Suppression

I was talking to my roommate a couple of days ago and something in my mind brought me back to a time in my life that I completely forgot about, or blocked out, I am not sure which at this point. Long ago when I was a mere freshman at K-State I was in need of some extra cash. Up to that point I had held quite a few jobs. Pie shop, Olive Garden, Worked for my dad, The Buckle, but none quite compared to the only job I have ever had that required me to don formal wear and give up my weekend nights to go to places like Great Bend. I was an auction girl for Turkey Banquet’s all over Kansas. (Turkey Banquet-a place where the anti-Tiffanys [hunters] go to see all the other anti-Tiffanys, get drunk, and bid outrageous amounts of money on ridiculous looking wildlife “art”…oh yeah and buy raffle tickets for items like a lawn chair that sits in a tree.) My basic duties were carrying all of the auction merchandise up and down a stage. And by merchandise I mean various framed prints of birds flying off into the sunset, really heavy sculptures of dogs with dead ducks in their mouths, and bottles of Wild Turkey. I also was responsible for selling raffle tickets to the sea of camouflage. At the height of my auction girl fame I was asked to use a turkey caller on stage. I gladly did it…because I got paid a ridiculous amount of money to do so. In the end I think many lessons were learned.
1.Stay away from really drunk men and I am sure women for that matter
2.No matter what anyone tells me camouflage is not in anyway sexy
3.a bronzed moose will never go anywhere near my home, and I would suggest keeping it away from yours
4. Walking in heels up stairs with a 25 pound elk sculpture will never be fun, no matter how much fake smiling you do.
5. I don't care a about hunting...shocker

Don't tell me God doesn't have a sense of humor...

This morning I woke up and said to myself “I think today is going to be a good day.” The month of Job (the book in the bible, not work) reenactments are over, no more August until next year. Thinking that with any luck I may actually make it through a 24 hour period without any major dramatic episodes I got my butt out of bed and went to Starbucks to celebrate what I hope to be a far better month. Freaking Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back. I could not contain my excitement; I will be at Starbucks a lot for the next 3 months. I got to work and started the day well, and then I got a call from the doctor. After a lab test that ended in my passed out body being carried to the bed in the back of the office, I expected nothing short of stellar results…I got this message “Tiffany, your levels seem good, but we need you to come back in and get jugs for you to urinate in for 24 hours.” You have got to be kidding me. You want ME to pee in a jug, every time I pee, for an entire day. Maybe they aren’t familiar with the fact that my bladder is the size of a small child’s. Maybe they don’t realize I am really clumsy and I don’t need to go into detail about the many ways that could end badly. I went to get the jug and they give me what is basically a potty chair for an adult, and tell me I have to stick my pee jugs in the fridge. I was also given a very large bioharzard bag with two large orange jugs for "when I go." Apparently using the word pee is frowned upon in the medical profession. I feel like it would have been more appropriate for me to leave the hospital in a gas mask and protective suit as opposed my street clothes carrying that kind of monstrosity. Hello September, it seems that you will be welcomed with a full day of me pouring my own pee on myself. You lucky bastard.