I nearly died before my college graduation year expired. Sign? Maybe...

Ok, one thing that I have had going for me is that I own a car.
Hold up, I now have to put that in past tense.

Because I killed my car today. Either that or my 97' Carolla made an impressive commitment to suicide. And perhaps a near successful attempt at homicide. But evidently I'm not killed that easily.

I was driving home on the highway from visiting my lovely GF in the north pole (close enough, trust me). The roads had been bad, bearing the evidence of the previous nights bad snow and ice storm, but were getting better as I maneuvered south. At the time of the incident, the last thirty miles I had driven were of reletively clear road. Somewhat wet, but clear.
I was traveling at what I thought was a cautious 60 mph.

Then, as what seems to come from out of no where as I rounded a bend, residual slush appeared on the side of the road, catching my tires and pulling my car. I tried to straiten out but then caught MORE slush in the middle of the road and lost control again. This time my car careened off the road. Which might not have been too bad, except that off the road was a long steep hill. Which caused my car to nose-dive and flip over forward, and then flip over and over on its side until we reached the bottom of the hill. In all, I think there was about 4-5 flips.

When my car finnaly came to a stop, it was upside down/on its side. Once I unfastened my seat belt and released myself, I found that when I stood my head came out to where the passenger window once was. All the windows were gone, and the winshield bore a series of spider-web type cracks that looked as though someone had tried to hammer their way through.

A young man about my age was running down to see if I was alive. He seemed relieved that I was. All of a sudden, people seemed to come from everywhere. I was mostly concerned with finding my cell phone, as the small device seemed nowhere to be found. In the shocked state, I was determined to stay in my sideways/upside down car and look for my cell phone. Eventually, even as borderline hysterical and shocked as I was, I realized that this was a futile effort.

As I was pulled out of the vehicle by 2 men, I looked up the hill and the land that I had just traveled down. Pieces of my car littered the vertical slope and my stuff was strewn in the same manner. An ambulance was on the scene and several police cars were present. Evidently more than one person called 911.

I was led to a truck where I sat with a borrowed cell phone, trying to remember relevant numbers. All I could remember was my house phone--no luck. And my moms cell--turned off. I then resorted to 411 in order to get my moms work phone. Normally, the mechanical voice asking me for city/state doesn't bother me, but for some reason the process was testing my considerably compromised coping mechanisms. When asked for the name of the hospital my mom works at, I pretty much drew a blank but sputtered out relevant enough words that they connected me to the facility. When I finally talked to a human, I had pulled myself together enough to come across as a sane rational person

Me (in composed, polite tones): Hi! I really need to speak to (insert moms name here) I think she works in the psych ward?
Random guy: Okay, let me transfer you
Random Woman: Welcome to (name of the floor) How can I help you?
Me (Maintaining my composed, polite tones) Yes, I REALLY need to speak to (moms name) please
Random Woman: Sure, just one moment
*Drops the call.*

Yeah. That was not even remotely in the realm of my ability to cope.
I didnt have the number to call them back, so I had to dial 411 AGAIN. When I finally got a hold of the facility, (during the wait to connect to a liver person,m they played a recording of useful tip to avoid catching a cold or flu. I was NOT in the mood to be told that I should wash my hands after sneezing.)
I was connected to the same Random Guy. This time, I abandoned the attempt to come off as sane and rational. Partly because it seemed less likely to get me results, but also because I just didnt have it in me anymore. The thought of having to call 411 AGAIN in the 5 degree weather while trying to keep my shit together was just more than I could bear at the time.

Random Guy: How can I help you?
Me (In crazed, panicky, speed of light, screechy tones): I NEED TO SPEAK TO (mom's name) IMMEDIATELY! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! I AM HER DAUGHTER AND I JUST GOT IN A CAR ACCIDENT! But before you transfer me, give me the number of the hospital because I dont have it, i'm using someone cell and I REALLY dont want to call 4111 AGAIN if you people DROP MY CALL for the SECOND TIME.
Random Guy: *gives me the number and hurriedly transfers me to Random Woman*
Random Woman: How can I help you?
Me(still in crazed, panicky, speed of light, screechy tones): I NEED TO SPEAK TO MY MOM, (insert name here) IMMEDIATELY! I AM HER DAUGHTER AND JUST GOT INTO A HORRIBLE CAR ACCIDENT! YOU DROPPED MY CALL LAST TIME AND I NEED TO TALK TO HER NOW!!!

That got me my mom.

After talking to her, the EMTs brought me to the ambulance to check me out. The shock of what had happened blinded me to any immediate pain and made me numb to the 5 degree weather conditions.
My vitals checked out fine, my pulse rate was only 88. The woman was impressed that it wasn't higher, given the shock of adrenaline I likely had recently received.
"I work out a lot" I told her
"I guess so! Jesus."

For those of you who don't know, the fitter you are, the slower your pulse. A resting pulse of 80 for an adult would still be in the normal range. Hours later my pulse was taken again. At rest, I have a pulse of 60. FUCK YEA! I know its going to be one of those things that I am oddly proud of. Like when I was benching 150.

They encouraged me to go with them, but I was hesitant because even though I have insurance, an ambulance ride isn't free or cheap. I really didn't want to go. I did my best to assess my own body in order to make a decision.

So even while my pulse rate and blood pressure where impressively good, I was aware enough to realize that I felt dizzy and that my neck felt sore. Upon attempting to read my insurance card I noticed that my vision was a little blurry.

Fuck.

For a normal person, this would be cause to get checked out by a doctor. For me, it did warrant an ambulance ride because I have a history of head injuries.

To the ER we went.

I've learned that one of my defense mechanisms is to crack jokes whenever in situations where I don't know how to emotionally respond. Needless to say, the EMTs thought I was a riot, because I kept making absurd observations and witticisms.

Once we arrived to the hospital, I was wheeled in strapped to the gurney and in a neck brace.
You know that scene in Hannibal where they are wheeling him in, strapped down with his little antiface eating mask? Thats what I felt like. In fact, I would have had a lot more fun if i got to wear one of those masks and hissed at people as I rolled by.

Instead, they wheeled me into a room and transferred me to the bed. At this point a doctor rushes in an checks me out, examining my limbs and at one point pressing down on my belly. This would have been unpleasant enough, but I REALLY had to pee. I had actually had to go BEFORE my car tried its hand at somersaulting. That I hadn't pissed my pants then is what I consider a truly remarkable feat. They were thrilled to hear this, as I had to give them a urine sample. Sample? I could have given them an econ size jug at that point.
The doctor asked my what had happened and how fast I was going. I told him. His response?

"If you hadn't been wearing your seat belt you would be dead right now"
And then he left.


Every person who was on the scene of the accident, or who came into my room once at the hospital, said variations of the same thing:

"Oh my God, you rolled over so many times, so fast, its a miracle that you are not dead!"
"I seriously cannot believe that you are not dead or more seriously injured."
"You walked away from that?! It is unbelievable that you are alive"

People came in it seemed just to say those things and leave. I felt like a walking dead freak show.
One woman came in because she had been in the traffic that had gotten held up as a result of my accident. She worked at the hospital and evidently a near identical accident had happened in that same spot weeks before.

Except the 43 year old woman who was the driver died.

Co workers at the time thought the victim was her, because they had heard that it was a 43 year old woman and so was she.
"So this time I knew to call them and tell them 'Nope! Not me!' Traffic wasn't held up for too long. But you couldn't even really see your car from the road because it had gone so far down" She told me. And then left.

They asked me to change into the hospital gown. They gave me one, and a robe as I was shivering. Evidently I was to stay for a couple hours so that they could observe me. As I undressed I notice a Rorschach-esque blob of a blood stain on the sleeve of my shirt. I looked at my hands, and sure enough I had cuts on the heel of my hand. I hadn't even remembered feeling pain or the blood.


I'm 5'2 and petite, so the gown seemed ginormous and too long. I wrapped the robe around myself and all of a sudden felt really small and alone and scared. I had been crying spasmodically here and there, but it was when I was left alone in the too big gown and robe that it started to hit me. What was the hardest for me was constantly hearing these strangers say how close I came to dying and how strange it was that I was alive, and then just leaving. For some reason, I had a difficult time with that.
It was like "here, take a good, hard look at your mortality. See ya!"

Every time I wasn't distracted my head played this nice little reel of me losing control of the car, flipping over and over and over, seeing the dash crack and things flying around and the windows shattering around me.
I inaccurately used the past tense. I'm still being treated to that movie anytime I'm not keeping myself occupied. I just hope it turns off soon.

The nurse came to take me to check out my vision. We walked down the hall and I waited as she readied the exam.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflective door. The sight took my by surprise. My hair, which is long, wavy and dark, was even more unkempt then I expected. My skin was bloodless and even paler than usual (which is saying something, trust me).
I looked shell shocked, crazed, and fucked up.
Simply put, I resembled a blue eyed Belletrix Lestrange in a hospital robe/gown ensemble.
Noticing this, I widened my eyes and flared my nostrils just like Helena Bonam Carter and breathed through my mouth, "Hail Thee, Dark Lord..."

Nurse:"What?"
Me: "Nothing"


She tested my eyes and took me back to my room, where I waited untill my parents arrived.
They finally did, and then we had to wait for the doctor to discharge me. He talked to us about tests, which he thought were unnesesary unless I experience a sudden change. I had the option of staying the night for observation. Which I declined.
"I'm not spending the night. I saw the fee for an overnight stay on one of the forms. $1300?! What, are you guys high class hookers or something?"
The doctor was amused by this. My mom, not so much.
I was discharged under the order that if there is any change whatsoever I immediately go to the nearest hospital. That and no work until monday.

In other news, it turns out that I don't have collision coverage on my car. So I am getting no money for that. And I had to pay 100 bucks for the ER, $550 dollars for the tow truck to hoist my demolished car out of the trenches, and will have to pay an unknown amount for the Ambulance ride. ALSO I have to get a new cell tomorrow. So thats at least another 100.

Yeah, my student loans are going to have to wait.

So I nearly died. By all means and measures I probably should have died in that car wreck, but i didn't. I somehow walked away. Which either means that I am a total bad ass, or incredibly lucky. I'd like to think that its the former, but I know its more likely the latter.

Or maybe a nice little combination of the two.

Here's to hoping I survive 2010!

Bah Humbug Alumni Money Grubbers

Happy holidays, for all those who celebrate. And for the rest of us, enjoy the holiday paycheck.

I understand that many institutions and charities sacrifice small forests in their efforts to contact everyone via letter/pamphlet begging for cash or "a holiday gift!"
Normally I don't mind this. I get it. This is the time of year in which guilt tripping people might ACTUALLY work. Exploit away.

Evidently not on me.
In fact, sometimes it just downright annoys me.

Aligright, OBVIOUSLY I'm a touch bitter about paying back my loans. And whenever I get a letter from my recent alma mater suggesting that I give a "gift" I become flooded with instant resentment.


Really assholes? You know I owe you like 60 grand, right? I'm going to be giving you monthly "gifts" until I am wreaking havoc in a nursing home. You know, as a resident.

And what LITTLE I have left over, I am certainly NOT signing it over to you out of the warm fuzzies of my heart for xmass.

Not to mention, I have NO say where this money goes. And as I am not always in agreeance with what AM (alma mater) does with their funds, meaning I almost never really am, I'm not about to hand over my hard earned cash and be all like "Thats right, funnel this into that completely useless Alumni center you Just built. But don't even think about putting it toward something like increased health/sex resources for the students. I mean, they are college aged. Its not like they are sexually active or anything! *Scoffs* "

Honestly? If I REALLY wanted to do contribute to my former college, I would put condom dispensers in every dorm bathroom. At least that way the hockey team might not spread the clap so fast this year.

But I don't even have enough to do that.

So best of luck with the clap/syph/gonh/herps/whatever is going around there this year.

Because those are the gifts that keep on giving ;)

Lets procrastinate some more, shall we?

Ok, I know that I said I would do this once a week. Which means that I am two days late. I know. My humble apologies.


One of the things that I really miss about being in college?

Being myself.

At work, I kind of have to play the role of a strait lace. Which I pull off admirably (she said modestly).
I duck my head when need to. I let my coworkers think that they are smarter than me. WHich may or may not be the case. Political scientist I am no more. Political activism is in remission. Mine is at least. Instead, I've adopted the guise of a pretty, together, socially acceptable, sober, sweet young woman who wears conservative clothing and doesn't make liberal use of certain 4 letter words.
Without giving too much away, this historically couldn't be further from the truth.
Pre-Grad, I was a girl who knew how to have a good time. Sobriety was an afterthought on weekends, and socially acceptable was never a priority. I didn't think twice about releasing streams of swear words that would bring color to a sailors cheek. I favored low cut tops and high boots. Heels and fishnets when I had them. Okay, so I might have an affinity for dressing like a tramp.
I miss her sometimes. Not all the time, but usually at least once during my 9-5:30 work day when someone yells at me or gropes my ass and all I can do is politely redirect them.



Its also really depressing to me how much what I learned in college is COMPLETELY irrelevant to what I am doing now. Which I would love to tell you about. Really, I could write a blog just on my adventures at work, but I think that might broach some privacy issues, and I really want to keep having a job.

This dawned on my in a new light the other day when i got into an argument over whether China posed an economic threat to the United States. With one of my residents. Sadly, this was one of the more heated and stimulating conversations that I have had about international politics in about 6 months. With a WW2 war vet who I'm pretty sure thinks we are still in 'nam and cannot deviate from the notion that America is number one.


Okay. Lets recap.

I'm intellectually deprived and I can't even dress in hooker boots to comfort myself. Confined in apparel befitting of the president of some poor misguided high school chastity club, I am experiencing a makeunder of sorts.
A soul sucking makeunder.


Fuck it. My mom even stole my snuggie. So I can't even wallow to the best of my abilities.

Someone find me a twilight book to (re?)read.

Fuck you Loans

Student Loans.

Evidently I graduated six months ago. How this happened without it registering that I might actually have to pay someone BACK for that 4 year party, I don't really know. But I do know the following things:

• My job has NOTHING to do with my major, which was political science (more on my major later)
• I only got the job out a a serendipitous sequence of events kickstarted by an act of nepotism over 3 years ago. Were it not for that, I am certain that I would be unemployed
• I am living in the room that I grew up in.
• My mom is now more of a political activist than I am
• I now am the owner of a leopard print snuggie.

So clearly the "real world" that college was supposed to prepare me for is really a life suitable for someone with limited mental and perhaps physical capacity. Really? This is what I worked for 4 years for? And now I have to funnel a large portion of my already measly income into paying for it?

I know I'm being pessimistic. And negative. But you know what? Fuck it. I don't really care. I know I have "options." They include grad school, law school, grad school, or law school. But what do you do when you don't know what you want to do? I'm not going to pump more money into something that I am not sure I want to follow through on.

So I'm left at an impasse. Either bite a bullet and go to grad school/law school for something that I'm ambivalent about, or bide my time in my current stage of arrested development. In a snuggie.

Well. At least I will be damn warm and comfy.