I'm worth more than a murderer.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of a documentary I watched in my Institutional Oppression policy class today. The video focused on a murder victim and her murderer, who was also accused of killing two other people. The victim, Risa, was sexually abused when she was young. Her mother had several children and neglected them all. Eventually, the state removed the children from the house and placed them in foster care. Risa became involved with drugs at a young age but managed to graduate from high school with a 3.5. Once she "aged out" of the foster care system, Risa moved into her own place, enrolled in college, and worked to support herself.

As it turns out, the murderer grew up in a similarly harsh environment. He was molested as a young boy. His mother, an alcoholic, abused and neglected him. Unlike Risa, the murderer was not removed from his hectic home. Instead, he turned to gangs to form a new family.

It seems to me that the filmmakers' goal was to raise questions about the morality of the death penalty. In my opinion, this story is an unfortunate example of how the social welfare system fails children and families. This is an argument for prevention and intervention, not for abolishing the death penalty.

Alright, alright, I'm getting to the point. During the class discussion, someone expressed the view that we can't judge that murderer's worth and that to do so would mean that we feel we're better than him.

While I understand that some people genuinely feel that way, I must respond by saying, "Speak for yourself. I am worth more than a murderer."

Speaking of school, I dreamt last night that someone in my class had a 4.005 GPA. Notice the two zeroes? I was pretty upset that they'd beat me by five thousandths of a point and puzzled that it was even possible to get anything higher than a 4.0 in college.

Guacamole - Finger Lickin' Good

My boyfriend and I made delicious guacamole on Super Bowl Sunday. While chopping up the final ingredient--cilantro--I managed to nick my finger with the knife. Okay, I more than nicked it. I took out a good chunk of flesh. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt. Tommy finished chopping up the cilantro as I went to the bathroom for some self-administered first aid. I rinsed my finger with Bactine and hydrogen peroxide, then wrapped it tightly with some leftover sterile gauze from my wisdom teeth extraction. I decided that I would go to urgent care if the bleeding continued. Thankfully, no blood seeped through the gauze at all and I was able to focus on finishing my half of the seven avocado guacamole.

Around halftime I decided to apply some Neosporin to the cut. I went to the bathroom to unwrap the gauze. The gauze was stuck to the wound! I tried once to gently pry the gauze off my finger but the pain--which was all but absent when the knife sliced through me--now screamed at me to stop. I ran some warm water over my finger in an attempt to soften the congealed blood. The gauze didn't budge. Tommy suggested that I let my finger soak longer. He brought me a Solo cup filled with warm water and we continued watching the game. Every so often I would wiggle my finger in the water to see if the gauze had loosened, and every so often Tommy would exchange the cooled contents of the cup for warm water. This continued for at least an hour. (Baby, correct me if I'm exaggerating.)

I finally accepted the fact that I needed to step up my offense. Using a Q-Tip, I applied triple antibiotic ointment all over and around the gauze. On its own, the lubrication didn't work. Over the next half hour I used Q-Tips to slowly and carefully pry the edges of gauze off of my mutilated finger. (Seriously, even the thought of experiencing pain makes my chest tighten with anxiety.) I had saturated several Q-Tips with blood by the time I finally got that damn gauze off.

As soon as my finger was free from its fabric confines I went to the bathroom to rinse it off. Because of all the irritation from teasing off the gauze, it had started to bleed again. Before I applied Neosporin to my big boo-boo and redressed it, I showed the finger to my boyfriend with a frown. He was speechless for several seconds and his face contorted with concern. He hadn't realized how much flesh I'd carelessly lopped off! The first thing he said was that we needed to go to the hospital. My sweetheart helped me get ready, making sure nothing touched my battle-wounded finger. There are several hospitals near us, but the only one I know how to get to is Stony Brook University Hospital...because I take classes two floors below the hospital's cafeteria. It makes sense, right?

To make a long story short, we went to the emergency room and after a few hours they sent me home with a tetanus shot and "special" non-stick gauze. I bet that Lamborghini-grade gauze will cost my insurance company a few hundred dollars. Interestingly, one of the doctors told me that I might've severed a nerve in my finger, which would explain why I felt no pain when I cut it. It did hurt when I was peeling the gauze off and I can feel sensation now, so who knows? They also said it was fortunate that my nail was undamaged because that would've required a completely different treatment plan. Later, Tommy told me that they said they would've had to remove the nail in that case! I somehow missed that part. It's a good thing I didn't hear that because I would've escaped from that torture chamber had I known fingernail removal was even a remote possibility! I can guarantee that I would have flipped out. There's no way I would have let them rip my nail off. (Can you sense the passion and ferocity* in my reaction?)

All's well that ends well, right? (I love you, Ma Ingalls. [Little House on the Prairie reference. Ignore it if you must.]) By the way, we never found that lost chunk of flesh. Tommy said he looked through the cilantro and it wasn't there. I don't know. I'm convinced we ate it. That guacamole was damn good, though.

*Ferocity is a fantastic word and I didn't have to use a thesaurus to find it.

"It was awesome!"

Have you ever known someone who has had abdominal surgery? This includes C-sections too--any surgery that requires cutting through the abdominal muscles. If so, you may have heard them say during recovery that they never realized how often they use their abs just doing everyday tasks. Bear with me as I get to the point. Exactly a week ago I had all four of my impacted wisdom teeth removed. I never realized how often I hit myself in the face doing everyday tasks until last Wednesday! A few hours after the procedure, I lay down in bed, drowsy from the pain medication. I pulled the flat sheet and blanket over me and closed my eyes. My eyelids must be very thin because the room was too bright for me, even with the blinds closed. I tried to pull the covers over my head for darkness. When I make the bed I like tucking the top sheet and the blanket under the foot of the mattress. Well, I guess I did an exceptional job that morning because the covers wouldn't budge past my chest. Determined, I yanked that damn blanket towards the headboard with brute force! I lost my grip and my hand went flying. I ended up punching myself in the cheek. Ouch! I warned myself not to do that again.

I didn't learn from my mistake. The same thing happened several times over the next few days, even when the covers weren't stuck! Several times I gently pulled the blanket up but my brain failed to send the STOP signal to my hand. Collision! My jaw stopped my hand. I was getting dressed one day last week. I have no idea how, but in the process of putting my left bra strap over my shoulder, I ended up punching the right side of my jaw. I still don't understand it.

I was awake during the extractions. This was my first dental procedure other than regular cleanings, Zoom teeth whitening, and the filling of a cavity in a baby tooth when I was much younger and even shorter than I am now. I really didn't know what to expect. I'd never had nitrous oxide and I don't remember getting novocaine injections when my cavity was filled. The oral surgeon turned on my laughing gas, gave it a moment to kick in, and then pumped my gums full of novocaine while I squeezed the hand of the female assistant. The injections really didn't hurt but my eyes still teared up for some reason. The oral surgeon and his assistants left me alone for a while to let the novocaine injections take effect. My fingers were tingling from the gas and I felt pretty chipper and calm. I remember looking around the room and reading the various oral health posters on the wall. It struck me that although I felt buzzy, I was still fully coherent. I actually thought to myself, "I could text message right now and make sense. I'm so coherent I could do a spelling bee!" Perhaps that's a sign that I wasn't totally there. What do you think?

During the surgery, the surgeon and his two assistants started talking about Family Guy. I chuckled through my wide open mouth. "Do you watch Family Guy?" the surgeon asked me. (He has a lot of experience asking yes or no questions, I guess.)

"Uhn-hnn," I answered. As soon as they finished up and took all the tools out of my mouth, I started to share a story about Family Guy. "Mah bofenz cuthin..." My mouth and lips were completely numb so I couldn't speak properly. "Nehvoh mahnd. Oo can't unnerstan meh."

The staff assured me that they could understand me, saying something along the lines of "We're fluent in Mumblese."

So I continued, "Mah bofenz cuthin had a behbeh a yeh ago..."

One of the assistants translated. "Your boyfriend's cousin had a baby a year ago?"

"Uhn-hnn. And dohwing her pwegnanceh she cawd deh behbeh Stewie."

"During the pregnancy she called the baby Stewie?" I nodded and they laughed. Stewie is a football-headed, witty, cynical baby on the show, in case you don't watch it.

I walked to the waiting room where my boyfriend Tommy was sitting. I didn't know it at the time, but my mouth was stuffed with gauze so I couldn't close it all the way. I remember thinking to myself, "I can't tell if my lips are closed or not." I was grinning like a maniac. Tommy gave me a gentle kiss and asked how it went. "It wuhz awthum!"