Battle Wounds

ladyquirky, , Leave a comment

I was just trying to be pretty. Girly. Feminine. A real woman. Maybe I was trying to punish myself, one will never know. (I just love saying one… it makes me feel so grown up and sophisticated.) 

Nevermind that I never actually used a curling iron. I only mastered the flat iron… and only for straightening, in the last couple of years. Mastered is being used lightly here. More like can sometimes do a passable job. 

Nevermind I ran out of my travel-sized hairspray. You know what that means dontcha? Yep. All those curls I burned my poor fingers for fell out. 

Nevermind some of my DNA must have gotten lost. I didn’t get the MAC gene. Unless you count an obsession with eyeliner. Expensive eyeliner. That I am not even good at applying. 

Nevermind my eyebrows never match, lending me an air of perplexed annoyance most of the time. 

Nevermind my right eyeball that is a magnet for mascara wands, which causes excessive tearing and smearing of my foundation. 

Nevermind my streaky foundation settling into my pores. My contour game is awesome though. If you call tiger stripes awesome. 

Max Factor, Bobbi Brown, Sephora are the bane of my messy attempts to look like I made an effort to look effortlessly put together. Does Max Factor even still exist? 

I have a whole box of bandaids, so I guess I can’t give up yet. Damn you beauty vloggers. 

Maybe someday I will be presentable without all the battle wounds. 

Battle Wounds

Sex in Planes???

ladyquirky1 Comment

I did something today for the first time. 

Yes! I was obviously afraid people would hear. I normally reserve these activities for the privacy of a hotel room. Yes, it was awkward and uncomfortable. I bumped my elbow and my pants were a little crooked when I walked out. I felt 200 pairs of eyes glaring at me as I sashayed down the aisle back to my seat. 

I felt a little dirty by the time I was finished. I was a little paranoid about what may have ended up on my clothing. I was a little wheezy and sweaty by the time the ordeal was over. 

I’ve read about people doing this and after my experience I am still flummoxed as to why they would want to. 

No! I didn’t have sex on the plane. I did pee though. That was horrible enough. 

Sex in Planes???

Good Morning Texts

ladyquirky, Leave a comment

It’s nice when someone thinks of you. It’s even nicer when they drop you a line to let you know they thought of you. 

Sometimes we get so caught up in the game we forget how good it feels to be in someone’s thoughts. 

Don’t hold back. Enjoy the feelings. Stay in the present. It’s a good place to be.

It makes me smile to wake up to a good morning text. 

So, think of me. 

Good Morning Texts

I Didn’t Believe You

ladyquirky, 6 Comments

Once upon a time, many years ago, an entire generation of teenage girls, or maybe it was just me, belted out inappropriate song lyrics about oral sex in theaters and angry diatribes about how men have done us wrong. We were strong and we could talk about sex, love, and life just like the boys. 

It was all so dramatic.

I was raised to believe I can do anything I want to do. My family indulged my whims and supported me completely. Even when their little girl eschewed all that was feminine. I was allowed to wear short hair and men’s clothing if that’s what made me feel strong. I believed I was no different than the guys. Feminism was outdated and no longer necessary. We had equal rights, thanks to the women who fought for us. Unfortunately, I also equated feminists with man hating, bra burning, no shaving screeching misandrists. 

I mistakenly believed women who complained were overly sensitive and needed to learn to go with the flow. If you wanted to play with the boys you couldn’t get mad when they treated you like one of the guys. They were only kidding. 

Except we never were one of the guys. Our attempts at learning leadership skills were equated with shrew bitchiness. Any effort at assertiveness was offensive. In order to be one of the guys we had to become weak. If we complained, we were difficult and must be dealt with. At work I was often shushed and put in my place by men. My input was ignored in favor of male members of the team. I could do nothing right. 

This attitude is pervasive in the work place. Even in a predominately female profession like nursing men are preferred. Men advance faster and their opinions more respected. 

So, what role should feminism play in my professional development? How can I become a better leader? How do I protect myself and my female colleagues from discrimination and harassment? 

Sometimes I still want to be one of the guys. I want to be included in the jokes and respected for my contributions. 

How do we fix this? 

How do we make these conversations more productive instead of resorting to complaining and man bashing? 

More importantly, why is this still an issue in 2017?

I Didn’t Believe You

So, We Laugh. 

ladyquirky, , , 9 Comments

Wait a second. What is happening? Is this really happening? Now? With all these people watching? What do I do? What did I do to cause this? Oh my God, what will people think? I don’t want to be the bitch who causes a scene. Maybe if I just stay really quiet and still this will stop. Why are you massaging my shoulders? I don’t like it when anyone does that. Oh, what the hell? What are these nurses thinking right now? Do they think I want this to be happening? Can they see the shock and horror on my face? Do I want them to feel sorry for me? Can I just play this off as a weird joke? Am I overreacting? Is this okay? Why do I feel so weird? Is it odd I am a little scared? This just took a very bad turn. Maybe it’s okay. He doesn’t mean anything by this. Who am I to assume this is anything unusual? I don’t want him to hate me. I just want to fit in. I just laugh nervously and catch the charge nurse’s eye. She is not surprised. 

We laugh about this situation several times over the next couple of days. The next time it happens I am a little less shocked, but even more uncomfortable. I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know how. 

He’s MARRIED. He’s basically my boss. He would not be doing anything that is inappropriate. What kind of person misinterprets someone just being nice as something sexual? I am the one who is unprofessional. I’m not the kind of girl people randomly pursue anyway. I need to chill. 

So, I laugh. 

I laugh about it with the nurses. They regale me with other shocking stories and examples of bad behavior. The doctor that asked the nurse to help him diagnose some problem with a patient’s penis by googling images and having her look at them with him, nevermind that he draped his arm around her shoulder.  Hang on. WHAT? How can he possibly think that is okay? How socially blind can you be? Cues! Can he not see the cues? Maybe he really did just want some help figuring out the diagnosis. I’m sure he meant nothing by it. He’s just a gigantic dork. He didn’t get many girls in high school. He doesn’t know. 

So, we laugh. 

You can tell the laughter is masking something else. I wonder if part of it is fear. 

As healthcare providers we rely on our team. When people like us and think we are fun to work with, the day is so much better. We depend on inappropriate humor to shield us from the horrors of our work lives. We spend more time with our colleagues than we do with our family and friends. We don’t necessarily want to maintain strict professional boundaries at all times. We need and want to be close to our work family. The lines have to be blurred. Does this mean we can’t stand up for ourselves? 

Nobody wants to be the uptight bitch who tattles about trivial things. We don’t want to be the narc who doesn’t sneak drinks to the nurse’s station. We would never dream of reporting someone for playing on their phone during a rare moment of downtime. The rules are made to be broken. 

So, we laugh. 

Sometimes we need physical contact with our coworkers. Sometimes playful banter (even wildly inappropriate banter) is what gets us through the day. 

So, we laugh. 

We all know how bad it can be if the people we work with or for do not like us. They will find fault with every decision we make. We will be written up for every infraction of “policy.” It’s easy to get rid of the people who don’t fit in. 

We need them to have our back when there is conflict. We need a resource. We are dependent on them for security and protection from other providers and even sometimes patients. 

So, we laugh. 

We don’t speak up when someone violates our personal space. We allow people to touch us in a way that makes us uncomfortable. We smile and pretend it doesn’t bother us. 

We don’t tell someone we are not comfortable perusing photos of penises with their arm around our shoulders at the nurse’s station. We sit there and wonder how we got into this situation. 

If we don’t laugh, it could mean this is serious. It could leave us feeling vulnerable when we are already in danger every day. If this isn’t funny and no big deal, it means it is hostile and we are victims. 

So, I am afraid we will continue to laugh. We will train our new nurses to allow “friendly” assaults on our bodies. After all, we are all on the same team. 

So, We Laugh. 

Tell Me I’m Wrong

ladyquirkyLeave a comment

Sometimes a song can weasel itself into your brain and take you on a journey of self-reflection. Sometimes, the song is just an excuse to wallow in the feelings for a bit. 

Kyler England’s version of Lay It On Me is one of those songs. 

Tell me I’m wrong, tell me you want me. 

I can be strong, if you don’t want me. 

Honesty is all I need. Just lay it on me. 

We have to give ourselves permission to experience things as they are instead of as we wish them to be. 

Sometimes honesty is all we need. When someone shows us who they are, we should listen. 

Turns out Casper wasn’t so friendly after all. 

I can be sad. 

I can also be relieved I don’t have to wonder anymore. 

Tell Me I’m Wrong

The Art of Listening

ladyquirky, , Leave a comment

I have read and heard a lot of opinions about the students who stood up and walked out of their commencement because Mike Pence was the speaker. 

I can see lots of sides to the situation. One on hand, public displays of protest are important. On the other hand, interrupting a ceremony is rude. On yet another hand, the students did not cause a big scene; they simply walked out. Still another hand wonders exactly what idea they were protesting. I don’t actually have four hands… but if I did they would all be grasping at these questions and more as I think of them. 

When I graduated, the speaker was a man whom I don’t like. Kent Hance is not on my list of favorite people. I didn’t like the way he handled the situation with Mike Leach and the evil Craig James. I still sat through my commencement speech quietly and pretended to listen. I’m from Texas, and a Texas Tech Red Raider. We take our football very seriously and they fired our beloved pirate and brought in Tommy Tuberville. This was a tragedy. It’s still tragic. Despite my passionate ideas on the Machiavellian politics by our former chancellor, I sat there and did not cause a scene. 

I read articles and opinions written by people with whom I disagree with vehemently. I ask questions when I encounter someone with a different set of values. 

More important to me is how listening to people who have different ideologies is essential to challenging my beliefs. It also keeps life interesting. When I live everyday surrounded by people who only see the world as I see it I become complacent. I don’t have to evaluate my ideas. I don’t have to wonder if I may be completely wrong. I am sheltered from the embarrassment of being on the wrong side of history. 

When I was a kid I was taught the civil war had nothing to do with slavery. Only a few people even had slaves. The whole point of the war was state’s rights and the attempts by the federal government to control the citizens and strip them of their liberty. Besides no decent human being would ever condone slavery in this day. We were even told stories about the paternalistic nature of many slave owners. We were taught about the care they provided for their unfortunate slaves. After all, they were business men and happy workers are better workers. You see, I had a history teacher/ coach who was funny and charismatic. I liked him, and he offered an explanation that absolved me of guilt for being from the south. I went to Robert E. Lee Junior High School. We were proud confederates who donned gray and blue with pride. 

Yesterday I saw a video of a speech given by the mayor of New Orleans discussing the removal of the statue of Robert E. Lee. He mentioned how growing up in the south we are taught that cheering for the confederacy was an act of local pride. Slavery wasn’t the issue. He then explained how his mind was changed after he heard another side of the story, which lead to his proposition to remove the statue.

For a while now I have heard stories about universities striping building names and statues for these war heroes and I found it mildly ridiculous. I felt like I was being attacked for being a white southerner. I became defensive as one does when their heritage is under siege. I needed justification and permission for the pride I have for my home. 

The internet is a wealth of information. When I allow myself to be introduced to new perspectives I have the opportunity to grow. I can reinforce my old ideas, conversely I also have the freedom to adjust them based on the newest data available. I am exposed to art and ideas from people with vastly different life experiences and I can incorporate into my decision making process. 

The real privilege comes from these opportunities. I get to decide what kind of life I want to lead. I was raised to never take things at face value. I continue to be introduced to new points of view. 

When I am at my best I can admit I don’t know the answers. However, if I care to listen and learn I may get closer. I have an obligation to be exposed to opposition. I should continue to look at things as if I may be called to debate either side of the argument. I should do my research and be able to defend the affirmative and the negative sides to any proposition. 

The art of listening supercedes my need to protest. While protest is imperative against social injustice, I have to know what I am protesting. I need to have the information. Ideas don’t hurt us unless we refuse to consider them. Blindly following the crowd opens us up to tyranny. I won’t be the one who refuses to listen and consider your ideas. I am free to disagree, just as you are free to disagree with me. 

Besides, I have always loved a good argument. I’ll even switch sides just so we have something interesting to discuss. I implore everyone to engage in at least considering before they dismiss the other side. After all, every one is on the wrong side of history at one point or another. 

*I feel like it is worth mentioning the three other junior high schools in my hometown are named after Lincoln, Edison, and John Glenn. 

The Art of Listening

Accidental Social Experiment 

ladyquirky, , Leave a comment


Can I tell you a secret? 

One of the most exciting things about staying in a hotel is when housekeeping leaves me a note. I got one at Disney World, letting me know my water bottle had been put in the refrigerator. At the Fairfield in Maryland I got notes about every three days or so. 

I decided I liked it! So, to promote this practice I left a sticky note on the TV this morning when I left. 

Sometimes I am messy, sometimes I am neat. If I leave money on this dresser it’s meant for you! Thank you so much.

I had my hopes up when I walked through the door. I was excited to see what surprise (okay, prompted) message was left behind in response to my note and the dollars I had left behind. 

Nothing. The money was gone and the note remained stuck to the screen. 

I’m not gonna lie, I was a little sad. Okay maybe sad is being a little overly dramatic but it was a bit of a letdown. 

Apparently, money really can’t buy you love. 

Accidental Social Experiment 

Robots chase me

ladyquirky4 Comments

My mind is somewhere else, juggling an ever-growing to-do list, listening for my pager, and checking my phone for the latest information about the world when I hear a loud whirring and impatient beeping behind me. Turning my head slightly to evaluate the potential risk for being run over by some random vehicle in this deserted hallway, I see an unoccupied filing cabinet racing along behind me. 

Holy shit! The office furniture is alive and it seems pissed. What the hell is this? My pace quickens and I race to the nearest stairwell to escape certain death. 

I have no idea what this giant box on wheels is doing. I have no idea where it has been or where it is going. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’m certainly not going to ask anyone, what if this is simply a figment of my overactive, stressed out imagination? These people rely on me to make important decisions. Life and death stuff. I can’t let them think I am insane. My pager goes off and I promptly forget about my near-death experience. 

A few days later I see the box again, I am less startled and decide it must be no big deal. No one else even acknowledges its presence. I am obviously insane. Later that afternoon I see the box tucked into a little alcove in the hallway. It doesn’t occur to me it is the same murderous stalker I’ve been nervous about. It’s simply part of the environment. 

Later that day I see a woman typing a code into the keypad and see her open the door and remove a large stack of papers. This must be a medical records storage device of some sort. That night when the hallway is empty I stop to examine the device. Ah-ha! It’s like a Roomba! 

Now, so many questions remain. Where does this thing go? Does it go up to the floors? Can it maneuver in the elevator? Why did they purchase this? Is it really saving that much time? Who can I ask about this without seeming ridiculous? 

Furthermore, I find it moderately disconcerting no one would warn people of the automated robots who may be chasing them. 

Am I in danger of a hit and run? Can this machine sense when someone is standing in front of it? It appears heavy. It could really hurt someone. I am now convinced this is a machine of death. Just one more reason hospitals are indeed dangerous places. 

Did someone lose their job to this aggressive box of bolts? Who performs maintenance on this contraption? What is this all about? 

So many questions. No answers. I feel the need to investigate this further. To quote most of my favorite studies: further research is indicated. 

Robots chase me

Say Nothing

ladyquirkyLeave a comment

Silence is deafening. 

I would like to pretend the whole thing ended after a mature conversation between two adults who realized it was just not working out. 

Nope. That’s not what happened. Not at all. The last conversation I had with My Spy he said he couldn’t wait to hear more about Jazzfest and all the awesome bands I was now infatuated with. “Text me when you get to the airport.” 

So, I did. No answer. I wasn’t that concerned. He had been bad about texting for a while. I ignored it. Two days later, I was on my way back to Maryland. Remember this is the guy who used to call me when I was about to board a plane because he knows how much I hate flying. I texted him my flight information. No answer. 

I decided I was not texting again. I was not calling. We just talked about this a few weeks ago. I am not going to be the only who makes an effort. 

I even told him how much it hurts my feelings. That conversation was difficult for me, but it was important. I needed to make sure my expectations and needs were clear. 

I have a few theories about his sudden and total communication blackout. 

1. He’s just an asshole. 

2. He is lying in a hospital bed in a coma just waiting for his nurse practitioner girlfriend to come save him. 

3. He died and I should be making a donation to his favorite charity. 

I tend to think the first theory is the most likely. Either way, I have no intention of finding out. 

I’m not chasing someone and begging them to love me. I won’t sit around and pine for someone who isn’t totally crazy about me. I would rather be alone than lonely and “in a relationship.” 

I would like to say I am heartbroken and sad. That would be a lie. I am baffled by his behavior. I am not really surprised though. 

It turns out: you say it best when you say nothing at all. Keith Whitley may have been crooning a love song, but My Spy told me everything I need to know when he disappeared. 

*my mother gets credit for saying that line to me when I was telling her how baffling I found his behavior. 

*Is my life actually turning into a country song? 

Thanks Mom. 

Say Nothing