New Addictions

"Consistency of your commitment trumps intensity of your commitment."

As most of us prefer both, we all know it doesn't always happen both ways. Lately, being 25 years old and grown now, it's about time to get it right. For those who know me, my vices aren't exactly healthy, and God knows we ain't gettin' any younger. A new HEALTHY addiction has emerged.

After high school graduation, I wasn't on a basketball varsity team, a gymnastics team, or consistently playing every single intamural sport. Went to college, joined cardio-kick classes, joined the gym, and stuck to a few intramural sports here and there along with the P90X workouts. Then I graduated again, put it aside to study for the NCLEX, minor sacrifice, right? Being a nurse, I must have really blocked out the health section about how your muscles atrophy and metabolism decreases with age. And I also ignored the fact that increasing my endorphins through exercise would have made studying probably that much easier, efficient, and productive.

So, as painful as it is physically and financially, I joined a gym, with a trainer...who manages to be so awfully nice and still kick my ass every workout.
Right now, my body is at war with itself, and I'm loving every single burn and pain in my body because at least I know it's progress. And, for once, it's the good kinda pain.

For anyone interested, I love this gym. Phenomenalfitness.com

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The Risks We Take

A friend once told me that, though risks may be scary, sometimes they pay off in the end. I get that, I couldn't say that I didn't agree with him. But what happens when the journey to the payoff becomes unforgiving? Your faith shook to its core and new fears transpire along the way? The feelings felt and the hurtful words spoken in trying moments which ended in regret can sometimes make me feel cowardly, and all the efforts put into fulfilling that expectation can almost seem worthless once it makes me feel like less of a person.

And then there's the "bad" end of the spectrum. What happens after the risk wasn't worth the fight? Keep on keepin' on, yeah I've heard that, done that, it feels great. I get that once you're burned, at the end of the day, it's a lesson learned. Now, I've done well in school, and enoyed learning some, but I'm so not a fan of getting schooled in whatever life has to teach me. I'd rather just learn from someone else's mistakes. Trust me, I may have learned my lesson, but usually I get stuck with vices and developing bad habits to pass the time of the frustration of failure. And the good habits, well, it just doesn't feel nearly as good and rewarding.

Sometimes, you just can't win. My motto: Think Simply, Live Simply.

A Man's Best

"If a man does his best, what else is there?"
- General George S. Patton

I think that General S. Patton is on to something. You ever here anyone claim that the "honeymoon period" lasts about 3 months? I have. And during those first 3 months, the guy always puts his best foot forward. Don't get me wrong, girls practice the art of deception, the fascade of miss independent, nothing phases me, and I am in control of my emotions. But to have expectations, even reasonable as they may be, there's a certain amount of disappointment to follow. The opposite sex does not function the way us women want them to. That's why it only happens in movies, in a fantasy world. Why do you think those movies make so much goddamn money? Like my roommate says, "damn you Nicolas Sparks for raising a standard that doesn't even exist."

Ahh, the reality of it is, if a guy puts his best foot forward, you get to see his greatest potential to be that "great guy" and then when it's, so called, in the bag, he gets comfortable. COMFORTABLE, not conformable when he slips away from the random good deeds of spontaneity. And guess who's insecurities begin to resurface to the point of irrational behavior? Us girls. It's unfortunate that our heart lives in our vagina these days.

Easier said than done, lets try not to expect too much. Far too many expectations lead to huge disappointment and then you're kicking yourself in the ass for letting your pea sized emotional sized brain think so far ahead. And guys, screw the best foot forward, I'm an amazing catch bullshit. Living a life with no standards? I guess it's the way to go. I've had it all wrong this whole time. Why strive or search for something that is statistically made to fail? As far as I'm concerned, go for the guy with the looks, the career, and a minute history of relationships gone bad. Then, do what you gotta do. At the end of the day, at least he's a good lay (please spare me the penile hubris) and is really nice to look at.

I don't need Mr. Right, I just WANT Mr. Right now, and if there's some God given chance that he turns into Mr. Right, then mother flippin' kudos! But you can bet on your grave that I'm sure as hell not holding my breath or hoping for the best. And yes, I am a pessimist. "The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds, and the pessimist fears this is true."(James Branch Cabell) And goddamnit, we all know that we don't. Girls, believe me, I strongly agree that we hold the Power of the Pussy, but like good ol' Sharon Stone mentioned before, "Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake a whole relationship." So be careful girls, the world has always been cruel, and nothing's ever gonna change.

Gotta Love Chicagoans

Remember when I said I was going to blog every day? Yeah, obviously that didn't happen, and I don't care. I have no actual followers on this blog, and really, I'm a girl with a tendency to mouth off and go on a rant. So, I remembered this ridiculous blog that I had started due to some kind of emotional anxiety attack and a need to speak without end (gag). Anyhow. . .

"To be loved is to be fortunate. To be hated is to achieve distinction." I've said this before, thanks to good old Facebook, some of you had read this before. And I truly believe in it. That being said, and I'm not claiming to be a Chicagoan born and raised (and again, I've said this before, because I know how you true Chicagoans feel, I felt the need to be redundant), but Chicago is the place to be to be so fortunate to experience both. I've lived here long enough to know that the people of the City of Chicago are God damn opinionated. And if that holds true, then there is no middle ground. It's a city of unforgiving haters and lovers, no one in between. Some may claim to be indifferent towards others, and I don't buy the bullshit. You have an opinion about everything; either you like it or you don't. And no one settles for mediocrity over here either. You Chicagoans are assholes and are good for an opinion and are one of the most judgemental people, but we like to say "we're just keeping it real" and I love it, which is why I find it hard to leave this damn city. And all in all, you still have been one of the most accepting cities I've been to.

Now, I wouldn't threaten anyone or try to scare anyone into not moving here. In fact, I encourage it. Need a backbone? You'll find it here. Worried about finding your niche? Trust me, it's here. We've been claimed as a melting pot. We're a clash of cultures, not of color or race. To further my point, I've found my niche, quite easily actually. I belong to the group that always strolls the streets of Chicago, most times more often than not, in Wrigley, 20+ people deep looking like the damn rainbow coalition with quite the foul mouths with no disregard for others around us. Yeah, that's my niche.

New Wounds vs. Old Wounds

"What's worse? New wounds, which are so horribly painful, or old wounds that should have healed years ago and never did? Maybe our old wounds teach us something. They remind us of where we've been and what we've overcome. They teach us lessons that we should avoid in the future. That, we like to think. But that's not the way is it? Some things we just have to learn over, and over again."

Expected and Unexpected

"We all think that we're going to be great, but we feel a little robbed when our expectations aren't met. But sometimes, our expectations sell us short. Sometimes the expected pales in comparison to the unexpected. You gotta wonder why we cling on to the expected. It's because the expected keeps us steady, standing, still. The expected is just the beginning and the unexpected is what changes our lives."

Invasion of My Personal Space

So I've already fallen off the whole plan of blogging every day for 31 days of October. The difficult thing with blogging and actually writing something worth sharing for that many days in a row is the tendency to talk out of your ass, and it just gets boring. And sometimes, I really talk out of my ass. For those who know my brother, it's something that happens often with a Dizon who goes off on rants and bullshits you just to see how long you're willing to listen to the crap we say. Next thing you know, I'm talking about what I ate for breakfast, or how I accidentally put the wrong shoe on the wrong foot. I have no intention in getting to that point.



Continuing on. The work I do on my unit is all about invading someone's personal space. About 1/4 of the job is passing out the right medication at the right time. The rest of my time goes to examining broken va-j-j's, humiliating a woman who's just delivered a baby by pushing on her stomach that looks like she's still 7 months pregnant, and grabbing titties to help her breastfeed. I do all this with a smile on my face. One of the things you'll learn as an OB nurse is to bullshit. You seriously become the biggest bullshitter. You walk in with a smile, high pitched voice, and you're more than enthusiastic to help your patient, and I'd like to say most times I am. The minute you close the door behind you, you're cursing out to the high heavens because you're so sick of putting on that bright and shiney fascade. At times it's understandable because postpartum women, especially the pretentious ones you end up caring for in a high-end hospital like Northwestern, just piss the crap out of you. Other times, it's just because you're a worn out nurse who gets flack for working on a floor that's not considered a high-risk unit. It's the happy floor, where the sun never stops flippin' shining. Sometimes it'd be nice if every once in a while the sun would just set.



Anyways, all shame goes out the window on this type of unit. There's no such thing as modesty. The real point I was trying to make before I started venting is the fact that no one likes it when their personal space is invaded. I have a box that surrounds me that no one is allowed in. I like my space. So when I come home, solitude is much appreciated. Me Time is healthy. Or if I'm in a bar with a friend, engaged or not in conversation, sometimes it'd be nice if the greasy guy down on the next bar stool kept to himself or at least kept a safe distance away from my face. I like liquor, but I could do without the smell of it on dude's breath. Fine, it's an ego boost sometimes, especially if the guy is half decent, but nonetheless, acknowledge the box that surrounds me please.

Interrogation is another form of personal invasion of space. There's nothing wrong with asking questions. But I hold the right to share only what is relevant and what I want to share. Know this. Now, I don't really consider myself a person who is all that shy about sharing. Obviously, some things I share too much of. However, I do keep things private that are meant to be private. Once again, acknowledge the box.

On the other hand, I think invasion of that box that surrounds many of us is necessary. Maybe not the interrogating or the display of broken women parts. But sometimes, a certain amount of personal invasion is important. Hah, I say this after I rant on for 3 paragraphs.

At one point in time in our lives, things become so routine. We get tunnel vision and we do what we do. We don't stop and we keep on walking. Nothing wrong with that, except that I really have no desire to become a robot. Even as a nurse, an occupation labeled with compassion and care, you become a robot. You have to be personal enough to establish that rapport, but not too emotionally attached because it will cloud your nursing judgment. Balancing act.

But I'm human. Invasion is imperative. As irritated and out of my comfort zone as I am when someone invades my personal space, my controlled and maintained emotions, I'm greatful. Sometimes my friends overstep the boundaries, but at least it stops me dead in my tracks. I get to take a break and actually reflect on what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. All of a sudden I'm not so numb, the lidocaine wears off, and you feel every good and bad feeling. And that's when I know that I'm actually living and not just existing. As painful as that can be or as joyful as that can be, I'd rather feel that than be numb. There's nothing more frightening than that.