Sunday is the World Cup Final. It is the day Spain and the Netherlands fight for the right to be crowned the newest world champions. In 18 cups, there have been only 7 winners (I'm lumping Germany and West Germany together), and while the Netherlands were runners-up in '74 and '78, they have never won. Spain has never advanced past the quarter-finals, so it's a big moment for both Clockwork Oranje and La Furia Roja.
I am emotionally attached to both teams, especially since spending time in both countries, but I tip my heart to Spain. In all honesty, though, this is a dream final for me. I can't be unhappy. Pulpo Paul is predicting a win for Spain, but his rival, a "psychic parakeet" in Singapore, says it will be Holland. Does the wrong one get eaten? Stay tuned...
It has been a month full of early mornings and lots of beer. I found a soccer pub to haunt in Corvallis, at least two in Portland, and if I couldn't make it to either, I streamed the games in class. Don't judge me... some things are more important than (the mechanisms of) breathing.
I totally want a vuvuzela for my birthday.
Sunday is also the six-month marker of my adventures in nursing school. 13 months to go.
Med/surg clinicals ended (boo) but I'm happy to note that my med/surg 2 rotation in the fall will be on the same unit. I'm in the middle of pysch clinicals and hate them. I have evening shift clinicals and it is terribly boring and crazy people scare me anyway.
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that's what she said.