THE WIZARD AND THE SCRAT-EFFECT

What do you get when you combine a magic-wielding wizard's head with 14 copper-plated spider legs?

This thing

Contrary to belief, this is not a torture device from the 100th installment of the SAW series, or Chuckie's new toy partner in an upcoming Child's Play. It's not some sort of newly conceived boogeyman to keep children away from eating candy either. Instead, imagine this contraption dancing atop your head.

Don't do this in public

As it does so, it sends shivers down the spine- causing shoulders to shrug awkwardly up to the ears, arms to curl inwardly towards each other in a modified fetal position, and one eye to twitch manically. If any one image could sum this up it would look something like Scrat from Ice Age.

The Scrat Position

If someone were to watch you objectively, they might believe you were in the beginning throes of a grand-mal seizure. And that's before the jerking-shivering-spasms.

The jerking-shivering-spasms take you to another level. One minute you're looking like Scrat from Ice Age, and the next you're looking like the extreme rabid version of Scrat as you shiver, jerk awkwardly, spasm, and unbeknownst to you, slobber from the corner of your widely gaping mouth. Afterwards, it can make you feel like a failure to society and to the advancement of all mankind.

Product description is as follows: Spine-tingling bliss. The Tingler gently massages the scalp, touching acupressure points to create goosebumps and shivers of delight. It causes a heightened, blissful activation of the senses, awakening your brain while relaxing your whole being. Lots of folks say their headaches disappear. All we know is that it's the most divine, relaxing, goosebumpy, erotic, friend-making, healing Head Massager ever made. If you want something that gives you goose-bumps and exhilarating, toe-curling pleasure that you can still do in public, this is it!

If you've placed some sort of value on your reputation- or life; if you have a modicum of pride in being of higher intelligence than, oh, an amoeba; do not host any sort of "tingler" party for "friend-making" purposes. You may end up showing your Scrat-face to everyone. Do not be fooled into thinking you can carry this in your purse or use this device in public without risk of incarceration for possession of a weapon or for lewd and inappropriate behavior.

Against all said contradictions, hubby swears by this device saying it delivers a pleasureable head massage worthy of its $20 pricetag. I beg to differ. Maybe it's a difference in hormones, hair length, or surface area, but whenever this contraption "tingles" my head, after assuming the Scrat position for several seconds, I develop an overwhelming desire to go on a feral rampage to rip fluffy things apart with my incisors. I tend to look more like this:

While hubby is the king of Narnia, I internalize the likeness of Wolverine with his mutant claws slowly scraping its way down a chalkboard while transforming into Freddy Krueger.

K.O.

Take a moment to imagine that- without grinding your teeth together.

Perhaps you would find it easier to relate this to a popular emo chick flick- Twilight? Because hubby is Edward gleefully frolicking through the forest with Bella.

Edward- staring at Bella's carotid artery

I am the vamp-chick about to break Edward's head off.

Is that... is that lice?!

I have hidden "Wizard." I have manipulated its legs into hideous, un-massageable positions. I have flattened it, thrown it, shoved it under the bed into the deep unreachable zone where only dust bunnies linger. I have cursed it and growled at it- my animosity knows no bounds. And why? Is it because I receive no gratification from this device with its skinny little dancing copper legs?

It's because as we lie in bed at night prepared to sleep, I must weave this contraption around and around hubby's head until my arm trembles from muscle fatigue, until my fingers become numb, until my eyelids feel like they've been forsaken from their God-given duty to close. While I may not enjoy "Wizard" stimulating my scalp nerves, hubby is enthralled with it so much so that I am appointed the high role of head masseuse several nights a week. After a great deal of whining, tantrum-throwing, moaning and groaning about the good old days before the "Wizard" came into existence, I have the energy and mental capacity for 30 seconds-worth of head massaging with this device before my arm flops down dead and lifeless on the bed. I then move onto more important things- like sleep. Sometimes I am prompted to continue, and sadly, the cycle only repeats itself. Hubby frowns upon my inconsiderate and rebellious nature, of which I cannot deny.

I must therefore remind myself that hubby gives this wifey lengthy massages without complaint, nor eye rolls nor pouts of annoyance. If hubby is capable of such selflessness, surely I, then, should be able to take a spider-wizard torture-device look-alike and give back to the good hubby an equal measure of the good wife.

Surely.

WHERE, O DEATH, IS NOW THY STING?

As someone who becomes all too easily emotionally detached, I find myself instead, opening up to the reality and the heartbreaks of this world. Amidst the facade of medicine, of fact and logical answers, I surrender instead to the anger, the disappointment, frustration, anxiety, denial, and the light of hope, the strength of God-given love that surround me in the hospital.

A dear patient has passed away, and together with the family by their loved one's side, we said our goodbyes hand in hand, heads bowed in prayer. God's Glory is manifest through the solidarity of a brother's love, the compassionate hand of daughters, the overflowing heart of a mother, the precious voice of grandchildren as they sang Christmas songs into their Grampy's ear one last time.

The body that turns cold and pale. The family that must eventually turn around and go home. The nurse who continues to work until her shift is over. Where once I stood back and watched from afar, now I am no longer so hesitant to step forward and acknowledge the legitimacy- the reality of their situation. I am painfully aware that it could be my loved one lying in that hospital bed, sick, hurting, scared, dying- a beloved husband, wife, mother, father, sister, brother, grandparent, friend.

Sometimes families mourn in turmoil, sometimes in peace, but always in true and utter heartbreak for the loss of a once tangible and vibrant life. What's left in the end is the hope in eternity.

I pray that God will guide me in the Spirit to have the strength of heart and mind to be as real with these patients and families as they are with me in their most desperate time of need.

Where, O death, is now thy sting?
Swallowed up in victory!
The Lord of glory reigns on high,
Sov'reign over earth and sky.
Yes, he triumphed o'er the grave
And he comes again one day.
What lesser name shall draw our praise?
For Christ has conquered all!
For Christ has conquered all!

-Kristie Braselton

TOP 15 MOMENTS IN KOREA

1.

Eating all of hubby's food on the airplane

in addition to my own

2.

Being bitten mercilessly by blood-sucking mosquitos while sleeping,

then going on a midnight rampage to kill them all

Kills: Humans 5 Mosquitos 0

3.

Guilt-tripping these actors into taking a photo with us Americans
who traveled 14 hours across the sea

just to watch them march around Namsan Tower

4.
Freaking myself out by imagining capture by North Koreans at the DMZ border

5.
Taking a somewhat inappropriate picture with stuffed bears

6.

Yelling at hubby for buying these overpriced green-tea dusted chocolate squares,

then consuming them ravenously

7.

Sitting on a heated bidet seat for the first time,

then taking a picture in response to my fascination with it

8.
Dripping globs of snot while feasting on this Korean fish egg soup

9.

Attempting to rid my shoes of 10 lbs of sand,

and almost losing them in the Pacific Ocean

10.

Failing to realize the constraints of my gastrointestinal system,

consuming coma-inducing quantities of food at this buffet restaurant

The facial expression I restrained for above picture

11.

Discovering that sweet pickles and jalapenos are

apparently now part of a staple korean diet

12.

Battling frustratingly with a strawberry jam packet

(See simple corner image)

Conquering jam packet 10 minutes later,

then proclaiming the ingenuity of its packaging repetitively- in awe

13.

Politely sipping coffee at this revolving cafe with live music,

then dancing enthusiastically when positioned behind the cafe
where we could not be observed

14.

Refusing to comprehend how a dump truck could somehow be related to a Mercedes-Benz

15.

 Creating a sunrise with our hands and inner power. Hadouken! 

(See Street Fighter)

End.

COUNTRY BUMPKIN FASHIONISTA

My agenda is simple. I must purchase decently stylish clothes so I don't look like a total loser when I'm walking the streets of fashion-savvy capital Seoul, South Korea.

Hubby is shaking his head and sighing at the sheer gravity of what this means for our bank account. $$$. Gone. Like the wind. I keep assuring hubby that it will be money well spent. After all, his relatives are being introduced to this wifey for the first time. I need to represent, but my fall wardrobe is a little country bumpkin compared to what I'll be encountering in the "real city." Shouldn't then "real money" be spent?

Ok, ok. More like:

Limited to sales items and outlet stores.

THE GOLLUM TRANSFORMATION

Several years ago, when hubby and I were in the throes of dating, there happened a day when I felt extremely ill after working a 12 hour night shift at the hospital. That morning I decided not to go home. (Hubby will now be referred to as bf)

Bf was not happy when I decided to pay him a visit at 7:00 in the morning. At the time, keeping my torso parallel with the floor helped to lessen the stomach pain. I hobbled over to him hunched over like Gollum. I even peered up at him sideways which only served to enhance my crippled form. Bf opened his eyes and this is what he saw:

I feel sick! Help me!

I woke him up to tell him how miserable I felt, but seemed only to receive very annoyed looks from him as he ordered me to stop walking bent over like an invalid. I told him it was a method of survival from the stomach pain. He didn't believe me.

At the same time, I was hungry, and couldn't tell if my stomach pains were that of hunger or of a bug-induced irritated bowel. I asked in my sickly voice if maybe, possibly, bf could get me something to eat.

Food? Please?

Disgruntled and annoyed, he stormed out of his warm bed to cook me some ramen noodles- the spicy kind was all he had. When I slurped up my first chopstick full of Shin ramen noodles, I realized just how famished I was. I quickly ate a few more bites, but then suddenly felt ill again. I stopped eating with still a full bowl of ramen left.

I glanced up at bf pitifully. "I don't think I can eat anymore." The look on his face was one of frustrated disapproval. "Eat it. I made that for you," he commanded. I glanced back down at my bowl of spicy ramen and felt guilty that he had gone through all the trouble of making it for me. I forced down more ramen noodles until the bowl was near empty, then curled up on his bed in the fetal position and whined. My stomach still ached, but it seemed to have subsided a bit with the food.

I think I'll be okay now

10 minutes later I could feel it- the ramen noodles were protesting in my stomach. I managed a feeble "I feel sick," before I bolted out of bed and grabbed the nearest object with which to contain my stomach contents- bf's trash can. You know the somewhat satisfying feeling you get after vomiting? Like all the bad stuff is out of your system now and you can rest in peace? This was nothing at all like that.

It burns!

The hot, spicy mess of ramen was agonizing as it hurled out of stomach, burned its way up my esophagus, and into my sinuses. It was like I had snorted a pound of red hot pepper powder into my nostrils after drinking a gallon of tabasco sauce. I writhed in pain as the spicy ramen bf had guilt-tripped me into eating poured out of me like a scene from The Exorcist.

Gaaaaahhhh!

My stomach bug was such that I vomited extremely fiery, peppery ramen 3 more times- to the point where I thought I had surely caused 3rd degree burns to my esophagus. In-between the episodes I accused bf of his cruel and ingenious method of torture. He didn't believe my horrifying experience of upchucking spicy ramen.

Bf found himself cleaning out a trash can full of half-digested spicy ramen in the bathroom 8:00 in the morning a total of 3 times. The fourth time I somehow managed to make it to the bathroom toilet. My face was a swollen thing of tears and snot- not because of any emotional toil, but because the red pepper flakes had combined with my stomach acid and had somehow transformed into LAVA.

Exhausted from my battle with the toilet, feeling sicker than ever, I returned to bf's bed and slept the rest of the afternoon. A couple days later, I had recovered and left on a vacation to visit my parents.

That night, after arriving at my parent's house, I received a phone call from bf.
"I'm SO SORRY, I am a HORRIBLE bf and will NEVER treat you like that EVER AGAIN!"

Apparently, bf caught whatever bug I had. Bf had such stomach pains that he couldn't stand up straight. He had to hobble in a Gollum-like manner to the drugstore in order to buy himself some Pepto Bismol. Apparently, earlier that day, grandma had cooked bf some spicy korean kimchee soup which had had eagerly consumed... and vomited for several hours afterwards in burning agony over the toilet. Apparently, bf had spent all day curled up on his bed in utter misery, confessing to God that he had been a bad bf and yes, he had learned his lesson.

Ever since that incident, hubby has been good to me whenever I'm tired or sick. He pampers me and doesn't doubt my suffering or pain anymore. Most of all, we've both learned to stay away from spicy foods when even remotely suspicious of being sick, though you don't always know until it's too late.

WHY YOU DON'T WANT A NURSE FOR A WIFE

My hubby likes to complain about me being a nurse and I can't blame him. When it comes to garnering sympathy from me for cuts and bruises, stomach aches, headaches, or other such ills, well, all he gets is a snort, an eye roll, and a pat on the back. "Oh, you're fine. I've seen patients with their jaws bitten off by horses and guts spilling out their nostrils. Take two tylenol and go to bed."

I will take that apple out of your mouth,
and your chin with it! True story

Anything less than being on the ventilator, paralyzed and sedated with 9 drips going at the same time- isn't worth getting excited over.

When hubby is in the presence of myself and a nurse colleague sitting at a table eating dinner, he knows it involves lengthy, unedited conversations involving play-by-play graphic detail of blood, guts, and other bodily fluids. Whatever it is that hubby is about to consume somehow finds its way into my description of something utterly unappetizing. Hubby sits there traumatized with the fork at his chin, eyes wide, mouth hanging open as he mentally visualizes the very horrific things I describe. For some reason I can sit in my patient's room for an hour cleaning out a rotting limb and still be thinking about what I'm going to have for lunch.

Brain jello consumed without hesitation

At work I'm like the Energizer Bunny on steroids. Sometimes it's "go, go, go" or else your patient might crash and die on you. For a critically ill patient who is taking a turn for the worse, there is seemingly no end to the number of bags of fluid, antibiotics, and IV medications that need to be hung, labs that need to be drawn, lines and tubes that need to be inserted, X-rays, EKGs, MRIs, CAT scans and other tests or procedures that need to be completed, monitors that need to be watched, vital signs, inputs and outputs that need to be charted, doctors and families that need to be notified.

Literally, there is no time to eat lunch, pee or even scratch your nose. I am running my rear off to stabilize the patient and there are a slew of serious, life-saving drips that constantly need to be titrated. I admit to a surge of satisfaction when pressing a few buttons on an IV pump can almost instantly bring up a patient's dropping blood pressure. But then again, there's nothing scarier than having a patient's life in your hands.

I know how to titrate human rocketfuel

That's why I crash when I get home from work- which, having had pure adrenaline running through my veins all day, is unavoidable. This means that hubby has a wife who can barely stand and barely stay awake, much less make dinner, go out, or do anything remotely productive. I am then a blob who sits in front of the television, shovels food in her mouth, and 10 minutes later, crawls into bed.

Thanks to hubby for his tolerance, his understanding, encouragement, and the tall glass of cold water he always has ready for me when I step through the door after work. You're the best.

I WAKE, YOU WAKE

When I first open my eyes in the morning over the weekend, there are but a few things on my mind. One is to go back to sleep. The second is to empty my bladder. The third is an overwhelming need to WAKE UP HUBBY IN THE MOST ANNOYING WAY POSSIBLE! A feeling of pure and utter GIDDINESS comes over me. I chuckle uncontrollably and maneuver about the bed with a burst of unexplainable, hyperactive energy.

I have been known to do the following:

• Roll over hubby back and forth several times and comment on how lumpy the mattress is.
• Inspired by a song upon wakening, sing it loudly and with gusto.
• Burrow under covers and headbutt hubby until he must either climb over me or fall out the bed.
• Cover hubby completely with comforter, 2 heavy Sobakowa buckwheat pillows, 4 extra fluffy pillows, and 2 microfiber blankets, wait until hubby is annoyingly hot and stuffy, then body slam him.

• Spin around in circles sideways on the bed and yell "WEE!"
• Pull the white comforter around my head and torso, insist on being a fluffy white cloud, then fall on hubby.
• For quickest results, place cold feet on hubby's warm back. 
• Talk to hubby frantically with mouth closed and expect hubby to understand what is being said.
• Balance pillows on my feet and propel them at hubby.
• Manipulate hubby's limbs to act out a scene in which I am being assaulted by an alien octopus.
• Blow air into hubby's face until his eyes open, then sputter to a stop and lie quietly back down. Repeat. 

THE PRESERVATION OF BUNNIES AND RAINBOWS

The other night my hubby said, "My wife is my girlfriend." Normally, wife and girlfriend don't mix if they're two different people. But since I choose to believe that I am one and the same, I found his comment to be very sweet indeed. Now, I don't claim to be knowledgeable or wise in the way of marriagehood, but I have learned a few things from my insightful mother-in-law by observation. One of which is to always put forth effort to make one's wifely self a constant source of interest, a mysterious and lovely specimen, by way of reinvention or preservation- but only towards your husband, ladies. Whether its pursuing music, beauty, intellect, health or physical fitness, I do so in a way that engages the hubby to rediscover (or newly discover) what it is he finds so attractive about me, and I continue to put forth effort into the very things I know he enjoys and finds appealing about me as well.

But no! For shame! I protest! Why should a wife have to cater to the hubby? Am I anti-feminist? Old school? Nay, I say! My very innards cringe at the thought of all things submissive! But for love, and the wisdom of the happily married in-laws, I shall be humbled.

I recall fondly the yester-years of girlfriend & boyfriend obsessions- when one stayed up all night and fell asleep to the voice on the other end of the phone; of every moment spent living and breathing to be with the one person so madly loved. Though that sort of excitement and drunken stupor of love may pass with time and gently sagging body parts, who is to say that it can't stay put for a little bit longer? (I'm speaking of love, not of plastic surgery). I refuse to go stagnant into the daunting middle-aged years! I hope to persist in my efforts to be an ever evolving and exciting partner for my husband- even after my teeth fall out and i've resorted to extra absorbent adult briefs.

Start your kegel exercises- today!

So while other elderly couples are sitting in their chairs on the front porch napping, I will be prancing around with my walker to the beat of Girl's Generation's GEE in an effort to remind hubby of our once youthful vigor.


For hubby and I, it's a matter of finding and keeping the laughs, the fun, the excitement, the deep conversations, the romance, the joy, the love in each other CONTINUOUSLY. Marriage and love don't promise a perpetual influx of bunnies and rainbows. I imagine that when I stop trying, those happy little bunnies of love and all things nice get butchered slowly and painfully with blood and guts and dying cries of agony in an isolated forest somewhere. Isolated- because I tend not to notice the sorry state of our relationship until it's short one too many happy bunnies. That's when I will spontaneously combust into a ball of angry unhappiness if hubby so much as BREATHES, and stay as such until we both realize the reason is because we've stopped trying.

Bunnies under attack

So in an effort to convince you not to destroy your marriages by lack of effort, I present to you: pictures of cute animals. Don't butcher them, please. Keep the love.

Peek-a-boo!

Sorry, that last one kind of slipped by me.