Food and Nutrition Lab Rule 6: Do not eat, drink or smoke in the lab

That title right there is one of our Lab safety requirements for Food and Nutrition. It is kind of ironic, don't you agree? I was wondering what one does in a Food and Nutrition Lab, or why one needs a Food and Nutrition Lab. I found out that there is no food involved in a Nutrition Lab, we are in fact actually required to fast for one project. Irony, that is the word for the day. Well, my day at least.

How do I start? (Or continue, I suppose). I went to school early today, at least an hour and 45 minutes early. Because, first of all, parking during the Fall (or Spring) semester is so bad that it is horribly horrid. The other reasons were that I needed to buy my textbook and print out the notes for class. I just have to say that going to school an hour and forty five minutes early seemed to be the common consensus by my fellow collegiates. And I spent the next forty five minutes circling the parking lots (north and south) with other students circling there way away. We were like ants foraging for food under the Arizona sun. And the more time I was wasting, the antsier I got along the rest of the masses. I concluded that life sucks when you can't find a parking space, or make one. I got so fed up looking for a space that I ended up parking three blocks outside campus.

That is just the start of my lovely day. So now, I had an hour left, but wait it took me fifteen minutes to get to the other side of campus to the bookstore. And once I got there the checkout line was l-o-n-g, endless. It took a good twenty minutes for the line to dwindle and for me to get out of there. Another fifteen minutes got me to the Life Science Lab to print out my class notes and five minutes to get me inside the Technology 1 building. I had five minutes to spare. Yay me.

Another highlight of the day was the vending machine. No, I did not kick it. I almost did though when it wouldn't spit out the potato chips I was planning to have for lunch. There's always the "Now what?" moment after a vending machine eats your dollar and doesn't release your food. So I looked for coins in my purse and found three US quarters and one Canadian quarter. They were the same size...so I figured that the machine might take it. I took one quarter and fed it to the machine and took another one which the machine promptly spat out. I did that two more times and got out two potato chip bags for the price of one dollar and a quarter, instead of two dollars. Another Yay me moment.

Currently, I am looking forward to the long weekend since I have no class projects or assignments due. My professor, whom we shall call Persian Mistress, apparently likes giving our assignments to do in class. So Yay.

the grass is greener

I am currently still in Edmonton, Alberta. It's almost three weeks now that I've been here to attend my cousin's wedding and to visit the Queen. Well, my cousins in fact, but this side of the family is like royalty after all. Not that my mother's side of the family isn't descended from Dons and Doῆas. But my father's side is too noble and prideful to be considered anything less than royalty. I guess I just come from a family of extremes. And coming here to Edmonton gave me a chance to experience another side of my family from a different angle, perspective. Same difference.

I know that when one travels to a place for the first time, Traveler must mention, describe, and excite people of what the place looks like, of the different people encountered, of the meals one had eaten or had not eaten but wished they did, and of the activities one had done and wish to repeat, or not. As for myself, all I can say is I like Edmonton. If you have money and time, come here and enjoy. Done. I have done my touristly duty and wish to go on to my true purpose of sharing more stuff about my royalty family that may or may not mean anything to you. Shush, I just need to write. So, on to my family.

Specifically, I am writing about my dad's side of the family. The side that lives here in Edmonton. As I wrote earlier, I come from a family of extremes. And this extreme extends to the fact that my dad is my uncle's brother. Some of you are going, "Duh." What I mean is the fact that they are related translates to the fact that they not only share or have the same temperemental, stubborn disposition and discipline, but they also share the noble qualities consisting of honesty, generosity, caring, loving, and quirky sense of humor. These characters are trademarked in each sibling coming from my dad's side of the family. And my cousins and I had the great time of discovering these similarities in our parents. Stories upon stories brought out the common bond that is our parents, and we drew closer together as we cast our collection of memories and shared them as one. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and giddy, I admit. But I rejoice in being reunited with cousins and titos and titas that I have been too young to remember or been to apart from.

It is true that I have been too apart from the royalty. E-mails and rare phone calls are the only correspondence that have kept us from completely being out of each other's lives. We all have been moving from one area to another, one town or country away. Moving is normal for us; it is like a complicated dance, to and fro, to and fro. Packing and putting away is part of the lifestyle, yet in all the complications we have always belonged where ever we were.

I came to Edmonton just expecting cooler weather and living in my Tito Joy and Tita Lulu's house. Yes, both are what I expected. However, living with them for two weeks and a half has shown me more than I was expecting. I saw that the grass is greener here. Their family see each other almost daily, they just live minutes aways from each other, they eat out all the time, and they come and go as they please. They're not a perfect family by any means, no one has that. But perfect is not what I have been wanting since I was a child. What I wanted was a family like theirs, a family living close to each other. As I wrote, I come from a family of extremes. And as their family live minutes away from each other, mine live continents apart from each other. Well, before it was just islands apart. Funny.

I do find it funny. Funny in the ironic kind of way. Although, I also find it funny that despite the fact that I feel that I should be jealous, I am not. Of course, it makes me a bit sad to see how it could have been with my family. I can see driving to visit Sister's place and spending time with my brother in law and my niece. Or going to Princess' apartment and just kill time with her. Or goof around with my brother later while my dad and mom call and ask what time I'll go home for dinner. It makes me sad because I know that although the grass is greener this side of the family, I just sigh and move on because I also know that this isn't my grass. My grass doesn't exist since what I have is desert sand and all that grow in it are tough weeds that look pretty and flowers that struggle to survive the day's heat.

My visit in Edmonton humbled me. I can't have everything in life and what I have is enough. What's more important than having my family close by is having a close family intact. I wouldn't trade my royalty family for any green grass, beanstalk, or ducks that lay golden eggs in the world.

fitting room wars

Friday morning I woke up to my mom asking me when Fall semester starts. August 25th is when my Food and Nutrition class starts. The question of why was uttered sleepily by me and the not so plain answer was "You're going to Canada." Oh. That certainly woke me up.

Fast forward to Saturday morning I woke up to be asked what I was going to wear for the wedding. Piles of scattered dresses and hangers later, my mom and I were on our way to JC Penney, Lola's free blank cheque in hand. After all, blank cheques are for shopping.

Hours later I was backed into a fitting room surrounded by dresses and hangers. Deja vu, much? My eyes just continued to narrow and my brows drew together as the dresses that continued to mock me were becoming worse and worse in style and fit (and would you believe, in smell). kasuigdbajbshbjh.

In actuality, I already had a dress I wanted. It was simple and comfortable. It was a nice, black dress. The kind that doesn't compete with bride's white (or near that color scheme) wedding dress However, my mom seemed intent in finding the holy grail of dresses. Or at least the dress she wanted me to wear. It was ridiculous to be having a fitting room war. I would glare at the door when I would hear a scuffle indicating my mom's presence outside bearing more dresses to be worn, like Santa Claus sneaking in through your chimney bearing either gifts or coals. My face grew stiff in an attempt to be apathetic.

When she finally found a dress she wanted I was ready to burst into tears of chaos and frustration. Finally. I was hungry. The holy grail dress was (how should I say this) perky for a long, brown dress. I guess having humongous red and orange print of flowers can do that. Alone in the fitting room with the holy grail dress, I was conversing with it, out of annoyance and hunger. I was apologizing that I didn't like it but I would like us to try and get along since we were going to spend more time together. I found that completely ridiculous but I somewhat felt better. At least I could be honest with the dress.

In case you find it curious that we were having a fitting room war, the truth was we were shopping for a wedding dress or a dress one when wears for a wedding. A dress I would wear for my cousin's wedding in Canada. SO now that you're up to speed, let's move along with the rest of my weekend blues. If none of you noticed, my mom can be a bit overbearing. I assure you that I know that she is overbearing for my own good and the wellness of my well-being. I doubly assure you that that is not sarcasm you hear.

Knowing that, you can probably deduce that the fitting room war continued to the battle of the heels. As I said, jdbbaskhabaKJK. Short story miniscule, it was a standoff between open toe wedge shoes and open toe stilletos. Their color, of course, matched the holy grail dress. The better heels won, and I am happy to declare that mine KO'd the other shoe. Woot. A small victory, but a victory no less.

In the end, the Queen gave in bought my mistress as well, the other dress, so to speak. And we all lived happily ever after. Yes, you can totally hear the trumpets rejoicing in the background.

beasts of dysfunction

I'm your typical good girl. The funny, quirky, nerdy, goody two shoes. Though with a good deal of sarcasm and fondness for being random. I obsess about getting the grade for my classes though I'm a bit lazy to study. I rarely get scolded by my parents. I'm too boring socially for them to worry about me getting wasted or trying out meth or some other high inducing drug. I'm too introverted to be seduced by going out with classmates I barely know and hanging out. I can hear you saying "You need a life." Hehe, not really. I like how I am and quite comfortable with my life. So what's the point then? You can already see that this is going to turn into a big, raging, hormonal rant, don't you?

No matter how perfect I desire to be I cannot ignore that I am still a beast of dysfunction. This is not a 'pity me' statement. Since it is the truth, after all. I believe that no one is perfect, not one can be. Despite push or pull, whether you devote your life to be one, perfection is just elusive that way. What I wish though is the freedom from being expected perfect. Perfection is not demanded but it is quite implied. Like a humongous dragon breathing down your neck, filling your lungs with smoke with your every inhale and possibly a crunchy meal next. I know that a lot is expected of me and my knowledge of that just annoys me.

I am the youngest child and youngest daughter in our family. Yes, those two qualifications are important. Growing up, my older sisters were already in college while I was still in grade school. I rarely saw them but I rarely failed to hear tales of their flaws or at least what grave mistakes merited a public rant from my parents. Disappointment laced their voices when they would share what my sisters did wrong. And I guess that sticks to a kid, it's one of those childhood sentiments that clung to you. I was always told, "Wag mong gayahin mga manang mo." (Don't be like your sisters). And my mind asked what exactly were my sisters? One married too early, and another didn't finish college but worked instead. I do not fault them for doing what they did. I saw them as independent people who made their own choices. I admit I was angry at my parents too, saying we were Christians but driving their children away. It did not make sense why we were that way.

I remember once when my brother and mother had a fight they both cried. I remember watching TV and having my back to them so they did not see tears on my face. My brother did not want dinner so I went to his room and lain their beside him. I did not have to look at him to know that he was crying. He was angry and hurt that they were thinking him ungrateful. He said that he did his best and he graduated from the academy for them. I did not say anything and just asked if he was going to eat. Appeasing him was unlike me when I did not want to choose sides. I love my parents and my brother, they were family. And family to me should not take sides.

I was not like my sisters, I grew up dependent on my parents. I still have the childish habit of holding on to my mom's shirt tail like a child would (although he being annoyed by it is a bonus). My father frowns when I hesitate to talk to other people as I try to shrink into myself. I believed my self to be not smart like my sisters, not talented enough, not pretty enough, not good enough. I am not like my brother, I do not have ambition. I do not have goals for my self. I do not have the initiative to do what I need to do. By being like them would I fail my parents too? By being myself would I remain mediocre?

I no longer wanted to be a child. When I was a child I was powerless, unable to voice my opinions. I experienced this when my mother told my sister to pack her things and leave our house. She was being sent away. I remembered following her to the room we shared and asking her if it was my fault she was being sent away. I told her that I would behave myself and not fight with her for the remote control if she did not leave. But she just shook her head and answered that no, it was not me but she had to leave. It was then I accepted that I could not remain a child anymore. Being a child was naive and pathetic so I grew up.

I cannot ignore the flaws and scars my family have. I tell my sister that my parents are different from their parents. They can only stand being with them for three days and no more. My parents when with my siblings turn into harsh critics which embarrasses me. This blog is not one sided, my parents are not the only ones in the wrong. A relationship is a two way street, they say. I believe that. I try and tell myself that if we weren't so self-absorbed then perhaps we could all reconcile without having to resort into having a three day countdown. Sometimes I am in the receiving end of my parent's harsh words and I admit that it still makes me feel small and weak. Whoever said words could not never harm should rot in a pit of verbal massacre. But I do not dwell in them anymore, especially when I did do something wrong. It's just so easy to cling to being hurt and angry. That just tires me out.

I will just continue to be myself, borrowing backbone from my sisters and ambition from my brother, and advice from my parents. Maybe by being me, I'll be free from being perfect. And that way I will be happy.

I am Queen

Right now it is about 109 Fahrenheit. It is so hot that when I was outside in the parking lot I felt like I was burning or roasting without the flames. It was 111 Fahrenheit in my school earlier so that was probably a prelude to hell.

Anyway, my brain has undeniably fizzed out. Seriously. ME using multisyllabic verbiage is just a great concoction of your imaginations. Believe it. I only have three hours of sleep from the previous night and five hours from last night. That would have been sufficient enough if I didn't have any exams or whatnot. But my oh my, fancy meeting you here, I had a lab practical on cat veins, blood and lymphatics, plus our sheep hearts. Yeah, get over it. But wait! There's more...dun dun dun. I decided last night that I was going to take the Nurse Entrance Test Test (Duh. They call it the NET Test). Psh. I'm an idiot. That's an exam for about two hours on math, reading comprehension, reading rate, test taking skills, stress level, and an added bonus for me, hunger control. UNbelievable.

So, anyway, I took both exams earlier and I have yet to find out my lab practical result but I do know my NET test result. Let it be said for the record that that test was taken without any food in my system and lack of sleep...SO, let's just say that I passed. WooHoo. Okay, okay, so I scored better on my Math than the Comprehension. Big deal. Isn't it?? Yeah, it is. I scored better on my Math than the Comprehension. It's true. People who know me dear can attest that me and math are not tight but we manage. SO that was kind of a weird situation. I feel kinda bad since I am so much better at reading and comprehension. But my comprehension was non-existent today since I was just shy of passing out cold on the High Tech1 Building Room HT-143. Hunger and lack of sleep can do that to me.

I am Queen. Queen of Procrastination Hullabaloo. The reason that I took the NET test without preparation was 'cause I needed it as a requirement for my Nursing Application which I need to submit by Monday since I want to get in the Banner Program whose deadline for application is this Monday. Cheers for me. I am likely to kill myself before I can submit that application. SIgh. I need my Fingerprint Clearance Card since it is also a requirement but it will take three weeks or so to get to me. I am really, really not that optimistic about all this. But at least, I really am trying. The only reason I am rushing is 'cause I want to be considered for Estrella Mountain Community College's (school near our house) October Nursing Program. If I don't make the application I'll have to either wait for a year on the waitlist, or I could hope to be considered for the next batch which will be on March 2009 (Next Freaking Year) for Glendale Community College (college I go to right now which is farther from our house).

If my 2+2 did not equal 4 in your head, that is entirely my fault but your problem. Heh. :) Kidding. Yay me, Queen of PH.