#this is just dumping all the clips ive recorded

[rask]

nhl all-star skill competition – feb 3, 2023

[waywardsalt]

anyways. my very first attempt at malenia

[stupidityismyjobsecurity]

POCKET DUMP: ER scrub pants edition!

This is what I keep in my scrub pants every night when I work in the ER. Yes, it is a lot. Yes, I am a whacker. But almost everything here has been something that at least once I’d needed fast and didn’t fucking have. So; from top to bottom, left to right:

1. Writing utensils, left hip pocket; I carry way too many pens because nurses are thieves. Also always at least one off-color pen for signing things that will get photocopied and ALWAYS a sharpie.

2. IV start tourniquets, hanging from elastic loop below left hip pocket; I keep these here because it lets me grab them fast when I need them and also I think it looks cool as fuck that they swing around as I walk.

3. Lighters, left appendix pocket; for lighting cigars.

4. Retractible measuring tape, back left pocket; Ok, this is kind of another vanity thing. There’s this super old ER doc (like labcoat and button-up shirt old) that always carried one of these, and I thought it was kinda cool. I use it to measure out ortho-glass for postmolds and for laceration descriptions in centimeters.

5. Hemostat thingy, clipped to left appendix belt loop; ok so this thing is kinda fun. I keep two sizes of transpore tape and a roll of durapore tape on this where I can get at them in a hurry, I also keep IV disinfecting caps on it and a bunch of tiny yellow rubber bands that come in handy for all sorts of shit.

6. Waterproof notebook, left back pocket; transferred directly from my tac pants, this now holds phone numbers for different departments in the hospital and a running record board of batshit insane lab values (highest troponin I’ve personally seen was 27108[high-sensitivity])

7. ACLS Cardiac Arrest algorithm card, left back pocket; I keep this so I don’t have to actually memorize Hs and Ts, and also because I’ve written the doses for my ROSC pressors (Levo, Epi, and Dopamine) on it.

8. Pressors dosage card, left back pocket; this was a gift from a hospital pharmacist and might be the one thing on this list that I haven’t had to use (yet).

9. Wallet, right back pocket; Always keep this on me. I think I already talked about this in my other pocket dump post, or I just said it deserves its own post (which it does, gotta get around to that)

10. Extra gloves, left back pocket; always gotta keep some extras.

11. Badge, clipped to right appendix belt loop; so this has my name on the front, and the “Paramedic” rocker along the bottom says it on both sides. The bar code taped to the back is actually a hack that I figured out to bypass a system check in our glucometers (don’t tell management) and I also keep a keyring on the back. The keyring has the key to my break room locker, a restraint key, an IV tubing clamp that I’ve modified to act as a key for our IV pumps, and a few very special reminders to get out of The Hood in one piece at the end of my shift.

12. Leatherman Raptor trauma shears, right hip pocket; these things were a gift, but having used them for years now, I’d buy them myself if I didn’t already have them. Good shit. Worth the pretty penny.

13. Hemostat, shoved through rear belt loop and clipped to pants; these I use for miscellaneous tasks around the ER. Fixing things, clamping lines, temporarily clamping prematurely spiked IV bags, all kinds of shit.

14. Extra roll of transpore tape, right hip pocket; this tape is hard to come by in our ER, so I always keep an extra roll on me

15. 19g and 22g needles and empty 6mL syringe, right cargo pocket; for transferring blood to vacu-tubes or for giving meds.

16. Surgical scissors, right cargo pocket; I started carrying these after we had an emergent birth during which nobody had a good set of scissors for the doc to do an emergency episiotomy with. I use them sparingly and only for cuts that need to be cleaner than what I’d use my raptors for.

17. Flushes, right external cargo pocket; ALWAYS carry flushes when you work ER.

18. J loops and tegaderms, right cargo pocket; always forgotten at the worst times.

19. Mini IV Start kit, right cargo pocket; I honestly don’t know why I have this, because I pretty much carry copies of everything in it already, but here we are.

20. Sureprep wipes, right cargo pocket; Ok, so these are actually pretty cool. They come in Foley catheter kits and are supposed to be used to prep the thigh for securement of the Foley, but hardly anybody actually uses them. I swipe them up and save them because when you get a SUPER sweaty patient come in, these work great to create a sticky, but also aseptic, area to start and secure an IV. These have honestly worked magic for me, can’t overstate how much the medical world sleeps on these.

21. Djarum Black (Ruby) cigars, right external cargo pocket. If my health insurance asks, I’ve never smoked in my life. Truth be told, I only smoke at work, and these things hit like a truck. I like them because after one taste, the homeless hangarounds stop asking to bum a smoke off me. Too harsh even for them. Smokers get more breaks than non-smokers anyways.

22. Bulova Marine Star wristwatch, inside of right wrist; my last pocket dump I talked about my Isobrite watch and how cool it was. I still have it, still use it most of the time at work, but my Bulova is easier to clean whenever I get blood on it or otherwise contaminate it. Bulova makes a pretty stout watch, and this thing has held up pretty well through everything I’ve put it through, and I’ve put it through a lot.

23. Large-bore IVs (14g and 16g), right cargo pocket; these were the first things I started carrying because I realized I needed them in a hurry and didn’t have them. I’ve started carrying them on me all the time, and honestly?literally the most badass feeling in the world to pull a 14g out of your own pocket and sink it into the arm of someone who needs it.

Well I think that’s everything. I know it sounds like a lot, but honestly it’s not too bad. Heres what everything looks like when I wear it into work:

[nekotato]

We watched Hero City Rollers (the clips we got, idk if theres a full recording out there) and here’s what we could make out - The race has to be held again because Rusty is suspected of cheating?? He has to prove his innocence?? and some coaches dont trust him anymore? - Greaseball is too injured to run again but not Electra - Pearl dumped Rusty and her lyrics are like “Im literally the most perfect being, no one can match me, Rusty was a fucking loser” I dont think the writers liked Pearl -Songs have middleschool dance party vibes, especially the Party one (where everyone suddenly busted out moves????) -All components get verses and my fav is krupp saying “Ive never been robbed”. Also they were all made into women so its not weird when they say “we need a locomotive” I guess? -Theres no Starlight Express. Its not called Starlight Express but rather the literal translation of Starlight. -“The Train of Life” - Very generic lyrics like “only a locomotive can get us started, we’re just waiting here for one :(”, theres no real character to make out of it tbh - Me at a drag bar: Ladies and Gentlemen please welcome to the stage Pacific Blue - Rusty saying “Itll be different this time” you won last time boy???

[justshamie]

Bob: The scar

It was raining. Hope never liked it. Everyone seemed to love rain, because it was calming or because it was a great weather to just stay at home. For her it just meant staying put and staying put was waiting. Waiting meant vulnerability. Waiting for a storm. That kind of calm before the storm just made her anxious. Anxiety led to rash decisions and she could not make rash decisions now. The tapping sound over her head made her count seconds in her head. Blood was slowly dripping down her arm. One, two, breathe in, breathe out. The small overhang didn't provide much cover from the rain. Her clothes were sticking to her, soaked and cold. Hidden, but for how long? The sun would start showing up soon. If she would stay there, she would just freeze to death. "Damn it," a soft sigh escaped her lips and she felt tears running down her cheeks. It stung, she could barely feel her face. Looking at her hand, covered in blood she saw it tremble. The bullet was still in her arm. She could hear shouts in the distance and a car starting up. The waves were crashing hard against the dock. She got back up to her feet, wanted to fight, but knew it wouldn't end up well for her. She needed to get out of here. Away from them. She got her gun out of the holster under her arm, groaning in pain. Pulling out the clip and safely tucking it back in in a quick motion, earning another wince. One last bullet. The first eight rounds were somewhere in the leg of one of the guards and the rest she couldn't even tell. She licked her lips, tasting blood and pain soared through her whole face. Wailing loudly she quickly covered her mouth, but it was too late. "She's here!" someone shouted from behind the warehouse. She just run. No time for thinking anymore. On the pier, bullets whizzing past her head, she barely looked once at the black water. It was either trying her luck swimming to the shore, or dying from a bullet to the head. She shot blindly behind her and jumped.

"So Detective?" a low laughter came from Viktor Cavendish. "Is that what you call yourself? Private investigator? You see our operation is VIP only and we don't like you two meddling in our business." Viktor stood tall over Roberta's chair, while her pupil's head was hanging limply down. He wore a black suit and the only thing that stood out in the half lit room was his wide, crazy grin and blood splatters on his face. He stared down at the investigator with a spark in his eye, something that unnerved the old woman, but she didn't even blink. "So how about you tell us what you know, so I don't have to do more harm to the little one here?" he grabbed the blonde hair and tugged the young woman's head up. Bruised, bloody and unconcious, Hope didn't show any sign of being alive. "Get your dirty hands away from her, you swine!" Roberta growled in anger. "Oh you want to play hard to get?" he reached out to one of his grunts and a massive knife was handed to him. Placing the end of the blade right at Hope's chin, slicing slowly up. Hope didn't even move away. "I told you I don't have anything more to say to you!" Roberta shouted, looking right at her young apprentice. He plunged the knife slowly into the soft skin cutting right through it. Hope whined unconciously. "I told you everything I know! We didn't even know where your distribution point was! Leave her alone!" "Oh well" he shrugged and swiftly cut right up through Hope's lips and nose. "I guess I have no more use for you." he turned around to his men and barked some command, disappearing with them behind the door. They were gone for half an hour maybe more, before Hope coughed and groaned again. "Hope," she whispered. "please wake up. I need you to wake up." The young woman whined but opened one eye halfway. "Hope they are going to come in here in a moment and take us to the pier, to dump us into the water." Probably our bodies, Roberta thought, not us. "Honey, I need you to wake up. It's all up to you now." Hope groaned and brought her head up slowly, spitting blood on the floor. She could barely tell which part of her body didn't hurt. She looked around, half lit room, some old warehouse from what she could tell. Roberta was looking at her with concern written on her face. "Hope you still have your gun," she whispered. "I need you to shoot and run when I tell you." A low groan was all she could muster. A few moments later, men came in and grabbed both of them, cutting them away from the chairs and dragged them outside. They both ended up on their knees right at the pier. Looking at the black void beneath them. Hope couldn't even see where the pier started and where the water was crashing against it. "I'm proud of you. Always." Roberta whispered. "Now." What happened moments later, felt like images flashing in front of her. Her body reacted on instinct and adrenaline. Roberta in front of her covering her from fire. She grabbed her gun. Men shouting for her to get back on her knees. Bullets hitting Roberta's chest and one hitting Hope in her arm. She fired hitting one of them in the legs, barely able to keep the gun up. Men scattering behind cover. Her mentor's body falling limply into the water. Blank eyes and pained scowl frozen on her face was the last thing Hope saw. Then she was running. Just running.

Hope woke up in a white, synthetically smelling room. The hospital bed was brought a bit up, steady machine beeping next to her. She felt bandages on her face and something tugging on her lip and nose. Not even trying to open her mouth she looked down. Her leg was in a cast and her hands covered in small, halfway healed up cuts. The door to the room opened, with a nurse and a smiling police officer quietly bickering to eachother. "You should've seen her face, she thought­-" the nurse didn't finish her sentence seeing Hope's eyes opened. "Oh my- , Hank get me a doctor here right now. Miss, you're at Riverside Memorial Hospital. You are safe." Hope tried to bring up a hand to her mouth, but her muscles barely twitched. Tears fell down her face and she breathed in, feeling something tugging at the side of her nose again. The nurse smiled sadly and sat down next to her. "Miss, your face needed stitches and you might feel tugging. We will remove them soon. I would like to ask you not to open your mouth for now, not to tear them down." she patted her hand gently and got up to swich the IV bag. "The doctor will come soon to see you."

Staying in the hospital might have seemed like it took ages. The only thing that Hope thought about was the blank stare and pained expression she saw on Roberta's face, when she was falling. 'I'm proud of you. Always.' the last words rang in her ears. Her mentor, her only family, her home. It was gone. Her face was healing really slowly, even with the laser reconstruction. After ten days the surgeon came to take off her stitches. With that she could start speaking, with speaking came milions of questions. 'What happened?' was the one that popped up the most. They already knew who she was, from what they pulled out of her phone. The built into her bracelet device didn't get damaged at all. Everything they had on Cavendish. Recordings, photographs, documents, receipts, even their meeting was there. Police caught him three days later, when he tried to flee the country. His goons either disappeared or caught. Roberta was right for her to record everything too. Somehow the fact they treated her like she wasn't important made them lose everything. They haven't checked for the phone, for the gun. She was just a child that was collateral damage. 'Too bad Viktor' she thought. 'Thank you for underestimating me.' It saved her life, but at what cost. They found Roberta's body not long after. Ironically enough on the same beach that Hope was found by some early day jogger. She answered all the question police asked, gave full statements. Her throat on fire, but she gave them everything they needed. She didn't speak after, until they finished autopsy and it was time for the funeral. Someone came over to the hospital room, said she was Roberta's old friend. Hope only stared at the window outside. Blank eyes of her mentor still sharp in her head. She remembered crying soundly, the old friend, Diana, she said, call me Diana. She brought her clothes, food, sat with her all day, not talking, just being. When the day came she pushed the wheelchair, it was sunny during the funeral. Hope didn't cry through the ceremony. She didn't cry when everyone left. She sat there, Diana next to her like she was all that time. Just staring blindly. 'I'm proud of you. Always.' she wanted to get mad at her for saying that. "She called me not so long ago, you know, and told me if anything happened, to take care of you. She knew." Diana crouched next to the wheelchair. "She said 'she's like a daughter to me'." For the first time since she woke up in the hospital, recognition showed on Hope's face. Diana had wet cheeks from crying, her face slowly showing signs of heavy wrinkles. A kind, understanding smile on her face. "Thank you." Hope said and tears rolled down her face. "Let's get you home."

[sageandwizard]

Creating Conflict: or, The Joys of Boiling Oil

By Holly Lisle

You’re sitting at your desk staring at your manuscript, realizing that you’ve written ten or fifty or three hundred (ouch) pages in which nothing really happens. People talk to each other and they go places and they do things, but you couldn’t find enough suspense in what they’re doing to fill a thimble, and you’re creeping up on the sneaking suspicion that your book is a wash, your ideas were stupid, and your characters are duds. Or worse, that you are. Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel, admit defeat, take your parents’ advice and go into the family wax-dummy business.

Don’t do that. You can fix this. It may not be easy, but if you want to save your characters and your idea and at least some of the work you’ve already done, you can.

You’re going to need to dig a bit. But, hell, if you don’t, you’re looking at a long future of gluing fake eyebrows on bee byproduct. You have a compelling reason to succeed at this, right? You’ll do pretty much anything to avoid the future everybody else planned out for you? Just like they’d do just about anything to have you follow in your father’s footsteps and be the next Wax King or Wax Queen.

Yeah.

Well, that’s conflict.

You have it in real life. You have something that you want enough that you’re willing to suffer for it, work for no pay to get it, endure the slings and arrows of outrageous disbelief and mockery if you can just have it. And on the other side of the fence, the person who is doing the arrow-slinging has equally compelling reasons for standing in your way.

Now you just have figure out how to move conflict from your life to the page.

There are three types of conflict, and you deal with all three every day, and so should every one of your characters.

Get out your notebook, or open up a new document, or grab your quill and parchment. We’re going to do some quick-and-dirty conflict-building.

Meet Bob

Bob Vanilla is twenty-five, he has held a few jobs in his life but nothing that ever thrilled him, he’s had a couple of girlfriends, but no one who ever thrilled him, and he has a brother named Jim and a sister named Jane. If ever the Muse tossed out a character born to lie dead on a page, ’twas Bob.

Your job is to fix his life — fiction-writer style. Which means you dip him in batter, dump him in boiling oil, and don’t take him out until he’s brown and tasty. You’re going to mess with his mind, trash his relationships, and top it all off by dropping a comet on his head.

For the Wee Gods of Storytelling declare — THOU SHALT HAVE CONFLICT ON EVERY PAGE.

And if thou wants to sell thy damned story, thou wiltst.

Creating Internal Conflict (Bob against Bob)

Bob wants something. A lot. He wants something so much that he would do almost anything to get it. What does he want?

Maybe he wants to be a championship surfer, riding the waves in Hawaii and bringing home the big-bucks endorsement deals from… uh… Nike Surf or Toe Jam Board Wax.

But Bob is going to have trouble getting want he wants because something inside of him stands is his way.

Maybe Bob is afraid of something. Maybe a sister that you never met, Janet, got eaten by a shark. Maybe Bob almost drowned in a bathtub when he was seventeen, and now he’s terrified of more than three gallons of water in any one place.

Or maybe not.

Maybe Bob wants love and passion and a lot of hot sex at least once a week. And is secretly in love with a girl who is beautiful, and kind, and funny, and stacked like a triple-decker beef burger, and who is witty and virtuous but not too virtuous.

And maybe Bob looks like a flounder, and has half the self-confidence.

Maybe he hates his dull life and has always dreamed of becoming an Army Ranger, only he’s weak and skinny and just about to become too old to enlist, and he’s afraid of the dark, and of snakes, and of being shot at, and he doesn’t know if he has what it takes to be a hero. He thinks he might just be a jellyfish.

Whatever he wants, it’s the biggest thing in the world to him, the one thing that could, if he got it, drag him out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and keep him up all night. And the first thing that stands in his way is himself.

Your turn.

Write down five different things that he might want with a passion. Write down five different internal conflicts that stand in the way of his getting what he wants (one for each desire.)

Creating Interpersonal Conflict (Bob against Someone Else)

Okay. You’ve messed with Bob’s head. Good. Hope you made it tough in there for him. Now you’re going to cause him problems with the people around him.

Because Bob wants something. A lot. And people around him don’t want him to get what he wants.

I’ll take Bob and the Army as my working conflict. Bob wants to do something that matters with his life. He wants to go to work every day knowing that he’s contributing to something that’s bigger than he is; he wants the sense of mission and purpose that a job as a Ranger would give him.

His mother wants him to be safe and stay way the hell out of harm’s way.

His father wants him to take over Vanillaville Mini-Widgets and spend the rest of his life making light switches and those little rubber things that cover telephone number-pad keys. (You’re not the only one facing a grim future in the family business.)

His current girlfriend, Jill, wants him. She is head-over-heels in love with him (and the nice lifestyle that a VP in Vanillaville Mini-Widgets could give her). She wants him to marry her and settle down in Vanillaville so that her mother can come over and visit every day. Jill also wants fourteen kids, and is determined to get them. From Bob.

And his best friend since kindergarten, Jeff, wants Bob to stay put, because if Bob goes out and does something big and important with his life, Jeff is going to be left at home playing poker and drinking beer alone — and the dullness of Vanillaville is going to become very sharp and clear to him.

So…

Bob’s mother may cry and fake fainting spells and check herself into the hospital to convince Bob not to go

Bob’s father may lie to the recruiter and tell him Bob has a criminal record

Bob’s girlfriend may poke holes in Bob’s condoms

Bob’s best friend may clip out every article of Army Rangers getting hurt or killed in action that he can find

These are the things the people who love him are doing to keep him from getting what he wants. Imagine what the guy who can’t stand him will do.

Your turn.

Write down five people who want Bob not to get what he wants, exactly what each of them wants (and why), and what each of them will do to stand in Bob’s way.

Creating External Conflict (Bob [and perhaps others] against Something BIG)

But you aren’t done with poor ol’ Bob. Hell hath no fury like a writer on a roll, and now, with internal and interpersonal conflicts all brewing at the same time (because Bob didn’t suddenly get big and strong and grow a stainless steel backbone when his mother faked the heart attack, after all), you’re going to drop one more conflict on his head. The biggie.

Aliens from Bugeyed IV might drop in on Vanillaville and the rest of the country for a little snack.

Terrorists might kidnap Bob’s girlfriend and hold her hostage.

A comet might aim itself right at Vanillaville.

An earthquake, a tornado, a torch-carrying mob from Cinnamontown bent on the destruction of its arch-rival, food-shortages, plague, drought, a million dollars missing from the Library Fund tip jar. You need something that Bob can’t ignore — and that no one else with any sense can, either. Something big. Something powerful. Something that will push Bob to be the hero he wants to, but is afraid to, be. That will give him reasons to win people to his side, that will cause him to make powerful enemies, that will change him and everyone around him forever.

In a story with smaller scope, the external conflict can be the IRS taking the hero’s mom and dad’s house for back taxes, or the school burning down, or the appearance of the rare Yellow-Backed Purple-Butted Bark Chewer in woods that haven’t seen one for a century. To the right hero, even that sort of thing could change the world forever.

Your turn.

Hurt Bob. Hit him with something on the outside that smacks him upside the head with a fifty-pound rubber mallet and that says to him, Go. Go now. Do. Be. Or the dream you hold dear, and everything that hangs on it, will die.

One external conflict, and what he’s going to do about it. And who is going to help him, and who is going to oppose him, and how he’s going to overcome his own fears and handicaps, and ….

And there’s your book. Or your story. Focus on what Bob wants, what his people want, and what the universe intends to do to him, give him obstacles worth struggling over and let him struggle with everything in him, losing some and winning some, and you’ll never spend another day trying to tug vinyl pants over melting wax legs again.

[lendingamachete]

I've been talking to this guy daily for a little over a month now and like.. my brain just wants him to be my boyfriend so I can bug him without feeling like im Bugging him, you know?

Theres no chance of us meeting in person until March because we have different start dates for Disney. But like.. I've never had a guy admit to liking me and want to talk to me everyday and straight up tell me he likes me while also planning fun things to do together in Disney... part of me doesnt trust him fully BECAUSE this has never happened and idk how its supposed to work so it feels too good to be true.. but part of me is like.. can we both be in Disney already? I just want to hang out with you in person now.

I like him. I like his voice. Hes like an attractive dorky grandpa.

Ive been fighting a losing battle with my attempts to not get attached to him. He just does cute things that rope me in closer and I cant. And im like, so scared that if/when we meet he'll see me and be like "ew no" even tho he can easily go on my FB and see that i am NOT a model (and I've told him- he insists he doesnt care about that..) [he has a body like Nick Jonas Circa "Careful What You Wish For"] or like.. what if we meet and we like each other for real and he becomes my first real boyfriend? What if we do all those relationship things and then we break up? What if he's My Person? All scary things I've never thought about with anyone before because No One has ever admitted feelings for me.. and this guy has already stuck around while I dumped two big buckets of overthought crazy on him, he's mentioned the idea of a relationship, he was sad/worried (or appeared so) when he thought I wasnt going to Disney.

I dont know what happens in a relationship or how fast or slow you are supposed to do things. But he's been patient through my crazy moments and still talks to me everyday and im like.. what is happening? Is this a trick? Why do I deserve this?

Especially since I legit WAS NOT looking for anything. I "Liked" his survey on a DCP FB page and then he messaged me and sent me a friend request and idk why but I responded and we've been talking everyday since and I just.. i know I'm overthinking it all but like.. if we do become something come March, like what? Part of me thinks hes talking to Every woman who "liked" that survey but also part of me thinks hes just talking to me (tho mostly i doubt that somehow, based on youtube rabit holes about men/dating) But he's told me he likes my personality and that Im pretty and funny and he's straight up told me he liked me a lot and has mentioned a relationship in conversation and when I tell him I'm uncomfortable with something he backs off of it and like what if he IS a good guy who DOES like me? Idk how to handle that. He sent me a recording of his voice because I said i wanted to hear what he sounded like (then we had a whole conversation via voice recordings) like.. hes a goof and he seems like a good guy but idk man. I've never experienced this before so I dont trust any of it.

Hes a sweetheart with a dirty mind so Idk how to handle this all or if im being too trusting or not trusting enough. (I dont truly trust people very easily, at all.)

My life suddenly feels like a movie where I'm finally figuring stuff out and now theres a man here to throw a wrench into everything and make my brain go mushy..

I've noticed recently that I find myself more cute and attractive and I dont want that feeling to be just because some man claims to find me attractive, I want it to be because I am happy with myself. And like, I know its silly but I have this belief that you get into a relationship when you are headed in the correct direction for your life/destiny/whatever you are meant for in life. Like, you meet your person once you are either IN or headed toward your purpose, whatever that is. Idk.. idk how to explain it, its just a silly thing that I kind of believe. Especially when I look at my friends who are married or engaged. Idk.

So yeah.. all that said.. Basically I have relationship fever (best way I can think to explain the feeling). We talk everyday but I still want to be able to talk to him without thinking Im coming across as clingy or annoying. I want him to be my boyfriend so I can "bug" him without feeling like im "bugging" him... but i mean, with the way I overthink things we could be at the altar on our wedding day and I'd be like "Are you sure? I know you asked but, are you sure youre sure??"

Also idk why but yesterday at the JoBros concert I thought of him during "Lovebug" and "Year 3000"-- okay i think Lovebug was because I legit heard his voice for the first time the day before (not a phone call but still his voice) and Year 3000 because we talked about Meet the Robinsons 1x so obviously he is linked to anything Meet the Robinsons related in my brain because that makes perfect sense..

Why am I like this? Why cant I be normal and not overthink everything that happens in my life?? I've listened to his voice recordings a few times because I want to see/hear him in person because Im insane and he should run away as fast as he can.. the first time I heard his voice it wasnt at all what I was expecting and I got chills all over my body, not the usual shivers up the spine, my whole body. It felt weird but good. I thought he sounded weird at first but by the next morning when I replayed the clips my brain was like "That is the most attractive voice ever" idk how that works.. I just want it to be March so we can meet up in person and see what happens/where it goes if we do.. part of me imagines he will knock on my door and we will hug and go get food at Disney Springs, part of me knows the more likely scenario is that if we meet I will be super awkward and just stare at him and be quiet and awkward and hyper aware of my body size, and another part of me thinks we wont ever make it beyond messaging. He'll get to florida amd see just how many pretty, single women compared to single men there are and he wont care for me anymore and We'll never actually meet.

Idk how to life.

The first time in my life a guy I find attractive tells me he's attracted to me too so I dont trust him because no one else has ever done that before.

[fernedbk4108-blog]

Tabora Road.

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[neverlandinred]

Yosemite: Day 3

Monday. Shouldn’t expect traffic to be bad at all, right? Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!! We will NEVER again stay in a national park on a holiday weekend. That was the big lesson of the day.

We woke up extra early and grabbed our breakfast to go because today, we were…. *drum roll* whitewater rafting! Okay, yes, lots of people raft down rapids all the time and do just fine, but literally any time the locals would ask what we’re doing this week and we responded with “Rafting down the Merced,” their eyes grew wide and wouldn’t shup up about how impressive that was, this year especially. Apparently this past winter had almost a record snowfall, or at least more than there had been in recent years past, and more snow on the mountains means more water when that snow melts. As a result, the Merced was flowing at about 30,000 CFS (about 10x more than usual according to our guide). Although she also mentioned a couple years ago when it was at 150,000 CFS, at which point the roads are underwater too. Just realize that this was seen as an impressively daring feat, okay?

Yikes, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m just excited. We drove back through the park to get to the meeting spot for rafting. Sunrise is 5:30 and we were driving at 6 so there was a fine mist everywhere, with sunlight shooting through tree branches and onto the road. We drove through Tunnel View again, this time only stopping for a few pictures of the ominously foggy view. Ominous and still beautiful. I wish I looked that good in the morning.

Before we drove around to another exit of the park, we saw a family of deer with fuzzy antlers. Unfortunately, besides a chipmunk, that was the only wildlife we saw. But wow, they were so unfazed. Just trotting across the road and holding up a line of cars, all with their windows down and cameras flashing every three seconds. Unashamedly, yes, I was one of those people.

We got to the meeting spot, GoPro in tow, only to realize we didn’t bring our helmet clip. We have out helmet mount on our ski helmets already, but I figured they would have some with mounts on their own helmets. I was right of course, but none of them had the clip. And why should they? *grumble mumble* This is maybe the third time now that I remembered the GoPro but forgot to bring the appropriate attachment gear. You’d think I’d eventually learn.

Then we all gathered for a terrifying safety talk of all the worst-possible outcomes. There was a 12 year-old kid with his grandmother, and his face wore the exact expression I was feeling inside. The guide should probably have said something like, “You could get your foot trapped on a rock if you fall out of the raft, but don’t worry, that isn’t likely to happen,” but he left that last part out. First-time rafter here and all I was thinking was, “I’m going to die on my anniversary.” That would have been just my luck anyway.

Our guide’s name was Rey. She was the talkative, lively one of all the other guides so I was excited she was ours. We were with another couple of first-time rafters, so the only ones who had any decent experience were Rey and Tom. She stuck Tom and me in the front. We learned the basic commands and ways to row, and then we were off in our little gray paddleboat. We started with Class II rapids right off the bat and were splashed enough in the face by 48F waters to realize this was going to be nothing but fun.

There were a ton of rapids and gulches we went down – I think 15 or so in the 11-mile span of river we went down. Two of them were class IV’s and the way the raft kept turning, I was the one getting hit head-on with every wave. Someone tried to be nice and asked if I wanted to switch and I yelled no real quickly. It was way too much fun.

One of the other rafts in our group was doubled-up on guides so Greg came and hopped in with us, allowing Rey to be our tour guide, telling us about the history of the mountains and the wildlife, along with some crazy stories of her own. She’s homeless by choice and lives in a tent during the summer so she can do nothing but raft. Crazy but respectable. For a minute, I wished I lived the life of a paddling hobo. She also pointed out a landslide that covered the road almost ten years ago, and the “temporary” bridge they put in for people to go around it. And also told us how the California flag has the grizzly bear on it but no grizzlies are actually in California anymore because in the early 1900s, the government had paid people to bring in the heads of grizzlies. So that’s ironic.

We came around a bend and Rey looked at us with crazy eyes and asked if we were okay with possibly flipping the raft and most definitely swimming. Errrrrmm…. But we were all up for it so she kicked Greg out of this seat in the back and took command of the raft. We came down a dip where a swell of water had gathered around a partially-submerged rock, creating a whirlpool-like rapid. We went downstream over it easy enough, but she had us stop right after in a calm area. Then we paddled upstream right into the swell, held it for a few seconds, and we suddenly felt the raft beginning to tip to the front left into the whirlpool. Before I could realize what was happening, the raft was standing straight up and dumping everyone into the river one by one! At this point, I was actually standing up in the raft as it was almost 90 degrees straight up. I saw Tom fall in and for a second, my thought was to just fall in too, but my senses kicked in and said why the f would you do that. So somehow, I actually stayed on. Everyone else but Rey and myself fell off. On the shuttle back to the cars, Tom called her psychotic.

It was one of the most fun things I have ever done in my life and now I have to go back to Texas where it’s super flat and rapid-less. Yaay.

The day couldn’t possibly be matched after that, but we tried. After stopping for Hot Pockets at a gas station, we picked out a few fall hikes we wanted to do and headed into the Valley to get to the trailheads. But that’s exactly what everyone else wanted to do too, and we were stuck in completely immobile traffic for hours. We got out at one point to walk to the base of Bridalveil and stayed a while to wait out the traffic, but clearly that didn’t help. We eventually turned around and left the Valley. We went back through Tunnel View but didn’t stop after seeing all the tourists climbing all over each other for a decent picture.

We ended up stopping near the entrance of the park in Wawona to hike a trail to Chilnualna Falls. That was clearly a little-known hike because no one was there. The road took us through where the locals assumedly lived (along with some vacation rentals perhaps?) We thought we were lost a couple times because the signs for the trailhead disappeared but then yay, we were there! It was a short mile-long hike up to the falls but it was all uphill. It was beautiful when we got there though. The sun was beginning to set so the remaining sunlight was poking through the tree leaves and set a serene mood over the waters. It wasn’t the top of the falls but more like a central point where it stops, pools into a flat bed, and continues down again. The full trip would have been eight miles so we stopped before we could commit. Mountain lions were also known for being in that area, so being out past dark wasn’t a goal of ours.

Bored of expensive mediocre food, we bought some cereal and Chef Boyardee from the general store and ate that for dinner back at the BNB. It was a great day, and we finished it off with the bottle of wine, some beer, and The Patriot on cable.