Gorgeous Teacup Giveaway

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a FREE GIVEAWAY adventure...


So I'm sitting in my office on some idle Tuesday afternoon sipping some home brewed Earl Grey in my favorite blue Dutch Bros. mug when I get an email from The Promotional Team at CSN Cookware. Apparently they want to give my readers some free stuff from Rachael Ray Cookware. Tea literally shoots out of my nose and gets in the keyboard and on the computer screen (don't tell my co-workers).

After perusing the site my caffeine addicted self decided that everyone needs a fashionable means of which to sip their tea, coffee, hot cocoa, or anything else you drink.

How would you like to be the proud owner of a brand new set of gorgeous tea cups?
Think of all the tea parties you could host! These are practical for any occasion, whether you are enjoying tea in the afternoon with a few close girlfriends in large hats or serving coffee to your soon to be mother-in-law after a dinner party. Heck, they would even be a great wedding gift for those couples who are illiterate to the registry world. The possibilities are limitless.

Here's How to Enter:

Simply post a comment to this article and you will be entered in the drawing to win a set of (4) teacups. The Gorgeous Teacup Giveaway starts NOW and will close next Tuesday January 5, 2010 at 12:00pm. I will do a random drawing and the winner will receive these adorable cups in the mail.

Could it be easier? Tell your friends and family about the Gorgeous Teacup Giveaway so everyone has a chance to enter! After all, who doesn't love free stuff?

southwest chicken casserole

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

Winter break has given me seemingly more time to do the things I normally do not have time for. For instance the other night I went to my Mom's to work on my sister Bee's super secret Christmas present and decided to make dinner. Of course everyone else was busy shopping (Mom), out with friends(Abbey), and visiting Sedona (Bee, p.s. I am super jealous) so Emily and I invited my prospective dating future (more on him later) over to help eat the giant casserole I concocted.

I would like to pause here and point out that this is the beginning of a new series I am titling "Queen of Domesticity" cause it's kind of ironic.

After slaving away for forty minutes we ended up with a version of a southwest chicken casserole, Spanish rice, re-fried beans and tortillas. I made Emily and Prospect boy try it first.

*It was delicious*

So here's the recipe:

3/4 28 oz can of diced tomatoes

1 4 oz can of diced green chilis (the small cans)
1 4 oz can of diced jalapenos
1 10 oz can of cream of mushroom soup (you can use cream of chicken instead, if you prefer)
1 bulb of garlic
1/2 yellow onion (diced)
1lb of chicken
2 cups of mexican blend shredded cheese (or any type of cheese you choose)
salt
pepper
garlic powder (my dad says you can't get enough garlic, it keeps the vampires away!)

1. Boil the chicken in a stalk pot (or any pot you can fit it into) until the middle is white.

2. Shred the chicken on a plate (I usually do it by using two forks).

3. In a frying pan combine a little oil with the entire bulb of garlic (crush it either with a knife or a garlic press) and the diced onion.

4. After the onion and garlic brown, add in the shredded chicken and sprinkle generously with salt, pepper, and garlic powder.

5. Add in soup, tomatoes, green chilis, and jalapenos.

6. Stir the mixture and let it sit over medium-low heat for a few minutes.

7. Transfer mixture from frying pan to a casserole dish and cover with cheese (I suggest piling it on so you can't see anything but cheese).

8. Set oven to broil and bake casserole until cheese is melty and brown.

9. Serve with Spanish rice, re-fried beans, and tortillas. Enjoy!

After consuming almost the entire pan the three of us agreed that adding a small can of diced black olives would be heavenly.

Do you have a favorite recipe to share?

where are you christmas?

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a Christmas adventure...

Just when I think things couldn't become more outlandish and ridiculous than they already are something so terrible happens and I am left with my mouth hanging open and tears threatening to stream down my cheeks. My family will never cease to amaze me. My father called me today to discuss the details of Christmas. I had been prefaced earlier in the day with a text message around 10:00 am proposing the holiday be postponed a mere two days in order to have our entire "family" present. This was code for we haven't finished our Christmas shopping and Jessie (the youngest of the to-be step siblings) is spending Christmas at her Dad's.

Haleigh was repulsed at the idea of inconveniencing the entire family for one person. Emily was visibly upset as well. Abbey inserted our terrible step mother to-be's name in the song "Mr. Grinch" and I was silent. Yes it was unfair to make everyone wait for one person, but I could see both sides. I would want my family to wait for me.

This request was not what left me standing in shocked silence on the light rail platform on Christmas Eve. It was that my Father was going to treat Christmas like "any other day". He did not insist that we all come up and spend the night to wake up and eat a big breakfast together despite having to wait to open presents. He did not even suggest coming to the house to share a Christmas dinner.

Have you ever been not wanted by somebody? Have you ever been unwanted by one of your parents? On Christmas?

The feeling is core shaking and has made me reconsider who exactly my family is and what it means. My optimistic self quickly contrasted the pros and cons of the situation. I would have more time to finish my hand crafted Christmas presents. My sisters would be heart broken. Wrapping paper would be on sale the day after Christmas. I would wake up on Christmas alone.

My greatest fear, not of spiders or heights, but of spending a holiday alone would consume me. I had the sneaking premonition of what may come, but I had not realized that it would come after a short 21 years.

I am disappointed in my Dad for choosing his new family over his old one. I am disappointed in my sisters for not overcoming the materialistic American ideals of Christmas. I am disappointed in myself for not being able to stand being alone.

Christmas cheer and spirit has escaped the Williams family this holiday season.

Can you help me find it?

let it snow

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a Christmas adventure...

Every year my Aunt Lani puts on a fabulous event at her house called "Ornament Making Night". Each year we make differently themed ornaments, for instance one year we all decorated clear glass balls, and last year everyone made birds.

This year the theme was snowflakes. Each attendee was given a large sheet of colored paper and a pair of scissors. The craft table was covered in glue, paint, and four different kinds of glitter leaving only your imagination and heart's desire to limit the possibilities of decorating your snowflake.

I love this night because not only do I get to spend time with my family, but there are always littles (little kids) running around the house screaming out with delight at the sight of glitter and paint stuck in the dog's hair, sneaking cookies to the siblings who can't quite reach the counter top, and emitting pure joy for the season. Their innocence takes away the stressors of unfinished shopping and to-do lists by replacing my diminished Christmas spirit.

The snowflake decorating was accompanied by Godiva hot cocoa and lavishly decorated cookies from Barbs Bakery. The night came to a perfect close when the group of littles, moms, aunts, cousins, brothers and sisters gathered around the sparlking Christmas tree in the front room to sing Silent Night by candellight. The off-key, off-pitch, slightly sped up version of the song was the most beautiful rendition I have heard yet, leaving me grinning ear to ear for the remainder of the night.



Tis the season to be grateful for the important things in life.

bar none

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

It's hard when a girl becomes good friends with so many exiting seniors her junior year of college. This does however, make that girl extremely excited when they come back for a visit. My dear friend Josh has come to visit for the weekend and I was able to spend my Thursday night in his presence.

In my opinion he is one the most successful of my friends to gradate. Not in the sense that he has a high paying job, but that he loves what he is doing. Josh is an intern for the Student Conservation Association (SCA) and is placed in National Parks throughout America to work as a park ranger and gain experience. Currently Josh is a ranger for Tonto National Forest and despite living in trailers with mice and having to use a 20 degree bag to stay warm, he is living his dream and couldn't be happier.

I hope to be like him when I grow up.

We agreed to meet up at bar called The Horse and Hound to share stories, play shuffle board, and catch up. After a half hour of visiting and filling each other in on jobs, classes, and significant others (and the lack thereof) we found that it happened to be kareoke night at The Horse and Hound. Our group retreated to the shuffle board to avoid the greasy man with the microphone and his ploys to get us to sing. Halfway through our first game I found not only was I rusty at gliding those little pucks across the wood board, but that the bar was reminiscent of my high school cafeteria.

In one corner sat three or four intense looking guys with long hair, piercings, and tattoos. Across from them at another table was a new graduate with her family celebrating her recent victory over academia. Farther away was a group visiting from New York who seemed out of place sporting their Ralph Lauren Polo shirts in the seedy bar. We were all centered around a foursome in the middle of the bar who appeared to be of redneck nature complete with a Jack Daniels paraphernalia, missing front teeth, and a cut off t-shirt. It was indeed a random sampling of individuals, all of whom seemed to be competing for the title of halfway decent voice.

Our group laughed as the songs slowly became more slurred and intense than before. Somewhere between the smoke break after game one and the rendition of Barbie Girl by the seemingly lost Scottsdale girls nearing the end of game two, Josh and I found ourselves dancing along to the off-key music.

It wasn't long before our partners were swaying along with us at the opposite end of the table. As our dance moves became more complex, so did the competition of the high school cliques. It appeared that the New York crew did indeed have talent, whereas the hardcore Metallica kids couldn't hold a tune. Beer shot up my nose as I tried to stifle the laughter when Josh and his buddy Moses began to mimic redneck couple #1 as they sang their first duet.

As fate (and alcohol) would have it we eventually became victims of our own mockery. Josh signed our little group to sing a version of American Pie originally sang by John Denver. The scene is somewhat fuzzy in my head, but halfway through the lyrics I look over to realize one of the girls in our group was dancing on some tables with the Metallica boys in the back, a large American Indian man was wrestling a microphone away from the greasy kareoke regulator, and the New York crew stared in disbelief as Josh and I belted the last stanza as loud as we could to each other despite the large stunned crowd looking upon us.

Quickly after the song ended our group and the other individuals frequenting the bar decided it was time for us to leave. We danced around, paid our tab, and left the Horse and Hound.

On my way home I couldn't help but smile. I guess that's the stuff great nights are made of.

oh, christmas tree

Hello my name is Aimee and this is yet another Christmas adventure...


It is Tuesday morning and I slept until 8:00 am (that's when I had to move my car from the meters as to avoid being ticketed) and I am enjoying a little Folger's with Splenda and 2%. (I know it's not Earl Grey from Fair Trade but, hey its Christmastime and Miss Aimee is on a budget!) To be honest, I am still recouperating from my hellish weekend. Before going into detail I will just preface you with this little excerpt:


"YOU ARE RUINING MY CHRISTMAS CHEER!!!!" My sister Bee (aka Haleigh) decided it needed to be announced rather angrily and loudly to the household. This statement pretty much sums up the pathetic attempt on my family's behalf to successfully choose and decorate our tree this year.


The plan had been agreed upon the night before. Bee gets done with mass at 10:00 am on Sundays, so she was going to pick me up (assuming I had hauled myself out of bed in time) and we were going to head to my Dad's condo in north Phoenix where my three sisters, annoying stepsiblings, and terrible stepmother-to-be would be picking out our Christmas Tree and decorating it. There would be happy music, hot cocoa, and a fire roaring in the living room (do not fret, Dad has an actual fireplace).


I wasn't exactly ready on time, which was fine because Bee had bought me a surprise mistletoe from the Cub Scouts and needed to bring it in (woot, woot! Thanks Bee!!!). After powdering my nose we set off in the direction of the 51 North.


Of course I was not surprised when we arrived at my Father's house (as agreed) before noon and no one in the house was showered, dressed, or (in some cases) awake. Fabulous. Instead I was given a grocery list and the care of four little girls to take to the store. After a half hour adventure of which included shouting in the produce section, running down two other Frye's customers with the cart, and an in-depth analysis of toothpaste (specifically the difference between Colgate and Crest, which was $0.30) we had the makings of a mid-west chili and disgust of the entire grocery store.


We arrived back at the condo to learn the household (terrible stepmother-to-be) was not ready for the tree retrieval. It was another hour before we set off in search of the nearest Home Depot. We finally got the show rolling and I was optimistic. Once we got to the tree lot, I was sure everyone's mood would improve.


I was wrong.


The girls could not agree on a tree and the resident hottie tree trimmer was not working this particular Sunday. My family finally agreed on a tree after a full half our of bickering, stomping, and whining. It is tradition for my three little sisters and I to take a picture with my Dad in front of the tree whilst it is strapped atop the car. We crowded around Dad smiling our fabulously cheesy grins we inherited from our grandmother on my Mom's side. I was slightly irritated when my Dad insisted the stepsibling (the other one, whom we changed our tree hunting plans from Saturday to Sunday for, decided not to join us) get in the photo. Apparently I was not as irritated as Abbey was, who promptly reminded our Dad that stepsibling is not his daughter and she shouldn't be in the picture. An awkward 10 seconds later we had a picture of my Dad looking pissed off, Abbey scowling, a look of oblivion from stepsibling, and fake smiles from myself, Bee, and Emmy.

Like most stories, it doesn't get much better from here. The ride home was spent in silence and the loud slam of car doors startled the neighbor boys playing outside of the complex. It was 3:45 and I was exhausted from a long night before with only a huge cup of coffee to keep me going. Abbey's poor attitude stems mostly from a condition called hypoglycemia, which basically means that if we don't feed her every few hours her sugar levels drop causing a wave of crankiness to wash over her. Evidenced by the scene at the Christmas tree lot, I was not the only one in need of something to eat.

Dad started making a pot of chili while my sisters and I huffed and gruffed about not being able to put the Christmas tree in the living room. An escalated conversation later my Dad was even more upset than he had been, I was at my boiling point, pine needles covered the living room floor, and our Christmas tree sat slightly leaning in the front room. Reluctantly I began to wrap the tree with white christmas lights. This has always been my job, since I am more anal about having the perfect amount of light on the tree than anyone else. Traditionally I end up wrapping the tree about two and a half times, the first time I wrap it upside down so the plug is on the wrong side, then it takes me re-wrapping half of the tree to realize I am wrapping it on the wrong side again. Finally, I successfully wrap the entire tree and gather a crowd to watch the lighting of our tree.

I had no patience this particular Sunday for rewrapping a tree we wouldn't even be opening our presents underneath. I put Bee and Abbey in charge of testing the lights and after checking and re-checking the plug several times, I began to wrap the tree. Half an hour later it was intricately laced with white lights. The girls gathered around me as I plugged in our tree. We stood back and all was silent. I squinted and cocked my head to the left. Six strands of white lights and the tree was still not illuminated to my standards. Six usually does it for a 7-foot tree, I always use six. Something was not quite right.

Upon inspection I found that half of three different strands were not lighting up do to broken bulbs. Apparently this slipped by my light-testing duo. I was able to salvage one strand of lights, but could not find replacement bulbs for the other two. I was almost in tears and had no energy to attempt to find working lights, dismantle the tree, and re-wrap it. I walked out of the room as my sisters attempted to convince me to re-do it. My family was bickering, I felt awful, and we couldn't even put the tree where we wanted because my Dad (terrible stepmother-to-be) said no: my Christmas spirit was crushed. It was at the sight of me moping around the kitchen that Haleigh felt it necessary to shout to the entire household that I was indeed, ruining her Christmas cheer.

We rode home in silence and all the while I could only think of years past, in which there was no bickering or fighting but excitment. I vowed to myself that I would never let Christmas be so unhappy again.

Pray for me as I undertake Spreading Christmas Cheer Part II: Christmas Cookie Baking and Decorating this weekend.

mistletoe for one

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a Christmas adventure...

Cheery songs are on the radio, twinkly lights brighten up Mill Avenue, and somewhere in the background I am certain I can hear jingle bells. For it is Christmastime, the most romantic time of the year.

I can't help but get caught up in the jewelry commercials and Mariah Carey's ever popular, "All I want for Christmas Is You". Then it suddenly dawns on me: this year I am single for Christmas. I am committing the second ultimate sin according to my old fashioned family right behind going stag to a wedding (which I did in March. I thought my cousin was going to have a heart attack.)

As I struggle with the idea of not being kissed underneath the mistletoe on Christmas Eve, I assure myself that I cannot be the only single girl for Christmas. But where are all the other head strong women walking through December without holding someone's hand? Movies and music tell us true love will find you on Christmas, even the ten year olds in the JC Penny commercial have someone for Christ sake.

I did a little research on the topic and to my dismay I found that not only will my family spend the holiday's pitying individuals like myself, but that society in general does not approve of the declaration of freedom from a man. Articles such as How to Survive Being Single at Christmas from eHow list ideas for ways single people to spend the holidays. Not only are we single, but now we don't have any friends or families to spend the holidays with? A single person's guide to surviving Christmas: The bar-room bloke is an article that warns men of becoming too intoxicated and hooking up with desperate, not-so-good looking, crazy, single girls at the office.

I have been shamed by 5th graders, cast off by my close friends and relatives, and degraded by the other single individuals at the office. I cannot rationalize the thought of my self worth melting away simply because I am not half of something.

I am taking a stand.

For all the widows, divorced women, and single college girls:

Yes, we may appreciate the help of a man when atop the roof hanging lights, cutting down trees in 20 degree weather, and retrieving heavy boxes full of decorations from the attic. We are allowed to sigh at cheesy commercials, sad Christmas songs, and invitations to holiday parties of which we will attend alone. We can secretly wish for a boy to hold hands and gaze at lights with, that special someone to kiss beneath the mistletoe, and a significant other to wake up next to on Christmas morning. However, it does not mean we are less of a person because of these things. Hold your head high, ladies. While men may add to our lives, they do not define them. Many of us have already done more deeds of bravery than simply facing our families alone during the holidays.

While others look upon us shamefully or try to set us up with their weird estranged cousin Ed, I recall wise words from Marge Piercy, “A strong woman is a woman determined to do something others are determined not be done.”

I'm wishing you all a happy holiday season from beneath the mistletoe alone.

the not so grand finale

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

There were no hand written letters of affection or grand gestures of love. No conversation or confession of regret. Not even a fleeting glance. Just as he ambled into my life completely by accident smiling all the while, he strode out.

The final exam was less than 25 questions, and as per the advice of Dr. Barry instead of studying I went to dinner. The exam took a half hour to complete and I flashed back to the first grade when I was the first student in our lecture to pack up my bag for the last time and hand in my test.

I thought things would be different somehow, but instead I find myself on an unknown path headed to most uncertain places. This semester I have learned more in my 402 class than I have in any other. Some things are life lessons and others are tricks to get into grad school, either way Dr. Barry has impacted my life far more than she could ever know.

Here is a list of invaluable things I have learned in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning.

1. I function best with caffeine.
2. With a little prodding, Microsoft Excel and I can be friends.
3. Always do your homework the night before the night before.
4. I am a sensitive, hopeless romantic.
5. Not everyone wants to help an ASU student with their research project by filling out a quick survey.
6. It takes longer than one semester for a heart to heal.
7. If you don't catch the train before 7:00 AM you will be late.
8. What matches in the dark doesn't always match under fluorescent light.
9. If you don't understand the material, you're probably the only one.
10. My program has the most supportive and encouraging staff. How lucky am I?

How can the last 15 weeks have gone by so slowly, yet so quickly. The older I become the more I feel time slipping away from me. He's just another boy, I assure myself. The exception is that being on this side of the heart ache has been the real life lesson.

the last morning

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

Armed with my 49 page assignment I walk into my final stats lecture of the semester. Everyone is excited, a burden has been lifted from the shoulders of the PRM 402 class. The final hour and fifteen minutes is spent reviewing independent and dependent variables and completing teacher evaluations. The final exam is Thursday morning and then the class will officially come to a close. I reflect on my semester of ponytails, hot tea, and cranky mornings.

Some were better than others. For instance, I actually took into consideration my appearance for the first few weeks of the semester. Actually, now that I think about it I would tease my hair and put on a full face of makeup like it was Panhellenic Recruitment. What the heck was I doing?

And then there was the time on the train when I was reading the end of New Moon, the second book of the Twilight series, and suddenly broke into tears only to look up and notice my heartthrob looking at me like I was an alien. I guess I get emotional when I don't get sleep.

Of course I will never forget Dr. Barry keeping me on my toes in every class because she most definitely knew I was not taking extensive notes in cursive and doodles. What a smart lady.

I finally wised up somewhere in late October and realized no one noticed when I woke up ten minutes before having to leave Adelphi in the mornings giving me just enough time to brush my teeth, tie my hair up on the top of my head, and pull on my pink and gray Chi O sweatshirt. Yes, I am indeed the poster child for Greek life.

My fingers will never be the same after a semester of purchasing tea from Fair Trade Cafe. Having to make the walk from the coffee shop to my classroom in Cronkite with beverage in hand pretty much burned my fingerprints off. Fair Trade: check your water temperature!

As I reminisce about the embarrassing and ironic moments of the semester, I can hear my professor ask if anyone has any questions about the final. For no reason whatsoever I become consumed with the all powerful emotion: sadness. I have spent the better half of my semester in statistics complaining about the starting time of the class, other people, and the quality of the tea/pastries at Starbucks but here I am wishing time hadn't passed me by so quickly. Story of my life.

I will spend the next 46 hours or so pretending to study for the kickoff of my finals. And then it really will be the last morning.

goodbye tonsils

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

After years of putting up with strep throat, tonsilitus, and snoring I decided to do something about it. My physician signed off on a referral to the Ear Nose Throat (ENT) doctor and I was on my way. I saw the specialist for maybe three minutes. He came rushing through the door in a whirlwind with a nurse looking like they lost something and couldn't find it. With a quick look down my throat he agreed that the puffed up, infection-attracters had to go. The date was scheduled and I was on my way.

As luck would have it I was the first scheduled surgery of the morning, meaning I had to be in a hospital waiting room at 5 am. Brutal. My Momma and my baby sister Haleigh held my hand in the waiting room and sleepily waved goodbye when I was called back. After short change into a hospital gown complete with matching socks and a fancy hair net I was set to go. Fortunately I almost made it all the way to my bed without showing off my pale JLo booty in the not-so-modest hospital gown.

The nurses helped me into a hospital bed that crinkled when I moved and started the "prep" work. After a few minutes of tying my arm up and slapping the back of my hand the nurse finally got my veins to cooperate enough to get the IV in. After a million medical questions from three different staff members my Mom, Dad, and sister came back to give me wish me good luck one last time. After a few jokes and awkward silences (my parents still struggle with being in the same room) it was time to go. I was kissed and hugged repeatedly until the nurse prodded my anxious family into the waiting room.

As they rolled me toward the OR I could feel the medication start to kick in. It was all I could do to keep myself from giggling. The happy floating sensation made me grin from ear to ear. Once I was in the operating room my ENT asked if I preferred Nickelback or Britney Spears. I chose the lesser of two evils and in an instant Womanizer was blaring. The last thing I remember is the anesthesiologist and my ENT singing and dancing around the room. I laughed to myself thinking if I never woke up it would be an ironic way to die.

About 40 minutes later I did wake up. Frenzied nurses fluttered around me checking vitals and adding more medication to my IV. Everything was so loud, my ears were buzzing painfully. The anesthesiologist walked by and asked if my throat hurt.

Really? He had just watched a 5'5" balding, Jewish man cauterize the tonsils and adenoids out of my throat.

Just as I was about to make a smart remark an uncontrollable urge came over me. No one had thought about what was going to happen after an hour of continually adding saline solution and medication to my system. I had to pee.

Instead of acknowledging the doctor's ridiculous question I told the nurse to my left that I needed to use the restroom. Puzzled the nurses looked to the dense man at the foot of my bed. He advised using a bed pan since I was still connected to an IV and a heart monitor.

Okay, crazy face.

The nurses started to look around before I started to assure them I could do it myself. There was no freaking way I was going to use a bed pan. I need to go to the bathroom, I said again more loudly than the first time. The nurse in charge informed me once again that I would be using a bed pan.

That was it.

Due to the small capacity of my bladder, when I decide I have to go I have about 120 seconds to get to the nearest bathroom before performing the potty dance. I started to scream. Not five minutes after waking up with the worst sore throat of my life I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Like a broken record I could only repeat two phrases over and over. I have to go to the bathroom, and I am not using a bed pan. The nurses seemed flustered but no one was helping.

I took matters into my own hands and tried to leap out of bed. To my dismay I found that I couldn't move as quickly when heavily medicated, and that forcibly ripping the sticky pads from my chest and back used to help monitor my heart was extremely painful. The nurses finally gave in and started to disconnect me from the many cords stemming from my arms and chest. They helped me into the bathroom and after assuring them I could sit down by myself I was given 20 seconds reprieve from the forceful bunch. I was promptly invaded after I finished and they helped me dress back into the pajamas I had worn to the hospital earlier that morning.

I wasn't allowed to walk by myself, despite insisting I was fine. I was placed in a recliner after the bathroom episode until my parents and sister came to collect me. Haleigh ended up puking at the sight of my demeanor. My matted hair and pale face paired with the nurse ripping the IV out of my arm and splattering blood everywhere (I kind of deserved it...) was too much for her to handle. In an instant I was in a wheelchair and on my way to the car. I tried to tell my Dad how evil the nurses had been, but I was scolded for talking and eventually gave up.

I learned something about myself that morning. Not only can I be extremely stubborn and somewhat obnoxious, I am extremely strong willed. Before going in for the tonsillectomy my Dad had shared with me the story of having his appendix removed. He laughed at recalling how ornery he had been to the nurses. We came to the conclusion that anesthesia brings out who you really are. I'm relieved to learn I am endeared with such qualities, even under the influence of powerful drugs.

I just hope those same qualities will get me through finals week....