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.

I never shared this with you, but my romance with Medic 9 was short-lived and sour. It's actually why I've been so distant from this blog...it was hard for me to face up and share the horrible blow of disappointment. Here's what I wrote about it shortly after he stopped talking to me:

"Things between me and The Medic didn't work out. I have heartache so bad that the burning starts in my chest and extends all the way down my spine. It hurts, oh my god, it hurts. I feel this way for so many reasons, the biggest being the monumental disappointment in realizing that the man I fell in love with isn't the same in real life. Oh my god, how it hurts. I look back at everything that I did wrong and shake my head and wipe away tears. There are so many things that could have been done differently that would have made this situation so much better. So different. Maybe things could have even worked out, though I doubt it. No matter how well I handled things, it wouldn't change his alcoholism, it wouldn't change his work, it wouldn't change him at all. Still, being with him and miserable seems far more attractive than being without him and miserable. In my head I know that things are better off this way because the hurt I'm feeling now is far stunted in comparison to the hurt I would feel if this were to happen months (or, God forbid, years) down the road. But in my heart I feel an aching loneliness that comes standard with the crushed dream of not being alone. The taste of something sweet has made everything else a little sour. I'm in the process of resetting my palate...I know that this too shall pass. And just like a kidney stone, it's the passing that hurts the most."

I wish he would have never asked me out. I had him built up so high that things could only go downhill. The side of him that I see at work stays at work - the man he is at home is only the shadow of a dashing medic. The alcoholism was scary and I found myself sucked into it all. I knew that I was in a bad place when I was pulled away from my friends and family for three days. He didn't respect me. No one deserves that.

But life goes on, and for the first time since I've been single, I've decided that my standards need to be higher. I spent the better part of two months crying and I never want to go through that again. I'm much the wiser for all of this, and so, so much stronger. 

I ran to a lot of bad things to try and deal with my hurt and anger. However, one of the major things that pulled me out of my funk was a much needed trip to San Diego with some of the craziest girls that I know...

So, I've been working out. It's actually starting to become a big thing for me, especially since I've lost some weight and am starting to build a *little* bit of muscle. I would be even farther along if I wasn't so embarassed to work out around other people. Maybe it's because I hate admitting weakness and you really have to bear all and face up when you're lifting weights in front of other people. Since I am weak and I don't really know what I'm doing, it intimidates the hell out of me to lift around a bunch of burly guys.

One morning, I hit the gym after work and was mortified to be outlifted by a group of men who could be my grandfathers. I sat there feeling stupid and looked around when I noticed that I was the only girl down there. I mentioned this to one of the grandfatherly guys and he just laughed. "We like having you here because it adds some class," he said. They teased me and told me to start using some heavier weights. It was a cute experience, but it didn't make me feel any better about being the tiniest person out there. 

The point is, tonight I almost pussyed out of my arm routine. I saw a guy from my work and I was embarassed for him to see me work out. I avoided him by doing cardio for a half hour and I almost left after that but I faced up to myself. It was hard and I felt stupid, but I went out on the floor and did my little lifting routine. Yes, I cut it short by an exercise or two. Baby steps, right? Sometimes the most important thing is to be there at all.