Moving Day!

That's right, everyone, I'm outta here!

It's been real, blogspot, but I need my space. My own space. And now I finally have it.

My own space is right here! It's a work in progress right now, but I have BIG plans for its future.

Come visit me!

And come follow me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest (give me your e-mail address if you want an invitation!), and StumbleUpon!

Hooray! I'm so ready for this new chapter of life!

Rummage through Rubbish

When I was about 7 years old, I told my mother I wanted to be a garbage collector. When she asked me why, I told her it was because I wanted to be the first person who got to see all the cool stuff people threw out.

She makes fun of me for it to this day.

I wanted to be a lot of things as I grew up; I was totally not one of those kids who knew their dream career by the time they were expelled from their mother's womb. I know plenty of those, and I always felt like there was something wrong with me because for the longest time I just had no freaking clue what I wanted to do or be. Nothing ever felt right.

I wanted to be a math teacher, an English teacher, a history teacher, a garbage collector, a massage therapist, a stay-at-home mother, the President, a Spanish teacher, a writer, a Giordano's dancer, and, of course, a nurse.

I'm not sure I've ever admitted this to anyone, but it was Dr. Jon Dorian and the staff of Sacred Heart Hospital that made me want to go into medicine.

That's right. Scrubs.

I got into the classes - high school A&P, biology, organic chemistry, A&P in college...I love it. I adore it. Every second of it. I can't explain the draw, but I can't avoid it. There is nothing in the world more fascinating to me than A&P and medicine.

Fast forward through my CNA classes, my nineteenth birthday (finding out I was pregnant with Logan), working from 3 - 6 months pregnant, giving birth during a blizzard, then going back to work and back to school.

And there it is. Even writing about it, it's the exact same feeling. It's a sickening anxiety that starts just below my ribs and tightens every muscle as it creeps upward and finally just sits like lead right above my collarbone and makes it hard to breathe.

I am not a fan of leaving my son for long days of school and work. Just thinking about it is terrifying to me. I hate it. And I go back to working, at least two and up to four, eight-hour days per week on August 10.

For the last 5 years, I knew I wanted to be a nurse. Eventually I wanted to get my Doctorate of Nurse Practice. There would be no stopping me.

About a month ago, I wrote about how I wanted A Thing.

I still want A Thing. Because all of a sudden, I have no idea what my Thing is anymore.

I feel like I should still want the BSN and the DNP and the six-figure salary that comes with having a jillion letters behind my name...but what does that mean for Logan? Where does that put him between now and when he starts going to school? And even then, who is he going to come home to?

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

If I plow through school I'll be leaving my son with babysitters and relatives and (oh my gosh I can't even imagine this one right now) day care providers. Sure, I'll be successful and I'll have a career and a degree and nice high earning potential and blah blah blah, but...who's raising my child then?

But...if school goes slower or I have another child in the next couple years (which, as many know, may not even be medically possible for us) or choose something, anything besides nursing, I know there are plenty of people out there who will think I'm taking the "easy" way out. And, of course, I'll wonder, What if?


What the heck is my Thing now? What am I supposed to do?

I guess if all else fails, I can just be a garbage collector.

I'm Not This Weird in Real Life, Maybe

I thought of something the other day.

I'm really, super, without a doubt, completely and totally awkward. And, you know, there are so many people who are totally aware of their awkwardness, but they OWN it (but not like Oprah...I can't even look at the word "own" in all caps now without getting annoyed that she bought out my favorite channel EVER), which makes it less awkward and just way endearing instead. Then they're just comfortable to be around, because you can always count on them to blurt out whatever they're thinking, or to spill the coffee, or trip on the escalator, or ask that lady when she's due, but it turns out she's not pregnant, she just has that very unfortunate body shape.

I am what I think is the worst kind of awkward. I end up sounding like a jerk A LOT and I end up looking very smug VERY OFTEN and I look like an idiot THE MAJORITY OF THE TIME because, well, somehow I missed that part of growing up where you learn how to interact with humans in a way that doesn't make you look ridiculous and douchey. 

For example, about a week ago, I was called to the Springs to fill in for three days at my old job, because technically I'm still employed at that company. My client's aunt and two cousins had just moved into her apartment, and they were there for my whole first 10 1/2 hour shift. They moved from a Spanish-speaking country, and although the aunt knew English just fine, her two kids only knew a few phrases.

First, my client's younger sister had picked about four movies for us to watch...and they were all Disney princess movies. Finally, I forced her to let one of her cousins (a boy) pick a movie. He was laughing when she got mad that he picked Cars and said, "She only wants to watch movies with princesses in them," except he said it in Spanish, and I'VE TAKEN OVER 4 YEARS OF SPANISH AND I KNEW EXACTLY WHAT HE SAID, but instead of responding with, "Well, she chose The Incredibles, and that one doesn't have a princess in it," (which I ABSOLUTELY know enough Spanish to say!!) I nodded and laughed like a huge idiot who, I'm sure, he assumed was just pretending to know what he was saying. 

People, this was not an isolated incident. This went on for THREE 10-1/2-HOUR DAYS. I completely understood the gist of absolutely everything they said, and I could have responded every single time, and I would have been understood with the four-plus years of Spanish I've had and a few "charades"-type gestures. But what did I do? I sat and nodded and laughed at the appropriate times, and otherwise stayed absolutely silent, except for the time when the older cousin was trying to tell me "I don't want my brother to be picking her up too much because he has a cold (or a cough, I couldn't tell which he was pantomiming)" and I was an idiot and all I could freaking say was, "toz?" (Spanish for "cough"). 

Brilliant, Kristen, just brilliant.

There are also the incidents (which are far too numerous to count) where I pass someone on the street or alone in a hallway or something, and the person smiles at me and says, "Hi!" and I do this weird little corner-of-the-mouth twitch and grunt out something that kind of sounds like "hi," but is mostly not even close to being a word at all. I then avert my eyes very quickly and either chew on my cheek or pretend to be getting a text.

I picture it in my head, and I look like some junkie who hates interacting with humans. All twitchy and shifty. 

AND THEN there are the super fun times where I talk to someone who isn't way super close to me, like commenting on their picture or status or something on Facebook, and then I get this anxiety like, OMG I'm sure they totally don't want to talk to me and they're insulted that someone like me would dare to talk to them on the largest social networking site out right now (you have a way to go, Google+...you have a way to go) even though they agreed to be my friend, I mean how dare I initiate conversation, I've only known her for five years...

Wah, wah, wah, anxiety, insecurity, self-consciousness...

Basically, I feel like, with the exception of maybe a dozen people (out of the 260 ish friends on my Facebook)...

If I talk to you, you probably don't want to talk to me, and I'm probably bothering you, and I'm really sorry, but deep down it'd just be cool to have you as a friend, but I'm sure you don't want to be my friend, I mean look at you, you have like 3,941,983 friends on here, so why would you want to take time to be friends with me, but that profile picture you just put up is super cute and how do you get your hair to do that, because I really wish mine could look like that, I'm totally not saying I want to be like you cuz that'd be weird, I just really like your hair, and I'M NOT STALKING YOU, I PROMISE I'M A COMPLETELY NORMAL PERSON, I JUST HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO INTERACT WITH HUMAN BEINGS WITHOUT BEING REALLY ANNOYING APPARENTLY.

...be my friend?

Pepperoni with Jalapenos, KTHXBYE

So hey there. Once again, I have been remiss in my self-imposed blogging "duties" and haven't written since Thursday (well, technically Friday...after midnight sometime).

Wanna know how I remember? I know that I posted that recipe with the hot dog/beef/biscuit bake one night, I ate the leftovers the night after, and we left to go camping the morning after that. I basically keep track of my days based on what I ate when or when I last did laundry.

Why does the whole hallway smell like armpit and corn chips? Oh, that's right...it's been like three and a half  weeks since I washed any clothes.


Anyway, about a week ago, I decided I was going to do this one blog one night, tell this other story the next night, and then make this other recipe the third night. It was awesome. I had it all planned out and I was so proud of myself for my forethought, but then everything went in the toilet when the manager of our old apartment lied about a big refund we had coming and we got invited on a last minute camping trip with Andy's brother and his wife and their (FOUR) kids (along with our squirmy little one), and all of a sudden, oh hey, Kristen, I'm your blog...remember me? Don't you love me anymore?

That's right, boys and girls. My blog talks to me. Get over it.

I dare you to find someone whose mind is more scattered than mine right now. Seriously.

So the story I was going to write tonight is a story I've told fifty gazillion times, but usually I tell it in person, and have the luxury of the people I'm talking to being able to see my brilliant hand gestures which, I assure you, totally give the story a certain...something.

Annnnd therein lies my problem. I cannot force funny out of my fingertips tonight. Not even a little. So my brain is mush right now and I can't even manage to pry out of it a story that will probably remain etched in my mind forever and ever amen.

If you didn't get that last line, you don't listen to country music, and I say shame on you.

So anywhosies, if any of you out there in Readerland would do me the honor of commenting (you don't have to have your own Blogger account to "Follow"!) and giving me...anything. Encouragement?

Like I said, my brain is about 42% pudding and 33% residual child scream echo and the rest percent desperate, unrequited need for pizza at this moment.

Obviously I'm having insecurity issues and I'm like WAY FREAKING SUPER NEEDY.

Tell me I'm pretty and smart and funny, okay? Okay, thanks.

Also, if someone wants to bring me a pizza? That'd be way super great and I'd love you forever and do your taxes for the rest of forever, but only if you never want a return ever again and you'll probably get audited.

PS - I got a job today. Praise me for that, too.

The (Not-So) Funny?

Brittany Gibbons is funny. Not just "Oh, that's silly" funny. She is "I just laughed so hard I snorted and possibly may have pooped my pants an eensy bit" funny. Seriously, check her out here: http://barefootfoodie.com/

I try to read her stories to my husband, and I think because of all my laughing and snorting, the humor in the story is lost. HOWEVER, since you don't have to sit through my rendition of her anecdotes, you'll probably find them as funny as I do. So go...be amused. And if you're a fan of poop humor, read "Backed Up."

I am not Brittany-Gibbons-funny. I wish I were, because then I could make a bunch of money writing stream-of-consciousness stories about how my 17-month-old is driving me crazy or how my husband will probably NEVER, EVER hang up the shower-water-soaked towel he uses when he's done with it. Because that's my life right now. Be jealous.

So here's the deal. Right now I'm watching My Strange Addiction on TLC and like...are they serious? Some guy eats bullets and champagne glasses. One guy is married to a silicone sex doll. This woman can't stop picking her scabs.

And I come to a sudden, blinding realization: I could never, ever be a therapist. I'd honestly either laugh at my clients or I'd just stare at them in judgmental disbelief. Um...of course it's not healthy to eat drywall, you lunatic.

Anywho, that's all the cleverness I can wring out of my little brain for the evening. Puh-leeeeez stick with me. I promise I'll get cooler and funnier.

Oh, and also follow me on Twitter: @KSchinsky

PS - any of my friends on Facebook who saw the picture I posted earlier of my "Habanero Cheese" (what the crap, right?)...totally not worth it. At least not on a burger with sour cream and Lays potato chips.

Buh-bye!!

A Thing (opinions sorely needed)

I really, really want to have a "thing." You know what I mean. I want to have something quirky that identifies me and is meaningful and could possibly even be considered cute or endearing.

I'd love to blog. Like...as a job. But how the heck do you do that? Seriously, if anyone knows how you get that gig, let me know. I'm totally interested.

Maybe about something like...my clothes? But I'm jeans and t-shirts one day, leggings and flowy shirts the next, and loose cotton dresses the day after. Maybe some kind of fashion blog about rotating trends? Every day gets labeled something new? Weirder things have made successful blogs. Definitely an idea to keep in mind :)

I could cook, but I'd have to find a niche. Young mom/busy will-be nurse/wife of a bartender...I guess I could find something there. But I'd need an awesome camera (or at least help working mine correctly) to really document and show off what I'm making if I want to be successful.

I could do a "variety show" type blog. Cook one day, make an awesome drink the next, come up with a sweet outfit, write a story, do a cool craft with Logan and show it off, manage to take a cool picture for once in my life and share it. I think I like that idea. Opinions? I mean, the variety would have to be limited-ish, but I think that's my best bet so far.

There is one thing I've decided I'm GOING to do. It just came to me an hour ago. But it's super secret ;) Seriously, though, it won't even be something I'd be able to put online, but's it's an awesome idea and I'm so happy I thought of it.

A couple posts ago, I talked about how I can feel a huge life shift coming for me. I have no idea what it means or where it's going to take me, but it's coming. I want to detail it all. I want a record of it, and I want it to be fun and exciting to look at or read. I really want it to mean something. I just need a push toward it...and an outlet for it.

Any and all comments/advice/etc is greatly appreciated!

-KHS

Life...?

I don't really know how to put into words what it is I'm feeling. Yesterday was stressful and today was stressful, and both for very different reasons. It used to be that I'd have days like these and think, "Wow...I really need to write," and then I'd just sit down and type or write, and all the words would just fall off my fingertips without any effort. I used to enjoy going back the next day and re-reading what I'd written, because I thought I wrote with grace and said things that were worth reading.

Up until I was 16, I thought I was going to be a high school teacher...either English or history. I loved writing and reading, and I adored history (although it was definitely never my forte). And then I discovered the medical world. I did an internship my senior year of high school at Memorial Hospital where I followed doctors, nurses, and therapists around a bunch of different departments. The program was aimed to give those of us who wanted a career in medicine a very raw, real glimpse into the life of the medical professionals we aspired to be like. We were required to make a journal entry with every visit (twice a week), but we weren't given any guidelines on what or how to write. I was a writer who had realized she wanted to be a nurse, and my first journal entry on my first day at my internship sounded like just that. I tried to be poetic and insightful, and then I looked back on it a few days later. They sounded ridiculous, and they certainly were not nurses' notes. I quickly cut back on writing...a lot. I started watching insane amounts of Discovery Health and reading my anatomy book in my spare time.

That was a huge shift in my life, and one of my first times seeing who I was truly going to be as an adult. I really, really hate terms like this, but I guess it was one of my first instances of self realization...or something like that.

Right now, I guess, I'm going through another something like that. We just moved just over an hour away from everything I've pretty much ever known. Just me, my husband, and my son. I guess it's not as hard as it could be - the house we're living in belongs to Andy's parents, and it's basically the Schinsky/Schaetzel (Andy's stepdad) hub because it's right in the middle of the cities they all live in. I've been coming to this house for Schinsky family stuff for almost 3 years and I know where everything is and how everything works, and I've always felt comfortable here. Huge, huge plus. But I know NOTHING about Littleton. No streets, no stores, no nothing.

I can feel it...I'm on the verge of an enormous shift. I don't know in what way, exactly, but I know it's coming, and I think I'm really excited about it. Just have to keep praying through the whole thing. That's one thing I need to come back to in a big way. That's the only thing in my life I'm not feeling okay about now. But I suppose that's another entry for another day. If anyone's still reading, thanks for sticking with my. I'm incredibly scatterbrained lately.

So...here goes nothing. Life.