6/6/06 has come and gone and we all made it without witnessing the end of the world. While I'm glad that I will be able to pursue a career in nursing and paramedicine without the weight of armageddon on my back, I'm a little disappointed that I still have to take my lab practical tomorrow. Guess it's a good thing that I decided to study instead of listening to all the extremists.

I often get the question, "Is working in the emergency room anything like the TV show?" I usually just explain to people that no, no it's not...there are no cute doctors. However, sometimes I go into the fact that the television version is overly dramatic, I mean, who jumps up onto a gurney to do CPR?

Last week, I had to jump up on to a gurney to do CPR.

It was exhilarating, I'm not going to lie, but it was also terrifying. CPR is a brutal sort of process and when you pump on someone's chest and their ribs crack underneath your hands, it's scary. So there I was, doing compressions on this old woman while the stretcher is rolling down the hallway and I've got myself convinced that I've broken her rib cage. It's not like this is the first time I've done CPR. I'd just never done it on someone as tiny as her. After two compressions, I was pumping with one hand.

She made it, I'm happy to say, no broken ribs to date. There was a certain sort of satisfaction that I felt along with that, though I didn't feel it until hours later when my heart stopped pounding. We had another patient start to crash while the old woman's code was still running, so my head was spinning even when my shift ended. When the shit hits the fan, you don't follow a normal thought process. A normal person would run away. Instead, something else takes over and it feels like your true self comes out. Your world changes because you are changing someone's world.

Even in the middle of all of that, even during the time when I thought I was going to tear my hair out from all the madness, I knew that it is what I love. It's what I live for. There are times at my work where I feel horizontal to the ground I'm being pulled in so many different directions. It's during those times of chaos that I feel most in control. God made me like this for a reason and I'm going to pursue that to the fullest.

I made a promise to myself that I would stop letting guys treat me badly and it's been working out well so far. Sometimes that's hard, like when I turned down the chance to get with my super hot co-worker. I'm at a point where I just don't need to put myself through all the stupidity of a hormonally charged fling. I finally realized that I'm way too cool to be with guys who don't appreciate me. It's been a lonely few months and not being with guys actually makes my self-esteem lower a little. I mean, what's with these guys who go for such superficial and boring girls? It's rough but bearable. Plus, I can sit back and enjoy everyone else's stupid problems without feeling that stress and rejection. Hooray for me.

Naturally, my little world had to go awry. My friends and I got to talking to some guys last night and I really hit it off with one of them. As the night progressed, we both got a little tipsy, but I decided to risk it and go out with him tonight. I was kinda freaking out about because I'm just so awful at this whole dating thing. For me, it's over before it's even begun, but I was really interested about getting to know this guy better.

I knew that it could be very weird...he's 33. Now, I don't have a problem with that, one of my best friends is 37 and another close friend is 47. In fact, I was looking to date an 'older' guy simply because the ones my age just don't make the cut. I was concerned that he would find my youth to be a turn off, after all, he's a college grad with a successful career and I'm a student who lives with her parents. I'm not ashamed of who I am, I was just worried that he would see me as immature.

So, I met him for coffee. He was ever cuter than I remembered and I was really enjoying listening to him talk. He had great stories and a great sense of humor. He invited me back to his place for a movie, which I was very cautious about. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and took him up on the offer.

On the way over there, we chatted some more. That's when he decided to drop the bombshell. I think what he said was, "Would you be freaked out if I told you that I have two daughters?" I calmly told him no and asked how old they are. Then I wanted to know if he had been married. Yes. And they've only been divorced for three months.

That changes things. A lot.

I was already asking myself what I was doing dating a man 11 years older than me, throwing an ex-wife and two kids into the mix wasn't helping. We were hitting it off really well and I actually like him, but this quashes any sort of serious dating, not that that would happen anyway. Plus, I don't want to be the rebound, I don't want to be his strange (for those of you that know the term). I'm the first girl he's been with since his wife and he must be completely infatuated with me. I'm young and beautiful (not to toot my own horn) and I have nine piercings, which I know is kind of exciting for him. I'm the fucking 22 year old hussie that dad started dating when he broke up with mom. She'll hate me. His girls will hate me. I should run screaming from this situation.

...and I probably will. But for the moment, I'm asking myself why the first guy I've been with who is actually dateable is in the worst possible place for dating. I want to see him again and he wants to take me to dinner next week. Of course, I'm up to my eyeballs in schoolwork and he has his kids next weekened. The fun is only starting.

I'm young, I understand that. But it doesn't mean that I don't get at least a little upset when my birthday rolls around. When I was 19 I used it as an excuse to deal with things poorly in my job. (For instance, on a particulaly nasty day, a nurse asked me how I was feeling. "I just saw three people die," I said, "How do you think I'm feeling?") When I turned 20, I realized that I would finally have to face adulthood.

Yeah, that lasted.

Last year at about this time, I was dealing with my arrest and drinking every day that I wasn't working. I was partying so hard that I have a hard time even recounting it. I loved it, though, and I've certainly learned from it. I've even taken Lent as a time to sober up since I've found myself in some very real danger because of my alcohol consumption.

On Tuesday I turned 22. I wasn't sure that I wanted to. Now I am. I did get pretty plowed (I know this breaks my Lenten vow, but I figured that everyone gets one for their birthday). In fact, I was literally crawling into bed that night. I had four shots of Southern Comfort and almost a pitcher of Coors in an hour and a half. Yeah, I puked. I was far more drunk on my 22nd birthday than I was on my 21st. And I had more fun. I was around people that I loved and who love me. My head is on straight and I can enjoy myself where ever I go.

However, the fun was short lived. I went out in the first hour of my birthday, but I worked that night. It was brutal. We had two codes back to back and I found myself cleaning body fluids off of a dead guy in the wee hours of the morning. I had one of those nights where I thought, "I don't want to be here right now, I don't want to do this." But that's what I did for my birthday...CPR. In those wee early hours of April 5th, I found that age is not the only thing I've gained. My job has changed my life and forced me to grow in ways I never thought were possible.

I'm happy to be 22, it's a good, strong even number. I'm happy to be where I am in life, I'm happy that I've made it this far. I'm happy that I have friends who will bring me cake when I'm at work and go out with me for breakfast and margaritas in the morning. In fact, I had more fun being around my co-workers than partying downtown. Yes, 22 is looking to be far better than 21. We'll see how I feel about it next year.

A while back, I took this totally great trip to Vegas with some of my co-workers. Two of them are travel nurses, Whitney and Kellie, and the other two, Jami and Matt, are fellow techs of mine. When Whitney and Kellie left for their next assignment, we decided to meet up in San Diego for another wild vacation.

So, in early January, Jami, Matt, Matt's girlfriend, Deanna, and I hopped into a car and headed for the coast. I knew early on this would be yet another memorable vacation...I was losing my voice and Jami took years off of my life by tailgating on the freeway at 100 mph. On the bright side, she shaved, like, 2 hours off of the drive. We made it to Hotel Circle safe and sound and were soon enjoying a beer (or three) with Whitney and Kellie, as well as some new additions to the group, David and Brandi.

That night, after hours of preening, we headed out for dinner at Dick's Last Resort where I wasn't at all impressed with the paper towel flinging, anything-goes atmosphere. However, we were able to meet up with another travel nurse, Karen, who had taken an assignment in San Diego. Dinner was ok, be we were in San Diego to party and all I wanted to do was get my drink on. We started at House of Blues where Karen stupidly bought us a round of Red-Headed Sluts. Jami looked right at me and said, "I don't handle jager well, I think I might need a babysitter tonight." Sure enough, not long everyone hit the dance floor, I saw Jami take off from the bar. I didn't have enough time to think, I just followed her.

We went to a trendy-looking place called Onyx where the bar seemed dismal and unoccupied. But, and this was very new to me, the actual club was underground and full of people. I remember talking to some guys, but I can't remember if they bought us a drink. Somehow I got to talking to one of the bouncers, but we met up with Karen and headed to another club across the street. This one had three floors with dancing in the basement. I saw this guy just dancing his heart out, guessed he was gay, and joined in with him. Once I got bored of that, I went back to Karen and my beer only to find out that Jami had once again disappeared.

This is where it starts to get really fuzzy. I walked around the club with Karen for a while longer before I got the wild hair up my ass to go back to the bouncer at Onyx. I took off and spent quite a while talking to him. I'm not sure about what. I doubt I was even making any sense. He asked me if I wanted to go downstairs again and I happily followed him around the 'employee's only' entrance. He opened a somewhat hidden door that overlooked the bar where, to my amazement and theirs, Matt, Deanna, Whitney, Kellie, Brandi and David stood ordering drinks. They stared at me with their jaws dropped and asked where the hell I came from. I just laughed and said, "I made a friend."

Now, I think that the bouncer threw some sort of offer out to me to hang out after the bars closed, but Karen headed me off at the pass. I'm not totally sure what happened to everyone else, but since they all took a cab back to the hotel, Karen offered me a ride. She laughed at me the whole way, I was yammering on in my drunkeness and my voice was as scratchy as all hell. She dropped me off in front of the Comfort Inn, I said my goodbyes and went into the lobby.

Something wasn't right. I asked the guy at the desk where the elevator was.

"We don't have one in the lobby," he said. I told him that I'd used it earlier in the day. "Our sister hotel has an elevator in the lobby, maybe that's what you're thinking of."

There are two Comfort Inns on Hotel Circle.

A sober person would have probably sheepishly called Karen back and asked for a lift to the right location. But a drunk person just starts walking. I took off into the darkness and kept my fingers crossed that I wouldn't get hit by a car. There wasn't a lot of traffic, but there also wasn't a sidewalk. At some point, I saw a motorcycle drive past me and not two minutes later he had turned around and stopped in the road just ahead of me. I went running up to him and pointed across the freeway.

"Take me to that Comfort Inn!" I yelled, "It's a circle, you'll get there eventually."

I hopped on the back of his motorcycle only to find out that this wasn't a bike built for two. That meant I was sitting on the rear fender and had to wrap my legs around the driver. He drove me around to the hotel and I jumped off and thanked him. By the time I got up to the room, I was ready to crash anywhere, but no one would answer the door. It seemed they everyone was already passed out and not waking up anytime soon. I had to call Deanna, who let me sleep in her and Matt's room. I pulled my boots off, laid down, and didn't move 'till morning.

That was day one.