Encounters with Target Pharmacy

So last week, i got a call from Target Pharmacy, saying my rx was ready. Cool, I have no time to get it cuz of summer school. I'll just get it on saturday.

Saturday rolls around, I was out doing errands and figured I'd go to Target Pharmacy and get my rx. I go there, get up to the counter, tell them my name and date of birth, and the pharmacist says "there are no rxs here for you. Uhhhh okey... I just figure they must have made a mistake with the previous call and I go home.

I'm home now, making dinner for myself. Dad says Target Pharmacy called me.

mfw:

So it's about 4:30pm, I'm stirring a pot of food, and I call Target Pharmacy again. Tell the lady I got a call from them, blah blah blah. She then says "oh hi! yeah, you were just in here, and we told you that we didn't have a rx for you. Well, as it turns out, we DO have your rx, it was just on the back shelf because we're getting rid of it today. Did you still want it?" "ummmm yeah..." "oh, great. Well we need you to come get it today, otherwise we're gonna throw it out. We close at 5." "Uhhhhh I'll be right over..."

 

Target Pharmacy: "Let's play a game!"

So the time is now 4:35pm. I've got like, 25 minutes to go back to Target and get my rx before they so sadistically throw it away and make me reorder it and all that rigamarole again. I abandon the food I was cooking on the stove, get back in my car, and drive back to Target, where I have to battle for parking all over again (it's saturday, which apparently is Christmas at Target.) I finally park way out in the boondocks, get out of the car, and walk briskly back to the pharmacy, where the pharmacist grins sheepishly and says "sorry about that..." and gives me my rx. Thanks, Scumbag Target Pharmacy. Thanks so much.

Problem, Chibi?

A Thing Worth Mentioning

     It was the day after my brother's heart transplant surgery. Up until this point, I had been calm, collected, uplifting and encouraging to those around me who needed it, and kept it together remarkable well considering the fact that my beloved brother, almost a son to me, was going through unspeakable traumas and procedures and having a staring match with death, practically. Yes, up until that day, i had been just fine and dandy. I knew I was in shock; i wasn't so naive to think i could deal with all that so well. My brother's heart was practically useless, we were looking at having to wait months to get a transplant, maybe even longer, and the prospects were grim that he could even make it until then.
BUT miracle of miracles, only 4 days after being put on the transplant registry, my brother received a heart. I was thrilled when i got that call, saying he was having surgery that night to get his new heart. I'm not sure of a moment in time when i have felt happier and relieved than i did at that moment when i received that call. Complete joy and happiness, no complaints, no fear, no worry.
       I spent a large portion of the next day after his surgery sobbing in a crumpled mess in the backseat of my car.
       The procedure had gone perfectly well, his new heart was beating like a champ! my parents and i wanted to be there when they "woke him up", took him off his sedatives. So the three of us arrive, and don surgical masks and gloves (after sanitizing hands more than once) and brush past the curtain to see him. There he was. There. He. Was. Tubes protruding everywhere, bandages, monitors, PIC lines, you name it, he had it. He was "sleeping" under the sedative still, so he was incoherent. Looking at him, lying there, so huge, so pallid, so weak, so entangled in all this medical tubing draining gastric fluids or blood, or pumping medicines into his veins, and then there was his breathing tube. The savages left the breathing tube in while they tried to wake him up! imagine the terror that would ensue upon waking up with a pipe down your throat.
       I gazed upon this sight, taken aback by it all, really. Could this be the same little boy i used to run around with at the park when we were kids? Could it be the happy little child, always quick to smile and be of good cheer? i slowly walked over, arms shaking, and held his hand. Tubes that were draining blood were right at my feet. I shuddered and tried not to look. After he came-to a little bit and stopped flailing around trying to get the tube outta his throat, he calmed down, lay back down, and held my hand. I looked at his face. His gentle eyelashes were matted together with his wet tears... A single tear rolled down his cheek, and I knew he was in misery. Arm shaking, i stroked his forehead, told him things will be alright, and that i would return, and i loved him, and left to the lobby.
      Walking through the lobby, i could feel the tears streaming down my own face. I tried to walk quickly to my car so nobody would notice or stop me, but the tears just kept coming. To see him like that, my precious little angel from Heaven, in that state, it was too much for me.

                          I BROKE

All the confidence and calmness went out the window. Even though i knew he was in no real danger anymore, to see him suffer like that is what killed me. and so i lost it. I got to my car, crawled in the back seat, and i lost it. Why couldn't it have been me. It should be me on that hospital bed recovering from surgery. Why did this happen to begin with. I also have PTSD from medical traumas, so hospitals terrify me something fierce. i was also having flashbacks pretty badly that day, and had nightmares the previous night. It all became too much for me to bear, so i just cried and cried in my car. Crying out to God, beseeching Him to intervene and give brian the comfort that only God gives, to give my parents the strength they needed, to help me get over my own idiotic problems so i could better help my own brother. I thanked God, too, for all that He had done for my brother and family, and for all the opportunities that had been provided to share His glory. But i cried and prayed for a long time, and generally felt worse than i had felt in a long time. Time dragged on, eventually tears subsided and my eyes shut and fell victim to exhaustion. I slept for a while. Never very peaceful sleep, but when exhaustion sets in, you'll sleep anywhere.
     2-3 hours apparently pass. I'm still sleeping. All of a sudden, I get a knock on the window. Mind you, I'm in a parking structure in East LA. My first thoughts are "OMG it's the cops!" or even worse "Oh man i'ma get SHOT!!!" slowly and sleepily i looked out the window, only to behold the face of an angel.

                                                                    ::knock knock::

Sleepily i brushed my disheveled hair out of my face and slowly opened the door. In shock, all i could stupidly say was "what are you doing here?" and she replied with "i came here to give you an apple pop..." at which point tears welled back up in my eyes. She handed me the beloved caramel apple pop and sat in the back seat with me, and we talked for a long time. She put up with my nonsensical complaining and fears, and just listened, cried, and prayed with me. I never asked her to come down there that day. She showed up at perfect timing. Just when i was at my very lowest point, she is there, ready and willing to love and support me. I was overwhelmed with gratefulness that she is my friend. To be able to talk to someone openly, to vent, even, was such a relief to me. To feel that someone cared for ME was a huge relief to me. My parents were too stressed out with everything with my bro, it would have been tacky if i had gone to them with my problems. And i typically don't like talking about my problems to anyone else for fear of burdening them. But no, Sarah approached ME to make sure I was alright. And i was able to speak freely with her, listen to her input, take her advice, and get a grip again.

     I'm back on track again now. I have no fears, no worries regarding my brother's condition. hospitals still scare the bejeezuz outta me. it still hurts my back a lot to drive all the way down to USC and back every few days. and i'm still keeping up with school to the best of my abilities. but i'm back on track, and not letting it all stress me out anymore. I try and visit bri when i can, providing of course that i have no major school assignments due or my back isn't too terrible, i go and see him in his room. It still hurts me a lot to see him like that, in so much pain, so miserable... but God is good, and has restored control in my life again, and i think i can manage now. Also, God is good to bless me with such amazing friends as Sarah, who show up at literally JUST the right time. I will never forget that day, when an angel bearing a caramel apple pop showed up and made my life bearable again. <3

Hero

WHY MY BROTHER IS A HERO

A COMMENTARY ON THE AWESOMENESS OF MY BRIBRI BABYCAKES

           

            Spiderman got bit by a spider. It made him real sick. You got real sick, too. But spiderman got real cool powers after he finished being sick. Spiderman gave hope to a lot of people, just like you. Everyone thinks you’re awesome (I know I always tell you this anyways) and everyone loves you. We all want you to get better so you can do cool stuff. (maybe once you’re healed you can climb walls or something, that’d be cool.)

      
 You’re super cool like General Grievous from Star Wars. General Grievous also had a weak heart, but he was still awesome. (except he was bad. Don’t be bad.) General Grievous was a fighter, just like you. He never gave up, he just kept on fighting. That’s what I want you to do, just like you already are. Never ever give up!           

 Darth Vader is famous for having breathing troubles. You’ve got asthma. Darth Vader never let that stop him from being the galaxy’s coolest villain ever. The force is strong in you, my boy. Do or do not, there is no try. You must get better. The Galaxy needs you.

           





 Cyborg is part human, part robot. You’ve got a bunch of screws and stuff in your knee. That’s pretty cool. You’ve got so much hardware in ya, you’re like a walking home depot. But that’s pretty cool, you’ve got some pretty cool battle scars to show for it. Cyborg uses his powers for good, and doesn’t complain about his robo-parts, just like you don’t. you’ve got that crazy knee, but it doesn’t bother you. It just makes you cooler.

            Last but not least, Iron Man. Iron Man gets all the ladies (just like you!) AND he had to get a new heart (again, just like you!) Iron Man protects himself with his awesome suit, kind of like how you protect yourself with the armor of God. The difference between you and Iron Man, though, is that Iron Man is arrogant and selfish, but you’re the sweetest and most selfless person on the planet. You are so sweet and loving, even when you’re going through rough times, you still manage a smile, you still crack jokes, you still care about other people. And that’s why you’re better than Iron Man.

           


         Brian, you’re better than all those superheroes combined. You are so brave and courageous, you just keep on truckin’ through all of this without complaining. I am so proud of you, you have no idea. I always call you the baby, but you’re more of a man than anyone I know. You’re the kindest, sweetest, bravest, most courageous guy out there, and I’m proud of you for not losing hope through all of this. I know it’s scary sometimes, but please always know that God is there for you, to comfort you and support you. Stay strong and remember what Jesus went through on the cross for you; He died and suffered for YOU, my dear. He knows everything you’re going through, He’s always in control. Don’t lose sight of that. I love you so so very much, please always know it. I will ALWAYS be there for you, no matter what! You’re my beloved bribri babycakes, and you always will be. But you’re also my hero, and I want you to know that, too. You inspire me to be strong, even when it’s scary. I will always love you to the moon and back! You’re my precious angel from Heaven.

Love Always,

            ~your sidekick, Kristin

SPRING BREAK 2012!!!!!!!!!!1!11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111!!!!!!!

Spring Break. Those two monosyllabic words inspire visions of crazy teens being reckless, living life to the fullest, getting drunk, playing beach volleyball in skimpy clothes, wildly dancing at raves or bonfires. Well, my spring break was pretty whack this year, if i do say so myself.

"PARTY AT MY PLACE!!!1!!1!111!" -parents were out of town. best friend and boyfriend were also out of town. Spent half the week at my house with just my bro.

"OH DUDE I GOT SO DRUNK!!1!1!!!!11!!!!" -had a glass of moscato. it was sub-par, at best.

"OH MAN I TOOK SO MANY DRUGS!!!!!1!!1!!!1!!1111!" -i took 4 advil one day cuz i had a killer headache.

"PARTY AT THE BEACH!!!!!!1111!!!!!!!!" -i actually did go to the beach. i fell asleep on the sand and forgot to tell my bro to wear sunscreen, so he got a killer burn on his legs.

"DANCE PARTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!1!!!!!!" -listened to the Beatles and sort of danced around. sort of.

"DUDE THAT WAS SO SICKK!!!1!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" -brian got pneumonia. he also got sick and i ended up cleaning vomit off the bathroom floor.

"I TOTALLY HOOKED UP WITH THAT ONE GUY!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!11!!!" -a hobo came to my door and asked me to give him cash or a check. I had neither so i turned him away.

"PARTY AT THE HOTEL!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!!!1!" -spent saturday of spring break in ER with bro and family due to pneumonia.

"BREAK ALL THE RULES!!!!!!!!!!1!!!1!" -brian and i stayed up until 4am watching "scary" movies one night.

"DUDE I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!" -i literally forgot because i did nothing worth remembering.

"REMEMBER WHEN THAT ONE GUY GOT SO JACKED UP?!11?/!1/???" -my dad and i were cutting down a tree in the backyard and he fell out of the tree and hurt his back.

"DUDE THINGS GOT OUT OF CONTROL!!1!!!" -the dog got out one time. it took me like, ten minutes to get him back.

"I TOTALLY DIDN'T DO ANY WORK OVER THE BREAK, MAN!!!!!!!!1!!!1!!!!" -it's true, neither did i.

my spring break wasn't super epic or crazy. but it was still pretty great (aside from brian getting pneumonia, of course) and i had a lot of opportunities to just get away and meditate for a while. it was nice and peaceful, for the most part, and Good Friday and Easter were great as always.

Teacher's Pet

We've all known them. We've all hated on them.

Teacher's pets.

Those sniveling kids that have all the answers, know all the random facts, have the teacher's address memorized. (hopefully not...) Those kids that just THRIVE off the attention and approval of the teacher.

I'm not one of those kids. Never have been, never will be. I'll do my best in class, but I don't really care what the professor thinks of me as a human being, one way or the other. I typically sit towards the back and keep to myself, seldom answering questions, never asking them, and just trying to mind my own business.

For some reason, some teachers choose me. I'm not sure why, maybe they see some hidden potential in me, maybe they see me as a younger version of themselves, heck, maybe they do it just because they know I hate the attention. But sometimes, inadvertently, I am the teacher's pet.

This is the case for my Monday night class this semester.
Before I had any real contact with her, she would stare into my eyes during lecture. Not just a casual glance sort of look, I mean really looking into and searching the depths of my soul sort of a look. She reminds me a bit of myself if ever I get older like her. Brown hair, grey eyes, sort of quirky and quiet, quietly analyzing type of a person. Things escalated on the level of teacher's pet when she finally spoke to me directly outside of class. It all started back a few weeks, when I wore a Totoro shirt to class. The prof gently grabbed my arm, stared at my shirt for a second or so, and asked me "You like Totoro?" Completely shocked that she would even have half an idea what or who Totoro even was, I managed a "yes... You know it?" to which she launched off into a long story about her ex husband, and how he had worked for an animation company, and how they had both loved and adored everything Miyazaki has ever done. Even more shocked, I then told her about my recent experience of seeing some Miyazaki movies on the big-screen, to which she expressed both approval and jealousy. I politely invited her to the final showing of "Castle in the Sky" that would be showing at the end of the month and took my seat.
Ever since then, she's asked me my opinions during class, always compliments me on my work, writes really nice things on my papers, etc. She still smiles at me and looks into my soul while teaching, too.

Well, tonight, things got real out of hand. At the beginning of class, she came up to me and asked if I was alright. Apparently i looked kind of... rough around the edges or something. I told her I hadn't gotten much sleep over the weekend, hadn't been feeling well so i hadn't eaten in a long time, etc. She expressed her sympathy, then began class. In class, she assigned us an exercise to write a poem. Most of my classmates were terrified and complaining at the prospect of having to write a poem. Obviously, as you may have figured out by now, I don't really mind writing all that much. So i set about writing a short poem. I finished far before the rest of the class. The prof was going around, silently reading everyone's poems... She read mine, and gave me high praises on it. I thanked her quietly, getting kind of red in the face for the recognition. Meanwhile, a few of the girls across from me were talking about their poems and how clever they were, etc. They were very pleased with themselves, to say the least. Well, the prof went over there and read over their poems, too. Just gave them a simple "very nice" without really meaning it. Well, horror of horrors, we finish the activity and she utters the most terrifying of phrases... "Who would like to read their poem to the class?" Silence. Not even the oh-so-confident teacher's pet wannabes volunteered. Then, the teacher said something even scarier than she had said before. "Well, I really loved Kristin's poem. It was one of, if not, my favorites that i read. It really speaks to me. Kristin, will you please read your poem to the class?" Everyone turned and stared at me... Hesitantly, I said I would. I read the poem to the class, feeling my face become redder and redder. I finished the poem, and the professor stood up and applauded me. The class hesitantly followed. I could feel the hatred of those girls burning through their eyes... Without even trying, I had become both the teacher's pet AND made enemies of half of my classmates. I sunk down into my chair and tried to appear uninterested in both the accolades of my professor and the hateful whispers and glares from my classmates.

Time went on, my cheeks faded back to a normal color again, i tried to forget about the poetry incident. At 8:45pm, the prof made an announcement. "It has come to my attention that some of you have been working very hard on your annotated bibliographies, and a few of you are outright exhausted. So I'm letting you all leave an hour early tonight." As she said all this, she was looking at me the entire time. Again i felt my malnourished, zombie-state face reddening. The class looked around, mildly confused but ecstatic at the prospect of leaving early.  We all turned in our poems that we had written, and left. I thanked my professor for letting us out early, and she smiled and said "you go get some rest now. Take care!" and i went on my way.

I never asked for this. I never tried for it. But it's happening. And if we can get out of class early because of it, I think I can manage, and hopefully my classmates won't judge so harshly. :)

Identity Crisis

     I was raised irish.
For the first 14 or so years of my life, I assumed I was Irish. I always knew I was adopted, but it never occurred to me that I would be of a different ethnic background than my family. Mom's dad was from Ireland, so her family is very very Irish-ly oriented. St. Patrick's day is second in glory only to Christmas and Easter for us Mulligan-Thompsons. When I was young, I was an Irish dancer (I know, laugh it up haha). I always just figured I was Irish, and I was darn proud of it.

Until one fateful trip to the post-office.

I was about 13-14 years old at that time. I was in the car with my dad; we were going to the post-office. I remember telling him how much I loved being Irish. Then, for reasons unbeknownst to me, even to this day, he told me "but you're not Irish."

Not Irish? What? Of course I was Irish... Everything about me was Irish. There was no other culture (except possibly the French) that I loved more than Irish. Not Irish? This man I called father must have been delusional.

I asked him "what do you mean I'm not Irish?" and he told me "You're French. And Portuguese."

What.

The emotions that ensued from that were of utmost dismay and disappointment, but also of joy. (I was French! a dream come true.) But not Irish? I said to him "No part of me is irish?" and he said "No, you're French-Portuguese. Didn't you already know this?"

Obviously not, judging by the tears streaming down my cheeks at that point. Up until then, I felt like everything I was, everything I did, was a lie; a fake. All those years I had been a dancer I should have been taking French lessons? I should have been taking ceramics instead of traveling to competitions?

My world had been shaken. It took a long time to get over the shock of it all. I didn't want to be stupid Portuguese! I wanted to be Irish! I was mad and confused. I didn't always love being Portuguese. In the beginning, I hated it.

Obviously, as the title of this blog would imply, I now thoroughly embrace being Portuguese (and French), but I realized that I'm still Irish. Even more than being legally Irish, being raised in the Irish culture does something to you. I'm proud to have been raised in that culture, I'm proud that my family is Irish, and mostly I'm proud of my grandfather, who immigrated to America from Ireland in his twenties.

Sadly, I lost my grandfather in 1995, when I was just 5 years old. I really wish he was still here so he could tell us the stories of the old country. I wish he had been there to see me dance. I wish he could see me and my brother grow up. I often spend time at the cemetery, at the grave site. I try to keep the weeds off it, sometimes on special days i bring flowers. I didn't know him too well, but I love hearing the stories of him from my family.

I'll always be Irish in my heart, and I'm thankful for all aspects of my heritage.

May you have warm words on a cold evening,
a full moon on a dark night,
and the road downhill all the way to your door.

:)

Activity Report

12:13pm : woke up. proceeded to message Dixie on IM for a while before getting out of bed and actually going to physically talk to her.

1:00pm : drove to school to get friend to drive to Sylmar. While waiting for said friend, sat alone on a bench. Russian girl sat in an awkward proximity to me on said bench, and proceeded to make a call. Overhear Russian girl making appointments, think nothing of it. Russian girl starts talking about rates, alcohol/drug use, and other unsavory things. Conclude that Russian girl is prostitute. Continue waiting for friend, Russian girl continues talking on phone about disgusting and unmentionable things.

1:15pm: girl walks past me, staring at me coldly. I smile at girl, girl disregards gesture of friendliness and scowls harder. Girl runs into hedge. I laugh in amusement and ask if she is alright. She says nothing, scowls, and walks away.

1:30pm: russian girl is off the phone now, sitting awkwardly next to me. Friend arrives. walk to friend's car with friend and drive to Sylmar.

2:10pm : arrive at Sylmar. go into classroom and set up. welcome parents/children with a smile but receive no response (as per usual). Hand out juice and sandwiches.

2:30pm: play Loteria game with families. I win. the prize was a glass piggy bank. having no need for this, i give it to small child in closest proximity to me.

2:40pm: read children's book out loud. accidentally read spanish word in english accent. children all laugh at me. some parents scold their children for it. I apologize and explain that my spanish is not too good.

3:30pm: class over. children/parents leave. small girl runs up and randomly hugs me for a while. sign the log, and proceed to leave with friend.

4:00pm: arrive at CSUN again. get in my car and drive to Chili's to meet other friend.

4:10pm: arrive at chili's, have awkward confrontation with waitress, requesting to just wait for my friend. Waitress demands i go sit at table. I sit at table, somewhat bewildered.

4:15: friend arrives. Randomly, 2 other friends arrive as well. We hug each other, and proceed to sit at our own tables. Coincidences are strange. I tell my friend that Life has not met its quota for giving me weird situations today. Friend laughs and agrees. Proceed to tell friend about events beginning at 12:13pm through 4:10pm. Waitress arrives and takes our order.

4:30pm: food arrives. amusingly, my friend is served a bowl of cheese. We eat our food and talk about boys and school and jabba the hutt professors.

5:00pm : finish eating. wait around forever until waitress brings check+refills. continue joking around about random things.

5:30pm: waitress at last brings check. takes a long time to process our money.

5:45pm: we leave restaurant. bad things happen, so we decide to get ice cream. We decide to meet at northridge mall. get in separate cars and go to mall.

6:00pm: arrive at northridge mall. text friend to see where she is. sit on bench waiting for reply. Group of boys approaches me. One comes up to me, asks if i have money for the bus fare. I reply with "i have no money, not even coins to give you... i'm sorry." guy then tells me that his friend thinks i'm hot and wants to buy me something nice. I look at boy and say no thanks, that's okey. Boy then asks how old i am. I ask "why do you want to know that?" boy asks again, "well, just how old are you? over 18?" I reply with "i'm 21. why?" Boy asks "can you go into that store and buy a pack of smokes for my friend over there?" i say "for your friend? he's underage? nah, dude, i don't do stuff like that... it's illegal..." boy says "aww c'mon... i thought you were cooler than that." i say "nah, man... i don't do stuff like that. you kids shouldn't be smoking, anyways. you'll regret it later on in life." receive text. friend is on other side of mall.  boy says "aww, okey. well, thanks for your time, have a good night!" and i say "ya, have a good night. be good and stay out of trouble! you're too young for cigarettes." he laughs and I get up and go find my friend.

6:10pm: find friend. tell her about events that transpired at 6:00pm. friend is shocked that i could get into so much trouble in just the few minutes she left me alone. many laughs are had.

6:15pm: buy friend gelato. life gets a little bit better. we proceed to walk through mall, making fun of fashions incorporating floral "homeschool/granma" prints while being cut in a slutty manner. I make comment "oh yes, because that's what a guy wants to be thinking about when he sees a hot girl. his grandmother or a socially inept homeschooled kid." friend proceeds to lapse into asthmatic fit of laughter. I begin to become concerned for the well-being of my friend. Friend begins breathing again, still laughing quite hard. we proceed to walk through mall.

6:30pm: we go into vitamin store. girl working there asks us why we're in there. friend buys vitamins. girl working is confused, but rings up my friend for the purchase. says something about rewards club. we ignore her. we leave vitamin world.
6:35pm: wander around mall aimlessly making fun of fashions in forever 21, sidecca, hot topic, those expensive stores that no one can afford, etc. friend goes to bathroom. points out weird stall with two toilets in it. friend takes picture. we laugh heartily over it.

7:00pm go to asian store. muse over all of the awesome things including a pikachu suit. We go up the escalator, planning how to get guys. we decided that the best way to get a guy's number is to crash your car into the guy (in or out of his car) and get his insurance and phone number written down. a great way to meet people.

7:30pm: we get in our cars and leave.

10:45pm: finish writing this blog