So during my first week as a music therapist in Idaho, most of my sessions were held together with the previous music therapist who was transitioning the client on to me. Most of these initial sessions went pretty well, but one...
Well, as a cute little four year old comes up to me to start strumming my guitar, I realize that the high e string is badly out of tune. In a moment of thoughtlessness, I started to tune my guitar while the kid was right in front of me. And, of course, the string snaps and slaps him on the hand.
For a moment he just stared at me with wide eyes. Then he ran sobbing to his mom and was inconsolable for the next five minutes. I about wanted to climb into a hole and die.
Anyway, after that I went to get new strings for my guitar. Only the one was broken, but it'd been long enough since I'd changed strings that I felt like it was overdue.
I found the nearest music store I knew of, and just had a feeling as I stepped inside that I would be seeing this building a lot.
After getting a set of the most durable guitar strings they had, I went home to change my e string before the next appointment that evening. Except, as I was putting in the new e string, it snapped.
I didn't have time to get a replacement string before I had to leave again, so I attended the next session guitar-less before going back to that Music store to buy all the high e strings they had. Luckily, no more strings broke over the course of restringing my guitar that night.
There was a point, however, as I drove home from the music store where I thought to myself, "OK, this is annoying, Jen, but you're still having a good day. One annoying thing is not enough to make your day a bad day."
My check engine light then came on, and I realized that I'd managed to break two of my nails.
This is a little sooner than I expected to prove myself right.
I just innocently attempted to microwave some soup. In what I thought was a conscientious gesture, I covered my bowl with the plastic microwave cover in order to keep the soup from everywhere.
This is what I found when I opened the microwave.
Eventually, I was able to pry the bowl off with a spoon. I tried to pop the cover back into shape, but I think I might owe my roommate a new microwave cover. Also, from now on I'm using paper towels instead.
I haven't been too successful at keeping this blog updated in the past, but third time's the charm, right?
Well, here's the abbreviated update. I spent the last school year working as a music therapy intern at Hartvigsen School in Taylorsville, Utah. It was absolutely amazing, and heartbreaking to leave. But I kind of had to leave because the internship was unpaid. And, to quote "Stressed Out" by Twenty One Pilots, "Wake up, you've got to make money."
So. Anyway, I've been hired to work as a music therapist for a company up in Boise, Idaho. And your enjoyment of the following writing will increase by at least 15% if you play this song in the background:
Moving to Idaho is the reason I've decided to give this blog another shot. You see, back when I first moved to Logan as a college freshman, I combatted homesickness and stress by sending home a newsletter. Nothing formal, it was called "The Word from Logan" and it was just a way to tell my immediate family about some of the weird and crazy stuff that happens to you when you start life in a new place. Unexpectedly, however, I picked up something of a following.
Then on my mission I sent letters home almost every week about life on my mission, and they also spread farther than I had expected among relatives and acquaintances. And, again, the letters helped me process what was going on and find the humor and adventure in events that were otherwise kind of stressful.
Well, now I'm moving to a new city, in a new state, where I currently barely know anyone. I hope I've outgrown the worst of homesickness by now, but there will definitely be stressful things. There will also be opportunities to have adventures, and I kind of like those.
So this is my goal for my first year of living in Boise. Every week, have some kind of crazy adventure. Whether that's something I find (a trip to the zoo or something, per say) or something that finds me. And every week I want to write about that adventure in this blog.
I don't expect to be talking much about my job, although that will be an adventure in and of itself. Ethically, morally, professionally, and legally, I have an obligation to protect the privacy of my clients. So any stories about my work as a music therapist will have to be carefully filtered of any identifying information. Some might make it in, though. But I want to focus this blog more on what I do when I'm not at work, as I try to make myself a life in Idaho.
Now, the first adventure was just moving here. If you like the tv show House Hunters (my mom watches it all the time) then this post is for you.
After I got the job offer, I started looking for apartments in the area. Rather to my dismay, most of the listings I found online were rather severely out of my budget. See, I'm starting out working part time and working my way up to full time, and this is after a year of not getting paid at all, so my budget is pretty tight.
I had more luck contacting people through Facebook and through the LDS Institute at Boise State University, and came up with a few people who were looking to re-let or rent or get a roommate or whatever. I also got talking with another couple of girls who were moving to Boise at the same time as I was and talked about just finding a place together. So, armed with a long list of everything I could find that might be within budget for myself or for myself and two strangers, I made a trip to Boise with my mom to hit the streets.
The first place I tried ended up being one of those high-end student housing places--you know the type, that is always throwing parties and has a hot tub and all kinds of fancy stuff but the rooms are all tiny? There was some drama in Logan while I was there about one that didn't manage to finish construction until almost a year after the move in date students had paid for. It was a big ugly mess that I felt glad not to be involved with, and it left a bad taste in my mouth in regards to such apartments.
But the girl who was selling her lease gave us a tour and it did seem like a very nice place. Also, one of the other bedrooms in her unit was available, which seemed good to know.
Then began several excruciating hours of trying to find an apartment complex with room for three girls. Most of the places I tried had a waiting list of two to five years--one even had a waiting list of ten years! Others were these government housing places where you had to prove you met a certain poverty level before your application was looked at by some board in three months or so. All in all, not encouraging to someone who was hoping to move in a month later.
One of my facebook contacts went better, though--a girl with a two-room apartment who was looking for a roommate. I kind of fell in love with the apartment right away; I'm a sucker for weird shaped spaces and this was an apartment full of triangles and rhombuses where other builders would have used squares. It also had a nice balcony where I could've kept a little garden, and a huge kitchen.
After this I met up with one of the two girls also moving to Boise to check out the places she had found. They both ended up being in Meridian, a town Northwest of Boise. We met at the first, which ended up being a huge complex with very fancy expensive apartments--and other than the master bedroom, very tiny rooms with tiny closets. And this place, in what I suppose was a refreshing change from everywhere else I'd gone, insisted on you turning in pay stubs with your application so they could make sure you were wealthy enough to afford the rent.
The next place we tried was a townhome, and it was the strangest property tour I've ever been on. In order to get in, you would fill out a form on a website. They would then text you the combination for a hidden lockbox which held the key to the front door. The house itself was nice, though not cleaned very well--you don't want to know what I found in the fridge--and had kind of a bizarre mix of very nice features with confusing features. Like, a jack and jill bathroom and weird closet sizes. Also, one of the mirrors was a smart mirror, which I've never seen in person before. The peephole was secretly a video camera so you could keep tabs on who showed up on your doorstep. Also, somebody who'd been there earlier had left behind a valedictorian pin on the counter. (I gave into impulse and took it home with me. But if you are reading this and happen to be a valedictorian who lost their pin somewhere in Meridian, Idaho, let me know and I'll give it back)
After all that, I was exhausted and feeling kind of burned out. I had one more appointment before we had to leave the next day, but, on a hunch, we decided to drive by it on our way back to the hotel. It ended up being a tiny mother-in-law suite attached to a falling-apart house in a really sketchy neighborhood. I looked at my notes at what the price of rent had been--higher than anything else I'd seen that day--then I called the owner and politely canceled the showing.
That night, I looked back at my options and decided I really only had two--the luxury student place and the weird angles place. (Huh, describing it that way makes it sound like the apartment in Dreams in the Witch House, by HP Lovecraft). The places in Meridian were nice but I felt like the commute would be a pain--my job is going to take me all over the valley but I'll mostly be based in Boise. Nowhere else had really been a good option.
I made my apologies to the two girls also moving to Boise and backed out of looking for a place with them. Not because of anything wrong with them, understand, I just felt like continuing to search for a place long distance would only result in finding more of the same of what I'd been finding. And I really wanted to just settle on somewhere and call it good. After thinking a lot about it, I decided to go with the Weird Angles Place. The rent was great, I loved the apartment, my future roommate seemed nice, and the quiet out of the way apartment just seemed like a good fit for my personality. So I called that girl back and worked out the details, then let everyone else know I'd found a place. And everything was good.
Until we were in the process of checking out of the hotel the next morning, when I get an email from my would-be landlady.
"You are not allowed to move into this apartment. Ask ____ for more information."
Somewhat distressed, I contacted the girl who lived in the apartment, but she was at work and wasn't able to reply. It ended up being a really looooong five hour drive back to Utah with something like that hanging over my head.
Well, it turns out that my would-be roommate didn't read the fine print on her lease agreement which said that she wasn't allowed to get a roommate. She was very apologetic, and it was probably a rude awakening for her as well. But that still left me apartmentless.
So I got over my prejudices and bought the lease off the girl in the luxury student housing.
Now, actually moving in was its own challenge. The office of this apartment (which is going to remain unnamed) has surprisingly strict rules about, well, everything, and I was in Boise for almost twenty-four hours before I was allowed to check in. But, here I am. I'm moved in (if not anywhere near entirely unpacked yet) and my furniture just barely fits my bedroom. So far my roommates are all pretty nice.
Oh, and remember how there was an empty room? Well, one of the two other girls who were moving to Boise got that room, and the other one is buying a lease for another room in the unit later this summer, so we're actually going to be roommates after all.
Anyway, so now I'm in Boise. It has lots of pretty trees. It also has lots of one-way streets that I keep trying to turn the wrong way onto. I live pretty close to downtown, so there's a lot to do, though much of that will have to wait until I get my paycheck because I am currently a few steps away from broke. I need cheap adventures for the first few weeks, I guess.
So that's life just now. If you happen to know of things in Boise that I should try (especially inexpensive ones), or if you have any questions, feel free to comment. Hopefully, I'll soon have some stories that are a little more exciting than describing lots of apartments I decided not to rent. I'm optimistic about it though. I do have a way of stumbling into weird situations...
The background of the story goes thus: My sister and brother in law had a party at their place, which I attended. While there, someone noticed their unusual food storage item on display on a shelf--a can of bread. No, really. Raisin bread, even. Just in case you have a bread emergency?
I think Steph said they got it in a White Elephant gift exchange.
Well, someone dared my brother-in-law to open it, and the rest is best shared in pictures.
We investigated the information on the label, and discovered that this is only one of many logical preparedness choices for the discerning survivalist made by this company--well, OK, they also have beans in a jar and that's about it, but apparently the ingredients are all natural!
My brother-in-law said that it was better with milk.Tasted like raisin bran that way.
So, here's a tale of weirdness with only myself to blame.
This last January, there was an opening social at the Logan LDS Institute, and I was thinking of attending--mainly because there would be refreshments, and I didn't feel like cooking.
Well, someone came around passing out flyers which claimed that the event was "Space Jam" themed, and that we should wear "Space Jam" costumes.
I have a weakness. I can't resist an opportunity to dress up in a weird costume.
So I decided to dress up. The first problem---what the heck is a space jam?
I wasn't sure, but it sounded like some 80s futuristic kid's show--something like Captain Planet, maybe, or Galaxy Rangers--so I decided to go with my best impression of a 1980's idea of the future. So I dressed up in bright, ridiculous neon colors, with a few 80s twists (side pony tails, baggy shirt, etc), including some really intense makeup. To complete the ensemble, I carried a little Sonic Screwdriver my brother sent me as a Christmas present.
Then I went off to the Institute.
I showed up a bit early (ie, on time rather than fashionably late), and something seemed off. No one else was dressed up, as far as I could tell, and no one was commenting on my awesome costume. Though there was a "painting planets" activity, and a photobooth. I went straight to the photobooth of course, watching the group ahead of me get a photo of themselves jumping in front of a green screen--apparently a background would be put ahead of them, and what with the jumping I assumed it would be some sort of outer space background where they would appear to be floating in low gravity. Excited, I stepped up and posed for the camera.
It was only after I stepped out to make room for the next group that I heard the photographer explain that Michael Jordan would be edited into the photos.
Michael Jordan?
I walked around some more, with a sickening feeling. No one was dressed up, no one at all. Then I found a room with a sign reading "Showings of Space Jam".
So, Space Jam--it isn't a 1980's kids show.
It's a 90's movie in which Michael Jordan plays basketball with the Looney Toons.
So that "awesome costume"? Was actually just me looking like a weirdo.
Feeling mortified, I decided to flee before I was seen by anybody I knew.
I was not entirely successful--as I dashed through the hall, I heard someone say, "Hi Jenna!" But I didn't stop to see who. Instead, I ducked under the "don't go back here" ropes that cordoned off most of the building and made my escape through a back door.
And I thought it would end there.
Until, on Sunday, my Sister is flipping through facebook when she says,
"Hey, Jen, you should see this."
The Institute Facebook page had put up photos from the event, and the top photo to show up on the page was this one:
So... yeah. That happened.
So then I got a haircut so no one would recognize me two days later.
It took me a while to find a job this semester. Right now I'm happily employed as a high school math tutor (something which I would have found hard to believe when I was actually in high school), but at the start of the semester I was turning in applications without success, and had way too much time on my hands and not quite enough savings to survive the semester.
So then I decided to try that donating plasma thing that all the other college students are doing.
Now, I've donated blood to the American Red Cross numerous times (despite my feelings about needles. You see, while many people have irrational fears, I only have rational fears of things that can actually hurt you, like needles, heights, fiber pills, and street performers who pretend to be statues.), so I figured donating plasma would be a pretty easy way to make a buck. The pre-screening went well enough--apparently I had perfect iron levels, perfect blood pressure, ect--except for one tiny concern. My veins are really hard to find.
The chick who was running the tests poked my arms with her fingers until she found a vein on my left arm that she decided was "good enough", and told me to have them do that arm.
So (after about two hours of paperwork, and twiddling my thumbs in a waiting room with a showing of Kangeroo Jack, which may now be one of my least favorite films in the world), they let me in and put me in a chair--and I will say this, whatever else you say about the plasma donation center, those chairs you sit in while they collect the plasma are COMFY. I could take a nap in one, easy--and started looking for my vein. Which took them a few minutes, and they kept complaining--"who screened you? Who let you in with these veins?" But, finally they found it and got me hooked up.
And everything went fine--for about ten minutes, when suddenly my arm began to hurt. A lot.
I once (and this is once out of about 20 blood donations, mind you, so it's hardly a common experience) had a needle slip out of my vein while I was donating blood, and this felt about the same--just this sharp pain pulsing through my forearm--so I called over one of the phlebotomists to take a look. Well, she couldn't figure it out, so she asked someone else to come look, who asked another guy to come look--soon I'm a little celebrity.
Apparently the vein they had found was too narrow, and had sort of clogged up from too much blood going through it at once. As a result, the needle was sticking out weird and a lot of blood was pooling at the site. They pulled the needle out, then asked me if I wanted to just go home or have them try my other arm.
I figured that if I was going to this much trouble, I freaking wanted my $25, so I asked them to try the other arm.
Well, upon examining my other arm, they found two veins--one that was shallow but thin, and one that was really deep that they weren't sure how thick it was. One of the more experienced phlebotomists recommended they go with the shallow vein, so they stuck the needle in there--and missed. This is followed by five minutes of rooting around, trying to find the vein--and let me tell you, having someone look for your vein with a needle is no fun at all.
They were about ready to give up and just send me home, when a passing staff member announces--"Wait! I can do this!" Apparently she also has hard to find veins, giving her sympathy for my plight. So she takes the needle, and goes for the deep vein.
And, well, third time's the charm, and she manages to get everything working and my blood plasma pumping again.
The rest of my visit was uneventful, except for one point where the machine stopped pumping for ten seconds and I got a ring of people staring at my elbow again, but in the end I made the full donation and got paid. And then had a nasty collection of bruises for my trouble.
It wasn't the worst thing I've had to do for money (comparison: working retail), but afterwards I was exhausted and in pain. Still, I was pretty much broke so I decided to go back and give a second donation. (not to mention, they need two donations to actually use your plasma). Well, the same thing happened! Missed the vein, talked about sending me home, the same employee stepped in and got it working.
After all that--I decided not to go back. I still intend to donate blood, and donating plasma is still an honorable way to make money. But for taking less from my body than a whole blood donation, donating plasma takes twice as long and leaves me four times as exhausted afterward, so I came out of there saying--"I need a better job."
Well, I'm going to dust this off and give it another try, we'll see how it goes.
So a bit of an update is in order:
I'm still in my 20-somethings, and I'm still a music therapy student--but only for another month. Then in fall I will reach the illustrious position of Music Therapy Intern, and if I can survive a year of that and the board exam I'll be an honest-to-goodness professional Board Certified Music Therapist. For the duration of April, however, I've got a job tutoring high school math, a scary test to prepare for, and a few Cache Valley based adventures to get into.
I've been back from my mission for over a year now, and by now that feels normal. I still miss it of course, and have dreams now and then about going back, but for the most part I'm happy where I am and looking forward to finally finishing college and moving on to the next thing. I still prefer hot weather to cold, speak Spanish when I'm talking to myself, put chile powder on EVERYTHING, and try to park places where I won't have to back up--but I'm not scared of pants anymore, so I think that's pretty good progress.
So I'm a music therapist (in training), an RM, a curious soul, and an occasional forayer (is that a word?) into the world of DIY crafts. My first love and passion, however, is writing--less nonfiction (like this blog is attempting to be) and more fantasy/sci-fi/horror. I actually am waiting to hear back on a short story submission to Stone Skin Press to their Swords vs Cthulhu Anthology--fingers crossed, the last update is that they're up to their eyebrows in submissions but they intend to contact everyone by the end of the month. I know I'm competing against a lot of more established writers, so my chances of getting in aren't too good--this would be my first publication outside of student literary magazines- -but if nothing else I learned a lot and had fun writing the story, so that's something.
ANYWAY.
So--this blog. Don't want to make too many promises because leaving it untouched for over a year is a pretty bad precedent. But, for now, my intention is to turn this into a bit of a catchall for whatever is going on in my life, focusing on the weird and creative. We'll see how it goes. And, if you are actually reading this--(gasp!), do feel free to drop in a line if there's something you particularly want to see (or don't want to see---"Please. No more photos of you in weird costume makeup, I'm begging you")
