It's a Health Education thing....

Administrative Rigmarole

2008-04-04T16:09:00.002-04:00

It's been hard for the Trojan Woman to come up with anything to top that last post; consequently it's been over six months since anything's been posted. The school year is beginning to wind down again, and spring is getting closer all the time (I know the calendar said it started on March 20, but Mother Nature is running her own calendar). This time of year is when a health educator concentrates on end of year reports, on justifying the effectiveness of her programs, and on hiring good staff and volunteers for next year. It seems so very administrative. The Trojan Woman has gotten to do a couple presentations this week, though, to break out of the administrative mold of recent days. Yesterday, the hosting instructor even brought a couple viles of pubic lice (yes, you read that right) to supplement my presentation on sexually transmitted infections. Not many people can say that's all in a day's work.

Car Troubles

2007-09-28T09:39:00.001-04:00

My stress levels reached a height they hadn't seen recently last weekend. It was a classic example of a weekend when absolutely nothing goes smoothly. I was meeting a friend Friday night for dinner. I parked next to the religious building that shares the parking lot with his apartment building. I met him at his apartment, and he suggested I move my car because there was a religious service scheduled that night and they might need all the spaces. When I go back down to the parking lot to move my car, it won't start. The battery will operate the lights, radio, windows, etc., but the engine makes no attempt to turn over. My friend seems pretty confident that the religious service started at 7:00pm. Since it's now 7:30pm and there are still empty spaces, I suggest we go ahead and get dinner and then deal with the car when we get back. Dinner was yummy, perhaps the only thing that went right this particular evening. We got back to my car a little after 9:00, and it still won't start. We try to jump it off in case the battery is low, but it's an unsuccessful attempt. I call my dad, source of all knowledge, but he's unable to help me over the phone, 400 miles away. I try to call My Mechanic, also hundreds of miles away, but I just get his voicemail. By 10:00pm, we've given up. I know nothing is open that time of night, so I decide to just deal with the car in the morning. My friend dropped off at my house and I collapsed into bed, unable to do anything to fix any of my problems.

Saturday morning rolls around, and I talk to my friend about 9:00am. I ask him to come pick me up and take me back to the parking lot where I can wait for a tow truck. He agrees to come as soon as he finishes responding to a couple emails. In the meantime, I call AAA to request towing. They should be there within an hour, I'm told. My friend picks me up at 9:45, asking me where I had my car taken. I look at him blankly, hoping he's kidding but at the same time thinking it's not funny at all. He tells me my car is not where we left it. At that moment, AAA calls back to say the tow truck will be there within 20 minutes. I tell the operator that I no longer know where my car is. She cancels my request and says to call back once I've located it if I still need assistance. We return to the parking lot at 10:00am and see that my car is, in fact, MIA. (Or maybe that should be "missing in inaction" since it wasn't working.) We try to call his landlord but get no response. I call the religious building. The secretary says it may have been towed and gives me the name of a tow company to call. Ironically, it's the same company that AAA had planned to send to my rescue. I call them, but they don't have it. They give me another company to try. I call them, and they do have my car. I can come to get it anytime before 4:00pm.

My friend always swims on Saturday mornings with a club, so I urge him to go ahead and go, and we'll get my car afterwards. I hate feeling like I'm interfering with his weekend. While he's gone, I call my dad, a friend, and AAA again. The AAA operator is very confused, so I have to explain what has happened. All she can say is, "Oh wow. Wow." I know the feeling.

When he returns from his swim, I've had time to collect myself and am in a much better mood. We eat a quick lunch at the apartment before going to the impound lot. First, though, I have to go by an ATM because the tow company only takes cash. We pull up to my bank, and a maintenance man is starting up a ladder in front of the ATM to work on one of the building's flood lights.

"Excuse me," I say. "Do you mind if I use the ATM really quick? It will just take me a second."

"No, I'm working. Come back in an hour," he tells me. Jerk.

So we go to another branch office where we're able, after what seems like forever, to finally get some cash. Then it's on to the impound lot. On the way, AAA calls again to say the tow truck is in route. The tow truck sent by AAA calls to ask if I'm going to owe the impound lot anything to release the car. I tell them I'm on my way to pay for that and will see them shortly.

We get to the impound lot a little after 1:00pm. The tow truck driver from the AAA company is waiting for me and talking with the driver from the impound lot who had originally moved my car. It costs me $85 to release my car from car jail ($60 for the tow, $10 for the labor, and $15 for the storage, according to my receipt). The AAA driver goes to get my car while the impound driver asks why we didn't just use them. I explain the situation and find out from this driver that they picked up my car at 9:30am. I missed them by half an hour. Stink.

The AAA driver takes my car to my regular service center because everything in town is closed by 1:00pm. We leave a note for the service manager, and this second driver now wants to know what had happened. I tell him, and he just shakes his head. Once again, I know the feeling. My AAA coverage only gives me 3 miles of free towing, so I owe him $7.50. I tell him he's a bargain compared to the first towing bill of my day. He wishes me a better weekend, and goes back to his home base.

My friend takes me home again, as he has plans for mucho studying that afternoon and evening. I'm bored out of my mind at the house and going stir crazy. What can a girl do, though? I talk on the phone to several friends, retelling my sad story and getting lots of sympathy. By the end of the night, all the stress has added up, and I have a huge headache. I go to bed by 10:00pm to try to rest.

On Sunday morning, I feel like my day is going to go better. For the most part, it does. I had hoped to go to another church that night to hear a friend preach, but since I didn't have my car, I didn't have a way to get there. I finally talked to My Mechanic that afternoon. He tells me about all the things he could have done to help me out had he been there. I guess it's the thought that counts. One of my friends from church picked me up later in the afternoon to take me to its evening service.

Monday morning rolled around, and one of my coworkers picked me up to bring me to the office. I called the service center a couple times and eventually learned that an anti-theft computer code in my car had shut down the ignition. They had reset the code and the car was ready to go. Finally some good news! I had prepared myself to pay to have the starter replaced, but now I was only going to owe $70 in diagnostic fees rather than hundreds of dollars in parts and labor. Suddenly, I felt rich.

My car has been running fine ever since. The work week has been a piece of cake compared to the weekend. I am thankful for legs I can walk on, bicycles I can ride (and gracefully crash on), and friends who will pick me up and transport me places.

Grace (or lack thereof)

2007-09-25T15:06:00.001-04:00

A few days ago, the state finally broke its streak of 90-degree days. The weekend was beautiful, and I was enjoying being outside again. The Trojan Woman and a friend decided it was a great day for a bike ride to get some ice cream. A new ice cream place had just opened up a couple miles down the road, so we set off for a leisurely ride. Traffic was a little heavier than I would have liked, but we made it safely and very much enjoyed our ice cream. By this time, I'm feeling all confident on my bike (it's got skinny wheels and it's about 30 years old, each of which make me a little nervous). We cross a diagonal railroad track and my front tire gets caught between the rail and the pavement. BAM- I go down hard, skidding a little on my face across the ashpault. It actually felt a little like slow-motion, though. I knew I was going down. I had time to think to myself, "Oh no. I'm falling over, and I'm not going to be able to recover." I tried to put out my arm to catch myself, but the slow motion moment had me moving too slowly and I hit the ground with my hand pinned under my body. Feeling slightly battered, I picked up the bike quickly and tried to regain my composure. To his credit, the friend didn't laugh at me. I almost wished he would have, though, as I would have felt less like an idiot. I was certainly laughing at myself. I also feel pretty certain that if he had fallen, I would have laughed. Of course, then I would have checked to make sure he was okay, and afterwards, I would have continued to laugh. But no, not him. Maybe the fall looked worse than it actually was, but he was genuinely concerned about me and saw no humor in the situation. Further kicking dirt on my pride, a car had come up behind us. The driver very carefully pulled up next to me and asked if I was okay. I appreciate the sentiment, but seriously, it just embarrassed me more.

Now it's been 10 days since the accident. I still bear the battle scars of bruised and scraped kneees, and I feel the occasional twinge of soreness in my hand. But overall, I have healed well, and my pride has recovered. My parents are coming for a visit this next weekend. Perhaps I'll even take them for ice cream, too, and revisit the spot of my graceful disaster. Perhaps we'll drive.

Being Sick Stinks

2007-02-27T11:06:00.000-05:00

Is it especially bad for a health educator to get sick? The sniffles began Sunday night, followed by a full day yesterday of sneezing and watery eyes. I definitely prefer sneezing to having congestion that makes it hard to breathe, but it's still no picnic. I have a presentation to deliver this afternoon and another to attend this evening. Fortunately, neither of them have anything to do with cold and flu prevention. If they did, I think my credibility would be shot. Bring on the vitamin C supplements and fruit juices!

Frozen...literally

2007-02-05T11:26:00.000-05:00

No kidding, my hair actually froze on my head this morning on the walk from my car to the office building. Apparently that's what happens when you don't dry your hair after your morning shower and the air temp is -6 with a -16 windchill. My grandmother always warned me that going out with my hair wet would give me pneumonia, but she never told me that it might actually lead to icicle formation on my scalp! I suppose I should feel fortunate that none of my hair broke off while I was removing my coat, scarf, and ear muffs....

"Candy is dandy, but sex won't rot your teeth."

2006-12-11T15:55:00.000-05:00

The title of my post today is a quote I read in a campus newspaper article this morning. It's my new quote of the day. Not that I have a quote to share every day, but I have used this one multiple times today already.

In addition to reading funny quotes, I also had some fun practicing my assertiveness this afternoon. Some crazy kids decided they would attempt stealing a bunch of condoms from the office while our staff was at lunch. Unfortunately for them, I hadn't left my office yet. We provide up to five condoms for free, but I observed these folks dumping the whole container into a clear plastic bag as I walked out of my office towards the lobby. Note to thieves- use of clear plastic bags is not the best way to keep your operations covert. I politely informed them that the limit was five, and they politely replaced the condoms. Exercising the Trojan Woman's assertive side felt good.

Run, Boys, Run!

2006-12-06T14:29:00.000-05:00

As I continue to semi-train for my mini-marathon this spring, I've had to move indoors to the elevated track in the school's old gym. I'm too finicky a runner to go outside when it's 20 degrees and overcast, so, while running in circles for an hour is not enticing, it beats the alternative. I've discovered I can manage the endless circles as long as I don't try to keep track of how many times I've run around. I now just watch the clock and run for a set amount of time rather than distance.

I decided on Monday night that I would try to get a long run in. In my world right now, a long run equals an hour. For the first half hour, I had the benefit of a middle school basketball game going on on the court beneath me, which gave me lots of distractions. I actually almost ran into the exercise equipment set up in the corners of the track a couple of times because I was so focused on watching the game below. But once the game ended, I feared I would have a hard time occupying my mind enough to keep from counting laps for the next half hour.

Fortunately, I was in for a treat. A couple of male students entered the track not too long after the game ended and did some warming up on the eliptical machines. Then they took off on a jog around the track. As I continued my running, I began gaining on them and started thinking in my mind whether it would be easier to pass them on the left or the right. About that same time, one of them looked back and noticed that I was getting close. He said something to his friend, and they sped up just a bit. For about 20 yards, we ran at the same pace, but then they slowed down again. I once more approached and got ready to pass them. For a second time, they sped up. It didn't take me long to realize what was going on. Each time I got closer, they would speed up to keep me from lapping them. They tried to be very secretive in looking over their shoulders to check my progress, but I was onto their game. So I decided to mess with them a little bit, too. The next time they sped up, I sped up with them. They sped up again, and I sped up again. This happened a third time, and then they took off sprinting. I let them sprint the rest of the way, and they stopped at the end of the lap. Smiling to myself, I finally passed them and continued to finish my hour long run.

If you're curious, I covered about seven miles in that hour, which would amount to 84 laps. Now you see why I don't need to be counting.

I Feel Good!

2006-09-27T16:01:00.000-04:00

I just had an incredible experience as a health educator. It was the type of experience where you realize you may have changed a person's life, and it fits into the mantra of considering yourself (or your program) successful even if it only makes a difference to a single person. I was involved in a program addressing sexual assault, formatted as an interactive talk show. In my role as the host, I introduced the panelists (role playing the alleged victim, alleged perpetrator, therapist, and friends) and directed questions and comments from the audience to the appropriate panel members. Straight out of the gates, the audience members had LOTS of comments and questions, but most of them were targeted towards the victim character. Why had she done this? Why didn't she do that? What was she expecting to happen? Towards the end, though, the tenor of the group began to change as our panelists stepped out of their roles and described their thoughts and emotions while playing their characters. One of the members was even applauded when he commented on the importance of having consent and on the right of a person to say no at any time.

After the program, a student in the audience approached me and asked what he could do to make sure he never wound up in a situation like the one presented in the talk show skit. Looking in his eyes, I felt like he was realizing he might have unintentionally assaulted someone in the past or that he might easily find himself in that situation if he didn't make changes in his dating life. I encouraged him to openly communicate with his partner about what he wanted in a relationship and to make sure he clearly understood what she wanted in the relationship. I don't mean he has to get her to sign an informed consent document for sex, but he can certainly find out if she's enjoying herself and if she would like to try other things physically. I also wanted him to understand that just because a person submits to something, it doesn't mean he or she is actually wanting that thing to happen. We all have instances in our lives, outside of the realm of sexual activity, where we go along with things we don't want to do simply because it's easier than dealing with a confrontation. Likewise, just because a person doesn't physically resist a sexual encounter, it doesn't mean they want it to happen.

I challenge anyone reading this post to consider their own attitudes towards relationships and consent and to think, like this young man did, about what you can do to make sure that all your relationships are consensual and respectful of both parties.

You Never Know What (or who) You're Gonna Get

2006-09-20T14:48:00.000-04:00

Last night, I had scheduled two after-hours programs. One of them was a request from a sorority for a sex education game and the other was for an alcohol education program related to the Real World for a residence hall. I always like to contact the person who requested the program on the day of the program just to make sure nothing has changed and I'm still on the agenda for the night. I was, therefore, pleased to get an email from the requesting sorority saying they were expecting me and had a lot of people buzzing about the event. So how many people showed up? 3. That's right. One, two, three. Don't get me wrong, the three who came were a great audience, and we had a lot of fun. However, it was slightly frustrating to me to think that I'd given up an hour of my time off the clock to do a program for three people. These instances are the times to remind myself that if I reach one person, that is a success story.

On the flip side, the residence hall program was very well attended. I had just presented to this same floor last week, so it was encouraging to see many of the same faces. The hall director told me that she thought many of the girls had "fallen in love" with me after the program last week and were excited to have me present again.

Comments like that make my day and make up for the fact that other programs might not have the attendance I'd like to see.

KleenSpec Vaginal Illumination System

2006-08-23T15:17:00.000-04:00

No matter how high you set the filter levels for spam control, it seems there's always an occasional email with a pornographic subject heading that gets through. If it's not explicitly pornographic, it might be advertising breast or penis enlargement tactics. So when I noticed an email pop up in my mailbox the other day with the subject heading "Kleen Spec Vaginal Illumination," I assumed it was just another one of those emails. But no, that was an incorrect assumption. Apparently, that is an actual, legitimate clinical tool used for vaginal examinations. A quick google search showed that it's a product that actually showed up on an organization's 2004 wish list. I learned a lesson today: all that sounds pornographic is not.

My Apologies to All the World's Visual Learners

2006-08-15T15:43:00.000-04:00

Last week was my chance to introduce myself and my office's programming to this year's crop of resident assistants and hall directors. I did this for the first time last year and had a lot of fun with it. The RAs come around in groups of 15 or 20, I tell them who I am and how I can help them, and then the program requests pour in all year, making all of our staff members feel important and needed.

This year, however, Mother Nature was not in a cooperative spirit. In spite of the absolutely beautiful weather we had experienced all week, she decided to rain down with all her fury from about 30 minutes prior to when I needed to go through the end of the scheduled presentation time. Typically, I like to carry lots of props with me so that the RAs can see the materials utilized in my presentations. I was not about to walk across campus, though, carrying Jeopardy boards, anatomical models, fatal vision goggles, bulletin board samples, putt-putt courses, or any of the other objects that lie around the office storage area. So instead, the poor audience members were forced to look at me and me alone during my presentation, and I'm just not that fascinating.

I've already gotten a couple program requests, though, so maybe it won't matter that my presentation was less than visually stimulating. Perhaps the invisible props I was forced to describe led to an air of mystery that will make my presentation impossible to forget.

The Customer is (Apparently) Not Always Right

2006-08-09T08:17:00.000-04:00

Do you ever find that little things just rile you up? I went to JCPenney yesterday to exchange a set of curtains I had bought for my grandmother's birthday. The set I was returning and the one I was purchasing were both marked $15. When the cashier rang up the exchange, however, she announced that I owed $3.55.

"Why is that?" I asked. "Shouldn't it be an even exchange?"

"I don't know," she said. "That doesn't make sense, but that's how it rung up."

Upon further investigation, she determined that a new sale had begun, so the curtains were not the same price as when I had purchased them a week earlier. I told her that didn't seem right. If the new sale price had been less than what I'd originally paid, I'm sure the store would not have refunded me any money; then it definitely would have been an even exchange.

The poor woman looked like she was afraid I was going to yell at her. She apologized profusely and said there was nothing she could do. I reluctantly paid her the additional $3.55 since I had promised my grandmother I'd get the curtains for her. I politely thanked the employee, wished her a good day, and left the store, fuming to myself about how technology runs everything these days and people know longer know how to do simple monetary transactions (or in this case, retail price corrections) without the aid of cash registers.

I've worked retail before. I know how the system works. But I also know that from a customer service standpoint, when an item rings up improperly, there are either functions on the register to amend the price, or there are managers to call with the authority to make decisions.

Yes, I know that $3.55 is not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, especially when discussing the value of gifts to grandmothers. But still, sometimes you just have days where the little things in life get you all riled up. Plus, I'm a penny pincher anyway, and that $3.55 was going to be my lunch money.

Back at Work

2006-08-02T13:44:00.000-04:00

My summer vacation has officially come to an end. Today marks my second day back in the "real world." Things are very quiet in a health center when your target population is not around. Wait just two weeks and this office will look like a different place with clients walking through at a constant clip. I like those days. Right now it's just too quiet.

All in a Day's Lunch

2006-07-26T16:32:00.000-04:00

I witnessed something this past Monday that I've never seen before. I was eating lunch with a friend in Kentucky when the following events happened. I have copied and pasted my friend's account from his blog to save me the typing, but I will insert my own commentary in this nice purplish hue.

Would you like breadsticks with your show?
07-24-06 05:47pm CST

A little long, but good. So I went to eat at Fazoli's today for lunch with a friend who was driving through town. And that is where the fun begins. We almost went to Zaxby's but decided against it and my life is more interesting for it. We finished our meal and were just sitting there talking when I see a gentleman who looks slightly confused walking in the parking lot of the resturant next door. Then about 30 feet behind him is an officer saying something. Then 30 feet behind the officer was a couple of EMTs. Suddenly a cop car pulls up and a female officer gets out. The male officer following him catches up and they are making hand motions for the gentleman to calm down. He seemingly calms himself and the male officer approaches him to cuff him and get things figured out. That is where all calmness ends.

[This is also where I realize that my friend is staring at something over my shoulder and out the window. I turn around and become an eyewitness myself.]

The man promptly swung his fist at the officer missing by an inch or less it appeared to me. This is the beginning of the end for this gentleman. Immediately two tazers come out. The female officer is behind the gentleman and the male officer in front. The gentleman advances on the male officer who promptly shoots him with the tazer, electricutes him, and the man falls to the ground. I thought whew, at least that is over. No it isn't. The man gets up, grabs the tazer cords and pulls them out of his skin. (Correct me if i'm wrong, but those things hook into you, so he would also have to remove a chunk of skin to get that out himself.) He turns to the female officer and takes one step and wham, shocked again. Gets up and repeats the above process. Dude gets tazered 3 more times and pulls them all out of himself. Now he advances on Fazoli's.

[As he is advancing, we customers have a clear view of his face. It's obvious that he's a little out of it. We debate amongst ourselves whether or not we think he's on some kind of drug, mentally off, or both. He's yelling unintelligible things and not making eye contact with anyone, just moving straight for the Fazoli's side door.]

A customer jumps up and locks the door he is coming toward. I kid you not as soon as the door clicked over to lock, the guy pulled on the handle violently. One second later on the lock and the guy would have been in Fazoli's. The front doors were immediately locked which is where the guy went next. While pulling on the front doors trying to get in, the male officer removes his baton (which is one of those metal extending things they have now [aren't these called billy sticks or something like that?]) and pulls back and nails the guy full force it appeared to me in the leg, and the guy just turns around and stares at the cop like what are you doing? At this point if there was any doubt about the guy being on something, the doubt was removed.

[All of these steps are occurring right next to my car, which the man has chosen to circle, along with the van parked next to it, in the parking lot. I have all kinds of visions going through my head of the billy stick smashing through my windows, or the guy trying to break into my car, etc. Thankfully, none of that happens.]

This is all happening super fast, because a third officer has just pulled up. He was not in uniform so he had no protection on him as far as vest and what not. He starts to get out of his car and the guy approaches him so he slips back into his car and closes the door. Guy walks in a different direction. This cop gets out of his car and has a look of screw it this guy is going down. He pops his trunk and gets out a stick about an inch and half to two inches thick and about 4-5 feet long and holds it like a sword. Thankfully he never had to use it.

[At this point, all of us inside of Fazoli's have moved to the other side of the store to have the best view out the window. The yelling, beliggerent man is now being sprayed repeatedly with pepper spray, so much so that his entire face is tinted reddish orange. He refuses to get down, though.]

By now there are about 5 or 6 officers on the scene trying to get the guy. It is almost like they are waiting for someone. And they didn't have to wait long. A police car pulls up and a man I can only describe as a bulldozer gets out. And bulldoze he does. He was like a navy flash. He speared the guy like Bill Goldberg of wrestling and then all the officers jumped the guy. Then the officers got him on a stretcher and loaded him in the ambulance and to the hospital and then jail for him.

[But even then it wasn't simple. The guy was still kicking and thrashing around on the ground. I think one of the EMTs must have sedated him with something to finally be able to get him on the stretcher. Once on the stretcher, however, he was still trying to sit up, fighting the restraints, and yelling who knows what.]

I appreciate the men and women of law enforcement. Never go to lunch expecting casual conversation. You might see something amazing.

So all in all, it was not our typical lunch hour. Those of us in the restaurant were desperate to see as much of the action as we could. I even commented to my friend at one point that I wasn't sure I wanted to watch, but I couldn't NOT watch. The poor man who wound up in jail after a visit to the hospital demonstrated what can happen when the mind's chemical balance gets altered. I felt sorry for him to an extent. He obviously was bringing the pain upon himself by not following the authorities' directions, but I don't believe he was entirely in control of his own actions, either. The police officers showed remarkable patience in doing their job, only resorting to aggression when they were being threatened- job well done by each of them and high marks for their training programs.

Wedding Bells

2006-06-29T14:36:00.000-04:00

To anyone who may have thought I was never going to post again, I apologize. I have just returned from another jaunt through the Homeland that is Tennessee. Two friends from my high school days were tieing the knot, so I made the journey south to witness the nuptials and to see who might show up for the LHS "Freshmen" reunion. Among the wedding party and guests, I had the pleasure of company from Beanstress (who despite the rumors, is not married), Captain Morgan, Right Ovary, and of course, the Bride and Groom. Although we were slightly lost through the Catholic wedding rituals, we all knew what do at the reception: eat chocolate-covered espresso beans and dance, dance, dance! Many of Bride and Groom's friends from Florida had come up for the wedding, but it did not take long for us to realize that it was only the LHS crew who were cutting any rugs, busting any moves, chicken dancing, hokey-pokeying, congo-ing, or any other dance move that may come to mind. Yes, there was even a display of the much adored Chicken Wing from Right Ovary's husband during the dance must-have YMCA. And let know one forget that when Chumbawumba's Tubthumpin' gets played, everyone must stop what they're doing, find the nearest dance floor, and begin jumping up and down incessantly, regardless of what dress or shoe she is wearing. I did overhear two non-LHS guests discussing whether or not either of them had been a part of the "group that can't dance," but I'm sure they were either not referring to us, or were referring to us with sarcasm and disappointment that their dance skills did not compare to our own.

In the midst of this dance discussion, let us not overlook the role chocolate-covered espresso beans may have played in all of this mayhem. As a party favor, Bride and Groom had arranged for containers of these beans to be placed at approximately every other seat around the dinner tables. Once they were discovered at our table, we raided an empty table next to us for their beans, as well. (We could not allow the Floridian espresso-bean seekers to get them first!) In all, I'd say I personally ate 10-15 of the beans, if not more. I'm not sure how many beans it takes to make one shot of espresso, but I'm pretty sure I consumed the equivalent of more than a few cups of coffee. For someone who does not typically consume much caffeine, it was like a drug for me. I was literally up most of the night, and I believe it was after 4:30am when I gave up looking at the clock. Now let's assume that the beans affected my comrades the same or even only half as much as they did me, and you can imagine our mindsets during this reception. Good times were had by all. The Floridians didn't know what they missed out on. I was definitely a sore little Trojan Woman the next day.

I love my trips home when I get to see old friends in an occasion of celebration. I wish Bride and Groom the best in their new life together, and I hope there will be more opportunities for similar LHS "Freshmen" reunions of sorts in the future. We owe it to the world!

Pin a Rose on my Nose

2006-06-16T11:29:00.000-04:00

For anyone keeping track of the calendar, I did, in fact, perform my monthly BSE yesterday, which entitles me to a Starbucks Frappaccino. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, click here to catch up.) I haven't treated myself yet, and maybe I should consider all of the frozen cappuccinos I had while on vacation last week my early reward, but what fun would that be?

Southern Living

2006-06-10T22:01:00.000-04:00

I have spent the past few days vacationing with Cousin and Cousin-in-Law in south Alabama. They are so near the border of Florida, though, that we've spent two afternoons now driving into the panhandle and hitting Panama City and Destin. While on our drive down today, I witnessed a sight that took me instantly back to my southern roots. Parked in front of a modular home was an old, American-made pickup truck, complete with some peeling paint and a few rust spots on the body of the truck. Written on the windshield of the truck, in that paint stuff people use to decorate cars at weddings, was the sentence:

"Happy 16th Birthday Bubba!"

I love the South!! (No sarcasm at all, I promise.)

Addendums

2006-06-06T14:52:00.000-04:00

It occurred to me that I never really posted anything else about the HIV prevention counseling training I attended after Day #1. It was a long, but worthwhile training, and timely, seeing as how we have reached the 25 year anniversary of the documenting of the first HIV cases in the U.S. We've come a long way, yet still have a long way to go.

Many of the counseling sessions I have performed make me thankful for the family support and stability in my life. Some would think that HIV prevention is a simple thing. I would argue it is a much more complicated actuality than it seems in theory. It's sad to hear how many challenges some people face in their daily, normal lives. When you aren't guaranteed a roof over your head or food on your table, and when it seems no one in the world cares if you live or die, how important can practicing safe sex or securing clean needles seem in the grand scheme of things? It is not my job to judge a person's behaviors but to help him/her find ways to reduce personal risks which are reasonable and feasible in the scope of life as they know it.

On a lighter note, the week of training also included many social highlights. The week became a minivacation with my office colleague. Danny, the hotel manager from India, put the "quality" in the Quality Inn, and Gay Man in Denial treated us to half price meals at a five star restaurant. I educated a server on the inportance of Jeff Saturday to the Indianapolis Colts (not the Indy racing league!), and I learned that the chocolate covered strawberries at the Chocolate Cafe are NOT free samples, even if they are right next to the free samples and not marked with a price sticker.

Booze + Heat = Bad News

2006-06-03T15:32:00.000-04:00

Over the weekend, I went to an outdoor rock concert sponsored by one of the local radio stations. It featured six bands and lasted approximately seven hours. It was a great show, no question, but it didn't take me long to realize that the people in my party were among the only sober fans in the audience. Before the third band took the stage, there were already people passed out on the ground around us. The combination of drinking before and during the concert and the 90+ degree heat were not doing anyone any favors. I saw two people pass out and experience seizures, one domestic battery incident, and more than a few people hit with flying beer-filled cups, launched by random anonymous fans in the distance. What is it about these shows that brings out the "best" in people? I like to have fun as much as the next person, but I also like to remember the fun I had. I have zero interest in puking, publicly or privately, and zero interest in ever leaving a venue in an ambulance or police car.

Maybe I'm becoming an "old codger" wondering what's gotten into "kids these days." Or maybe I just realize that many of those same kids are going to find themselves in my office soon, needing to sign up for alcohol education programs in order to get the public intoxication citation off their records. Observing drunks can be fun at times, but it can also be sad. Sad that that's the reality so many people live in.

Two other observations from my time at the show: if your butt cheeks hang out from underneath the back of your skirt, the skirt's too short, and if your belly buldges out over the waistband of your shorts, the shorts are too small.

Otherwise, enjoy the show.

Show Me the Coffee!

2006-05-23T22:13:00.000-04:00

Today marked the first day of a 4-day training I'm attending on the topic of HIV prevention counseling. It's a small class. There are only six of us completing the training: European Gay Man, Gay Man In Denial, Talkative Prison Worker, Disney Princess with Plastic Hair and a Diet Coke Addiction, myself, and one of my office colleagues. We spent the day discussing the first three steps of a counseling session:

1) Introduction and orientation to the session;
2) Identify the risk behavior(s); and
3) Identify safer goal behaviors.

To get us started, the nice but long-winded, wig-wearing Trainer read a list of common health risks (unrelated to sexual activities) and asked us to pick one that we engaged in. Of the ones she read, I selected the risk of not practicing monthly breast self-exams. It bothers me that I am not more diligent about performing these. I have a family history of breast cancer and of fibrocysts, and I have even had a few lumps examined in an ultrasound, which turned out to be nothing but dense tissue, but which my doctor has strongly encouraged me to monitor. Despite all this, however, I still lack the motivation to do the exams.

After selecting our health risk, we partnered up with another person who would role play being a counselor and try to persuade us to change. My partner was Talkative Prison Worker, and I just knew there was no way she could motivate me to do the exams regularly. To my surprise, though, one of her suggestions sounded really promising. She suggested that I schedule a day for the exam each month and then reward myself each month that I followed the schedule. Now, I do like rewards. I pondered that one for awhile and decided that promising myself a Starbucks Frappaccino with whipped cream might very well go a long way to getting me to be a poster child for breast self-examination.

So I'm going to schedule myself for one now. I think I'll arbitrarily pick June 15, cause that seems like a good day for a sweet, frosty beverage. Feel free to check me on this when the day rolls around. I want my reward!

For more information on breast self-exams and breast cancer in general, visit this blog from a nurse's perspective.

Bamboo

2006-05-22T20:40:00.000-04:00

I received my first bamboo plant over the weekend as a present. It's a special kind of bamboo called Phyllostachys Rubromarginata, otherwise known as "Red Margin." The leaves have a little red edge to them, and apparently, it's the kind of bamboo that flutes are made from. The real test will come with seeing if I can keep it alive. As much as I've learned over the years of my college education about keeping human beings healthy, I know very little about keeping plants healthy. The old adages of eating right and exercising regularly just don't apply, although I guess there are similarities with needs for plenty of water. In any event, my track record is not good. Most recently I killed some tulips; in the past, I've even struggled to keep vines that people tell me are impossible to kill alive and kicking. But maybe I'll surprise myself and be a master at it. Maybe I'll have a whole bamboo forest, or at least a nice screen from the road. Either way, I'm excited to try.

Pencils, Crayons, and other Sundry Objects

2006-05-15T23:18:00.000-04:00

I had somewhat of an epiphany yesterday. I was sitting at the kitchen table talking with a school teacher and a child life specialist. Something was said about the craziness that abounds when students manage to get crayons and/or pencils stuck in their noses or in their ears. From the school teacher's perspective came the issues of arranging whatever first aid the child might need while also trying to regain the composure of him or herself and the other students in the classroom. From the child life specialist's perspective came issues surrounding how to prep that child for the medical procedures needed to remove said crayon and/or pencil upon arrival at the hospital. I didn't say anything much out loud, but I was thinking to myself of equivalent events I've experienced in my profession. When students come to me with questions or "hypothetical situations" involving the removal of items from body parts, however, it's never a crayon or pencil that's stuck. It's a tampon, contraceptive device, or, as in one student's description, "something orange" (who knows?) that has failed to resurface from whatever orifice into which it was inserted. So I suppose the moral of this story is that no matter how old you get, you always run the risk of getting something stuck somewhere it shouldn't be and having to deal with the embarrassment of the attention needed to get it out. Rest assured, however, that any medical practitioner you see whose nimble fingers and stainless steel devices are needed to remove the item has seen other patients with similar objects stuck in similar places and will be happy to assist you. It will also give him or her a good story to tell the next time (s)he sits around the kitchen table engaging in a casual Sunday evening conversation.

Gotta Start Somewhere

2006-05-11T10:24:00.000-04:00

Okay, so, I'm pretty new at all this technology stuff. Using the Diffusion of Innovations theory of behavior change, one could even say that I am (optimistically) a late majority adopter or (more realistically) a laggard. But I have had oodles of fun reading other people's blogs and think I'd like to try my hand at it. So yeah, you've gotta start somewhere....