Wednesday, May 14, 2014
#gravitycansuckit
"Seriously," I mumbled to myself while standing on the bathtub looking in the mirror over the sink, "I've got to get a full-length mirror. This is redic."
"Kelly?" Ashley, my sister-in-law, was looking for me. Hopping down from the bathtub, I dressed and headed out of my bedroom to see what was up. I found her sitting at the kitchen table writing in her workout journal. I grabbed a beer from the garage, and sat down with my pint.
"Ash, what's the poop? New workout?" I asked.
Slamming her pen down and crossing her arms she asked, "Do you know how long we've been working out? This is so frustrating. I mean, look at me! How many miles do I have to run to officially hit Scarlet Johansson status?" Ash laughed but I knew she was serious.
I did know how long we'd been working out. Jameson had been "living" in England for 4 months and 2 days while doing his clinicals. So yeah, I was acutely aware of how long I'd been ignoring my depression and killing myself with Shaun T and endless miles on the treadmill.
"You're way too tall for Scarlet. Let's go with 'Stepford' Nicole Kidman - you're almost there. And why are you even complaining? Your bod is rockin'. I'm a cigarette and bathrobe away from becoming Maxine. Mark my words; you'll see me on a Hallmark card by Christmas."
"Oh. My. Word. You are NOT a Maxine. Nice," Ashley laughed me off.
Crossing my legs, I took a long drink of my beer. Calories schmalories.
"Yeah, I was just in the bathroom checking out my bod -"
"Wait. Were you standing on the bathtub?" Ashley accused.
"Totally. I even did the whole balancing on the one side thing so I could turn around. Anyway, I was at the gym this morning and there was literally, lit-er-uh-lee, a gaggle of fit chippies dressed in these hella cute workout shorts. Do you know what they had that I absolutely do not, as confirmed with my bathroom balancing act?"
"If you say no wrinkles I swear I'll smack you," Ash answered. OK, I may have been obsessing about my wrinkles lately. It's hard to live in a college town and not dissect your appearance on the daily.
I finished off my pint and leaned forward, "No, they didn't have the same facial frown damage that I have but not where I was going. What they had that I do not - T&A not impacted by gravity. Seriously. I feel like quoting 'Sixteen Candles'," Ash rolled her eyes. "Perky. They were PERKY for the love of money! Going to LA Fitness is just like living on the island. I'm surrounded by girls who can still go braless. It's totally depressing."
Laughing so hard she was crying, Ashley's comeback was only, "Stop. Seriously."
"Are you listening to me? I have a flat ass and boobs that are touching my knees," Ash was still laughing and leaning over herself. "That might be a slight exaggeration, but it's pretty freaking close. I swear to you I had flashbacks of the beach party where that student told me that I had flabby arms."
I'd been spending hours each week working out, doing mom duties, working countless amounts of overtime and, working out some more. I was dropping sizes but still depressed. 6 months and 2 weeks to go.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Frodo Goes Bananarama
Jameson had successfully passed his COMP, a 4-hour comprehensive multiple choice exam over 2 years of medical school, and his Kaplan Exam, a grueling 8-hour exam that mirrored the types of questions he'd see on the USMLE Step 1. He was officially done with Basic Sciences. At any minute I expected to see Gandalf standing on a dock motioning for Ja to come aboard a white ship with billowing sails while something by Hans Zimmer played in the background. Instead, Grey and I had picked up a sweaty, wrinkled, and still buzzed Jameson from the Fort Myers airport following his final night on the island. Not quite as grand as I'd hoped, but we were back together.
After living separate lives for 2 months, during which Jameson had spent at least 16 hours a day studying sans fam and I'd been working 10 hour days/6days a week while Grey was summer schooling, there was a bit of an adjustment period. The grossest change was in scenery. We'd moved from a postage stamp sized apartment with lizards, enough ants to create our own farm, and no closet to a home that in comparison was palatial. Grey and I were used to it, Jameson was shell-shocked.
"Wife! We have 2 closets AND 2 sinks in our bathroom! Wait. I just said our bathroom. We have our own," Ja was muttering while walking through the house I'd found to rent during the next 2 year phase of medical school. He'd had a similar reaction at the grocery store when we'd spent less $30 on produce and a 12-pack of beer.
All weirdness aside from spending so much time apart, we were back in our own groove. Grey was in school, I was working, and Jameson had just started to officially study for the Step 1. We’d even joined LA Fitness, fondly referred to by Jameson as a ‘real gym’ with ‘working treadmills’ and no reports of neisseria meningitidis (the bacteria that can cause meningitis) from lack of ‘proper cleaning’. America was shaping up to be AB FAB after 2 years on a tiny island.
It was a typically crazy Monday for me. Alarm at 4:30AM, coffee, check e-mail, coffee, catch up on client number one, check e-mail, more coffee. During lunch Jameson and I’d decided to head to the gym. He was working legs and I’d be up on the treadmill. I was almost back to a normal running regimen following my foot break from last November. Almost.
Dropping my Nano in the cup holder on the treadmill, I hit the Start button and noticed that the girl on the treadmill to my right was wearing a cute pink FGCU tank top. I wanted it, if only to wear to the gym. Walking at a measly 2.0, I tapped the shoulder of the girl next to me pulling her out of the conversation she was having with the girl to her right.
“Hi, I was just wondering where you bought that tank. Super cute,” I asked while still snailing it on the treadmill.
“Oh! Thanks,” she answered with a mega-smile that screamed YOUTH (no, not bitter). “I got it at the bookstore, but sometimes you can find them at Publix. Do you want one for your daughter?”
I’m not sure what my face looked like, but it must have screamed murder because the chippie and her bestie both stopped their treadmills and left. Hadn’t I suffered enough with the youngsters at AUC? The comments about my flabby arms, being asked if I was expecting, and assumed to be the same age as a woman as old as my mother. Karma, what did I ever do to you?
After living separate lives for 2 months, during which Jameson had spent at least 16 hours a day studying sans fam and I'd been working 10 hour days/6days a week while Grey was summer schooling, there was a bit of an adjustment period. The grossest change was in scenery. We'd moved from a postage stamp sized apartment with lizards, enough ants to create our own farm, and no closet to a home that in comparison was palatial. Grey and I were used to it, Jameson was shell-shocked.
"Wife! We have 2 closets AND 2 sinks in our bathroom! Wait. I just said our bathroom. We have our own," Ja was muttering while walking through the house I'd found to rent during the next 2 year phase of medical school. He'd had a similar reaction at the grocery store when we'd spent less $30 on produce and a 12-pack of beer.
All weirdness aside from spending so much time apart, we were back in our own groove. Grey was in school, I was working, and Jameson had just started to officially study for the Step 1. We’d even joined LA Fitness, fondly referred to by Jameson as a ‘real gym’ with ‘working treadmills’ and no reports of neisseria meningitidis (the bacteria that can cause meningitis) from lack of ‘proper cleaning’. America was shaping up to be AB FAB after 2 years on a tiny island.
It was a typically crazy Monday for me. Alarm at 4:30AM, coffee, check e-mail, coffee, catch up on client number one, check e-mail, more coffee. During lunch Jameson and I’d decided to head to the gym. He was working legs and I’d be up on the treadmill. I was almost back to a normal running regimen following my foot break from last November. Almost.
Dropping my Nano in the cup holder on the treadmill, I hit the Start button and noticed that the girl on the treadmill to my right was wearing a cute pink FGCU tank top. I wanted it, if only to wear to the gym. Walking at a measly 2.0, I tapped the shoulder of the girl next to me pulling her out of the conversation she was having with the girl to her right.
“Hi, I was just wondering where you bought that tank. Super cute,” I asked while still snailing it on the treadmill.
“Oh! Thanks,” she answered with a mega-smile that screamed YOUTH (no, not bitter). “I got it at the bookstore, but sometimes you can find them at Publix. Do you want one for your daughter?”
I’m not sure what my face looked like, but it must have screamed murder because the chippie and her bestie both stopped their treadmills and left. Hadn’t I suffered enough with the youngsters at AUC? The comments about my flabby arms, being asked if I was expecting, and assumed to be the same age as a woman as old as my mother. Karma, what did I ever do to you?
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
MacGyver and the Armadillo
Exactly 30 days until Jameson will be joining Grey and I in Florida. 30 long days of juggling unpacking, single parenting, furniture assembly, 12-hour work days for demanding clients, utility set-up, waiting for the cable guy, cleaning, car shopping, holding my breath that I'll get an actual phone call from Ja, trying to locate a legit hair stylist, and armadillos.
When I left the island to hit Washington and arrange for the moving company to transport our worldly possessions 3,200 miles to southern Florida, I had no idea how much I'd come to depend on the little bit of stability I had on the MFI. For example, if I was locked out of my postage stamp sized apartment I could walk over to campus knowing that eventually I'd see my husband leaving an afternoon study session. Not the case in SoFlo.
I arrived at the rental house late in the afternoon on July 4 assuming that I could use the lockbox code the realtor had given me to get inside. No lockbox. I ended up using the garage code the previous tenant had mentioned in passing and lucked out because when they moved they left the door from the garage to the house unlocked. I figured ME kicking in a window would A. be a cross between Steve Carrell in 'Get Smart' & Rowan Atkinson in 'Mr. Bean' and B. land me in jail and there is absolutely no chance of a legit hairdo in the pokey. Two phone calls and one scathing e-mail later - a NEW realtor showed up to let me into the house.
Within the first 48-hours in the rental, I'd used my new broom to sweep a black snake smaller than a ruler and a frog bigger than my fist out of the garage. I'd also pummeled a Huntsmen spider with a body the size of a quarter with my running shoe. It was an old shoe, no need to wear it again. My ewww-dometer was creeping up at lightning speed. Still - I had running water, electricity, internet (via the network cable since I left the Wifi on the island), shopping, highways, Starbucks, and cable... just no TV.
I'd been sleeping on the couch purchased from the previous renter and Grey was camped out on the floor of his room since we had no furniture. Around 2 or 3 one morning I could hear the cat rattling blinds in the master bedroom and making a noise akin to Animal Planet Big Cats. I shuffled into the master bedroom ready to kill The Magster when I noticed, through the horribly skewed blinds, that something was IN our backyard. The motion lights hit it at just the right angle that I swore it was something from 'Jurassic Park' - only smaller and in my yard and REAL. What. The. Frak. I slowly walked toward the sliding glass door while straining to get a better look at my late night visitor. Sitting on my heels, I put my hands up on the glass like binoculars hoping to get a better look. The animal moved; I screamed. Falling backwards I pulled the blinds down, scared the cat, and cut the top of my foot open. Are you effing kidding me? Could this experience get any more ludicrous? I lose my ish over an armadillo?!? How in the world did my kid NOT wake up? Wide awake with 2 Band-Aids glued to the top of my foot. Damn. Stranded because I hadn't made an effort to purchase chardonnay. Double damn. Whatevs - I could do some more unpacking and organizing.
To date my work experience consisted of me leaning against the wall with my laptop propped on a pillow and resting on my knees. My back was killing me. Pacing the house I came up with a solution - I'd use Grey's piano bench as my desk and the new stepstool as a chair. Setting up my new 'office', I tried out the digs. Not bad. Not awesome, but definitely better than my butt falling asleep every hour on the hour. MacGyver’d that biznass!
When I left the island to hit Washington and arrange for the moving company to transport our worldly possessions 3,200 miles to southern Florida, I had no idea how much I'd come to depend on the little bit of stability I had on the MFI. For example, if I was locked out of my postage stamp sized apartment I could walk over to campus knowing that eventually I'd see my husband leaving an afternoon study session. Not the case in SoFlo.
I arrived at the rental house late in the afternoon on July 4 assuming that I could use the lockbox code the realtor had given me to get inside. No lockbox. I ended up using the garage code the previous tenant had mentioned in passing and lucked out because when they moved they left the door from the garage to the house unlocked. I figured ME kicking in a window would A. be a cross between Steve Carrell in 'Get Smart' & Rowan Atkinson in 'Mr. Bean' and B. land me in jail and there is absolutely no chance of a legit hairdo in the pokey. Two phone calls and one scathing e-mail later - a NEW realtor showed up to let me into the house.
Within the first 48-hours in the rental, I'd used my new broom to sweep a black snake smaller than a ruler and a frog bigger than my fist out of the garage. I'd also pummeled a Huntsmen spider with a body the size of a quarter with my running shoe. It was an old shoe, no need to wear it again. My ewww-dometer was creeping up at lightning speed. Still - I had running water, electricity, internet (via the network cable since I left the Wifi on the island), shopping, highways, Starbucks, and cable... just no TV.
I'd been sleeping on the couch purchased from the previous renter and Grey was camped out on the floor of his room since we had no furniture. Around 2 or 3 one morning I could hear the cat rattling blinds in the master bedroom and making a noise akin to Animal Planet Big Cats. I shuffled into the master bedroom ready to kill The Magster when I noticed, through the horribly skewed blinds, that something was IN our backyard. The motion lights hit it at just the right angle that I swore it was something from 'Jurassic Park' - only smaller and in my yard and REAL. What. The. Frak. I slowly walked toward the sliding glass door while straining to get a better look at my late night visitor. Sitting on my heels, I put my hands up on the glass like binoculars hoping to get a better look. The animal moved; I screamed. Falling backwards I pulled the blinds down, scared the cat, and cut the top of my foot open. Are you effing kidding me? Could this experience get any more ludicrous? I lose my ish over an armadillo?!? How in the world did my kid NOT wake up? Wide awake with 2 Band-Aids glued to the top of my foot. Damn. Stranded because I hadn't made an effort to purchase chardonnay. Double damn. Whatevs - I could do some more unpacking and organizing.
To date my work experience consisted of me leaning against the wall with my laptop propped on a pillow and resting on my knees. My back was killing me. Pacing the house I came up with a solution - I'd use Grey's piano bench as my desk and the new stepstool as a chair. Setting up my new 'office', I tried out the digs. Not bad. Not awesome, but definitely better than my butt falling asleep every hour on the hour. MacGyver’d that biznass!
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Mood Lighting & Free Condoms
Standing in the lavatory of the Boeing 737-800 bound for Toronto, the funky perfumed water smell barely registered. What did cause a severe impact to my psyche was the extreme lighting in said loo. Dear gawd! After washing my hands I'd looked up and was literally entranced by my wrinkles. I stood staring into the mirror and counted the creases in my forehead. I needed to get out of there. Back in my seat a quick call button to the flight attendant and I was holding a chardonnay. Three times over.
I breezed through Canadian Customs and headed toward the blue bus that would take me to Terminal 1 of Toronto's Pearson International Airport. I was hustling to make my third flight of the day for my conversion in Prince Edward Island and my last trip to this client site from the island. Sitting next to a woman humming and rocking her head, I balanced my backpack and roller bag and thought about the past few days in St. Maarten.
Would I miss the island? Sure. The crystalline water and white sandy beaches were beyond measure. I'd also made some friends I would genuinely be sad not to see on a regular basis. Would I miss the traffic? Negative, Ghostrider. The unexpected flair like receiving free condoms, complete with diagram, while filling up at the local petrol station? <Crickets>
My sister-in-law, Ashley, was staying with us on the island until the end of June when we'd leave, sans Jameson, to head State side. Out on an epic errand run, we'd stopped at the gas station just before Sandy Ground. I paid and tipped the attendant while Ash and I waited in the car venting about island traffic and how a simple grocery run was going to take 2 hours instead of 15 minutes.
"Fill it up," said the attendant. I leaned out the window smiling and thanked him.
"I have something I want to give," he continued, "but I'm not sure you'll like." He grinned. Really big.
I paused, looked at Ash, and looked back at the attendant. "A high five?" I asked.
He laughed, told me no, then turned around. I looked back at Ash, worried.
"Here," he said while pushing a basket full of blue squares at me, "take one and fill it up." He laughed. Okaaaayyyy... weirdness.
"I'm going to take two, okay? One for each of us," I told the attendant and grabbed a couple of the blue squares emblazoned with a gold gas pump and the words 'Fill It Up'. I turned and handed one to Ash.
Before I had a chance to open the packet she said, "Oh. My. Word." I looked over and I saw a condom inside the package that she'd opened. And just in case we weren't sure what the condom was for, there was a handy dandy diagram on the inside of the packet.
I breezed through Canadian Customs and headed toward the blue bus that would take me to Terminal 1 of Toronto's Pearson International Airport. I was hustling to make my third flight of the day for my conversion in Prince Edward Island and my last trip to this client site from the island. Sitting next to a woman humming and rocking her head, I balanced my backpack and roller bag and thought about the past few days in St. Maarten.
Would I miss the island? Sure. The crystalline water and white sandy beaches were beyond measure. I'd also made some friends I would genuinely be sad not to see on a regular basis. Would I miss the traffic? Negative, Ghostrider. The unexpected flair like receiving free condoms, complete with diagram, while filling up at the local petrol station? <Crickets>
My sister-in-law, Ashley, was staying with us on the island until the end of June when we'd leave, sans Jameson, to head State side. Out on an epic errand run, we'd stopped at the gas station just before Sandy Ground. I paid and tipped the attendant while Ash and I waited in the car venting about island traffic and how a simple grocery run was going to take 2 hours instead of 15 minutes.
"Fill it up," said the attendant. I leaned out the window smiling and thanked him.
"I have something I want to give," he continued, "but I'm not sure you'll like." He grinned. Really big.
I paused, looked at Ash, and looked back at the attendant. "A high five?" I asked.
He laughed, told me no, then turned around. I looked back at Ash, worried.
"Here," he said while pushing a basket full of blue squares at me, "take one and fill it up." He laughed. Okaaaayyyy... weirdness.
"I'm going to take two, okay? One for each of us," I told the attendant and grabbed a couple of the blue squares emblazoned with a gold gas pump and the words 'Fill It Up'. I turned and handed one to Ash.
Before I had a chance to open the packet she said, "Oh. My. Word." I looked over and I saw a condom inside the package that she'd opened. And just in case we weren't sure what the condom was for, there was a handy dandy diagram on the inside of the packet.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Ship Just Got Real
2 months. Actually, it had been 59 days because February was a short month but I was pretty sure Taffi didn't want to argue the details. TomAto, tomAHto and all that. I'd taken on 3 more clients in Toronto, had been regularly attending Grey's soccer and swim matches, maintaining the house, and trying like hell to enjoy the last few months we had on the island. I had also not responded to e-mails or calls for almost 2 months. My bad choices elicited screams from Taff once I'd called her back.
"Shit! Shit! Shit! Do you know I honestly thought you were dead?" Taffi screamed so loud I yanked the headphones out of my ears. "I mean, thank gawd for The Zuck. Without Facebook I'd be sitting on my ass assuming you were face down in a ditch or shacked up with a Frenchie."
A Frenchie? Oh... the Gendarmerie. Eye candy in the form of muscles, machine guns, and the language of love. Was there anything about this island Taffi hadn't Googled?
"You even missed my birthday. Bitch. I'd disown you if you if you weren't godparent to my kid. That and you share my fondness of Lou's. Speaking of which - have you even looked on the F.B. to see them? They're so yummy they reek!"
Just like that we were back to neutral ground. A good pair of Louboutin's can do that to a person.
"OK. A, yes I saw your shoes. Know that I'm jealous and even a little depressed. There is not a place on this island I'd consider wearing a pair of Lou's. And B, I did miss your birthday but I just e-mailed you a gift card to Nordies. We good?" I listened to Taff chew her gum and I knew the wheels were turning.
"How much is the gift card?"
"HOOKER! We're on a fixed income. Only one of us working <cough, cough>. You will accept it and move on," I added in my stern mom voice.
"Fine. Spill."
I could hear Taff settle in on the leather couch they had in their media room and knew I had her full attention. I wasn't sure where to begin. I wanted to tell her about the Heineken Regatta and the extra 10,000 people on the island. I also wanted to tell her that I'd actually been taking 30 minutes out of 3 work days to sit at the pool to try and 'relax' as Jameson had been suggesting. But, that's not where the conversation went.
"So - have you been to campus lately? I looked online and there is a new building or some shit. What's that about?" Oh, goodie! I get talk about Jameson's school. Blick.
"Yeah, apparently they dumped a bunch of money into a new building. It'll have, like, fake patient rooms where students can practice their interviewing skills and I think a bigger anatomy lab -"
"Oh! New slice and dice. Kosher."
"GROSS! Do not use the word Kosher while talking about the anatomy lab?"
"Boring. Next," Taffi prodded.
I leaned back in the office chair charmingly held together with Gorilla tape and tried to think of something fun to tell Taff so we could steer clear of all things shopping.
"Taff, you've seen 'The Goonies', right?"
"What the junk?" She laughed. "It's a freaking rite of passage. Of course I've seen it. Your point?"
"Well," I began, "The other day I was walking back from selling a bag of hangers to a student -"
"Hold up," she interrupted. Again. "Explain."
"We have a ton of shit in our house we're selling because we're moving in a few months. I had a bag of hangers. A kid bought them for 5 bucks. Swingin' deal, by the way. I bought those at Ace for like $30."
"Damn. 30? Did you feel violated? That's a crime."
"Yes. Can I go on?"
"Goonies. Run with it," Taff chirped.
I started again, "So, I'm walking back from campus. Before you ask, walking still sucks. I've had the boot off for 5 weeks and I'm still adjusting. More on that in a sec. Goonies."
"Yes, Mouth, Goonies. Get on with it," I heard her sigh and some ice clinking. She was having an after work cocktail.
Hmm... should I open a new bottle of chardonnay to finish this story? Yes. That's a definite yes. I got up from the desk chair and headed to the kitchen. Well, it would be a kitchen if it wasn't more fitting to be a galley on a sailboat. Cramped home living and lack of privacy was getting on my nerves. Grabbing a striped coffee mug from the cupboard and the Barefoot from the fridge, I continued with my story.
"So I'm walking home and it must have been in between classes or something because there were a bunch of students walking around and a ton of traffic. I'm not fast on my feet at all, so I literally have to wait for there to be zero cars coming in order to cross. I'm standing there by the coffee shop -"
"Same shop where the chic told you to stop working since you were married to an almost doc?"
"The very same. I really liked that dress but, now I'll never wear it. She ruined Ann Taylor navy dresses and skirts. Anyhoo, I'm waiting for the cars to stop and this teacher walks up and is waiting beside me with a student. I can hear them talking about 'The Goonies'."
"Wait - who was the teacher?"
"No effing clue," I answered and then swallowed some chardonnay. Ahh... life was good.
"So I hear this guy talking to this student. The kid was probably early 20's. He looked like he belonged in high school. I mean, his skin was so smooth he looked like a legit Botox ad. The instructor, MD, PhD, whatever was telling this kid that 'Chunk' probably had Type 1 diabetes."
"Truffle Shuffle. OK, I can see that," Taff tacked on.
"Right. So junior looks up at instructor dude and asks him who is Chunk?"
"Shut. Up."
"I KNOW! Blown away," I replied and sat in silence. The ice in Taff's glass clinked again and I drank more chardonnay.
Mental checklist: 16 days until semester break. Low season has officially started. Stocking up on chardonnay will not be an issue.
"Shit! Shit! Shit! Do you know I honestly thought you were dead?" Taffi screamed so loud I yanked the headphones out of my ears. "I mean, thank gawd for The Zuck. Without Facebook I'd be sitting on my ass assuming you were face down in a ditch or shacked up with a Frenchie."
A Frenchie? Oh... the Gendarmerie. Eye candy in the form of muscles, machine guns, and the language of love. Was there anything about this island Taffi hadn't Googled?
"You even missed my birthday. Bitch. I'd disown you if you if you weren't godparent to my kid. That and you share my fondness of Lou's. Speaking of which - have you even looked on the F.B. to see them? They're so yummy they reek!"
Just like that we were back to neutral ground. A good pair of Louboutin's can do that to a person.
"OK. A, yes I saw your shoes. Know that I'm jealous and even a little depressed. There is not a place on this island I'd consider wearing a pair of Lou's. And B, I did miss your birthday but I just e-mailed you a gift card to Nordies. We good?" I listened to Taff chew her gum and I knew the wheels were turning.
"How much is the gift card?"
"HOOKER! We're on a fixed income. Only one of us working <cough, cough>. You will accept it and move on," I added in my stern mom voice.
"Fine. Spill."
I could hear Taff settle in on the leather couch they had in their media room and knew I had her full attention. I wasn't sure where to begin. I wanted to tell her about the Heineken Regatta and the extra 10,000 people on the island. I also wanted to tell her that I'd actually been taking 30 minutes out of 3 work days to sit at the pool to try and 'relax' as Jameson had been suggesting. But, that's not where the conversation went.
"So - have you been to campus lately? I looked online and there is a new building or some shit. What's that about?" Oh, goodie! I get talk about Jameson's school. Blick.
"Yeah, apparently they dumped a bunch of money into a new building. It'll have, like, fake patient rooms where students can practice their interviewing skills and I think a bigger anatomy lab -"
"Oh! New slice and dice. Kosher."
"GROSS! Do not use the word Kosher while talking about the anatomy lab?"
"Boring. Next," Taffi prodded.
I leaned back in the office chair charmingly held together with Gorilla tape and tried to think of something fun to tell Taff so we could steer clear of all things shopping.
"Taff, you've seen 'The Goonies', right?"
"What the junk?" She laughed. "It's a freaking rite of passage. Of course I've seen it. Your point?"
"Well," I began, "The other day I was walking back from selling a bag of hangers to a student -"
"Hold up," she interrupted. Again. "Explain."
"We have a ton of shit in our house we're selling because we're moving in a few months. I had a bag of hangers. A kid bought them for 5 bucks. Swingin' deal, by the way. I bought those at Ace for like $30."
"Damn. 30? Did you feel violated? That's a crime."
"Yes. Can I go on?"
"Goonies. Run with it," Taff chirped.
I started again, "So, I'm walking back from campus. Before you ask, walking still sucks. I've had the boot off for 5 weeks and I'm still adjusting. More on that in a sec. Goonies."
"Yes, Mouth, Goonies. Get on with it," I heard her sigh and some ice clinking. She was having an after work cocktail.
Hmm... should I open a new bottle of chardonnay to finish this story? Yes. That's a definite yes. I got up from the desk chair and headed to the kitchen. Well, it would be a kitchen if it wasn't more fitting to be a galley on a sailboat. Cramped home living and lack of privacy was getting on my nerves. Grabbing a striped coffee mug from the cupboard and the Barefoot from the fridge, I continued with my story.
"So I'm walking home and it must have been in between classes or something because there were a bunch of students walking around and a ton of traffic. I'm not fast on my feet at all, so I literally have to wait for there to be zero cars coming in order to cross. I'm standing there by the coffee shop -"
"Same shop where the chic told you to stop working since you were married to an almost doc?"
"The very same. I really liked that dress but, now I'll never wear it. She ruined Ann Taylor navy dresses and skirts. Anyhoo, I'm waiting for the cars to stop and this teacher walks up and is waiting beside me with a student. I can hear them talking about 'The Goonies'."
"Wait - who was the teacher?"
"No effing clue," I answered and then swallowed some chardonnay. Ahh... life was good.
"So I hear this guy talking to this student. The kid was probably early 20's. He looked like he belonged in high school. I mean, his skin was so smooth he looked like a legit Botox ad. The instructor, MD, PhD, whatever was telling this kid that 'Chunk' probably had Type 1 diabetes."
"Truffle Shuffle. OK, I can see that," Taff tacked on.
"Right. So junior looks up at instructor dude and asks him who is Chunk?"
"Shut. Up."
"I KNOW! Blown away," I replied and sat in silence. The ice in Taff's glass clinked again and I drank more chardonnay.
Mental checklist: 16 days until semester break. Low season has officially started. Stocking up on chardonnay will not be an issue.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Rock Liebster!
Stop the presses! Hold the phone! Mrs. Dr. Looze over at http://whenlifegivesyoumedicinemakemartinis.com/ nominated me for a 'Liebster Award'. Yeah, I'd totally never heard of it either. I did Google, Wiki, Bing and Yahoo it and was left unsatisfied, similar to the effect Ja's med school has on my social calendar.
The 'Liebster', which means darling or beloved (thank you Frau Gold and sophomore high school German), is an award/gift given to you by another blogger who enjoys reading your blog and has been inspired. I truly hope I haven't inspired Mrs. Dr. Looze to drink more due to my fondness of chardonnay. I'd say the Rules of Engagement are a bit iffy since I've seen a smattering of details on the net, but I'm going to fly with what MDL had on her page.
That's How We Roll in Liebster Land:
A. Thank the person who nominated you!
B. The Nominee must list 11 statements about her/himself.
C. The Nominee must answer the 11 questions the Nominator asked.
D. The Nominee must nominate 11 others (and you have to TELL them they've been nominated).
Eleven Bits & Bites about Kel (that's me, the author of this blog):
1. I don't believe the Pringle should really be classified as a potato chip.
2. Charles Grodin and Oliver Platt are 2 of my all time faves in movie-land.
3. I say "2 minutes, Turkish" to my hubs all the time even though he NEVER remembers that Jason Stathom said it in 'Snatch'. Let this be a lesson to you - med school kills the FUN brain cells.
4. There is never enough coffee. Never.
5. I toss and turn at night if the kitchen isn't clean when I go to bed.
6. If I could move to London, England tomorrow I would. Wait! Not true - I'd move today.
7. I fat finger on the iPhone 5 all of the time.
8. I miss going into an office everyday simply because I miss my work wardrobe.
9. No matter what people say, the Wedge and the Platform are 2 different shoes. I find this easy to understand and am irritated when people don't get it.
10. People who haven't seen the original 'Star Wars' fall into two categories: infant or dead.
11. When I talk about Coach I feel like the character Stuart MacKenzie in 'So I Married an Axe Murderer'. I think the website emits an addictive chemical, just like KFC.
Questions for ME from Mrs. Dr. Looze:
1. Why did you start blogging?
Boredom, the need to document our adventures in a tropical "paradise", my incessant need to do 15 things at one time.
2. If you could be any animal in the world what would you pick and why?
OK - this is a difficult question. Animals lick their own butts and I think that's gross. Actually, nature is pretty gross to me even though technically we are all nature. So... I'm going to say a red blood cell so I can multiply and then have someone do my hair.
3. What would you choose for your last meal on earth?
Wouldn't be eating a last meal, I'd be drinking a chardonnay.
4. What’s your middle name?
I don't have a middle name on the blog.
5. If you could plan out every day of your life for the next 5 years would you?
Um... I do that now. I'm a planner and a list maker.
6. What is your favorite city in America?
Chi Town, baby!!
7. What is your biggest downfall?
See number 5. It's a gift and a curse.
8. What is your best attribute?
My ability to separate business and friendship.
9. If a movie was made about you who would play you?
I can't answer this. Everyone in Hollywood has great hair, skin, and has a 24/7 personal trainer. I do not. It's like asking who the next president will be if only given 2 options. Wait... we already did that.
10. What is your favorite article of clothing that you own?
My black peep-toe wedges that I purchased just before breaking my foot. Sigh...
11. If you had to pick, what is one thing you would change about your appearance?
Thicker eyelashes. Maybelline makes a killer mascara, but it would be cool if I didn't need so much help.
Questions for my Liebster Nominees:
1. What color is your toothbrush?
2. Kindle or Paperback?
3. List 5 cities in South America without looking online or in an Atlas.
4. Did you watch 'Sesame Street' as a child?
5. Do you recycle?
6. If you had to pick between yard work and cleaning house, which would you pick?
7. Do you know who won any of the Nobel Prizes awarded in 2012 without looking? If so, list at least one.
8. CNN or Fox News?
9. Cat person or a dog person?
10. Name one person who has influenced your food choices in the past month.
11. Filet mignon, seared mahi mahi or chicken breast?
The 'Liebster', which means darling or beloved (thank you Frau Gold and sophomore high school German), is an award/gift given to you by another blogger who enjoys reading your blog and has been inspired. I truly hope I haven't inspired Mrs. Dr. Looze to drink more due to my fondness of chardonnay. I'd say the Rules of Engagement are a bit iffy since I've seen a smattering of details on the net, but I'm going to fly with what MDL had on her page.
That's How We Roll in Liebster Land:
A. Thank the person who nominated you!
B. The Nominee must list 11 statements about her/himself.
C. The Nominee must answer the 11 questions the Nominator asked.
D. The Nominee must nominate 11 others (and you have to TELL them they've been nominated).
Eleven Bits & Bites about Kel (that's me, the author of this blog):
1. I don't believe the Pringle should really be classified as a potato chip.
2. Charles Grodin and Oliver Platt are 2 of my all time faves in movie-land.
3. I say "2 minutes, Turkish" to my hubs all the time even though he NEVER remembers that Jason Stathom said it in 'Snatch'. Let this be a lesson to you - med school kills the FUN brain cells.
4. There is never enough coffee. Never.
5. I toss and turn at night if the kitchen isn't clean when I go to bed.
6. If I could move to London, England tomorrow I would. Wait! Not true - I'd move today.
7. I fat finger on the iPhone 5 all of the time.
8. I miss going into an office everyday simply because I miss my work wardrobe.
9. No matter what people say, the Wedge and the Platform are 2 different shoes. I find this easy to understand and am irritated when people don't get it.
10. People who haven't seen the original 'Star Wars' fall into two categories: infant or dead.
11. When I talk about Coach I feel like the character Stuart MacKenzie in 'So I Married an Axe Murderer'. I think the website emits an addictive chemical, just like KFC.
Questions for ME from Mrs. Dr. Looze:
1. Why did you start blogging?
Boredom, the need to document our adventures in a tropical "paradise", my incessant need to do 15 things at one time.
2. If you could be any animal in the world what would you pick and why?
OK - this is a difficult question. Animals lick their own butts and I think that's gross. Actually, nature is pretty gross to me even though technically we are all nature. So... I'm going to say a red blood cell so I can multiply and then have someone do my hair.
3. What would you choose for your last meal on earth?
Wouldn't be eating a last meal, I'd be drinking a chardonnay.
4. What’s your middle name?
I don't have a middle name on the blog.
5. If you could plan out every day of your life for the next 5 years would you?
Um... I do that now. I'm a planner and a list maker.
6. What is your favorite city in America?
Chi Town, baby!!
7. What is your biggest downfall?
See number 5. It's a gift and a curse.
8. What is your best attribute?
My ability to separate business and friendship.
9. If a movie was made about you who would play you?
I can't answer this. Everyone in Hollywood has great hair, skin, and has a 24/7 personal trainer. I do not. It's like asking who the next president will be if only given 2 options. Wait... we already did that.
10. What is your favorite article of clothing that you own?
My black peep-toe wedges that I purchased just before breaking my foot. Sigh...
11. If you had to pick, what is one thing you would change about your appearance?
Thicker eyelashes. Maybelline makes a killer mascara, but it would be cool if I didn't need so much help.
Questions for my Liebster Nominees:
1. What color is your toothbrush?
2. Kindle or Paperback?
3. List 5 cities in South America without looking online or in an Atlas.
4. Did you watch 'Sesame Street' as a child?
5. Do you recycle?
6. If you had to pick between yard work and cleaning house, which would you pick?
7. Do you know who won any of the Nobel Prizes awarded in 2012 without looking? If so, list at least one.
8. CNN or Fox News?
9. Cat person or a dog person?
10. Name one person who has influenced your food choices in the past month.
11. Filet mignon, seared mahi mahi or chicken breast?
And the Liebster goes to:
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Honey Badger
When I was in grade school my mom would take my brother and I over to my grandparents house so she could run errands without 2 kids in tow. My brother and I would park it on the carpet in front of the 22-inch wood paneled monster of a tube and watch 'Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom'. If we were lucky, my grandma would stuff us full of pineapple upside down cake right before the show. I'm sure that syrupy sweet cake was the catalyst to my fondness for chardonnay. Fast forward 30'ish years and 30 million views and you've got YouTube. Instead of Marlin Perkins, it's Randall. Google and YouTube had replaced 'Wild Kindgom' as my oracle for animal and bug information.
Before we moved to St. Maarten, I had religiously searched the internet for any kind of wildlife. Living in the rain covered, rat, and Wolf Spider infested Pacific Northwest had increased my fear of anything creepy and crawly. On my search, I'd found there were no documented snakes, but plenty of lizards. I'd discovered there were all kinds of birds, but not too many spiders. I was fine with all of this until the morning I woke up to find a centipede sleeping on my laptop. My laptop inside our condo and 3-stories up. After YouTube'ing the centipede, I found videos of the same hard-shelled carnivorous beast eating a snake. What. The. Frak. I should have realized just how toxic the insect was when Jameson muttered, "Oh shit!", wouldn't touch it, and was forced to use a butter knife to hold it down and kill it. Ick.
Any misgivings I'd had about nature on this island were truly put to the test in our new condo. Happy as I was with saving 1,200 bucks a month, I was not happy about the crappy screens and glass tilted slats for windows. No matter how much I cleaned and replaced all of the caulking, we had ants. A cockroach the size of my hand visited our kitchen one day, only to find himself squashed and plunked in the trash. I moved the toaster one morning and a lizard darted across the kitchen counter. Jameson had to cover it with a plastic cup and take it outside while I took a Xanax and wondered if 7AM was too early to consider a deep conversation with Robert Mondavi. I like to appreciate nature from afar - like from my swivelling desk chair while watching the Honey Badger and listening to Randall.
Last night I came downstairs to tell a studying Jameson that I was heading to bed. As I crossed from the stairs to the would-be family room something darted across the floor. I screamed and clamped my hand over my mouth while simultaneously jumping backward.
"WIFE!" Jameson shouted while jumping out of his skin. "What the hell!" He looked up at me, computer on his lap, feet up on the coffee table and annoyance spread across his face.
"There is an ANIMAL in the house. Again. Get up and catch it, " I ordered while bending over to hunt for the lizard on the floor. Our condo was the size of a postage stamp, it couldn't have gone far.
"Uuuuggggh," Jameson audibly sighed and dropped his feet. "An animal? What kind of animal?"
"I thought it was a cockroach, but it's a lizard. Gawd, do we have a mama lizard in the house just breeding these suckers so they can freak me out?"
"Yes, wife," he answered sarcastically. "That's got to be what it is. A huge mama lizard and not the poor excuse for windows."
Jameson strapped on his headlamp and patiently searched with me for a solid 10-minutes before giving up.
"Babe, I don't have time for this. Sorry. I'm sure it's gone anyway. It probably went back out the same way it came in. I PROMISE you, that lizard is more scared of you than you are of it," he told me while putting away his headlamp and returning to the couch.
"Wait! We can't go to bed and just leave the lizard in the house!"
"Welllllll....," Jameson drew out, "WE aren't going to bed. YOU are going to bed. I'm studying."
I turned around and stormed up the stairs. How could I go to sleep with a lizard roaming free in the house? I plopped on the bed, grabbed my iPhone and got on Skype with Jameson's work wife, Holly. We messaged back and forth for a few minutes, all the while me explaining my completely irrational fear that I couldn't sleep because the lizard may crawl into the bed or even worse, into my mouth and choke me. Even though I couldn't hear Holly when she responded to my cries for help regarding Godzilla, I'm sure she was secretly mocking me.
The following morning after a fitful 4-hours of sleep courtesy of Tylenol PM, I was in the kitchen stirring creamer into Jameson's coffee and mulling over how a lizard could still be in the house while my cat did nothing. I reasoned that it truly must have left and walked out of the kitchen carrying Jamesons coffee cup. I froze in front of the coat rack. There, perched on a black backpack, was the lizard. That little mother trucker!
"Ja!" I shouted not moving from my vantage point, "It's still here. Get over here quick while I watch it!"
Jameson sighed. Seriously? Am I asking too much for him to stop studying and remove nature from our home? Walking up to me he asked, "OK, where?"
I turned him around and pointed to the offender sitting on his backpack.
"That is what you were worried about?" He looked at me now and held back laughter.
"Hey! Do NOT make fun of me. You told me it was gone. Well, clearly it's not gone. Now get it out of here!"
I walked over to the sliding glass door, unlocked it, and waited for Jameson to rid our home of Godzilla. He simply took the backpack off the coat rack, walked outside and set the backpack on the ground while the lizard walked right off. Jameson then took a picture with his phone and posted it on my Facebook page so all of my friends could see the dangerous 'Godzilla'. What was his deal? This situation was legit!
Mental Checklist: Maggie the cat is not only lazy but completely inadequate for hunting and killing. Look into motion detectors or those super high frequency rodent repellent devices.
Before we moved to St. Maarten, I had religiously searched the internet for any kind of wildlife. Living in the rain covered, rat, and Wolf Spider infested Pacific Northwest had increased my fear of anything creepy and crawly. On my search, I'd found there were no documented snakes, but plenty of lizards. I'd discovered there were all kinds of birds, but not too many spiders. I was fine with all of this until the morning I woke up to find a centipede sleeping on my laptop. My laptop inside our condo and 3-stories up. After YouTube'ing the centipede, I found videos of the same hard-shelled carnivorous beast eating a snake. What. The. Frak. I should have realized just how toxic the insect was when Jameson muttered, "Oh shit!", wouldn't touch it, and was forced to use a butter knife to hold it down and kill it. Ick.
Any misgivings I'd had about nature on this island were truly put to the test in our new condo. Happy as I was with saving 1,200 bucks a month, I was not happy about the crappy screens and glass tilted slats for windows. No matter how much I cleaned and replaced all of the caulking, we had ants. A cockroach the size of my hand visited our kitchen one day, only to find himself squashed and plunked in the trash. I moved the toaster one morning and a lizard darted across the kitchen counter. Jameson had to cover it with a plastic cup and take it outside while I took a Xanax and wondered if 7AM was too early to consider a deep conversation with Robert Mondavi. I like to appreciate nature from afar - like from my swivelling desk chair while watching the Honey Badger and listening to Randall.
Last night I came downstairs to tell a studying Jameson that I was heading to bed. As I crossed from the stairs to the would-be family room something darted across the floor. I screamed and clamped my hand over my mouth while simultaneously jumping backward.
"WIFE!" Jameson shouted while jumping out of his skin. "What the hell!" He looked up at me, computer on his lap, feet up on the coffee table and annoyance spread across his face.
"There is an ANIMAL in the house. Again. Get up and catch it, " I ordered while bending over to hunt for the lizard on the floor. Our condo was the size of a postage stamp, it couldn't have gone far.
"Uuuuggggh," Jameson audibly sighed and dropped his feet. "An animal? What kind of animal?"
"I thought it was a cockroach, but it's a lizard. Gawd, do we have a mama lizard in the house just breeding these suckers so they can freak me out?"
"Yes, wife," he answered sarcastically. "That's got to be what it is. A huge mama lizard and not the poor excuse for windows."
Jameson strapped on his headlamp and patiently searched with me for a solid 10-minutes before giving up.
"Babe, I don't have time for this. Sorry. I'm sure it's gone anyway. It probably went back out the same way it came in. I PROMISE you, that lizard is more scared of you than you are of it," he told me while putting away his headlamp and returning to the couch.
"Wait! We can't go to bed and just leave the lizard in the house!"
"Welllllll....," Jameson drew out, "WE aren't going to bed. YOU are going to bed. I'm studying."
I turned around and stormed up the stairs. How could I go to sleep with a lizard roaming free in the house? I plopped on the bed, grabbed my iPhone and got on Skype with Jameson's work wife, Holly. We messaged back and forth for a few minutes, all the while me explaining my completely irrational fear that I couldn't sleep because the lizard may crawl into the bed or even worse, into my mouth and choke me. Even though I couldn't hear Holly when she responded to my cries for help regarding Godzilla, I'm sure she was secretly mocking me.
The following morning after a fitful 4-hours of sleep courtesy of Tylenol PM, I was in the kitchen stirring creamer into Jameson's coffee and mulling over how a lizard could still be in the house while my cat did nothing. I reasoned that it truly must have left and walked out of the kitchen carrying Jamesons coffee cup. I froze in front of the coat rack. There, perched on a black backpack, was the lizard. That little mother trucker!
"Ja!" I shouted not moving from my vantage point, "It's still here. Get over here quick while I watch it!"
Jameson sighed. Seriously? Am I asking too much for him to stop studying and remove nature from our home? Walking up to me he asked, "OK, where?"
I turned him around and pointed to the offender sitting on his backpack.
"That is what you were worried about?" He looked at me now and held back laughter.
"Hey! Do NOT make fun of me. You told me it was gone. Well, clearly it's not gone. Now get it out of here!"
I walked over to the sliding glass door, unlocked it, and waited for Jameson to rid our home of Godzilla. He simply took the backpack off the coat rack, walked outside and set the backpack on the ground while the lizard walked right off. Jameson then took a picture with his phone and posted it on my Facebook page so all of my friends could see the dangerous 'Godzilla'. What was his deal? This situation was legit!
Mental Checklist: Maggie the cat is not only lazy but completely inadequate for hunting and killing. Look into motion detectors or those super high frequency rodent repellent devices.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Motownphilly Back Again!
Shortly after take off and before we were allowed to use electronic devices, I swapped out my Nike for a moon boot. Since my flight into Miami had no seats in first class, I was sitting in an Exit Row. Illegally in airline terms. In order to actually board the plane I was told by the agent to put on a shoe. So - shoe on, board plane, shoe off, moon boot on. Easy. If the plane went down I'd have the door open faster than the blue hairs sharing the row with me.
Seated immediately to my left on the other aisle seat and in a serious funk was a former AUC student. I say former because I overheard her telling the flight attendant the reason for her tears was because she'd failed all of her First Blocks and was leaving the island. Her parents had pulled the plug on her 'financial aid'. Damn.
Our flight reached cruising altitude and the movie 'Pitch Perfect' began to play. OK, I love this movie. I think it's witty and when I'm at home I listen to the soundtrack to do my ab workout. I would have been singing along, off key of course, except I didn't want to call attention to my boot in the Exit Row. My AUC neighbor laughed along with the movie. She's obviously not as dumb as the Block Exams made her feel. We started chatting it up about the movie and the conversation took a strange turn when I mentioned something about the 'Foot Notes', a group in the movie.
"That kid singing in the front of the 'Foot Notes..." I started.
"Oh my gawd! That was one of the best parts," she jumped in.
"Totally agree! Love, love, love the dancing in that part. Anyway, that kid in the front totally reminds me of prime time Bobby Brown."
"Oh!" She pounced, suddenly animated. "I love her foundation. It's like, the only kind I buy."
"What?" I asked, momentarily halted. Then I got with the program. "Ohhhhh, you mean Bobbi Brown cosmetics. I'm talking about Bobby Brown, the singer."
I stared at a look of confusion and raised eyebrows.
"You know, Bobby Brown? He was a singer in the 80's. He used to be in that group 'New Edition', they sang 'Cool it Now'. Any of this sound vaguely familiar?"
Nothing. Wow.
"OK, have you heard of Whitney Houston?"
"Yeah," she answered in a pissy tone and rolling eyes. If Whitney was so obvious, how had she not heard of Bobby?
"Whitney was married to Bobby. His face was all over the media when she died last year. I'm sure you've seen him."
"Oh. He was famous because they got married. Did he sing with her?"
I channeled my inner-Yoda. Know this, she does not.
"Not that you'll need any of this info for a job application," following up on our previous discussion about her looking for a job when she got home, "but you may need it for Jeopardy." I smiled and continued, "Bobby Brown was in a group called New Edition. He also had a solo career. There were other groups like Boyz II Men, ABC, or Another Bad Creation, and Bel Biv Devoe. All great 80's music. Oh, and I guess like early 90's. You should look it up on iTunes."
I was busy in the land of nostalgia and my neighbor was soaking up what I'd told her. Or - she was trying to figure out how to politely ignore me. Probably both. Maybe.
Seated immediately to my left on the other aisle seat and in a serious funk was a former AUC student. I say former because I overheard her telling the flight attendant the reason for her tears was because she'd failed all of her First Blocks and was leaving the island. Her parents had pulled the plug on her 'financial aid'. Damn.
Our flight reached cruising altitude and the movie 'Pitch Perfect' began to play. OK, I love this movie. I think it's witty and when I'm at home I listen to the soundtrack to do my ab workout. I would have been singing along, off key of course, except I didn't want to call attention to my boot in the Exit Row. My AUC neighbor laughed along with the movie. She's obviously not as dumb as the Block Exams made her feel. We started chatting it up about the movie and the conversation took a strange turn when I mentioned something about the 'Foot Notes', a group in the movie.
"That kid singing in the front of the 'Foot Notes..." I started.
"Oh my gawd! That was one of the best parts," she jumped in.
"Totally agree! Love, love, love the dancing in that part. Anyway, that kid in the front totally reminds me of prime time Bobby Brown."
"Oh!" She pounced, suddenly animated. "I love her foundation. It's like, the only kind I buy."
"What?" I asked, momentarily halted. Then I got with the program. "Ohhhhh, you mean Bobbi Brown cosmetics. I'm talking about Bobby Brown, the singer."
I stared at a look of confusion and raised eyebrows.
"You know, Bobby Brown? He was a singer in the 80's. He used to be in that group 'New Edition', they sang 'Cool it Now'. Any of this sound vaguely familiar?"
Nothing. Wow.
"OK, have you heard of Whitney Houston?"
"Yeah," she answered in a pissy tone and rolling eyes. If Whitney was so obvious, how had she not heard of Bobby?
"Whitney was married to Bobby. His face was all over the media when she died last year. I'm sure you've seen him."
"Oh. He was famous because they got married. Did he sing with her?"
I channeled my inner-Yoda. Know this, she does not.
"Not that you'll need any of this info for a job application," following up on our previous discussion about her looking for a job when she got home, "but you may need it for Jeopardy." I smiled and continued, "Bobby Brown was in a group called New Edition. He also had a solo career. There were other groups like Boyz II Men, ABC, or Another Bad Creation, and Bel Biv Devoe. All great 80's music. Oh, and I guess like early 90's. You should look it up on iTunes."
I was busy in the land of nostalgia and my neighbor was soaking up what I'd told her. Or - she was trying to figure out how to politely ignore me. Probably both. Maybe.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Rocket Fanta
"Wife! Where is my coffee cup?" Jameson shouted up the stairs. He was heading to campus to register for the next semesters classes and was delayed due to lack of mobile caffeine.
"The coffee cups are in the cupboard where they always are. Are you even looking or do you want me to come down there?" Parked on our bed with my foot elevated and computer in my lap, the thought of walking down the stairs wasn't pleasant. To say I had to walk "downstairs" was kind of a joke, anyway. Our bedroom was in the loft immediately above the kitchen in the minuscule apartment we'd moved into. We were short on space but large on extra cash; 8 more months of Lilliputian living space.
"It's not here and I need to go drop off Grey's tuition statement before I register."
I made my way down the curving staircase. Twelve mismatched steps and no spills, this was turning out to be a banner day! My mobility in the 4.2 pound moon boot had improved greatly, but it was still annoying. Opening the kitchen cupboard I turned to Jameson, pointed and said, "Uummmm... here."
"Ugh," he pushed back from the counter, "Not those. The one I use to go to class."
"Oh. The travel mugs. You should have said 'travel mugs'. Those are over here," and I opened the cupboard over the stove.
When I was in my early 20's and would go clubbing with my friend Elizabeth (ironic much?), I'd listen to songs and sing what I thought the lyrics were. Rocket fanta instead of 'rockin' the casbah', you can curl your own hair instead of 'you can go your own way' and my favorite: don't call it a comeback, I've got big ears instead of 'don't call it a comeback, I've been here for years' by one LL Cool J. Island life was mocking me by keeping things lost in translation.
Our island time was just under the 8 month mark and I'd started selling our excess wares. A DVD player, cooler, some island chairs, beach umbrella and travel coffee mugs. The day before I'd been waiting for a student while sitting on the retaining wall of the apartment complex across the street. I was selling 2 reams of printer paper for 15 bucks. OK, not a gold mine but I wouldn't have to pack it and take it back to the States. While staring at my thighs shaped by too much chardonnay and not enough cardio, I looked up as a couple of girls walk by. I say girls because of the lack of jiggle in skirts so short and tight that I'd consider them to be Spanx and would wear them under a suit when on a client site.
Mental Checklist: Google Jillian Michaels work-outs for geriatrics.
Sigh... I used to look like that. I also used to think Vanilla Ice sang 'alright stop, cohabitate and listen'. My buyer walked up breaking my self-pity party.
"That my paper?" asked my buyer.
"Indeed."
"Top. I need these. Gonna pound later," and then he handed me money.
WTF? Am I so old I can't follow the colloquialism of an early 20's dude? Or, is it punk? Wait - do they say kid now?
"I'm guessing you're happy to have this paper," I said pocketing the money. "I don't know how many pounds it is, but we've only opened this one package so you've pretty much got 2 full reams."
He laughed.
"The coffee cups are in the cupboard where they always are. Are you even looking or do you want me to come down there?" Parked on our bed with my foot elevated and computer in my lap, the thought of walking down the stairs wasn't pleasant. To say I had to walk "downstairs" was kind of a joke, anyway. Our bedroom was in the loft immediately above the kitchen in the minuscule apartment we'd moved into. We were short on space but large on extra cash; 8 more months of Lilliputian living space.
"It's not here and I need to go drop off Grey's tuition statement before I register."
I made my way down the curving staircase. Twelve mismatched steps and no spills, this was turning out to be a banner day! My mobility in the 4.2 pound moon boot had improved greatly, but it was still annoying. Opening the kitchen cupboard I turned to Jameson, pointed and said, "Uummmm... here."
"Ugh," he pushed back from the counter, "Not those. The one I use to go to class."
"Oh. The travel mugs. You should have said 'travel mugs'. Those are over here," and I opened the cupboard over the stove.
When I was in my early 20's and would go clubbing with my friend Elizabeth (ironic much?), I'd listen to songs and sing what I thought the lyrics were. Rocket fanta instead of 'rockin' the casbah', you can curl your own hair instead of 'you can go your own way' and my favorite: don't call it a comeback, I've got big ears instead of 'don't call it a comeback, I've been here for years' by one LL Cool J. Island life was mocking me by keeping things lost in translation.
Our island time was just under the 8 month mark and I'd started selling our excess wares. A DVD player, cooler, some island chairs, beach umbrella and travel coffee mugs. The day before I'd been waiting for a student while sitting on the retaining wall of the apartment complex across the street. I was selling 2 reams of printer paper for 15 bucks. OK, not a gold mine but I wouldn't have to pack it and take it back to the States. While staring at my thighs shaped by too much chardonnay and not enough cardio, I looked up as a couple of girls walk by. I say girls because of the lack of jiggle in skirts so short and tight that I'd consider them to be Spanx and would wear them under a suit when on a client site.
Mental Checklist: Google Jillian Michaels work-outs for geriatrics.
Sigh... I used to look like that. I also used to think Vanilla Ice sang 'alright stop, cohabitate and listen'. My buyer walked up breaking my self-pity party.
"That my paper?" asked my buyer.
"Indeed."
"Top. I need these. Gonna pound later," and then he handed me money.
WTF? Am I so old I can't follow the colloquialism of an early 20's dude? Or, is it punk? Wait - do they say kid now?
"I'm guessing you're happy to have this paper," I said pocketing the money. "I don't know how many pounds it is, but we've only opened this one package so you've pretty much got 2 full reams."
He laughed.
Medical Monday
It's the first Monday of the month. Click on the shortcut to the right that says "Medical Mondays" to link to other blogs about med school, physician funniness, nursing - anything and everything related to medicine. To check out my previous posts, click any link under "Posts from the Past". Happy reading!
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Lip Gloss, Elections & Hair! Oh My!
When I was in high school one of my friends had a cordless curling iron; hands down the coolest thing since aerosol AquaNet to a child of the 80's. I'll admit, I had iron envy. In college I'd mastered teasing my hair and an all-around movement with my arm to thoroughly coat my tresses. I also became obsessed with scrunchies. One of the girls on the dance team had scrunchies in every imaginable color. Enter the green monster. As a woman in my late 30's (since I REFUSE to succumb to the early 40's movement), I was spending my free-time pining away for a time when I could eat a glazed doughnut without doing 500 crunches to counter-balance the caloric intake, the Louboutin Rolando pump, BBC programming and the seamless forehead of a 23-year old. In my progressed age I noticed the wrinkle-free kids that surrounded us on this island had a different set of political ideals and they wore election opinions on their sleeves. This was the current topic of choice for Taffi and I during our weekly Skype IM session.
MedSchoolMama: taff! stop sending me photos of your shoes, your car and your house. it makes me hate you.
LaffyTaffy: secretly?
MedSchoolMama: no bish! the secret is OUT! stop b/f i have max take away the amex!
LaffyTaffy: sometimes i hate YOU and then i remember that you left your lou's here and it makes it all okay. how goes the island? did jameson run for student body or government or whatever the hell you call it in med school?
MedSchooMama: no - totally bagged on that suggestion. i think he was nauseous just thinking about it. not enough time, too much drama. mostly the drama.
LaffyTaffy: speaking of drama - WTF is up with romney's jeans? wardrobe guy is an imbecile. who let's their candidate go out in mom jeans. dear gawd!
MedSchoolMama: mom jeans? um..... what about the bigger issue of healthcare?
LaffyTaffy: OMG - i heard at someone at work say botox and other cosmetics are covered with omahacare!!!! do i need to mention the 11's????
MedSchooMama: it's OBAMAcare, not omaha! wtf?
LaffyTaffy: whatevs. if you come into town i'll take you to my derm and we can fix your wrinkles. i KNOW you're self conscious surrounded by so much youth.
MedSchooMama: i heard the "youth" around here talking about legalizing pot across the nation and if the laws would apply to them HERE if they brought a bag with them when they flew back to the island post christmas break.
LaffyTaffy: euphoria! a world with legal taxable ditchweed and juviderm for free
MedSchoolMama: gotta run. conf call. touch my shoes and die a slow painful death (remember the time you got the bad wax)
LaffyTaffy: love you bish! OMAHA RAMEN NOODLE 2012
MedSchooMama: snap. crackle. and pop. you are drinking. that was a robert mondavi comment. and at noon your time. hellfire - are you & max having a nooner??? ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............... signing off.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Block Party!
I'm not sure who coined the phrase 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade', but said person was misinformed. Jameson's Amazing Med School Adventure, as I'd taken to calling our time on the island, was taking it's toll on the family. The only interest I had in lemonade was the kind mixed with vodka in a tall glass of ice... and possibly delivered poolside by a steamy Cuban.
I was off alcohol because of pain medication for my foot. It was still draped in a moon boot and now smelled like a middle school boys locker room because island temps never dropped below 80 degrees. I'd convinced myself the moon boot time was like a detox. I couldn't drink chardonnay and there was no Krispy Kreme on the island. Maybe if I did the Hollywood Cleanse once I got the boot off I'd be Team Aniston thin (Team Jolie was a tad much).
Jameson was studying for his Block Exams which meant Grey and I would be lucky to even SEE him before exams were over. I always used this time to clean our pint-sized condo and catch up on work, usually in that order since clutter-free living was my mantra. This time, however, Grey asked me to get souvenir t-shirts for his friends who'd be on the island the next day on a cruise ship. I reasoned since I shouldn't be on my foot to clean, the least I could do was drive into Maho to hit the souvenir shop across from the pharmacy.
I locked the apartment door, the outer door and hobbled down 2 flights of stairs to our island hooptie. I stalled before getting in the car. 3 weeks before a coconut had fallen from a tree and cracked our windshield. We'd been to the Nissan dealership, a garage, a windshield shop, the junkyard and even called some woman named "Sara the Car Chic" to see about a replacement. Not happening anytime soon. Lemonade? I think not. I made sure the Gorilla tape was secure on the spiderwebs before getting in.
The drive into Maho was uneventful. When I drove through the intersection where Grey and I had seen the dead guy in the middle of the road, I didn't shudder. Not at all. I parked my car in the covered parking and hobbled through the shaded entrance out on to the tiled walk. This stretch of the island was specially designed with vacuums that sucked money right out of your wallet.
Hobbling into the Lord & Hunter shop, I did a double-take. In front of me was a woman, probably close to my mom's age, wearing a boot just like mine and carrying the Coach Legacy Tote in citrus. I barely noticed the tote. Barely. She smiled at me and said, "We must have the same designer."
I laughed with her and asked how much longer she had in the boot. 2 weeks. I asked if she was vacationing. No. She had, along with her best friend, brought her son (and 3 of his "closest" friends) to the island to tour AUC and look for housing. With the little footing I had, I tackled her, stowed the tote and started beating her head with the polished conch shell with SXM in gold calligraphy. Well, in my mind I tackled her and beat some sense into her. Instead I said, "Wow! My husband is a student. Small world."
"He's a student?"
"I know, we're old. I get it. I get that look a lot."
"No, sweetie, I wasn't thinking you were old. I was thinking I wanted to pick your brain. We're staying at the Sonesta. You should come over for drinks by the pool."
Annnnnnnnd.... cue thoughts of the hottie Cuban delivering me vodka lemonades. Gawd. Block week couldn't end soon enough.
Before thoughts about my mysterious Cuban went 50 Shades, I heard the distinct sounds of early-20's guys walking into the shop. Just as I was about to turn, one of the future Nobel Prize winners shouted at my back, "Yo, Cam! Your mom's in here."
I looked at the door just as Cam and his other friend walked through the entrance to Lord & Hunter.
"Douche. That's not my mom," Cam said while shoving his friend and walking around me. He looked right at his mom, the woman in the matching moon boot, and spit back, "This is my mom. You're tossed!"
The guys laughed, Cam's mom smiled and gave me a small shrug and then Cam's "tossed" friend continued to dig his grave, "Oh shit, man. She looks just like your mom. Sorry, ma'am." I have been called a lot of things, but "ma'am" is by far the worst.
I hobbled out of Lord & Hunter empty handed, made it back to my hooptie and proceeded to hit my head against the steering wheel over and over and over. I had a hole in my windshield, couldn't go to the pool because of my foot, couldn't run because of my foot and couldn't drink alcohol because of my foot. Who was I kidding with the running stuff? Well, I could 'run' to the store to buy some Chardonnay. That seemed like a reality I could get on board with. I drove out of the covered parking and cruised on home. Lemonade? Bah!
I was off alcohol because of pain medication for my foot. It was still draped in a moon boot and now smelled like a middle school boys locker room because island temps never dropped below 80 degrees. I'd convinced myself the moon boot time was like a detox. I couldn't drink chardonnay and there was no Krispy Kreme on the island. Maybe if I did the Hollywood Cleanse once I got the boot off I'd be Team Aniston thin (Team Jolie was a tad much).
Jameson was studying for his Block Exams which meant Grey and I would be lucky to even SEE him before exams were over. I always used this time to clean our pint-sized condo and catch up on work, usually in that order since clutter-free living was my mantra. This time, however, Grey asked me to get souvenir t-shirts for his friends who'd be on the island the next day on a cruise ship. I reasoned since I shouldn't be on my foot to clean, the least I could do was drive into Maho to hit the souvenir shop across from the pharmacy.
I locked the apartment door, the outer door and hobbled down 2 flights of stairs to our island hooptie. I stalled before getting in the car. 3 weeks before a coconut had fallen from a tree and cracked our windshield. We'd been to the Nissan dealership, a garage, a windshield shop, the junkyard and even called some woman named "Sara the Car Chic" to see about a replacement. Not happening anytime soon. Lemonade? I think not. I made sure the Gorilla tape was secure on the spiderwebs before getting in.
The drive into Maho was uneventful. When I drove through the intersection where Grey and I had seen the dead guy in the middle of the road, I didn't shudder. Not at all. I parked my car in the covered parking and hobbled through the shaded entrance out on to the tiled walk. This stretch of the island was specially designed with vacuums that sucked money right out of your wallet.
Hobbling into the Lord & Hunter shop, I did a double-take. In front of me was a woman, probably close to my mom's age, wearing a boot just like mine and carrying the Coach Legacy Tote in citrus. I barely noticed the tote. Barely. She smiled at me and said, "We must have the same designer."
I laughed with her and asked how much longer she had in the boot. 2 weeks. I asked if she was vacationing. No. She had, along with her best friend, brought her son (and 3 of his "closest" friends) to the island to tour AUC and look for housing. With the little footing I had, I tackled her, stowed the tote and started beating her head with the polished conch shell with SXM in gold calligraphy. Well, in my mind I tackled her and beat some sense into her. Instead I said, "Wow! My husband is a student. Small world."
"He's a student?"
"I know, we're old. I get it. I get that look a lot."
"No, sweetie, I wasn't thinking you were old. I was thinking I wanted to pick your brain. We're staying at the Sonesta. You should come over for drinks by the pool."
Annnnnnnnd.... cue thoughts of the hottie Cuban delivering me vodka lemonades. Gawd. Block week couldn't end soon enough.
Before thoughts about my mysterious Cuban went 50 Shades, I heard the distinct sounds of early-20's guys walking into the shop. Just as I was about to turn, one of the future Nobel Prize winners shouted at my back, "Yo, Cam! Your mom's in here."
I looked at the door just as Cam and his other friend walked through the entrance to Lord & Hunter.
"Douche. That's not my mom," Cam said while shoving his friend and walking around me. He looked right at his mom, the woman in the matching moon boot, and spit back, "This is my mom. You're tossed!"
The guys laughed, Cam's mom smiled and gave me a small shrug and then Cam's "tossed" friend continued to dig his grave, "Oh shit, man. She looks just like your mom. Sorry, ma'am." I have been called a lot of things, but "ma'am" is by far the worst.
I hobbled out of Lord & Hunter empty handed, made it back to my hooptie and proceeded to hit my head against the steering wheel over and over and over. I had a hole in my windshield, couldn't go to the pool because of my foot, couldn't run because of my foot and couldn't drink alcohol because of my foot. Who was I kidding with the running stuff? Well, I could 'run' to the store to buy some Chardonnay. That seemed like a reality I could get on board with. I drove out of the covered parking and cruised on home. Lemonade? Bah!
Monday, December 3, 2012
Isopropyl Alcohol with Lime
Sitting in the waiting room of the emergency department at Toronto General is a lot getting your license renewed at the DMV. You sign-in, take a number from the red machine and wait for your turn with people who smell like stale smoke and gym socks. My number flashed on the screen above the registration window and I shuffled up.
I’d gone almost 3 weeks on my “sprained” foot hobbling around in a flip flop and loosely tied Nike's. Today I’d powered through 6 hours of meetings while visiting my client. One physician had taken pity on me and suggested I head down to E-merg. I was so excited to be out of the grime and slime of the waiting area I even smiled at the clerk when she told me I was “lucky” to be going straight back to “Fast Track”. Once Security (read as guy wearing a gun behind bullet proof glass) opened the doors to let me in, I just needed to follow the blue arrows back to the pink room marked “Fast Track” and wait for my name to be called. Simple.
Security dude opened the doors and I shuffled in making sure I stopped at the Purell station. I had no idea what was wrong with the guy sitting next to me in the waiting room, but if it was possible to prevent bacterial meningitis with hand sanitizer, I’d win that battle before going another 4 feet.
I rounded the corner to enter the epicenter of Toronto General Emergency Department. Pausing to search for the blue arrows, I wished Jameson was with me. And that I’d been outfitted in a HazMat suit. I Purell’d again and saw the arrows on the floor to the left on the main nurse’s station. I could also see a Karen Carpenter look-alike on a gurney in the hallway beside the arrows with arms flying around and blood smeared on her face and gown. I’d just entered the Twilight Zone.
Shuffling along past Karen, I followed the arrows to the “Fast Track” section. This room was filled with the same yahoo’s I’d just been surrounded by in the main waiting area. Fast Track my ass! Purell.
Mental checklist: before going to emergency again, review signs of congestive heart failure for faster service.
I made it to the back of the room, the only available seat, and sat down. Checking out my surroundings and doing a mental inventory of the grossness in the 10 by 12 I realized I should have taken a Xanax. Rather than fester on what I could be coming down with by breathing the same air, I took my Kindle out of my purse and started reading my latest Laurie London.
2 minutes passed before noticing Dorothy’s mom from ‘The Golden Girls’ was reading over my shoulder. She smelled like vomit. Turning my head to the right, I saw puke on her shirt and in her hair. She smiled. How do you smile while wearing vomit like a fashion accessory? I was so worried about offending the ED physician I’d changed my socks before coming. I closed the cover of my Kindle and shifted in my seat to turn away from Sophia Petrillo. Bad move. Neighbor to my left was oblivious to the green snot sliding down the front of his face. I immediately realized time spent in this “Fast Track” room meant I’d have to burn my clothes.
After suffering through 3 odoriferous hours, a man screaming about a stolen cat, some hipster chiclet crying that she needed a wheel chair because she was too weak from the X-rays, a dude in green boxers & handcuffs (which he boasted were recreational) and at least 5 cases of the stomach flu, my name was called and I headed back to a room. Purell.
A tech had me walk to X-ray and then immediately told me my foot was broken. He then explained he was going on break as soon as I was done, but he just wanted me to know in case somebody “loses” me. WHAT? Are people lost in the ED often at Toronto General? Dammit. I needed to leave so I could throwback a chardonnay and a Xannie. I walked back to my room alone because X-ray tech guy had someone bringing him a Subway. Purell. After plopping my ass up on the gurney and elevating my foot, I Skpyed Jameson.
Ja.Me.Son: WIFE! What? Your foot is broken? I told you not to walk on it. Didn’t I tell you not to walk on it? Asshat???? Explain.
ItsKelz: waiting 4 doc, i’m on my fon, xray dude chose jared n sub sandies instead of helping me
Ja.Me.Son: ASSHAT! Call me after you speak to the MD.
The physician made it in to see me, politely explained that I had a fractured 5th metatarsal and slapped a temporary cast on my foot while schooling me on the importance of using crutches and not putting any weight on my foot until I’d seen an Ortho. I grabbed my crutches, Purell'd and raced for the EXIT sign. Karen Carpenter was still on the gurney - only now the blood was dry. Eww. I called Jameson while riding in the cab back to the Marriott and, after explaining in finite detail what was done and said, I asked if he understood the patient population of an urban emergency department. He did. Hmm… can you install a DeCon shower in a home?
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
In for a Penny, In for a Pound
Some days being around the 20-something crowd made me feel like a million bucks. I had more energy because I was trying to keep up and I could stay up past 10PM. Other days it was like Barbarella interrupting the State of the Union. Full of intolerance and looks that I gave my grandma during high school. Today was the latter.
Just before leaving on our 10-day holiday in England, we'd moved to a new condo. That's wrong. WE didn't move. I moved us. Mitch had flown home, Grey wasn't back on the island yet and Jameson was in school. After I'd purged our belongings down to the necessities, I'd overstuffed our island hooptie several times a day to move. Across the street. Our new space was considerably smaller, had only one bathroom, lacked the modern appliances of life at RBC and had no shortage of ants. I found it disappointing. To emphasize my disappointment, I often used the word "rubbish" (which I'd picked up in the UK). However, I found the 1500 dollars I was saving monthly uplifting. Brilliant!
It was during one of my "brilliant" moments in our new condo that I decided to walk over to RBC, our old haunt, to talk with my friend, Michelle. She wanted to hear about our trip to England and what the clinical sites were like. I wanted to talk about the pubs, the food and the shopping.
Since our move, and since the crime rate was on the rise due to it being the tail end of low season, RBC had started using the gate on a regular basis. I parked it on the edge of the large planter outside the gates and waited for Michelle to come down so the guards would give me the green light. Seated immediately to my right were two AUC students weighted down with backpacks larger than hobbits and circles under their eyes signifying late night studies (or just a night past 10PM). I'd plopped down in the middle of a conversation about Disney movies.
"No, no. We should totally do something, like, I don't know. Like one of the classics. You know. Like, an old movie," dirty bun, sunglasses girl said.
"Cinderella?" Tie-dye shirt asks while popping gum. How does one pop gum AND talk at the same time? I remember Mrs. Tundidge doing this in middle school. I'd tried over the years and hadn't perfected it.
"No. I hate Drew Barrymore."
"Snow White?"
"Gawd, no! Bella Swan - hell no!"
"Wait. Toy Story - easy to watch and study."
Dirty bun and tie-dye nodded in agreement while continuing their discussion of Disney movies, white noise and pathology (or some other -ology, they sounded alike to me). Had I really just overheard a discussion of classic Disney movies and they'd selected 'Toy Story' as the winner? Growing up my mother had read Cinderella to me while I'd lain on top of my yellow hand-knit afghan in my floor length nightgown staring at Crayola drawings taped to the yellow wallpaper. Shit. Would these two even know what wallpaper was? That fad died a slow and painful death in the 80's.
I started chewing my bottom lip and knocking my heels on the wall of the planter to stop my overactive pity party. Oh, bollocks. "To infinity and beyond."
Mental Checklist: where did the saying "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" originate?
Just before leaving on our 10-day holiday in England, we'd moved to a new condo. That's wrong. WE didn't move. I moved us. Mitch had flown home, Grey wasn't back on the island yet and Jameson was in school. After I'd purged our belongings down to the necessities, I'd overstuffed our island hooptie several times a day to move. Across the street. Our new space was considerably smaller, had only one bathroom, lacked the modern appliances of life at RBC and had no shortage of ants. I found it disappointing. To emphasize my disappointment, I often used the word "rubbish" (which I'd picked up in the UK). However, I found the 1500 dollars I was saving monthly uplifting. Brilliant!
It was during one of my "brilliant" moments in our new condo that I decided to walk over to RBC, our old haunt, to talk with my friend, Michelle. She wanted to hear about our trip to England and what the clinical sites were like. I wanted to talk about the pubs, the food and the shopping.
Since our move, and since the crime rate was on the rise due to it being the tail end of low season, RBC had started using the gate on a regular basis. I parked it on the edge of the large planter outside the gates and waited for Michelle to come down so the guards would give me the green light. Seated immediately to my right were two AUC students weighted down with backpacks larger than hobbits and circles under their eyes signifying late night studies (or just a night past 10PM). I'd plopped down in the middle of a conversation about Disney movies.
"No, no. We should totally do something, like, I don't know. Like one of the classics. You know. Like, an old movie," dirty bun, sunglasses girl said.
"Cinderella?" Tie-dye shirt asks while popping gum. How does one pop gum AND talk at the same time? I remember Mrs. Tundidge doing this in middle school. I'd tried over the years and hadn't perfected it.
"No. I hate Drew Barrymore."
"Snow White?"
"Gawd, no! Bella Swan - hell no!"
"Wait. Toy Story - easy to watch and study."
Dirty bun and tie-dye nodded in agreement while continuing their discussion of Disney movies, white noise and pathology (or some other -ology, they sounded alike to me). Had I really just overheard a discussion of classic Disney movies and they'd selected 'Toy Story' as the winner? Growing up my mother had read Cinderella to me while I'd lain on top of my yellow hand-knit afghan in my floor length nightgown staring at Crayola drawings taped to the yellow wallpaper. Shit. Would these two even know what wallpaper was? That fad died a slow and painful death in the 80's.
I started chewing my bottom lip and knocking my heels on the wall of the planter to stop my overactive pity party. Oh, bollocks. "To infinity and beyond."
Mental Checklist: where did the saying "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" originate?
Saturday, November 17, 2012
The High Cost of Healthcare
I'd been laying on the couch with my foot elevated, wrapped and iced (on and off) for the past 7 hours when I heard Holly knocking on the front door. "Got it," hollered Jameson. Right. Thanks for clearing that up. I was totally going to jump up and run to the door.
I scooted up on the couch so I was sort of leaning against the arm and pulled the pillows closer so I could keep my foot up. This morning at 1:30 when Jameson had come to bed after studying I'd gotten up to pee. On my way back to bed I'd wiped out bruising both my knees, my head, my elbows, my right foot and severely sprained my left. At least I hoped it was a sprain. I hadn't let Jameson touch it enough to be sure.
Mental Checklist: opportunity is knocking. Your ass is big and you pee every night from too much chardonnay. Take the hint.
Holly and Jameson made their way into the room and Holly dropped her bag on the kitchen island while giving me the once over. "How do you feel?" she asked. "You don't look that bad."
"Holl, your bedside is bullshit. I can read right through it. I haven't slept and I can't move my toes." Holly raised her eyebrows in response.
"I told you she was pissy," Ja nodded at Holly.
"Alright, what do we know?" Holly asked while she and Jameson both shuffled to stand over my foot. I felt like a zoo animal.
"Did a cursory exam at the time of the accident. Patient says foot hurts 'everywhere', difficult to determine exact location of injury. Based on that exam and what patient describes as areas of pain, I'd get an x-ray to determine breaks. I didn't feel any significant or obvious breaks at the time of the exam. But then, it's hard to be thorough when the patient slaps you in the face and vomits at your feet," Jameson finished and then laughed.
"Hey! It HURT! I can't help if I puked. I did warn you. And my name is Kelly, not 'patient'."
"OK, let's unwrap it and take a look" Holly said and began unwrapping my foot. At this point I was feeling more embarrassment than pain. I needed a pedicure and to shave my legs. I apologized to Holly who assured me I was far better than 90% of the patients she and Jameson would come into contact with.
"Wife, we're going to have to touch your foot to determine if there are breaks. What do you need?"
Shit. I needed a solid week of drinking vodka to prepare myself for what I knew was going to be worse than labor. "Just tell me when and where you're going to touch my foot. Oh, and can you grab the trashcan in case I need to throw up again?"
Jameson pulled the trashcan from under the kitchen sink and sat it next to me. He and Holly exchanged looks and she said, "Can you point to where it hurts the most?"
I did some more adjusting on the couch and leaned forward to lightly touch just below my fourth toe and down to almost the middle of my foot. Damn. If it hurt to hover on it like that, I couldn't imagine what it would feel like when they were done. "And, it hurts in that same spot on the bottom," I sighed and then leaned back on the arm of the couch.
Jameson began, "It's localized. That's good. Last night you said the side of your foot hurt to the touch which is the sign of a break."
"If you didn't feel any obvious breaks last night, it's probably a severe sprain. We won't know how bad without a CT or MRI - which you're not getting on this floating trash heap," Holly replied then turned to me. "OK, Jameson is going to pick up your foot with both of his hands and gently squeeze all three regions to determine if anything is really broken. He'll start with your heel. You ready?"
What I was ready for was a Catherine Tate marathon and some Krispy Kreme doughnuts, but that wasn't happening anytime soon. I grabbed one of the pillows behind my back, bit down and nodded my head.
As soon as Jameson lifted my foot, the tears started. He prodded and kneaded and then put my foot back down on the pillows. What was probably a 60-second exam felt like 60 minutes. I took the pillow out of my mouth and gulped in oxygen. I was still crying, but there was no puking. Winning.
"Wife, I don't think it's broken. I do think it's a severe sprain judging by swelling in the mid foot and the areas of pain. You need to keep the foot elevated, wrapped and iced on and off for the next 3 days. You should keep it wrapped for a solid week. No shoes. No walking, which shouldn't be an issue since you can't put weight on it, and try to stay on the couch for the next week so it has time to rest."
Holly agreed with Ja's diagnosis and they both set off to find me some crutches, an ice pack (my Ziploc of ice cubes was getting annoying) and a proper wrap. I realized that the cost of this medical advice was about 150 grand since both Holly and Ja had taken out loans. One. Hundred. Fifty. Thousand. Dollars. My mouth started to water, my back ached and I promptly turned to hurl in the trashcan.
I scooted up on the couch so I was sort of leaning against the arm and pulled the pillows closer so I could keep my foot up. This morning at 1:30 when Jameson had come to bed after studying I'd gotten up to pee. On my way back to bed I'd wiped out bruising both my knees, my head, my elbows, my right foot and severely sprained my left. At least I hoped it was a sprain. I hadn't let Jameson touch it enough to be sure.
Mental Checklist: opportunity is knocking. Your ass is big and you pee every night from too much chardonnay. Take the hint.
Holly and Jameson made their way into the room and Holly dropped her bag on the kitchen island while giving me the once over. "How do you feel?" she asked. "You don't look that bad."
"Holl, your bedside is bullshit. I can read right through it. I haven't slept and I can't move my toes." Holly raised her eyebrows in response.
"I told you she was pissy," Ja nodded at Holly.
"Alright, what do we know?" Holly asked while she and Jameson both shuffled to stand over my foot. I felt like a zoo animal.
"Did a cursory exam at the time of the accident. Patient says foot hurts 'everywhere', difficult to determine exact location of injury. Based on that exam and what patient describes as areas of pain, I'd get an x-ray to determine breaks. I didn't feel any significant or obvious breaks at the time of the exam. But then, it's hard to be thorough when the patient slaps you in the face and vomits at your feet," Jameson finished and then laughed.
"Hey! It HURT! I can't help if I puked. I did warn you. And my name is Kelly, not 'patient'."
"OK, let's unwrap it and take a look" Holly said and began unwrapping my foot. At this point I was feeling more embarrassment than pain. I needed a pedicure and to shave my legs. I apologized to Holly who assured me I was far better than 90% of the patients she and Jameson would come into contact with.
"Wife, we're going to have to touch your foot to determine if there are breaks. What do you need?"
Shit. I needed a solid week of drinking vodka to prepare myself for what I knew was going to be worse than labor. "Just tell me when and where you're going to touch my foot. Oh, and can you grab the trashcan in case I need to throw up again?"
Jameson pulled the trashcan from under the kitchen sink and sat it next to me. He and Holly exchanged looks and she said, "Can you point to where it hurts the most?"
I did some more adjusting on the couch and leaned forward to lightly touch just below my fourth toe and down to almost the middle of my foot. Damn. If it hurt to hover on it like that, I couldn't imagine what it would feel like when they were done. "And, it hurts in that same spot on the bottom," I sighed and then leaned back on the arm of the couch.
Jameson began, "It's localized. That's good. Last night you said the side of your foot hurt to the touch which is the sign of a break."
"If you didn't feel any obvious breaks last night, it's probably a severe sprain. We won't know how bad without a CT or MRI - which you're not getting on this floating trash heap," Holly replied then turned to me. "OK, Jameson is going to pick up your foot with both of his hands and gently squeeze all three regions to determine if anything is really broken. He'll start with your heel. You ready?"
What I was ready for was a Catherine Tate marathon and some Krispy Kreme doughnuts, but that wasn't happening anytime soon. I grabbed one of the pillows behind my back, bit down and nodded my head.
As soon as Jameson lifted my foot, the tears started. He prodded and kneaded and then put my foot back down on the pillows. What was probably a 60-second exam felt like 60 minutes. I took the pillow out of my mouth and gulped in oxygen. I was still crying, but there was no puking. Winning.
"Wife, I don't think it's broken. I do think it's a severe sprain judging by swelling in the mid foot and the areas of pain. You need to keep the foot elevated, wrapped and iced on and off for the next 3 days. You should keep it wrapped for a solid week. No shoes. No walking, which shouldn't be an issue since you can't put weight on it, and try to stay on the couch for the next week so it has time to rest."
Holly agreed with Ja's diagnosis and they both set off to find me some crutches, an ice pack (my Ziploc of ice cubes was getting annoying) and a proper wrap. I realized that the cost of this medical advice was about 150 grand since both Holly and Ja had taken out loans. One. Hundred. Fifty. Thousand. Dollars. My mouth started to water, my back ached and I promptly turned to hurl in the trashcan.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Cheeseburger in Paradise
From: kelzbellz@yahoo.com
To: taffnmax@gmail.com
Subject: Beezy, stop sending me pics of shoes!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Taff -
Got your e-mail with the photos of A) your new Ferragamo shoes B) the before and after of your bathroom remodel and C) you and Lisa with your matching LV bags during happy hour drinking margarita's. Call me crazy, but I do not feel bad the summer weather in Seattle "just isn't what you'd hoped". Need I remind you that you get to GO to happy hour wearing cute clothes and accessories that you wore INTO the office. The office - a magical place with a dress code which means you get ready in your NEW bathroom with granite counter tops and a dual head shower with floor to ceiling custom tile work. Another reminder: I have one year left on this island and only 8 more client visits. This dramatically limits my wardrobe options and makes me seethe with jealousy of your day-to-day. Because of said jealousy, I purchased the Legacy Weekend Tote from Coach. Right now I just carry it around this apartment wishing I could weekend in the States. It might be a crutch. Annnnnnndddd... just because Max won't fly doesn't mean you can't. Come visit! Now! Miss you, bish-a-lish!
Kel
PS - included photos that I thought you'd enjoy! XO!
1. Bathroom remodel island style. Love - or should we think of doing something more muted?
2. My collection of shoes AKA my shoe tree. Lawdie, I miss my walk-in closet! And wedges, and peep-toe pumps, and kitten heels... Intervention much?
3. No, this is not the future site of a Starbucks. Cupecoy Plaza is rumored to house a Dunkin' Donuts (the closest thing to a Krispy Kreme we'll get) when it opens. When is it opening? Long after I've succumbed to your nagging about botox and a boob lift.
To: taffnmax@gmail.com
Subject: Beezy, stop sending me pics of shoes!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Taff -
Got your e-mail with the photos of A) your new Ferragamo shoes B) the before and after of your bathroom remodel and C) you and Lisa with your matching LV bags during happy hour drinking margarita's. Call me crazy, but I do not feel bad the summer weather in Seattle "just isn't what you'd hoped". Need I remind you that you get to GO to happy hour wearing cute clothes and accessories that you wore INTO the office. The office - a magical place with a dress code which means you get ready in your NEW bathroom with granite counter tops and a dual head shower with floor to ceiling custom tile work. Another reminder: I have one year left on this island and only 8 more client visits. This dramatically limits my wardrobe options and makes me seethe with jealousy of your day-to-day. Because of said jealousy, I purchased the Legacy Weekend Tote from Coach. Right now I just carry it around this apartment wishing I could weekend in the States. It might be a crutch. Annnnnnndddd... just because Max won't fly doesn't mean you can't. Come visit! Now! Miss you, bish-a-lish!
Kel
PS - included photos that I thought you'd enjoy! XO!
1. Bathroom remodel island style. Love - or should we think of doing something more muted?
2. My collection of shoes AKA my shoe tree. Lawdie, I miss my walk-in closet! And wedges, and peep-toe pumps, and kitten heels... Intervention much?
3. No, this is not the future site of a Starbucks. Cupecoy Plaza is rumored to house a Dunkin' Donuts (the closest thing to a Krispy Kreme we'll get) when it opens. When is it opening? Long after I've succumbed to your nagging about botox and a boob lift.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Yo Momma!
With one week left of "summer vacation", I was walking over to C.I.A. to drop off the receipt for Grey's tuition. It took me three hours to pay the 2 grand deposit due to crappy traffic and because the line I waited in - for an hour - at the Winward Islands Bank was for island business owners, not mom's depositing kids tuition in the business account. Even though I explained to the teller the school itself was a business, I wasn't the owner or an employee of said business. I resigned the conversation at that point and had moved over to the "Personal Transactions" line to wait. An hour. Again.
I'd had another call with Doc.Ginny, so I was trying to see things from a different perspective during the short walk from Rainbow to C.I.A. In blistering heat. With blood-thirsty mosquitoes. OK, so my perspective was still a bit skewed but I recognized it as such. Wasn't that part of the process?
Stopping in front of the soon-to-be Cupecoy Plaza I looked over the concrete, re bar, chickens and littered trash wondering when this shopping depot would open. Probably not during my stay on the island, meaning there was no Dunkin' Donuts in my immediate future. Hmm, new perspective wasn't so hard. I accepted there would be no convenience to be had in this area and moved along on my walk. My next stop was in front of B.B.'s, the local watering hole and home to AUC masses immediately following Block Exams. Shaded in palm trees it looked welcoming and the 2 buck beers proved as much. But, I knew that if you spent $20 you'd be blitzed enough to order food in turn leaving B.B.'s with E.coli, salmonella and/or a pinch of botulism.
I kept walking past B.B.'s, Fat Tony's open air eatery and stopped in the Campus Village parking lot because I'd lost my flip flop. After reading about hepatitis and suffering through my imagination induced anxiety, I wasn't walking any place sans shoes. I hopped back toward my lost flopper and overheard a conversation between a group of students at the entrance to Sunset Village.
"No. Seriously. What do I get my mom? Like," girl in the AUC sweatshirt was asking, "what can I order? My mom's 45th is this Friday." Her girlfriends eyes bugged out and mouth dropped open, but she didn't have an answer.
"45?!?" Shouted scrub wearing, water bottle swinging dude next to her. "No clue. Want me to call my mom and ask?"
My first thought: why the hell is this chic wearing a sweatshirt? It's over 85 outside and I'd been covered in a sheen of sweat as soon as I'd closed my front door. Second thought: can I punch this asshat right now for shouting the number 45 like it was a death sentence? Of course, I'd probably break all of the bones in my hand if I punched him because of my age-induced osteoporosis.
I stood rooted in shock and scrutinized these kids. Was it possible Jameson and I were only a couple of years from 45? Was I actually old enough to have birthed a child who was in Basic Sciences? I realized that the discussion had stopped, largely due to me staring in utter disbelief. I nodded politely, adjusted my flip flop and continued my walk to C.I.A.
Mental Checklist: once 4th semester starts, and after our vacation to England and all of it's pubs, Jameson and I needed to start working out and fighting age 'like a boss'. That's right kiddies, SNL was popular in our generation first. Oh, and research how to restore elasticity to skin.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
The Doctor is In
Following a suggestion from Taffi (and maybe a bit from Jameson, though I'd never admit it), I'd scheduled a Skype appointment with her therapist friend, Ginny. We'd met at Taff's party in June just before I headed back to the island. At the time I thought Ginny was a great listener. Now, while sitting at my desk tapping my heel and waiting for my appointment, I realized her listening was a covert operation to gain more patients. Hmm... maybe my anxiety about the island, my workload and husband was getting to me. Shit. I needed this appointment.
With a sigh, I fired up Skype and settled back into the chair to get as comfy as possible. Jameson was at school, I had 2 hours free of meetings and Mitch was working at the dive shop. This was as open as my schedule got. As my Skype chirped with an incoming video call from Doc.Ginny, I accepted the call and put on my game face. We exchanged pleasantries, made sure the video feed worked on both sides (while I thanked the gods for the lack of construction at Rainbow) and we got down to business.
"So, before we start, can I ask a quick question?"
"Kelly, you can ask me whatever you'd like. I want you to be comfortable," Ginny replied while setting down her pen and writing pad and crossing her hands on her lap. I could see the corner of her home office and wondered how she'd set up her video feed since my video only showed me from the shoulders up and windows behind me.
"Where is your camera? I feel like I'm in your office right now," I asked, not able to help myself.
"Oh. I've actually got a couple of feeds. My husband set it up so I can treat clients virtually while making them feel like there with me in the office. Was that what you wanted to ask?"
"No, I actually wanted to know where you got the name Ginny."
"My parents, of course."
Quick witted and sassy - I liked her already.
"Alright, Ginny, let's roll."
"Kelly, why don't you tell me what you'd like to talk about. I read through your e-mail and you mentioned stress with your job, the island, missing out on family functions, your husband's school. Do any of these sound like a good place to start?"
I crossed my arms and looked up wondering where to start. I only had 50 minutes, probably more like 40 at this point. My immediate thought was to ask if Ginny had been to the new Starbucks in Redmond Town Center, but I figured that would go over like a lead balloon.
"Tell you what, why don't you talk to me about what you miss most about living in Washington? Normally I'd limit an answer to one item, literally, but I'll give you some leeway."
"Easy. Convenience and reliability."
"You do know those things are not always synonymous?"
"Totally. But, I also know that at home if I want to run to Krispy Kreme to grab an old-fashioned, I'd take a left at the end of my block to hit the main road and I could be there in 6 minutes.Whereas here, depending on the time of day, I'd take one of 3 different routes to get to the same place because A) there is no easy way to do anything on this island (I said while using my fingers to count and making sure she could see them in the camera) and B) if I'm going to sit in traffic to go pay a bill I may as well waste my entire afternoon by hitting the grocery store, Prime and the drugstore. So yeah, I totally miss convenience and reliability."
"Are you familiar with the chaos theory?"
"Is that like Nordstrom on Black Friday? Because, yes, I am painfully familiar with that"
Laughing Ginny answered, "I guess in a round about way, yes it is. It's really how one choice, one action can have a larger impact than you'd expect. When you take route 1 on the island, that choice impacts the rest of your day as well as anyone else you come into contact with and people they see or interact with after the fact. So, even though nothing on the island is easy, as you say, what you do with your time on the island is important in the larger scheme of things."
"What? Like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon?"
We talked for the next 20 minutes about my choices and putting a different spin on them, trying to look at my life from a different vantage point and ways to reduce stress. In turn, I told her my story of how I'd e-mailed Starbucks no less than 8 times to suggest they open a store on the Dutch side of St. Maarten. This, to me, would be the fastest and easiest way to alleviate a lot of my stress. Ginny disagreed and suggested I drink less coffee.
Wrapping up my Skype appointment, Ginny asked, "Kelly, this is the point in which I ask clients if they'd like to talk with me again. I'm not going to ask you because I've gleaned you don't do anything you don't want to do. However, I am going to suggest you think about it and then let me know."
"Soooo, are you telling me you'd see right through an answer of 'I'm not bovvered'?"
"Should I start calling you Lauren?"
"Got it. Look at my schedule and mail you back. Consider it done," I signed off to Doc.Ginny.
Mental checklist: apparently 8 years of med school and residency, combined with details provided by Taffi, were going to make these therapy sessions legit. Must tell Ginny to address me as M.C. Hammer during next session.
With a sigh, I fired up Skype and settled back into the chair to get as comfy as possible. Jameson was at school, I had 2 hours free of meetings and Mitch was working at the dive shop. This was as open as my schedule got. As my Skype chirped with an incoming video call from Doc.Ginny, I accepted the call and put on my game face. We exchanged pleasantries, made sure the video feed worked on both sides (while I thanked the gods for the lack of construction at Rainbow) and we got down to business.
"So, before we start, can I ask a quick question?"
"Kelly, you can ask me whatever you'd like. I want you to be comfortable," Ginny replied while setting down her pen and writing pad and crossing her hands on her lap. I could see the corner of her home office and wondered how she'd set up her video feed since my video only showed me from the shoulders up and windows behind me.
"Where is your camera? I feel like I'm in your office right now," I asked, not able to help myself.
"Oh. I've actually got a couple of feeds. My husband set it up so I can treat clients virtually while making them feel like there with me in the office. Was that what you wanted to ask?"
"No, I actually wanted to know where you got the name Ginny."
"My parents, of course."
Quick witted and sassy - I liked her already.
"Alright, Ginny, let's roll."
"Kelly, why don't you tell me what you'd like to talk about. I read through your e-mail and you mentioned stress with your job, the island, missing out on family functions, your husband's school. Do any of these sound like a good place to start?"
I crossed my arms and looked up wondering where to start. I only had 50 minutes, probably more like 40 at this point. My immediate thought was to ask if Ginny had been to the new Starbucks in Redmond Town Center, but I figured that would go over like a lead balloon.
"Tell you what, why don't you talk to me about what you miss most about living in Washington? Normally I'd limit an answer to one item, literally, but I'll give you some leeway."
"Easy. Convenience and reliability."
"You do know those things are not always synonymous?"
"Totally. But, I also know that at home if I want to run to Krispy Kreme to grab an old-fashioned, I'd take a left at the end of my block to hit the main road and I could be there in 6 minutes.Whereas here, depending on the time of day, I'd take one of 3 different routes to get to the same place because A) there is no easy way to do anything on this island (I said while using my fingers to count and making sure she could see them in the camera) and B) if I'm going to sit in traffic to go pay a bill I may as well waste my entire afternoon by hitting the grocery store, Prime and the drugstore. So yeah, I totally miss convenience and reliability."
"Are you familiar with the chaos theory?"
"Is that like Nordstrom on Black Friday? Because, yes, I am painfully familiar with that"
Laughing Ginny answered, "I guess in a round about way, yes it is. It's really how one choice, one action can have a larger impact than you'd expect. When you take route 1 on the island, that choice impacts the rest of your day as well as anyone else you come into contact with and people they see or interact with after the fact. So, even though nothing on the island is easy, as you say, what you do with your time on the island is important in the larger scheme of things."
"What? Like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon?"
We talked for the next 20 minutes about my choices and putting a different spin on them, trying to look at my life from a different vantage point and ways to reduce stress. In turn, I told her my story of how I'd e-mailed Starbucks no less than 8 times to suggest they open a store on the Dutch side of St. Maarten. This, to me, would be the fastest and easiest way to alleviate a lot of my stress. Ginny disagreed and suggested I drink less coffee.
Wrapping up my Skype appointment, Ginny asked, "Kelly, this is the point in which I ask clients if they'd like to talk with me again. I'm not going to ask you because I've gleaned you don't do anything you don't want to do. However, I am going to suggest you think about it and then let me know."
"Soooo, are you telling me you'd see right through an answer of 'I'm not bovvered'?"
"Should I start calling you Lauren?"
"Got it. Look at my schedule and mail you back. Consider it done," I signed off to Doc.Ginny.
Mental checklist: apparently 8 years of med school and residency, combined with details provided by Taffi, were going to make these therapy sessions legit. Must tell Ginny to address me as M.C. Hammer during next session.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
It's Got Electrolytes
"Kel?" Mitch asked while shutting the door to the freezer. "There's like, no more burritos or corn dogs. And, I think we're out of Coke's."
Mitch was staying with us for 6 weeks over his summer break - the break immediately preceding his senior year in high school. He'd been on the island for 10 days and so far had played XBox with Jameson at night and spent his days sleeping in and telling me how lame it was on the island. News flash. Been there, bought the t-shirt.
I was sitting at the kitchen table which doubled as my desk during business hours. I continued typing my work e-mail, "Totally fine. We'll run down to the marche in about an hour when my client is on lunch break."
Silence from Mitch, but I could see him out of my peripheral vision. Standing. Not moving. I stopped typing and turned to give him my full attention.
"Child. You okay or is there something you need to tell me? And before you answer, is this something you'd rather tell your dad?" The only kind of teen-boy convo I was interested in having involved a reminder to wash his clothes. "And seriously, those shorts are going to walk around on their own if you don't wash them soon. The ewwww factor is over 10."
Standing in front of the refrigerator Mitch cocked one eyebrow, crossed his arms then shook his head. Ohmuhgawd! Mini-Jameson, sans tan. This, I realized, must drive Sesame crazy on the daily.
"No, woman."
"Really? You're gonna go there?" I interrupted. This actually elicited a laugh from the teen-monster.
Mental Checklist: talking to Mitch is just like talking to Jameson without responses with drawn out scientific data. Dammit. Advantage = lost.
Mitch shuffled over to the breakfast bar and parked it. "Woman, what I'm trying to tell you is there's no food here. What am I supposed to eat for breakfast?"
"Last time I checked we had milk, cereal, eggs, bacon, sausage, juice -"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. But, none of that is corn dogs." The face on this kid - serious as a heart attack.
"Couldn't be grosser, child. Just putting it out there."
"What?" Mitch asked while practically laying on the breakfast bar. Hmm, must be from lack of energy due to staying up late to XBox and eating food with little to no nutritional value. "No, seriously. There's like, corn - which is a vegetable and the dog, which is like... a protein?"
All I could think of was Sara Rue spitting out, "It's got electrolytes. It's what plants crave." in the movie 'Idiocracy'. If Mitch got a tan, he could totally pass for the CEO of Brawndo. He was a step ahead with his like of Mountain Dew.
"So, when you're at home, Sesame force feeds you burritos before you leave for school? Are they gluten free?"
Crickets. Still splayed out across the breakfast bar.
"You're going to have to wait. Your dad is going to be home in two shakes and then we've got to head out for the jet ski tour. I guess you'll have to make due." I turned back around to finish working all the while tapping my heel on the floor. Must finish work. Must finish work.
I'd just wrapped up my workflow summary and had closed the lid of my laptop when Ja raced through the door. We had about 3 minutes before we needed to leave if we wanted to be "island on time", which really meant 20 minutes late. After tossing his backpack like a dead body in the hall, he threw open the freezer only to exclaim, "Wife! What the hell? Where are the corn dogs?"
Awesome. I was married to Frito Pendejo.
Mitch was staying with us for 6 weeks over his summer break - the break immediately preceding his senior year in high school. He'd been on the island for 10 days and so far had played XBox with Jameson at night and spent his days sleeping in and telling me how lame it was on the island. News flash. Been there, bought the t-shirt.
I was sitting at the kitchen table which doubled as my desk during business hours. I continued typing my work e-mail, "Totally fine. We'll run down to the marche in about an hour when my client is on lunch break."
Silence from Mitch, but I could see him out of my peripheral vision. Standing. Not moving. I stopped typing and turned to give him my full attention.
"Child. You okay or is there something you need to tell me? And before you answer, is this something you'd rather tell your dad?" The only kind of teen-boy convo I was interested in having involved a reminder to wash his clothes. "And seriously, those shorts are going to walk around on their own if you don't wash them soon. The ewwww factor is over 10."
Standing in front of the refrigerator Mitch cocked one eyebrow, crossed his arms then shook his head. Ohmuhgawd! Mini-Jameson, sans tan. This, I realized, must drive Sesame crazy on the daily.
"No, woman."
"Really? You're gonna go there?" I interrupted. This actually elicited a laugh from the teen-monster.
Mental Checklist: talking to Mitch is just like talking to Jameson without responses with drawn out scientific data. Dammit. Advantage = lost.
Mitch shuffled over to the breakfast bar and parked it. "Woman, what I'm trying to tell you is there's no food here. What am I supposed to eat for breakfast?"
"Last time I checked we had milk, cereal, eggs, bacon, sausage, juice -"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. But, none of that is corn dogs." The face on this kid - serious as a heart attack.
"Couldn't be grosser, child. Just putting it out there."
"What?" Mitch asked while practically laying on the breakfast bar. Hmm, must be from lack of energy due to staying up late to XBox and eating food with little to no nutritional value. "No, seriously. There's like, corn - which is a vegetable and the dog, which is like... a protein?"
All I could think of was Sara Rue spitting out, "It's got electrolytes. It's what plants crave." in the movie 'Idiocracy'. If Mitch got a tan, he could totally pass for the CEO of Brawndo. He was a step ahead with his like of Mountain Dew.
"So, when you're at home, Sesame force feeds you burritos before you leave for school? Are they gluten free?"
Crickets. Still splayed out across the breakfast bar.
"You're going to have to wait. Your dad is going to be home in two shakes and then we've got to head out for the jet ski tour. I guess you'll have to make due." I turned back around to finish working all the while tapping my heel on the floor. Must finish work. Must finish work.
I'd just wrapped up my workflow summary and had closed the lid of my laptop when Ja raced through the door. We had about 3 minutes before we needed to leave if we wanted to be "island on time", which really meant 20 minutes late. After tossing his backpack like a dead body in the hall, he threw open the freezer only to exclaim, "Wife! What the hell? Where are the corn dogs?"
Awesome. I was married to Frito Pendejo.
Monday, October 22, 2012
My Life in Numbers
49, 62, 17, 33, 2,555.
These numbers kept floating through my brain while I sat yoga style on Taff's couch finishing off my chardonnay. Second bottle. I picked lint off of my new yoga pants (thank you, Lulu Lemon), prayed to Shaun T. the purchase of said pants would motivate me to exercise once I got back to the MFI and listened to Max explain the bouquet to "dude who always mooches their wine". Taffi rolled her eyes and then continued conversation with the rest of us.
I'd dropped Grey with my mother-in-law for his summer break and was camped at Max and Taffi's house for my final evening back in civilization. I'd spent 17 days here while Jameson remained on the island studying. Grey and I had shopped, visited the family lake house in Cheney and been to our storage unit so many times I'd lost count.
"Real question. Channing Tatum or Christian Grey?" Taff's friend Angela asked, her eyes brightening at the potential discussion.
Which earned the following from her husband, "Are we really doing this? Here? If we are, I'm going outside to light up my Jocko." To prove a point, he uncrossed his legs and adjusted himself in front of God and everyone.
"Babe, when you tell people you're going to 'light up your Jocko' (fingers with quotes), it doesn't give the best impression," Angela fired back.
"Such dirty minds, ladies," Jeff replied while bobbing his eyebrows up and down.
Groans from all the women had the guys single filing out the sliding glass door to smoke cigars at the fire pit.
"What's your deal, beezy?" Taff asked me. "You've been quiet all night. Depressed about leaving your new Lou's behind?"
Oh yeah. I'd been so distraught about leaving the cushy convenience of home I'd splurged on some Louboutin black patent slingbacks. Where did I think I was going to wear those on the MFI? To the marche to buy wilted lettuce and "fresh" pesto that was 24 hours from expiring? Not my best choice.
Mental Checklist: allow Taffi to "store" my Lou's while back on the MFI. Consider getting a remote alarm to notify me if the box opens.
I set my wine glass on the table, twisted my hair up in a dirty bun and began my breakdown (not to be confused with beat boxing).
"Do you know that I haven't had a night alone with my Ja for months? Let me make this clear. It's been 49 days since we've gone on a date."
Crickets. Then, glass clinking while my knitting bee filled up on more wine. Angela looked especially horrified and I knew she was thinking of her Christian Grey fetish. Who was I kidding? I'd spent more time with Christian in the past few months than I had with my husband. Taff nodded so I continued.
"So. Anyway. Uh, it's been forever since we've gone on a date. Since Mother's Day actually."
"Oooh, what did you get for Mom's Day? You and McHotness in scrubs doing the nasty?" Kim, Taffi's neighbor who was obsessed with 'Grey's Anatomy', asked. Looking at her I wondered why we hadn't dubbed her "chic who talks porn about Patrick Dempsey".
"Kindle Fire. Love it. Not discussing my sex life with you boneheads. Should I go on?"
Everyone nodded so I continued my breakdown. 49 days since we'd gone on a date, 62 days on the island this last time, back in the States for 17 days of glorious convenience, 33 more days would be spent in lukewarm bath water weather battling mosquitoes and horrid traffic before returning to the States and the icing on the cake: 2, 555 days until the short sale of the house dropped off my credit report.
"Daaaamn, beezy! I had no idea you were so blue. I know what can make this better. Ladies - road trip."
With that, Taffi set down her wine glass, collected her new Coach hobo bag (read as me being extremely jealous) and we all made way to the SUV for a trip to Krispy Kreme.
These numbers kept floating through my brain while I sat yoga style on Taff's couch finishing off my chardonnay. Second bottle. I picked lint off of my new yoga pants (thank you, Lulu Lemon), prayed to Shaun T. the purchase of said pants would motivate me to exercise once I got back to the MFI and listened to Max explain the bouquet to "dude who always mooches their wine". Taffi rolled her eyes and then continued conversation with the rest of us.
I'd dropped Grey with my mother-in-law for his summer break and was camped at Max and Taffi's house for my final evening back in civilization. I'd spent 17 days here while Jameson remained on the island studying. Grey and I had shopped, visited the family lake house in Cheney and been to our storage unit so many times I'd lost count.
"Real question. Channing Tatum or Christian Grey?" Taff's friend Angela asked, her eyes brightening at the potential discussion.
Which earned the following from her husband, "Are we really doing this? Here? If we are, I'm going outside to light up my Jocko." To prove a point, he uncrossed his legs and adjusted himself in front of God and everyone.
"Babe, when you tell people you're going to 'light up your Jocko' (fingers with quotes), it doesn't give the best impression," Angela fired back.
"Such dirty minds, ladies," Jeff replied while bobbing his eyebrows up and down.
Groans from all the women had the guys single filing out the sliding glass door to smoke cigars at the fire pit.
"What's your deal, beezy?" Taff asked me. "You've been quiet all night. Depressed about leaving your new Lou's behind?"
Oh yeah. I'd been so distraught about leaving the cushy convenience of home I'd splurged on some Louboutin black patent slingbacks. Where did I think I was going to wear those on the MFI? To the marche to buy wilted lettuce and "fresh" pesto that was 24 hours from expiring? Not my best choice.
Mental Checklist: allow Taffi to "store" my Lou's while back on the MFI. Consider getting a remote alarm to notify me if the box opens.
I set my wine glass on the table, twisted my hair up in a dirty bun and began my breakdown (not to be confused with beat boxing).
"Do you know that I haven't had a night alone with my Ja for months? Let me make this clear. It's been 49 days since we've gone on a date."
Crickets. Then, glass clinking while my knitting bee filled up on more wine. Angela looked especially horrified and I knew she was thinking of her Christian Grey fetish. Who was I kidding? I'd spent more time with Christian in the past few months than I had with my husband. Taff nodded so I continued.
"So. Anyway. Uh, it's been forever since we've gone on a date. Since Mother's Day actually."
"Oooh, what did you get for Mom's Day? You and McHotness in scrubs doing the nasty?" Kim, Taffi's neighbor who was obsessed with 'Grey's Anatomy', asked. Looking at her I wondered why we hadn't dubbed her "chic who talks porn about Patrick Dempsey".
"Kindle Fire. Love it. Not discussing my sex life with you boneheads. Should I go on?"
Everyone nodded so I continued my breakdown. 49 days since we'd gone on a date, 62 days on the island this last time, back in the States for 17 days of glorious convenience, 33 more days would be spent in lukewarm bath water weather battling mosquitoes and horrid traffic before returning to the States and the icing on the cake: 2, 555 days until the short sale of the house dropped off my credit report.
"Daaaamn, beezy! I had no idea you were so blue. I know what can make this better. Ladies - road trip."
With that, Taffi set down her wine glass, collected her new Coach hobo bag (read as me being extremely jealous) and we all made way to the SUV for a trip to Krispy Kreme.
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