tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73038087612191783662024-03-13T11:36:34.752-07:00The Mostly True But Slightly Embellished Adventures......of Wilderness Wanda and Safari Sam.
By Laura K. and Monica H.Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-73045114347484665432010-01-09T20:05:00.000-08:002010-01-11T17:13:17.866-08:00Me, my M.O.O.S.E. and I<span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >The Christmas season officially comes to a close tomorrow (liturgically that is, in the Hallmark world I think we are well on our way into Valentine's Day already), so let me take this time to reflect on this past Christmas season. Now I could reflect on the wonderful time I had at home in St. Paul, hanging with the fam and catching up with old friends, or I could d</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >iscuss </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >the snow-swept plains of central Wisconsin where camp friends congregate each year for a</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > staff reunion, but instead I will share with you an epic tale of someone I hate. And his name is Tom Klind.<br /></span><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Please note the cleverly devised title</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > to this post. Do you get it? </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > It's a play on words of that old phrase "me, myself and I". Some (certainly not my roommates) might say that this phrase may accurately describe the motivation behind most of the things I do. I can't say I disagree. But dare I say that this is a quality that Tom and I share, his own p</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >ropensity for "#1" nearly mirroring mine. It can be suffocating to be in the same room with the two of us, a</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >s our big heads leave little room for much else. Perhaps this is why we are friends...or enemie</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >s?<br /></span><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Tom has played guitar at Thursday Night Mass (the new Tuesday Night Mass) <span style="font-size:78%;">(which of course makes Tuesday Night Mass the new 6pm Lutheran Service)</span> for the past four years. So imagine my surprise when Tom told me this fall that he was in a new Rock & Roll band (aka devil music). Clearly, I was opposed to this band from the outset, and not just because Tom</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > was in it. Would my salvation be in jeopardy if I listened to their music? I couldn't be sure. The band w</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >as called M.O.O.S.E. and the Newfies and they were to have their first show last month at Caffrey's Pub right on Marquette's campus. (For the curious bystander, M.O.O.S.E officially stands for absolu</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >tely nothing, but unofficially stands for Men Offering Others Sexy Entertainment.) I refused to go to Tom's show (nothing could irritate Tom more) and fortunately, I felt that God had spared me from damnation by convenien</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >tly schedul</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >ing me to work that same Friday night. So not only did I ignore the facebook invi</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >te (each consecutive time Tom sent it to me), I wasn't even able to go. Nonetheless, Tom still apparently wanted me to be there</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >, </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >offering to ask two of my coworkers that he knew (Clete and RJ) to take this Friday night shift for me. This was an offer I never actually expected him to follow through on...<br /><br />Now, two critical things happened in the weeks approaching Tom's first show at Caffrey's Pub. #1 Tom developed a certain propensity for a unnamed roommate of mine. This affinity was a near constant source of entertainment for the rest of us who were</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > able to live and watch it go on...and on...and on. #2 A couple days before the show, Tom, shall we say, broke my confidence on a certain matter, for which I was less than pleased with him about. And </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >don't you w</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >orry, gentle reader, I let him know about it. But like all good Catholics, Tom is very motivated by guilt, so the next day I received an olive branch text message from Tom. "<span style="font-family:courier new;">I asked Clete if h</span></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:courier new;">e could work for you</span>," it read, "<span style="font-family:courier new;">he's got a wedding.</span>" Moderately touched by the reconciliation he was offering via the newfangled technology of texting, I responded by thanking him for trying.<br /><br />It was only a few hours later, when To</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >m, using his BlackBerry</span>®<span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > wireless device from U.S. Cellular, placed a real live phone call to me.</span><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />"Monica," he said. "I found someone to work for you!" F</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >airly ama</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >zed by this feat, I asked, "Wow, was RJ able to take it for me then?"<br />"Well...no," Tom replied. "RJ has a hockey game that night." I was now a bit confused. Who, other than the two coworkers Tom knew, would be taking</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > my s</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >hift at the Information Desk on Friday night? "Then who is working for me, Tom?"<br />His reply? "Jeff." <span style="font-style: italic;">Jeff??</span>, I thought.<br />"Tom," I asked, concerned. "<span style="font-style: italic;">Who</span> is Jeff, and how did you go about getting him to work for me?"<br />"Well, Monica," Tom responded. "It's funny that you shoul</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >d ask. You see, after I found out neither Clete nor RJ could work for you, I just walked into the Union, walked up to the Info Desk, and told the two people working there that I had a friend named Monica who really needed someone to take her shift for her on Friday night, and I asked if either one of them was available. Jeff said he w</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >as, I gave him your email address, and h</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >e should be sending you</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > an email shortly taking that shift." Tom was clearly very pleased with himself, but I myself was spe</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >ech</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >less. Jeff was obviously one of the new hires that I hadn't e</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >ven had a chance to meet yet.<br />"Let me get this straight, you just walked up to two people that neither you or I know, and convinced one of them to take my shift on Friday so that I could come to your concert?"<br />"Yes," he responded, pridefully (of course).<br />And that, my friends, is how Tom Klind became the new shift manager at the Info Desk.<br /><br />Now, before you get all caught up in how wonderful of </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >a guy Tom is for going to such great lengths to rectify a friendship, let us look at this situation a</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > little closer. There are three possible motivations for this act of decency:<br />#1 Tom could just be a really great guy, who wanted to </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >help a friend out, and would go out of his way to do that. Possible.<br />#2 Tom's ego is so great that he would do anything possible to get even o</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >ne more fan into his show. More likely.<br />#3 Tom realized that it would not bode </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >well for his chances with my roommate if one of her roommates was pissed at him. Let's be honest, people, this is probably why he did this.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Anyway, at this point you might be wondering</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> what any of this has to do with Christmas, and I tell you that I'm getting there, this</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> is just back story (and yes, only I would write hundreds of words of back story before ever getting to the actual point). Now I was able to attend and dare I say enjoy Tom's show, and it was so successful that Caffrey's invited the band back for a Christmas show in December. Now, not wanting to let To</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">m think that I would actually willingly attend his subsequent show, I had to take a stand and make a deal with him. I trie</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">d to think of the most unlikely Christmas song the band would choose to play at their Christmas show, and make that the deal breaker. "God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman" I told Tom. I would only attend his Christm</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">as concert if and </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">only if he played this song. He laughed, agreed, and I think perhaps thought I was kidding. For weeks. I wasn't.<br /><br />I showed up to Tom's concert that night fashionably la</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">te, about 15 minutes into the set. There was already a crowd swelling around them as they jammed. I smiled at this because I walked in with a small sign that read, well, something like this:</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_5NrCPvfbTCybZ9BTT15ycKHsEAXvQG204h4_LWxTWdRLkTV6P2mppFleryRuAv572RVvmBO28qMjGGHwBDEJq9dPLog6c0B2UfrYLjbXweZJzikIRQrAlWzNhVzTpSL4A90CyFXCl0/s1600-h/15968_618460198844_20307897_36121640_6386907_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_5NrCPvfbTCybZ9BTT15ycKHsEAXvQG204h4_LWxTWdRLkTV6P2mppFleryRuAv572RVvmBO28qMjGGHwBDEJq9dPLog6c0B2UfrYLjbXweZJzikIRQrAlWzNhVzTpSL4A90CyFXCl0/s320/15968_618460198844_20307897_36121640_6386907_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424997981626624146" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Except imagine this: a crowd of people in front of M.O.O.S.E. and I enter Caffrey's unnoticed. As soon as I get there though, from behind all of these jiving people, I simply hold my sign above their heads, and I wait. Tom's singing...singing...singing...and all of a sudden he sees just the sign above the heads of his fans, doesn't even see me. And the k</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">id just starts laughing on stage. People naturally began to look back at me, but I wasn't ashamed. Sure Tom had a set list prepared, but he knew what he needed to do. He had to play it. He promised. But he just ignored me. I did not give up.<br /></span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-s7zmiWFgDbwSMTckjIzCBs6Si2LhhOk_U8WbtP1RnAh4b6Df-QhGNGgYrzrDi7OFErTlaX0FgK3Bsp0BdweX7Zub7TsJlMsFaTevfsWTWruYo0SFoG57wqBDmxhEjwXpVo0g4E9QJ5M/s1600-h/15968_618460178884_20307897_36121636_833291_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-s7zmiWFgDbwSMTckjIzCBs6Si2LhhOk_U8WbtP1RnAh4b6Df-QhGNGgYrzrDi7OFErTlaX0FgK3Bsp0BdweX7Zub7TsJlMsFaTevfsWTWruYo0SFoG57wqBDmxhEjwXpVo0g4E9QJ5M/s320/15968_618460178884_20307897_36121636_833291_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425000489920730338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Eventually </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">others joined in the cheering for it as well, even people I didn't even know. Between songs, it just became a constant barrage of shouting for To</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">m to play God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, and the sign was waved high during other songs. By the break in t</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">he sets, I was getting a little dismayed, worried that maybe Tom thought us joking about this for weeks meant I was actually just joking about it. I wasn't. But then, a few songs into the second set......<br /></span></span><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/MONICA%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.png" alt="" /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60UGuNVEM9x39auuU9bfEFN8bYFUKwCu1FnOeC51Ftv5kwMnEOGMTMez9Qfvz01nPcIg1wU-XYhFanhpdrGVVUfrq0fDGZ0cLZQE9IdPzukm7SvYER1CpbCVQH9KlXFh-4KQu1rKf9vM/s1600-h/15968_618460218804_20307897_36121642_6888493_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60UGuNVEM9x39auuU9bfEFN8bYFUKwCu1FnOeC51Ftv5kwMnEOGMTMez9Qfvz01nPcIg1wU-XYhFanhpdrGVVUfrq0fDGZ0cLZQE9IdPzukm7SvYER1CpbCVQH9KlXFh-4KQu1rKf9vM/s320/15968_618460218804_20307897_36121642_6888493_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425004128698643906" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >....the kid came through. It was brief (Tom tried to tell me later that GRYMG only has one verse. False.) but it was wonderful. Some people missed it the first time around too, but Tom did not want to disappoint, so he played it again. And it was then that my Christmas dream came true. Some people wish for horses, some fine jewelery, and some...just want an old fashioned Christmas tune played. And who isn't excited about that??</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNjpsadEr4ssLr9YbsBHwRyagoPu8weHnM4MO1P__pUUT7UBhczi_R-EYY2oFpt_8s2fWDUxx9uLmJ962PCeZfc99zSX4iuWXLMTlDacJRWWl4_dHYnZh3XzFk-kwkOIkZ08JA3G4ItM/s1600-h/15968_618460233774_20307897_36121645_8094809_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNjpsadEr4ssLr9YbsBHwRyagoPu8weHnM4MO1P__pUUT7UBhczi_R-EYY2oFpt_8s2fWDUxx9uLmJ962PCeZfc99zSX4iuWXLMTlDacJRWWl4_dHYnZh3XzFk-kwkOIkZ08JA3G4ItM/s320/15968_618460233774_20307897_36121645_8094809_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425005156937398930" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >But even if Tom hadn't come through, I probably would have still enjoyed the concert...maybe?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHe36oL1kO_mC91F08R_7wFDRP4VL6D1WE024ZTx2WdgAzqQZAWShkyv4iTKMa4YkiRCbZAQ9zlEM47pZ9aN218rNcYN6ZBj8sdOMSfqGacJkSisCxb0stasnP-l9TI5Y5dcqRccI4PpI/s1600-h/15968_618460278684_20307897_36121652_6510724_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 348px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHe36oL1kO_mC91F08R_7wFDRP4VL6D1WE024ZTx2WdgAzqQZAWShkyv4iTKMa4YkiRCbZAQ9zlEM47pZ9aN218rNcYN6ZBj8sdOMSfqGacJkSisCxb0stasnP-l9TI5Y5dcqRccI4PpI/s320/15968_618460278684_20307897_36121652_6510724_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425006390856479058" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOdFV_m1h8QlKdAHBx2yStrGa6aIEDEdRUGy36PdnSpIcV_8vO-S0DCOew99pH5rPAc9l0n884nbqxFV8PWYjLro1xN4r00AoyPYHnV15ARThkdWJPSdfU0KiSBOCWLUqQN73rtdxsIqs/s1600-h/15968_618460283674_20307897_36121653_3910536_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 343px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOdFV_m1h8QlKdAHBx2yStrGa6aIEDEdRUGy36PdnSpIcV_8vO-S0DCOew99pH5rPAc9l0n884nbqxFV8PWYjLro1xN4r00AoyPYHnV15ARThkdWJPSdfU0KiSBOCWLUqQN73rtdxsIqs/s320/15968_618460283674_20307897_36121653_3910536_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425006865279759666" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Note: The following text messages were exchanged in preparation for this post:<br /><br />MONICA: <span style="font-family:courier new;">Tom, would you be horribly offended if I wrote an entire blog post mocking you, or would it pad your ego?</span><br />TOM: <span style="font-family:courier new;">Haha write two.</span></span><br /></span>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-29143662276229301562009-11-21T13:04:00.001-08:002009-11-21T13:11:17.093-08:00An aside...<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbx5HMYlpJitZws8kDnQ7_FV9AenZhDyqVcgq46_oW5_Alo4tttN01Qf8abEijxoel6jyEcPexYUAPVgq_O0ZjS8-hxUCoF7sSXax2-qWL2OUKUOWBs3cS46sdESaDysHxTJQ9RTCkkhM/s1600/gravesdisease.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 114px; height: 109px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbx5HMYlpJitZws8kDnQ7_FV9AenZhDyqVcgq46_oW5_Alo4tttN01Qf8abEijxoel6jyEcPexYUAPVgq_O0ZjS8-hxUCoF7sSXax2-qWL2OUKUOWBs3cS46sdESaDysHxTJQ9RTCkkhM/s320/gravesdisease.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406666330567898530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" >Some devoted readers may recognize this picture from my infamous (and arguably best) post about Tyler Hansbrough and his suspected endocrine disorders. Well, endocrine disorders happened to be on my pharmacology exam yesterday, and this picture found its way into the notes. Indeed it seems as if Dr. Mantsch googled "Grave's Disease" as well and found this same picture. I laughed.</span><br /></div>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-76901036852279333672009-11-20T08:09:00.001-08:002009-11-20T08:58:22.567-08:00Struggles<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Many of our faithful readers may have been concerned by the lack of posts of late, but I would like to assure all of you that I am alive and well, though my soul is slowly being sucked out of me through PA school. (Pray for me.) So to catch you up on all that has happened in the past few months, I thought I would give you a photo slideshow. Unfortunately, precious little has happened outside of studying, so the slideshow will be brief. Just one photo.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnssYo58y68tuDOtNRyKemP3K2uUNhibqlQb1Bb7A8LwfQlNc1nuiQ0g2kRW7a3ewwRY-2tad5GyXhSTEfZ7BzC_mZdde2ynV1F-ei3wcoY1d9U1RdXPMuFg0YBe_zxa8VkOg1F2-qaU/s1600/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+004+wall.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnssYo58y68tuDOtNRyKemP3K2uUNhibqlQb1Bb7A8LwfQlNc1nuiQ0g2kRW7a3ewwRY-2tad5GyXhSTEfZ7BzC_mZdde2ynV1F-ei3wcoY1d9U1RdXPMuFg0YBe_zxa8VkOg1F2-qaU/s320/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+004+wall.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406218850813658898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />My roommates find my method of studying fairly entertaining, so I thought I would share it with all of you reading at home. Yes, this photo depict me on a step stool staring at my wall. But fear not, PA school has not derailed my psyche so much that I interact with inanimate objects. Nay, if you look closer, the wall is covered in study guides detailing the intricacies of diagnostic technologies and treatment plans for just about anything that could go wrong with your kidneys or urinary tract. I typically make these guides, then tape them to the wall so that I can see everything at the same time. It helps to compare things, get the big picture. But while my roommates laugh at me, one of my professors who is studying me for his Master's in Education called my method similar to those that geniuses employ. It wasn't long after walking around the apartment referring to myself as the live-in genius before Megan said, "Yes, Monica, but most serial killers are also geniuses." Fair.<br /><br /><br />Now this particular evening was not only epic for the amount of studying that occurred, but because of the true disaster that occurred while trying to heat up a simple snack. All I wanted was some popcorn, you know, to keep me going into the night. But while my mind was on kidney stones and boggy prostates, it clearly overlooked two essential mechanisms specific to the making of popcorn in our microwave. #1 Our microwave may or may not be nuclear powered and #2 I had bought those cute 100 calorie packs of popcorn last time at the store (in accordance with my half-assed Weight Watchers). In the end what happened was I put my mini bag in the microwave for the same amount of time I would a normal bag. Then I turned on the faucet to wash dishes while it cooked, not hearing the pops slow to a stop after, you know, probably 30 seconds. No, for two solid minutes that popcorn popped, baked, carcinogenized and nearly caught on fire. And what was once my biggest pet peeve (burning popcorn) was now my own greatest failure. It was truly a personal low. Naturally I took it out of the microwave, smoking, and threw it out on the porch. I shut the kitchen door so that the smell would not dissipate to the remaining rooms of our apartment. And on a 30 degree evening, our backdoor was open completely for over four hours, without much improvement. I am telling you that I mutilated this popcorn. It was no average burn. Significant fumigation continued the next day, and eventually the odor has disappeared. Thankfully my roommates mostly thought it was funny (mostly) but it has taken awhile to walk away from the shame. </span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih76ouXpfLFVnRUPwTQ7r1TA1aXZeQANDGVEqAOvxrUoMFRusklAO3Uhleo7l5453Z3dWKdsSXkR50f3fozyyYKIDvZhcteHYdFtbp3PstFNVc9rxDoZoBYZh0g6IN4FS-AMYsWE5EUck/s1600/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+007+whyyy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih76ouXpfLFVnRUPwTQ7r1TA1aXZeQANDGVEqAOvxrUoMFRusklAO3Uhleo7l5453Z3dWKdsSXkR50f3fozyyYKIDvZhcteHYdFtbp3PstFNVc9rxDoZoBYZh0g6IN4FS-AMYsWE5EUck/s320/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+007+whyyy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406218858955685250" border="0" /></a> <span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >A view from the porch. WHYYYYYYY?????</span><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GgTVHQOKHN1hwGWOEHbE2AqdVDbb-h_DOUPA_tm6zwIMO97LF0T7TLESW_i469WdpDD24prWml1j-V-Q7S20gKCYrRwKR7daS0_Q650W4gUO34w2EJ8IPB-fXk-Ia9D47imqnzdg0oE/s1600/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+008+crim+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 128px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GgTVHQOKHN1hwGWOEHbE2AqdVDbb-h_DOUPA_tm6zwIMO97LF0T7TLESW_i469WdpDD24prWml1j-V-Q7S20gKCYrRwKR7daS0_Q650W4gUO34w2EJ8IPB-fXk-Ia9D47imqnzdg0oE/s320/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+008+crim+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406219189694529522" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih76ouXpfLFVnRUPwTQ7r1TA1aXZeQANDGVEqAOvxrUoMFRusklAO3Uhleo7l5453Z3dWKdsSXkR50f3fozyyYKIDvZhcteHYdFtbp3PstFNVc9rxDoZoBYZh0g6IN4FS-AMYsWE5EUck/s1600/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+007+whyyy.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJrmKV3e3tr2jFq-x3_NRyPYAdd7A8QjkdZ6IfizoT1llRY0hxzQNJPkFGP6WQIhbWMD3Y3UCsx6jPf0QK1eIZwQGmRMjHJiKxAA_3bGnDFzl7bFmOl1pGx97xFCzmLj92rJFapd0L4nM/s1600/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 126px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJrmKV3e3tr2jFq-x3_NRyPYAdd7A8QjkdZ6IfizoT1llRY0hxzQNJPkFGP6WQIhbWMD3Y3UCsx6jPf0QK1eIZwQGmRMjHJiKxAA_3bGnDFzl7bFmOl1pGx97xFCzmLj92rJFapd0L4nM/s320/Beth+and+Mon%27s+Adventures+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406219324234969634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br />Taking responsibility for what I did. </span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >And so we press on. It's almost Thanksgiving, so hopefully that will mean time for more blogging, but in the mean time, keep reading and remember that no snack, no matter how delicious, is worth ruining the nasal passages of those you live with. </span><br /></div></div>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-64420884473006773602009-11-11T19:17:00.000-08:002009-11-11T19:35:10.780-08:00Nerf GunsAs I was discussing Veterans' Day with my students today, we obviously got on the topic of war. During the discussion, one of my students raises his hand and asks (in all seriousness) 'Ms. K., why can't all wars just be fought with Nerf Guns?'. Good question. Why must we have all this senseless loss of life? I believe as a nation, we have become detached from the idea of war and the horrible things that go along with it. We hear about all the people who died on any given day, but do we really take the time to realize and mourn for the loss of a human life? Someone lost their brother, mother, father, daughter or son, and we simply go on with our lives. Today we honor those who have sacrificed and continue to sacrifice to serve our country. Let their sacrifices not be something we think of once or twice a year. We say 'thank you' to those who have given their lives so we can live our lives the way we do. I pray that one day we might change the way we live our lives so that sacrifice of life is unnecessary. I pray that we, as a human race, will change our hearts and make war something people read about in books rather than see on the news every night. Bring on the Nerf Guns.Laura K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07274844973283977328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-29370670404994324302009-09-13T10:20:00.000-07:002009-09-17T18:59:06.836-07:00California 10<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 100px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEXGHBwn6hryHHifUd39NmNkNviocnTf6L2at0odzqfpatWiYdsMaWYmfCSYyHMfRExkwFnNUzWlAIIbpWbSUhWv1Dx90UcCHezqOr7aeDmMw8tWBsYQBHsWhDGHevLysgafq4gzhDDfl/s200/mail-2.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382612283109184306" /></div><div style="text-align: left;">10. Destination...California</div><div><div>Drive West on 80, stop before you drive in to the ocean. Pretty simple. So one would think. February is not an ideal time to be driving 1600 miles through snow and ice, but I had my brother, lots of music and Stephen King short stories to keep me company. The trip had been relatively uneventful (minus people getting walked in on in gas station bathrooms, gazelle sightings, and toxic trail mix) for the first day and a half. Living my entire life in places with snowy winters, the snow we had encountered was not an issue. Having just gotten off the phone with my parents, telling them everything was great and that we were on our way to Sacramento, we began the trek across the Sierra Nevadas. Cue blizzard of the century. Approximately 45 seconds following the phone call, the snow started to come down. There would be no turning back once we started through the Sierras. There was a heated discussion about continuing or stopping. Onward. The interstate was closed to trucks. It was also closed to vehicles without snow tires or chains on their tires. Hmmm...living in Chicago, tire chains were not the types of chains one needed. Therefore, I got to pay approximately $100 for a gym teacher from Reno to install snow chains on my tires. You might be questioning why we continued and I am still questioning that myself. Rolling through the mountains driving 23 miles an hour, arguing about whose fault it would be if we end up like the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donner_Party">Donner Party</a>, unable to see more than 2 feet in front of the car, things got a little tense. I have never seen a snow like that before. I am glad that we lived to tell about it. Things were touch and go for awhile. The next day I dropped my brother off at the airport in San Francisco and promptly got myself lost in the city. Managing to find the Golden Gate Bridge, I pulled into the viewing area with approximately 4003 other non-Californians and took this lovely photograph.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wvrPTEj_vrJSJmomK0dqT1sIIeM8snoUoAEx1FqRwFBMeYXDIWsdZXQENZxA2W0i6mIuDh65QGmlcFXTpOk5GF3zvAHYTLfYJd-bVWUyB9PXu7X6zZc7lZ0rqLAk_ZzvViY_wtXHUmXJ/s320/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382590267209271954" /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Welcome to California.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>9. Postcard scenery</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYaBGIhYBx4m-vIVyRLCLJ0ydNEktWJo6vE08S6QrJE-juSWJsfF9GdqV8X7Fekl-yM5bIVkfiiT6qT-zw0uYYYKa6gn6FIytajN5hx0-gQu5QElGTabHzBNMZ0RSnppthcEW5M-NVIBJ/s200/mail-3.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382613266885235506" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjHf6paXN7Hy6xdcEEDT0rgCz2z0GEi-npZ25mt41rkco3ZLVvV9IRYxeJ_A7pRk3p6GJX5jtj0xJGa5dKcgFo_OvVHrimJnTB5NaHX57uoUuBapgc3EbugTT8Dss20Y6NUGiToqAQoYj/s400/mail-2.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382606086804451538" /><div>The redwoods are pretty incredible. As are the stars. Being in the sticks had it's benefits, but there were moments of terror as well. Walking home from work one day, I about had a heart attack when I thought I thought I saw a mountain lion. Just the neighbor's dog. Having found a mostly eaten deer carcass the week before, I don't</div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cBhrQdQDQLckxZyxCuGaxlt5Y_1TfzgHPct9HS2Y5nK2SG8cyn24NCEHFLpOOkFqJB9rB3jCSHpek-0FH1Z4NcELsJ6bUgl_TuTG0lFrgqGxQkx4Ny9KxB_-ZLwB3e3rR_bMjdIwImth/s400/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382606540613985938" /><div> think my fear was too unfounded. Then there was the time I thought I saw a wolf under my front porch. Wolves don't live in the area, which is why I was extra scared. But there were bobcats around and I grew to be less afraid of the eyes watching me in the dark. Oh, and on a night hike I found some glow in the dark fungus. It was the coolest thing. I was with a group of students and thought I was imagining things, but sure enough, we found some luminescent fungi.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>8. Wine Country</div><div>When I used to think of wine, I would think of rich, sophisticated people dressed in suits eating brie and discussing whatever rich sophisticated people discuss when in social situations, or I would think of groups of college kids drinking wine (with a classy name like Carlo Rossi or Charles Shaw) that was scooped from a plastic drawer into a solo cup. Sonoma County, California is wine country. Close to Napa Valley, but maybe slightly less well-known. I was told by many folks that it's better than Napa, but being in Sonoma, they are obviously biased. Regardless, it is beautiful! Rolling hills and mile after mile of perfect rows of grapevines. Sonoma county has over 250 vineyards. Thats a lot of grapes. There are many different events in wine country, one being Barrel Tasting. Two weekends in March, where wine makers give folks a preview of the next year's releases. Sounds like a good idea, right? For the wine makers, yes. For Laura, no. I learned a lot about wine, what goes into making it, the process, etc., but I still probably couldn't tell the difference between a $3 bottle of Charles Shaw and a $70 bottle of De Loach. So Barrel Tasting weekend comes around and you get a wine glass and visit the various wineries. There's great wine, music, food and lots of people. The whole purpose of the event is to get people all loopy on wine and then entice them to buy 'futures' of the wine they are sampling. Futures are offered at a percentage off of the cost that the bottles will probably cost once they are released (I say probably, because since the wine isn't fully aged, it will taste different once it is released the following year). So we're having a great time and visit a place where my friends are friends with the owners. The very nice people at Graton Ridge Cellars. It's no secret that I like deals, so the idea of a large percentage off of anything is difficult for me to resist. Add a couple glasses of wine and an amazing salesman named Greg to that equation and you get me (who has purchased a total of approximately seven bottles of wine in her lifetime), spending a paycheck on a case of wine that I will not see for a year. It all happened so fast. I'm still not sure how it all transpired. So, once I figure out how I am going to pick up my order from California, you are invited to my house to enjoy some delicious Petite Syrah and Chardonnay!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><div>7. Summer Camp</div><div>I definitely thought my summer camp days were over. It had been great volunteering the past few summers, but work at summer camp again?! Well, that happened. It just made sense with my schedule, and I had the opportunity to take a pretty cool job. Lots of planning, organizing, scheduling and a bit too much office time, but it was a good summer. It was definitely a waaay different summer camp experience for me. My role was a lot different. I enjoyed myself, learned a lot, and became an Excel wiz. This guy Casey and I had the same job title, and did pretty much everything together all summer. If we were more than three inches away from each other for more than an hour or so, it felt weird. He's phenomenal and I don't think I could have done that job with anyone else. He is also the master at making Excel spreadsheets. He took me under his wing and taught me more than I thought there was to know about spreadsheets. I got to work with many incredible, talented, funny people. Experiencing something familiar but having it be a completely different experience allowed me to really think about my previous camp experience. I am grateful for the opportunity to re-realize the gratitude I feel for my time at CG and the amazing people whom I love so much!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>6. Are you a California Department of Transportation Employee??</div><div>I love the color orange. I love it so much that I never realized how many people don't like the color orange. Especially how much they don't like wearing orange attire. Around May, we were discussing the color of our staff shirts. it thought it would be a great to have orange staff shirts. So I suggested it. Tangerine looked like a beautiful shade of orange on the computer screen sample. Somehow they got ordered and were on their way. Well, when our tangerine shirts arrived, they looked a bit more like a highlighter than the gatorade cap color I was anticipating. Oops. I couldn't blame this one on anyone. We all looked like Cal-Trans workers. Needless to say I am not allowed to have any input on shirt color next year.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>5. Yosimite National Park</div><div>My roommate Cary and I went on a short back packing trip to Yosemite. </div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPRkuco9ktQXwbdXXDv4uzgtWZncWrRtMqEGo_12LRpOOMsFbYOPRLc67udiKcI1qB5f9SyJ8av86DvI3jQXNyCNjlPlO0lsbEdkrNpOIyBpvi7aeT6reQeMeVEu6YeshTc1SOBVljtjX/s200/mail-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382614764707521282" /><div> We got to sit in traffic for awhile passing through Oakland. Nothing says California like five lanes of stand-still traffic. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the drive was longer than anticipated. </div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsvSo8HhUWj4QzDnwfag8hO8V5Vkh8qxKxubAKkWB0U1YVN7G-hSkWvSMDagoUZw6qBsRCYk0IArPXfmWig8npTlMIJdEnSC1qN8Qzrre4XZTnWXBBSUqJbS-7rkE-BqQPUuVM1-glNrR/s200/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382615127036542402" /><div>When we arrived to the park, the first campsite was full. We checked the next closest one and that was also full. Decision time. Do we drive all the way in to another potentially full campground or do we go back out of the park to the hotel we passed awhile back? Back we went. No Vacancy. Went to a campground, sites were $60. Keep driving. We finally find another campground. Sites were available and $20. By this time in the night, it seems senseless to set up our tent for the six hours we were going to sleep, so we slept in the car. Classy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>4.5 Everywhere you look...</div><div>Whatever happened to predictability?? Hopefully you recognize the words to the beloved TGIF staple show. While visiting San Francisco one day, I decided to find the Full House House. A task, scratch that, mission that I would not leave 'The City' before successfully completing. I had spoken to several folks who were unable to locate the house. I set out, following a fairly involved internet research session. I refused to become another statistic who mistakenly believed that the Painted Ladies are where our dear friends DJ, Stephanie and Uncle Jesse lived. So I set out on my excursion. My friend had to work in the city, so I was rolling solo with my free tourist map and little else. So I walked, and walked, and walked and walked. I stopped and enjoyed some Rice A Roni, saw Alcatraz from afar, walked up and down many a hill and then continued walking. I walked up the steepest street I have ever been on, then kept walking. I found the house, and saw Uncle Joey sitting on the front steps. I wish. I had about six seconds to enjoy my little victory and wonder what happened to TGIF's all star line-up before having to speed walk back to the Ferry Building. I raced through some seedy neighborhoods, stopping only once in the Fashion Discount store where I nearly made a very poor clothing decision. I made it to the Ferry with two minutes to spare. When I google mapped my route, I had walked about ten miles. Wow, it's a sad day when you're visiting a city and do little other that wander around trying to find a house where fictional TV characters lived.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPIfVwimUC-jt1fSKwSkAu0WZSfbduSi0z6z21BnuMOsGXNtDa4ar9xJIbeWJXOSXZBaUuPl-qlhPjs1LK2r16VD_2WPKmGksD6xJZ5J12CQi6ho1CfSXsCUoi3EGzGHQRRorCSPTIRBP/s400/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382607455030661378" /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>4. We are Fools.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XsvLjo8o8oKkVQxJuGE0aY5u6Rr0e-WheCPiHyWjBZB3B_GKcTOIhs2TYrqAFj2iu3CJyZAzdKfoSRXassSU36w8A_ta4Mq4TBUeeoNtCDyk0pKHf4PItd3PqCVfQa_jkJutb07ifm_H/s320/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382590731827402226" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The weekend closest to April Fool's Day, many a fool converge on the tiny settlement of Occidental, California for the annual Fool's Day Parade. The town itself is approximately one and one half blocks long. People sure came out of the woodwork for this one. My friends and I all did our part in dressing up and bringing the crazy. We walked in the parade (which lasted about three minutes) and then hung out for the rest of the afternoon. I was fortunate enough to meet this guy named Joe, who was one of the more interesting folks I've met in a long time. 1. He's hysterical. My face hurt after talking to him for an hour. 2. Randomly enough he a</div><div>nd I went to the same high school. Granted I grad uated about four decades after him, but we did have the same Social Studies teacher. 3. He offered me a baggie of marijuana. When I said no thank you, he promptly disappeared and I didn't see him for a couple weeks. 4. He gave me two plaid buton down shirts. He gave them to this guy I work with to give to me. Not sure why. One is awesome though and I wear it often. He sent a message with the shirts that would be inappropriate for me to repeat here, but I think he was upset because I told him he couldn't follow me into the bathroom. oh, Joe.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>3. Surfing USA!!</div><div>I have wanted to go surfing for quite some time and finally had the opportunity. There is one beach I would go to often and watch the surfers, but I didn't think they took beginners out. I had heard about how many people died on the Sonoma Coast and thought it better to stay out of the water. But, I found a little surf shack that offered lessons, so I slipped into a wet suit and ventured out with Bob the surfer and four new friends. Being in the ocean was amazing! Surfing is not easy and I was terrible at it, but I loved loved loved it. If I had started surfing when I got to California, I don't think I would have left. At one point, I decided to try and get past the</div><div> break and just hang out in the ocean, so I started paddling and paddling and paddling. I do that for a good thirty minutes, thinking I am actually making some progress. I look back and I am literally twelve feet from shore. Talk about defeating. I gave up on that adventure. The words pummeled and battered have new personal meaning to me, but not only did I not drown or getting eaten by a shark, I had a blast!</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><div>2. I used to consider myself a good driver.</div><div>Drove into a ditch. No excuses. Thank you <a href="https://www.aaa.com/AAA/sem/sem.htm?redirectto=https://www.autoclubgroup.com/nebraska/membership/newenrolment.aspx?zip=68508&stateprov=ne&city=lincoln&keyword=exact_aaa&gcid=S15141x073&pg=frm&iframeSecured=true">AAA </a>for getting my car back for me.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>1.5 Random stuff...</div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kbRg9aeLpfWZ36m4bmEjIfzXfEyiyJLHMRR42F5RlZ1v65PQQa5OxEWY8c1itA0AG2ZPt6mUr4OC5ImaI1x06wA6Zn_2BO1ZcyyHYrFlkwCm4ESKxGS0v_hAv6EFln-bMCody7vo9TkM/s200/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382620071079003890" /><div>My first Californian friend Noah nicknamed me 'starfish'. Not sure why he decided to give me the lamest nickname ever, but when you're one of Hubbell's Angels and you've heard the story where <a href="http://www.wjcc.k12.va.us/content/admin/superintendent/starfish/story/starfish%20story.pdf">'I made a difference to that one...'</a> five dozen times, at least it gets a laugh.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I took this picture of my friend Gurpreet (who was kind enough to drive back to Nebraska with me) and it is probably one of my favorite pictures ever.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8yd71mSKHcc9y79j9YlGplqg5OmDs7wDbohqbC9K-oKEC68zCCCnKe9j3F5BXH5eB7Gfe8Iyq8HkkTxcNaXVDCf9dvdd8nJFis5VLb-yf2w3tY-tN5YWR8euFIJ0yDVopArVnty4SPHz/s400/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382606876203782290" /><div><br /></div><div>My friend Rachelle got married in Chicago so I got to spend some time with friends and enjoy the city I miss a lot more than I thought I would.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMqjRm7r5a56FfYpn-hWJizIqObCu0vlk2esOFEE1dkyrr9bIJP86aym9f-2iSig9pGopmXC-pPeJyrkG0_uPpsCiLaa4zLvLSVY5Ps-aQ6AMpRtpJdQbHTV8hyphenhyphenO_Hdigi_Py2T-iMX-5/s320/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382594370242016130" /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div></div><div>I got to see my cousins' band, The <a href="http://www.myspace.com/thehenryclaypeople">Henry Clay People</a>, play in San Francisco. They put on a great show!</div><div><br /></div><div> Casey is an avid disc golfer. He took us out and was very patient with us. This is my friend Cary at one of my favorite courses in the area</div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9kMVilCWCt6lpWaFDGoS7jl5K7ctDmA2r_O4IMjU7nAVd4pCB1gfxjAUwdysaJAUtJgPxAAmjBahMVEFQKdBp3Nflq6BewkOocbQhDTNbWUnGp1sSgRpbSRsQn-rbzY3Mnku2by6GWWg/s320/mail-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382596785361811730" /></div></div><div>Being a native of Wisconsin, I was always irritated by those 'happy cows come from California' commercials. There were many heated discussions about whether or not happy cows do in fact come from California. I saw a lot of cows in California, and I have to admit, they look pretty happy. Happier, I don't know. Apart from the herd of cows I saw fighting over a ten foot shaded area in 105 degree heat in the valley, they look like they're living the life.</div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj8W1wYB_xX0K8ntLYR7ivSQl4RqDALpLRQVU_ESZDAkuM7A6Lsv9EYe7wrANTYDGB_yOZnzI61UszbnHK1uHnaQi9RdlE4oxgh7wK9CCcSlYVN5lP52eXPZqr-RZizxM_U7uRzFBAo8SX/s400/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382604038611222738" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>1. The Ocean</div><div>I fell in love with the ocean. From tidepooling to spectacular sunsets, the ocean off the Sonoma coast has become one of my favorite places in the world. The twenty minute drive from Occidental to the ocean along the incredible Coleman Valley Road might be one of the most beautiful drives in the country. Winding through forrest and pastures, passing by grazing cattle and the beautiful valley, coming up on breathtaking views of where the ocean crashes into land, there is nothing I've seen that's quite like it. There is something incredibly peaceful and inspiring about the ocean. I was fortunate to end many days watching a beautiful sunset at the beach. Something I miss and look forward to experiencing again.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKbPOFOjkN8lxyhelN6Rk2CQ5OCMfu0E5UmKegZB7a8O4jyNm5eiHr11VRnpwEuhlNk5CefcIlXk3NntU8O77yQfrPr7DLmxZJWVtq1T-48CMLxoUlqoSk2MiwjV6P129WVV2FVCVjQiq/s400/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382604805051858658" /><span><span></span></span></div>Laura K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07274844973283977328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-30198826864020251982009-08-31T07:32:00.000-07:002009-09-12T10:49:55.803-07:00Youth<span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I recall asking my mother for a laser tag birthday when I was 10 years old. I got mini golf instead. Little did I know, twelve years later my dream would finally come true when I would find myself ringing in 22 at the Kalahari Resort playing none other than...laser tag.</span></div> <div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div> <div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Welcome to Pat Hurley's debut on my blog.</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, after 10 exhausting weeks of PA summer school, I got on the first train I could and headed to the 'Boo. There is nothing more intellectually relaxing than stomping through a stream, dressing up as a lumberjack's wife, and yelling out Shake Yo' Foot. But before campers came, celebrations naturally needed to occur. A group of us, affectionately referred to as the "old" people, headed to Damon's after placements on Friday. Camp Gray icons like Joe Van Tassel, Mr. Patrick Hurley, and Nicky Kaeler were in attendance and the yucks and grub were good. After at least 19 people had celebrated birthdays around us, my dumb friends decided mine was close enough, and we also celebrated mine.</span><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBiMQhK-XLX2-X43XfIZ3gbrY1K9RjORRZz1AuO-2WeEhYQ61KVzEX_qPTbpZ_to0KwYpufh1DSV1_KCjXO3gZyejDUih0oAwm2z3TEzzSMTbSjfEwFmvU3ppQpNbe9znutebq85NKSTs/s1600-h/birthday+damons.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBiMQhK-XLX2-X43XfIZ3gbrY1K9RjORRZz1AuO-2WeEhYQ61KVzEX_qPTbpZ_to0KwYpufh1DSV1_KCjXO3gZyejDUih0oAwm2z3TEzzSMTbSjfEwFmvU3ppQpNbe9znutebq85NKSTs/s320/birthday+damons.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376137458491825826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">Note the Camp Gray style celebration (aka head rubbing) post-birthday song.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, after our meal was finished and they began to turn the lights off, we considered our options for the rest of the evening and also our proximity to the brand-new Kalahari Indoor Adventure Park (as if the Kalahari needed anything else). And we decided to just "take a look".</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, after giving the terrifying ropes course a look, Mr. Hurley and I decided it would be necessary to check out the laser tag facilities. After going down into the deepest, darkest crevice of the adventure park, we found it. And it looked good. So we loaded a card with enough cash for all of us to play one round and headed to the Kalahari basement for what was sure to be an enjoyable throwback to our childhood.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Lindsay was crucial to the success of this adventure. She was confident that if we worked the employees just right, we could get more than one game out of this. I was skeptical. Nonetheless, there was a bit of a wait before we were able to enter the laser tag arena, but this provided a wonderful opportunity to establish a relationship with our laser tag employees. They were no doubt a bit surprised at the sight of us...I think the average age they typically see down there is 9. But this lead to some jocularity and a bit of a guessing game as to what Mr. Hurley's actual age is. Let's just say they overshot it a little bit (...33!) So as Mr. Hurley repaired his damaged ego, we set out into the laser tag arena. Black lights, bright scenery, it was truly a sight to behold! I discovered several things while we were there: #1 I am not very good at laser tag. #2 Although I am not good, I am consistently not good, and there is something to be said for that. #3 Never wear a floral print shirt to laser tag (you will "light up like a Christmas tree!") #4 Kids, small ones, are ruthless and have no mercy on people who wear inappropriate attire to laser tag (thus contributing to #1). Despite these things, it really was exhilarating and I felt like I was channeling my youth. Dodging lasers, beaming up the sirens, trying to physically harm the children who were playing with us...all around fantastic. And Lindsay was indeed right. After finishing our first game, it only took a few minutes of schmoozing before the laser tag people beamed us up again for another go at it. And another. And another. Yes, four games for the price of one at the Kalahari Resort. We were even so much fun that the employees came out to play with us (again, they make a living at this, so see #1). I'm not really sure why they thought we might be any sort of competition, but I think we made their night, and they certainly made ours. Well played, fellow tagees, well played.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydKHOkJ1rO3mvZQTTV9i-tV-lD6O9gNMP3SDi4Wg3SM_VZQo9SAb4X1f1dBWsc-PTnoZyZ46qBvIRDR4xal6Hn4A9FD1MkkfWM0rVNB78-TKRTpJMPWPK34UBRw6x2jfUOeQCXM3oipY/s1600-h/laser+tag.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydKHOkJ1rO3mvZQTTV9i-tV-lD6O9gNMP3SDi4Wg3SM_VZQo9SAb4X1f1dBWsc-PTnoZyZ46qBvIRDR4xal6Hn4A9FD1MkkfWM0rVNB78-TKRTpJMPWPK34UBRw6x2jfUOeQCXM3oipY/s320/laser+tag.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380637024543377010" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Back row: Joe Baker and me (looking friendlier now than we ever would again--we had just met)</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Front row: Mr. Hurley, Carol!, Lindsay, and Bill Van Wagner</span></span>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-68032294543287348042009-08-25T17:40:00.000-07:002009-08-26T23:12:07.356-07:00Summer Summary<div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nothing, no nothing, brings me more sadness than disappointing my faithful readers. So when I break this news to you, please know that it was truly unavoidable and there is absolutely nothing I can change about it, try as I might. I know that all three of my faithful readers have been waiting at long last for the exciting catalog of my summer escapades, but this is where I fail you, faithful readers: my summer was pretty much uneventful.</span></span><div><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><div><div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">I know, I know, you have been looking forward to this day for so long, and here I have so little to share. But we all know that I have a true art for being able to write l</span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ong</span> winded entries about almost nothing (see all text above), so fear not. I'll find <em>something</em> to say about my summer.</span><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Immediately following senior week (sufficiently covered below), summer school began. I am not sure who thought up the idea of summer school, but I have a feeling that t</span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">hat person will share the same circle of hell as perhaps the people who thought up <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">clam shell</span> plastic packaging for the last ink <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">cartridge</span> I bought. (By the way, did you know that over 6,000 people a year end up in the ER due to injuries trying to open that stuff? Wish I had my own personal Jaws of Life sometimes...)</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">So back to summer school. It was difficult but interesting. For the first time in my life I am taking classes that are applicable to my future career--who would <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hav</span></span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">e thought?! Much of the summer was spent preparing to give real live patients a physical exam and take a medical history. To that end, many friends became much closer friends as I checked out their he</span><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">art, lungs, skin, etc. Check out how thrilled Joe was to be my guinea pig:</span><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374494281417511986" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJiB7WGZqWduHU6RaeWRmslTeoWcHJrFbZTWNyT1R2y5IMDSbz51RkROcK0ZXIQ6Hf14ocjHBNRma41eX-t9WIXs5_xW9s4Y_wxYsTYaVfGD31gYSdPSoBPEmJjupF0-K5Ob-PQ2KzVk/s320/phys+exam.jpg" border="0" /></span></div></div><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">(Look at that face. Would YOU trust that? God help my future patients...)</span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">You will note that the building looks a bit dim in this picture. I will t</span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">ell you we went through many, many patients in preparation for our Standardized Patient Exam. Some kind souls would literally go from physical to physical if they were friends with many <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">PAs</span> (note to self: befriend only one and you'll get out faster!) This picture was taken late on a Friday night stuck in the building. Sad, I know. But I don't think the program foresaw what would come if they remodeled the building and gave us 24-hour swipe access to it. Yes, frazzled <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">PAs</span> would do what any other reasonable individual</span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"> would do after a lot of hard work on a Friday night:</span></p><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374496279783862850" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5K2uepqM9nige83W5cGlguqt0vQUNDC161L05z9luKL2zAg-r7xNG8SX324ngHNy0ljr-vgFBN-AmdWEacj2iTq6g4bkrwaVj3TDU2nxo978hRFpTXHrbPYDu1H2qWiEKuKfcnEo02g/s320/poker.jpg" border="0" /></span></p></div></div></div><p><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">We played poker.<br /></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Now you may be thinking to yourself, "Self, is that really ALL Monica did this summer? If so, that would be sad." You would be correct in that assessment, but in fact I did have a few exciting events to keep me going. I visited my family for Fourth of July, visited my good f</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">riend</span> Lindsay in Racine, and traveled to Madison for one of the most beautiful weddings of my life (Terese </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">and I attended the wedding escorted by our friends Tom and Dave. They knew we would get emotional, but they weren't prepared for just how emotional we would be. As Alison began walking down the aisle, Dave noticed me tearing up on his right, Terese bawling on his left, looked at his watch and whispered, "It's been <span style="font-style: italic;">four</span> minutes!"</span></span>)<br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">In between these big events, many smaller events occurred in what became a Thursday night ritual, if you will. It all began one night after <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">JJ</span>, Jack, and Ryan <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">asserted</span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> their manliness by helping me move. (I bribed them with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Sobelman's</span> burgers first.) After moving me </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">entirely in under 90 minutes, singing the entire time, we all grabbed a well-deserved beer and stepped out onto the fire escape. Ryan <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">de</span>-asserted his manliness by grabbing a Smirnoff Ice. No one knows why. But it was there on the fire escape that we planned our summer. We agreed to go to weekday Mass together once a week, and as luck would have it, the night that worked out the best was in fact Thursdays. You see, we are all frequent school-year-Thursday-night-Mass goers, so it was only fitting to attend Thursdays in summer as well. This time however, Mass was at 5:30 PM and would be promptly followed by a barbecue each week on my fire escape. Without fail (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">ok</span>, July got a little weak) we met for Mass and brought a truly delightful array of goodies to Apartment Y. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">JJ</span> brought wine and store bought coleslaw each week, Jack tantalized us with marinated steak fajitas, and Ryan rarely brought anything but ate twice as much as anyone else. Others joined us on these occasions as</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> well and these times spent trying to light my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Roundy's</span> brand charcoal are some of my best summer me</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">mories</span>.<br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The group culminated with a trip to Miller Park for Jack's bi</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">rthday</span>. Our very favorite Jesuit, Fr. Thomas Anderson, joined us for this celebratory occasion. Fr. Tom drove us in the Jesuit Toyota <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">RAV</span>-4 (vow of poverty?!?!) and made a quick detour into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Walgreens</span> when we realized no one had brought buns for our tailgate. Ryan flew in and showed true all-star potential by avoiding the long lines at the check out and making his purchase in photo. Genius.<br /><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOzFEbuO3e9iqk93kVKS9CQYBnYp6uBqh5mjh7cCcZktFJ3yf1UNjBhNvS7mdz51USoX5Bl1RrGrhH2ANSiUEmxPjOGgEPAiNgsOSFe7-gGOhuxMY0oAoVyxinF2sW_zC9GOdnNgUpYcI/s1600-h/fr.+tom.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 218px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374496299409482354" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOzFEbuO3e9iqk93kVKS9CQYBnYp6uBqh5mjh7cCcZktFJ3yf1UNjBhNvS7mdz51USoX5Bl1RrGrhH2ANSiUEmxPjOGgEPAiNgsOSFe7-gGOhuxMY0oAoVyxinF2sW_zC9GOdnNgUpYcI/s320/fr.+tom.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />The trip became moderately to significantly awkward when, while the rest of our group was setting up the grill and Fr. Tom and I left to grab our tickets from will call, I noticed that a friend of a gentleman I had recently ceased dating was tailgating just three cars away. Ducking behind a car, I then had to explain to a Jesuit how I needed to avoid this situation in case my former <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">datee</span> was accompanying said friend. Yes, in the Miller Park parking lot, behind a Chevy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Silverado</span>, Fr. Tom became my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">wingman</span>. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Fortunately said friend was tailgating with his family, and no awkwardness ensued. However, as we would later walk to the stadium, Nicki would inquire more about the story behind this gentleman I had formerly dated. As I began to tell her more, I would recollect how I less-than-gracefully found out this gentleman was 28 years old:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"My sister is 27 years old."<br />"Oh, so you're not the oldest?"<br />"No...I am. I'm 28."<br />"Oh."<br /><br /></span>Fr. Tom, overhearing this situation, gave me judging eyebrows and said something to the effect of, "If you want to have any luck with love, you better work on your game."<br /><br />Dismayed, I replied, "You know your love life is bad when you're getting advice from a Jesuit."<br /><br />He quipped, "You'd be surprised how much you learn in the confessional."<br /><br /></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqMKd90CnwCCSF_OfBQ8T8drHaORfmbaQuAkjTEl3NvjXrVLFaqS9ZUjLCfKfVQv06mskFzzOKph54M1dpAr0vgk6g9B_6qcnLpKIlUjM1tnQACZwsts5HAShejt-vIHWfqQ_0v50_B0/s1600-h/fr+tom+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 213px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374496287971916258" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqMKd90CnwCCSF_OfBQ8T8drHaORfmbaQuAkjTEl3NvjXrVLFaqS9ZUjLCfKfVQv06mskFzzOKph54M1dpAr0vgk6g9B_6qcnLpKIlUjM1tnQACZwsts5HAShejt-vIHWfqQ_0v50_B0/s320/fr+tom+1.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Truly, an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">exercise</span> in humility. Sometimes I wonder what in my life <span style="font-style: italic;">isn't.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(By the way, this photo is of us in our seats in the The Very Last Row at Miller Park. Yes, the nosebleeds of all nosebleeds. The best part was, there were people already sitting in these seats when we got to the park. People, in the last row, with plenty of other seats open for us to just grab and sit, and Fr. Tom KICKED THEM OUT. I don't know if he was trying to be funny or honest, but either way it was hysterical...and mortifying.)</span><br /></span><br /> </span></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqMKd90CnwCCSF_OfBQ8T8drHaORfmbaQuAkjTEl3NvjXrVLFaqS9ZUjLCfKfVQv06mskFzzOKph54M1dpAr0vgk6g9B_6qcnLpKIlUjM1tnQACZwsts5HAShejt-vIHWfqQ_0v50_B0/s1600-h/fr+tom+1.jpg"></a><p> </p>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-33367299231667735372009-05-16T11:17:00.000-07:002009-08-24T23:10:35.768-07:00I love college<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Greetings, Friends. It is with great pride that I announce the end of my undergraduate career. (Sort of.) The last few weeks of college were without a doubt a fun ride. However, recent developments have made me question whether I have been in college at all. Sure, you can see my transcripts. Call the bursar, my account has been paid. But, well, perhaps </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRVFfgoIKcg">Asher Roth</a><span style="font-family: verdana;"> and I did not have the same college experience.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Without further </span><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">adieu, a walk through the last few weeks of </span><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">my college ca</span><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">reer:</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;"><strong>1. My kids<br /><br /></strong></span></div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">This is what my friend Colleen and I referred to our lab group a</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">s. C</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">olleen and I</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;"> shared the duties of guiding six students in their gross anatomy dissections th</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">is s</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">emester, and after spending every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon with these sophomores, t</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">hey s</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">ort of become like family. This picture was taken at a celebratory pizza dinner at the end of the se</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">mester at Angelo's.</span></div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;"> </span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336489272245696978" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHupyfyWjr3OA1R3qB_VNyBXGIg-hVrww2DPHbClvy-pzdLsUutFjh4kKW4xA0DDbkjinrlRL5aiuhlQgYoQy9W11iNZ9e9NG-_beG2RqUF_k1WkUxqiVMSvi1S_WyWNtyLA4mhoV9Xc/s320/the+kids.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;"><strong>2. Campus Renew Picnic!<br /><br /></strong></span></div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">After my grumblings in Campus Ministry for about a year, faith</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;"> sharing groups came to campus this spring in the form of Campus Renew! I would say our grou</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">p was probably the most successful of all and I loved getting to know everyone. Her</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">e is a pic</span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" style="font-size:85%;">ture of our dinner outing that turned into a picnic. In the back are myself and Dave, affectionately known as the grandparents of the group. Everyone else was a sophomore.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZOE-ba9Y5hKgmtC4AxNWt107am8AYf6myaa-vLGqXrs0f0sGOOqQAC2XK2po5iy7D7b4J3gBgJMITHW4ty8RNg3BB_lX3xyYb8PAilZJis6FiJOF6ZvZ3WOcHro3JR-aVGe0s_mkmAY/s1600-h/renew.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336489272245658530" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZOE-ba9Y5hKgmtC4AxNWt107am8AYf6myaa-vLGqXrs0f0sGOOqQAC2XK2po5iy7D7b4J3gBgJMITHW4ty8RNg3BB_lX3xyYb8PAilZJis6FiJOF6ZvZ3WOcHro3JR-aVGe0s_mkmAY/s320/renew.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>3. Visit from Baraboo<br /><br /></strong></span></div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Here's Nicky and me at dinner on a weekend when Gina, Lindsay, Molly and others from Camp came to town.</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336488950812842402" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHm0I-Gp2q0JOLBE0cY9Jo4cjPHj2n_EU5ylMLJ-m2_WlPc-ekwcRiBbAjI8leV5PQPqSzeszMneClAvuOr3Bc4kUI-qch-kHTVRYnaS7vxWvgrmCiLgs0D00U-nNttiAzu22heMwLmI/s320/nicky+and+me.JPG" border="0" /></span></div><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>SENIOR WEEK</strong></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">At Marquette, an entire week is devoted the the enjoyment of the senior class following finals and before graduation. Many official events are planned, many more opportunities for fun are had. Here's a sampling of the ridiculousness:</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" >1. Last Day of Finals</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I may or may not have missed a work meeting Friday afternoon of finals week because I was at the bar. I don't regret it. An afternoon of joy with some of my absolute favorites.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ChqM-5e5WpN5IvsCEFtlM0Obl1VkPCPOTinTHwY5ctlsi4AehDtiMsALmlBnqJWym1oTZjunhenzTbr86-kh23sbUvdFPWIFkjcgD9J6BWl4LNZLOR-90KShtqr0lsOYCq2JNrQc3rQ/s1600-h/bar+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ChqM-5e5WpN5IvsCEFtlM0Obl1VkPCPOTinTHwY5ctlsi4AehDtiMsALmlBnqJWym1oTZjunhenzTbr86-kh23sbUvdFPWIFkjcgD9J6BWl4LNZLOR-90KShtqr0lsOYCq2JNrQc3rQ/s320/bar+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373754481358776818" border="0" /></a><br /><img style="font-family: verdana;" src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/MONICA%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-4.jpg" alt="" /><img style="font-family: verdana;" src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/MONICA%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-5.jpg" alt="" /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>2. The La Perla Challenge</strong></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">After spending the afternoon watching Titanic and decorating shirts for our evening out, we headed over to the Mexican restaurant La Perla for margaritas and jocularity. La Perla is known to the underage crowd as a hospitable locale, so we decided it appropriate to pay the Perl a visit as card carrying members of the legal crowd.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: verdana;"> </div><div style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336488427218361986" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59qwsFQXWX2Mncz_G2mntUDlYjovZoblt0gPdBWhU0Xa2QkCB5TUelzAetej_PtwccgH-VORon1d33PaXskK9C1i7pgwqGJM_CqEQhReIiIIV_njOrAxn0xp8_bWgA1zHAIZg0ge6Q5s/s320/la+perla.jpg" border="0" /><br />These are the ladies, with the shirts we made of puffy paint.<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer; font-family: verdana;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336488954834290354" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtRTdxhJGuM2w3ljWIBbLWsG0MGG6RRBg24gh6hI2hplvSgMF6hf4VXx6e3-rZ8Ak9TdrD4JvAuUvkMoD3-g0eS38oeMO8vy3eoTgFaXee11JKMldkAHo2_bB2Ti6_eyX1HJxzn5xT6g/s320/peppercam.jpeg" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, La Perla does have a Pepper Cam (the chili pepper in the background is ride-able. I know.) This was a shot of us posted on their website.</span><br /><br /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px; display: block; height: 320px; cursor: pointer; font-family: verdana;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336488429772016850" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rhvHSoWZOkw6ajM6GIAIbuDO8KKgJ35Fw6aMz5GzrfCX0ng-1jiUmFQY_mYAJ9X5vyRTd4KTywWr2N0ZPlDZ6p0UefsXcs6Hcbq1umQjes_fdFgF4nkdCu11UTYCUwOOx3yVGJnb8FY/s320/kate+and+mk.jpg" border="0" /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 239px; cursor: pointer; font-family: verdana;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336488425639142338" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4iTxOKjtVWDYMmM4wsrJFXura8N1DTE3a-cTDRjvlNQbP93Mpi8umgjnEKHvhZ1wmwMIjay4nPfc3N-aXGjJOCwDz27rkSeG4vO2PIXeNhjl1ela3qwYg73UQSujgD47RbZyiyxQsuc/s320/joe+and+katelyn.jpg" border="0" /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LyvSIMQN6V97SmG4oEjo_AZDBhML7zjnEYTUudL87Dr7-229PfT0cUqrHAVRW5-zuVp8w91PsVXSp7Oxmo17fDgR7siqtI9q2mszDBF3P2grOusizvyFy8GTauEY-YWD2O7aM9GEQRQ/s1600-h/birthday.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LyvSIMQN6V97SmG4oEjo_AZDBhML7zjnEYTUudL87Dr7-229PfT0cUqrHAVRW5-zuVp8w91PsVXSp7Oxmo17fDgR7siqtI9q2mszDBF3P2grOusizvyFy8GTauEY-YWD2O7aM9GEQRQ/s320/birthday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373759820013485170" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Somehow we all got invited to a private party post-Perla. No one knows quite how, but we rocked the dance floor on the second floor. Minus Mary Kate.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" >2. Tuesday Night Mass at Joan of Arc</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">This was a standing room only Mass celebrated by the one and only Fr. John Naus. Fr. Naus is at least 200 years old, wheel chair-bound and in the the nursing home, but he still comes to campus every Tuesday to celebrate Mass with over 200 Marquette students. The man used to be a circus clown before joining the Jesuits, as evidenced by his superior balloon animal skills and his class offering of "The Philosophy of Humor". It was nice to celebrate Mass Naus-style one last time as seniors. Even Mandi (the heathen) came!! :)</span><br /><br /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer; font-family: verdana;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336488418059757394" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqXgjHRh1lpPcCUBWytSFurQ_hgohkB6mOsXf5JvKLVvtKVxOO8nhp9-onuqhaH_9562nL3JZ7DYKGsdewVEJhqt6SbuedyfwAhILPA097JyzCFGB_Zf2kOsRKzvy5mruMrnt69SPbIw/s320/joa.jpg" border="0" /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" >3. Senior Ball</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Held at the brand new Harley Davidson Museum (yes, you can say "Only in Milwaukee...."), senior ball was a wonderful night.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmaHrkH0v4_Hr-FURmHzNDZJlbh3LvyFiukxi8AhwKUhyphenhyphene9ghuQ3XbswYNI9b0RhWf3wf_2MK08wD35_yLs4Xf8t7fQIfDeqz2NZXcd2LPdyUV1GcNo0K7B6VYu6it55yj5gTEW0-vFI/s1600-h/senior+ball+6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmaHrkH0v4_Hr-FURmHzNDZJlbh3LvyFiukxi8AhwKUhyphenhyphene9ghuQ3XbswYNI9b0RhWf3wf_2MK08wD35_yLs4Xf8t7fQIfDeqz2NZXcd2LPdyUV1GcNo0K7B6VYu6it55yj5gTEW0-vFI/s320/senior+ball+6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373762220198658642" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Residents of Strack Apartment Z...and the squatter.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYMroRu5HEXsPuDxriGsbDTwyFDmFgHjK6pJFsBdJciMYSS4vYkM5fnEOdBbB7GZMjAtmwsG-kms6yPrE5JZu7YoCrRCc-uLp1h5ZsVhUy-Ilgwoyhxcl8ayQwxwEC0TVQwOc6mD0wdU/s1600-h/senior+ball+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYMroRu5HEXsPuDxriGsbDTwyFDmFgHjK6pJFsBdJciMYSS4vYkM5fnEOdBbB7GZMjAtmwsG-kms6yPrE5JZu7YoCrRCc-uLp1h5ZsVhUy-Ilgwoyhxcl8ayQwxwEC0TVQwOc6mD0wdU/s320/senior+ball+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373762210708270258" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Praem and I, discussing whether we will spank our children. Don't ask.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYMroRu5HEXsPuDxriGsbDTwyFDmFgHjK6pJFsBdJciMYSS4vYkM5fnEOdBbB7GZMjAtmwsG-kms6yPrE5JZu7YoCrRCc-uLp1h5ZsVhUy-Ilgwoyhxcl8ayQwxwEC0TVQwOc6mD0wdU/s1600-h/senior+ball+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336487977824238034" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJ3IJ_du_fn1PaG6z6YF-d5hBwweXOf8xNVUPPFBTSQ0wbVOycggCSkM5ZS7UsT-p_L42TbOZdhmWqQP5Vj7ztcuNTjyG8_vrNpcVCdMs_p-gk_0d8WqMlz7f5CDJkr7eJZ2hjEy-mGU/s320/dance.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></span> <span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" >4. Senior Tailgate at the Brewer's Game</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">While this experience was made moderately uncomfortable by me being an apathetic Twins fan sitting between a die-hard Brewer's and cut-throat Cubs fan, the game and the day was absolutely wonderful.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYMroRu5HEXsPuDxriGsbDTwyFDmFgHjK6pJFsBdJciMYSS4vYkM5fnEOdBbB7GZMjAtmwsG-kms6yPrE5JZu7YoCrRCc-uLp1h5ZsVhUy-Ilgwoyhxcl8ayQwxwEC0TVQwOc6mD0wdU/s1600-h/senior+ball+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336487972330171778" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3WWwVFjd7-Ev9tcdmDUIcpASKnwDuKr24SSFE8jUEb2qa3rASXSe2FQiTx0FkMQ_Diy68Mc0WXws5iou1GEArcwVLx9CJxIKHGt4dtxLJgIfn-h58a3Oz0422__qPyy0d2yrO94VoGP4/s320/brewers.jpg" border="0" /></a><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uIVnoq_lMjXq_OLcE8yEwaPUA_pk-A8FgFlDFx9A5heT3XgsrSiw91hL6dya9KMrWT7rbqLwZek-1esC2WtdZQAgrMBJ7akozj6A-W8u6rFbWr9O5wUGzh4DgCByu6NEP1SD4W5KhDk/s1600-h/brewers+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uIVnoq_lMjXq_OLcE8yEwaPUA_pk-A8FgFlDFx9A5heT3XgsrSiw91hL6dya9KMrWT7rbqLwZek-1esC2WtdZQAgrMBJ7akozj6A-W8u6rFbWr9O5wUGzh4DgCByu6NEP1SD4W5KhDk/s320/brewers+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373758523638905938" border="0" /></a><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDKilL_CZPc_xVEkPDfVyLZPok1WRhVP25CE8H1e_zfDGQBtJ-AODynV1bk21wO5lFLpQaat1G69DNzI7X3revlXSbEX4IBybwjUVYe8JVzmfTc3dVLVwJR9EA9QRuF35RaArq__Paoug/s1600-h/brewers+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDKilL_CZPc_xVEkPDfVyLZPok1WRhVP25CE8H1e_zfDGQBtJ-AODynV1bk21wO5lFLpQaat1G69DNzI7X3revlXSbEX4IBybwjUVYe8JVzmfTc3dVLVwJR9EA9QRuF35RaArq__Paoug/s320/brewers+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373756961485214274" border="0" /></a><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" >5. Around-the-World Progressive</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Truly, no special occasion is complete without a progressive party. For our part, we chose an around-the-world theme with each of the consecutive apartments providing both food and beverages to regale their guests with. The participating countries included:</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdlRnfRwsod5PJz6pIipktsjHAexmFoYFhLFv2WWJqk03umJ9b1TnVSBCYQ5neeu-kruXK2SlsgzXo4AzsJW6FEgNRVsIUqojJbyuZ6LGiItDpWyC82jlVlXUjzIDs_GU2doqJaYXZHM/s1600-h/cuba.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdlRnfRwsod5PJz6pIipktsjHAexmFoYFhLFv2WWJqk03umJ9b1TnVSBCYQ5neeu-kruXK2SlsgzXo4AzsJW6FEgNRVsIUqojJbyuZ6LGiItDpWyC82jlVlXUjzIDs_GU2doqJaYXZHM/s320/cuba.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373769096446282226" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">CUBA, complete with daiquiris, guacamole and of course...</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOd33Kv_bghfpJNCpPWK6c_-r4q2C8Df50CkYHXFKRFUZdEQU3tY6hZTLtVkNSLKZOmsSn9Us4n_CyHvcGCPxLMbQjCw08ySN8ZLKcKURDMHNFchb3iqL7utYgRb6GdSsu0lXqZONv4_4/s1600-h/cuba+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOd33Kv_bghfpJNCpPWK6c_-r4q2C8Df50CkYHXFKRFUZdEQU3tY6hZTLtVkNSLKZOmsSn9Us4n_CyHvcGCPxLMbQjCw08ySN8ZLKcKURDMHNFchb3iqL7utYgRb6GdSsu0lXqZONv4_4/s320/cuba+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373771576204381186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">...free health care.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuhIP_SQTmGwzpT9NV2SeI3GBK40oaSIdeQKd9-E6u285-2nCM_56Atcwe8YiAjkPABqcPK6dzMFpJ1NEIaswxaCoXWUS4aDrQZAZCoawtfZzyOIZx1ByoBfYgPbytDfMejjYQujp6Ug/s1600-h/italy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuhIP_SQTmGwzpT9NV2SeI3GBK40oaSIdeQKd9-E6u285-2nCM_56Atcwe8YiAjkPABqcPK6dzMFpJ1NEIaswxaCoXWUS4aDrQZAZCoawtfZzyOIZx1ByoBfYgPbytDfMejjYQujp6Ug/s320/italy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373769102863559378" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">ITALY (see it? their homemade dresses match the flag) complete with vino and pizza rolls.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnp7uZ4NoO65xUZ6fDu7bgkU_612OyUVo1c-qLG413G0xpIFjLbftkcNocSrvoPdMeJfLNQJmLsT9bXBwcG0cqK9KZ2fbzsfJXosxwkcPnsNDHAA6NeJXUgM44cna0KiPQxUG0iwRUF2k/s1600-h/germany.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnp7uZ4NoO65xUZ6fDu7bgkU_612OyUVo1c-qLG413G0xpIFjLbftkcNocSrvoPdMeJfLNQJmLsT9bXBwcG0cqK9KZ2fbzsfJXosxwkcPnsNDHAA6NeJXUgM44cna0KiPQxUG0iwRUF2k/s320/germany.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373771564955888530" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">GERMANY, featuring pretzels and beer.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJowQFpliVxZOY002NDBbf04YzLS5dyawNl3B6I-3qkychQBk8Q5aepjamj3M50FJUOyWZWCQqDqS1s5OiRsTb5y3gADliHA98paCn83AFfDn7fTBcZWGJbM_yKVgWJSWB4go3YwWMEk/s1600-h/belize.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336487967773897298" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJowQFpliVxZOY002NDBbf04YzLS5dyawNl3B6I-3qkychQBk8Q5aepjamj3M50FJUOyWZWCQqDqS1s5OiRsTb5y3gADliHA98paCn83AFfDn7fTBcZWGJbM_yKVgWJSWB4go3YwWMEk/s320/belize.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And BELIZE complete with Coke (from legit sugar cane, not syrup), tropical fruits, and obviously dancing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, should a person find his or herself in the precarious situation of not having a hosting apartment, they might wonder if they can participate in these aforementioned festivities. The answer to this query is of course, yes. Because no trip around the world can be complete without...</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXIO0w9Zf2X-6hqbHZzwiTZYXIhRRGn-u1uBqf8-TCBIrnQ8xOWCNWb_vzNrffKnWzJrGFyq-D0P5_223HMb_MZ_BB4tNz-Mwsk_FHqc7CYnWZO5zW8XX0z1xzLInlG263tSK1wD5XW8/s1600-h/tourists.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXIO0w9Zf2X-6hqbHZzwiTZYXIhRRGn-u1uBqf8-TCBIrnQ8xOWCNWb_vzNrffKnWzJrGFyq-D0P5_223HMb_MZ_BB4tNz-Mwsk_FHqc7CYnWZO5zW8XX0z1xzLInlG263tSK1wD5XW8/s320/tourists.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373769111127175330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">TOURISTS.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or even tourists-turned-tour-guides, manning the crowds as we traversed the streets of Milwaukee. </span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-R5d2UJEpux1eu-LdKditJVO_DhWfEPwsa8gs_VKuQnAehSprOtuoiAzB47O0md1fGOYWRRB3vvAhoeZMH4-LhkglyM6k2u9wMztwDOkTaZgUdmnSSdiEoeIkd_7b8iNNwZYgeiOcn0/s1600-h/tourists+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-R5d2UJEpux1eu-LdKditJVO_DhWfEPwsa8gs_VKuQnAehSprOtuoiAzB47O0md1fGOYWRRB3vvAhoeZMH4-LhkglyM6k2u9wMztwDOkTaZgUdmnSSdiEoeIkd_7b8iNNwZYgeiOcn0/s320/tourists+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373769117490548722" border="0" /></a><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdlRnfRwsod5PJz6pIipktsjHAexmFoYFhLFv2WWJqk03umJ9b1TnVSBCYQ5neeu-kruXK2SlsgzXo4AzsJW6FEgNRVsIUqojJbyuZ6LGiItDpWyC82jlVlXUjzIDs_GU2doqJaYXZHM/s1600-h/cuba.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px; display: block; height: 240px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336489284393337490" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinI6VksUj3-5l631fhCBeAwRgjthF8wYj1a3TSzv5zB0oa9CudJYfODN4Q_YH1I8a9gnW02QAE685XUfHxEADktFRioERNG-AppC-grJx3YOH6ATQ1mqBG9C40MPSiP2yoWKCpXvP-ioI/s320/tour.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;">This was an event that will go down in the Marquette history books. At least for us, anyway. It was a blast.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Senior week was capped off by graduation, of course, but since I didn't graduate, I wasn't there. Look for those photos next May. And in the mean time, keep keeping up with the blog. Thanks for reading.</span></span><br /></div>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-51698776413520833412009-05-01T13:22:00.000-07:002009-05-04T09:26:11.923-07:00What I do between classes...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJmw67cvdJFvBUfsDMf0v5dJTKlcpwyeLwTYlN9_JS89wpy_F1rj6Fws2Gl9PiKBML3Ci8_Bzsyr1jYvj16EH_evh_OdjgaUjgddhqUzqpmpXxX2CdxDnnyt69A6VggBs7FD-fXcIKwk/s1600-h/Seniors_Dance_Group.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332005858337956738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJmw67cvdJFvBUfsDMf0v5dJTKlcpwyeLwTYlN9_JS89wpy_F1rj6Fws2Gl9PiKBML3Ci8_Bzsyr1jYvj16EH_evh_OdjgaUjgddhqUzqpmpXxX2CdxDnnyt69A6VggBs7FD-fXcIKwk/s320/Seniors_Dance_Group.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">This could legitimately be my greatest collegiate acheivement. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FtozdeVGEWE">Enjoy!</a><br /></span></span></div>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-24131049358951114402009-04-07T17:59:00.000-07:002009-04-07T18:22:41.470-07:00Tyler, get that checked out: Thoughts on the NCAA Championship<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Well, the 2009 college basketball season came to a close last night. Living with a Michigander (who invited all of her Michigan friends over to watch the game) made the night somewhat of a challenge to enjoy. It was sad to see them go down that hard.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Now, while I was watching the game, I happened to be particularly attentive to my least favorite basketball player, Tyler Hansbrough. I'm not sure what it was. Perhaps the fact that he can make a shot, on the first try, from just about anywhere. But that would make me appreciate him a little, and I don't. So maybe it was his size XXS jersey that he wears, matching his size XXL shorts. But no, that wasn't the reason for my fixation either. I was attentive to Tyler last night because I think he needs to seek medical attention immediately, and not because of some stupid bloody nose.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Tyler Hansbrough, do you realize you have bug eyes? If I were to write him a letter informing him of his situation, that is how it would begin. We all know those eyes. "Psycho T" they call him, but I would wager that speaks of more than just his eyes. The man looks like he's possessed. An eyeball could pop out at any moment. I thought the adrenaline rush of the championship game might just do that.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But in a room with two PAs, one pre-med student, two physical therapists, and a nurse, our diagnosis was a consensus: Grave's Disease.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Yes, friends, Graves Disease is caused by an overactive thyroid gland, which just means all the things that jack you up are on overdrive. You're hyperactive, your heart rate's going crazy, and yes, your eyeballs are protuding out of your face. Just take a look:</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9d1120wDW_Necv45kXxCCm5xCpDw7wCWvTZNL_lfwzVs8THt1wbjSt2-MF-5gNLT9Jrt-Ed4vwiRnepCxnIIRxigL9PLo07PRbO-HWGo3igyJvkqm2zbHxNBdRIjteBD-BpP2uRINCeU/s1600-h/gravesdisease.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9d1120wDW_Necv45kXxCCm5xCpDw7wCWvTZNL_lfwzVs8THt1wbjSt2-MF-5gNLT9Jrt-Ed4vwiRnepCxnIIRxigL9PLo07PRbO-HWGo3igyJvkqm2zbHxNBdRIjteBD-BpP2uRINCeU/s320/gravesdisease.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322121495578717874" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Kind of freakish, huh? Now take a look at Tyler Hansbrough:</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FE3rjGOGz71eG8VKz2pvWAlqhryd3yX7oYl_jFGBAuHrfxKyMuOb08m_4lBoHgQdBBrMJPkd0DsXnlWeP5OxF8KjWvhIiTYhOiF6l7djXDgP0ATpT7h80psbQ0gjVv3-QM2knprMN2o/s1600-h/tyler.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 185px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FE3rjGOGz71eG8VKz2pvWAlqhryd3yX7oYl_jFGBAuHrfxKyMuOb08m_4lBoHgQdBBrMJPkd0DsXnlWeP5OxF8KjWvhIiTYhOiF6l7djXDgP0ATpT7h80psbQ0gjVv3-QM2knprMN2o/s320/tyler.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322121785645419250" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Not convinced? That's fine. There are others out there making a definitive diagnosis. Check this out:</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: verdana;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvO1YTK-pRJAElymofHXEJJQQTgzjYajzhcO37NiNL97Q8e__sI3saJmxCiUGeQ7O8_YpxzdEoA1U7rv670U377q_simA0fpCmwa6tal5XFKf7rquCYIdi4FbxOaXqgf0_w8JboC_XrHc/s1600-h/tylerhansbrough.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 305px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvO1YTK-pRJAElymofHXEJJQQTgzjYajzhcO37NiNL97Q8e__sI3saJmxCiUGeQ7O8_YpxzdEoA1U7rv670U377q_simA0fpCmwa6tal5XFKf7rquCYIdi4FbxOaXqgf0_w8JboC_XrHc/s320/tylerhansbrough.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322122400542995762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">I rest my case. I will admit, his hard work and dedication paid off, and I'm sure his whole family is proud of him. I may still think he's an arrogant jerk, but at least I have enough decency to be concerned for his health. Alright, that's enough press time for one lame basketball player. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh and Tyler? Hit up an endocrinologist before the draft, K? Cool.</span></span>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-1376471940233548432009-03-25T21:56:00.000-07:002009-04-08T10:36:16.394-07:00PA Prom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6h2e1oOhYo7X8Lrrj7OONul26HcO3fOSUL28HIovUW3bUw0QfwWazTPUmZETSzU3Syt5zn68lmYeSkIuwdGC_8G3xh__Ac_7QlaVmEq1JSFglbEwhW9xprZ96x6V_7ccS3M-rLC4hLY/s1600-h/pa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6h2e1oOhYo7X8Lrrj7OONul26HcO3fOSUL28HIovUW3bUw0QfwWazTPUmZETSzU3Syt5zn68lmYeSkIuwdGC_8G3xh__Ac_7QlaVmEq1JSFglbEwhW9xprZ96x6V_7ccS3M-rLC4hLY/s320/pa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317359453831248034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">So I spend at least five hours a day with the same fifty people. Often others are there too, but the fifty of us are always together, always in an academic setting, always stressed, always looking...tired.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Last Friday, however, we got all cleaned up for the P</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">A Prom, er...The Marquette Physician Assistant Preceptor Appreciation Dinner and Dance. It was like prom for big kids. This is basically a big shindig to honor the doctors and PAs we work under during our clinical year. So there was shmoozing, dining, and at the end, dancing. IT WAS A BLAST!! The people I go to school with are actually pretty fun, so it was great to just let loose wit</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">h them for a night.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">In lieu of posting photos of us looking regal in our formal wear, I thought that picture of us having fun would suffice. I went with my dear friend Joe, who is a physical therapist (our supposed arch enemies) so that was dramatic (not) but he was a terrific date. He came in with one mission and one mission only: dance. And dance he did. Let's just say that with his moves and my secret passion for hip hop, we lit up the dance floor.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaA0nlzdS8epokuPSIk423rtHzTtWFREsvpAYxGvzNRT-DThzOEYSeQYX7H2U8bdqhoHhDF1Ujhi1v_G3cSd27EnFaD-7QGgKtpvjHpaxMqjVdUrgv-29QWhnQJzVwwXvQhezA5Nr8M8/s1600-h/joe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaA0nlzdS8epokuPSIk423rtHzTtWFREsvpAYxGvzNRT-DThzOEYSeQYX7H2U8bdqhoHhDF1Ujhi1v_G3cSd27EnFaD-7QGgKtpvjHpaxMqjVdUrgv-29QWhnQJzVwwXvQhezA5Nr8M8/s320/joe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317357592308488242" border="0" /></a>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-18244238295274646792009-03-22T20:26:00.001-07:002009-03-22T20:34:10.081-07:00Wins and Losses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9MOVuw9LGvz1-UXMT5sDbIn8ZHCqBIDM_nKLesAX5s3og8Ps8GJNMaj-On1TsuwJ4e6My7G2rjn89rXodbr64NbkiJo1Ww3mSWd9NndkMXgmzxzL7JGVBwwU6Gi4IdAf3YGUhu7siRx4/s1600-h/wes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9MOVuw9LGvz1-UXMT5sDbIn8ZHCqBIDM_nKLesAX5s3og8Ps8GJNMaj-On1TsuwJ4e6My7G2rjn89rXodbr64NbkiJo1Ww3mSWd9NndkMXgmzxzL7JGVBwwU6Gi4IdAf3YGUhu7siRx4/s320/wes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316219553909458050" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Today was a sad day for the Golden Eagle nation. Another heartbreaker of a loss, and another season ended with the wonder of what-might-have-been-if... I, for one, was a Eucharistic Minister at Mass during the first half, which was probably for the best. Oh well. At least Jimmy Butler is around for another season. He's my favorite.<br /><br />In the win category, the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GICSPdLK_5E">Very Excited Pugs</a> Intramural Softball Club had their season opener this evening and boy was it a big win! As the co-editor of the Pug Gazette, I'll have to get writing on the recap and submit it to SportsCenter ASAP, but it was a great way to ease the sting of the MU loss.</span>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-84370246493543537532009-03-21T16:46:00.001-07:002009-03-21T16:52:05.329-07:00Golden Eagles Soar<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GQcyHvMcAarGt8ypGv1FRVxs_DXWBeGRte3pq5mB7gnWgum3liR9Ew-BUDIPJOew1iA-FuMFWd7hNoxmFX8vAArBF7_s-K0vx7HlD56qIEaA_VDf3vL4BI97LMAwzGLCXXNlUafjtck/s1600-h/lazar320.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GQcyHvMcAarGt8ypGv1FRVxs_DXWBeGRte3pq5mB7gnWgum3liR9Ew-BUDIPJOew1iA-FuMFWd7hNoxmFX8vAArBF7_s-K0vx7HlD56qIEaA_VDf3vL4BI97LMAwzGLCXXNlUafjtck/s320/lazar320.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315791702582606562" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Hope you're enjoying March Madness. My bracket is terrible, but Marquette's winning, so let's hope that continues. This is Lazar Hayward who saved the team in the first round win over Utah State. The team also decided to shave their heads for this game. Not going to comment on whether this was a positive beauty move for this oddly-shapen-head crew, but for the solidarity with Coach Buzz, I'll let it slide. Final score 58-57. Next up: Mizzou at 3:50 CST tomorrow. Ring out ahoya!!<br /></span>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-4744069955861779022009-03-21T10:32:00.000-07:002009-03-21T13:48:33.672-07:00Spring Break: The Highlights<div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Alright, so I've already shared the fact that it is miracle I made it home from spring break. But I thought I'd give you a little photo journal of the highlights. Enjoy!</span><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315696617030057394" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 239px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk58hVyprmjYoVeh6Sf-T8iJE82hpxX1nTfGb4SveifVPBM6EzbOSjCJAaiYJ6x5Idw1gWEwjlFGcSILYKvFXoT1VQuXkmzD43se7pEXbZXIDJNJPrlJPFXZdnyLvFLYAqg39kUOIhF6M/s320/mon+and+starfish.jpg" border="0" /><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Day 1: Imperial Beach. This just happen to be right down the beach from a little place called TJ. Tijuana, if you will. Don't worry, though, we never went to TJ. "Oh yah, Big Deal!"</span></div><div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315730649147706626" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1uM6aY9G4iYr0ti1Kg5udMyS_ZSaN7oXxiPBcMdxGQQKDJOVmZpMu2l2ejNPdhkKM0F-TNt7J_Zlyd9nhnRjakvBKBpiSekymGI2JPHHIk5maK4K1lIKNbZO-wkW1XTfb4dFoPweJAME/s320/clams.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />A</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >t Imperial Beach, we walked all the way out to the end of the pier, and as we were gazing out at the ocean, this fine group of San Diegoans approached us. The conversation went something like this: "Hey, do you ladies want some fresh fish?" Catherine: "No." Mary Kate: "SURE!!" And then we commenced to eating raw clams (freshly cook in lemon juice and Tabasco), holding starfish, dodging lobsters, and pretty much creating our own version of Sea World.</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315702458189366802" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 223px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGdMgBLXXtutLH8ErIyQHHf7BegARcKJ9uRf17EzYz9ad04ZrL7oPllCKaihSc2ssHnRPiEMEOyNe2SIcSmr6GjhzkMp8wA5HwVESXwROUJVUsK5KQd7FBQ1JmXgCGDm-aRpK8OcGbUhk/s320/mon+beach.jpg" border="0" /></p><p style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana;font-family:verdana;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Day 2: Beach Day. Clearly I was excited.</span></p><p style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315702949862895314" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCqiJcWcAPLPD0zVWGaIZdXTjjm08xSorzkZTUZXumzakbv4vToJ8akFaYO8dePHqcnjZX6dZ4ef5rm1VvYQpxcS6Z9A7kIl2v0WJue98Gll0J3oqh2k8KnSI4x6w70NeOXAwXkPomdUE/s320/beach+jumps.jpg" border="0" /></p></div><br /><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >I think we spent a solid half hour just jumping over the waves. The tide may not fascinate the San Diego folk anymore, but to a bunch of girls from the tundra? Absolutely. The beach was beautiful, the water was pretty cold, but the sunshine was wonderful. I think it was 11 degrees and sleeting in Milwaukee. </span><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;" >We also found a crab. MK was bold enough to pick it up. Sea World.</span><br /></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315704098266860386" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1KYGW27pVmgeHkDTggSLi63JBU2FYqSu62cSdlgqlzpaStJQFppiyoyuZ_f8aW0aMqcy0cbpjnyeQom9aVOCNQe-QfqgCFWw8bWVgQ2j2c3hcww7fy8c9sKDD9B5KwymvMm539qD8rqQ/s320/biking.jpg" border="0" /></p> <p><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span></p><p><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Day 3: Bike Day. We cruised around Coronado Island for the afternoon.</span></p><p><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315704467633821458" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllSMrrMox-J7EQcfvRq1YdP4xF-vnIpPRWmKqXue2gXFkv3OEwHluYs1ZtQhr4aeVL8qRg4VqdfqaKla31EX1e7xBupvnoWUz1eYhHvzvKBYBZ7vJJyS8KROgTypxt6N2LPt3vycmKrU/s320/bike+jump.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Of course Catherine would not be satisfied without a jumping picture. I would say this was our most successful attempt. In the background is Coronado Bridge. And boats.</span><br /><br /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315705552534884658" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 240px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmzpcljXUENiayX8NDENAEacO6niICoW0cqFasrp9lghCxY1ADY79-9KDKd4qky17pmvhAvSpU3Nw0j8T4Ql7olmStvQdf4W_DICHpGjSRQtJ32PIxUHMXB07o6u1esHhxQATnuY1IjE/s320/picnic.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Our hotel was on the isthmus connecting Coronado Island to San Diego. So our bike ride was a ride on the isthmus and a ride around the island. We packed a lunch to eat in the middle of the day. Unfortunately Coronado Island didn't have a lot of picnic areas. So we made our own. On the median in downtown Coronado. </span></div><br /><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SxgSovzxCyp2H0ix3jfiAjeDpm8HY7xt1UgCD2ukyVpVasD7BBQnbX7vrOZb-w9GFREUjqVtcz6f5FJRLfgiqBMdqTNioq0oYqHDJIm_sEpOraRDQ9Qxm4LRV8udvzOSJX6G0BIA3RM/s1600-h/new+kids.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315712486812955074" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJfUtt4hmA0D_7aPotJq9l-VeMOXIIW8GsHW5WDklqs62xuR-JKOznsOLG9OgQbdHpa1LLn-3Zn1iqF1y3fsFg60oILkNMMYOe4swsfRIyxnIQGiOZyqDNnFulB3T6UEDZpz_jVFIveA/s320/mk+cath+beach.jpg" border="0" /></a><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhx1MuPNGbP3nTZUi07s3Xa5m7CpRQ7RPasZ_pwLE4HF2fNSepJcc2mg1jFA7KZf1RkjhnjWVq4z6x8KtzQNPGT9aGH58t_dqY38-FCOf8qw2y8X-G1hemn9LixAY-WVc3Bhfj8eM1sE/s1600-h/beach.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhx1MuPNGbP3nTZUi07s3Xa5m7CpRQ7RPasZ_pwLE4HF2fNSepJcc2mg1jFA7KZf1RkjhnjWVq4z6x8KtzQNPGT9aGH58t_dqY38-FCOf8qw2y8X-G1hemn9LixAY-WVc3Bhfj8eM1sE/s320/beach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315739202193407554" border="0" /></a></p> </div><br /><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >We ended the night hanging out by the beach. Note the headlamp.</span><br /><br /></div></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315733018678975570" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHh9XLIeNrWJa-_Ent-fKdv4GqVXXs1drwJ67zMDp5yZF1pnMkKhuLNO1sliDSLzx2voKGUp-06kzX5UjHYJL3Rg6bt01hOpfNJUggEJjMDFBlAf-3MFZ_xPhG2RDFMmOHRUVfvTs76BA/s320/boat.jpg" border="0" /><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />Day 4: Whale watching. (Once again, no need for Sea World.) </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QwM4vXex7c"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >WE'RE ON A BOAT!!</span></a><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > On the end of our row is our good friend and driver Omar. He was a delight and was also from TJ. Note the USS Ronald Reagan in the background. Not quite the USS Poseidon....</span></div><div> </div><div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315715644106364690" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEyv5tdd_bnUdivXo6m835CMAhtsdNJuR4RTfayc8UXNkBs2FdBfTkKeLBfuowboZ56gy1g9gmGiu8PpDfUX3vMCGPg_oxVEGloGzbOkD-JBKbnvKoHZ313qa2xouP0kj7ezTPoQqNGA/s320/dolphins.jpg" border="0" /><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We saw dolphins!!</span></span></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315716915840399714" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6TdjYj7Eq6IiRZYCb_3iXRlxLaSgCm4pFrt8unUenn2-zVvHTVp70pUdz__CzBFgzKHdkfRVOFjZBquZ0TEvoYuNptCYmt89MEGjKSkAvtwrW8wx-ZiUwnGHvm-uqpHsW6Y2-msZG5s/s320/lindsay+and+puker.jpg" border="0" /></p><p style="font-family: verdana;font-family:verdana;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana;font-family:verdana;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Clearly Lindsay was was excited about the adventure. However, I can assure you that the gentleman to the left was not. This man was so sick he puked all over the holder of puke bags. It was enough to make me want to vomit--and I've got a stomach of steel! (Well, that's not true. My stomach is made of parietal and chief cells, but who's counting?)</span></p><p style="font-family: verdana;font-family:verdana;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315718631409488066" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjFnKlQ_JhkkNNSmlVUAmcJmCj2u9TeMe24Jd8HGNMfxjKRIQDrCEK78uT3k35oTehy27LxsdoOBLTOTBY-SR2a8SeyYzH_-uagTRcVq49kc10ib6JEYGrnlv8j7WDZc-7jhMe2YU9aA/s320/group+pic+lookout.jpg" border="0" /> <span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />Day Five: Adventures with Uncle Jerry and Aunt Mary. </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Cast of characters (L-R): Megan, Mary Kate, Catherine, myself and Lindsay. </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Here we are at the highest point in San Diego, the Cabrillo Memorial, founder of Brillo Pads.<br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315724610468959954" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaACuD6XhbpiduTpW4jrDvLl3nA5mDZSh-lrqm3SFzRYJqb8aWsfuxNuURvysS-7dG7irjLdN0187Jol6L16A6wavIIxfCmE8HodyrGrAxKNRs7oytEFd_MXuwfGMA6uOSoK7RxbEV3Dk/s320/explorers.jpg" border="0" /></div><br />That's a lie. Cabrillo actually discovered San Diego. He was an explorer, just like me and Lindsay.<br /><br /></span> </div></div><div><br /><span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SxgSovzxCyp2H0ix3jfiAjeDpm8HY7xt1UgCD2ukyVpVasD7BBQnbX7vrOZb-w9GFREUjqVtcz6f5FJRLfgiqBMdqTNioq0oYqHDJIm_sEpOraRDQ9Qxm4LRV8udvzOSJX6G0BIA3RM/s1600-h/new+kids.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SxgSovzxCyp2H0ix3jfiAjeDpm8HY7xt1UgCD2ukyVpVasD7BBQnbX7vrOZb-w9GFREUjqVtcz6f5FJRLfgiqBMdqTNioq0oYqHDJIm_sEpOraRDQ9Qxm4LRV8udvzOSJX6G0BIA3RM/s320/new+kids.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315740839035071010" border="0" /></a></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25qiZy7vmqY&feature=PlayList&p=EAF441DBE27D5F54&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=11"><span style="font-family:verdana;">New Kids on the Block</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">. SD style.</span></span><br /><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315727928250377586" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Q7KDlriYTIXP1l-IwqRkSp0Pq-cHFgI6WhMGllmwXmY6gEuh-7jVnJYOYXAlsmQmvqxPxBJXXcGMvPn4G1WcI0mAjcng9JrEGyC9UHntEP3l0DlpXz3Z-BKZicJ2xSNCdG0LqYGd67Y/s320/old+town.jpg" border="0" /></div><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />Next stop? Old Town San Diego. We're in a wagon.</span><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315727708494979506" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 240px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigL3QcXfX92vqgZ7qxzQMmAw367C6-JrG41hSa68mCLdzWusIRRqF6EuV57X0cT8y_Aa3GlPIXbMSy_dNSMT_ql6LU6GvNUewTDiGnFV2etp4dJlw-Q2c_qOe2mH09hNP-1fZ0R-Pz2WA/s320/wagon.jpg" border="0" /></div></div><p><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span></p><p><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Look, I played a lot of Oregon Trail as a child. I got excited!</span></p><p><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315728723704452082" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhGDG8p_-ebhMiucuiuIIq7UAP-x_dszeN8s6IlFeEfOj130LygInl8fJ2qZFrNESVpAUFTAgTQjIIWMM6UXb2CIioWsM_a3eTYcR5zs5WW8-qFdUceJoCRmQWITQJludiarxV5hHNqo/s320/caesar.jpg" border="0" /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ></span></div><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ></span> </div><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />And on the last night, all of Mary Kate's dreams came true with a night of samba-ing with Caesar.</span> </div><div><br /><p><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;" ><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315729155601197090" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcc7CeDWGIYaWl4C4S1n4YWyWCtvMI4AeyxItuXg7P_daAa7p01lv7gKzlPjkTLAA3NBELrPd00A2GO5Zep6-993FUwtao7jwq5hyphenhyphenxPIEvL1t3nb6E-StSPY6ZAePgCtjOlAk4jCKbBY/s320/sunet+beach.jpg" border="0" /></span></p></div><div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >All things considered, it was one heck of a trip. Although I'm not sure anyone would ever want to fly with me again, I at least hope to travel again soon with these girls. It was a blast.</span></div>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-38377143688823918762009-03-16T20:53:00.000-07:002009-03-18T09:59:43.917-07:00Traveling to Cali with my friends<span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ahhh</span> it's been awhile since my last post. Not to worry, little has happened outside of the constant stream of exams. However, I did take a little trip to San Diego with four of my college friends last week, and let me tell you, it was quite the trip.<br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >I hope to update with more pictures and s</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">tories</span> later, but I figured this one might wet your whistle if you have been dying to hear about my life.</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7QaYmf1-4RbfP99qWtBbsO4IPjb0LUzgswwU1l5Eq5PsMNKDNBAVUcmPqZB237sJosrq838IdKI4lO2AtoGSo1TFwpvGXU1UBrwcyRQyBmZfnQpI_U0ah7SDbF0cKOujBTAN-OIr_SY/s1600-h/coppertone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7QaYmf1-4RbfP99qWtBbsO4IPjb0LUzgswwU1l5Eq5PsMNKDNBAVUcmPqZB237sJosrq838IdKI4lO2AtoGSo1TFwpvGXU1UBrwcyRQyBmZfnQpI_U0ah7SDbF0cKOujBTAN-OIr_SY/s320/coppertone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314001139834516562" border="0" /></a><br />Now, you may be asking yourself, "Self, why on earth would Monica post a picture of a 16 oz. bottle of Coppertone Sport sunscreen on her blog?" You may be thinking that this might be the start of a story about how I got absolutely fried while I was in Cali. This, much to the delight of my anti-skin cancer pathology professor, is not the case. (Although I did get a little sun.) You might also think that this could be the beginning of a story about how I was protected from UV rays while engaging in some demanding athletic opportunity. While this was the case (if you can call a relaxing bike ride around the island "demanding") on one of the days, this is not the story I will share with you today.<br /><br />In fact, the story I am about to tell didn't even happen on my vacation at all. It occurred just moments before we were destined to leave So Cal for our return to Wisconsin. The story begins when I exited the cab at the airport, checked my bag at the curb, and then instead of handing my bag to the attendant I walked into the airport with it. "Mon!" Megan yelled. "You have to give that to him!" Right. Airport foible #1. On the way to security, I was chatting it up with my roommate on the phone, discussing the present state of the Marquette-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Villanova</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">BEast</span> tournament game (it was dismal at that point) and finally had to let her go to walk through security. So I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">de</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">shoed</span> myself, threw my things in the bin and walked through the metal detector like a pro. As I was waiting for my things to come through, staring off into space, Mary Kate taps me on the shoulder. "Mon" she said. "I think that's your bag." Not sure what she meant, I looked at the security monitor to see that indeed the flashing lights and incessant beeping noise was coming in response to my bag going through the check. The security guard began scouring my bag while I was trying to figure out what on earth could have set off the alarm. And then, triumphantly, the security guard raised her hand with the item of interest. Yes, my friends, you guessed it. I attempted (inadvertently) to carry on a 16 oz. bottle of Coppertone Sport sunscreen. Apparently that is frowned upon these days.<br /><br />I couldn't help my outburst. "OH GOD!!" while Mary Kate was just about peeing herself laughing. I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">afraid</span> I might end up in airport incarceration. (It happens. My friend Molly got locked up in England for not having a Visa.) "Just throw it away! I'm sorry!" I yelled as the lady smiled and carefully threw out my bottle of sunscreen. Why? Why had I not packed this meaningless (sorry Dr. Bell) item in my suitcase? Why was I so careless? Why were my friends doubled over laughing at me?<br /><br />Airport foible #2.<br /><br />After we dried our eyes from this experience, we quickly ran to the airport bar to watch the rest of the Marquette game before our flight left. We were loiterers. None of us, after our week of vacation, had a strong desire to buy a drink then (or ever pay for one in an airport) so we just stood in the doorway blocking traffic and staring at the TV screen. This was the exciting part of the game. Marquette was slowly gaining on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Villanova</span> in the second half of the game. And although I don't think anyone in this bar cared an ounce about Marquette or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Villanova</span>, after we showed up, just about everyone was watching the screen by the end of the game. Yes, Marquette had overcome a 20-point half time deficit to lead <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Villanova</span> with 13 seconds to play. Everyone was rooting for the underdog. People were on their cell phones talking about the game. We were all watching it together. And as the clock ticked away and we watched Nova make a layup in those last seconds and come out on top, it was nothing less than a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">heartbreaker</span>. What a disappointment. Regardless, I still have fond memories of that bar in SAN airport. We may not have purchased anything, but we brought atmosphere. People left that bar invested in an experience with 50 other strangers. And that was worth it.<br /><br />Megan's comment on the game? "That sucks. I think it is just a sign of what is to come. Our lives are already starting to turn crappier as we leave San Diego."<br /><br />We boarded our first flight to Minneapolis/St. Paul and successfully traveled back to the Midwest. After a delightful dinner at Chilli's in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">MSP</span> airport (it's like a mall!) we (attempted to) board our final connection back to Milwaukee. But as I brought my ticket to the counter, it would not scan. He tried it a few times but to no avail. I started getting nervous as he starting typing into his computer. Catherine from behind started saying, "Mon, that's not the right ticket," but I wasn't listening to her because our boarding passes for both flights were on the same ticket. Well, it turns out our boarding passes for both flights were on the same ticket both for our flights leaving Cali and returning to Milwaukee. Yes, I had tried to board this flight to Milwaukee with a ticket to San Diego. Apparently I had placed my boarding pass from our first flight in the same pocket of my bag as I had my actual ones and never thrown the old one out. I was quickly able to retrieve the real one and board the plane without too many scowls from the group of people still anxious to board behind me. Airport foible #3.<br /><br />Yes, friends, I struggle when traveling. It should come as no surprise that I was dubbed the super traveler of the trip.<br /><br />More to come on the actual trip....<br /></span></div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-48604388937666415982009-02-13T23:00:00.000-08:002009-02-13T23:20:06.925-08:00California DreaminIn a few short hours, I will be embarking on a 1,600 mile journey from the midwest to the west coast. Leaving Chicago yesterday was very interesting. The last week had been a curious one. I met some fun people, did some fun things, saw Slumdog Millionaire (which was phenomenal, I highly recommend it), caught up with old friends, said goodbyes, visited my old school, heard the car alarm on my street for the last time, lost my driver's license in a cab (not good when you're about to drive a couple thousand miles), found someone to live in my apartment, finally went to the Western Round-Up, stepped in dog poo, neglected to see people that I wanted to see, packed all my belongings, strategically packed them all into my car (it was pretty amazing actually, I would say my second most notable packing feat of my lifetime), and shed many tears. I am sad to be leaving Chicago. I learned many things there, had many life changing experiences there and leave Chicago a different person than I arrived. I think it was my time to go. I am going to miss my roommates and my friends a lot, but I think I make the right decision to leave. It wasn't easy to go, but I know I will be back. I will always love Chicago. <div><br /></div><div>So I'm westward bound. My brother is driving with me, for which I am so grateful. I enjoy driving, and I enjoy driving by myself, but I think 24 hours of it may have been a little too much me time. Until next time...keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars. </div>Laura K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07274844973283977328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-74303715473863304522009-02-12T16:34:00.001-08:002009-02-12T16:58:07.129-08:00Playing Doctor<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My friends, today was a great day because for the first time in my life, I am taking a lab that is somewhat relevant to the rest of my life. I took my first throat culture today. This lab is especially fun because we get to wear white lab coats that make us feel like we are doing more than just culturing bacteria. So anyway, after putting on my lab coat and a fresh pair of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">nitrile</span> gloves, I stuck a tongue depressor in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">someone's</span> mouth and stabbed them in the throat with cotton. I thought it would be a lot more difficult, that the tongue was bigger, that I would be able to get it through the tonsils, I don't know, I just thought it would be hard. In reality, there's actually a lot of space to stick this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">swabber</span> in, and my friend didn't gag too much. From there it is just a fairly simple process of spreading around a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">specimen</span> on a plate and sending it to the lab to grow over night. Meanwhile, they taught us the little 5-minute diagnostic test, which involves sticking a tester in fluid and stirring for five minutes. This prompted us to wonder...is this really what your doctor is doing when they leave you in the exam room for 20 minutes? Stirring? It seemed a little silly, but in a program that seems to be a lifetime of prerequisites, it was fun to play doctor for a day.<br /></span></span>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-45177222461714458452009-02-09T17:32:00.000-08:002009-02-09T17:33:09.197-08:00The WheelWhere would we be without it?Laura K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07274844973283977328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-88913703657822159732009-02-01T20:50:00.000-08:002009-02-01T21:19:49.907-08:00iAct = iAm OnALargeSandwichBoard<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Well, folks, welcome to Marquette University's Mission Week! Mission Week, in my opinion, is about half celebration and half publicity stunt, but it is typically pleasant nonetheless. It was kicked off this afternoon by an All-University Mass celebrated by everyone's favorite, Fr. Doug Leonhardt, complete with a parade of the brown-haired Jesuits. I was running late this afternoon though, so I showed up to Mass in the middle of the opening procession. I managed to squeeze myself in to the aisle-end of my friends' pew, about halfway up inside the church. Mass was nice, particularly the Gospel choir that joined the Liturgical choir for a rousing emsem</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">ble. However, things definitely got awesome during the closing recessional. As hallelujahs were being thrown up during "This Little Light of Mine" (and yes, I did consider how crappy of a song that was, thank you Joseph and my summer of Mass planning), the priests were on their way out and Fr. Mathie was sort of shaking hands with students as he passed them. Now, as Fr. Mathie was passing me, I assumed he would desire the same. But as we stuck out our hands, his wasn't open in the typical handshaking fashion. Unable to make a decision in the clutch, I did what any closed-handed handshaker would do: I went in for the pound. Yes, my friends, during the recessional, I pounded 65-year-old Fr. Mathie on the way out of church. It was almost triumphant, and I got several comments about it post-Mass.<br /><br />Now, another thing has happened to me this Mission Week that you would expect a few comments about, but alas, none have come. I have become a poster child for Marquette's Mission. All over campus there are 6-foot-tall "sandwich boards" (</span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">kind of like big easels) with different students and staff's pictures and quotes about how they live this year's theme: "iAct:The consequences of faith". I reluctantly agreed to doing this, and so here, my friends, in all its glory, is my huge poster:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5fUNeJWFo_NQKjcuyBPBiRmp5ts8YwBkEMFNgXaQCMWwB_Kfv3WrbBzuonE9l_hs206Xd_-sO2hyxg8MhreNSKI9WBylWKFNHCdzeLqLNuIDBeeGKbpk3bjQhwpdvugKufgn3TPnKYo/s1600-h/gview.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5fUNeJWFo_NQKjcuyBPBiRmp5ts8YwBkEMFNgXaQCMWwB_Kfv3WrbBzuonE9l_hs206Xd_-sO2hyxg8MhreNSKI9WBylWKFNHCdzeLqLNuIDBeeGKbpk3bjQhwpdvugKufgn3TPnKYo/s320/gview.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298061840619167218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Profound, I know. You can make fun of me later. Anyway, this is great and all, and there's gotta be about 20 or 30 of these boards all over the place. Would you like to know where mine is posted? The rotunda of the student union. Just kidding. That would actually probably be worse than where my placement actually is. My board is on a sidewalk directly between the smallest freshman dorm and the construction of a new administrative building. Yes, I have been placed within the wall of the dorm, two sides of construction, and the other side of the board (with a different person) is facing the street. This means that throughout Mission Week, approximately 12 people will see this board. Now, look, I know this sounds bad. But all I'm saying, is if you're going to blow up my face and stick in on a huge board, at least give me a little traffic, you know? Make it worth it. I suppose I will survive, even if I am not the most infamous Mission Week poster that is up. In fact, most people's Mission Week will come and go without ever thinking about the consequences of <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> faith. But you know what? That's ok with me. Because deep down I know, that somewhere, sometime this week, on some beam, some construction worker will look through the commercial plastic surrounding his building and think, "Damn. At least I can write a sentence using more than one word."</span></span>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-43431117159548147362009-01-28T18:23:00.000-08:002009-01-31T18:59:44.858-08:00'I got two white girls'<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">That's what the charming third grader that I tutor said today. One of the other kids was talking about this girl he used to like and he said he doesn't like her anymore and that was his reason. Well, that's what this blog has too. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Now, obviously I am biased, but I think everyone should be a teacher at some point in their life. If nothing else, it will provide you with endless stories with which to entertain your friends at parties. No matter what kind of shitty day you might have at the office, its no where near as bad as having a student smear shit (yes, real, human feces) on a classroom floor. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Oh, the joys of teaching. I'm not entirely certain what to write about in a blog, so things may be a bit random at times. I have lots of things to comment on, I've thought about writing a book. The thing is, I don't think I know anyone that wants to read a fifty word blog that's free, let alone anyone that will want to read hundreds of pages that they have to pay for. Hmm...</span></div>Laura K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07274844973283977328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303808761219178366.post-53074145373048755592009-01-25T12:33:00.000-08:002009-01-25T12:51:42.987-08:00The Mostly True But Slightly Embellished Adventures of Safari Sam and Wilderness Wanda<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">It has been a year and a half since the fateful Sunday night when Lindsay Becher made a decision that would change these two lives--and hundreds of others--forever.<br /><br />"Program Area 1 - Nature - Monica and Knaus<br />Program Area 2 - Nature - Monica and Knaus"<br /><br />Yes, it was then that two Camp Gray camp counselors would lead 25+ children on a ridiculous Southern adventure through the Baraboo wilderness, testing the strength and stamina of all involved. Yes, children walked away bloody and yes, these counselors walked away without voices. But no one could deny that there was only one word to describe what had happened that week: "Extreme."<br /><br />Since that week, Laura (Wilderness Wanda) and myself (Safari Sam) have experienced other extreme things. For Laura, the inner-city Chicago school districts would prove a lifethreatening experience. For myself, living in inner-city Milwaukee would do the same. However I think it is safe to say that the most extreme thing the two of us have done to date is. . .establish this blog.<br /><br />You might be asking yourself, "Self, why did Monica and Knaus make a blog?" This is a good question. Your first thought might be that after the Pulitzer-prize worthy submission to the Camp Gray blog, I felt that my fame had outgrown that venue, and I needed my own outlet. But that would be false. Or you might be thinking that Knaus, after discovering that everyone else in the world has a blog, felt a little left out, that maybe there was someone who really wanted to know completely irrelevant details of her life. This would also be false. The truth is, this blog was created after we both tried to convince each other to create a blog. This turned into an "I'll do it if you do it" mentality, which culminated in the creation of a joint blog.<br /><br />What will this blog entail? It is unclear at the present moment. Hopefully profound thoughts that will change your life. However, we don't want to get anyone's hopes up. So for right now, it will likely contain unrelated posts from two unrelated people who will soon live thousands and thousands of miles away from one another. The rest? Well, we shall find out soon enough.<br /><br /></span></span>Monica H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07093474618905843885noreply@blogger.com0