This is for anyone who comes here via my profile on Amazon.
You see, I entered the Amazon Breakthrough Novelist Award Contest. Surprisingly, I made it through the first round, and will find out if I've made it through the second on March 20th. I'm very, very nervous to see the reviews of my excerpt (I've heard some rough stuff, and I'm building up my armor now so that I can laugh off anything the reviewers throw at me).
Anyway. I'm using a pen name, Will Belacqua. It's a very meaningful name if you've read the His Dark Materials series. If you haven't you can appreciate how pretty a name it is.
The problem (although it's not really a problem) is that everyone thinks I'm a dude.
I am not.
Admittedly, this was my goal. If I wrote a book and used my actual name, Virginia, people would assume I'm less of a writer, because people are stupid and STILL think that girls only care about romance even though J.K. Rowling is a girl. I'm not saying EVERYONE does this, but plenty certainly do. And thus the pseudonym.
But I never intended for my fellow participants to think I'm a man. It's amusing (my favourite comment being "you just want the ladies to 'read' all over you"), but I'm certainly a girl, and a straight one at that. So if any of you were feeling affronted by this blog proving that I'm indeed a girl and you can't bone me because I'm not a guy, I'm sorry. For those of you now excited because I am actually a girl and you CAN bone me... well, maybe if you're attractive enough.
If I WERE a guy, however, I'm sure I'd be a great one. People tell me I'm mannish all the time, mostly because of my belching abilities and the fact that I punch pretty dang hard. I get the feeling I'd be like the narrator in "Gargoyle". You know, a manwhore who makes porn and ends up getting burned up in a fire. Without the burning and porn, of course. Well, probably without the porn. There's a lot of money to be made there.
Once again, I'm sorry I'm not a sexy, 20-something man with awesomeness oozing out of every pore. Instead, I'm a sexy, 19-going-to-be-20-soonish girl with awesomeness oozing out of every pore. This is sad news for some, great news for others.
Anyway. Wish me luck with ABNA! Or at least hope that none of the reviewers say anything that make me homicidal.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
That Goddamn Hufflepuff Really Doesn't Know Much About Slytherins
David has struck again, and honestly, I don't know what makes him think he's so special and great that he can say such inane, rude things without anyone calling him out on it. Here, let me type out the entire conversation on Facebook, with all mistakes and such remaining. And no, this was not in a personal message. All of this was on my status, which read, "That awkward moment when your self-defense teacher looks at you and asks very seriously, 'Are you sure you're not so clumsy it's considered disabled?'"
Hufflepuff (David): how are you going to do self defence if your disabled? lol
Slytherin (Me): Well, one of the moves we learned yesterday is all focused stumbling, which I'm pretty damn good at.
Hufflepuff: ....isn't your normal aggressive attitude enough of a self defense?
Slytherin: Usually. This is for if I'm in a dark alley (don't ask me why I'm there, I don't know either) and the other person attacks before realizing that I'm quite possibly part demon.
(Note that thus far, we're both polite and such. Don't worry, it'll change soon.)
Hufflepuff: Usually that other person has a: knife, trazer, gun,.pepper spray, or superior training. All of which you should just run from. Not stay and fight.
(Notice now that he's doing what he always does, which is assume that he knows everything and whomever he's speaking to is a complete moron and knows nothing.)
Slytherin: 1) We WILL be learning how to disarm people, 2) pepper spray doesn't work on me; it's like I got sprayed with water, 3) if he grabs me, it's not like I can run away so knowing how to break his knee/jaw is pretty damn useful. This isn't for attacking someone, it's for DEFENSE. Thus the name.
Hufflepuff: Yet I'm gonna bet your going to use it as an offense any way. Lets put that pepper spray to the test. I'll bring some opsicum capsicum spray to church. (o.c. Spray). You may be learning how to disarm someone. But anyone with a gun, knife would have you dead to rights. Any trained knife fighter knows what to do. -_- I'm all for spraying you with o.c. Spray though. n.n
Slytherin: I'm sure you are -_- And yes, most people who attack others in a dark alley know EXACTLY what they are doing. NOT. And I've never heard the phrase "dead to rights". Why can't I be dead to lefts, or dead to wrongs? So discriminatory.
(See, even after he's a jerk and slightly threatening, I make jokes. It's what I do. It's endearing to most people, or rather people with any sense.)
Hufflepuff: .............so Ill spray you on sunday? oh and your going to have to sign a nondisclosure agreement and a couple other things that mean you cant sue me or harm me in retaliation
Slytherin: I'm sorry, but I seriously doubt you can have such documents ready by Sunday and have them both checked for grammar (any mistakes and the agreement is void, because that's how I roll) and loop-hole free. So alas, I'm going to have to turn down your offer.
Hufflepuff: -_- I find it easy to write legally binding documents.
Slytherin: Please demonstrate this on Sunday. I'd love to see how you manage it. I'll be sure to bring highlighters and a red pen.
(You can tell that my sarcasm and snarkiness are becoming a bit more strained as he irritates the hell out of me.)
Hufflepuff: I have oc spray available. The document doesn't need to be long. Just needs to express that you complied with any of the following proceedings up to and including the exposure to oc spray. And that in no way will I be reprimanded for my actions.and hereafter any physical affront made by you will be responded to in like kind and strength with disregard to any preceding events. and that was on a mobile phone :) get owned.
Slytherin: If you put all of that into writing, it still wouldn't be a legal document. Sorry. Oh, and there were grammar mistakes, so I would have to void it even if it were. Plus, you had statements that contradicted each other. Thus, I think it shall be you getting owned.
Hufflepuff: a mobile phone without spell check or grammer check. I was going for phrasing not validity. Your a bitch btw. Just thought you should know. You make Gregory House look like a nice man. and by the way my statement didnt contradict itself. I ...just made it clear that I wouldnt take into account that I had sprayed you with O.C. spray. Just respond in the same way as anyone who was getting assaulted by a vertically challenged individual that thinks they can get away with hitting people without retribution
And that is the end of our conversation. Other people commented, but they're not who we're here to talk about. So yeah. I'm incensed that he would call me a bitch in front of my friends on Facebook. That's just trashy. I don't do that to people, so they should not do that to me.
Am I wrong here? Did I say something completely awful that merited getting called a bitch? I don't think so, and neither does the neutral first party I asked.
So now, I am no longer Facebook friends with David, and I have blocked him. You should all be proud of me for not going off on him and remaining very cordial in a message telling him that I don't appreciate such words bandied about on my Facebook, and if he feels that way then there is no reason for us to remain friends.
Hufflepuff (David): how are you going to do self defence if your disabled? lol
Slytherin (Me): Well, one of the moves we learned yesterday is all focused stumbling, which I'm pretty damn good at.
Hufflepuff: ....isn't your normal aggressive attitude enough of a self defense?
Slytherin: Usually. This is for if I'm in a dark alley (don't ask me why I'm there, I don't know either) and the other person attacks before realizing that I'm quite possibly part demon.
(Note that thus far, we're both polite and such. Don't worry, it'll change soon.)
Hufflepuff: Usually that other person has a: knife, trazer, gun,.pepper spray, or superior training. All of which you should just run from. Not stay and fight.
(Notice now that he's doing what he always does, which is assume that he knows everything and whomever he's speaking to is a complete moron and knows nothing.)
Slytherin: 1) We WILL be learning how to disarm people, 2) pepper spray doesn't work on me; it's like I got sprayed with water, 3) if he grabs me, it's not like I can run away so knowing how to break his knee/jaw is pretty damn useful. This isn't for attacking someone, it's for DEFENSE. Thus the name.
Hufflepuff: Yet I'm gonna bet your going to use it as an offense any way. Lets put that pepper spray to the test. I'll bring some opsicum capsicum spray to church. (o.c. Spray). You may be learning how to disarm someone. But anyone with a gun, knife would have you dead to rights. Any trained knife fighter knows what to do. -_- I'm all for spraying you with o.c. Spray though. n.n
Slytherin: I'm sure you are -_- And yes, most people who attack others in a dark alley know EXACTLY what they are doing. NOT. And I've never heard the phrase "dead to rights". Why can't I be dead to lefts, or dead to wrongs? So discriminatory.
(See, even after he's a jerk and slightly threatening, I make jokes. It's what I do. It's endearing to most people, or rather people with any sense.)
Hufflepuff: .............so Ill spray you on sunday? oh and your going to have to sign a nondisclosure agreement and a couple other things that mean you cant sue me or harm me in retaliation
Slytherin: I'm sorry, but I seriously doubt you can have such documents ready by Sunday and have them both checked for grammar (any mistakes and the agreement is void, because that's how I roll) and loop-hole free. So alas, I'm going to have to turn down your offer.
Hufflepuff: -_- I find it easy to write legally binding documents.
Slytherin: Please demonstrate this on Sunday. I'd love to see how you manage it. I'll be sure to bring highlighters and a red pen.
(You can tell that my sarcasm and snarkiness are becoming a bit more strained as he irritates the hell out of me.)
Hufflepuff: I have oc spray available. The document doesn't need to be long. Just needs to express that you complied with any of the following proceedings up to and including the exposure to oc spray. And that in no way will I be reprimanded for my actions.and hereafter any physical affront made by you will be responded to in like kind and strength with disregard to any preceding events. and that was on a mobile phone :) get owned.
Slytherin: If you put all of that into writing, it still wouldn't be a legal document. Sorry. Oh, and there were grammar mistakes, so I would have to void it even if it were. Plus, you had statements that contradicted each other. Thus, I think it shall be you getting owned.
Hufflepuff: a mobile phone without spell check or grammer check. I was going for phrasing not validity. Your a bitch btw. Just thought you should know. You make Gregory House look like a nice man. and by the way my statement didnt contradict itself. I ...just made it clear that I wouldnt take into account that I had sprayed you with O.C. spray. Just respond in the same way as anyone who was getting assaulted by a vertically challenged individual that thinks they can get away with hitting people without retribution
And that is the end of our conversation. Other people commented, but they're not who we're here to talk about. So yeah. I'm incensed that he would call me a bitch in front of my friends on Facebook. That's just trashy. I don't do that to people, so they should not do that to me.
Am I wrong here? Did I say something completely awful that merited getting called a bitch? I don't think so, and neither does the neutral first party I asked.
So now, I am no longer Facebook friends with David, and I have blocked him. You should all be proud of me for not going off on him and remaining very cordial in a message telling him that I don't appreciate such words bandied about on my Facebook, and if he feels that way then there is no reason for us to remain friends.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Zombies! Why Yes, I AM Talking About This.
The zombie apocalypse has been a topic of discussion for a few years now, and after spending all that time coming up with strategies with several different parties, I've come up with a perfect defense.
After escaping the zombie hord with the aid of a few choice companions (a misanthropist with far too many weapons to be considered safe, an apathetic man with a plethora of weapons as well and the fierce desire to defend me, the first one's girl, and possibly a few others if they happen to be around at the time), I'd ride in our Jeep (it's actually the misanthropist's, and bright yellow in colour. I've nicknamed it "The Armored Canary") to a few requisite supply stores. Hopefully they won't be too cleaned out. We'd load up on non-perishable food items, weaponry, camping gear, etc. Then I'd ask to be dropped off in Brazil, and of course they'd be welcome to join me.
Why Brazil, you ask?
Because of the Amazon Rainforest, of course.
The Amazon Rainforest is easily the best place to go for protection from the zombies. After all, if you're living in a tree, the zombies can't get to you. They can't climb. Getting through the river will prove a bit of a challenge for them, because a lot of the fishies enjoy rotting flesh as a main course. And then there are all those lovely decomposers in the forest that just adore getting more nutrients.
Then there's the fact that there are so many natural resources. You'll have plenty of food (if you know what's edible, which I will, what with my degree in wildlife biology), plenty of firewood, and plenty of water.
Other people (besides the indigenous peoples, of course) won't bother you there. It'd be too difficult to navigate if you don't know your way, cutting down all the trees isn't possible or even smart, and they probably won't even think to look for anyone there anyway. This saves you from raids, which rambling groups of survivors will surely be participating in.
So while I'm in the rainforest, I will keep tabs on the outside world by traveling once a month to the edges so that I can see how things are progressing. Without a food source, the zombies will begin either to decompose completely or to eat themselves. I figure that after about ten to fifteen years, once those who've survived are quarenteened and the zombies die off, I'll be able to emerge. If I want to, that is.
This is also my plan for the impending robot take-over. Or aliens. It's a good plan because it's so flexible.
After escaping the zombie hord with the aid of a few choice companions (a misanthropist with far too many weapons to be considered safe, an apathetic man with a plethora of weapons as well and the fierce desire to defend me, the first one's girl, and possibly a few others if they happen to be around at the time), I'd ride in our Jeep (it's actually the misanthropist's, and bright yellow in colour. I've nicknamed it "The Armored Canary") to a few requisite supply stores. Hopefully they won't be too cleaned out. We'd load up on non-perishable food items, weaponry, camping gear, etc. Then I'd ask to be dropped off in Brazil, and of course they'd be welcome to join me.
Why Brazil, you ask?
Because of the Amazon Rainforest, of course.
The Amazon Rainforest is easily the best place to go for protection from the zombies. After all, if you're living in a tree, the zombies can't get to you. They can't climb. Getting through the river will prove a bit of a challenge for them, because a lot of the fishies enjoy rotting flesh as a main course. And then there are all those lovely decomposers in the forest that just adore getting more nutrients.
Then there's the fact that there are so many natural resources. You'll have plenty of food (if you know what's edible, which I will, what with my degree in wildlife biology), plenty of firewood, and plenty of water.
Other people (besides the indigenous peoples, of course) won't bother you there. It'd be too difficult to navigate if you don't know your way, cutting down all the trees isn't possible or even smart, and they probably won't even think to look for anyone there anyway. This saves you from raids, which rambling groups of survivors will surely be participating in.
So while I'm in the rainforest, I will keep tabs on the outside world by traveling once a month to the edges so that I can see how things are progressing. Without a food source, the zombies will begin either to decompose completely or to eat themselves. I figure that after about ten to fifteen years, once those who've survived are quarenteened and the zombies die off, I'll be able to emerge. If I want to, that is.
This is also my plan for the impending robot take-over. Or aliens. It's a good plan because it's so flexible.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Writing, Running, and LOOK GAIL IS ALIVE!
Gail is fixed! I picked her up Monday afternoon and hooked her up. I would've posted yesterday, but I got distracted by Law and Order: SVU.
This now means that I can find a new route for running. The route I'm currently taking is like 2.36 miles. If I want to be ready for Warrior Dash, I need to start going farther. Luckily I found a route that's 3.65 which is daunting but necessary. Next Monday I will put on my game face and attempt to conquer the awful route.
Here in Virginia the weather is acting super wonky. Today it's in the forties. Tomorrow it will be in the sixties. It's wreaking havoc on my vocal chords, which is unfortunate for those who have to hear me sing. After a bit, my voice is fine, though. But those first few minutes... awful.
Oh!
I entered the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest. I'm hoping to at least make it past the first round, although I'd love to win the whole thing. I'd get $15,000 and a publishing contract with Penguin! And if I make it far enough before losing, I could get an agent! It's all so exciting.
If I get far enough, I'll be sure to tell all of you that it's time for you to vote for my novel. That's not til the very end, though.
This now means that I can find a new route for running. The route I'm currently taking is like 2.36 miles. If I want to be ready for Warrior Dash, I need to start going farther. Luckily I found a route that's 3.65 which is daunting but necessary. Next Monday I will put on my game face and attempt to conquer the awful route.
Here in Virginia the weather is acting super wonky. Today it's in the forties. Tomorrow it will be in the sixties. It's wreaking havoc on my vocal chords, which is unfortunate for those who have to hear me sing. After a bit, my voice is fine, though. But those first few minutes... awful.
Oh!
I entered the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest. I'm hoping to at least make it past the first round, although I'd love to win the whole thing. I'd get $15,000 and a publishing contract with Penguin! And if I make it far enough before losing, I could get an agent! It's all so exciting.
If I get far enough, I'll be sure to tell all of you that it's time for you to vote for my novel. That's not til the very end, though.
Monday, January 23, 2012
1005 Page Views, I'm Proud of Y'all!
We have surpassed 1000 page views! YAY!
Gail is still in the computer hospital. She'll hopefully be home again by Wednesday or Thursday, but no matter when she returns I shall post a victory post.
So, I've got a horrendous, awful crush on a boy at my church. His name is Alex, and he's tall, blonde, broad, and all around attractive. He's very shy, but talks to me more than pretty much anyone else there, and surprisingly sarcastic and clever. The problem: he's three years younger than I, which would make him, for those of you bad at math, sixteen.
I'm being awful and flirting with him outrageously so that he won't think about going out with a girl who isn't as wonderful as I am. You see, I'm terribly jealous of him and don't want anyone else stealing him away. I know it's wrong. That doesn't stop me. It should. But alas, my self-control has always been lacking.
In other news, my self-defense class is awesome and lets me kick ass.
Not much else has happened. Things are slow right now in the Life of Hattie.
Gail is still in the computer hospital. She'll hopefully be home again by Wednesday or Thursday, but no matter when she returns I shall post a victory post.
So, I've got a horrendous, awful crush on a boy at my church. His name is Alex, and he's tall, blonde, broad, and all around attractive. He's very shy, but talks to me more than pretty much anyone else there, and surprisingly sarcastic and clever. The problem: he's three years younger than I, which would make him, for those of you bad at math, sixteen.
I'm being awful and flirting with him outrageously so that he won't think about going out with a girl who isn't as wonderful as I am. You see, I'm terribly jealous of him and don't want anyone else stealing him away. I know it's wrong. That doesn't stop me. It should. But alas, my self-control has always been lacking.
In other news, my self-defense class is awesome and lets me kick ass.
Not much else has happened. Things are slow right now in the Life of Hattie.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Ah, the New Year. Thus Far: Suckish.
You all know that I was sick on New Year's Eve. Things aren't looking up, though I am healthy once more.
My computer, Gail, has died. She just... died. I'm not sure how else to put it. She'd been giving us trouble for quite some time, and finally she just wouldn't turn on. This meant that I had to take her to the computer hospital so that she could hopefully get diagnosed. They haven't called us yet to let us know how much it would be to fix her. I hope it isn't much, because otherwise we have to get a new computer and I don't want to have to name yet another.
School has started, and it's boring as hell. Which probably isn't boring, but you know what I mean. Macro economics is the worst. I spent all bell writing a scene for my 12 novel series. The class is huge and I seriously doubt anyone in there has an IQ over 70. Only one thing keeps it from pure horror: the teacher is from Kenya. While the others struggle to understand her accent, I'm fine because of my brief stint in Tanzania when I was fifteen.
My other classes are... okay. Biology lab is awful, but for lecture I have a teacher that I had in seventh grade. He used to call me "The Bottomless Pit" because I could eat more pizza than anyone else in the class, except for Matt Turley. We usually tied, mostly because we ran out of pizza before we were full.
I haven't been to chemistry lab, but I have the same teacher I had for chemistry last semester, so it should be relatively easy. My lecture professor is pretty cool, but I feel like I'm the smartest one in the class, which is odd because I'm not that great at chemistry. It's far too much like math. And yet, I'm the only one answering his questions with any degree of competency. Ah well. It IS a community college.
The one class I'm really looking forward to isn't until tomorrow, aka Thursday. That's self-defense, and I'm super excited to kick some ass for a grade. I really, really hope that's what the class entails, and doesn't have any written work or anything stupid like that. While I love reading and writing and all that jazz, I want to punch someone in the face.
As for my love life, it's rather dull. Well, to me. I went on a date last week, but the guy wasn't great or anything. Fun enough that I don't want to stab him, but not anyone I can see myself dating seriously. He hasn't texted me since a few days after the date, but I'm not particularly worried. I don't even care, actually. He's a bowler. Enough said.
Oh, I think my manager might be into me. I mean, I always thought he might find me attractive or whatever, but lately it seems like it's more than that. He looks at me like I'm the greatest thing in existence, and while I am, it's a little disconcerting to see. Plus, we've been texting a bit, and I think he's telling me things he doesn't share with other people, especially not our coworkers. I'm not too sure how I feel about this. He's attractive in a strange way, but I certainly can't imagine actually, you know, going out with him or even having a fling. It's just too weird.
That internet guy, Matt, is writing a song for/about me. Kinda weird, very flattering, and more than a little interesting to hear.
But on the whole, I haven't met a single guy I'd want to seriously date. I'm left pining after lost loves, or whatever you want to call them. Guys that I wish I could date but would never actually get the chance to. You know the kind. I'm seriously hoping to meet a guy in my self-defense course or something, but it doesn't seem likely.
That's all for now. Hopefully I won't have to post these things from a library computer for much longer.
My computer, Gail, has died. She just... died. I'm not sure how else to put it. She'd been giving us trouble for quite some time, and finally she just wouldn't turn on. This meant that I had to take her to the computer hospital so that she could hopefully get diagnosed. They haven't called us yet to let us know how much it would be to fix her. I hope it isn't much, because otherwise we have to get a new computer and I don't want to have to name yet another.
School has started, and it's boring as hell. Which probably isn't boring, but you know what I mean. Macro economics is the worst. I spent all bell writing a scene for my 12 novel series. The class is huge and I seriously doubt anyone in there has an IQ over 70. Only one thing keeps it from pure horror: the teacher is from Kenya. While the others struggle to understand her accent, I'm fine because of my brief stint in Tanzania when I was fifteen.
My other classes are... okay. Biology lab is awful, but for lecture I have a teacher that I had in seventh grade. He used to call me "The Bottomless Pit" because I could eat more pizza than anyone else in the class, except for Matt Turley. We usually tied, mostly because we ran out of pizza before we were full.
I haven't been to chemistry lab, but I have the same teacher I had for chemistry last semester, so it should be relatively easy. My lecture professor is pretty cool, but I feel like I'm the smartest one in the class, which is odd because I'm not that great at chemistry. It's far too much like math. And yet, I'm the only one answering his questions with any degree of competency. Ah well. It IS a community college.
The one class I'm really looking forward to isn't until tomorrow, aka Thursday. That's self-defense, and I'm super excited to kick some ass for a grade. I really, really hope that's what the class entails, and doesn't have any written work or anything stupid like that. While I love reading and writing and all that jazz, I want to punch someone in the face.
As for my love life, it's rather dull. Well, to me. I went on a date last week, but the guy wasn't great or anything. Fun enough that I don't want to stab him, but not anyone I can see myself dating seriously. He hasn't texted me since a few days after the date, but I'm not particularly worried. I don't even care, actually. He's a bowler. Enough said.
Oh, I think my manager might be into me. I mean, I always thought he might find me attractive or whatever, but lately it seems like it's more than that. He looks at me like I'm the greatest thing in existence, and while I am, it's a little disconcerting to see. Plus, we've been texting a bit, and I think he's telling me things he doesn't share with other people, especially not our coworkers. I'm not too sure how I feel about this. He's attractive in a strange way, but I certainly can't imagine actually, you know, going out with him or even having a fling. It's just too weird.
That internet guy, Matt, is writing a song for/about me. Kinda weird, very flattering, and more than a little interesting to hear.
But on the whole, I haven't met a single guy I'd want to seriously date. I'm left pining after lost loves, or whatever you want to call them. Guys that I wish I could date but would never actually get the chance to. You know the kind. I'm seriously hoping to meet a guy in my self-defense course or something, but it doesn't seem likely.
That's all for now. Hopefully I won't have to post these things from a library computer for much longer.
Monday, January 2, 2012
New Year's Panic Attack
Well, my beautiful readers, there has been havoc in the life of Hattie. Christmas was wonderful, although I didn't get a Rottweiler puppy like I wanted. I blame all of you, but hey. Maybe you had a tight budget and couldn't afford a purebred male Rottweiler.
However. The Friday before New Year's Eve, I got horrifically sick. It started out simple - the night before I had lack of appetite, that afternoon I had to force myself to finish my lunch - but then degraded into me feeling like my stomach was getting mauled by evil little elves. As I had work that night, I forced down some peppermint flavoured Pepto Bismal knock-off. It didn't help. About thirty minutes before my shift, I called and let the manager know that I couldn't come in. He, Allen, sounded titchy about it, but I didn't really care because my stomach hurt.
Eventually I started vomiting. Yes, I know. Gross. You have no idea. It wasn't even the nice, gentle vomiting most people experience. It was the kind that has you flat on your stomach as you get rid of every single thing in your stomach, possibly including your stomach, until you nearly fall off the bed and things start coming out other orifices. Not. Fun. As I couldn't even keep down water and I felt like I was going to die of thirst, my mother decided to take me to the hospital at 11:00 at night.
There was literally no one else in the waiting room. Thus, it was only a matter of minutes before I was called back to a room and a nurse took my blood pressure and my temperature and all that. Incapable of my usual witty repartee, I merely sat and shivered and sucked on ice chips. Then the nurse gave me one of those ridiculous hospital gowns and said she'd come back with an IV.
Wrong thing to say. I haven't told y'all this (unless you know me, and then you know), but I have a severe phobia of needles. Only medical ones, though. I sew all the time. Anyway. It's haunted me all my life, making things very difficult for everyone involved. The last time I'd had an IV, I was seven and it took five people plus my mother to hold me down so that they could get it in.
So when the nurse left to go get her Cart of Doom and Evil, I began panicking. As in, hyperventilating, crying, and making rather pathetic whimpering noises. My mother forced me back into the bed (I had stood up in a misguided attempt to maybe run away) and did breathing exercises with me until I at least was getting oxygen. The second I heard the Cart of Doom and Evil wheeling in, though, everything started right back up again.
The nurse seemed very surprised when my mother explained what was going on. Apparently she wasn't used to adults acting this way. She asked if I didn't want the IV, because if I was adamant, then they wouldn't give it to me and my mother couldn't override because I'm nineteen. Despite the insane fear coursing through me (and trust me, unless you have a phobia or have been chased by a murderer, you have no idea what this feels like), I knew I needed it so I told them to go ahead. I also told them to get another nurse or orderly or something to hold down my arm because my reaction to needles is scream-cry-punch-maul.
Apparently I have "beautiful veins" which I already knew because I'm so damn pale you can see my veins going throughout my entire body. At least this means it only takes one try. If it took more than one, it wouldn't happen.
Anyway. We got the IV in, I went through two bags of saline and nausea medicine, and then I got to go home. I'm finally better, three days later, and my other managers at work say not to worry about my missed shifts because I DID call, and I DID end up in the emergency room so it's not like I could've been faking.
That was my New Year's. How was yours? Unless you got shot, probably better than mine.
However. The Friday before New Year's Eve, I got horrifically sick. It started out simple - the night before I had lack of appetite, that afternoon I had to force myself to finish my lunch - but then degraded into me feeling like my stomach was getting mauled by evil little elves. As I had work that night, I forced down some peppermint flavoured Pepto Bismal knock-off. It didn't help. About thirty minutes before my shift, I called and let the manager know that I couldn't come in. He, Allen, sounded titchy about it, but I didn't really care because my stomach hurt.
Eventually I started vomiting. Yes, I know. Gross. You have no idea. It wasn't even the nice, gentle vomiting most people experience. It was the kind that has you flat on your stomach as you get rid of every single thing in your stomach, possibly including your stomach, until you nearly fall off the bed and things start coming out other orifices. Not. Fun. As I couldn't even keep down water and I felt like I was going to die of thirst, my mother decided to take me to the hospital at 11:00 at night.
There was literally no one else in the waiting room. Thus, it was only a matter of minutes before I was called back to a room and a nurse took my blood pressure and my temperature and all that. Incapable of my usual witty repartee, I merely sat and shivered and sucked on ice chips. Then the nurse gave me one of those ridiculous hospital gowns and said she'd come back with an IV.
Wrong thing to say. I haven't told y'all this (unless you know me, and then you know), but I have a severe phobia of needles. Only medical ones, though. I sew all the time. Anyway. It's haunted me all my life, making things very difficult for everyone involved. The last time I'd had an IV, I was seven and it took five people plus my mother to hold me down so that they could get it in.
So when the nurse left to go get her Cart of Doom and Evil, I began panicking. As in, hyperventilating, crying, and making rather pathetic whimpering noises. My mother forced me back into the bed (I had stood up in a misguided attempt to maybe run away) and did breathing exercises with me until I at least was getting oxygen. The second I heard the Cart of Doom and Evil wheeling in, though, everything started right back up again.
The nurse seemed very surprised when my mother explained what was going on. Apparently she wasn't used to adults acting this way. She asked if I didn't want the IV, because if I was adamant, then they wouldn't give it to me and my mother couldn't override because I'm nineteen. Despite the insane fear coursing through me (and trust me, unless you have a phobia or have been chased by a murderer, you have no idea what this feels like), I knew I needed it so I told them to go ahead. I also told them to get another nurse or orderly or something to hold down my arm because my reaction to needles is scream-cry-punch-maul.
Apparently I have "beautiful veins" which I already knew because I'm so damn pale you can see my veins going throughout my entire body. At least this means it only takes one try. If it took more than one, it wouldn't happen.
Anyway. We got the IV in, I went through two bags of saline and nausea medicine, and then I got to go home. I'm finally better, three days later, and my other managers at work say not to worry about my missed shifts because I DID call, and I DID end up in the emergency room so it's not like I could've been faking.
That was my New Year's. How was yours? Unless you got shot, probably better than mine.
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