The whole time I was growing up, there was one thing that I constantly wanted and still want to this day. I have always wanted a truck. When I was younger, my dad had a tan Ford Ranger. That Ranger was to be my truck when I turned 16 and was old enough to drive. I had made plans to paint it a pink camo pattern so I always would know that the truck was mine. How often do you see a pink camo Ford Ranger driving down the street? I think never!
Well when I woke up one morning and the truck was no longer parked in the drive way. I was devastated to hear that my truck that I wanted, was no longer mine and was probably half way to Mexico by the time I had found out about the theft. Now I don't want you to think I am stereotyping here, the truck was actually found in Mexico about two weeks later. My hopes were all in that truck. I really wanted to drive a truck of my own for my first car.No I did get to drive a car when I turned 16, but it was not a truck however. It was a small, white car. I fell in love with that vehicle and was over the whole truck thing.
Well, when I went to go see my father for the first time, my biological one, I fell in love with trucks again. My father had a bad ass lifted Dodge diesel truck. Don't ask me the type of Dodge because I have no clue but it was still cool. When I drove it, I was addicted. It was like a drug flowing through my veins. You are feet above all others and feel like you can see everything. You feel like people wont screw with you or cut you off in a truck like that. I felt the power surging through my veins.
When I came back home and drove around in my little Ford Escort, I realized that I am not a car person. I am a truck girl at heart and when I can afford one, that will be my first new vehicle of choice.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Faith
**I do not like the typical memoir format. I do not enjoy reading the comic style of writing or even the graphic novel style. Therefore, I will write, not draw my piece.**
Usually when a person says they lost faith, they mean in their religion or in a person. Well in my situation, I have lost faith in myself.
When I first showed up at my freshman orientation at ASU, they told us "Plan for a different career choice, you will most likely not get into the nursing program." Well being 17 years old, you just brush that off and have an "I can do it attitude" about anything. I started out my freshman year with making the Dean's List the first semester but that high note shortly ended due to some personal issues I was having. That spring I failed my first class and got the worst GPA I have ever received.
That following fall I recovered bring my GPA up quite a bit. It was however not the boost that I was looking for. When I most recently met with an advisor, she flat out told me "Well, you are not going to get into the ASU nursing program, but keep applying anyways." Way to make people feel good about themselves ASU. Way to go.
In that moment I knew my one semester of screw up, messed up my whole plan I had laid out for myself. That moment, I lost faith in myself. I lost faith that I could graduate from nursing school. I questioned why I even bothered and why I was wasting my money. It took me a solid week before I recovered and realized that to be a nurse, you had to have a calling for it. Florence Nightingale once said that nursing isn't a job, it is a calling. Even at my lowest I have ever been in my education, that quote helped me know that although ASU may have not been my chosen path, nursing was.
Usually when a person says they lost faith, they mean in their religion or in a person. Well in my situation, I have lost faith in myself.
When I first showed up at my freshman orientation at ASU, they told us "Plan for a different career choice, you will most likely not get into the nursing program." Well being 17 years old, you just brush that off and have an "I can do it attitude" about anything. I started out my freshman year with making the Dean's List the first semester but that high note shortly ended due to some personal issues I was having. That spring I failed my first class and got the worst GPA I have ever received.
That following fall I recovered bring my GPA up quite a bit. It was however not the boost that I was looking for. When I most recently met with an advisor, she flat out told me "Well, you are not going to get into the ASU nursing program, but keep applying anyways." Way to make people feel good about themselves ASU. Way to go.
In that moment I knew my one semester of screw up, messed up my whole plan I had laid out for myself. That moment, I lost faith in myself. I lost faith that I could graduate from nursing school. I questioned why I even bothered and why I was wasting my money. It took me a solid week before I recovered and realized that to be a nurse, you had to have a calling for it. Florence Nightingale once said that nursing isn't a job, it is a calling. Even at my lowest I have ever been in my education, that quote helped me know that although ASU may have not been my chosen path, nursing was.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Graphic Novels Vs Comics
When I hear the word graphic novel I think of the movie Watchman. Before that movie came out I had no idea what a graphic novel was or where the heck to find one. I thought that maybe it had something to do with Japanese animation but then I learned that had a particular class all to itself. Comics, however, I knew all about. Not the comic books, those I have never picked up in my life, but comic strips; man I sure did love those guys. I used to get up and read the "funnies" after I snatched it from the Sunday paper. Sure there were comics in the other papers too but the Sunday ones were the best; they were in color.
Now I know that comic strips and comic books are not necessarily the same thing. They do however have their similarities. The strip has its whole build up, plot, and climax all in approximately six panels where as a comic book is page after page of fantastic art work. The Sunday funnies are usually written by someone who works just with the paper, instead of the comic book where the writer's livelihood depends on their ability to write a book that sells.
I particularly enjoy the writing style of graphic novels as opposed to the comic style of writing. I feel that comics have writing all over the page and I never know where to look next. With the graphic novel that was in our textbook, "Pyongyang", I was able to follow it easily. That may be because I am such a bookworm that anything else to me is just weird. I love to be able to picture the scene in my head having my own variations than say the person next to me reading it. With both the graphic novels and the comics, I feel that they bring variety to the wonderful world of literature. Even though I personally am not a fan, to each person their own. To me, If I had to choose one, I would pick graphic novel.
Now I know that comic strips and comic books are not necessarily the same thing. They do however have their similarities. The strip has its whole build up, plot, and climax all in approximately six panels where as a comic book is page after page of fantastic art work. The Sunday funnies are usually written by someone who works just with the paper, instead of the comic book where the writer's livelihood depends on their ability to write a book that sells.
I particularly enjoy the writing style of graphic novels as opposed to the comic style of writing. I feel that comics have writing all over the page and I never know where to look next. With the graphic novel that was in our textbook, "Pyongyang", I was able to follow it easily. That may be because I am such a bookworm that anything else to me is just weird. I love to be able to picture the scene in my head having my own variations than say the person next to me reading it. With both the graphic novels and the comics, I feel that they bring variety to the wonderful world of literature. Even though I personally am not a fan, to each person their own. To me, If I had to choose one, I would pick graphic novel.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Sparky has taken over my wardrobe
I have been working at my job for almost two years now and man it has felt like a lot longer. Everyday I get up in the morning, throw on a pair of jeans and an ASU t-shirt. I dig in my dresser to find a pair of socks that will get the job done and then throw on a pair of sneakers. I wear the same thing everyday. I wear ASU clothing more than I wear normal clothes. Sparky has taken over my wardrobe. On my days off, I feel so lost. I have no idea what looks good to wear and what doesn't so I just end up wearing ASU clothes once again.
I go to work and do the same thing and work with the same people, again and again. Day after day, week after week, month after month. I show up. Clock in. I flip on the store lights in the proper way and then walk to the doors to let Casper and his friendly ghost friends in because now-a-days that's all the business we get. Occasionally, we get the corporal customers coming in but its usually those who decide to wait until the last month of the semester to get their book, but by that point we don't have it anymore and then I am the one dealing with their bitching.
I work my butt off day in and day out while many of my co-workers stand in the back room with the manager doing nothing for hours on end. I answer phones, I answer customer questions, I ring customers up and I go and help them find their books all the while two or three of them are sitting in the back doing nothing. Nothing ever changes, and nothing ever will even with the countless times I have come to the point of yelling in frustration.
The times I am helping just Casper, I am forced to stand there and just let my thoughts run through my head. All the reasons why I cannot stand that place as well as how boring it is to be the only one actually doing the job I was hired to do. I guess that is life, and it will never change.
I go to work and do the same thing and work with the same people, again and again. Day after day, week after week, month after month. I show up. Clock in. I flip on the store lights in the proper way and then walk to the doors to let Casper and his friendly ghost friends in because now-a-days that's all the business we get. Occasionally, we get the corporal customers coming in but its usually those who decide to wait until the last month of the semester to get their book, but by that point we don't have it anymore and then I am the one dealing with their bitching.
I work my butt off day in and day out while many of my co-workers stand in the back room with the manager doing nothing for hours on end. I answer phones, I answer customer questions, I ring customers up and I go and help them find their books all the while two or three of them are sitting in the back doing nothing. Nothing ever changes, and nothing ever will even with the countless times I have come to the point of yelling in frustration.
The times I am helping just Casper, I am forced to stand there and just let my thoughts run through my head. All the reasons why I cannot stand that place as well as how boring it is to be the only one actually doing the job I was hired to do. I guess that is life, and it will never change.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
April is Autism Awarness Month
I remember in high school we had a few people that were slower than others in my graduating class. I don't remember what specifically they were diagnosed with, but it was something that made sitting in a normal class and learning at the same rate as others extremely difficult. The students, however, tried their hardest to do their best in school. They worked with what they were given.
I remember being in school and seeing normal students taking advantage of the mentally challenged kids. They would copy their work or just flat out be mean to them. I watched them, just thinking to myself "How can kids be so mean?" Normal kids would taunt the others, calling them names. It was just horrible.
One day, I finally took a stand for those who couldn't understand they were being taken advantage of or made fun of. I remember getting so angry at the bullies I could barely formulate my thoughts into words. I was, from that day forward the one who without hesitation, stood up for those who couldn't or wouldn't for themselves.
I just recently found out that my younger brother (on my dad's side) is Autistic. When I first met him, my first thought was that he was such a wonderful boy. I couldn't help but think to myself, what if people picked on him? Was there anyone, like me, there to stand up for him? I am glad I stood up for those kids back in high school. I think that if I didn't stand up for them, someone may have not stood up for my brother Chester.
I remember being in school and seeing normal students taking advantage of the mentally challenged kids. They would copy their work or just flat out be mean to them. I watched them, just thinking to myself "How can kids be so mean?" Normal kids would taunt the others, calling them names. It was just horrible.
One day, I finally took a stand for those who couldn't understand they were being taken advantage of or made fun of. I remember getting so angry at the bullies I could barely formulate my thoughts into words. I was, from that day forward the one who without hesitation, stood up for those who couldn't or wouldn't for themselves.
I just recently found out that my younger brother (on my dad's side) is Autistic. When I first met him, my first thought was that he was such a wonderful boy. I couldn't help but think to myself, what if people picked on him? Was there anyone, like me, there to stand up for him? I am glad I stood up for those kids back in high school. I think that if I didn't stand up for them, someone may have not stood up for my brother Chester.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Hurt is at its worst just when it happens, but as time goes on the pain slowly dies away
I got an extension on this prompt, so its technically not considered late. It would mean a lot if you guys could peer edit this for me as this is fresh in my mind. Thanks.
When a person dies, their whole family is affected. From the immediate family and as far away as long lost cousins all will flock into town just to pay their respects for the deceased. The center of the dreadful chaos is not only the deceased persons home but the funeral home where their body is kept. You see the immediate family huddled together in a corner trying to sooth themselves and the cousins, uncles and grandparents of the loved one lost on the other side of the room making small talk in the awkward situation. For some, this is the first time they have met each other, and for others, they have lived just up the street from each other their whole lives.
When the time comes to view the body of the dead, the funeral director says a few words to the crowd. "Be careful if you touch him. He is not in his casket but only on a table and if you put too much pressure on the table it will fall and along with the table so will the body."
The immediate family is already fighting back tears at this point and is trying their best to hold it together. The distant relatives fall in line one by one filing into the room to pay their respects to the loved one lost, may it be their cousin, grandson, or nephew while the ones so near and dear to them stay back with the fear of seeing someone so precious to them in such a way. Cousins, grandparents and aunts and uncles come out of the room one by one then those closest to him make their way into the room.
You can hear the cries all the way in the all. The family out there waiting just doesn't know what to do or say as the immediate family files out one by one. Hugs are all that they can offer.
Hurt is at its worst just when it happens, but as time goes on the pain slowly dies away; but it will never be gone. It will always be a slow dull ache inside the chest of those who cared.
When a person dies, their whole family is affected. From the immediate family and as far away as long lost cousins all will flock into town just to pay their respects for the deceased. The center of the dreadful chaos is not only the deceased persons home but the funeral home where their body is kept. You see the immediate family huddled together in a corner trying to sooth themselves and the cousins, uncles and grandparents of the loved one lost on the other side of the room making small talk in the awkward situation. For some, this is the first time they have met each other, and for others, they have lived just up the street from each other their whole lives.
When the time comes to view the body of the dead, the funeral director says a few words to the crowd. "Be careful if you touch him. He is not in his casket but only on a table and if you put too much pressure on the table it will fall and along with the table so will the body."
The immediate family is already fighting back tears at this point and is trying their best to hold it together. The distant relatives fall in line one by one filing into the room to pay their respects to the loved one lost, may it be their cousin, grandson, or nephew while the ones so near and dear to them stay back with the fear of seeing someone so precious to them in such a way. Cousins, grandparents and aunts and uncles come out of the room one by one then those closest to him make their way into the room.
You can hear the cries all the way in the all. The family out there waiting just doesn't know what to do or say as the immediate family files out one by one. Hugs are all that they can offer.
Hurt is at its worst just when it happens, but as time goes on the pain slowly dies away; but it will never be gone. It will always be a slow dull ache inside the chest of those who cared.
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