish. And at the bottom of the box sat a book. Made of Lotka Plant bark, hand crafted by the women of Nepal using ancient paper making skills, my new journal was in my hands.

Such a thoughtful and unique gift! I love it!

Naturally, my first thought was, "What should I write about?!"

.....Difficult to journal lengthy life experiences, otherwise I will have a pencil callous on my right middle finger the size of Nepal itself.

.....The delicate, but strong, handmade paper is too special for doodles and random algebraic nursing equations.

And so it was soon decided.

My new gift would become a gratitude journal.

Could such a journal be anymore perfect for expressing what is most important to me?

Created by oppressed women in the middle east who can find happiness in the basic survival necessities, I dare say, there could not be a more fit journal for my future encryptions.

First thing on the list: Genuine, loyal, committed friends.

Thank you, Mrs. Julie Kupper!!!

Sir Johnny O.

2009-08-02T23:07:00.005-06:00

So my secret life is out of the bag. I am a Nurse by education, profession, and natural instinction; but I have been fortunate enough to dabble in the world of modeling. It's nice to be in Utah where it is not required to be a size double zero. I can have my cake and eat it, too! Pun intended.

I recently had an opportunity to shoot with the famous Johnny Olsen from L.A. who was in town for business. He is witty, has uber amounts of personality, and made me feel very relaxed. He is fantastic. He uses natural light, sans man-made camera flashes, and certainly has a knack for capturing the sunlight magically.

Here is a taste of his work:

Chronicles of the iliac crest.

2009-07-31T00:10:00.002-06:00

Do I really even need to tell you if I ran the morning after my last post?

Well for those of you who had faith in my competitive spirit, I hate to shatter your confidence. But I have to.

Yeah. I did anything BUT run.

Not even the spirit of defeating the self was enough to drag my long frame out of bed! As my alarm clock sounded 6:20am, my eyelids felt so heavy, I just knew... there was no way. No way.

So to make up for it, I completed my long training run for the week last night.

15 miles I think does add a bit to my recent competitive defamation. But oh boy, was I paying for it today! My feet, my knees, my hips! Oh, my 22 going on 70 year old hips!

But tonight, as a present to myself, I rediscovered the delectable goodness of a chocolate Creamy. Soooo good.

Alas, my hips were yet again complaining.

{sigh}

Must Be Those New Purple Nikes

2009-07-27T22:03:00.003-06:00

Have I ever told you that I love to run?

Well, now you know.

When I sold my soul to college athletics ALL those years ago, little did I know that not only did I agree to become a full time soccer player, but also a runner and a weight lifter. Major bummer to the latter. So naturally that has been nixed post medical retirement.

But running has remained. And so it shall. I never expected to grow so fond of pounding the pavement, but it has blossomed into a serious love-hate relationship. But mostly love. Even if a major blood blister develops under your right big toenail mid 10K race on July 24th, 2009, and will inevitably cause a separation of nail and toe. So long dead keratinized cells. Your 6 month presence was worth it. See your offspring in another six!

So I am yet again training for a marathon, round two. October 3rd, St. George, Utah.

I find myself actually wanting to run everyday. Well, almost. After a filling dinner at Zupas and a Krispy Kreme doughnut for dessert, running takes a back burner for emesis sake.

But what crosses my mind as I type this dedicatory Chariots of Fire post?

Fine, I'll just run tomorrow morning.

Will I do it?

Probably not. But it's the thought that counts, right?

Woah. Wait.

How strange. As soon as I fueled a sufficient amount of self-doubt, I suddenly felt even more empowered to prove myself wrong.

Oh! Right! This is why I love running so much!

COMPETITION!

Post Script: For posterity sake, I feel the need to be self-promoting momentarily. I finished my 10K (6.2 miles) in 49 minutes, providing for 7.9 minute miles. Prefontaine may be disappointed, but this ex-foot fairy was pleased.

Now we all know how much I hold 8 hours of sleep to be most sacred.

Hence, my eyes must say their final goodbyes to a black keyboard that is missing the letter "q" and my ears to newly purchased running beats.

Hello "Strawberry Avalanches" and "Vanilla Twilights."

If you don't follow, type Owl City into iTunes and you soon will. And you will fall victim, just as I have.

Goodnight hot sticky summer July Salt Lake City night...

Where in the World...

2009-07-21T14:07:00.003-06:00

...is Carmen San Diego? 'Cept change the hair color to a dark chestnut brown, give her scrubs, and a stethoscope that forms to the curve of her neck. And all of a sudden, we have....
Where in the world...

is Nurse Mer?

Try Salt Lake City Airport, munching on sour gummy worms, and her nose buried in the book, The Fountainhead.

Think Boise, Idaho and delicious salads at the Tavern Restaurant with great friends like Maddie, Rachel, or Derek.

Give Bend, Oregon a whirl, as she defeats the heights of Mt. Bachelor alongside her tall, and ruggedly handsome, family.

Or as she slip 'n slides down the steep altitude of that same Unmarried Peak, on black trash bags.

Next, you may want to attempt to break into the Nike Employee Store in Portland and watch her practically rob the women's running section of all it's half-off apparel. While you're at it, you may want to learn the mastery of legal thievery from the best in the business.

If you still can't seem to catch her, look for a lavender-colored sweater and blue jeans down by the Willamette River, eating Thai food and McDonald's Oreo McFlurries. Such eclectic taste may just be her downfall.

Better yet, look for a long legged girl decked out in Nike wear from head to toe, running along the neighborhood streets of Hillsborough, Oregon. You may even catch her as she slows her lightening speed and makes an equally mad dash in a perpendicular direction, for the nearest bathroom. Yet another Kryptonite.

Still no luck? Look for soccer balls or footballs soaring through the coastal wind at Bella Beach. The hands or feet of the intended recipient may very well be hers.

Mmmmm, paid vacation is a beautiful thing. The real world is good; really good.

Don't Hate Me

2009-07-07T16:24:00.002-06:00

but I am seeing what sort of financial gain I can receive from placing ads on my blog. (See right side---->)

Yeah, it's selfish. But you never know, it may be your next birthday present that is purchased with said financial gain.

After I buy my Range Rover of course.

To Each His Own

2009-07-07T13:19:00.003-06:00

Pardon me, but I am going to wax nostalgic for a moment.

Growing up under my father's wing, some of my fondest memories stem from road trips between Boise and Salt Lake City, or sitting quietly, but thoughtfully, on my green leather family room couch... all the while listening to my father's music.

He would snap his fingers to Mary Chapin Carpenter's, "The Bug," or point at my mother while singing along to, "Shut Up and Kiss Me." He would ask our sibling quarreling to cease, and to listen to the song's words; he would offer his wise explanations throughout. Like Mark Knopfler's, "Boom, like that," a rendition describing Ray Croc and the beginning of the world capitalized hamburger joint, McDonald's.

He taught me to appreciate the lyrical meaning and purpose of a song. To find little nuggets of wisdom in between the drum beats and guitar plucks. Hence, my backbone of music lends itself from a different generation; an older generation. One more focused on musical thought and lyrical pensiveness.

Hence, despite a not so serenading sound of Bob Dylan, or Warren Zevon, or even Bruce Springsteen for that matter, the power behind the song is what drove them to success. And it is what drives me to love their music.

And it is what lights a fire inside me to find better ways of expressing myself, through song. I can sort my scattered thoughts by words already linked together, and feel at peace. Yes! That is what my mind and my heart feel, but I could not adequately express! It is satiating. Fulfilling.

Without any of my further ramblings, I leave you with one of my favorite songs.

In the words of Linda Ronstadt or Jackson Browne...
"For a Dancer"

Keep a fire burning in your eye
Pay attention to the open sky
You never know what will be coming down
I don't remember losing track of you
You were always dancing in and out of view
I must have thought you'd always be around
Always keeping things real by playing the clown
Now you're nowhere to be found

I don't know what happens when people die
Can't seem to grasp it as hard as I try
It's like a song I can hear playing right in my ear
That I can't sing
I can't help listening
And I can't help feeling stupid standing 'round
Crying as they ease you down
'Cause I know that you'd rather we were dancing
Dancing our sorrow away
(Right on dancing)
No matter what fate chooses to play
(There's nothing you can do about it anyway)

Just do the steps that you've been shown
By everyone you've ever known
Until the dance becomes your very own
No matter how close to yours
Another's steps have grown
In the end there is one dance you'll do alone

Keep a fire for the human race
Let your prayers go drifting into space
You never know what will be coming down
Perhaps a better world is drawing near
And just as easily it could all disappear
Along with whatever meaning you might have found
Don't let the uncertainty turn you around
(The world keeps turning around and around)
Go on and make a joyful sound

Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own
And somewhere between the time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive
But you'll never know

Movin' on up!

2009-07-06T19:52:00.009-06:00

Rewind eleven days.

As soon as the clock struck midnight on June 25th, 2009... I left my 21st year behind and rang in my 22nd. Good friends, cheers, and chocolate cake, served by a waitress who apparently knew how to adequately flaunt her assets, ushered in those first few moments.

And they were good moments.

Those moments turned into a late night;

And soon they turned into an early morning to catch a flight from Dallas back to SLC.

Exhausted and with a naked face, I could barely manage to put in a couple hours of work at the office. It was my birthday, and I did exactly what I wanted and needed to do: nap. And I slept just like a four year old should on their birthday. So much so, my sleepy mind ignored my alarm and I barely woke up in time for my celebratory dinner.

But alas, take-out Macaroni Grill and the sights and sounds of my dear friends and family, quickly brought me back to life. And Snickers ice cream cake soon satiated my sweet tooth, right after I was serenaded with the classic birthday song.

Yeah, those were good moments.

Really good moments.

And of course, the celebrations didn't end there. The following night was filled with good friends and good dancing; do I even need to tell you where? Well, I will. Yep.

Sandbar.

And the following Sunday, dinner with another good friend, who even let me order White Zinfandel and Tiramisu! Ooo la la!

Spoiled rotten!

And so it remains; my twenty first year had a good run, but I am elated to introduce twenty two to my vocabulary. By no means am I in a rush to grow up, but I most certainly welcome the events and surprises to shape this coming year. I really look forward to what it is to come. Because I don't know. You never know.

It's thrilling.

I am excited!

Trocars and Aviators

2009-06-29T22:13:00.004-06:00

Saturday morning, I pull on my black "I mean business" pants, white satin tank top, and slide my arms through a long lavender sweater. I throw my black "I mean business" bag over my shoulder, and go over a mental check list of hotel key... lip stick... cell phone... "I mean business" attitude. All things seemed to be in order.

I make the trek down the twilight zone-esque hotel hallway, ding my way down the elevator, and the shrill click of my black Paten leather heels deafened my ears while cascading through the open atrium; up the escalator, twice, and finally my destination had been reached.

I walk up to the registration table, swing my bag behind my back, tuck a stray hair that doesn't quite fit into my high ponytail behind my ear, and offer my name.

Badges traced with MD, RN, RD fill the plastic desk, I quickly scan for an "M". The woman sitting behind the desk territorially hesitates a smile and asks, "Are you here, for the Ethicon course?" {Emphasis on Ethicon, as if it is only meant for males dressed in Armani suits who scream business, or brains, without even trying}

I spot my badge, nab it, and respond with a big grin, "Yeah..."

And so it began.

A week from college, but on steroids.

A week from the epitome of business meets pleasure.

A week from an alternate reality where the steaks are always cooked to a perfect pink and the apple martinis never run dry.

Soon my father's name became the hot topic of the day, as the majority of Ethicon personnel knew him quite well. It was a testament to my father's personable nature, hard work ethic, and unforgettable physical stature. I soon had a room full of men dressed in those nice business suits gathered around me, reminiscing about Michael Mangum's earned respect.

The tone had been set for the rest of my remaining days in Dallas.

Classes during the day, delicious dinners at night, 3am bewitching hours, and 7am wake up calls. Five days in a row.

I never knew that with a drink in hand, discussions about gastric band fill algorithms could be so fascinating.

Nor did I think I would have the opportunity to spend the first moments of my 22nd year of life eating chocolate cake and sipping on jager. The thin and wobbly scribble of raspberry sauce wishing me a happy birthday as the clock struck midnight has been permanently soaked into my memory, like a red blouse turning white socks pink in a laundry whirlwind.

Nor did I know that meeting three gentlemen from the United States Military Academy in West Point would be so meaningful. I owe them all that was fantastic about this week. They provided opportunities to rub shoulders with very well respected bariatric surgeons, kept my text message inbox full during yawn inspiring lectures, allowed me to spill my philosophical beans, and pushed my efforts on the treadmill.

They were there for it all. Never left my side, even if physically their presence was needed elsewhere. Or if Dr. Schroder swooped in to stir up some jealousy. My wingmen.

And I have discovered that after I found my way back home, they still continue to inspire me.

Transformers 2 held no interest for me, as I was utterly distracted by the real army, fighting as men and women in our war- flying impressive helicopters, leaving no man behind, and preserving the wounded. For that, I owe them my life.

Lying by the pool under a hot and captivating Salt Lake sun in my orange two piece and bug eye sized sunglasses, all I wanted to do was tear open The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand. A recommendation I took seriously, just like I said I would.

{But you know, a recommendation for the use of a freakin' magnifying glass to actually read the book would have also been something I took seriously.}

And the last bit of my uber cheesy dedicatory post...

I never knew a week in Dallas for a national medical conference would turn out to be one of the most valuable experiences, of my life.

And here it is Monday, I am finally feeling less like the train wreck that I was upon my Thursday morning arrival back in Utah. My hair back in a messy ponytail and contained by a brown headband, my face free of any sort of makeup speck, my eyes burning from exhaustion, and my shoulders aching as if my black "I mean business" bag had singed it's fiery strap deep into my muscles. Or maybe it was the hard as rock hotel bed. Or the consistent movement of a glass cup in hand traveling north to meet my awaiting lips.

Needless to say, I was kind of a mess.

But it was one mess that I hope to never have to clean up.

(Shoot, I'm deep.)

Must be that HOT new number 22 that can now finally show itself on my Idaho birth certificate!

Fowl of the Air

2009-06-19T21:24:00.004-06:00

I arrived in Dallas, Texas this evening to find hot humid air filling my lungs. But it felt so good. Salt Lake rain had me down.

I took my place in seat 10D, next to the window, just the way I like it. Being a smaller plane, the seats felt even more cramped. Or it just could have been my travel neighbor, who probably could have used my seat, too. I truly felt for her; I am sure it was even more uncomfortable for her than it was for me. Nonetheless, she asked me what was bringing me to Texas, and I simply said a medical conference. I left it at that. And I was happy she did not inquire further.

I began to pour my nose into my (still) current read, My Sister's Keeper. I now officially can read on an airplane without feeling the need to reach for a bag to catch my Molca Salsa California Burrito lunch. But, ah, I digress. Being so touched and moved by this story, I could not help but feel my eyes filling with tears. Not now, I thought. Not here. Can you imagine some young woman, rotating her glances between the pages of a book and gazing out the window at 30,000 feet, and wiping shimmering wetness from her cheeks? That was almost me. I had to put the paperback down.

Not here. Not now.

I turned on my iPod, flipped it to my New Songs playlist, maneuvered my hips to give them a break from her hips, relaxed against the small back of my chair, and resumed my window gazing. We were floating like a bird between white sheets of cloud mixed with baby blue stripes. And as Kate Earl calmly echoed her single, All I Want, through my earphones, I wanted to break free of the glass window, scrap metal, and overwhelming seat neighbor holding me prisoner. I wanted to fly, feel the strong wind in my brown hair, and close my eyes to focus on the sensation of flight. But I was held captive by an airplane, and by the ever alluding inevitable that I am, in fact, human. And I don't think that will be changing anytime soon.

In my next life I can be a dove. Paint my body pure white, and give me an olive branch. I can be your deliverance of peace. I can be a seagull. Color me all sorts of aging grays and place me near any body of salt water. I will be your reminder of paradise. I can be a bald eagle, and refresh your memory to preserve, and appreciate. But better yet, make me a Phoenix, every color of the rainbow, and I will prove fire is nothing to fear.

And then the hot humid air of Dallas will feel even more invigorating.

Diet Dorothy

2009-06-18T09:50:00.004-06:00

Okay, in all fairness, maybe I should expand upon my diet soda confession per yesterday's post.

It's not simply OK to just have three diet sodas during the 9-5 grind, but it's OK to start drinking said soda at 8am.

Right?

Makeshift energy boost. A coffee substitute. An extra filler from a small breakfast.

I'm not rationalizing; I'm not rationalizing.
(Now imagine me in red ruby slippers, clicking my heels together, and squeezing my eyes shut, but instead of holding a little yappy dog, a can of Diet Pepsi rests in my right hand death lock grip).

No medals of courage or fresh beating hearts coming my way. But seeing that I am not a talking lion, nor do I have a body made up of rusty tin, I think I will be just fine.

Can one of three, down.

This way, I am mistake free!

2009-06-17T16:23:00.006-06:00

Though I am not a big Glamour reader myself, I loved reading a post by my old soccer teammate, Molly, who copied an article entitled, "Hey, it's OK!" from the women's magazine. And now I am going to be a blogger thief (is it still considered stealing when permission has been granted?) and copy Molly.

Some examples from the real deal which Molly references include:

Hey, it's OK....

...to demand to be taken off of speakerphone
...to start a to-do list with a task you've already done
...to wish your husband would take your kids to another planet and stay there with them

Now from the world of Nurse Meredith;

Hey, it's OK...

...to convince yourself the night before that you really aren't going to run prior to work at 7 am, while concurently setting the early alarm.

...to spend a wad of cash on a pair of jeans, but skimp on the grocery bill. Priorities, come on.

...to prefer jager, in all its forms.

...if the 2am food run doesn't consist of salad and carrots, but comes from a greasy Molca Salsa California Burrito.

...to have a shoe addiction. So what if it's a female cliche, because Hey, it's OK!

...if you reserve an entire closet just to house said shoe fetish.

...to consume three diet soda cans in an eight hour work day.

...to compliment every beautiful woman I see after having consumed jager, in all its forms.

...if your dad's favorite kind of music, is your favorite kind of music. Jackson Browne, anyone? Yeah, that's what I figured.

...to have the world's most beat up feet, even after the soccer career has ended. But still wear sandals, all of the time in the summer. I now blame the running shoes.

I am way too good at rationalizing.

But,

Hey,

It's OK!

Are we human?

2009-06-09T10:25:00.003-06:00

My current read:

And the following is an excerpt from one of the chapter's foreword, one that moved me quite deeply:

Doubt thou the stars are fire,

Doubt that the sun doth move,

Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt I love.

-William Shakespeare

Hamlet

After reading this beneath the yellow dim of my reading light, I found myself wiping a few falling tears from my cheeks.

Maybe it's the rain, and the gloomy Salt Lake weather;

Maybe it's just my usual female routine;

Or maybe, just maybe, I know exactly why my tear ducts reached overcapacity.

I gave myself ten seconds to let it out. And then that was it.

No more.

Ah, oh how I love to feel.

Commencements

2009-06-04T11:42:00.005-06:00

My studly 18 year old younger, but certainly not little, brother graduated from high school on Monday, June 1, 2009. Like his two older siblings, Timberline is now his Alma mater. Though my sweet mother is quite emotional when thinking of her baby boy leaving the nest, I am thrilled as he will be joining me down south in the Beehive State! Madison will be moving to Provo to live with Parker, and walk onto the BYU football team in just a few short weeks. Did I mentioned he is a STUD? I am not biased or anything.

I was able to make a full Boise weekend out of the event and nabbed some quality catch up time with friends. Despite moves to distant states, and lulls in friendship, when reunited, it's like we were never apart. True friends. And go figure, we all are or will be nurses. We really are of the same feather.

A grand congratulations goes out to Derek for his graduation from College of Idaho, including titles of Valedictorian, Summa Cum Laude, and the Dean's Award. An impressive resume that only adds to his Harvard Medical School departure in August. We all can take a deep breath now; all of our medical problems will soon cease to exist thanks to the genius brain protected by Derek's caveman-like massively thick skull. No joke, especially on the latter statement, MRI proven.

I love my loyal family, my fun girlfriends, and morning runs on Parkcenter.

Ah, I love Boise. I do.

Puttin' out the Vibe

2009-06-03T15:27:00.004-06:00

Do you remember a while back, when I posted a small ditty about my facebook peer voted weakness: Dancing?

Well, I do. Not easy to forget the countless times I received email notifications of my current comparison ratings, and almost always found rug cutting on my list of flaws. Those e-mails go straight into spam, and I have never taken the effort to click, "This Isn't Spam".

As of last night, my priority in keeping such life qualities spam worthy was not in vain.

A fun group of friends and I ventured to the Canyon Inn to add some spice to a Tuesday evening. Naturally, our venturing took us straight to the wooden dance floor. And despite said known weaknesses, it doesn't stop me. I go for it. I am having a blast. Moving, grooving, maneuvering what my momma gave me (which is very little). Not a care in the world.

Suddenly a gentleman who had been sitting at a table nearby walks right up to me, leans in close, and says to me, "You are the best dancer I have ever seen." And just as quickly as he had appeared, he smiled warmly, turned around and left.

I blushed so pink, and smiled so big, and kept on wiggling my hips. But that's when I realized what he probably really meant. I remembered he had been perched perfectly at his table to witness front and center my deliberate attempts at ditching a 5'5", at best, male decked out in an oversized t-shirt and a starched white hat worn backwards. Clearly, my kind of man.

Every time I would swirl one way, I would turn around to find him inches away, his nose nearly grazing my chest. {So, I guess that explains short men's desires to date long legged women.} Nearly mortified each time, my graceful sly maneuvers soon became straight up 10 yard dashes. I think he finally figured out my secret operation of abandonment.

So, perhaps my complimenting gentleman friend should have rephrased that my dancing may not be the best, but certainly the most entertaining.

Take THAT, facebook peers. ;)

Repentant

2009-05-21T20:51:00.003-06:00

You know how I was whining pretty shamelessly in my last entry? About sleep, or lack thereof?

I now take full responsibility for my heavy eyelids post Thursday 7am wake up call. Because when I am out til the wee hours of the morning to see the midnight premiere of Terminator Salvation, I only have myself to blame.

And/or Grant.

But it. was. AWESOME!

I will need to see it again to prove I wasn't suffering from 1am delirium, when you think even Twilight should win an Oscar. Oh wait....

With a back to back, double header, Star Trek to Terminator, I definitely got my much needed flick fix.

And oh yeah, Angels and Demons is a great pick, too.

Hot Hot Heat

2009-05-20T10:15:00.005-06:00

So I just nearly blogged about the nude dream I had Monday. As a matter of fact, I had written an entire paragraph... and then used my better judgement. And no, it was not that kind of nude dream.

So then I looked around at my desk. Lemonade 10cal Vitamin Water bottle sitting within reach. A couple patient charts needing post-op phone calls. A somewhat gloomy sky outside. Already went for a run this morning beneath that gloomy sky. And Fleetwood Mac-"Landslide", keeping me company via Pandora.

I lead a simple life.

but if I have to censor my blog because of exciting birthday suit REM, then that simple life certainly has it's fire.

And boy, do I love those moments of fire....

{PS. This is my 111th post. Make a wish everybody.}

Highest Form of Democracy

2009-05-19T20:50:00.004-06:00

I have often wondered about the thought processes behind God's creation of our biological workings.

Take the knee for example. Being one of the most major joints in the body, does it really seem solid enough to hold it together by pretty much nonvascular ligaments and tendons? Guess the logic behind that sculpting was to humble and prepare tall brunette soccer players for life's greater lessons.

But still.

The brain gets its own bedroom of bone, why give the knee only a hospital gown of bone? Sorry King Brain, I meant no offense when categorizing knees in the same social class as human lifelines.

But still.

And another one of the puzzling seven wonders of God's homosapien creations? Sleep.

Why must we sleep? And why must we sleep for 1/3 of the day for adequate rest?

Because as of late, all I know is that I have been soooo sleeeeeepy. And it is such a drag. Pun intended.

Despite nutritious yogurt and Raisin Bran crunch breakfasts, hoards of caffeinated Diet Dr. Pepper, and sufficient amounts of exercise... At certain times of the day, I can barely keep my eyes open. They feel so heavy that it nearly becomes physically impossible to hold them open.

I know my God-given body requires at least eight hours of sleep a night, preferably nine..

but, still.

It's kind of annoying.

No offense, God. I love my body and the incomprehensible ability to simply survive, day to day. Brain, heart, lungs all working in unison harmoniously; the puzzle pieces of man and woman; the kidneys and liver constantly purifying my insides. I never forget what an incredible, and sacred, thing I possess, until my days have expired.

But after the Second Coming, and you go for round two... just think about these suggestions and evaluate where improvements can be made.

May I suggest Titanium joints and only an hour of shut eye, right after lunch?

Revelation

2009-05-14T16:17:00.002-06:00

Holy smokes. I really am a liar. Or at least an obvious hypocrite; but liars and hypocrites are one in the same, yeah?

My proclaimed bedtimes may be fulfilled truthfully, and so is my admittance to having a shoe obsession, or a Panda Express addiction.

But when I am sitting at my desk, chatting with a patient on the phone, and I have to make it EXPLICITLY clear they are not to drink any soda, little do they know.... that when I hang up the telephone, I take a big, refreshing gulp of Diet Coke.

Shoot.

So usually, the next thing to appropriately say {write} would be a commitment to never do it again; leave the crime behind; sin no more.

Well, Caffeine Gods, continue rejoicing. You have an unrepentant consumer at your service.

Be Kind...Rewind

2009-05-13T23:18:00.003-06:00

I like to think my lack of blogging stems from being so occupied in single girl fun. And the thing is, I can't think of any other reason... than just that.

Single girl fun.

Took the day off for a good friend's wedding and mixed in a little shopping with my mother (because it is so fun to have a stylish mom who digs the cardigan/t-shirt combo just as much as I do).

Devoured sushi with the guy I met at the Jazz game, who got my number by way of reading how many fingers I was holding up. Yeah, apparently I am really open to meeting new people. I'm not ashamed.

Sunshine galore in the beautiful motherland. And a consequential tanning of my winter white hide. And an even further consequential 5 pound weight loss illusion. Just. like. THAT! (Isn't it amazing how extra cushy body parts, when tan, suddenly look okay?)

Coffee dates and philosophical discussions.

My best friend's wedding. It was a hot pink bridesmaid dress, bouquet catching, rug cutting, raspberry cake devouring all day party. And oh yeah, plenty of tears, too. Jessica Kruger Bergstrom was the most fun, kind, calm, and glowing bride I have ever known.

The Sandbar. on Friday. on Saturday. on Tuesday. And on Friday again. You would think I liked that place or something. My feet certainly hate me from all the dancing in 4 inch heels (but who can pass up bright green Jessica Simpson pumps, on SALE?)

K2 Christian Church. 2100 South, West Temple. Good place to be on Sundays at 11:30am.

Nursing the mentally incompetent woman who wandered over to my house with bleeding dog bites on her arm, back to health. Quickly. It was Tuesday night; and you know where I was headed!

Running, chowing down, and watching X-Men: Wolverine with my old Orem pal, Julie, but now current New Jersey gal. Hugh Jackman definitely surpassed Clive Owen in my hot actor list.

Listening to my ever changing favorite song of the day on repeat, all day at work. And probably driving my coworkers absolutely nutso.

Rob Thomas - Her Diamonds
Shiny Toy Guns - Major Tom
O.A.R. - The Stranger
Mat Kearney - Closer to Love

And, of course, per yesterday's last night post,

The All American Rejects -The Wind Blows

PHEW! I need to blog more often. Hard to stop me once I get talking (typing?).

BUT, I made my 00:00 curfew! Good to know all this single girl fun can still provide for a decent night's rest.

Truth or Dare

2009-05-13T00:11:00.004-06:00

I had full intentions of blogging tonight. I am well overdue. I have so much to say; but when do I not....?

After a phone call with my sweet mother this evening, she dutifully asked if I was getting enough sleep. I reported my usual 7 or 8 hours of shut eye, with a final head-to-pillow rendezvous around midnight.

And here I am, eleven minutes beyond my bewitching hour, and I refuse to make a liar out of myself.

I certainly stayed true to my word about my brain having so many jumbled thoughts needing venting, as my mother had to politely tell me to sum it up. She was missing the Biggest Loser finale.

So if she hung up the phone to witness losers...

That must make me the Biggest Winner?

Now that may be stretching the truth...

But if you want one honest to goodness, cold hard fact?

My favorite current tune: The All American Rejects - The Wind Blows

More tomorrow.

Maybe.

Yellow + Blue

2009-05-04T22:13:00.003-06:00

Tropical Starbursts are my latest candy flame. Even the little squares of goodness wrapped in orange paper have my 100% devotion. If I'm not careful, a handful of four (one of each color...) suddenly becomes eight, then twelve, then...

They come in a green bag. Look for them; buy them; your taste buds will not regret it.

I saw the green bag while perusing Smith's Marketplace on 33rd South; bought them; took them to work to share; shared not out of kindness, but out of a need to pay up for the last bag... of which I ate half.

My hands were dipping into green today; and after work, my feet were soaking in it, too.

With the help of my pal, Jeremy, I was able to take my soccer bootin' up regimen (see previous post) to the next level. The feel of a soccer ball at my feet is something I had forgotten, but quickly came back to me. Like riding a bike. Only if my lungs could pick up the intuition as easily. Apparently 13 miles is managable, but sprinting after long, air-born ball passes is a very different story.

And when I brought Jeremy's pass down on my thigh, I was reminded of that cold-air/hard ball slap against bare skin. But as I slipped back into my car to go home after pure exhaustion, seeing the visible ball marks on that bare thigh made it all worth it.

I sped off onto Sunnyside avenue, with both ACL's still intact, and my fingers tracing the palpable ball indentations under my right shorts line.

Moral of the Story?

Consuming Starbursts (including orange) --> Energy, albeit short-lived --> Ball mark on right thigh --> Pure satisfied exhaustion --> Lounging on couch to gleefully watch the Lakers trail Houston.

(Anyone else find Artest's haircut rather... nostalgic? I remember when my older brother got his initials, PM, buzzed into his head, just in time for summer swimteam. But.... he was eleven. That was so 90's!)

Ignition

2009-05-01T13:52:00.004-06:00

Disclaimer: Dad, if you have a moment to read this, don't. Use that moment for a quick power nap, or wrestling Abigail off of Build-a-Bear.com

It's a Thursday, which means it's my early a.m. clinic day. Post carbo-filled lunch, a late night previous, and despite hoards of diet caffeinated soda, my daily 2pm sleepiness has set in full force.

And yet,

I was so excited to go running after work. I was craving to be in the sunshine. And I wasn't talking just a fun run. I wanted to challenge myself, work out to my limits, and as I said to my coworkers,

"I want to kill myself." Figuratively, of course.

I put on my hip-hop adrenaline rushing beats, threw my hair into a ponytail and took off for an unknown running route from Sugarhouse Park. Sure, 21st east sounds like a good starting point... 4 south looks reasonable... yeah, 13th east sounds interesting... and back to my patiently waiting car 8 miles later.

But I wasn't done yet.

The best was yet to come. And that wasn't the ten 100-yard sprints I nostalgically relived from years prior, stopwatch and all.

The best part was sliding my feet inside my old Adidas' Copa soccer boots, lacing them up as tight as they could manage, and feeling like my old self again.

I stepped onto the green, but sparsely grass filled soccer field, and ran my little heart out. I had forgotten what it felt like. My unfortunate left knee has instilled such a fear in me, I have not wanted to vulnerably set it up for a third punishment. And a consequential total knee replacement by age 40, I'm sure.

But..

does anyone know of a co-ed city soccer league in Salt Lake?

'Cuz this once retired soccer player wants to pull a Michael Jordan, and refuel my desire for futbol competition.

mmm hmmmm, I've got the itch again.

Disclaimer follow up: See, Dad. I told you not to read it. My hands are washed clean. I love you! :)

Either it's Black or it's White

2009-04-26T21:29:00.003-06:00

Enough already. Stop this meteorological vacillation. Either it's spring or it's still winter; weather cannot be combined like altered meal patterns-brunch, linner.

Sprinter? Yeah, it just doesn't work. Unless winter trips on a hurdle and spring will work on it's starting block performance.

Come on, 801. Come on.

But you are lucky that despite winter's jealousy of spring's popularity, my outings with old and new friends alike did not suffer. Three nights in a row... one for the books.

Chariots of a Small Burning Flame

2009-04-19T18:56:00.002-06:00

After finishing a marathon six months ago, my running perspective has most certainly been altered. An 8 mile training maintenance run suddenly became standard and only difficult at the end.

{Tangent} My philosophy: the last ten minutes of every run, no matter how in shape you are, should be challenging. However, I'm not so sure how beneficial this philosophy is of mine. I find motivation to go for a run on a more consistent basis waivers, as I realize that I will be in some degree of pain at some point! But anyway.... {See, I warned you...}

So when I signed up for the Salt Lake City Half Marathon a couple of months ago, I felt no apprehension. It's only 13 miles, no big deal. My training regimen even reflected this thought process.

In other words, I really didn't do much.

However, the night before as I carbo loaded with my two brothers at the DoDo restaurant in Gateway, I suddenly felt nervous. It is a competition after all, and because I have retired my hard worn soccer cleats, I craved competition. I craved to be sore after a race; it means my body is getting stronger. I craved pushing myself to to the limit. I love to defeat my mental devil that likes to tell me to slow down... take a quick walk... it's okay if your time isn't as good...

Must...!

Not....!

Listen....!

While devouring my delectable Italian Chicken Salad sandwich, I remembered how difficult my first half marathon was. I remembered how much I told myself at mile 10, "Why are you doing this? This isn't even fun." My nerves began to jitter.

Saturday morning, I began the race at 7am. Before I knew it, I was done. I had finished the race at 8:53am, one hour and 53 minutes after I had started. That meant I averaged an 8:30 minute mile.

Holy smokes. I didn't know I could do that, for 13.1 miles straight. But I did. And it felt so good!

I crave competition: satiated. I started in the back so I could pass people, and not be passed.

I crave pushing myself to the limit: Done. Finished the race with a personal best record.

I crave to be sore: Ohhhhh boy, maybe I should be careful of what I wish for.

And I was so pleased to know that my post collegiate athlete body is still capable of training very little, but can still have game. And even though the satisfaction of completing a half marathon versus a full marathon is different, one is not better than the other.

Marathon: I did it. I finished. Woohoo. A bucket list item can be checked off.

Half Marathon: Not only did I do it, but I went for a good time and got a PR out of it. And my knee didn't even swell (contrary to a cantaloupe sized joint six months ago).

Moral of the Story: It's time for new running shoes.

Weekend Memoirs

2009-04-12T13:03:00.004-06:00

After a disappointing Utah Jazz loss Friday night, Henry Poole is Here lightened the mood. And the Costa Vida sweet pork salad, swedish fish, starbursts, and Reese's peanut butter eggs did a good job, too.

Thanks, Matt for letting us crash your place; and I apologize, again, for my absence these past months. I am back in action. I had to figure out what was most important to me, as I had suddenly become far less important in someone else's life.

So to reiterate my facebook status, "'all we have is right now. And we have to act on that.' which is why I woke up and ate starbursts for breakfast." Again, I had to figure out what was most important to me. Toast and jam in the kitchen, or breakfast in bed? Clearly, we know the winner.

Cheers to Grant, as the Bayou offered yummy drinks, live music, and stimulating conversation. Aren't you glad my anger resolution has, like, a 2 second turn around? It only meant we were both challenging one another's core beliefs, something that needs to be done... periodically.

And I think we established some good ground rules for me:

I want and deserve someone who will fight to have me.

Who will know what he wants when he meets me.

Who will recognize something good and will hold onto it.

So Grant, cheers, to that.

Now let's go find Robert Pattinson.

PS: Shout out to Randi Baker! Thanks for reading girlfriend. Every time I lick my hand for salt and suck on a lemon post Jose, thoughts of you are inevitable. And last weekend was no exception. I hope you and the puppy are happy and healthy!

The details are in the fabric.

2009-04-06T21:21:00.003-06:00

I know I am not alone

when I say,

the smell of a new j. crew

merino wool sweater,

is a ridiculously beautiful thing.

But,

is it as heart warming as a phone call from daddy-o?

Or as tender as a shout out in my baby sister's blog?

Or making a new adorable girlfriend, Christine?

Dare I say the new clothes' scent is beat out by sentimental relationship warm fuzzies?

Yes, I do dare.

Warm fuzzies rule.

A quickie

2009-04-02T22:55:00.002-06:00

First "business" trip. Done and done.

And no I am not misusing quotation marks. It didn't feel like "business" felt appropriate when sitting in pajamas (remember, those are my scrubs) and having no need to have my cellular phone permanently attached to my ear. Nah, I couldn't call this business when seven men dressed in khakis, baby blue sweaters and pinstriped collared shirts boarded the Dallas Airport rental car bus. Now these men meant business. One gentleman in particular spoke in an overtly loud intonation, as if he felt needing to prove himself to the man sitting across from him at 9:30pm was crucial to next day's sale.

And perhaps I should have asked to borrow some of their business clothes, or perhaps that overtly loud intonation, as the task of renting a car proved to be tricky. Was it the pajamas? Was it my yankee accent? Or did the fearful wrinkles in my forehead clearly spell out, "This girl is far from Kansas"? Either way, it was like pulling teeth to get any kind of customer service. Note to self: a smile goes a long way.

After an hour journey from Dallas to Denton in my Dodge Journey which smelled of strawberries and orange pesticide, I cozily curled up in my hotel bed and fell asleep to the soothing sounds of Jay Leno. Note to self: Find the genius behind the creation of the GPS and send the biggest bottle of scotch. And then send another one.

Upon entering the bariatric practice Wednesday morning, I finally got the smile I was lacking from the night before. Southern hospitality rang true. And continued right on into grub time. "Black Eyed Pea was ordered in for lunch," the nurse said to me, as if I knew exactly what this was, and as if I should be running from the patient's room straight for the kitchen. "Oh! Right!" is all I could muster. Right....

"What's this?" I ask as I lift the tinfoil top from the takeout package.

"Chicken Fried Steak."

"Oh! Right!"

Right....

But the chicken fried steak was not the best piece of this little biz trip; the only thing that could top such edible satiety? Sunshine. And warm wind. Ohhhhh, that felt so gooooood!!!

Or perhaps practicing adjustable gastric band fills on fake fat slabs. Or charging everything to someone else's credit card. Flight? Paid. Rental car? Nada. Hotel? Zip. Sweeeeeeeet.

But for a girl who is quite independent, occasionally to a fault, this trip was definitely not without apprehension, stress, sweaty palms, and nervous laughter at every "recalculating route" warning from the lovely GPS female voice. However, it appears wrong turns and a grumpy Dollar Car Rental receptionist were the only hitches to this small gig. Of that I can forgive and forget.

But the real burning question is, can those I left behind in the Lone Star state forgive and forget my lunchtime blunder?

Meh, just charge the momentum created from the serious eye rolling to the company's credit card.

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

Next stop?

Cincinnati, Ohio. Coming in June 2009.

Watch for it at a theatre near you.

Benedith

2009-03-29T20:26:00.005-06:00

Tonight I made great use of my time...

...and took Facebook's "Who Would Be Your Celebrity Boyfriend?" Quiz, of course!

If only I had planned ahead and placed it on my To-Do list, then I could have at least checked something off. But alas, the winner is....

Would I be totally lame if I took it again, changed a couple answers, just to see who else I would pull? Like, Robert Pattinson? Cuz I did. Only to find I got Ben Affleck, again. Must be fate.

P.S.- Is anyone else convinced Robert Pattinson is the most adorable creature alive? I thought I already knew this, but his audio commentary during Twilight on the DVD absolutely sealed the deal. Now all I have to do is fly to Vancouver, sneak onto the New Moon film set, give him one good look at me in my navy blue scrubs, and he'll be sold.

Mobert, ya'll. Mobert.

Short Fuses

2009-03-24T23:46:00.004-06:00

"No one can make you feel inferior, without your consent." -Eleanor Roosevelt.

One of my favorite quotes. One that I wish more of us would attempt to live by. And one that is so applicable to my current state of mind; though inferior may need to be substituted for different emotions, the wisdom will still ring true.

Angry. Disappointed. Frustrated. Sad. Upset. Confused. Short tempered.

Fighting all of the above. Fighting the good fight.

But the battle certainly is not made any easier when my windshield wipers decide they need a vacation from bipolar Salt Lake City weather, right when the sky decides it needs to vent and offer up a good cry.

Pulling over every block to manually manipulate the windshield wipers and driving with my head awkwardly cocked to the bottom left corner as to peek through a tiny 2x2 piece of streak free window will not be forgotten. Nor will my appreciation for black plastic sticks that act as automobile eyebrows go unacknowledged.

I have not been, and will not be, defeated.

Spring Cleaning

2009-03-22T11:16:00.003-06:00

It's Friday, and the bewitching five o'clock hour has chimed it's beautiful sound.

The windows are rolled down in my car, and my right foot is subconsciously heavy on the gas pedal as to allow for the wind to graze my cheek, and the sun's radiating heat to warm my core.

And with an hour to spare before meeting a friend for dinner, I knew this unusually warm spring weather must be taken advantage of. I knew just where to go.

I pull into Sugarhouse Park, cease my engine, and a smile steals across my face to see the free spirits of young children running around, screaming and laughing as the ducks eat the bread from their fingertips. I secure the tie of my new sale priced J. Crew khaki jacket at my waist, slide my car keys into my pocket, and put one robin's egg blue shoe covered foot in front of the other.

Runners and walkers of all shapes, sizes, and genders run past me at varying speeds; dressed in spandex of varying colors, many follow the exercising courtesy "we're all in this together" wave and smile. I do love that simple courtesy.

With my hands in my pockets, my fingers fiddling with my keys, and my tortoise shell Jackie O. sunglasses protecting my brown eyes, I allowed my racing thoughts to somehow organize themselves, only to be proven unsuccessful. But then the solstice turned equinox sunshine reminded me of the beauty of this day.

A gift from Mother Nature herself.

A Dedication

2009-03-17T23:42:00.003-06:00

For you.... For your efforts since knowing you in the days of gap teeth and Abercrombie popped collars, are now finally paying off.... For your determination and work ethic, even when it meant being compensated, oh what was it, $2/hour to rid the world of it's current bubonic plague, more infamously known as cancer?... For your foresight, humility, and absolute genuine and unyielding interest in medicine.... For your naturally gifted mind, and finding quantum physics both easy and interesting (no wonder opposites attract).... But most of all, for being the passionate life seeker with which you let direct your life, and for allowing me to witness, and feel, your successes right beside you.

Harvard's or Stanford's Medical School will be so damn lucky to have you. And especially since we have already established the fact that red is your color, you truly cannot go wrong with either establishment.

All of me,
Meredith

20/20

2009-03-17T23:36:00.002-06:00

Turquoise most certainly can be found within the green family.

And with a limited selection of options for work scrubs, I had to make do.

So contrary to popular belief (and a coworker sincerely posing the question), I am, indeed, not color blind.

Sock Hop

2009-03-13T15:50:00.002-06:00

Abigail, my sweet baby sister, this is for you.

It's 1996. White Pine Elementary. Room 4B is empty, devoid of Mrs. Tate and the bustling 4th grade students learning cursive and multiplication. The red apple perched on the corner of the teacher's black metal desk is the only color found in the darkened room. The tiny drinking fountains, now knee high to my 21 year old body, are absent of kids waiting their turn to quench their thirst.

But alas, the gym is filled with 1950's rock tunes, disco lights, and children and parents of all ages be-bopping from the sugar high found in cookies and punch. It is the annual Sock Hop dance; a chance for me to choose between my pink or red felt skirt, embroidered with a poodle and a leash. To throw on mid calf length white socks and pair them with my black Maryjanes. (I so desperately wanted a pair of white and black saddle shoes, but a once a year wear didn't dignify spending my parent's money). To wear my thin brown head of hair high in a ponytail. And best of all, a chance for me to wear the reddest of reds, the va-va-voomest of all va-va-voom, lipstick.

I knew, and I knew, Luke Balbas would be there. His blonde hair, his heart palpitating smile, and his feet grooving to the beat (and would he actually be shoeless?? Missing a piece of clothing??). And then there he was. I blushed. I gushed. I reverted back to my shy days from years previous.

And the first thing he said to me was not "hello." It was not "how are you?" It was, "Nice red lipstick."

And I.... was.... CRUSHED. DEFLATED. Utterly heart broken. How could he? He must have known I had worn it for him. How did he have the nerve to degrade my reddest of reds lipstick, and thus, degrade me as a person?

Naturally, I darted for the bathroom. Whisked myself into the first open stall. And I cried. I cried Niagara Falls right in the middle of the White Pine Elementary bathroom. And not only did I cry, but I stayed in the bathroom for the Sock Hop's entirety. My friends went and found my mom, obviously retreating to the last resort in an attempt to have my long awkward string bean skinny legs out of that bathroom. Of course the situation was just only worsened upon her entrance and the first words out of her mouth, "Meredith, are you really going to do this again?"

Duh, mom. Of course we are. How dare you! Your daughter's heart has been smashed to pieces and you don't even care!

(Ay yay yay, remind me never to have a daughter between the ages of ten and twenty).

Needless to say, I moped on home, the disastrous red lipstick smeared all over anywhere but my lips, and I scurried up the stairs to my bedroom. Naturally the first thing a girl between the ages of ten and twenty does is find a way to only make herself more miserable. It's just what we do; no big deal. Hence, I quickly flipped through my meager CD collection and turned on Donna Lewis' "I Love You Always Forever." And the tear ducts emptied their final reservoirs, allowing myself to drown in self pity.

Though not much has changed, I certainly learned something that night. First, a boy is never worth that many tears (just one good 30 second pout, maximum). Second, even though you feel like it's the end of the world, and that red lipstick and Luke Balbas are the devil reincarnated, it's actually not doom's day.

And Abigail, just like that spelling bee, and as much as you wanted to do well... We all know you are smart and gifted. You didn't need a spelling bee to prove it. I never even got a chance to compete in a spelling bee!

You are a sweet girl, with an energetic spirit and a very smart, and super creative, mind. You have a bright future; so forget about the red lipsticks and the misspelled words. In the end (or at the least the end of your 21st year), it's how you bounced back from those moments that matter.

I love you like a sister,
Meredith

Hyperglycemia

2009-03-10T22:33:00.003-06:00

As Jesse McCartney serenades me via iTunes, inquiring of my sleeping habits, I am moved to think of all those burning questions left unanswered. They run through my mind like a hamster on a wheel. I won't bore you, as the only conclusion I have to my scattered thoughts is that no conclusion is necessary.

Thanks to a boy 400 miles away, a father at 267 Old Saybrook, a boss at St. Mark's Hospital, and a God one prayer away... I can share these thoughts, and seek wisdom that instills light into my flickering bulb of a brain.

I love to think about what's out there. Space; earth; BC, AD; the eternities.

Hell, next weekend! tomorrow! tonight!

And so I shall sleep in my fifteen dollar queen size bed, wrapped in gray sheets, my tummy getting some face time with the mattress and my arms tucked inside ready in defense should the cheap and surely insecure mattress offer any "shouldn't have eaten that last mint brownie" commentary.

No sugar plum fairies nor mint brownies will be dancing in my dreams (wish I could say the same for the pouch sitting at the end of my esophagus); nothing except for a black screen of nothingness will blind the spontaneous electric synapses from reaching my conscious mind. Nothingness.

Or perhaps a sugar coma.

The Real Deal

2009-03-09T16:40:00.002-06:00

So ever since I have been working post graduation, I have called myself an RN (a registered nurse). From emails, to phone conversations, even down to my new business card, RN has followed my alliteration namesake.

Yes, I graduated from nursing school, so yes, you'd think I was an RN. It was safe enough I could get away with it.

But now...? Ever since last night....?

I AM a registered nurse!!!!!!

I passed the nursing boards!!!!!!

(I typically stray from using more than three exclamation marks- don't ask why, but the "power of three's" rule my mother taught me doesn't only apply to decorating. But THIS called for DOUBLE exclamation points.)

The RELIEF and BURDEN that has been lifted is so great. This has been the bain of my existence since last August when I first began to study and prepare, when the anxiety began to ride my nerves like Danica Patrick at the Daytona 500.

And as my palms were sweating and my breathing was quickening, it was marvelous to be surrounded (literally) by some of the people I love most to read the online results (for which I had to pay a lousy $7.95).

And of course, I cried.

So that RN written on my business card is now 100% certifiable. I am now a Real Nurse.

My plans for celebration?

A Cafe Rio, Pork Barbacoa salad.

And one massive Diet Dr. Pepper (spiked with a little Absolut, perhaps...?) in a cup filled with pebble ice.

And I will eat the WHOLE Cafe Rio divinity, tortilla included.

Feeling Sappy

2009-03-04T22:19:00.003-07:00

You know it's beautiful, and right, when you have someone

"...who knows how to love you, without being told." - Natasha Bedingfield, Soulmate

Can't get much better than that.

Not even when I walk outside this morning to go to work sans winter jacket, and my core temperature is perfect (my hands and feet never seem to follow suit; hence, they do not get any recognition for obedience).

Not even when I ran my first ever support group in Orem, Utah tonight and I felt that these patients are my friends. And I realized I had truly helped someone today.

And especially not even when I slave away in the kitchen 'cuz I've got those blue box blues (aka Kraft macaroni and cheese; aka gourmet cooking is clearly my mantra). I cozy down and curl up in my bed to do some studying and research, and my eyes begin to feel.. so... heavy... so I blog instead.

Nope, not even then.

Because when that cell phone rings and Snow Patrol's, "You Could Be Happy" sweetly sings me a welcoming lullaby.... I know it is my lifeline calling to me.

(And ironically, if I ever embark on my lifelong dream to meet Regis, or another Meredith- Meredith V.- he would be the lifeline.)

Pour Le Pied

2009-03-02T23:18:00.004-07:00

So maybe I know a little French. So maybe google helped me out a little bit. So what if institutions of higher learning often requiring two years of a foreign language in high school is a total joke. (okay, I digress).

But these little numbers are not a joke. In fact, they are real, and they sit perfectly perched on the floor next to my white wicker armoir as we speak.

The perfect shade of robin's egg blue. And just in time for SSPPPRRIIINNGG!

Thanks Forever 21. (however, henceforth and forevermore, the wonderfully inexpensive clothing store shall be affectionately know as F-21. just a little FYI per future blog posts. 'cuz it will save me so much time, you know).

{Side tangent}: When divulging the store of said shoe purchase with my older brother, he jokingly said, "Oooo do you want to be 21 forever?"

And when I disclosed my age to my gynecologist last week, she said, "What a great age. It really is."

Either I should be sincerely enjoying the remaining months of my life in its 21st year, or I should be fearful of what is to come on June 25th, 2009.

I am always puzzled when I hear a comment regarding one age being better than the other. Because inevitably age is only temporary. Should we not look forward to our future, more wiser, years...? Am I just a naive twenty one year old without crows feet and gray hair...?

And I think I just officially made my {side tangent} longer than the true post.

Alas, I digress!

Gold Naked Men

2009-02-23T23:39:00.002-07:00

I have a confession. Well, I have several. But for now, I will admit to this.

If you were curious where I was from 4:00pm, until 10:0pm Sunday night, you need not look too far. After a warm shower, I threw on my best black velvet (aka victoria secret velour sweats), towel dried my hair into a swirl of cascading finger twirled curls, skipped the mascara and simply went for a touch of cheek rouge. Upon ascending the stairs, I wrapped myself in a soft gray blanket and entered la cucina.

I sliced a Pink Lady apple into wedges, outlined a white porcelain plate with the finest of Wheat Thin Fiber Selects, and peeled a swirl low fat cheese stick. The soft gray blanket hanging on for dear life on my left shoulder, the plate of tantalizing delectables in my right hand, I anxiously sank into the lovely light turquoise couch. With the touch of a button, my night unfolded before me.

It's Oscars night, ladies and gentleman!

For the first time in my life, I not only watched the entire awards ceremony, but every moment of the pre-show. The awkward interviews. The fashion gossip. The celebrity sightings and blustering fans screaming in elation. The beautiful hair and unique jewelry. I loved it. I felt like such a girl- and I loved it.

Had I received an interview from Mr. Seacrest, I would have boldy declared, "Victoria's Secret. Pantene Pro-V. Smith's Marketplace." Valentino and Versace have got nothin' on me. Nothin' on Victoria. Especially nothin' on the piece of business she keeps hidden from us.

The glamour. The fun. The beauty. The spotlight.

For one brief moment, I felt so compelled to turn my wedding show modeling career into New York's Fashion Week. Oh wait, reality.. I am a nurse, living in Utah, who munches on Pink Lady apples during the Oscars. I can dream.

I made the journey from the couch, left the 6 hour toosh indentation, and called the only person who would understand my off the cuff fantasies. And what I loved most, was his passion to not hold me back from NY, Paris, Rome, Hong Kong... Ah, I really can dream.

Do not let the navy blue scrubs, ponytail and bare essentials makeup regimen fool you.

And so these are the confessions of a secret alter ego fashionista.

2009-02-19T20:02:00.003-07:00

The DoDo and the Italian chicken sandwich.

Taken.

Snowbird and fresh powder snow, all. day. long.

Home-cooked meals with wine and fine conversation.

Max Payne, or 15 minutes of Max Payne before skied out eyes faded to sleep.

Park City ski resort and blue skies.

Salt Lake City Country Club.

Not sharing my meatloaf.

Grandpa and Grandma Mangum-Anderson.

Max Payne, Baby Mama.

Confessions of a Shopaholic, Twilight.

Seeing me "in action" at work.

Alta Club dinner with old time friend Dr. Rich, french fries, and lycopene.

Clothes hamper = picnic table.

Lazy.

Lazier.

Laziest.

Happy tears.

This past week, Salt Lake City sure has treated me well....

Thirty Two Minus Seven

2009-02-11T23:27:00.004-07:00

Twenty Five Things.

So this is circulating on facebook: write 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. And I was tagged by my good friend, Maddie Fisher. This is my virgin journey on being a recipient of a tag. Here goes....!

1. No matter what the topic is, or for what medium I am writing, I always ferociously write a few sentences, and then suddenly pause, and sincerely focus, as if my life depends on it. It's my version of warming up for a long run in the cold, or punching the air with clenched fists in preparation for a boxing match. (And so this means that the aforementioned statement just happened.)

2. I find great satisfaction with the ingestion of potatoes. Anything potatoes. Baked, cheesy, scalloped, funeral, "river", or inside a fried coating, affectionately known as a french fry. I stay true to my roots. Go Idaho- woot! woot!

3. Ketchup fanatic. To go on all things potato. Sometimes I will fry up something fatty, not because I crave such satiety, but because I crave ketchup. Suddenly the french fry becomes the condiment.

4. I love being a nurse. I L-O-V-E it. It fits me perfectly; and I truly find such deep satisfaction in helping someone find a little bit more holistic happiness via a healthcare setting.

5. If you had told me in high school I would be a nurse, I would have laughed in your face. Loudly, too. Math? Science? Are you serious? Yup. Apparently we were serious.

6. My family are the loves of my life. All seven of us are so different, but I find God placed us together because he knew our differences are what connected us- and what allowed each of us to be a bit more well-rounded. I am now 400 miles south of them (except for one), and I miss them, dearly.

7. I am not a confrontational person by any means, as I usually tend to take after my dad as a peacemaker. However, if something negative is said about my loyal possy of family and friends, I literally have to fight back the inevitable adrenaline rush to use my fists to tear you apart. (Can anyone imagine that picture?)

8. I used to be deathly afraid of dogs up until the age of 16. And I mean deathly. It was legitimate, too. Just one look at a dog, even leashed, my "fight or flight" response instantaneously kicked in- and I flew. I would run so far, so hard, for so long- and then I would begin to shiver as soon as I felt safe......... Apparently I was bit by a poodle when I was two? No memory of it. Poodles are right up there with pitbulls, right? Shit. That's not embarrassing.

9. I met my female soulmate two years ago in Salt Lake City, Utah. People tend to grow weary when they're around us because our humor only goes so far to the outside world; and people always ask how long we've known each other, expecting a "since in utero" response. Yet her bright blonde lion's mane and bulging calves is quite the contrast to my brunette locks and pancake flat bum.

10. I love to wear dresses. Something so feminine and sexy found in one's thighs not being interrupted by a synthetic material....

11. I am a soccer player. And I always will be. Though my time spent in black adidas copa cleats on a freshly cut green grassy field has come to a close due to two blown (and surgically repaired) ACL knee injuries, futbol will forever run in my blood.

12. My cross addiction from soccer turned to running. My father always pushed to have me join cross-country so he wouldn't feel like the only CX geek in the Mangum family, but it appears my affinity for hitting the pavement blossomed a few years too late.

13. I ran a marathon. Never thought I would. Never. But I did. That sure proved something to me.

14. My ultimate and most prized goal is to be a wife and a mother. I feel that is a God-given gift and I find every experience in the here and now can only better prepare me for my hopeful future.

15. If I ever blew you off to attend one of my brothers' sporting events, I really wasn't blowing you off. It is actually one of my favorite things to do. I am an insanely proud sister. Or maybe I am just banking on my retirement stemming from a brother's NFL salary...?

16. I have got to be the world's biggest bargain shopper. Pretty sure I haven't bought a single piece of clothing full price in years. And even if money someday does come my way, I won't change my shopping habits.

17. On the contrary to #16, I want a Range Rover, a well decorated home, and a substantial rock on my wedding finger someday. I have wrestled with these superficial thoughts; however, I feel quite comfortable in concluding I just have expensive taste.

18. My favorite musical artists are Jackson Browne, Bruce Springsteen, Don Henley, and Mary Chapin Carpenter. People, except for my father, never understand this.

19. I love to dance. My dear friend Julie and I are known for busting moves at all times of the day to all tunes accessible. However, my facebook "Compare People" peer ratings always politely remind me, WITHOUT FAIL, that "best dancer," I most certainly am not. However, that still doesn't seem to stop my chicken legs rug-cutting move from revealing itself.

20. I was borderline obsessed with Rob Pattinson (aka Edward Cullen dans Twilight), for a good couple of months. I had to forcefully give myself a reality check. Or maybe getting my own Edward in the flesh (and coincidental identical twin to RPattz) fixed the problem.

21. Ann Taylor Loft, White House Black Market, GAP and Banana Republic are my staple stores. I find I express myself artistically and creatively through my apparel, as I cannot cook-paint-draw-or do anything artsy-related. However, I find that my form of creative expression is difficult to execute in my current everyday uniform of scrubs. I now struggle with the ultimate decision: pearls or CZ's today?

22. Utterly hopeless romantic should be my middle name. Or perhaps my full legal name. Shoot, just call me Utterly.

23. As much as I enjoy getting all dolled up, and going out on the town, I am a total home-body at heart. Give me sweats, a rental movie, candy and a snuggle buddy, and I could not be any more content.

24. Furthermore, I could watch movies all day. One after the other. Though it is the typical cliche dating activity, going to a movie theatre to enjoy cinematic entertainment is a love of mine. I tend to allow myself to become so involved in a movie, I can be so moved by the messages conveyed theatrically.

25. I am an independent woman. I often have to be reminded to check in with my parents. I love my alone time and moving at my own pace. I like to think of myself as a free spirit- open minded and easy going, as I have reached a level of such comfort with who I am as a woman.

I tag: Jessica Kruger, Julie Andersen, Abigail Mangum, Nellie Bingham, Diana Hulme, Carley Mills, Lindsey Cook

J-O-B

2009-02-10T23:10:00.002-07:00

So maybe it's about time I described what it is exactly I do, for work. Yes, I work. A lot, too. And I love it. Don't necessarily love working, 'a lot,' but thoroughly enjoy what I am doing when I am logging in those overtime hours (oh yeah, overtime... can't beat time and a half pay.)

So I am a Nurse (yes, I will capitalize it) and I am the Education Director for Rocky Mountain Associated Physicians, at St. Mark's hospital. It is a weight loss surgery clinic, focusing on bariatric procedures like gastric bypass and gastric banding. "Education Director," you may ask? We debated on the title.. General Coordinator, Bariatric Director, it's all just semantics. However, my current title best describes what my main priorities are within the practice.

To educate.

And education has always been my thing. Favorite part about nursing school? The discharge teaching when patients leave; or the ten minutes spent in a patient's room to go over what they know about diabetes and to educate the person from that starting point.

Yeah it's great and all to place an IV that no one else could start, not even a surgeon; and it's cool to deliver six different medications for morning rounds, and to have the power to do so.... But that's so not why I became a nurse. I became a nurse to truly make an impact- to build relationships and to field question after question to help better educate people about their health.

I run and organize three main support groups- Ogden, SLC, and Orem (I just got this one up and running, woohoo!); and I also coordinate with outlying areas outside of Utah for telephone support, and hopefully, one day, real support groups. I created a 12 month program with speakers, topics to be discussed, or activities for each month. This allows for some creativity- not something nurses get to do everyday. And my attendance at all of the above night support groups allow me to interact with our patient population on a very real and personal basis.

I head the in-clinic education piece, particularly the classes taught for incoming patients. I wrote new outlines and powerpoints for information to be taught. I field herds of e-mails, online chat forums, and telephone calls from inquiring patients. I am a marketing liaison (nursing school...?) and am a contact for all various media entities; constantly looking for ways to market our medical practice and have recently been a part of organizing a field trip to Wyoming as a cool marketing gig. I manage the website and make improvements where I think are needed. I edit (or re-write, really...) my doctor's research papers, as I happen to be a grammar and spelling fiend. I will be trained to do gastric band fills- something that actually requires lidocaine, needles, and band aids. I visit patients on the hospital floor after surgery. And I get to write, all of the time. It's certainly not blog-worthy creativity, but I do have to be quite crafty with my professional lingo.

And I still run Dr. Simper's clinic. So the full time job I had this summer... is still my job, plus an extra three and a half page job description to top it off. Needless to say, I am busy. Barely even have time to check my baby sister's blog once a day. When I have a pause in my day, I always know there is something else I could be doing.

And I find so much pride in hardwork, and in doing a job well, thoroughly and whole heartedly. Give me an general idea of something the doc's would like me to do, and I will run with it.

I find honesty, fastidious follow through and a warm smile are key components to finding workplace success. And I have found that I was trained by parents who taught me well.

I love my job.

And I have several coworkers who share my same passion for leaving something better than when we found it. Without those individuals' Herculean efforts, my work would all be for nought. They make work enjoyable and fun and fresh. They are my friends.

Did I mention, I love my job...?

But something is missing. And I think that piece is 400 miles away.

UT to LV

2009-02-04T22:49:00.003-07:00

Because we are go getters (and not because Southwest was offering $40 flights from Salt Lake City to Las Vegas...), some girlfriends and I packed up and flew south for Jessica's bachelorette party.

Eating too much shrimp cocktail in the buffet lines, blowing $40 at video roulette, running into my aunt and uncle (from SLC) in the middle of Caesar's Palace casino, paying $20 for a VIP table at Hard Rock Cafe's Body English dance club, and doing all of this with my number one woman.. my best girlfriend... my sister from another mister... Jessica Kruger.

May 7th is the big day. And you can find me wearing a hot magenta colored bridesmaid dress. I love you, Jess; you are my soulmate, but in the shape of a woman, and whom I can't get married to. But nonetheless, you are my girl.

Confession

2009-02-02T23:21:00.003-07:00

I am feeling rather sentimental tonight.

Yes I could blog about the $15 queen bed I found and purchased today (and just why exactly it is 15 dollars...), and the truly lovely gray-designed comforter set to cover the obvious low budget mattress purchase, from Ikea. But I don't feel like it.

I feel too much emotion at this moment to relish in the superficial. I feel so much happiness. I feel so much contentment. I feel so alive. And yet the dominating hormone regulated thought leads me to feel much sorrow for those I have hurt or wronged.

I have been too quick, too brash, and have lacked compassion. I was selfish, and foolish, and narrow minded. I acted on impulse, without regard for consequence.

It weighs on me. And I know it weighs on not only those who I have hurt, but even on those who were simply third parties.

And so it weighs on me.

And though I may never know if I can right where I have wronged, please know I am so very sorry.

Natural Selection

2009-01-28T21:26:00.002-07:00

Survival of the fittest.

Survival of those who are better equipped for surviving.

Survival of the fit enough.

Whatever.

But when one does not have internet access from home, it truly makes for a modern-age natural selection.

Can I handle it? Can I forego the usual ritual of perusing facebook and blogs alike? Can I resist the whirlwind force to string together words from the english language for the whole world to see? Am I capable of not resorting to google for everything- from bed shopping on craig's list, to directions in my new city of Salt Lake, to detachment from the world beyond my small bubble (no Yahoo news updates?! How do I FUNCTION?!)

Well, folks.

I did do it. I did handle it. Thanks to Destiny's Child, I am a survivor! Comcast relieved me of any future unfavorable repercussions... today.

Guess I am fit. Or at least Darwin would think so.

But I could be even more so. And with a little help from an (almost) paid gym membership through my work, it shouldn't be too difficult. I have already made friends with several treadmills at Gold's gym- even when my tush was apparently too aggressive on the landing of foot to rubber, and the TV connected to the machine began to shake. violently.

Oh, that's me making all that ruckus? Sorry.....

Here's to a LOVELY rental home near Sugar House with even LOVELIER roommates, wearing scrubs to work everyday (wake up, get out of my pajamas, and put on more pajamas), and the first paycheck!

XoXo, Nurse Mer

Psst.. if you are really interested, stay tuned for a future incoming swarm of stories and pics to accompany about a little bachelorette party down south. In Vegas. (though some mementos will need to stay right where they remain in the city of bright lights, booze, and boobies).

Psst, Psst.. This weekend looks to be epic. EPIC!!!

Sink or Swim

2009-01-13T21:52:00.005-07:00

As I was driving to Albertson's on 23 East tonight, I set my car's radio station channels to Utah's finest, and that's when it hit me.

I am no longer a visitor to the 801. I am not making the four and a half hour drive back to Boise at the weekend's closure. Living out of a suitcase will no longer be the precedent when in Utah.

I am officially an Idaho-born-and-bred transplant to Salt Lake City.

Excited, nervous, happy, anxious, independence, sad... Conflicting emotions are through the roof.

But I am here.

And I really am diggin' it.

Though, I'm not so sure if my belly agrees with the aforementioned declaration. Not after finishing an entire plate of Bang-Bang (yeah, who knows...?) Chicken and Shrimp at Cheesecake Factory, with carrot cake cheesecake for dessert, and three too many cups of Coke-heavy on the Diet. My ladies Julie, Jess, and I sure know how to satiate the slightest of hunger pains.

Adult Size

2009-01-08T12:15:00.006-07:00

Intentionally put the PrintMaster designed sign above the TV; so when the party comes to enjoy the National Championship over pizza and cake, we can all be reminded of the real reason to celebrate. (Boy, I am getting rather crafty these days. Not sure what this means..!)

Eighteen years ago, today, my younger brother, Madison, was born into this world. And with him he not only brought chubby cheeks and blond hair, but a mild temperament, a care free smile, and an easy-going approach to everything and everyone he encounters.

Though his hair has darkened to a sandy brown, and his round face has thinned, and now adorns the top of his 3% body fat dimensions, his lovable personality has not changed. He may rip and roar down a ski hill while mid run pulling a 360 degree turn tailgrab, and he may unintentionally stick his tongue out (Michael Jordan style) whenever his aggressive veracity on a sport court flares, but to me...

He is my "little" brother, who is always willing to give me a smile and to laugh at my silly jokes. We have so much fun together, and we both understand one another, especially when words are not even expressed.

Happy Birthday, Maddog!!!

I love you, and I will miss you...

Because...

January 14th is the official START-WORK day in Salt Lake! I am so excited to rejoin my family at Rocky Mountain Associated Physicians in less than a week!

However...

I am feeling rather nostalgic as I prepare to leave home. I do love Boise.

But loyalty and $$$ are such convincing lures...

2009-01-05T18:09:00.004-07:00

A Holiday Break: Yes, it's true a designated holiday break means a vacation from school and all of the wonderful components it entails: homework, deadlines, and hospital cafeteria lunches.

And so shouldn't a vacation mean catching up on some Z's, too?

Strange, but no.

Not when my "holiday break" means...

....Graduating, and the fun parties to celebrate this momentous occasion. Grandma and Grandpa Anderson (Mangum) even came to honor the graduate.

....Christmas. And Rich Man's Dessert. And cranberry salad, rolls, and cheesy potatoes. And valuable time with the Peays. And a fabulous new red pea coat.

....Rockin' knee high powder at Sun Valley and the inevitable deeeeep thigh burn.

....Early morning wakeup phone calls to ensure a timely departure for the ski hill.

....Perfecting 5 or 6 "expert-looking" turns in thick, wet, heavy snow under Pine Creek (chair six) at Bogus Basin. But then as I fear my increasing speed, I make one long turn, to then resort back to the expert I wish I was. Apparently I like to vacillate between good, and really good. Keeps me humble.

....Cheddar burgers for lunch, everyday, at Bogus. Complete with french fry condiments- yes, condiments. I am skiing hard; I will burn it off, right? I have never had so much cow and grease in one week. And not cared.

....Quick showers, no time for hair blow dryers, and then pretending like I fit in at Murphy's Steakhouse with wet locks and messily applied lipstick. But this time, I obeyed the "Eat More Chikn" suggestion.

....The greatest new year's eve. Ever. And the greatest kiss to usher in 2009. Ever. A big thanks to Kanye for his "Flashing Lights."

....Movie, after movie, after movie. Benjamin Button reaffirmed that the waterworks are still fully functioning.

....Dinners, drinks, and trips down memory lane with old friends. Great friendship may come and go, but remembering it happened is so rejuvenating.

....And after one day on the ski hill, learning that love can be rekindled. And ohhhhh the flame is burning. Hot.

Two thousand and eight could not have ended on a more beautiful note. I view this dramatic exit as a perfect entrance for the ninth year of this second millenia.

As I reflect back on the past couple of weeks, it is difficult to summarize all the fun into small bullet points. We all know I could write a novel on the black velour pant suit I received for Christmas, but for your sake, I will resist.

Hence, my New Year's resolution? To keep journaling, blogging, writing. Yes, I have been actively doing so since April, but it is a new found love of mine, and I want to always remember that. I often supplement my blogs with private personal entries on my Microsoft Word hard drive, but I have so enjoyed sharing my life with you. I am an open book; I tend to share a great deal of myself publicly, and I am not ashamed of it. I learn from you and your writings, and I only hope to offer you the same.

And Nothing Else Matters

2009-01-04T16:01:00.003-07:00

A quick, but necessary disclaimer: If this blog is upsetting to you in any form, then don't read it. Ahem, with that being said...

I am alive, despite my severe lack of blogging.

And I am in love.

Sunday "linner" is calling.. and as I have been away from my home for almost days on end, except for sleeping (sometimes), I must prioritize time with my family.

Will blog again, soon.

I'll be home for Christmas

2008-12-17T12:15:00.004-07:00

if only in my bed, snuggled up in sweatshirts and magenta colored fleece blankets, and Thera-Flu in my tummy. Though my current sickly condition makes for a less active first days of Christmas break, there is nowhere else I would rather want to be... than home.

I thought I had barely skirted past the winter flu season a few weeks ago, as a few good night's rest took care of it. But I guess I was wrong. It came back full force to invade this nursing graduate's body. (Yes, I took my last final yesterday and have officially passed nursing school.)

As I sat eagerly watching my two younger brothers' basketball games last night, my body was shivering quite uncontrollably. I kept having to switch my sitting position every few minutes in an attempt to achieve comfort for my ever-growing sore body.. and to hide my Parkinsonian-like tremors. By the end of the game, my mother's cool hand could detect a full fledged fever on my forehead and rosy red cheeks.

While I sit here eating my hot chicken noodle soup and drinking my cold Coke Zero (hmmm, my environmental factors do not seem to help my body's vacillation from hot to cold), I am pondering the GREAT previous weekend I had in Salt Lake-- and the severe sleep deprivation from maximizing time with friends and family. ............Ooohhh! It all makes sense now. :)

1} A surprise visit from Derek Erstad, who happened to be interviewing for medical school at University of Utah... unbeknownst to either of us we would both be in Salt Lake the same day. So dinner at DoDo, some Grey's Anatomy and Saved by the Bell, adventures finding the medical school in the dark the night before the big interview, and much laughter to go around... I was more than delighted to be his SLC tour guide.

2} The third annual college-kid gathering to see Kurt Bestor's Christmas Concert, a special treat from Grandma Clifford (aka Nani). Delights from the sights and sounds of the musical gala, yummy food from Lambs Grill and Cafe, and one massive bowl of peppermint ice cream, I was utterly satisfied.

3} Jessica Kruger, and company. That's all there is to it. Except, The Day the Earth Stood Still was something we all could have gone without. Sleepovers cuddling in one bed, waking her up during her tumultuous nightmare, Cafe Rio, munching on her fiance's mother's english toffee, and the never ending laughter between the two of us... I swear to it that if she could just somehow turn male, I would marry her (him?) and I would be the happiest being alive.

4} Kimmy Harman. And meeting her for the first time, but knowing we would have so much fun as hopeful future roommates. Sugarhouse is our desired relocation-and we have found some adorable rentals. So for some reason when I was awaiting a prescription to be filled at Albertson's Pharmacy on Monday, my eyes quickly bypassed all fashion and teeny bopper magazines, and headed straight for the Beautiful Homes issue. And then my imagination went a little wild, with $$$ clouding all rational thought.

4} Late night chats with Grandma Anderson-Mangum. Her listening ear and her keen wisdom are quite admirable. Though she only stands at 5'4", it's no secret that great things come in small packages.

My trip down south only reaffirmed my excitement for the future permanent move.

But first.... I must use all of my acquired education and nurse myself back to health (along with sweet concerned check-in phone calls from my mother).

Lions, and Tigers, and Bears

2008-12-10T01:15:00.010-07:00

My work on a hospital floor has ended, finished, commenced, taken its last breath… whichever satisfies you. What satisfies me? The relief felt from being the recipient of that “last breath.” I finished my clinical on the Labor & Delivery floor yesterday, having completed all 90 hours of unpaid service to laboring women in Boise, Idaho. Oh how blessed I was to be on that floor for my preceptorship, but how blessed I am to be done. An interesting paradox, yes!

{Photos taken from summer of '07.. guess the scrubs don't quite fit so tight these days. yikes.}

Furthermore, I selected to care for Dr. Klomp's patient on my last 12 hour shift... which meant I would work side by side with the obstetrician who delivered me on that very floor 21 (and a half) years ago. And he happens to be a dear family friend; so when he walked in at 0730 and put his miracle-working hands on my shoulders (in the middle of my IV start, mind you..), I knew I could not have picked a more satisfying finale.

My preceptor, Julie Barta, was the perfect woman for the job. She and I clicked from day one with the initial acceptance of one another due to the common length of our legs. But moreover, she was kind, and patient, and so willing to accommodate all kinds of experiences unique to the floor. She was my mother-hen dressed in blue scrubs, with casual wit and fun humor to combat stress and the expansion of my comfort bubble. She was approachable with questions and willing to teach at the drop of a dime, no matter how many times she has rattled off the same information to many a precepting students or new orientees.

And she happened to be from an LDS family herself, so when not inserting large 18-gaged IV’s and checking vaginal cervix's with two “lubed” fingers, we discussed religion and the importance of balance in our lives. Strange how certain people step into your life at poignant points in one’s existence… Not a coincidence, I do believe. Angels are sent to us in the form of our fellow man for comfort, help, and reassurance.

Graduation is now merely 10 days away, with only one more day of classes, some concluding preceptorship paperwork, and one “final” exam (consisting only of covered material from the last three weeks, i.e. how to be nice, and how to be culturally sensitive…. Yeah, you get the picture) standing in my way. This means GO TIME for NCLEX review and study. This means question after question of NCLEX-style queries. And it means ever increasing anxiety for those upcoming nursing boards. On the whole, I am definitely not an anxious, worrisome individual. But this test, this test really gets my blood pressure up, ignites the racing thoughts, and allows worry to seep in through every presently unclogged pore.

As I sat in Barnes and Noble today for an even longer period usually spent in a single clothing store, I plopped onto the ground in the middle of the Nursing/Medical section. Hair pulled back into a ponytail topped with a red Stanford baseball cap, and black Nike spandex covering every extremity, I flipped through the pages of many NCLEX review books. I got lost in the helpful mnemonics written for the massive amounts of information needing to be refreshed from the dusty and rusty synapses of my brain. For one brief moment, I felt rather confident. Yes, see, I know this stuff! I know it. I know it. I. Know. It.

Perhaps like Dorothy, if I replace the currently appareled running shoes with my red pumps (sans glitter), click my heels together, squeeze my eyes and white-knuckled fists tight, and say it over, and over, and over… I will believe it; and my world will be a bit more black and white, a little bit more cut and dry.

“There’s no place like a Pearson Testing Center to take the NCLEX. There’s no place. I know it. I know. I know it…..”

Enough Already

2008-12-08T22:52:00.006-07:00

Okay, okay.. so I am sure many of you will be thinking that very thought after reading this post. However...

I recently acquired this article from Quentin Smith regarding the phenomenon many of us like to call, Twilight. I began reading the piece with a cynical attitude, expecting just another article describing why so many fans (particularly girls and women) love the books and the subsequent cinematic adaptation. Yeah, yeah, I already know why we love it; no need to convince me, or inform me why it is such a success, I know. However...

The article is like poetry to my temporary glass half-emptied ears- as it so beautifully articulates my secret, a secret held by so many. Yes, it's long; yes, I skipped over the discussion about Gossip Girls and Harry Potter, because of course all I want to read about is Twilight. But with an at-first skeptical, soon-turned addict Twilight reader as the article's author (who happens to be older, and thinks of herself 'too mature' for young adult fiction), her sensual words poignantly embodies the allure behind the story.

The rapture of the naked soul, with it's natural human desires, instincts, and fantasies- can seize the psyche, no matter how sober from an ice cold glass of water. No matter how firmly we root ourselves in spiritual beliefs, no matter how green we want to go, or how far we earn formal education, no matter how deep our pocketbooks run... there is an undeniable, irreplaceable, and utterly irrevocable quality we cannot ignore. No matter how far we may refuse, or stifle, or hide it. For some it may be just a faint outline of the elephant in the room, or for others it may be a full fledged raving tie-dye rendition, with fireworks and kinetic chinese dragons.

To love without reserve; to romance with unconditional force; to lust animalistically; and to seize the exclusive invitation for our innate passions is a unique gift. Even if it means simply sitting within inches of, or a touch on the arm, from the one who is the sole catalyst of these fascinating (cardiac and neurologically controlled) entities, regret from savoring it rarely takes seed.

Twilight does not speak of this in a whisper. It is free of a tone of gossip, clearly lacking the image of two teenage girls cupping their hands to their mouths in an attempt to even fend off the best of lip readers. No, Twilight acknowledges, embraces, and celebrates the bewitching power of the human sensuality.

This is why I find great delight in Twilight. It is the passion behind the fictional story- passion to be emulated, admired, and desired. The kind of physically aching, heart palpitating, breath crushing passion.

....Oh yeah, did I tell you I was a hopeless romantic?

Testing, Testing, 123

2008-12-04T17:46:00.002-07:00

After some technical difficulties, and useful problem-solving suggestions from this gal, Diana Hulme, I "fixed" the viewing of my pinning ceremony invitation per my previous post.

Reason for fixed to be set off in quotation marks? Eh, you'll see.

Apparently just as much as my artistic abilities suffer, so follows my tech-savvy inadequacy. Bummer.

Artsy Fartsy

2008-12-03T20:19:00.009-07:00

So I don't really cook; not that I don't want to, but I am just not very good at it... okay, yeah, I just don't want to.

I don't scrapbook. I severely lack any kind of skill to "cutesify" paper. So instead, I blog. One picture at the top of an electronic screen and that's about my limit.

I can't sew. My seventh grade table runner from Home-Ec class proves why. Or my mangled hot pad, for that matter. My mom recently asked me to help put my brothers' scouting merit badges onto their sash for their Eagle Court of Honor. I looked at her in bewilderment. "With the hot glue gun," she muttered. Oh, okay. I can do that.

I can't draw. Stick figures with massive chicken winged hands are my best method of articulating illustrative thought. Even as a little girl when I dreamed of becoming a fashion designer- I knew I was doomed.

So instead, I express myself by what I wear. Someone else can draw it, sew it, and slap it onto a mannequin.. And I will buy it. I truly value fashion as a form of personal artistic expression. As one of my best friends, Julie Andersen, once said to me, "You are so good at being you." In other words, "you wear some dangerous stuff, girlfriend."

But give me a large green grassy field, a pair of black Adidas Copas (sorry Mr. M. Hansen, it is the one athletic piece of mine that is unfortunately absent of the Swoosh), with a round air-filled ball.. And I will beat some people up.

The one thing I can take credit for that stems from the right side of my brain, is my handwriting. I think I have decent penmanship. But that definitely was not always the case. With every passing academic year, my handwriting changed, even up until my freshman year in college. I had to make a conscious effort in perfecting my visible written word.

My point from all this literary foreplay is this: I am not naturally gifted in the arts. I am nowhere near, nor will ever be, in the realm of Martha Stewart, or Diana Tueller Hulme, or Kimmy Harman. But my handwriting experience is evidence that I can improve. So when I volunteered to design the Nursing Pinning Ceremony (like unto a graduation) invitation, I even surprised myself. But I thought this very special occasion deserved class and taste; and I thought I had enough, so somehow it would work itself out.

So after exhausting all creative juices, this is the 5.5x4.25 inch Cardstock byproduct:

Today I received an e-mail from our nursing resource guru, who stated the head of the department of nursing was so impressed with my little invitation, that it will henceforth and forevermore... be the standard for all future pinning ceremony invitations.

Who knew?!?!?!

Certainly not me.

Go Big, or Go Home

2008-12-03T00:33:00.004-07:00

So only a few will understand this post, but for those who do... This is for you.

Go big, or go home. I guess that was my motto without even knowing it.

A Very Fine Place to Start

2008-11-30T22:59:00.002-07:00

But I can't seem to find that place.

Much has happened this week, yet I don't feel like I have much to blog about. What I am learning is if I wait too long to blog (even though it hasn't even been a week since the last post), the less I have to say. Strange phenomena, yes?

So here's a brief synopsis of my Thanksgiving week... (and only in black and white lettering, as my camera's battery died and I lack the sheer will to search for it in my blackhole of a purse to charge the juices).

Tuesday night, the fam drove down to Salt Lake, arriving around midnight and then snuggled up in one-room slumber party fashion around 1am. The following day brought us a chance to see the uber cool exhibit, Body Worlds, downtown. As I took my Anatomy and Physiology course online years ago, my cadaver experience lent itself as an e-dissection of cartoon frogs. Hence, this "live," but "dead" show of once-living bodies and the inner workings of our magnificent systems, was AWESOME. Disembowelment, full peripheral nervous system layouts, and embryonic growth from day one to birth, only made for a fascinating experience (and a great academic review).

Though it is rather pricey, it was well worth it. And it was great to verify my blood pressure still runs super low. Guess end of the semester cramming and a long run of tachycardic palpitations from heartache have not caused too much damage.

Wednesday evening was filled with turkey, broccoli and cheese casserole (my favorite), mashed potatoes, delectable rolls, and Grandma's famous raspberry jam. Moreover, the edible sustenance was perfectly accented with great company. Apparently, I have not yet graduated to the "adult" table, due to extra occupancy from marriages and significant others joining the feast. Alas, I must relinquish all hopes in ever outgrowing the "teenager" table. Perhaps, one day, when I suddenly wish the aging clock to stop, I will appreciate the seating arrangement. ;)

Though most of November 27th (Happy birthday, Parker! I so adore you, my sweet brother) was spent in the car driving back home, I enjoyed a focaccia turkey sandwich from the Flying J gas station in Brigham City, apple pie at the Peay home, and a third viewing of Twilight. And Edward gets sexier every time.

Parker's girlfriend, Meegan Small, joined our family for the weekend. What a doll. We dabbled in a Senior All-Star football game for Madison, near-whole family jogs, Broadway-esque performances from my little sister's sing and dance group at Boise's Festival of Trees, and a fourth viewing of Twilight. Yep, E-dawg still so easy on the eyes.

And I dabbled in an evening out on the town with old friends on Friday. I haven't had so much fun in quite a long time. The Boise downtown nightlife made for a great high school reunion, particularly highlighted by the scariest pirate face competition with the Hardy boys. So looking forward to Christmas break for a repeat.

Now back to the real world. Gotta focus. Gotta revamp my priorities. Gotta reboot the system. As an old friend would say in a determined tone, "Face off," while pretending to remove the invisible party mask in a single hand sweeping motion.

But, hey, it's only for two more weeks, right?