Saturday, December 21, 2013

How Did "Happy Happy Happy" Go So "Crappy Crappy Crappy"?

People. People. People.
Well, unfortunately, once again, America is bored. How do I know this? Because Phil Robertson of Duck Dynasty swept the headlines this week for his utterly shocking, far right, conservative Christian belief, that gay is not acceptable in the Kingdom of God. Not surprisingly--he also bumped Jesus out of the top spot in the ratings--apparently His birthday is old news compared to this epic, shocking, Duck Dynasty revelation.
Let me just start this blog off by saying that I could care less about who is more offended by Phil Robertson at this point. Conservative Christians have all been bandwagoning over to the Duck Commander side to show support for good, moral, upstanding Christian values and beliefs (and maintaining our right to use bible thumping condemnation at our leisure--the usual). I'm sure there was a slight gasp of "OMG--I can't believe he said that" throughout the gay community, while the other 98.7% of the gay community said, "Phil who?" and "What's Duck Dynasty?"
I'm a huge Duck Dynasty fan. I'm also a Christian. I also adore the gay community. Some of you might think that all of this has me really confused, and torn between which side I'm going to bandwagon over to with all of this new, earth-shattering news, about an actual Christian redneck, thinking that marriage should be kept exclusively between a man and a woman. However, rest assured, I will stay where I am always the most comfortable in this life--right on top of the fence...just like I play my politics. I have a toe dipped in the waters on the left, and a toe dipped in the waters of the right (Stand Up! Sit Down! Fight! Fight! Fight! **random, inappropriate cheerleader pop-off**
Have you ever seen the show, "Duck Dynasty"? The entire show is about a redneck family from Louisiana, that happened to become multi-bazillionaires after one of them (Phil Robertson) designed an amazing duck call, got a patent, and had a son (Willie Robertson) who was brilliant enough to eventually market it on a large scale. Then they all (The Robertson family) decided, collectively, that not only was it ironic to be a redneck, and wealthy, but that their family/friend interactions were funny enough to have their own TV show. They pitched it to A&E, and now Duck Dynasty has essentially taken over the world--or at the very least, Wal-Mart, and Sportsman's Warehouse.
All the men on the show look like the unabomber, and they are all married to Barbie doll wives. The men constantly blow things up with guns, or dynamite, and the women do what any good bazillionaires' wives would do--they look pretty, do yoga, sip champagne, get pedicures, shop, do a lot of promo/marketing for the show, and are sometimes willing to sacrifice their well manicured fingernails to help coordinate shipping duck calls (I can relate to these ladies--but I have yet to score myself a bazillionaire--DAGNABIT).
The show showcases the family's Christian values. They talk about God, and Jesus Christ, A LOT. As a matter of fact, I can't believe the Muslim community, the Atheist community, the Jewish community, and all other religious sects that aren't directly affiliated with Christianity, haven't been up in arms about the audacity of A&E to air such a show!!!!!!!! **SARCASM**
Can we all just stop for a moment? Are we really this bored? Did we ever really think that a faith-based, reality TV show family would ever condone homosexual behavior, or gay marriage? I truly feel that if you are "shocked and awed" by this, that you should probably get back to smoking your crack pipe.
Furthermore, have you ever read the bible? That sucker will have you sweating bullets with some of the things it says! Phil Robertson actually quoted a great deal DIRECTLY from the bible. And he's Christian, so it shouldn't come as a huge surprise that he's read that thingamabobber a few times, and he isn't afraid to read it out loud from time to time, and during all of his public speaking that he now does because Duck Dynasty has taken over the world.
I understand that people get their feelings hurt when they feel like other people don't like them. And I know it's hard for people to hear the second part of what Phil Robertson said, because after hearing that gay people are morally corrupt, and going to hell, it is little consolation that he still follows God's second commandment to "love others", regardless of their sinful nature. It is hard to hear someone spew venom from one side of their mouth, and then say I love you from the other side of it. It loses a little something in translation.
I guess I find the whole thing a little funny. Not like "funny ha ha", but "funny ironic". I'm sorry that gay people are feeling targeted, and I'm sorry that A&E has banned Phil from the show, but this is somewhat comical.
When are we going to learn to stop overreacting to things as a society? Everything is DRAMA! DRAMA! DRAMA! When I was starting to think of things to write in my blog, I remembered a recent story about a little 6 year-old boy, who was being charged for sexual harassment because he kissed a little girl on the hand. When are we going to stop making mountains out of mole hills, people?
Furthermore, (this is where you are going to see me dipping a toe in the other side of the water) when are Christians going to stop casting stones at others? Didn't Jesus already teach us a pretty humbling lesson about this? I know some of you are probably like, "Uh, Whitney, Jesus said, "Dudes, put down your rocks, cuz you're sinners, too, and then told that chick to "go and sin no more"". I get that, but telling a human not to sin anymore, would be like changing a one year-old's diaper, and then telling them not to poop their pants again. Really? REALLY? Puh-leez.
I also don't see where us heterosexuals get off telling gay people that they can't get married. Holy shit! 60+% of us heteros can't even get marriage to go right for us, and end up divorced, but we feel the need to tell the gay community that it is a "sacred vow that should be kept between a man and a woman"??? Seriously??? *scoff*
Not to mention that Phil Robertson has quite the jaded past, so it's ironic to hear his "born again" view point. My favorite thing in the world is someone who finds Jesus, and then thinks they can condemn everyone else's actions. **I'm lying**
Can we please just watch some ducks? Can we not really care that Phil Robertson doesn't like gay people? Can gay people realize that he is just Phil Robertson, and that what Phil Robertson has to say about gay people bears no weight on the character of the gay community? Can we all just agree that the world will likely not see a show about gay people shooting ducks, blowing up duck blinds, and ripping the legs off of bullfrogs, much like we will never see a show about Phil Robertson going on a shopping spree at Nordstrom? Why must everything be put on a political platform? IT DRIVES ME FLIPPING BANANAS!
I'm not condoning what Phil Robertson said, and I'm not saying that the gay community doesn't have grounds to be a little pissed, and have some ruffled feathers. However, can we all just take this for what it is...IT'S A REALITY TV SHOW, PEOPLE! If you want to get pissed off at something, get pissed off at TLC for making Honey Boo Boo!!!! At least THAT'S justifiable!
I just want to watch Duck Dynasty. Besides, would a man who is totally anti-gay really invent something like this?


Saturday, December 14, 2013

Happy Holidays, Everyone! :)

Ok, fine. I realize I have written ONE, LONG, PATHETIC, whiny, gripey blog since my move to Alaska in July. However, it is the holiday season, therefore, we are all supposed to be merry and bright? Right?
Of course we I'll give you my most CHIPPER self in my blog Christmas card this year! **YAY!--try to contain your/my enthusiasm** ;)
The tree is trimmed, and I am waiting for the cutest kids in America to arrive at my house for Christmas. Why? Because, in case you are out of the loop, I had to come up to Alaska for work after 6 months of being put on call for work on a regular basis in Colorado. Long story short--ex-husband and I decided it was in the best interest of the kids to stay in Colorado (with him) and attend school with all of their friends (that they have had since kindergarten). Instead of uprooting them, up to Alaska I went for work. I have been back to Colorado, often, to see them in these past six months, but NOT ENOUGH TO SATIATE A MOM :(
That being said, we also decided that the kids would be up here in Alaska for Christmas, spring break, and all summer (and I'd fly down all the times in between those holiday/breaks). Guess what? Christmas is coming! I am SO looking forward to my kids experiencing Alaska for the first time!!!!
I am EXTREMELY happy to report that...MY KIDS ARE DOING SO AWESOME WITH THE CURRENT SITUATION!!!!! I truly do believe it was harder on them to be split between homes on a weekly basis in Colorado, than what we are doing now, 3,000 miles apart. They are HAPPY, and well-adjusted, and pulling the best grades they have in their life (top of the class!). HALLELUJAH!!! Lots of texting, and FaceTime with Mom, but thank God for that!
However, my adjustment to life in Alaska has not been quite as stellar. I attended college for my Geology BS degree up in Fairbanks, Alaska, a long time ago. Although it was colder up there than the part of Alaska I currently live in, I am still cold, and still having a hard time adjusting to the darkness, cold, and wind. GRRRRRRrrrrr.
My saving grace since I've been up here is the AWESOME people I work with. My girls on labor and delivery here at the hospital, not only keep me rolling on the floor with laughter, but they have become my friends, and I couldn't be more blessed--because THEY ROCK!!!! Still adjusting the the hospital setting, the docs, how things work, where things are, and I am now orienting to our OB Triage Unit, which basically rules out any condition from the flu, to falls, to labor, to rupture of membranes in pregnant women, but it is a constant adventure, and I'm so thankful for the amazing women, docs, and anesthesia docs that I have to work with (and the previous L&D experience I gained at The Medical Center of Aurora). No unit is perfect, and some are better than others, but collectively, I cannot gripe. These are the people that make me continue to love my job, and I feel so blessed to be able to help families bring their babies into the world. I also feel very blessed when my job isn't puppies and rainbows, and I can help a family through the loss of their baby. You wouldn't think that would be a blessing, but to be emotionally present for someone in their greatest time of grief is something that, like Dr. Seuss said in the Grinch, will make your heart "grow three sizes that day".

At the same time, it's hard to believe I've been up in Alaska for almost 5 months. Time still has wings--no matter the state you live in. That doesn't mean I am not counting down the days until summer up here--know what I mean, Vern (I just dated myself)?
In the tradition of MY holiday spirit, I can still say that,
A.) I STILL never shop on Black Friday--keep your cheap crap, and I'll sleep in, and keep my face looking "normal", instead of being punched by some redneck weirdo for a discount GPS system.
B.) I still put my Christmas tree up ON Thanksgiving Day (I like it up for holiday dinner). However, on the off chance (usually always) that I work on Thanksgiving, I will put it up the days I DON'T work leading up to Thanksgiving--I don't care how many of you tell me that, "for every Christmas light lit prior the Thanksgiving, an elf kills a baby reindeer". Kill that baby reindeer--some of us have lives to either bring into the world, or save--sometimes both, and you're lucky we are willing to give up holiday dinner to do so! ;)
C.) I have Christmas music playing on my DirecTV as I write this--I love, love, love it, and play it every year in the evening. It makes me happy. Or as Phil Robertson would say, "Happy, Happy, Happy".
D.) Thank God they finally got rid of the TV commercials with the creepy Target lady!

**Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Merry Christmas!**

Actually...MELE KALIKIMAKA! (5.5 more years until Hawaii is my home!)
And last, but NEVER least--I am also eternally grateful for the gift of Jesus Christ this Christmas. I feel truly blessed to have a relationship with a Man who loved "no matter what". That's really, and literally, all you need in this life. I liken this life to a video that my friend, Ben, posted, of one of my favorite pastors, Francis Chan, and the pastor holding a rope. At one end, he took about 15" and marked it with red tape. He said, "We spend so much time worrying about this...(insert him pulling 15" of rope through his hands--symbolizing this life), when what we should be worried about is THIS! (pulls the seemingly endless amount of rope through his hands).

Life (15" of rope)--it goes by quick.
The rest of the rope-your choice.
Blessings this holiday season. My friends are very dear to me, and I wish you all a blessed New Year.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Matthew Shuler: "Beneath Your Beautiful" The Voice Performance. HOLY CRAP. **AwEsOmE**

I love music. More importantly, I love singing, and I love hearing AMAZING singers. I LOVE the show, The Voice, on NBC, and use my blog sometimes to showcase performances that blow me away.
Tonight is no different. I posted Matthew Shuler's version of "Hallelujah" last week, and it is now in my iTunes, and listened to regularly. This week--"Beneath Your Beautiful".
First of all--I love this song. I have always had a connection to this song from the beginning, and feel like the lyrics hit a place in my soul that is indescribable. Tonight, when I was watching this, I actually cried. It feels ridiculous to be watching a singing competition on TV, and actually be brought to tears, but I felt like he was singing about my life. Granted, unless Miley Cyrus comes into my life with her wrecking ball, I'm probably a hopeless cause, but Matthew ROCKED this, and hit it out of the park.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Probably My Favorite Song EVER: "Hallelujah" Version by Matthew Shuler on THE VOICE

So, here we are again, with a song that touches my heart, and a GREAT singer who does that as well. This is probably, hands-down, one of my favorite songs in the world (but I like his version better than the original). It is amazing, and Matthew Shuler--candidate singer on, "The Voice", TOTALLY did it justice.




Thursday, November 7, 2013

"A Case of You" Version by James Wolpert-- on TV's "The Voice". Holy Crap--AMAZING.

Ok, so there is no doubt that I like my guys a little on the nerdy side, and if you give them a guitar, and they have an amazing singing voice, it's like kryptonite to me. This song was performed on the TV show, The Voice, the other night, by singer/songwriter, James Wolpert. I about died. I had goosebumps afterward, and fell in love with how this man's voice can touch a soul. He quit his job at the Apple Store to tryout for the show.
Needless to say, this song went to #5 on Top 40 iTunes by the next morning, and I have listened to it about 20 times since I downloaded it.
PS If you want the full version of the song, go to Totally, hands down, the best $1.29 you've ever spent. ;)
Worth a listen!!

Monday, November 4, 2013

Oceans--Hillsong United (Fave. Fave. Fave.)

This is one of my favorites. I love the "haunting" of the just touches my soul. This song is SO fitting for my current circumstance in life. It just infiltrates, and I love it.
Enjoy. :)

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

I Don’t Think We’re In Kansas Anymore, Toto

I am back in the Land of the Blog! Some of you are probably like, “Oh damn.” Others are like, “YAWN!”, and then there are the rest of you—the people I love. The ones who say, “WOOT WOOT!” and don’t care who hears them.

Back on the grid! This move to Alaska has not been easy. It’s almost November, and I am just now to a point where I can, A.) Have enough time to sit down and actually write a blog (without any giant cardboard boxes looming in the background), or B.) Actually have internet access in which to write a blog (let’s just say that some things (everything) up here take a little more time (months) to get done than in other places (everywhere else on the planet).

What fun would going through about 100 complete fiascos with moving be if I didn’t write about them all and share them with you? (This is where you say, “Why, NO FUN AT ALL, WHITNEY!) And then I write a long, long, long blog about my 3,000 mile adventure to the State of Alaska.

My last blog entry had to do with the actual “flight” up to this state, and all of the fun that came with my airborne exit out of the State of Colorado. Meanwhile, all of my earthly belongings started on what would be a 4.5 week long, 3,000+-mile journey in the back of a semi tractor trailer, to my now home in Wasilla, Alaska. It just so happened, that Murphy’s Law was in full swing for this entire adventure, and so everything that could go wrong, did go wrong.

AHEM!!...Mi Mi Mi

Like Julie Andrews sang in The Sound of Music…Let’s start at the very beginning—a very good place to start…

Upon my arrival to Alaska, I spent my first night up in Palmer, AK. That’s about 45 minutes north, and east of Anchorage. I slept in, and then went to breakfast at one of my favorite breakfast spots in the world—The Trout House (AKA The Windbreak Café) in Wasilla, Alaska. Things were going great, right up until my friend and I decided to go “look” at the duplex that I had found online, and already committed to leasing for a term of one year. Some of you might be like, “Uh, Whitney, maybe you should’ve looked at that place before you agreed to lease it…don’t you think?” And this is where I’m like, “Oh, now you show up and are a wealth of excellent advice.” (not that I’m bitter)


My friend and I drove up Knick Goose Bay road—about three miles or so from the café we had just been to, and still in Wasilla, Alaska. Pulling into the driveway of the community was fine. It was in a wooded area. Nice trees. Looked like a lot of privacy. The place had some potential. I could see my kids playing outside, riding their bikes around the cul-de-sac, it would be fine, right?

We stepped out of the car, and one of the nice neighbors came over to greet us. Probably because he wondered why we were casing the joint, and looking in all the windows—just a hunch. We started talking, and he invited us over to view the inside of his unit (since my unit was supposed to be similar). We took him up on it, and upon entering he said, “We were friends with the people who lived in the unit you will be renting. The only thing different between your unit, and our unit, is that ours has vaulted ceilings, and yours does not.

WHOA…WAIT A SECOND…BACK THE FREAKIN’ TRUCK UP. Come again say what, Neighbor Friend?

Yes, the unit I was supposed to rent was the very first unit that the builder had built. After it was all together, apparently they decided that the place looked like a cave, and decided to open up all the rest of the units with vaulted ceilings—like the one my realtor had posted online, and then neglected to mention that my place would look “a little different” (ie dark, scary, more like a cave than a duplex, yadda yadda).

Below are the photos that the real estate agent posted online of what the property I was supposed to rent looked like.
*please note the "slant" to the ceiling

So I called the realtor. I had already put down a deposit. The agent went back and forth with me saying, “I know these properties very well! We’ve rented them for years! I know for a FACT that that place has a vaulted ceiling!”

 K. Keep telling yourself that, buddy. Whatever floats your hallucinogenic boat.

The realtor told me he would call the property owner and see if they would refund my deposit. The property owner agreed, and I got the news from the agent, but he was still swearing up and down to me that the place had vaults--which it didn't. Cuz the nice neighbor guy told me so.

Then I got a phone call—it was the realtor’s father. They work as a team in Anchorage, and I kid you not—their motto is, “Making your relocation to Alaska easy!”

Yeah, right. *Scoff*Gag*Hack*Splutter*

The agent’s father had a big, burly, deep voice, with a southern accent. He said, “So you’re telling me that you agreed to sign a lease (the lease was not signed yet), put down a deposit, and now you are backing out because you are telling me the place doesn’t have vaulted ceilings, even though we know it has vaulted ceilings? And my son tells me you had someone come out to look at the property for you. So this was an informed decision, right?”

What is a helpless blonde girl supposed to do when a huge manly man talks to her that way? Shall I curl up in a little ball and let you tell me how it is?'s me.
**Puts on boxing gloves**

This became one of those moments where my voice started trembling. Not because I was being a gigantic Sally of a wimp, but because I was about ready to go verbally postal on Mr. Southern-fried Alaska. I tried to pull myself together by taking a deep breath—and then I started in.

“Mr. O (that’s what we will call him, since his name started with O), I had a friend go over and look at the property because I live 3,000 miles away, and could not do it myself. The unit that was shown to my friend was not the actual unit that I was to reside in, but a “similar unit”. Then, upon my arrival to the property, the neighbor graciously invited us over to his house to look at his place, stated that he was good friends with the people who had just moved out of my unit, and that he had been over there multiple times, and that the only difference between his unit, and the unit I would occupy was the fact that IT DOES NOT HAVE VAULTED CEILINGS. He stated that the unit you were trying to rent to me was the first unit built, and that all other units that followed were built with vaulted ceilings. Therefore, the pictures that you posted online, with the vaulted ceilings, next to a description of this particular unit, are FALSE. It is false advertising, and therefore, I want my deposit back.”

He went on to argue with me, and said that since I had a friend come to look at the unit, that I was still responsible for “pulling out of the agreement” and that he was going to keep my deposit. I told him that my “agreement” included vaulted ceilings—much like the pictures he posted online to advertise the joint. He continued to tell me that he GUARANTEED that the place had vaulted ceilings, to which I replied, “I will drive down to Anchorage right now, pick you up, drive you up to that particular unit in Wasilla, and gladly prove to you that not a single vaulted ceiling exists in the place.”

Then he said, “Wait, you mean my son didn’t show your friend the EXACT unit you would be renting?” I told him, NO, and that the unit I would be renting was not available during the time that my friend looked at it. He said, “Ok…I’ll give you your money back.” **CLOUDS PARTING**ANGELS SINGING**BLONDE GIRL FUMING**

One week later, the property was back up for rent online, with the same pictures, and next to it in parentheses, it said, “Unit shown in photos is similar to that which is available, and vaulted ceilings are not available in all units”. **BAZINGA**

I did end up finding a nice, modern duplex that had the 3 beds/2 baths I was looking for…AND VAULTED CEILINGS.

The first step in this whole moving process was having people show up to pack my house in Colorado. I answered the doorbell when it rang that morning, and there were five chicks in white tee shirts standing on my doorstep. I don’t know why, but I had in my mind that dudes were supposed to be movers, so I said, “Can I help you?” and they all looked at me like I was certifiably insane.
After that brief (awkward) moment, they entered, and it was like having five Tasmanian Devils whipping through my house, rapidly throwing my crap into boxes. I had heard from people who had hired movers to pack them, that it was very nice to have someone come in, take your things one-by-one, and carefully pack/load them into boxes to ship. Apparently, all of those people were busy, because they sent the white trash female mafia to my house to pack my stuff.
They were so fast. Cardboard boxes, wrapping tape, and paper were everywhere I looked. It was hard for me to watch, because they were literally flying through everything I owned, and in every single room of my house simultaneously. I had people in closets, bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens—you name it, and there was a chick with a white tee shirt on in there.
There was no care taken with anything I owned during the packing process. They literally took bedding off of every bed in the house, threw it into boxes (without folding it), and there was even one box that had a pile of bedding in it, and they packed a toilet brush right on top of the down duvet. It was gag-worthy. Then, they carried my 52” flatscreen TV down to the floor, stepped on the base, reefed up to pull the top of the TV off the base, and then said, “Aw shit!...that was screwed in!” **POP/CRACK** Yes, they broke it. But they were nice enough to tape the broken pieces of plastic from the base to the box so that I could look at them later and curse at them from 3,000 miles away. (And yes, I insured the entire shipment, but never claimed it because I figured they screw up fixing it as much as they did moving it--and it happens to still function/balance just fine. It just pissed me off that it happened in the first place.)
In the meantime, I had a woman who was in her mid-40s (who looked about 70) packing my kitchen. She had some of her teeth—mostly blackened. She was very rough/gruff, with a raspy voice, and she wore Marlboro perfume. I sat on a box in the living room, and she told me her whole life story about how she used to be a truck driver, but then got a DUI, so now she’s just a packer, and how her ex-boyfriend died in his truck from bleeding out due to esophageal varacies because he was a raging alcoholic, but “not to worry, I have me a new man now. I live with him in a motel cuz we can’t find no one to rent to us with all our pit bulls and kitty cats.” This was the woman who was packing all my thousands of dollars of Le Creuset cookware as fast as Edward Scissorhands can circumcise a juniper bush.
I felt like I was being punked. I just kept thinking in my head, “Am I really paying them thousands of dollars to do this?” Unreal. Needless to say, everything upon arrival was washed in hot water, and I may need some therapy to recover from the entire experience.
Approximately 4.5 weeks after I arrived in Alaska. The moving company called me to let me know they would be delivering my things to me within a few days. I had not received a phone call from them during the entire 4.5 week period, and I just assumed everything was fine. They would contact me if anything wasn’t right, right? **WrOnG**
The morning they arrived, I grabbed oatmeal and coffee from Starbucks, and drove up to my house for the move-in process to commence. The semi truck pulled into my driveway. I was watching all of this from my upstairs living room window that looks out over my driveway. They put the truck in park, opened up the back, and my heart sank to the ground.
This is what the truck looked like when it left my house in Colorado…
And it looked just like that, minus the silver Hyundai Santa Fe, when it pulled into my driveway in Wasilla, Alaska.
Now Imagine my surprise face when it showed up with nothing in it.
It looked a little something like this--minus the flaming red hair, merlot colored lips, penciled in eyebrows, and the giant grandma brooches on each ear.
I was a little, shall we say, "Pissed".
 I immediately went downstairs, through the garage, and one of the guys who was there to unload my things, shook my hand, introduced himself, and then I said something a little like, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Driver/House Unloader Person, now Dude, where’s my car?”
He had no answer for me. He said, “I hate it when they do this to me!” (like it was a regular occurrence) and proceeded to call the moving company. I went upstairs. I was about to have a meltdown, and that is always best done at a distance. Mr. Driver/House Unloader Person called the company, and I then called them, and ended up having to leave a message—I’m sure I sounded super thrilled in it. My “moving coordinator” (hereafter known as the “moving uncoordinator”) then called me back about an hour later. She said that she didn’t know where my car was, or why it had been taken off the truck. Then she told me that she would try to call around to figure it out. REALLY? Cuz you guys don’t keep track of these things these days with like scanners, and bar codes, and things? Holy crap! I have better tracking on my UPS shipments from Pottery Barn!
She called me back again, days later, and said that they had located my car, and that “for some reason, it was offloaded in Montana”. Awesome. Cuz that makes sense, right? Why would you want the car to arrive at the house with all the other things? That would be too easy.
My car arrived in Anchorage. I drove in one morning with friends to pick it up. Surprisingly, the mileage was the same as when I had them drive it onto the semi. No one had been joyriding through a cow field with it. Then came time to sign the paperwork and move on, right? WRONG.
Upon signing the paperwork, the woman who actually owns the moving company came downstairs to talk to me. I was looking up on her walls at all of her accolades, and awards she had won for being “the finest in Anchorage”. Apparently they aren’t very picky in Alaska, because “the finest in Anchorage” had already “lost my car in Montana”. Then she told me that she had GROSSLY underestimated how much it would cost to move all of my things up here, and ended up telling me that she was 25% over her original estimate, and that “that has never happened to me before—I’m usually so good!”. Yeah. Sure. Right. “The finest in Anchorage” even, right?
Then she called me when I got home, and had one of her office assistants tell me that I owed them money. I told them that my entire move had been coordinated through the hospital I was working at, and that they needed to take things up with them. Then the girl laughed at me, and told me, “No, all other funds are the responsibility of Whitney Madison!” She then asked for my credit card, and told me she would gladly put thousands of dollars on there for me. I said, “Uh, no, you will contact my hospital, and arrange things through them.” I then called my other “moving coordinator” with my hospital, told her what was up, she took care of it, and I never heard from them again. Clearly, stellar customer service from Anchorage’s finest ( Finest freakin' hecklers who don’t know how to estimate moving costs, or keep track of vehicles apparently...).
Ever heard of Angie's List? Yeah, this girl likes to write, so I think a review of their services is in order. Maybe they can frame it and hang it next to all of their arctic awards.
Those of you who live down in the lower 48 probably think the power company is some hypothetical being that floats in outer space, and magically makes your lights come on because you give them money each month. Not up here in Alaska--oh no. You want power hooked up? Make sure you have a few days on your hands to get that taken care of.
I called the local electrical association who deals with the power up here in the Matanuska Valley. I had my credit card in hand, and thought I would just have to read them the number, they would flick a switch, and we would be good to go. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right? WRONG.
The gentleman on the phone said, "Ok, well in order to get the ball rolling, we are going to need a letter of reference from your old power company."

What? Are you serious? Am I trying to get my power connected, or applying for a job?
He was serious. If I didn't get the letter of reference to them, they were going to charge me $200 to connect my power. They said if I was a good girl, and paid my bills on time, that I could have that money back after one year. Really? Really.
So, I called my power company in Colorado. They told me it would be a week to have a letter sent up, but that they could probably fax one, but it might take 5 days. 5 days to send a fax? Is this not 2013? Who do you have working at your fax machine? Your 105 year old grandmother?
So I waited. And waited. 5 days came and went. I actually had to go to the actual power company building to try to get all of this arranged. It was RIDICULOUS.
I've never been to the power company before. THE POWER COMPANY was always just someone who took my credit card number over the phone, and we called it good. Not up here! I got to go to the building, take a number from one of those circular thingys that they have at the deli counter, and wait in a lobby with a crap ton of people who were also there to get their power turned on--or I should say, BACK ON, because they hadn't paid their bills. Still not sure if they just let them shut their power off because it was summer, and it's sunny all day/night long in Alaska in the summer, or if they did not have means to pay for it. Either way, it felt a little like standing in line at a soup kitchen.
I waited for 40 minutes at the power company for them to tell me that they had not received my "letter of reference". I had to call the power company in Colorado again, they told me they had the wrong fax machine number (yeah, right, just admit it--grandma died on the job at the fax machine...), and that it would be another 5 days to get the fax sent up.
Start-to-finish--it took me 6 phone calls, 3 trips to the power company, and 15 days total elapsed time, to get my power hooked up. Yay for modern technology!!!

Energy efficient light bulbs are on--pissed off blonde girl is home! Woot!

BUT WAIT!!! Don't forget about the gas company!

As if I hadn't had enough fun with the first utility company, I also had to get the gas hooked up to the house. I called the gas company, and they said, "We're going to need you to come in so we can get your customer profile started. Then we need you to bring in a signed copy of your lease, because if you don't, you will be responsible for the outstanding balance at this address.

Come again, say what?

Yes, the people who lived in my house before me BAILED on, not only their final gas bill, but I learned that they moved out in the middle of the night after not paying rent on the residence, and nobody had ever heard from them again. Hmmm. That sucks. However, how is this my problem?

So off to the gas company I went. There was a tiny little area in front of the girl at the front desk where we all had to wait. A line was in a giant, narrow little "U" shape, all the way to the door. I shook my head, and took my place in line.

While awaiting my turn at the cashier, a gentleman from "across the pond" started to talk to me. He was going off about how Alaska sucks, and what crap the gas company is, but he was popping off in a European accent using old English terminology, so it was exponentially cooler, and super easy to listen to.

He said to me, "Can you tell me why you are here?" I explained to him that I had just moved up here from the lower 48 to work. He said, "May I ask--why in the HELL would anyone do that?" Looking at that line, and remembering every fiasco I had endured since the move ensued, I was asking myself the exact same question.

Then he proceeded to pop off about how Alaska is filled with giant herds of people who live in the woods in colonies, they have a horrible drug problem, a high suicide rate, and how 50% of the population are child molesters. I think his estimate was a little on the high end, but nonetheless. By the time he finished popping off, I was super happy I moved here. NOT!

I finally made it up to the counter. It took about 30 minutes to get through the line. One thing I had forgotten about Alaska was how good people smell up here--especially when you are with a bunch of them in a small space (I'm totally lying--it smelled like dog/B.O./Marlboro, and Crown Royal. Showers are optional in these parts.).

So up to the cashier/counter person I went. She said, "Hi." I said, "Hi" back. Then she said, "What can I help you with?" I told her that I was new to the area, and I needed to establish my portfolio with the gas company. She looked at me and said, "Oh, ma'am?...can you step aside for a minute so the person behind you can pay?"

Are you kidding me? Did I not just wait in line for 30 minutes, only to step out of line so that you could help the person behind me first? What in the hell is the matter with this state?!!!!

I finally arranged to have my gas turned on. And as a bonus--I didn't have to pay the bill of the people who enjoyed the gas at my house before me. I did, however, get to pay a $65 unlock fee to restart the gas at the property because they shut it off due to non-payment. Yay me. My enthusiasm is almost too much to contain. I should make a YouTube video of my happy dance celebration.


After dealing with multiple shenanigans with the move, I still had to go to the Alaska DMV. I would've put it off longer if I could've, but my registration in Colorado was going to expire in August, so I had to get it done. The good news? It was $100 cheaper to register my car up here than it was in Colorado. The bad news? In order to get an Alaska state driver's license, you have to take a written driver's test.

I have not taken a driver's test since I was 16. I went over to the area where they had the driver's license test manuals, plucked one up, and took my seat at the DMV to study. Page-by-page I went through the booklet. I was looking very carefully over the driving laws, DUI penalties, etc. The secretary was watching me do this. I noticed that she kept looking at me, like, "Is she SERIOUSLY reading over every flipping page of that stupid manual--WHO DOES THAT?!" Well, yes, DMV Secretary Lady Person--I am reading through every page, because 16 years old was a long time ago, and I'm going to feel pretty stupid if I fail this friggin' test.

She made her move. She actually got up from behind the desk, walked over to me, asked me what I was doing, and after I told her that I was trying to learn everything for the test, she reached out, took my manual from my hands, and then said, "Oh honey--you don't need to know all that! Here is what they ask you."

She went over speed limits in school/residential zones. She told me about their DUI laws, and how long jail time was if you were caught drinking and driving. She told me about DUI fine amounts. Then she said, "And that's it! It should be a piece of cake!"

I set the manual down, because they had just called my number to register my car. As I got up to the counter, the guy told me I did not have the proper documentation (ie SS card, birth certificate, blood sample, donation of my first born child, etc.) to obtain such a document.

I had just driven 30 minutes from Wasilla, to Palmer, to get to the stupid DMV. Then I had to drive all the way back to Wasilla, find all that crap, and then head back over to Palmer to get my car registered.

They remembered me there, so they didn't make me wait in line again. I showed them my stuff, gave them a check, and they registered my car.


I went over to the driver's test area. I was feeling uneasy about the fact that I had not read through the manual, but trusted the secretary person, who had taken the manual out of my hands, and enlightened me with key details, that I had enough information to pass the stupid thing.Then went over to the computer to take my driver's test. Sounds easy enough, right?

You were only allowed to miss 5 questions. I went through each one. I read them. Re-read them. There were some questions that were worded so ridiculously that I couldn't even figure out what the question was asking. I was starting to panic. I had actually missed 4 questions. I was stunned. I was also cursing the lady who took my manual out of my hands and said, "Oh honey! don't need that old thing!" Ugh.

The last question on the test was it. I had one more frickin' question I had to answer in order to be a legal driver in the State of Alaska. It was a question that said, "What does this sign mean?"

Oh shit. For reals, oh shit. What DOES that sign mean????

I went over it in my head multiple times. I knew it wasn't one I saw often, but I had seen it before. I couldn't remember where I saw it. It was like one of those horrible moments where you have something in your brain, but you can't make that final connection to put it all together--you know...the kind you lose sleep over, and then wake up at 3:00 a.m. screaming, "NOW I REMEMBER WHERE I'VE SEEN THAT!!!!"

None of the answers rang any bells. It was annoying the crap out of me, and to boot, I was sweating, and starting to panic because I knew this was the final question on the stupid test, and it was going to either make me, or break me.

I answered it. I answered it WRONG.

Let's take a brief moment to review my life.

I have two degrees in science. I had a 3.5 GPA. I've taken chemistry. Physics. Calculus. I am a nurse in a specialty area. I am certified in telemetry. I am certified in Advance Cardiovascular Life Support. I am certified in Neonatal Resuscitation. I am certified in fetal monitoring. However, I failed the effing driver's test in the State of Alaska. Can I get a, "WTF!"? **HOLLA**

After wasting my day driving back and forth through the greater Palmer/Wasilla area, and humiliated/humbled by failing the first test I've failed in I don't know how many years, I went out to my car, said multiple sentences that included the F-bomb, and grabbed my stupid driver's manual.

I was trying to figure out what went wrong. I was pissed that the secretary took my manual out of my hands, and buttered me up with her crap about how I only had to know garbage about DUIs and speed limits. And then there it was on Page 41...

First of all--let me just say that the fact that they dedicated an entire page to this, likely meant that you would see it popping up on a test at some point--assuming the secretary didn't take your manual out of your hands, and not tell you about it. It also doesn't help that I live in the middle of Alaskan farming country, and this type of sign will likely pop up when a tractor cuts me off on the highway at some point.


I used to live in Pennsylvania, and when I would visit Amish country, this is what the buggies looked like going down the road...

In a nutshell--this move has not been easy. I know that some of you have had to endure my relentless gripes on Facebook, but now maybe you have a better idea of where they were coming from. All of the above was taking place while I was simultaneously going through orientation at a new hospital. Stressful?...I'm lucky I have any hair left.

And I know you are dying to know whether or not I took my driver's license test again. The answer is NO. It doesn't need to be done right away, and the important thing was to get my car registered up here--which I was able to do. Hence my super cool license plates.

I think I'll take a little time off before I go for Round 2 at the DMV.


(and just be glad I spared you the story of how long it took to get my internet connected, and how a guy named Jim almost fell off my roof to get the job done. You're welcome. It's also why I haven't blogged in a long time. And please don't ask my why the font changed multiple times throughout this blog--ok,'s because my internet went down, so I typed part of it up in Microsoft word. I'm too lazy to correct that detail so it all "matches".)





Monday, August 5, 2013

Arctic Barbie Girl Learns How To Shoot A .45 In Alaska!

So, I received a call from my friend as I was seated in the pedicure chair today at Alaska Nails Salon. 
I was told we were going "shooting". Since I've been in Alaska for a little over three weeks, I figured I was probably overdue for my first "shooting adventure". Most people get up here and head to the target range behind Anchorage International Airport because they've had to go a few flight hours without their guns, and need to shoot something immediately (kidding--there isn't really a shooting range by the airport...or is there?).
This was my first attempt at shooting a 45 that had laser guided sight. I actually nailed my target, but it had a little "kick" to it. Not bad for a girl who had only ever shot a gun with water in it, or one that had suction cup darts.
I think I can talk turkey with the locals now.

Monday, July 29, 2013

Puttin' On My Big Girl Pants!!!!...Or Bikini Bottoms--Swimming in Finger Lakes, Palmer, Alaska!!!!

It took a little convincing, but I finally jumped in the Alaskan waters in my bikini. I had ridden on a "tube" that the boat pulled in the past, but it's a little different when only your lower legs and toes are in the water. This will qualify as my Alaskan baptism--although, I didn't stick my face in because I didn't have waterproof mascara on and didn't want to look like a raccoon! ;)

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

And Thank YOU For Flying The Friendly Skies...

As a child, I used to love going to the airport to "people watch". Now that I am an adult, little has changed. Some of the most interesting people, situations, and dynamics can be observed there. I even sometimes wonder how I look to the other "people watchers". I'm sure it's entertaining from time-to-time--especially when I'm hauling two giant pink suitcases around in 4" stilettos...
Today's flight was no exception. I sat there on the bus to the airport that was enroute from the rental car drop-off. The couple to my right were headed back to Europe on British Airways. Not only did they look European, but they also PACKED European. Compared to my two, 50-lb pink suitcases that I had in tow, these two knew how to "pack lightly". All my friends who go to Europe say that "packing lightly" is a must. I've never been there, so I can pack as much crap as I want, and still plead "ignorant American".
I could only imagine what those European peeps were thinking about me at that moment (besides, "Dang! Somebody needs to teach that American weirdo how to pack correctly!"). I wasn't wondering this because I am totally self-absorbed, and think that everyone gives a rat's behind about me. However, when I boarded the bus, I was fine/composed/looked like most passengers. Then I received a phone call from my friend, and I had just happened to say goodbye to my family (I am moving to Anchorage, Alaska for work), and suddenly, my eyes welled up with tears, and I looked like the world had ended (cuz it felt like it had). I went from a normal person, to a hot mess in about 30 seconds. They were probably like, "Oh for sobbing out loud, girl!...pull yourself together!".
Then came standing in line at airport security. I got behind a Boy Scout troop from Minnesota who looked like they had just spent a week of survival training in the wild back country of Colorado with Bear Grylls. They probably ate baby robins' eggs for breakfast. Anyway, this wouldn't have been a big deal, except for the fact that they make you remove your shoes to go through the security line, and they all had super dirty/smelly feet from slopping through goodness knows what in their Keen sandals. I was behind them wearing flip flops. That meant that my feet had to go "commando" (naked) through a bunch of Boy Scout filth and stank. if not grossed out enough by putting my cute, pedicured toes through teenage Boy Scout tree sap, and elk pee, I got to have my turn at being photographically date-raped again by TSA and their full-body scanner machine thingy. Every time I stand in that Plexiglas tube with my legs spread apart, and my arms up in the air, I feel like I've just committed a felony--only I have nothing to show for it (except for my naked body to someone in a cheap black sweater vest and a blue collared shirt). I wonder if when TSA hires someone to watch all those scans if they have to have "CREEPER" and "PERV" on their list of expertise on their resume?
Then it was off to the plane. All my life I will never understand why they board from the front of the plane, to the back of the plane. I mean, I get that the first-class people are like seriously cooler than most of us. They need to get on there first so that they can have first shot at sniffing every other passenger's genitalia as they walk by to board the rest of the plane, right? That's why they pay the big bucks, folks!!!
Seriously though--maybe there is a method to this "front-to-back" boarding madness, but it just seems a little...well...stupid to me. And I am always the unlucky person who ends up in the final boarding section, and I have to wait for everyone and their grandmother in the front, and middle of the plane to get situated so I can finally get all the way to the back of the aircraft. I usually tote my North Face backpack, and my laptop with me, and I PELT everyone in the head with it on the way back to my seat in the "Back 40" of the airplane.
Finally, I arrived at my seat. Laptop tucked in the overhead bin, about three rows up. Backpack shoved under the seat in front of me. Chair and tray table in the upright position. Seat belt tightly fastened, and blonde girl committed to location for, what the pilot quoted as, "5 hours, 1 minute, and
37 seconds" until touchdown in Anchorage, Alaska.
Like any normal (normal?) person, I did a quick survey of my surroundings. I wanted to see what the next 5 hours, 1 minute, and 37 seconds of my life were going to look like after taxi and takeoff. I triangulated the "BABY ZONE"--the zone that had lap children who were most likely to scream/freak out on take-off and landing due to pressure in their ears building up that they couldn't release. I also anticipated their intermittent screams of boredom from being confined to a chair that was small enough to only accommodate an Oompa Loompa for 5 hours, 1 minute, and 37 seconds--not to mention the fact that they had to share that seat with their parent the whole time.
I had an aisle seat. The guy sitting to my left looked like he was gearing up for an Alaskan adventure of a lifetime in his shorts that unzipped at the knees, and his Teva sandals. He had the scruff beard, and Gore-Tex hat going on, too.
The couple seated next to me were Russian. I don't know if they lived in Alaska (because there is a large Russian population there), or if they were planning on de-planing in Anchorage to take Sarah Palin's short trek by foot across the non-existent Bering Sea land bridge to Russia that she claims she can see from her house in Wasilla, Alaska.
The people across the aisle, to my left, and in front of me were already swiping their credit cards like crack babies on the seat back TVs. One person couldn't figure out how to shut the TV off, so she stuck one of the barf bags across the screen, and into the little slits on each side of it.
Then there was the guy behind me. He had a "snorting tic" that made him sniff/snort/hock a loog every 2.2 seconds. This was actually fine with me though. Although a bit disturbing, prior to boarding the plane, the guy standing next to me had a "kissing tic", which sounded like he was passionately kissing the air, and super repetitively. I figured dumb luck would probably lead me to having him as my neighbor on the airplane (I have crap for luck when it comes to flight neighbors), so when the snorter/sniffer/loog-hocker guy showed up, it was a welcomed treat.
Mr. Chronic Goober Snot Machine was like being upgraded to first-class from economy seating compared to the pervy Kiss-The-Air guy.
About an hour into the trip, the girl sitting in front of the guy sitting next to me started slamming her back into the seat to try to recline it. She was insistent on getting her seat back to recline--only it was broken, so it wouldn't go back (you know--that whole 1 and 1/4" that the seat back reclines).

This didn't stop her from trying though. Have you ever seen toddlers who slams themselves against  highchairs, or throws themselves on the floor while throwing a fit? That was what she looked like. She couldn't quite accept the fact that the chair was broken, and couldn't recline, so she just kept bashing into it for like 15 minutes--apparently expecting a different result with each body slam. It was kind of like watching a monkey on a trampoline--she would hit the chair, and the chair would hit her back.

Eventually, the flight attendant came by, and she stopped her to troubleshoot the problem. After concluding that the chair was broken, and would not recline, the girl said, "Well, aren't you going to compensate me for this problem?" The flight attendant looked at her with a "Don't Mess With Texas" look in her eye and said, "NO--you will NOT be compensated for that!" I felt like kicking the girl's chair the whole 5 hours, 1 minute, and 37 seconds up to Anchorage, and saying, "There's your compensation, you self-entitled monkey fluffer!" Seriously--who asks that?
It was shortly thereafter that the guy sitting next to me whipped out a banana. Now, I know what some of you pervs are thinking, but it was a legit banana.

I hate bananas. Bananas taint EVERYTHING. If you put banana in ANYTHING, you can only ever taste the banana. Today was no exception, and the air I was breathing in close proximity to the Russian-banana-eater-man smelled like I was breathing in frickin' bananas. I couldn't get away from it. And the fasten seat belt sign was still on, so it was like being trapped in banana jail (hell).

After he finished the stupid banana, that wasn't the end of the snack. Then he pulled out a small white grocery bag--one that looked like he had just scraped up a small pile of dog crap from Paris Hilton's little punt dog at the doggie park. He untied it, and started stuffing his face full of seeds.

He'd put 1 to 2 seeds in his mouth at a time. This wouldn't have been a big deal, except for the fact that he had to crack every seed open with his teeth, and then spit all the shells out into his little puppy poo bag. To make matters worse--then his wife started in on it, too. It was like sitting in a birdcage with a seat belt on, but I was the only bird who wasn't participating in the buffet. Seed shrapnel was flying everywhere. I'm lucky I made it out of there with both my eyeballs, and my vision intact. They did get up to use the restroom though, so it wasn't like we were all sharing the same newspaper in the birdcage (or were we, since we had the common airplane lavatories?).
The girl sitting directly in front of me reclined her seat back. This happens to me on 99.9% of my flights. Call me crazy, but I NEVER recline my seat on an aircraft. Why? Because people who are seat recliners are buttheads, and they encroach upon my tiny little expensive airline seating space, shove my tray table up my nose, and I am entitled to make this judgement since it happens to me 99.9% of the time I am enroute via airplane.
So WHY do I not recline my seat if all the "cool (selfish/butthead) kids" are doing it? Because seat reclining is flipping rude, and I never want to achieve "Butthead Status" like the other 99.9% of the people who sit in front of me. It is a crap way to make the person behind you feel enclosed, and miserable for the flight duration. We're all big kids here! Sit your fuzzy butt up at a 90 degree angle, and don't be a complete frickin' doofus! Reclining your seat back to 91.25 degrees doesn't do that much for you, and it really pisses me off. Also, if you can't recline your seat, don't ask to be compensated when you don't get your complimentary 1 and 1/4" of recline due to mechanical failure of your stupid seat! Just my two cents worth...
So, into the Land of the Midnight Sun (Alaska)!!! Naturally, all the plane weirdos had to pull their window shades for the flight duration. It was like flying with a bunch of arctic-bound vampires. God forbid you open your window shade and see a mountain, or a river, or a glacier, or...CANADA (Eeeeeek!!!)!!!! (**SHIVER**). Who flies to Alaska to see scenery anyway? **SCOFF**OVERRATED**
So there I sat in Seat 31D. I felt like the journey was somewhat of a Jane Goodall experiment on a "naturalistic observation" trek with her chimps in the wild. I sat there and critiqued everyone around me. The guy sitting next to me was journaling, too. I wondered, again, what people must be thinking about me? What do they see? Do they see a crazy blonde chick on the way up to Alaska who is kicking it old school, and writing endlessly via pen and paper? Are they wondering why I'm writing all of this by hand instead of typing it on my computer in this, "The Age of Technology"? And how did this little blip I was writing of random air travel thoughts turn into 7 pages of writing that I am now having to type into my blog 4 days later??

Well, because my laptop was three rows up in the overhead compartment, and I didn't get up to get it during the flight because they constantly warn us about the likelihood of things shifting in the overhead bins during the flight. It would've been just my luck to stand up, open up the bin, and try to take it out while it plummets out, and gives 93-year-old Aunt Millie in seat 29D a concussion. That, and I needed something to do for 5 hours, 1 minute, and 37 seconds that didn't involve swiping a credit card in the seat back TV to entertain myself. Handwriting a blog seemed like a good alternative.

Monday, July 8, 2013

Thy Word...

(BTW...Posted are my favorite all-time links to pertinent songs that touch my heart--I know I'm dating myself, but I LOVE them, and they were the first songs that helped me understand God, and establish a relationship that lasted with Him.)
Those of us who attend church on a regular basis have been told on multiple occasions that when we try to do something productive spiritually, that the adversary will somehow get in the way of us accomplishing that, and try to distract us from our path. This happened to me about 20 minutes ago--when my blog was typed up, ready to go, and then got deleted.
I thought about going to bed. It is 2:00 a.m. after all. But I'm a night shift nurse, so I'll suck it up and re-type this thing. Hopefully it will be as good as the first--but who knows.
I woke up today and remembered all the things I needed to be doing besides attending church. I could've used the extra two hours to prepare for my move to Alaska--but I didn't. I ended up going to church. I've also ended up getting smarter over time. Like when I don't feel like going to church, I realize that is when I really NEED to go to church--and I know that.
Today was no different. I sat there through the sermon, and was absolutely GOBSMACKED about the topic--couldn't have hit closer to home. And that's "gobsmacked", not "godsmacked". Had I been smacked with the bible, I probably would've found another church to attend.
Today we were talking about David. Some of you might know him as "King David". I really didn't know a whole lot about the dude. I had heard of him, but never really researched much pertaining to him in the bible. So why do you care? I don't know--you're the one reading my blog. You could've bailed a while ago.
So why was this so pertinent to my life? Well, the major topic of the sermon today was TIMING. And not our own timing, but GOD'S TIMING. There is a difference. I know this, because I am the classic case of "Ms. Instant Gratification". I like things on my time. I want what I want when I want it. However, it was good to listen to this sermon, even though, unfortunately, I will never be a king (I don't care what my original birth certificate said about the probability).
So, David was this dude that God had a convo with at one point, and God revealed to him that he was to become a king. This was like, way back in the earlier days of David's life. David ended up living in a cave in the desert for YEARS until this prophecy came to fruition. He probably had a lot of time to do some thumb twiddling, eat Top Ramen, and wish he had a Home Depot around to buy an air conditioner.
But David was patient. He trusted in God enough to let the Big Man reveal His plan, and on His time. See, David was actually sought after on numerous occasions by the then  king, who wanted to rip his gizzard out (If you haven't guessed by now, I kind of paraphrase in layman's terms). Anyway, David was faithful, and had numerous chances to "off" the current king, but refrained because of his faith in God's plan.
"Well, Whitney, talking to us about some dude living in a cave, eating Top Ramen, who has spiritual delusions of grandeur about being king someday kind of sounds like a reality TV show--like Honey Boo Boo meets the Kardashians. How does that really translate over to you now?"
Those who know me well, know that I have kicked the idea of moving to Alaska for my career back-and-forth for years. I even went so far as to accept a job up at one of the hospitals in Anchorage, Alaska, in March, and then rescinded my acceptance to take on a local position here in Colorado. I thought everything was fine. I thought everything was "fixed". But it wasn't. And I lost hours. And I worried every night about going to sleep and being able to make my bills on "part-time" pay due to losing hours.
I prayed. I kept getting put on call, and one of those nights, I sat at my computer and applied to a hospital up in Anchorage. But not just ANY hospital--THE hospital I really wanted to work at. I had applied there numerous times before, and never received so much as a rejection letter. This last time--I was their girl. They called me right away, and I even had them all rolling with laughter during my phone job interview--a tremendous feat (that's what you get for asking me why you should hire me!)!!!
I also prayed for God's intentions. I prayed that HIS will be done, and not mine. I prayed that I would not get a job offer if it wasn't meant to be. I prayed for peace in my heart if I did get the offer.
"Whitney, how does this have to do with you (besides your job banter)? Weren't we just talking about King David?"
Indeed, we were. But there are some parallels there. Granted, I'm not living in a cave eating Top Ramen, waiting to take over Kate Middleton's role in the UK, but King David and I were both told the same thing.
Be humble. Have humility. Wait. Work diligently with anticipation, but do not rush things.
Is Alaska my dream?
Is this my final destination?
H-E-double hockey sticks (hell) no.
This is, however, part of an interim plan that God has for my life. Why? I have NO FLIPPING IDEA. I hate the cold. I am going to be away from my kids during the school year for periods of time. How can this be?
But I trust my faith enough to know that I will find out. I trust that there is a reason I am moving 3,000 miles away, and throwing caution to the wind. Ironically, there was a gentleman during the pre-sermon today who did the same thing, and had the same response I had, in that he had no idea why they (he and his wife) were called to move to Colorado.
Trust God. Trust Him with your life. Trust Him with your mind. Trust Him with your heart. Trust Him with your soul.
I saw a sign posted this week on a local church. It said, "Do you feel lonely? Try intimacy with Christ."
Pretty bold, but answers a lot of questions for me as to why I am the way I am. Need a man? No, I've got Jesus, thanks. Far less complicated, and someone I can rely on. There isn't a lot of need for male attention beyond that.
I love my friends, and family. I would encourage you to give every burden up to God. Some might think it's like throwing wishes up to the stars, but try to communicate your heart to God, and give it a chance. I am a stubborn, geologist, geologic timescale, somewhat liberal, human being, but I know that God is very real in my life, and I am thankful for the people who teach me about Him so I can better direct myself (cuz I suck at reading/understanding the bible).
I will miss my church family. I had the opportunity here to get in touch with a church that was a very "new" church. I've seen it grow, blossom, and turn into something amazing. It breaks my heart to leave it.
Pastor Pat, Lauren, Pastor Ben, Sarah, Jovan, Trier, Amber...This one's for you (below). See you soon.