A Caffeinated Place

Transplant

2007-08-03T11:32:00.000-07:00

It's official. I've moved across the country. My new apartment is really cute (way to go Tom) and thanks to Ikea, is now almost completely furnished. I start my new job on Monday, everything's really coming together.

In other news, I've started a new blog. Because it's a fresh start, and because some of my old coworkers want to read my blog but I don't really need Dr. ACP knowing that I call him a cutie-pie on the internet. :) So, this blog is probably going to become inactive, and you can find me at my new blog:

TRANSPLANT!

see you there!

Pack Rat

2007-07-17T16:49:00.001-07:00

You never really realize how much crap you've accumulated over the course of your adult life, until you try to fit it all into these.

Packing is depressing.

Things that Happened to Me Last Night

2007-07-17T16:35:00.000-07:00

1. I ate cupcakes and cheesecake brownies at a bar. Because C can't go anywhere without baked goods. And that is why I love her so.
2. I did a shot of Patron. (I'm sure there's an accent mark on there somewhere, but I lack both the knowledge and will to add one.) It was really cold. I probably should have done that shot prior to losing all sensation in my tongue. Probably a wasted $9.25.
3. I knew that Mitt Romney thinks that the garden of Eden was in Missouri.
4. I did not know to dial 8-1-1 prior to digging.
5. I had a song called "Strokin'" dedicated to me and was required to go up and dance on the stage area. "I stroke it to the east, I stroke it to the west, I stroke it to the woman that I like best..." My friend Elizabeth loves this song and swears it will be the song of the first dance at her wedding. I totally believe her.
6. I drank what probably amounted to half a bottle of rum. (Which is why my liver spent today trying to punch me in the face.)
7. I rode home in a cab whose headlights didn't work. At 2 AM.
8. I spent one of my last nights in Birmingham with all the people that I love the most.
9. I realized how much I'm going to miss everyone.
10. I contemplated how many of them I could fit in the back of a U-Haul.

Quote

2007-07-10T16:04:00.000-07:00

We're all leaving Innisfree after trivia.

C: "My car is far....That is rhymes."
C's roommate: "Um...do you need a ride home?"

The Days are Just Packed

2007-07-10T15:14:00.000-07:00

I'm moving in 11 days, but I have a feeling that the day is going to creep up on me much faster than I think. Primarily because I am staying extraordinarily busy in these final days.

Last weekend I went home for the last time before the move. My sisters and I (minus Jessica) hung out, went bowling, and spent a lot of time going over how things are done in Boston. Such mind-bending questions as "How do they wash their cars in Boston?" and "Do people even wear shorts up there?" were answered. I'm pretty sure my younger sisters think I'm moving to a polar ice cap. It was a lot of fun though, despite the fact that it rained non-stop. We went to Chili's, ordered an ungodly amount of food, were all sitting there clutching our stomachs, and Bear ordered cake. "Bear, I don't think I'm going to be able to eat cake." "Then quit eating your food. Save room for cake! You've gotta have priorities." So, we ate until we were sick and then bowled until the wee hours of the morning. It was a blast. :) I mean, who wouldn't miss faces like these? (and who knew Bear's eyes could do that?) :

I got back to Birmingham on Sunday evening in time to hang out with C and P. We decided to go to dinner and then see Ratatouille. We had Japanese food, and let me tell you a little something about the seafood pasta at this particular restaurant. You might assume shrimp...maybe some scallops...perhaps a crab leg. But you would be wrong. P got her food, I looked over... "Um...is that a tentacle?" Her pasta was chock-full of squid-y goodness. Actually squid and octopi, because there were tiny squids, but there were also honest to God tentacles with little suction cups I kid you not. Luckily I'm a vegetarian, and quickly lumped octopus tentacles into the meat category. Blech. Of course, I guess it was better than octopus ice cream. Skip to 3:30 on this bad boy

Then we saw Ratatouille. If you haven't seen this movie, go now. See it on the big screen. Not only is it really well-written and adorable, it also has the most amazing animation ever. The wet fur, the singed fur, the dry fur...hell, see it for the fur. Also see it because it is like watching Food Network with rats. I totally love Food Network, but this movie definitely gives that channel something to aspire to. Giving the audience an appreciation for food and fresh ingredients, rather than giving the audience the quickest way to throw together preservative-laden foods (I'm talking to you, Sandra Lee. Put down the Cheez-Whiz! Also, you may want to think about AA.) was really refreshing. I am not a cook by any means, but I really enjoyed watching the culinary touches to this movie. Apparently Anthony Bourdain was an advisor and he later reviewed the movie talking about how much they got right about life in a restaurant kitchen. I'm a huge fan of Bourdain's books, so I appreciate that the movie aspired to authenticity along with absolutely nailing the animation and having a wonderful story to boot. Awesome movie for any age. Go go go see it now.

Then I went out again Monday night! I'm telling you, I haven't just laid down and vegged out on my couch for like a week. Which is probably healthy, but whatever. Last night we went to the Alabama Kick-Off party for Barack Obama's campaign. I don't know who I'll be voting for yet, but I thought I'd like to hear what he had to say, and if by some chance he wins, when will be the next time I'll get to say I saw the President in person?!? (Actually, that's already happened to me once. President Bush's motorcade drove 10 feet in front of me when I was in DC a few years ago, but I wouldn't categorize my reaction to that as "excited" by any means. Ugh.)

The whole kick-off thing was pretty low-key...it's hard to get a large group of Democrats together in Alabama. First some little 9 year old girl read a letter she'd written to Obama, and I guess it was cute. I didn't pay a lot of attention since I'd just gotten there and had found a couple of my friends in the audience. Then some Birmingham drum line performed. Poor kids performed and then stood there holding their drums for almost the entire event. They finally gave out in the last 15 minutes or so. Then Charles Barkley came out to introduce the guy who was going to introduce Obama. I hate when people do that. You know who we're here to see, we don't need a cavalcade of people leading up to the guy. Particularly Charles Barkley who I don't care for at all, but who is probably trying to ride some coattails to the Governor's office. Barkley introduced Artur Davis who is a Congressman representing Alabama's "Black Belt." Which is the most impoverished part of the state. It's pretty much the equivalent of a 3rd-world country down there. Pitiful. I've met Congressman Davis before when I helped plan a meeting with local leaders about HIV/AIDS in Alabama. I love Congressman Davis. He works really hard, he's sincere in what he does, he's extremely intelligent, and he's a genuinely nice guy. After Obama spoke, I realized that I wished Congressman Davis was running for President. He'd get my vote hands down.

Finally it was the moment everyone was waiting for. The drummers are drumming, and they introduce "The next President of the United States, Barack Obama!" He came out, thanked everyone that had preceded him, and began his speech. And I felt, well, not really disappointed because I don't think I had really high expectations. But, I expected more. He gave a really safe speech that I believe you probably would have seen from any of the Democratic candidates. Hope for the future, America wants change, we never should have gone to war, blah blah blah. He certainly didn't say anything I disagree with, but there were no revelations. I was promptly reminded following his speech that we are still 18 months out and that it's doubtful that the candidates want to show their hands this early in the race. That makes sense. I've read some articles by Obama's advisors on issues such as the healthcare crisis, and I've really liked what they've had to say. I think if these are the kinds of guys that have Obama's ear, he may be a really great candidate. I just think he's going to need to be a little more charismatic to gain the attention of the majority. There's plenty of race yet to be run, and I'm confident that he'll improve. My big fear is that Hilary Clinton, despite her qualifications, will be unable to win the election. I just don't think she can win. The Democratic nomination seems to be pretty much between her and Obama, so I'm rooting for Obama. I just want a Democratic candidate who can win. We'll see what happens though.

After Obama, we went to trivia night at Innisfree. As usual, our team didn't really know many of the answers and we just battled to stay afloat amidst the teams with 12 people. An even dozen really seems to be the key to full knowledge coverage. You get 12 people, there's always going to be at least one person with an inkling of what the stupid answer is. Next Monday is my last night at trivia. If you're in town, feel free to come and help fill the team out. We need warm bodies. And there's cold beer. You really can't beat that. :) Laters!

Why Everyone Needs a Blog

2007-07-02T11:43:00.000-07:00

Coworker: "Speaking of food, we have to take a break from Rojo. Remember how we got lunch from there on Wednesday? I think I had a bad batch of chicken burrito. After you left the office, I got deathly ill. I felt *horrible* but I was on second call, so I couldn't leave. I sat in my office hunched over a trash can the rest of the day. I finally gave in at about 4:30. I went into the command center, told them I had to go home, and I left. Well, about halfway home, I realize I have to go to the bathroom. I mean *go* to the bathroom. But I think I can make it to the apartment. So, I am swiping my card at the gate, and I lose it. Needless to say, I didn't make it to the bathroom. And that's just the beginning. I get out of the car, completely covered in crap. It's all over my pants, my shoes, everything. Luckily, I'm in scrubs. I get into the apartment, get cleaned up and just decide to throw everything away. I'm too lazy to deal with it, plus it's disgusting. So, I throw my clothes, shoes, everything in a garbage bag, walk out to the dumpster, and throw it out. I get back to the apartment, lay down...and immediately realize that my wallet was in my pants pocket. And that my pants pocket is in the giant apartment complex dumpster. I am angry and sick and now I have to go dumpster diving. So, I walk out of the apartment and head toward the dumpster, and who stops me but that guy who's always outside working on his car. I see that guy all the time, never talks to me. Of course the day that I shit myself and throw my wallet in the dumpster, he wants to share his life story. Sam, I'm serious, he talked to me for 30 minutes. I know everything about him. I finally tell him that I have to go dumpster diving, and HE WANTS TO HELP ME. I didn't really feel like sharing my saga with a total stranger, so I just told him I accidentally threw away my wallet. But I'm having to convince him not to hop in the dumpster with me because I would be totally mortified if this guy climbs in and sees what I'm looking for. I finally talked him out of it."
Me: "Did you actually jump into our dumpster? It's like a 5 foot drop from the platform onto God knows what."
Coworker: "Well, I figured the worst thing I could land on would be a bag of human excrement, and since that's what I was looking for anyway, it would be fine. I found it pretty quickly. Then I had to jump up, grab the rim of the dumpster and claw my way out of there. It was pretty much the worst day of my life."
Me: "You really need a blog."

Experts Realize They Have Too Much Time on their Hands

2007-07-01T20:53:00.001-07:00

Experts Diagnose Harry Potter With 'Probable Migraine'

Highlights include:
...Sheftell's team scrutinized all of J.K. Rowling's published Harry Potter books, looking for references to Potter's headaches. (Really? We needed a team for this?)
...After considering several headache diagnoses, Sheftell's team settled on the diagnosis of "probable migraine." (Because you wouldn't want to commit to an incorrect diagnosis of a literary character.)
...Is their diagnosis correct? The researchers note that migraines may be passed down genetically, but little is known about Potter's birth parents. (Sweet baby Jesus the kid talks to snakes and flies around on a broomstick. Also, he's not real. Augh.)

Listen, I'm as excited about the last Harry Potter book as the next fanatic, but get a grip people.

CB Radio

2007-06-21T13:03:00.000-07:00

This whole moving thing is starting to get to me. I've moved a million times, and I've pretty much gotten it down to an art form. I have boxes that I've repacked so many times, I'm starting to question the wisdom of reusing them again...even if they are that product's original box. The problem is that I am accustomed to local moves. Dad comes up in his Chevy Astro van, I drive my pick-up and in two trips, I am moved. Not so much when you're moving 2000 miles. Two trips becomes a little less feasible.

So, I've rented a Penske truck to drive up to Boston. I probably only need a 12' truck for my stuff (I try not to accumulate too much crap, and what I have accumulated I just cleaned out last week) but I've decided to tow my pickup truck behind the moving truck. Which means that I have to rent a 16' truck because that is what you need to pull something behind you I guess. Meaning that I'll be driving a 16' truck, that is towing another 12' behind it? I'm not that great at distances, but I'd say before it's said and done I'm driving a 30' convoy through the country. Which I had kind of resigned myself to. It'll be fine, it's all interstate, it's all good.

Then yesterday my moving truck packet came in the mail. It included unfathomable instructions for attaching the trailer to the truck, a DVD that shows you how to attach the trailer to the truck (apparently I'm not the only one who didn't understand anything in the brochure), and some rules of the road for driving a freaking semi. One of those rules? Stopping at weigh stations. Huh?? I don't know what to do at a weigh station. And it's not like I'm driving one of the *giant* moving trucks. It's a small one. And it won't even be full since I really don't have that much stuff. So I called the truck place and asked them how serious they were about that part of the booklet. Answer? Pretty damn serious.

"Well, since 9/11 the contents of trucks has been under pretty strict observation. You'll pull into the weigh station, they'll see you're a household move, and 9 times out of 10, they'll just wave you through. You could just drive past the weigh station, but if you do that and get caught there's a pretty heavy fine."

Awesome. So, I'm going to be one step away from a bona fide trucker in about 30 days. Which just leaves me with one question. Where can I score a CB radio?

Letters

2007-06-14T17:29:00.000-07:00

It's been a while and I don't really have much going on, so I thought I'd catch up on my correspondence. Here we go.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Dear USAA,
I am planning a cross-country move to a state with regulations out the wazoo. I called you to check on how my car insurance will be affected. You transferred me to the nicest person on the planet, who seemed to be more excited about my move than I was. Does she get a cut of my premiums or something? Because she can have some. She was awesome. I got a quote, I got my insurance changed over effective the date of my move, I got the forms I'll need to register my car, and I even got my renter's insurance switched over. I will not have to make any calls when I get there. Done. And that is fabulous.

According to your website, you've been "Ranked #1 in Customer Service." I think this is the first time I've read something like that and actually believed it. If your office was not in Texas, I would bake you cookies. Such is my love.

Seriously. Love.
Samantha
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Dear Apartment,
I know we've had our ups and downs, and today is no different. Only a month ago I was dreading the loss of you. Your spacious floorplan, your double sinks, your walk-in-for-days closet, and God bless you your 1.5 baths. But then I found new apartment. And I fell in love with it. Not just love. Loooooove. Because it is beautiful. And because hopefully at my new apartment I will not come home to notes stuck in my doorjamb reading:

Dear Resident:

A crime has been perpetrated in our complex. It is our understanding that those responsible have not been identified or apprehended. If you see a crime being committed, please call the police. And then please call our complex office and leave a message. You are responsible for your own safety, and local law enforcement is responsible for aiding in that safety.

Thank you,

Your crappy new management team

First of all, thank you for letting me know that something has happened. It is comforting to know that a mystery crime has been perpetrated and that we have no idea who did it. Phew. What a load off my mind. Seriously, WTF? Was somebody murdered (again)?? Was someone robbed at gunpoint? Is someone having oral sex? (Illegal in Alabama.) Is someone placing squirrels down their pants for the purpose of gambling?? I NEED DETAILS! I leave this complex at all hours of the night. If there's a friendly neighborhood carjacker waiting for me at the gate, I might like to know. Also, is it just me, or does it sound like we're being accused of the crime? I feel as though the letter is less "be safe" and more "admit what you've done, you thugs."

Regardless, you are not making me happy right now. Also, the water constantly being broken is starting to get on my nerves. The whole "they're fixing a leak right now, you're water will be back in two hours" excuse is wearing thin. Pipes shouldn't pop new leaks every two weeks. Also, 2 hours is 120 minutes. Not 3 days. If the pipes have disintegrated, it might be time for new ones. Just a suggestion. Although perhaps you might first catch the squirrel pants gambler. Gotta have priorities.

Sincerely,

Sam

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Dear New Girls at Work,

Thank God we hired you. You're both nurses, you're both intelligent, and you both have made me laugh so much my face hurts. I'm so glad we've finally found some people that may actually be able to do this job without killing anyone or giving the other coordinators ulcers. Already you've picked up more than the last idiot we hired who's been with us six months. You're already asking for your nicknames since we've given everyone in the office unfortunate alter egos. You're hoping you don't end up with a name like the last girl, unfortunately nicknamed "The Big Hurt" because that's what it feels like when you have to work with her all night. Or talk to her for any length of time whatsoever.

Also, a special thank you to the new girl who has already passed out in the OR. Way to pull the heat off of me. At least I was under the influence of chemicals. You just passed slam out on the floor for no reason. Also, way to recover and suck it up. You stuck it out even though you probably suffered a concussion and two days later your ankle still isn't looking that hot. I will say that you are lucky in that the surgeons didn't notice your floor dive. Waking up to your friend the other trainee coordinator and a nurse or two beats the pants off of waking up to a roomful of surgeons. Now we can tease you about your glucose tablets and suing us for workman's comp. It's good times.

Finally, when I leave I get to pawn off my horrible office duty on someone. I promise not to do that to either of you. I like you way too much for that. Although I will use it as a bargaining chip every day until I leave to get you to do my bidding. Eventually you will know me better though and realize the only option I ever even considered. Of course I'm giving this crap to The Big Hurt.

Thanks for being awesome,

Sam

Tired

2007-06-08T09:00:00.000-07:00

I'm off work today and decided to be as productive as possible. Clean the apartment, take things to Goodwill, figure out what moving truck to rent, and even get new tires put on the truck I plan to drag to Massachusetts like a crippled dog. The last time my truck got new tires was when my parents gave me a set as a high school graduation gift. Which means that I've been on this set of tires since I was 16 years old. That's a good 7 years. Not to say they're all the same. I'm sure they've all been replaced or patched at one time or another. But I decided that since two of those tires are going to be dragged a good 2000 miles, maybe it's time for a new set. I can't imagine changing a flat while the truck is hooked up to a UHaul being fun. At all.

When my parents bought my tires, they got them from WalMart (shocking) and they got them with a lifetime warranty. Meaning that anything other than wear or tear means that I get a free new tire or a free tire patching. Whichever is cheaper for Walmart. Which is the primary reason I haven't had to buy new tires in 7 years (although some tell me that is incredibly debatable and they've been worried about my truck actually just being a glorified sled for a while now.) So it's time to buy new tires and I'm torn. The WalMart tire deal has been awesome. And Massachusetts has Walmarts. On the other hand, WalMart is a huge evil corporation that doesn't pay its workers, give them good benefits, or allow them to unionize if they so desire. They're pretty much a huge part of what is wrong with America. So I hesitate to give them money. But they're so cheap and I am so poor. It's a tough call.

So I caved. And I drove to WalMart. And I sat in my car in the receiving line for literally 30 minutes. Before they figured out that they did not have 4 tires that would hold my truck up. Really? A WalMart in Alabama doesn't have 4 truck tires?? Seriously?? It's all we drive! So, I think it's a sign and I should probably buy tires elsewhere. From...I don't know....a company not owned by Satan. Suggestions welcome :)

Home Sweet Home

2007-06-06T08:57:00.001-07:00

Big news people: I am homeless no longer. Well, not that I was homeless. I was kind of hypothetically homeless in the future sense because finding housing in the Boston area is freaking ridiculous. It's not helped by the fact that I was apartment hunting from 2000 miles away and my on-site evaluator could only go see places during non-work hours. Everytime we would find something nice, I'd make contact with the realtor, and the next time we'd contact them to either confirm the viewing appointment or ask for the address or whatever, they'd say "Umm..yeah..I rented that out an hour ago." People swoop in like vultures. Bastards.

So, yesterday when I got home I did my usual 426th visit to Craigslist for the day. Lo and behold, a *gorgeous* house was listed on the same street as the last house that we loved and was brutally taken from us. So, I called the number on the listing. The owner of the house said that she had not been feeling well that day and so had arranged showings with everyone that called about the property (5 separate people since it had been listed at 10 that morning) for the next day. However, she was feeling better and if I could come see it early in the evening, she'd be happy to show it. I sent Tom over there with a mission. If the place is nice, get it. Get it right then and there because there are 5 people waiting to get it tomorrow.

Well 5 mystery people, I have one word for you: SUCKAS!!!

In 45 days I will live in that house. In not Alabama. A 3 minute drive from my boyfriend's house. I have swooped. And it's awesome.

This Little Piggie

2007-05-26T14:09:00.000-07:00

Ate a busload of kids?

Seriously. Apparently this thing was running around in the woods in Alabama. My parents' house is surrounded by woods. I went hunting with my father once and he told me that we had to watch for wild boars. I had NO idea that this is what he was talking about.

Because I would never have set foot outside the house again.

Stop. Hammertime.

2007-05-23T00:28:00.000-07:00

From the Decatur Daily News:

"Armed with pepper spray and a hammer, a man allegedly sprayed a female employee Thursday afternoon during the robbery of a local pawn shop.

The investigator said the man entered A-1 Title Pawn on U.S. 72 at 3:38 p.m.

"He sprayed the employee and demanded money. She screamed and ran next door."
The investigator said the man then allegedly grabbed an undisclosed amount of money and "took off running." The employee received medical treatment at the scene.
Witnesses gave police a description of the man, which helped patrol officers locate him within 15 minutes.

Police transferred the man to the Limestone County Jail on $35,000 bond. He is charged with first-degree robbery. "

And later the local CBS affiliate shared with us his further exploits:

"Athens police have arrested a 25-year old Huntsville man who is accused of bribing the woman he robbed and pepper sprayed in June.
Investigators say the man telephoned his victim and offered to put money in her bank account if she would not prosecute.
The man tells a different story, saying he wanted to give her the money for a security system at her business.
He is charged with bribery."

I guess he wanted to buy her a security system so that he wouldn't be tempted to rob her at hammer-point again?

It's stuff like this that makes me really glad I broke up with him.

Fond Memories

2007-05-10T21:14:00.000-07:00

Tonight was my downstairs neighbor/coworker/friend's birthday. So, C and he and I went out for dinner and drinks.

Scene: Sitting on the restaurant patio. A man walks out onto the patio and sits at a table behind me, but still in plain view of C and S.
C: "That's him! That's the lawyer who I had a big crush on and sent you a link to his picture and you said he was ugly!"
Me: "Oooh. Yeah, that dude is hideous."
S: "What are you talking about?"
Me: "C has a crush on that big ugly dude over there."
C: "His wife used to work with you guys."
Me: "Really? Who?"
C: "You're the one that told me she worked there!!"
Me: "I have no idea who you're talking about."
S: "What's her last name?"
C: "B******"
S: "Oooh, yeah, I remember Jen B****. She was the one in the lesbian tryst!"
C: "HUH??! Samantha why didn't you tell me about this?!?"
Me: "I didn't tell you about that? Wow. Yeah, that's a good story."
S: "So, Jen was married, but she also thought she might be a lesbian. And we had this other chick in the office, K, who definitely was a lesbian. So, she and Jen had a little one night stand, but then Jen decided she didn't want to do that anymore so she kind of broke up with K the next day at work."
C: "I can't believe you didn't tell me this."
Me: "I forgot. Sorry."
S: "K was crazy, and did not take it well. In fact, she reached out and started choking Jen. Jen starts waving her arms trying to get anyone to help her. She finally breaks free of K and starts running toward [our boss's] office. But, K tackles her and hangs on to her legs. At this point, Jen is screaming our boss's name, dragging K along the floor going to the boss's office."
C: "Why aren't you guys helping her?!?"
S: "Are you kidding? By this point we were all sitting around eating popcorn! Who's gonna break up something *this* good? So, the boss finally comes out of his office and when he does, K runs back to her office, locks the door, and takes a massive dose of painkillers. We had to get the fire department and ambulance to come get her and take her to the hospital. She was fine, but we also had to hire a bodyguard for Jen for about a month because K had sent her threatening letters."
C: "Nice."
S: "The weird thing is, I thought Jen's husband was a nurse."
C: "No, he's a lawyer, but they're divorced."
S: "No, Jen's still married. We must not be talking about the same person. Are you sure about the last name?"
C: "No, but Samantha said she worked with you guys. Remember Samantha? You said she sucked at her job and everybody hated her?"
Me: "Oh! You mean Stephanie P****!"
C: "Yes! That's her name!"
S: "Oh. That's not a good story. She was just ugly."

The Bermuda Triangle

2007-05-09T18:51:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't posted a lot lately because much like Adina, I've been busy. Busy with life and busy with attempts at making life-changes. I haven't really wanted to write about anything, because in the past I've gotten really excited about big changes, and then they haven't worked out. And then everyone who knew would ask me what happened and I'd have to explain over and over again why I was not currently practicing medicine, living in New York, or training helper monkeys. Pretty much taking inventory of my broken dreams. I've stayed in Alabama, I'm working in a job I enjoy but with crazy management and little chance at advancement any time in the near future, and I don't currently own any monkeys. Also, my boyfriend lives 3,000 miles away. The situation is *not* ideal.

But I have been working to rectify that.

When I first got out of graduate school, I applied for tons of jobs for which I was not qualified in a desperate attempt to flee the state that holds people in its clutches until they die or all their teeth fall out. Whichever comes first. Alabama has never been very high on my list of places to live. Granted, I live in Birmingham, and it's really not terrible. There are lots of intelligent, well-meaning people here...it just seems as though nothing much ever changes. Sure, newer Wal-Marts crop up now and again, but other breakthroughs are few and far between. I do a job that I love in a place that sets the benchmark for how poorly said job can be accomplished in the nation. And I have the best friends I can imagine ever having...and I will miss them terribly.

Because I'm moving on. Today I accepted a new job. This new job entails doing only the parts of the job that I truly love, and none of the crap that I hate. I will not be zipping around in rocket-propelled paper towel tubes in the middle of the night. I will not be sitting in an office all day doing nothing. I will not be wasting my talents spending my day playing the "see if you can get a coworker to stare at someone's broke-over ass by pointing at it and saying hey is that yours?" game. (Btw, I totally suck at that game.) Instead I will be doing clinical management. I will be writing research papers that will hopefully be published in clinical journals. I will be taking call from home. I will be working with an organization that leads the nation in my field. And I will be doing a ton less work for a ton more money.

I will also be living within a 50 mile radius of my boyfriend. Because my new job is in Boston. I've already gone apartment hunting, and have hopefully found a place (assuming said place wasn't rented in the 3 weeks it's taken for me to get this job solidified.) I cannot describe to you how I feel about this. I will be living in Boston. An honest-to-God city. With people. And little blue penguins. And mass transit. And itty bitty expensive apartments (wtf Boston?) And baseball. Lots of baseball. :)

I've been waiting for this for a really long time. And now that it's happened, it's incredibly surreal. I can't imagine not living in Alabama. I can't imagine not being able to hop in the car and go hang out with my family. I can't imagine not being around for the next crazy-ass thing that C does and not having P come and fall asleep at my apartment after her exams. I'm going to miss the terrible food at El Cazador with R and S (although I'll miss the margaritas more.) And I really will have to pinch myself when seeing Tom doesn't include changing planes in Baltimore. But I'm excited to have my friends visit. I'm excited that I'll be able to be the reason that my sisters hop on an airplane for the first time in a decade (and for Jo, the first time ever.) Most of all, I'm excited to start a path in my life that isn't a compromise. That isn't short-term. That isn't just something I'm doing until something better happens.

I'm starting fresh. I'm going new places. I'm meeting new people. Oh, and in my new job I will occasionally have to traverse the Bermuda Triangle. (No joke.)

Welcome to my new life. It's going to kick ass.

The Moral of the Story Is....

2007-05-08T13:41:00.000-07:00

Today at work I had to sit through a presentation about disease transmission. Topics covered included high risk behavior and its effect on transmission rates of various diseases, how to physically assess a patient for communicable disease, and how to identify various gang tattoos. My job is complicated.

So, for your education, a highlight of the presentation.

Estimated Per-Act Relative Risk for an Individual without HIV to acquire HIV, Based on Risk-Act and Condom Use:

Sex Act/ Relative Risk of Acquiring HIV

Insertive Fellatio (giver) = 1

Receptive Fellatio (receiver) = 2

Insertive Vaginal Sex (giver) = 10

Receptive Vaginal Sex (receiver) = 20

Insertive Anal Sex (giver) = 13

Receptive Anal Sex (receiver) = 100

--------------------------------------------------------

Condom Use:

Yes = 1

No = 20

The risks are almost double for the receptive partner than that of the insertive.

Finally a study proving once and for all that 'tis better to give, than to receive.

Interview

2007-04-30T15:47:00.000-07:00

So I'm doing this interview thing via Tom's blog. His instructions to me were to answer the questions in order, without reading ahead. Here we go.

1. Who is your favorite superhero, and why?
Wolverine. Because he's played by Hugh Jackman. Plus the ability to survive a gunshot wound to the head is bad-ass.

2. You're an evil genius bent on world domination - what do you call the legitimate business entity used as a front for your evil organization?
Hmm...I dunno. Something like LifePlus or SurgiPro...because we will manufacture something used in surgery. I could afford to *buy* the world if I could just invent something used in surgery. Seriously. That's my goal. Just one tiny piece of plastic that's used in a common surgery. Appendectomies, tonsillectomies, gastric bypass, or CABG. I would be a gajillionaire.

3. (a) Name six of your closest friends or family members.
C, P, Bear, Scott, Richard, Brett

3. (b) If you and those six people were stranded in a desolate wasteland (tundra, glacier, iceberg, desert, savanah, Kansas), who would you eat first to stay alive?
(haha kansas) Probably Brett.

3.(c) How did you choose?
He's the meatiest.

4. Given the current state of the crude oil market, increasing threat of hostile nations arming for nuclear war, current shortage of blood and organ donors, and advances in computer technology, which of the following scenarios do you think the most likely: The Postman, Road Warrior, The Matrix, or,Terminator?
I'm tempted to go with "The Postman" because that's the only occupation which is currently available. Although with email that position is probably not the wave of the future. And soon we won't be able to afford gas so lets rule out "Road Warrior." Also, Arnold looks like hell. Lets go with "The Matrix." Because it's an awesome movie (And it's the only one of the choices that I've actually seen/know anything about.) Although to survive in that much leather we'll probably need some sort of nuclear winter to happen first. I'm sitting in Alabama in a tank-top, shorts, windows open and a fan blowing on me. I couldn't imagine wearing some skintight vinyl number at the moment.

5. What is the most crucial public health issue facing the global population in the next decade?
Really depends on what you're talking about. Developed or developing nations? Elderly populations? The young? There's a ton of different stuff. If you're an old person in the US, it might be drug-resistance. If you're a 25 year old woman in Africa, it might be AIDS. Depends on the situation.

5. (optional clarification): Facing the US? Facing Africa? Europe? China?
Haha...see, this is where the reading ahead would have been helpful. :-p
Facing the US, I would still want to break it down into subcategories but without going too deep I would have to go with drug resistance and obesity. It's a huge web of interconnected problems spanning in all directions. Doctors overprescribe antibiotics, but they're forced to because if they miss treating a bacterial infection they'll get sued, and they're already paying malpractice premiums that are so high they're discouraging people from practicing medicine blah blah I could go on for days. The other big thing in the US is obesity. People are looking at it as an aesthetic problem, and a personal problem. People shouldn't be fat, it's their own fault for getting that way, we shouldn't have to spend money on educating people about this because it's their own fault. The thing is, even assuming those things are true, the US public suffers the consequences. Overweight and thin alike. We're all paying increased health care costs because hospitals are having to buy special equipment for these patients. It's much better to pay for prevention than the gajillion dollars in healthcare costs overweight people accumulate through the variety of comorbid conditions and procedures that result from their condition.
Facing Africa, the big thing is HIV/AIDS. But that too is a result of a number of equally important conditions. Malnutrition, poverty, social norms, these things all work together to create an environment in which the disease can thrive. AIDS in Africa is no different than AIDS in the US or Europe or South America. The difference is the way its been dealt with. Seriously thinking about Africa makes me cry. So I'm moving on.
I'll assume Europe has a lot of the same problems as America public-health wise. I haven't done a lot of research into their situation.
China is eventually going to have a reproductive health crisis if they keep up their social norms of aborting female children. Their attempts at population control are going to eventually lead to a shortage of females with which to procreate. You're going to end up with mail-order brides that may have been prostitutes in the past (VD), mail-order brides that don't have STDs but still end up being the victims of abuse (studies have shown them to be a high-risk group for that type of thing), and those men that can't afford to buy a bride and end up as very sexually frustrated young men wandering around with too much testosterone in their system (increased violence and sexual assault rates.) Hopefully they'll fix that before it becomes a huge problem.

5. (bonus): How do we stop it?
Public health education. In all of these situations we need a plan, we need people to execute, and sweet baby Jesus do we need funding. Even in the US, where we spend more money on healthcare than anything else, we don't put any money into public health. We've got all these advanced treatments and world-renowned surgeons and what's billed as the best healthcare in the world. If bird-flu broke out right now, we would be completely screwed. We have NO public health infrastructure, no funding. "Oh, but we have a great health department blah blah blah." No you don't. The majority of health departments in the US are staffed by people that know nothing about public health. They know you should eat healthy and wash your hands. And that's why the US has these public health problems. The government is unwilling to pay money to qualified people. I have a master's degree in public health and every one of us in that school knew that we were not there for the money. Cause there's none to be had. Unfortunately it's going to take a major crisis in US health for somebody to step up and call for the funding we need to build a system that works. We'll see what happens.
Africa, God love them, doesn't have the money to spend. So there are tiny little satellite efforts at public health education. And don't get me started on Africa's inability to afford antiretrovirals. All I will say is that the CEOs of some of these US pharmaceutical companies are going straight to hell. Also, I love Brazil.
Seriously I could talk about public health all day. I'm going to cut myself off. But if any of you end up in government positions, remember. We need public health. Badly.

Want to play along? Rules of the game:
1. Send an email saying, “Interview me”, or words to that effect.
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions of my choosing.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You have to include this explanation, and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions...

Ramblings

2007-04-12T03:22:00.000-07:00

My shift ends at 7 AM. Which means that I will have been awake for 24 hours in another hour and a half. Which also means that I'm at that point in the day when everything is fascinating to me. And I think deep thoughts.

- If you were a chocolate bunny, would you eat yourself? My answer would be yes. A coworker brought everyone a chocolate bunny for Easter. I ate mine straight out of the office mailbox. At 8 AM. Then I ate my office-mate's bunny because he didn't want it. 5 minutes later. If I were made of chocolate, I'm pretty sure I'd eat myself. Couldn't help it.
- I could probably wallpaper my living room with Hershey's kisses wrappers. Every Valentine's Day my father buys me a "tin" of assorted Hershey's chocolates. And by "tin", I mean "drum." And by "drum" I mean, "suitable for reuse as a missile silo." It's literally at least 10 pounds of assorted candy. By 2 weeks in, it's a tin of Hershey's kisses. Because the Krackles, Mr. Goodbars, Reese's Cups, and Dark Chocolate Minis don't make it very long. Search and destroy babay. So I've taken it upon myself to eat all the chocolate before I move. Because everyone's gotta have goals. So, I have a drum of chocolate by the couch and a jar of peanut butter on the coffee table. Because Hershey's kisses are only acceptable when smothered in peanut butter.
- The "Great American Country" channel is somehow watchable at 5:30 AM. Maybe that's because I can't really hear anymore. It's more of a buzzing noise.
- Have you ever bought moisturizing bodywash that is *too* moisturizing? I bought some weird bodywash with bodycreme ribbons or something. Sure, my skin is soft and moisturized. But water also beads and deflects off me now. I feel like I've showered with Rain-X.
- Ooh. My car broke. The service engine light came on. My friend told me to get the code read at an express oil place and if it was just a sensor or something, he'd fix it for me. Took it in. "Uh..ma'am? That's not a good code." "Uh huh. What is the code?" "Transmission Component Slipping." "Would that explain the giant clunk emanating from my hood on the way to work this morning? And the kickback everytime I accelerate?" "Um...probably." "So can you fix it?" "You need your transmission rebuilt." "Greeeat." I was contemplating just junking my truck because holy crap it is a piece. But then I realized that my truck is paid for. And even a 2 grand investment all at once is better than starting a car payment. And paying higher insurance rates because my car would actually be worth stealing. So repair it is! Woo! Also, I blame all my auto woes on starting a savings account. I've never had problems I couldn't afford to fix. Which amounted to having no problems cause I couldn't afford to fix them anyway. I guess they were right. Mo' money, mo' problems.
- C got burgled. Again. I don't want to say much because I don't want to jinx myself. But she gets burgled more than anyone I know. I think it stems from owning things worth burgling. My robbers would be greeted by a $25 DVD player and a really heavy non-plasma television. Here's the other thing. C has a rottweiler. A ROTTWEILER. And she has been robbed twice in the past year. Robbers have walked into her house. And the dog didn't eat them. Ridiculous. Of course, the robbers this time were a little smarter. They brought barbeque and fed it to the dog. I think C should start pricking her finger to train the dog to develop a taste for blood. Of course, I guess that's step one in dying alone and being eaten by Alsatians. But whatever. If I'm losing my tv, you're losing a limb.

Okay, back to working. And country music television. Laters! :)

Hippitus Hoppitus

2007-04-10T15:20:00.000-07:00

So Easter has once again come and gone. And once again my family has found new and exciting ways to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. You know, with three-legged races and Easter muggings. Yeah. That's how we roll.

So, I went down to my parents' house on Good Friday with the intention of making it home in time to go to service and watch Jo do her altar serving thang. Mistake #1. I will never ever again in the course of my time on this earth attend the Good Friday service again. I've had times where I haven't paid attention in church. I've never had a time where I prayed for mass to end so I could go drink heavily. Holy crap that is a long and ridiculous service. We must have kneeled 420 times. We had to listen to the worst choir in the world sing a capella. My father (genius) stepped out of the service about 20 minutes into it and went to sit in the car. Apparently he "wasn't feeling well." Dude, no one was feeling well at the one hour mark. About ten minutes after Dad left, Mom went "to go check on him" adding "suckas!" on her way out. The girls and I were in the service for another hour. By the time it was over, I just didn't want to feel anymore. So, I went bowling with Bear and a couple of her friends. And I drank. And it was good.

The next night it was time to start the Easter celebration. Egg-dying babay. I'm usually not big on artsy-craftsy things. Because I suck at them. And because art is Jessica's job. But Jessica wasn't home, so we did our best. Meet our tribe of eggs. Including Bob Marley. And Larry.The next day my mother tried to eat Larry at breakfast. So I was forced to wear him in a holster around my neck. The Easter bunny brought everyone baskets (he also brought me a ring-pop), and it was time for the Easter egg hunt. Last year my father tied our legs together and made us hop around our enormous yard in the desperate search for chocolatey goodness. This year, Dad decided to tie our legs to one another. I have no idea why every Easter egg hunt is bondage-themed at my house, but it's a good time nonetheless. So, Dad tied us together for the hunt. Jess and Jen, Bear and I, and Mom and Jo.

My father had told me before the hunt that the best eggs were in the front yard. So Bear and I struck out toward the front. Every egg we picked up was empty. We were picking up the stupid empty eggs when we noticed Jess and Jen were also in the front, picking up eggs that probably weren't empty. We thought it best to slow them down. So, we started throwing the eggs back in the yard. And then we started finding eggs filled with stuff, emptied the eggs into our bag, and then threw them back into the yard empty. This made the hunt a lot more amusing. We ended up with quite a few eggs, and some bruised legs. We went to sort through the booty and noticed Mom and Jo wandering around the yard with a bag bulging with eggs. The obvious solution to this disparity? Easter mugging. We ran up behind Mom and Jo, pushed them down a hill, and stole their bag of eggs. Of course, stopping to photograph my Mom dragging poor little Jo down the hill.

The mugging was successful, but there was a casualty. My mother crushed poor Larry. RIP.

In the end, we pooled the Easter candy. And I stole the household's supply of Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs. Because they are the best Easter candy. Ever. We went to Easter mass (which wasn't anywhere near as unbearable as the Good Friday non-mass) and I came back to Birmingham Sunday night. And ate peanut butter eggs. And it was goooood. :) I love Easter.

Running

2007-04-05T07:42:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the infrequent posting as of late. I would tell stories about how I've been really busy and work has been crazy and I've joined the crusade to save the endangered animals, but all of those things would be equally far-fetched. I've been doing nothing. Work has been crazy slow. And the closest I've come to helping the endangered animals is signing up for a 5K Zoo Run that is incidentally a fundraiser for elephants. Although I'm pretty sure the funds are to capture an elephant and bring him to the Birmingham zoo. Which I wouldn't consider helpful to its plight. It would probably rather have its tusks made into tribal nosepieces than have to spend the rest of its days being fed peanuts by Mountain Brook soccer moms and their spawn. But whatever. I get a t-shirt. So, in lieu of having anything interesting to post about, I thought I'd update you on my 5K training.

You see, I don't exercise. So, a 3 mile run is something I have to train for two months to complete. Which is ridiculous, but c'est la vie. The thing about running is this: it is wicked boring. There's nothing to do but run. And if you're on a track, there's nothing to look at. At least on a trail there are some trees or something...occasionally people pass you and you can notice how their shorts are riding up in the middle and self-consciously think about the fact that yours are probably doing the same. It's all about staying awake. And not thinking about how your heart has been forced to pump body through your blood at an alarming rate for the last 3/4 of a mile. I've found that the best way to get through this arduous task is to listen to music. And to do lamaze. But the music is important too. So, for you aspiring runners (read: people that walk with feeling because I think that's really a more accurate description of what I do) I present (in no particular order cause I listen to it on shuffle): my "Running" playlist.

1. "Kerosene" by Miranda Lambert. Yes, I realize this is a country song. Regardless, I love to listen to it because the last time I heard it was riding in the car with my sisters. There's nothing better than listening to my four sisters sing an angry chick country song in perfect unison. Especially when I realize Bear is singing about her recently dumped boyfriend, and Jo (the 11 year old) is probably thinking about the little boy who "cheated" on her. His name was Jimmy Dean. I think it's safe to let that one go.
2. "Wannabe" by...wait for it...The Spice Girls. Again, it's good to have music that makes you laugh while you run. I first heard the Spice Girls when my *father* bought their cassette back when I was in jr. high. I got in the van, he popped it in the deck, and my sisters and I were sold. What possessed my father to buy this tape while at the store by himself is something that I've been afraid to ask and may never know, but we wore that thing out. Also, there were five spice girls, there are five girls in my family. Of course we broke every song down into parts and sang with feeling. I'm not going to lie to you. :-p
3. "Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira. Great great great song. I actually knew the song way before it was a radio single. You see, it was originally performed by another band for the "Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights" soundtrack. And since I own that movie and its soundtrack...I knew it pretty well. But Shakira's version is better. The only problem with this is that it's hard not to dance to...and it's even harder to dance and run. Stupid running.
4. "Girlfriend" by Avril Lavigne. I have harbored an enduring hatred of Avril Lavigne ever since Raine Maida of Our Lady Peace produced one of her albums and let her move into his house during the production. But I've moved past it. Mainly because OLP kind of sucks now, and because Raine Maida looks more and more like Kevin Federline everyday. So, I've decided to give her a chance. It's a catchy song with a quick beat, I'm totally into it. Also, for all those who say she sold out, her biggest song was "Sk8ter Boi." Seriously? What did she sell out? The 13 year old instant message constituency?
5. "Runaway Love" by Mary J. Blige and Ludacris. I could run to this song all day. The beat is perfect for the speed at which I run (i.e. it's perfect for walking.) It's kind of depressing I guess, but Mary J. Blige has a beautiful voice. She's an amazing singer. A guy at work gave me a copy of her last album...I'm a fan.
6. "Jerk it Out" by The Caesars. A great tempo for people that actually run. This is the only song I found on an iMix that I liked. Good stuff.
7. "Cupid's Chokehold" by Gym Class Heroes. I was introduced to this song when my sisters were grounded for watching the video on YouTube. Catchy song, cute video. I especially like the dancing cupid. I just realized that if I had a video iPod, I could run and watch television. And here I am looking at scenery like a sucker. Geez.
8. "This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race" by Fallout Boy. A good song for the last mile. When you're angry. The swearing can be your own little anthem.
9. "I'm Shipping up to Boston" by Dropkick Murphys. From "The Departed" sountrack. This song is kickass for so many reasons. The music is awesome, the lyrics are about a peg-legged sailor, the tempo is fantastic, and it reminds me that I am soon getting the hell out of Alabama. Talk about a motivator. Awesome song.
10. "Turtleneck Coverup" by Ozma. That video is a terrible version of the song, but the album version is great. You should download it.

I've probably got another 10-15 songs on the playlist. I might do another installment of blogging about it, but probably not since the rest are a lot of songs from the same artists. A few Arctic Monkeys songs, a bunch of Old 97s, Flogging Molly, Scissor Sisters, and Gwen Stefani. Going "running" again tonight. Luckily it's cooled down a bit. Running in 90 degree weather and 80 percent humidity kind of sucked. Apparently next Thursday night is a pub run. That's more like it. Laters :)

I've Got People Skills!!

2007-03-28T14:38:00.000-07:00

So I don't really have anything to blog about...but I don't want my blog to circle into oblivion like so many dead goldfish. So, here's the insignificant stuff that's going on :)

I get to attend "People Skills Training" next month! Woo! Rumor has it that this is in direct response to one of our coordinators going bat-shit crazy at an emergency room when his ex-girlfriend had her CAT scan read by a veterinarian rather than a physician. First of all, don't get your knickers in a twist. Maybe they thought they'd actually scanned a cat. Or maybe this vet was an MD as well. No matter what, I would assume the hospital contracts this service with him because he knows what he's doing. I do not believe this to be a valid excuse for throwing chairs in the waiting room or pinning an ER physician to a wall. Also, I don't understand why the rest of us have to be punished with a four-hour training session on professionalism. Especially since he wasn't even at work when it happened. The official stance was that we are in a job where we represent our organization 24-7, whether we're working or not, no matter where we are. Which is ridiculous, but whatever. I just hope no one finds the publicly posted picture of my co-worker and I dancing drunk on top of a bar. I'm pretty sure that kind of thing isn't included in the mission statement. :-p
My laptop caught a virus. I had our IT guy at work fix it. Of course, my definition of "fix it" is to remove the virus. His version is to remove everything, reinstall only things work-related, and then refuse to reinstall anything I might need to have fun on this laptop. No Flash...I can't even see the little clock in my blog's sidebar. No YouTube videos. I might crumple up and die soon.
S and I went to C's house last night and watched "Happy Feet." If you haven't seen it, you should. It's adorable. And it has a nice environmental message too. Of course, it'll make you want to shoot yourself for having ever eaten a fish and stolen from the mouths of penguins. But then you think about sushi and glory in the fact thatyou're higher up in the food chain. Because sushi is the best.
While at C's house last night, we made a DiGiorno Four-Cheese pizza. Pulled it out of the oven, and we can't find her pizza cutter. No problem, just give me a knife and a cutting board. She hands me a serrated steak knife and points to the rack the pizza's sitting on. "I can't cut it with this, on that!" "Ugh. I don't want to pull out a cutting board. Can't we just use scissors?" "Huh?" "I think it'll work." C cut the pizza into slices with a pair of scissors. It totally worked. Apparently laziness is the mother of invention.

Today I have to clean my apartment. We'll see if that happens. :-p

Where Do Babies Come From?

2007-03-22T15:53:00.000-07:00

It's something in the water...yet another coworker is pregnant. This girl is married to a minister, and already has a little four-year-old son. Apparently they've been hoping to make an addition to their family for quite some time, so I'm really happy for them. Their son, on the other hand, isn't quite sure what to think. My coworker was telling us that about six months ago, he was pretty gung-ho about the idea of a little brother.

"Mom, I want a baby brother."
"Well, we have to pray to God for you to have a little brother."
"Oh...wanders off...comes back...I know! I'll ask Santa Claus to bring me one!"
"Well, no honey. That's not quite how it works. You have to ask God to bring us one."

So, he wanders off again. She finds him later sitting at his little table writing a letter.

"What are you doing honey?"
"Writing a letter to get a little brother."
"Who are you writing to?"
"The Justice League."

Now that he knows about the newbie, they've spent the past few nights convincing him that the Justice League will not be dropping off a baby. They tried to tell him exactly what happens (to a four-year-old level) and they've decided to go with what they've got. That at Christmas-time his parents will be buying a baby from the hospital.

Apparently his Mother and Batman don't have that kind of relationship.

What's the Buzz?

2007-03-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

For the past few days I've been holed up in my apartment, laying on the couch in my pajamas, watching movies and television. Drinking orange juice by the gallon and turning occasionally to redistribute the snot swirling around in my sinuses. Because nothing cures a cold like lying in front of the television snuggled up with a giant teddy bear, drinking orange juice, and watching "The Little Mermaid" like you were 4 years old all over again. (Actually, something might cure a cold better because I'm still totally stuffed up and miserable, but I don't know what it is so I'll go with what I have. I'm definitely up for suggestions though.)

So, all this time I'm sitting in here, I'm hearing this whining/buzzing noise. It's coming from outside, and it's kind of high pitched, but it isn't constant. The tone goes up and down. I assumed someone was doing construction. Maybe they had circular saws set up in the parking lot? Or maybe the crazy mechanic neighbor with the attack dog had gotten some tools and was pretending to be a member of Jeff Gordon's pit crew? I didn't know where it was coming from, but it wasn't close enough to make me think someone was trying to tunnel into my apartment (another of my ideas) so I decided not to worry about it. The weather outside today was sunny and gorgeous (hit 75 degrees) and I assumed people were outside and if someone were assembling some kind of nuclear warhead in the parking lot, surely one of my elderly neighbors would call the police. I was also a little worried that the buzzing noise was in my head because of my cold. Or that it was killer bees. Always a big concern.

So this evening I'm sitting here watching SVU. And the noise begins again. And it's really loud, and it's getting dark. It continues and I think, "Surely there's some clause in the lease that says you can't operate electric lathes in the parking lot after dark." I finally shoehorn myself off the couch to figure out what the hell has been going on for the past week. Are you ready for this? Drumroll please...

It's an RC car. Some kid got a little RC car and is *racing* it up and down the parking lot pretty much from the time he gets home from school to the time his mother calls him in for dinner.

I worry that I'm going to end up one of those old people shaking my cane and yelling for those kids to stay off my lawn. Seriously. I'm bothered by the noise from an RC car. What am I going to do when I move back into a city? It's gonna be interesting.

Frustrated

2007-03-16T12:33:00.000-07:00

I woke up feeling sick this morning. Again. I'm pretty sure that my workplace is a breeding ground for sinus infections, influenza, strep throat, and bubonic plague. I have once again contracted at least one of these. Just in time to be on call all weekend. So, since today's my day off, I decided to go to the store and stock up on supplies. News flash: Simply Orange is God's gift to orange juice. That stuff is delicious.
To get home from the store, I have to enter the gates of my apartment community. That's right...I live in a gated community. I'm pretty sure the gates are there to keep all the thugs inside the complex. But whatever. There's someone in front of me blocking the gates. And I can see him digging around in his car. He's paying absolutely no attention to anything except his desperate search for what I can only assume to be a sandwich or some kind of herpes ointment. What else could be that pressing? In any event, after patiently waiting five minutes, I decided to alert him to my presence with my car horn. I press the horn. Nothing happens. I LAY on the horn. Nothing happens. Welcome to stage 431 of my poor truck falling apart. At this rate I'll have to buy a new car before the year's out. Because I have a mighty need for a working horn.
The guy finally pulls through the gate. I make it home. Walk in the door with the intention of drinking orange juice, taking tylenol sinus, and eating some lunch. I pull out the hummus mix and start chopping up pita and celery. Get the measuring cup, turn on the faucet, and nothing happens. Because the water in my building is turned off. Or has dried up. Either way, I was given no notice of the impending drought and now can not make hummus. Stupid apartment complex.

I'll also probably lose my basketball bracket. Which sucks, because wagers were placed in cake.

And I love cake.

A Shot in the Arm

2007-03-08T16:15:00.000-08:00

When we're in the operating room, there are several medications that we give the patient to increase organ function. They have varying effects, blah blah blah. One drug that we give is a vasodilator. Meaning that it expands the blood vessels and resultingly lowers blood pressure. Most of these vasodilators are given IV. However, when donating certain organs, we inject a vasodilator straight into the artery we want to dilate. It is my job to draw this drug up into a syringe. It is also my job to be really careful when I do this.

So, today, I was in the OR. I was drawing up the vasodilator. But rather than in a vial like we usually have, it's in one of these old fashioned glass vials that relies on the surface tension of the drug to keep it from running down your arm. And since I'm not experienced with these vials, I don't know how to keep it from running down my arm. Long story short, here's what happened.

There are 4 surgeons, 3 nurses, 2 anesthesthesiologists, 5 nursing students, and the other coordinator and I in the OR. Everyone's busy...either operating or watching the operation. I'm drawing up drugs. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the floor. Of an operating room. With 4 surgeons hovering over me, the other coordinator and a nurse propping my head and feet up, and all the nursing students crowding around trying to figure out what the hell happened. I look over and there's a needle in my hand.

Guess what happened! I was drawing up a potent vasodilator, got it all over my arm, absorbed it through my skin, and lost enough pressure to pass out on the operating room floor.

Because I am a professional.

*Seriously. Yesterday mauled by a canine, today unconscious on an OR floor. This stuff doesn't happen to everybody. I kind of wish it didn't happen to me. At least it gives me something to blog about.

Attack!!

2007-03-07T16:21:00.000-08:00

How to use your dog to meet women:

1. Keep the dog on a leash. When the dog comes loping after the girl while she's still in her fancy pants work clothes and 3-inch heels, she's only excited to meet the owner so she can berate him for his irresponsibility.
2. Make sure the girl actually likes dogs. When the dog is running toward the girl and her face is contorted in a look of horror for what the dog is about to do to her, it's a pretty sure sign that she's not going to be that excited to meet you. Dogs are fine...large stranger dogs are not.
3. If you're going to leave the dog off the leash, train it. For instance, if your dog doesn't know that jumping and biting are wrong...that dog probably needs to be on a leash.

I got home from work, was walking toward the apartment, heard the dog running toward me, and was next being scratched to pieces by it. I have big scratches on my stomach, a rip in my pants, and a bite on my hand. Luckily nothing broke the skin. Guy runs up to me, grabs the dog, sees my namebadge from work and before apologizing about the dog starts to make small talk. "So, what do you do?" and the like while beaming at me.

You set your dog loose on me. Your dog's favorite food is PEOPLE. Not cool, dude.

Also, you owe me a pair of pants.

Email

2007-03-04T17:49:00.000-08:00

Remember how I professed my love for Burt's Beeswax chapstick in the last post? When I realized how great it was, I convinced one of my friends to purchase some for herself. A couple of days later we had this discussion via email.

Her: "ok....um.....yea.......Burts Beeswax.....not so much. I saw that you have blogged about this wonderful new product and I myself am slathering it on my unchapped lips the past few days but today I noticed something very disturbing on the tube. In addition to wonderful and wholesome things like cococunt oil, sunflower oil, vitamin e, peppermint, rosemary etc. it is 50% PLASTIC. Yes, post-industrial, recycled plastic. How should I feel about that? Please inform me of my opinion. Thank you dear wise friend."

Me: "I'm pretty sure that the 50% post consumer plastic is the *tube* that the chapstick comes in. Also, i'm pretty sure you're a moron. :-p (j/k) Don't doubt the greatness of the Burt's.

Her: "Omg, I am a moron. Please dont tell anyone about this although I am pretty sure you will."

Me: "um...yeah. i'm going to blog about it."

Her: "yay!! finally i am featured on a blog after six long years of trying friendship :-) ok so i have been trying to think of something really dumb you said....remember: "*This quote removed by blog editor*"? Yea--Bitchslap....you deserve it."

Congrats, you made it to the blog. Unfortunately the evidence of my stupidity did not. Sucka ;)

Storm Chaser

2007-03-01T15:54:00.000-08:00

This morning I got to work and was greeted with everyone buzzing about the forecast. The news was predicting "the strongest storms Alabama has seen in 18 years." Tornado watches were issued for pretty much the entire state, and all the schools in my county let the kids out at noon. Apparently we were going to be getting some heavy stuff. So, I was planning to ditch out of work early and ride out the storms at my apartment. In my pajamas. Cuddling with my teddy bear. And eating sag paneer.

Instead, we had three donors pop up. And the three coordinators with no one to go home to were left to man the fort. Everyone else bailed to pick up their kids, or wives, or mothers. I kept waiting for a gap in the weather so I could make it home. Worked on cases, and checked the weather radar on the internet pretty much non-stop. Finally, at about 5:30 I thought I had my out. The storm was in Bessemer, which is about 25 miles from Birmingham. And the internet reported that it was moving at 7 mph. So, the other coordinator that lives in my building and I decided to make a run for it. We ran out in the rain to our cars, and struck out for home.

As soon as I got in my car, I turned on the radio and started driving as fast as I could (pretty slowly given the traffic) toward home. About a quarter of the way there, I'm listening to the meteorologist and he starts talking about the storms in Bessemer. "We can see at least two funnel clouds forming...of course, this storm has a history of forming these clouds. This is the same system that spawned the tornado that destroyed Enterprise high school, and has so far killed 13 people in the state. This is an extremely dangerous storm, and we advise everyone to take shelter blah blah blah." And I'm kind of freaked out, but I'm thinking I've got at least a good 40 minutes to make it to my apartment that's only 15 minutes away. 7 miles an hour, 25 miles away, I can't do math, but I had time. Of course, then I tuned back into the meteorologist.

"...And this storm is moving extremely quickly. At a rate of about 40-45 mph, we expect the line of storms to hit Birmingham in the next 5 minutes."

Ohhh crap. So, I call my friend, tell him to drive faster, and we both laugh about our impending death. I eventually made it up the ginormous hill upon which I reside (although I was really afraid my crappy tires were going to send me spinning off into the woods) and into my apartment. I am completely sodden, the bath towels I was drying out on my balcony are almost certainly not dry, and I'm praying the power doesn't go out.

Let this be a lesson to you- the internet's "live" weather radar? Not so much. Stupid weather.

I Heart Whole Foods

2007-02-28T14:43:00.000-08:00

As everyone knows, I live in the giant cow pasture that is Alabama. And as many of you know, I am a vegetarian. It's not a whole lot of fun being a vegetarian in Alabama. Of course, you can always eat vegetables. And the Boca stuff out of the freezer section (which is pretty much 90% of my diet.) But if you want to cook something fancypants and vegetarian, you're kind of out of luck. For instance, once I tried to make a dish from a cookbook my friend gave me...I went to three stores looking for uncooked green lentils. No luck. I substituted cooked lentils, which was unsurprisingly a mistake (I'm notorious for really poor decisions regarding recipe substitutions.) Today, I was given new hope for my culinary abilities. Well, not abilities, but my endeavor to gain these abilities. You see, today, Alabama got its first Whole Foods.

I've always heard good things about Whole Foods. Today I found out they were completely warranted. C, P, and I arrived at the grand opening of Whole Foods at about 7:45 AM. Primarily because we got an email that said the first 100 customers would be leaving with a special surprise. So, we came early, ate free breakfast, and then watched the stupid bread-breaking. Finally we made it in the door. The store's really pretty, and they have more fruits than I have ever seen in my life. But, I wasn't sold. I don't eat very much fruit. I usually buy it and watch it rot in my kitchen. So, lots of expensive fruit wasn't doing it for me. Also, their seafood section has a seafood bar with seafood chowders and salads kind of open to the air. And it smells like DEATH. Seriously, I never want to walk by that part of the store ever again. So nauseating. There were tons of people, nothing had struck my fancy, and worst of all the stupid people wouldn't give me a free totebag cause I wasn't one of the first 100 to check-out (which completely negated the benefit of getting their early and watching the stupid bread-breaking.) Plus the guy totally gave one to C and pretty much everyone else I saw walking around. Jackass guy. I was getting discouraged. I hate crowded places, and was beginning to hate Whole Foods.

But then, I got to the ethnic food aisle. And they had a bunch of different curries. And Polish food. And Thai food. The next aisle had a variety of vegetarian boxed mix thingies. Stuff to make sloppy joe's, falafel, hummus, and veggie burgers among others. By the time I got to the side of the store with a sushi bar, delicious cheeses, eco-friendly wines, and ready-made soups....I was sold. I'm fairly certain that if it hadn't been so crowded, I would have spent a gajillion dollars. As it was, I was fairly restrained. I ended up leaving with:

Some sag paneer curry mix...just add tofu and serve over rice!
Soymilk...cause I was fresh out and am dying to eat my Raisin Bran Crunch.
Organic butter...cause I needed butter and why not buy it from some tiny little independent dairy?
Irish cheese...cause they had samples and holy crap I just wanted to stand there all day eating cheese. Sooo sharp and delicious.
Vegetable samosas...man I love samosas. Just toss them in the oven for a few minutes and you have fried vegetable goodness.
Vegetable pot pie. Before I became a vegetarian, I ate turkey pot pies like they were going out of style. I loooove pot pies. I haven't had one in about 3 years. When I found the vegetable pot pie, I almost cried.
Hummus mix...I've tried hummus mix before and it was a pretty negative experience. But today in the interest of trying new things, I decided to give it another shot.
Chapstick...I've always heard the Burt's Bees stuff is amazing. I've always thought it's better to get 3 tubes of ChapStick brand for the price of one Burt's Bees. But my lips were chapped at the checkout, so I grabbed what they had. Holy crap it's totally worth it. It's like slathering your lips with a menthol massage. Awesome. Consider me a convert.

So, I'm going to start cooking more. Don't worry, I've got the fire department on speed dial.

Me in a box...it was funnier with Justin Timberlake

2007-02-23T22:27:00.000-08:00

"So you're really planning on moving?"
"Yup. In June."
"Well, I have to say, I think you're making a mistake. I expected more from you."
"Like what?"
"What about joining the Air Force?"
"Huh?"
"I always thought you'd join the military. I think you have a lot to offer the service."
"I'm sure I do, but there's no way I'd join the military right now. I'm not going to Iraq."
"Maybe you wouldn't get sent over there."
"Yes I would. I have a public health degree. My friend with an MPH was sent over there for a year to set up public health infrastructure."
"You like infrastructure!"
"Yes...but the first thing they teach you in public health is evaluation. My evaluation of the situation is that handwashing isn't going to keep anyone's ass from getting mortared. Including mine."
"The military's done a lot for you and you owe it to your country to defend it. And I say this knowing full well they might send you back to me in a box. But we have to make sacrifices and I'm a patriot."
"...."
"Now I see why you want to move up there...you're a damn liberal."
"Uh huh."
"I just think you'd want to get out in the world and do something. Make a difference."
"What do you think I do now? You think my job is some kind of game?"
"Well no...but right now you just save a few lives. In the military you'd get to touch a ton of lives."
"Yeah, no thanks."
"Well, if you want to be selfish and just make yourself happy, that's fine. I just thought you'd want to make your mark on the world."
"Nope. Just want to make myself happy."
"Well, at least think about the military."
"Okay. I'll get right on it."

Apparently I'm supposed to be sitting around sticking nails through my eyes all the time. Because I should not be happy under any circumstances. However, getting myself killed would touch lives in a really meaningful way. Cause getting new organs doesn't really do much for anyone.

Today was a bad day.

Love Down Under

2007-02-21T11:54:00.000-08:00

"Did your husband have any transmissible diseases?"
"Yes, he had koala chlamydia. But we were both treated for it."
"Excuse me?"
"Chlamydia."
"Right, but what kind?"
"Koala."
"Is that a specific strain?"
"Yes. It's the strain transmitted by koalas."
"What was your husband doing with the koalas?"
"He worked in a zoo and caught it from a koala."
"Um, okay."

Three possibilities:
1. Koalas can give you chlamydia by touching you.
2. This woman is totally gullible and her husband used it to hilarious advantage.
3. This man did something oh-so-wrong with and/or to a koala bear.

I guess it was true. Although I still think it's fishy.

Hello God, It's Me, Samantha

2007-01-30T16:07:00.000-08:00

Sorry I've been MIA all month. Work has been C-R-A-Z-Y.

Today we tied our all-time record for number of donors ever in a month. Which is awesome. And terrible. Awesome because we've pretty much wiped out our lists...if you were on our transplant list and you were really sick, you got taken care of this month. We even transplanted a patient that no one thought would ever get transplanted because she was so highly sensitized. Turns out she just needed the perfect donor. The numbers this month have been awe-inspiring. Of course, so has the workload. We are actually short a coordinator since we recently lost someone. Soo, we're short-staffed and having a record month. Which means that there isn't a single well-rested employee at my organization. There's been some kind of three-week cold/plague that's ravaged the staff (me included), my boss had a life-altering death in the family, someone else was diagnosed with cancer, and someone else was bitten by some kind of evil spider that caused her tissue to necrose and landed her in the hospital. Needless to say, I am exhausted. And so is absolutely everyone else I work with.

That being said, there are a few things that are getting me through the day:

Today I had to go to a hospital with a paid-parking deck. There are about 3 hospitals in town with these decks, and they usually will let me out for free when I tell them who I'm with. So, I go to check on my patient until first call can relieve me. I'm there long enough for the deck parking to cost $4. I have no cash, and I have no ATM card cause I lost my checkcard on New Year's Eve. Or at least that's when it was last seen. Anyway, so, this hospital validates the parking for clergy and lets them park for free. So, when I leave, I stop by the information desk. "Hey, can you validate my parking?" Show my badge, tell them who I work for, blah blah blah. "No, only for clergy." "Right, but every hospital lets us park for free because we're emergency workers." "Right. But you're not clergy." We talked for about 5 minutes. The gist of the conversation was that hell no I was not getting free parking. Soo angry. While I was standing there trying to talk some sense into this woman, some clergy guy came in, signed the clipboard, and got a free pass. So, I finally gave up, and started walking toward the ATM thinking maybe it would take a credit card? The clergy guy saw me. "Ma'am? Take my pass." "Oh, no. That's fine, I'll just go to the ATM." "No, really. I'll only be here a few minutes and I have change. Please take it." "Wow, okay. Thanks so much." That's right. He gave me his free parking pass. God bless you, man of God.
I still haven't heard from schools, but I'm excited regardless. Either way I'm getting out of Alabama. Finally. Today my boss called me into his office. "Are you sure you're leaving in June?" "Yes." "What do I have to do to get you to stay?" "There's really nothing. I like working here, the money's fine, I just hate Alabama." "I'll make it worth your while." "You can't offer me anything to make me stay." "We'll see." So I have no idea what he's planning...it might be interesting.
I have over a week off of work in February. I am absolutely living for vacation at this point. Come ooon second week of February.

I hope to resume blogging at regular intervals, but I also hope to resume sleeping more than 3 nights a week. Gotta have priorities people. Laters :)

This is what happens when I am sick

2007-01-12T06:40:00.000-08:00

You know how I stayed home from work the other day? Yeah, I am paying for it in spades. Apparently I've been struck with karmic retribution in the form of some deadly mutant strep-flu-sinus infection hybrid. I've had it all. Congestion, fever, vomiting, sore throat, and overall misery. I woke up this morning at 5 AM because I was drowning in my own saliva. Which is what happens when you can't swallow because millions of bacteria have been kicking you in the tonsils all night. Bastards.

I was sitting at my desk and picked up two rubber bands that were stacked together. I started fidgeting with them while talking on the phone. I was trying to do that thing where you pull one through the other to link them...you know what I'm talking about. So, I wasn't looking at them, was just trying to do that. But it wasn't working. I finally thought I had it, looked down, and it was one giant rubber band. My thought? "Oh my God I just did magic and I have no idea how! I should have been watching!" Followed quickly by the realization that it was always a large rubberband that was coiled when I picked it up. Followed quickly by yet another realization. That I am an idiot. And it is time for more Tylenol.
I don't buy sugar-laden products. Simply because I don't have any willpower to keep myself from eating/drinking these products in outrageous portions. For instance, Chips Ahoy cookies. Samantha's serving size? One sleeve. Not healthy. But when I'm sick, I cut myself some slack. So, I stocked up on clear liquids. Specifically 7-UP and Fresca. Mmm soda. By last night, I was swigging 7-UP straight from the 2-liter bottle. I'm now halfway through the Fresca. Also, "All-natural 7-UP?" Bologna. There is nothing natural about high fructose corn syrup. It is delicious though.
Early morning television sucks. Although I will say that I totally want to ride in the "Cash Cab." I think I could rack up. Star Trek doesn't start til 1 PM. And I can't sleep. Thank God for Scrabble. Ugh I hate being sick.

Work Ethic

2007-01-09T08:52:00.000-08:00

Um...I really don't have one. If I'm on call, sure. I'm all over it. But for some reason, when my boss did this month's schedule, he basically gave me the first two weeks of January off. Which means that I haven't really worked since Christmas. I mean, I have office duties wherein I'm supposed to show up at the office at 8 AM and leave at 5 PM. However, my office duties take a grand total of 10 minutes. And can be put off until I have a giant stack of papers, and then taken care of in 20 minutes on a day that I actually am on call and have to be in the office anyway. So, I haven't gotten to the office before 9 AM at all this year. Not once. I've already missed 2 days of work this year. And it's the 8th day of the year. All in all, I am an employment superstar. So I thought, since I got to work at 9 and left at 11 yesterday, I should probably go to work today. And possibly even stay there for an extended period of time. Sure, I'll be playing Scrabble the whole time, but at least I'll be physically present.

So, I got up at 7 AM. And I was getting ready. And my face was covered in oatmeal facewash stuff. Aaand then the power went out. Fabulous. I'm cold. In the shower. And I can't see. Awesome. So, I get all rinsed off, jump out of the shower. And the power comes back on. Great. 2 minutes later...the power goes back out. So, I call my friend/coworker that lives downstairs.

Me: "Hey, is your power out or is it just my apartment? I'm afraid to mess with the fusebox."
Him: "No, mine's out too."
Me: "So, what are you going to do about work?"
Him: "Um...I'm going back to bed."
Me: "Cool. Call me when you're leaving so we can get there at the same time."
Him: "Okay."

So, I climb back into bed. Until about 9:30. When he calls me back. (I guess it could also be noted that the power's been back on for a good 2 hours by now.)

Him: "Hey, did you get paged?"
Me: "No."
Him: "Damn. Okay, it's the office. I'll call you back."

Great. We're busted. Also, we'll be at least 3 hours late for work. He calls back.

Him: "Hey, it was [our boss]"
Me: "Oh crap. What did you tell him?"
Him: "Um, he called to ask me not to say anything about the guy that got fired yesterday."
Me: "Did you tell him our power was out?"
Him: "Nope."
Me: "Are you leaving for work now?"
Him: "Are you kidding? I'm still in bed! I'll leave in a little while"
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Me: "Damn it, now my pager's going off. Okay, call me when you're getting up."

So, I'm not relishing the thought of talking to my boss. When I'm supposed to be at work. But instead he had to page me at home. I'm spinning a complex web of lies in my mind as the phone rings.

Boss: "Hey Sam. Sorry to bother you. Thanks for calling in."
Me: "Um...no problem."
At this point I'm realizing that he thinks I'm on vacation or something. Score.
Boss: "Blah blah blah don't talk bad about the fired guy blah blah we're working fervently to replace him blah blah help us find someone blah blah blah if we could just get another person like you, that's what we're looking for blah i take full responsibility for hiring him so sorry about the pain it's caused you guys, sorry you had to work so hard blah blah get some rest I'll talk to you later."
Me: "Um, okay. Bye."

Let's get this straight. We have been remarkably busy at work. Last quarter was the busiest quarter that we've had in ten years. Record setting. So, it's hard to get in trouble. Because a. in my current capacity, I am damn near irreplaceable and b. it's not like the work isn't getting done. Sooo, since he obviously wasn't expecting me in today anyway. And since I'd had my traumatic shower experience. And I was 3 hours late anyway. And my bathrobe is comfortable.....when my friend called back, it went something like this:

Him: "Hey, are you ready to go?"
Me: "Umm..yeah. I don't think I'm going to work today."
Him: "Hahaha...really?"
Me: "Yeah...he wasn't expecting me anyway. Plus it's cold outside. So, I think I'll just go in tomorrow."
Him: "I've got some stuff to do, but I'll probably be back by 2. See you later."
Me: "Ok, have fun. Laters."

So, I'm at home. Watching Scrubs. Eating frozen cookies. Playing Scrabble. And thinking about the fact that my boss and the assistant director are both leaving town tomorrow for a week-long conference. This is going to be a pretty sweet week at work. ;)

My PHILONYE Has a First Name

2007-01-03T09:24:00.000-08:00

Wow. I don't even know where to begin with my PHILONYE recap. I'll try to come at it from the "I don't even know what the hell PHILONYE is" angle, for my readers that aren't from the northeast. So, PHILONYE stands for Philadelphia on New Year's Eve. Which is where I went. Basically, my boyfriend Tom and his friends get together in whatever city for a New Year's bash. I think it's a great idea. I have never spent New Year's with my friends- opting instead to play poker in rural Alabama with my family- but this idea has merit. Especially with Tom's friends...many of whom are hilarious.

So, Adina and Mr. Anonymous live in Philly, and elected to host this year's event. And thus PHILONYE was born. And there was much rejoicing. And drinking. Originally I was slated to arrive on Friday night, stay with Adina and Mr. Anon, and then Tom and his Bostonian contingent would arrive on Saturday. I was not a fan of this idea because 1. less time with my boyfriend and 2. as much as I love Adina online, hello I've never met her. What if she's totally nuts?!? Lucky for me, she is as hilarious as her blog leads you to believe. Also, she and Mr. Anon are the cutest couple ever. Because they are great. Also, they are very compact. Which I think adds to the cuteness. Seriously. They are tiny. And they are great hosts. I walked in and was greeted by the sight of many many bags of chips, hummus, 2 cases of beer, and cookies. Mmmm cookies. Well played, Anonymouses. So we had snacks, and played Scrabble, and Tom and his truckload of people arrived Friday night! Woo!

Everyone came over and I got to meet the whole gang (with the exception of a few that didn't arrive until New Year's Eve.) We did the "whoever is holding the bottle of sauvignon blanc has to introduce him/herself and then take a swig of wine" introduction game (being played by our hostess above.) Mmm...swigging wine. Classy. So we quit playing Scrabble (which was great cause sweet baby Jesus I was getting stomped) and moved onto what could probably be named the official game of PHILONYE. Mafia. I really enjoy playing Mafia, although I do find it kind of stressful. I love to just be a townsperson. That way, my existence doesn't really matter. Also, I find it much easier to be convincing when I'm being honest. The lying kind of stresses me out. Of course, maybe I would be more convincing if I was wearing a piece of tape labeled "Definitely NOT Mafia." :-p That first night of Mafia followed a pretty basic formula. First, kill off Justin. Then kill off Tom. Justin because otherwise he will continue to yell and Adina has neighbors. Tom because apparently that is what they do. Tom's default position was killing off Adina. But Adina wasn't wearing flannel, and thus tended to fare better with survival. So the first night was basically Mafia all night, then everyone left except Tom, Donny, and I who stayed at Adina's. Poor Donny ended up on the air mattress. At least until he rolled off in the middle of the night and ended up sleeping on the floor.

The next day, we set out to find the hotel we'd be staying at the rest of the visit. It was thought to be nearby. And depending on who you asked, it was. Ask Thomas, and he'll say it's not that far. Ask me, who is walking the 2 miles at 3 AM in 40 degree weather, and I will say "OH MY GOD WHY THE HELL ARE WE WALKING?!?" Because I live in Alabama, and we don't walk. And we don't have 40 degree weather. However, Adina was kind enough to lend me a pair of tennis shoes for the visit. Which was pretty much a necessity, because if left to only the pair of boots with 2 inch heels I brought, Tom would've been carrying me around Philadelphia. And then we both would have needed wheelchairs. So again, Adina = best hostess ever. Later that day, we met for sushi. Woo! Man I love sushi. And Tom ate some, even though he calls it "bait" and there was much happiness. We later returned to the apartment and played, you guessed it, Mafia. Also, at some point we played taboo (which I suck at), scattergories (also suck), and some drinking game (shockingly enough, still sucked. Although most of that game is luck of the draw I think.)

That night we went out to an Irish pub for dinner. And the food was awesome. Also, John created the greatest invention ever. We ended up needing two tables to accomodate the entire group since there were almost 20 of us. One table played drinking games the entire time, and on more than one occasion people at my table turned around to see who was making out with whom. I was too lazy to drink that much. I also knew that I had a 2 mile hike back to my hotel. So I stuck with a single beer. My table was more concerned with eating. I think we were all starving. I couldn't even be troubled to look up

from my menu for a photo. We went straight from the pub/restaurant to the bowling alley. Of course, when we got there it turned out to cost an ungodly amount, and we would need multiple lanes for all of our people. So we played some foosball. And then we walked back to the apartment. And then we played Mafia for 3 hours. It was insane. And we walked back to the hotel. At 3 AM. In 40 degree weather. For 2 miles. I complain a lot, but in retrospect it wasn't really that bad. I know to bring a hat for next time. Also, I know that if I move to New England, I will die. Useful information. Really though...I had gloves, I had a scarf, I had layers. I'm just a big pansy. As Tom so kindly reminded me. Jerkstore. :-p

So finally it was New Year's Eve. And what better way to spend the day in Philadelphia, than by playing Pit all day? Really. What could beat that? The answer is nothing, because Pit is awesome. I'm buying it and taking it to my sisters...because it's great. We played Pit all day, and then it was time to go out for New Year's. First we were going to have dinner at a Thai restaurant, and then we'd make our way to a pub for drinking and dancing the rest of the night. Let me tell you a little something about going out in the northeast. I was not dressed for it. In Birmingham, we go out in halter tops or something similarly skimpy. That is just how we roll. Because even when it's cold here, it's not that cold. And no one looks at you like you're crazy when you roll into a bar in February wearing a tube top. Unless you're chunky. And then you're just crazy for wearing a tube top. So, I brought two halter tops for New Year's. And it was 40 degrees outside. "Tom, I don't know, should I wear this? Most of your friends seem to dress pretty conservatively. Also, it's like 12 degrees outside. I don't want to look nuts." "No, it looks great, other people will be dressed like that, you're fine. Just wear a coat." Oookay. So, me in a silk halter top. Then a coat and scarf, and gloves. I should have known I was going to look like a freak. Also that I was going to freeze to death and die in the street. We get to the restaurant for dinner, everyone's taken their coats off, and there I am. The only person not wearing a sweater. And I'm not just not wearing a sweater, I'm wearing a shirt that doesn't have a freaking back on it for cripes' sake. Ugh. So, I finally took the coat off, because it's hard to eat Thai food in a coat. I looked crazy. Also, I was cold. Lesson two in dressing for the northeast: wear a shirt. Also, never ask your boyfriend whether you should wear less clothing. You're not going to get a good answer.

So, we finally ended up at the bar and it was a blast. I think the best story of the night was Mo's. The ladies room had a really long line, so some girl suggested to Mo that they go use the men's room. They walked right in, and although the girl offered to share a stall with Mo, they ended up in different ones. Thank God. Because a minute after they go in, a bouncer comes in yelling that she has to get out. The bouncer kicks the girl's stall door in, grabs the girl and tells her she has to leave. She asks to retrieve her coat and he tells her no. Mo is still in the next stall undetected, although i'm pretty sure she was glad to be in the bathroom. I would have wet myself. She waited a couple minutes, then snuck out of the men's room without incident. So she came the closest to getting kicked out that night. A close second to the couple in the group that actually did get kicked out last year for another restroom incident. Luckily they nipped that in the bud this year. "NO PASSION!" was their mantra for the night. ;)

I will report that our hotel was right next to the Rodin museum, and the museum where Rocky ran up the stairs in those stupid movies. (Man, I hate Sylvester Stallone. Also, I hate the name Sylvester.) And we did not do any Philadelphia-related activities while we were there. I ate no cheesesteak (good for me, since I'm a vegetarian), I saw no Liberty Bell (because who cares about some bell? I don't), I didn't go into any museums (although I did want to go to the medical museum. The sign on the front called it "disturbingly informative" which I'm totally into), and I didn't buy any souvenirs. I went up there to do one thing- have a great time- and all I can say is mission accomplished.

I can't wait for next year :)

*Thanks to Donny and Felecia for posting their pictures. I stole them. :)

New Year's Resolutions

2007-01-02T07:43:00.000-08:00

I am going to do a huge post about PHILONYE, but am opting to wait until some of the participants post pictures. Because a. pictures are great, b. my friends won't know who I'm talking about without illustrations, and c. I didn't bring a camera, so I have to steal photos from everyone else. I don't even know where to begin about PHILONYE...but rest assured, I'll figure it out.

In the meantime, I usually don't make New Year's Resolutions. I don't have many bad habits. Not a smoker, not in need of a diet, not a terribly mean person that should work on being nicer. I don't even drink that much anymore. If anything, I should resolve to be less boring. But, I'm going to make some resolutions, because it's New Year's, and I need a post.

1. I resolve to make more time for friends. I have awesome friends, and I see them a lot less than I used to. Much of this is directly related to starting a full-time job. But it's probably more directly correlated with me being really lazy and using my job as an excuse for not prying myself off the couch. Also, I got cable this year. Kiss of death.

2. I resolve to get out of my holding pattern. I've lived in Alabama for over a decade. I've been trying to get into medical school on and off for 4 years. I've worked for the same organization since I was 19. It's time. By the end of the year, I'm either going to be in medical school in Birmingham, or out of Alabama.

3. I resolve to cook more. I got a panini-maker for Christmas. And a food chopper thing. And a cookbook. I have the equipment...I just lack the ability. I need to practice. Plus, I've started to realize that restaurant food is usually not very good. But always very overpriced. Last month I didn't eat out at all. One whole month, no restaurants. I saved a bunch of money, it was great. But I also had to rely on my own cooking, and thus lost some weight and now my pants don't fit. Which is decidedly uncool. Pants are expensive. Time to start cooking stuff that's not my specialty "A bag of frozen birdseye vegetables."

4. Exercise more...wow. I can't even type that with a straight face. Who am I kidding? I'm not going to exercise. I'm too lazy, and I live far away from places where I'd like to exercise. I figure I'll get plenty of exercise when I either get into medical school, thus making me a student with free gym membership...or move out of Alabama to a place that is hopefully very walkable and has great public transportation. So I'll hold off on that resolution because who am I kidding?

5. I resolve to read more. I love reading. But I also love cable. After having only 4 channels for so long, it's tough to not get into my new cable routine. 2 episodes of Scrubs right after work...break for dinner...then depending on the night I could be watching Medium, House, 30 Rock, The Office, Colbert Report, or the Daily Show. I figure that's okay since I don't really watch MTV anymore. Not sitting through hours of Real World and Road Rules, or that evil hybrid show I used to love means that I'm growing up. Right? Anyway, more reading. I got "Heat" for Christmas and I'm loving it. Of course, it really has only succeeded in making me both hungry for pasta, and determined to dine at Babbo.

So only five resolutions. I'm sure there are many more I need to make, but last year I resolved to be less critical of myself. So I think I'm pretty okay. :-p

Welcome to 2007, everybody. It's gonna kick ass.

Very Superstitious

2006-12-23T04:13:00.000-08:00

So it is Christmas weekend. And it doesn't feel like it to me in the slightest. Most likely because rather than sitting at my parents' house with my sisters, I am sitting in my apartment with a set of those dancing penguins from the Hallmark store. Sure they're cute, but it's just not the same. I was hoping that this weekend would be quiet. I was hoping that, if I had to be away from home, I could spend the time eating frozen cookies and enjoying a marathon of the following:

"A Muppet Christmas Carol"- Greatest adaptation of the Dickens classic. EVER. The music, Gonzo, Rizzo, Michael Caine. You can't beat it. Seriously.
"White Christmas"- Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye. There's singing, there's dancing. And really that should be enough. Also, they wear pretty dresses and shoes. I would kill to be able to dance in 3 inch stilletos.
"Love Actually"- Cause I'm a sappy romantic girl and from the moment Kiera Knightley gets married in her ugly feathered wedding sweater (I'm sorry, that whole phrase is redundant) to when the shy porn stand-ins find true love, I'm sold. Also, Hugh Grant is great in this movie, as is Bill Nighy. Woo British actors!
"Jack Frost"- Yes. It's a movie where a Dad is reincarnated as a snowman. Shut up. It is a great movie, very Christmasy, I don't see many snowmen where I live, and after "Multiplicity", I have a very hard time believing that Michael Keaton can do anything wrong. (Although he totally can..."My Life" anybody? Good gravy that is the most depressing movie of all time.) Also, factoid: I have the soundtrack to this movie. Such is my love.

In order to prevent the absolute avalanche of work, I usually have a ritual. Basically, weekends that I'm on call mean that I am sitting on my couch, watching TV, and praying that my beeper doesn't go off. The prevention of beeping is a finely tuned art form. Some people just stay awake all night so they won't be awakened by their pager (these people are stupid because dude, if you don't get paged, you stayed up all night. Sucker.) Some people don't make plans to go out. Here is the rundown of my pager-prevention rituals.

Anytime asks me if anything's going on, I reply "Not yet." As if to let fate know, I'm ready. I don't care if you page me. Go ahead. Doesn't bother me. See, fate doesn't like that. It likes to catch you when you're all comfortable and steeped in flannel pajama goodness. Which leads to point 2.
I wear scrubs at all times. If I'm on Friday call, I am at the office in scrubs all day. When I walk in the door to my apartment, I usually change clothes. Not so on call days. I stay in these scrubs. And repeat to myself, "I'm probably leaving in a few minutes anyway." This weekend it means that I have been wearing the same outfit for approximately 25 hours. So far.
Also, don't climb in bed. That's the worst idea ever. I usually camp out on my couch. Blanket, pager, cell phone, laptop, and TV with captions on. Sure it's not that comfortable. Sure I think one side of my couch is starting to sag from the amount of time I spend parked on it/sleeping on it. But that's what it's there for, right?

So far this weekend, the rituals have not paid off. I think it was probably all for naught when Tom called me and said "You haven't had any pages? That's awesome!" Way to jinx it, buddy. :-p So, we've got two cases. My hair is sticking up in strange ways. And I could pass out at any second due to sleep deprivation. Welcome to my Christmas nightmare. :-p

My My My My My Boogie Shoes

2006-12-15T13:40:00.000-08:00

I decided that I needed to take measures to ensure that I would not end up getting drunk enough to mug the DJ for his microphone last night at the office Christmas party. So, I decided to see if my neighbor/coworker S wanted to ride to the party with me. Being a designated driver would certainly work to curb my thirst. And aid my behavior. Well...half of that's right anyway.

The night started out pretty sedate. No one was dancing, the music was too loud, and people were mingling. Rather than a 400 year old DJ a la last year, we had a 55 year old one that closely resembled the dancing guy from the Six Flags commercials. The turnout was about twice what it was last year, and this time all my favorite people were there. Which would later be my demise. As usual, I'm too lazy to actually string together a narrative, so let's just skip to the bullets.

My favorite surgical fellow came up to me early in the evening and asked who the big dancers were going to be. Little did he know, he was talking to one. Toward the end of the night, he came back up to me. "Hey Sam, I'm leaving. I just wanted you to know that I'll never be able to look at you the same way again." Score.
Okay, I have to tell you a slightly old story so that you'll understand this one. About a month ago, I was in an OR with Dr. E and that surgical fellow. I was scrubbed in retracting the liver for them when it all of a sudden became very obvious to me that I was going to pass out. I immediately broke scrub and made it to the doctors lounge before losing consciousness. I ended up having someone get me some food and juice and eventually was well enough to go back to work in the OR. Here's a tip: Don't forget to eat. Also, probably don't lock your knees. Anyway, that surgery took place during an early morning. So, on the way out of the hospital, Dr. E asked me how long I'd had this morning sickness. Blah blah blah pregnancy jokes. I think his goal is to get this rumor to somehow circle back to my mother and give her a heart attack. So, last night, in front of my boss he walks right up to me and puts his hand on my stomach. "Sam, you're not even showing." Here's another tip: don't call a surgeon/your organization's medical director a "punkface." Also, don't try to make him do the cha cha slide.
I spent the majority of the night dancing. Because that is what I do. Apparently alcohol doesn't really make much of a difference on that front. Because I only had 2 drinks all night, and still was getting down. Seriously.
When not dancing, I spent most of my time trying to get a certain picture taken. You see, my boss has an intraoffice romance. He's dating a chick in the office that dresses like everyday is Halloween. And her costume is typically "gypsy." Except ironically enough on Halloween when she dressed like a chick from "Grease." Whatever. She went to the Tammy Faye Baker school of cosmetology, and styles her hair every morning by sticking her finger in a socket. Also, she has the IQ of a potato. She drives me crazy. And then about a week ago, she walked into the office. And her hair had gotten about a foot longer. And half of it had changed colors. Apparently someone discovered the fake hair kiosk at the Galleria. And someone thought their dirty blonde hair was actually red. Everytime she walks in, I can't stop laughing. She looks like a fox bit her on the head and died there. So, I've been trying to find an excuse to take a picture of her. We all have those Treo cameras, but since she's only worn the ponytail sporadically, she'll probably figure out that's why we want the picture. And you don't want to be mean to the boss's girlfriend. So last night I was on a mission. I was going to get a picture of the elusive fake ponytail. And I succeeded. It was great. S got in the picture with her....absolutely hilarious. My friend with the camera has to email me the shots...I'm debating posting it here. We'll see how it turns out...it might be too good not to post.
Because I was driving, I wasn't really affected by the bartender. But there were some serious complaints. The party was open bar...and at my organization, people take full advantage. People get t-r-a-s-h-e-d. Last time we had a party, I was in charge of bringing the receipt to my boss the next day. "Who ordered 32 kamikazes?!" That level of alcoholism rages in my workplace. Which is always fun. So last night, my friend Liz arrived late and so was waaay behind everyone else on the drinking. I was close to the bar, so she asked me to grab her a vodka tonic from across the room. The bartender saw her mouth the request and mouthed back at her that she'd have to drink a glass of water. She told me she'd only had two drinks, and she didn't want water. So I relayed this to the bartender. "Don't care. It's water or nothing." The bartender started making everyone drink water before giving them another glass of alcohol. The theory was that since it was open bar on the company, no one brought cash, and thus no one was tipping the bartender. And he was getting us back. Regardless, one of my friends said he couldn't dance cause he had so much water sloshing around in his belly. Stupid bartender. :-p
Because I wasn't drunk, I was ready to go about an hour before S. But I stuck around cause he was dancing up a storm. A little factoid about S: he has some issues...like serious issues. Anxiety issues, sexual orientation issues, anger issues...but i love him. However, these issues lead to him getting a DUI last year. And resulted in a parole officer and a visceral hatred for policemen. Not because of the DUI thing, but because of the parole thing. Which I can kind of understand. He goes to meet the parole officer once a month at the same time as a rapist, a multiple-convicted drug dealer, and a murderer. Seriously. I don't know why these people aren't in jail. Whatever. So, I'm driving us home last night and he is drunk. And I am not. But I have had a couple drinks over several hours. And of course, we happen into a roadblock. License check. My neighbor is f-reaking out. I dont know the terms of his parole, but he makes it seem like maybe he shouldn't even be drunk in the passenger seat. We pull up to the officer, he gets my license and calls it in, and says "Ma'am, have you been drinking tonight?" "No sir." "Sir, have you been drinking tonight?" "No sir." *sweat dripping off his forehead* "Ma'am, you're sure you haven't been drinking?" "Yes officer." And then they call back with my license check "Negative for any activity." "Ya'll have a nice evening." Oh thank God. I'm sure I would've passed a breathalyzer, I certainly hadn't had much alcohol, and definitely did not feel any effects of any. But as soon as we were a block away, my neighbor started screaming. "OH MY GOD I AM NEVER DRIVING ON THIS ROAD AGAIN SAMANTHA YOU HAVE NO IDEA!" Again, I don't know the terms of his parole, but something along the lines of 90 days in jail was mentioned. Here's another tip: don't drink and drive. And really, for the sake of not getting heartburn, it's probably easiest to just not drink anything at all even when you're not driving for a while. What a way to cap off the night.

So that was this year's office Christmas party. We had a few people that thought they were Mario Lopez...we had a woman that was dressed like Michael Jackson going to court...and we had the head of our education department discover that the answer to "how low can you go?" was falling down on her ass. No air guitar, but still a lot of fun. I'll probably post the pics when I get them. Laters :)

Tales from the OR

2006-12-14T12:30:00.000-08:00

I wasn't supposed to be on call yesterday, but I switched with one of my coworkers and agreed to cover for him from 8AM-5PM. I figured I'd be at work anyway, might as well be doing something. WRONG. All hell broke loose yesterday...worked non-stop...it sucked. Then, we set up a run for 5:15 PM. So, I called my coworker who was supposed to take over at 5 to tell him to meet at the lab at 5:15. "Oh, I'm sorry Sam. I can't make it." That's right. Totally screwed. I didn't get home until after 1 AM. But at least I was entertained.

I went to assist in a surgery in another state. I go into the OR to set up our table, and start opening supplies. The scrub tech would take them and put them on the table for me. Rob was about a 6'1 tall white guy. "Hi, I'm Samantha. I'll be assisting the surgeons from Alabama." "Yo, I'm Rob. Just tell me what to do." And that was how I met Snoop Dogg's caucasian surgical tech counterpart. The doctor would ask for a 2.0 silk tie, Rob would say "Fo shizzle." I kid you not. Our surgeons just kept looking at each other...one of them had to walk away from the table for a minute so the guy wouldn't catch him laughing. Our eyes were watering from trying not to laugh at this guy. It was hilarious.
Bad sign: When you're holding a liver, and a cardiothoracic surgeon looks at it and says, "What's that? The heart?"
How to tell you go out too much: A surgeon from Florida is talking to me because he trained for a time with Dr. ACP. And he keeps looking at me. "You look very familiar...I think I know you from somewhere." "Well, maybe we've done a case together before." "Hmm...maybe." Then about 10 minutes later, he yells from across the room. "I remember! I have seen you at the Bellbottoms! You were dancing!" Someone from Florida remembers seeing me at Bellbottoms. That's not good.
On the way back to the airport, we were driven by an EMS had the country music blaring. One of the surgeons starts telling me that it could be worse. He had a friend that was a doctor, married, 2 kids, and always drove around playing Barry White. Non-stop. The surgeon was telling me that he and a friend were stuck in the backseat of that guy's Barry White-mobile one night. "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Baby" comes on, and the surgeon's friend looks over at him. "So, uh...you wanna make out?" hehehe.
We finally make it back to Birmingham, and as our plane comes in for a landing the pilots hit the brakes pretty heavily. None of us knew why we landed on the short runway. As we were getting out of the plane, one of my surgeons asked the pilot. "Oh, the tower was shut down on account of methane gas...so we had to land wherever and now we gotta take right back off." Comforting to thing there was no one telling them where to land. Lovely. Next time maybe lay off the Taco Bell, air tower guys.

Tonight's the office Christmas party. Last year one of our lab guys got drunk and played air guitar all alone in the middle of the dance floor. Of course, I didn't exactly behave myself last year either. I'm sure I'll have stories tomorrow...or a drunk post tonight. :) Laters!

Weekend Recap

2006-12-12T13:16:00.000-08:00

Where to start on last weekend. I have two weekends off in a row this month, since I have to work Christmas. And since I'll be home for neither Christmas nor New Year's, I visited my family last weekend, and will be going home again this weekend. So woo more stories of insanity! As it stands, let's go over what happened last weekend.

The Tree

My mother is from Alabama, and my father is from Iowa. Meaning my Dad's used to going to the tree farm and buying a fir or whatever normal Christmas trees look like. My Mom's used to going out in the pasture and finding a cedar tree that vaguely resembles a Christmas tree. We usually side with Dad on this one. Cedar's are usually irregular and they're really spikey and painful when you try to put ornaments on them...so we hate them. But Mom loves them...cause she thinks they smell good, and they remind her of her childhood, and perhaps most importantly, they're free. So this year, Mom wanted a cedar. Dad decided to go out in the backyard while Mom was out, and cut down a tree. He cut down an absolutely hideous one. Bald, waaay too tall for the room, and bald. He did this in the hopes that Mom would see it, say it didn't look good, and agree to get a store-bought non-mutant tree.

But that backfired. Mom and I are sawing a couple feet off the bottom of the tree in the hopes of getting it to fit in the house. I'm telling her how ugly the tree is. "Samantha, your father did this on purpose so we'd have to buy a tree. I know this one looks awful. We're keeping it." And thus was born the Principle Tree. Sure, it's hideous, but its the principle of the matter. She kept telling my father how much she loved it. Even when it fell down twice. Even when everyone pointed out that the bottom four feet of the tree were totally devoid of vegetation. Mom picked up branches we'd cut off at the bottom and stuffed them into the treestand.

So now we have a tree that is way too tall, and way too bald. Decorated to the hilt. And McGyvered to the ceiling in the hopes that it won't fall down (again) and kill anyone. Complete with the traditional Christmas germ. Enjoy the rest of the pictures here.

Bumper Cars

Saturday my father and I went to my great aunt Jonnie's house to clean up the leaves in her yard. While we were gone, my Mom and sister were going to go to some tour of homes in town and the rest of the girls were going to hang out at home. We'd done about a third of the yard, when Bear called from home.

"Hey, has Mom called you?"

"No, why?"

"Umm...don't tell her I told you."

"Okay, what happened?"

"She got into an accident."

"Where? Is she okay?"

"She's fine...and she's in the driveway."

"Where was the accident?"

"In the driveway."

"Huh??"

"Mom backed the Tahoe into the Honda."

"Niiiice."

So, my mother has now damaged every car they own. She backed the van into one of the concrete pylon thingies that stop you from hitting the pump at the gas station. And now she's backed the Tahoe into the back of her Civic. Dented the Tahoe and broke the taillight out of the Civic. Dad was thrilled. "Tell her insurance doesn't cover you hitting your own car!"

My favorite part was when we actually reached my mother.

"Hey Mom, playing bumper cars in the driveway?"

"Shut up Samantha."

"Why did you back up? We have a circular driveway! Why didn't you just pull forward?!?"

"I always back up."

Apparently my mother only has one direction when disengaging from park. Way to go.

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So, to sum up, we had a blast...the bootleg tree is set up and decorated...and now there isn't a single vehicle Bear can drive that Mom hasn't rammed into something. hehehe. Going home again Friday...good times :)

Voicemail

2006-12-08T09:50:00.000-08:00

"Hey Samantha....it's Bear....just calling to make sure you're coming home toniiight. We're going to decorate the Christmas tree. And some of us might become Christmas trees. And funny things....and weird things....will probably happen. Also, there might be reindeer. I'm off work at 6. You'd better be home. Or I'm going to hurt you. And you know I will."

She's violent.

Also, she makes a pretty good Christmas tree.

Oh, and Nativity Scene pics here for any interested parties. :)

Recap

2006-11-29T10:03:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving at my parents' house. What can I say? I guess it's best described in a series of vignettes. Mainly because I'm really bad at stringing stories together...especially in any kind of way that makes sense with respect to space and time.
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Scene 1: In the kitchen. My mother (who literally cooks one day of the year) and my sister Jen (age 14) are attempting to figure out how they made such awesome dressing last year. (The answer, of course, is that my Dad made it.)
Mom: "I don't remember how I made it last year. Jen, look in one of the cookbooks and see if you can find a recipe."
Jen: "Okay."
Me: "Um...didn't Dad make it last year?"
Mom: "No! Did he? I can make dressing. Jen just has to find the recipe I use."
Me: "oookay."
Jen: "Here's one. It calls for breadcrumbs..."
Mom: "Good, that's the one."
Jen: "Eggs. Sage. And uncooked popcorn."
Mom: "Uncooked popcorn?"
Jen: "Uh huh. It says Mix all ingredients, then stuff turkey. Finished when bird reaches 180 degrees, and when the popcorn blows the ass out of the turkey. Ooh! I was just reading!"
Mom: "JENNY!"
Jen: "It says that! Samantha doesn't it say that!"
Me: "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't see anything about the A-word."
Mom: "You know better Jenny. Now find another recipe. That one's not good."
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Scene 2: Still in the kitchen. My mother, Aunt Jonnie (age 92), and I are standing around washing dishes. Suddenly Dad walks up behind my mother and kind of drums a couple of fingers on her shoulder.
Mom: "What did you just put on me! Get it off!"
Me: "Mom, chill out...he didn't put anything on you. Turn around, I'll look."
She turns
Me: "AUGHHH!! AAAAH!! MOM!!"
Mom: "OH MY GOD WHAT IS IT?!??"
And I'm still just shrieking.
Mom: "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"
And my Dad is dying laughing. And I'm still shrieking. Mom is beating herself to death trying to get it off.
Mom: "AUGH!!"
Then she starts running. Runs to the door of the kitchen. And RIPS HER SHIRT OFF. And continues to shriek running topless through the house. Dad and I are doubled over laughing. She comes back five minutes later in a different shirt.
Mom: "I couldn't find it...it could be anywhere."
Me: "Um. There wasn't anything on you. We were just messing with you."
Still dying laughing.
Mom: "You guys are jerks."
But she's laughing too.
Aunt Jonnie: "I wish I'd had a video camera."
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Scene 3: The night before Thanksgiving. Bear (age 18), her boyfriend Kylie-poo (age 16), Jen (14), Jo (11), and I are in the den. I'm attempting to teach everyone some basic swing-dancing steps. Kind of hard to do when all you have is a Kelly Clarkson CD and a bootleg karaoke machine as your CD player.
Jen: "Do I have to dance with Jo?"
Me: "She's the closest to your height, so yes."
**Timeout: Jen and Bear are both 2 years apart from Kylie-poo. Jen has a huge crush on him, and is hoping that Bear will dump him when she leaves for college. Then she will swoop in and claim him as her own. She has it all planned out. Into phases. It's terrifying and brilliant. **
Jen: "Fine."
So they're dancing, I'm watching and trying to keep the CD player working.
Jen: "Jo, quit dipping! You're killing me!"
Jo is holding Jen's hands, hopping around, shaking Jen like crazy.
Jen: "Jo, let go! Quit! No! That's it! FREESTYLE!"
Jo lets go of her and starts dancing like a maniac around the room. Maybe that was their safe word?
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Scene 4: Thanksgiving Day. Bear has gone with Kylie-poo to his grandparents house in Auburn for an early Thanksgiving lunch. We're scheduled to have lunch at our house at 2 PM. At 11, the phone rings.
Mom: "Hello?"
Mom: "Okay, did you call the police?"
Mom: "Okay, where are you?"
At this point I'm getting my jacket and car keys.
Mom: "What street are you near? Okay, calm down. Call me back."
Mom: "Bear's car broke down in Auburn. She doesn't know where she is."
Me: "Okay. I've got the cell phone...I'll start heading down there and you can call me when you know where she is."
Mom: "Okay."
My sister Jess (20) and I hopped in the car to drive to Auburn (about a 30 minute drive.) 5 minutes down the road, Mom calls and says they got the car running and not to worry about it. We turn around, and 2 minutes after walking back into the house, they've broken down again. But this time they know where they are. So we go. We arrive to find them parked in someone's front yard. Apparently some guy had come out and screwed something to the battery to fix it earlier, but they made it a block before it died again. A policeman had stopped the first time they'd broken down. Watched them take off again, and then when they broke down again, came by with the helpful comment, "Ya'll didn't make it too far didja?" The car is a stick-shift, which only Jess and Bear know how to drive and Bear had washed her hands of it. We decided if we could get the car going fast enough, she could kick it into second and go. So it's Thanksgiving day, and I'm in someone's front yard pushing a car down a street. Jess kicks it into second, and it goes. We make it through most of Auburn...Jess just kept revving the car at the lights.

We make it to the railroad tracks, which are conveniently both on a hill and immediately followed by a light. So you have a hard time seeing the person in front of you, and might get stuck at the light and resultingly have to sit on the tracks. Of course, we get stuck at the light, and the car dies. With my parents' car (that I'm driving) right behind Jess...at the top of the hill...and virtually invisible to the people coming up behind me. We jump out of the car and immediately begin pushing the car again. Except this time we're pushing up a hill. And it's not happening. To make a really long story slightly abbreviated, the battery was dead. Very very dead. And the alternator was also in questionable shape. We ended up jumping the car approximately 7 times...and had a three car caravan going home cause we eventually were too scared to have to get out and push the car on the highway. Wussed out and called my Dad. But when we got home, it was 2 PM and Mom had the food on the table. Mmm Thanksgiving. Which leads us to....
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Scene 5: The kitchen. Aunt Jonnie's out with my Dad. We're figuring out where all the food is going to go. Jen pulls out the huge vat of marinated vegetables my Aunt brought.
Jen: "We have to serve the vegetables Aunt Jonnie brought."
Me: "Oh my God have you guys tasted those?"
Mom (who usually eats the disgusting food her relatives make with a smile on her face): "I'm pretty sure those vegetables are rotten."
Me: "Are you kidding me?! I ate some last night!"
Mom: "And you're still here...so it hasn't grown into botulism yet."
Me: "Ha. Ha. Seriously, I thinks he brought those specifically for me. Stupid vegetarianism."
Mom: "Good! You can eat them! Except you probably really shouldn't."
Me: "What are we going to do? She's going to notice that none of it's gone."
Mom: "Think we should get rid of some of it?"
Me: "Yes!"
So we had Jen go dump some of it in the woods. And then we put some of it in our napkins during the meal. I hate to say it, but as a trained public health professional, I will. In many cases, old people cooking is dangerous. Particularly in my Mom's family...where the women never die. They just get older and more forgetful of food safety. Seriously. My grandmother has a "utility room" that's pretty much made of concrete and stays about 2 degrees cooler than the rest of the house. In Alabama, that means about 75 as a low. She calls it her "cool room" and treats it as a giant refrigerator. Just sets a ham out on the table down there. For days. Then tries to feed it to you later. The room needs a skull and crossbones on the door.
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Scene 6: In the kitchen. Mom and Dad are walking in with groceries. Jo, Jen, Bear, Kylie-poo and I are unloading them. All of a sudden, Mom starts screaming.
Mom: "AUUGH!! GET IT OFF!! GET IT OFF!!"
At this point Dad is dying laughing, and Mom is on the verge of tears.
Me: "Mom, he's just messing wi- HOLY CRAP THAT IS A HUGE FREAKING BUG!!"
Mom: "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF OF MEEEE!!!"
She's succeeded in knocking the largest bug of all time from her shirt onto her hip. But she doesn't see it. I am still shrieking just for the hell of it. And she takes off running. Jo follows her. She gets to the kitchen door before RIPPING HER SHIRT OFF AGAIN. Lucky for Kylie-poo, she was out of his field of vision. :-p I follow her into the bedroom where she is looking (topless) for the bug. We find it in the blinds and let it out the window. I go back to the kitchen while Mom looks for a new shirt.
Dad: "Man when I saw that bug, I couldn't resist."
Me: "You put it on her?!?"
Dad: "Of course."
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Scene 6: On the way to church on Sunday. Somehow we've gotten into a discussion about Mexico? I'm not really sure how it happened.
Jo: "Jenny, you can't speak Mexican."
Jen: "Yes I can...I had to take a class."
Jo: "Fine, say something."
Jen: "Brainos dias."
Jo: "What does that mean?"
Jen: "It means have a good day."
We decided at that moment not to let Jen help Jo with her spanish homework later in life.
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So that's about it. I've got a family full of nuts, sadists, and streakers, but we have a good time.
Plus we went to see "Happy Feet" and can you find anything cuter than a tap-dancing baby penguin? I submit that you can not. So that's about it...you can go now. Seriously, go.

FREESTYLE!

Hangnail? I'll get the defibrillator! *

2006-11-15T16:18:00.000-08:00

Today I got out of the office! Woo! My boss signed a few interested parties (i.e. me and two other people that would rather be anywhere than sitting in the office) up to take an EKG interpretation class at a hospital across town. I've realized that I'm too lazy to create organized paragraphs and much prefer to use bulleted points. It's less effort. And I'm totally into low energy expenditure. So without further adieu, my list.

1. The class cost $125 to attend. No idea why...I was there all day today and was never given anything. Certainly nothing worth $125. Not even juice or cookies! (Very disappointing.) Anyway, a couple weeks ago my boss gave me a check for $125 made out to the hospital to pay for the course. I believe her exact words were, "Make sure you don't lose this...it was a pain in the neck getting the foundation to cut us a check." And I believe my exact words were, "Umm...can you just hold onto it for me until it's time to go?" I'm pretty sure that she kept it for me...but she denies it. Anyway, the point is that I lost the check**. So, my two coworkers (who had not lost their checks) and I showed up to the class in the morning, and I pretended to sign in under a hospital's name that had pre-paid for their participants. In essence, today I stole EKG training. Cause I sure as hell wasn't cutting a $125 check out of my pocket...and I wasn't going to tell my boss I'd lost the check. Flying under the radar baby. ;)

2. The class was held in the hospital's auditorium. AKA an old church. Because in Alabama, many buildings are either a. former churches b. current churches or c. warehouses being used as churches. There's a road in my parents' town that literally has 10 churches in a one-mile stretch. 9 of the 10 are Baptist churches. And those 9 are none too happy about the Jehovah's Witnesses on the block. Anyway, the room had wicked high ceilings. Which meant it was a nightmare to thermoregulate. And our teacher was in menopause (I assume.) "Are ya'll hot? Cause I'm 'bout to get naked up here. Ya'll just wait til you get 50, fat, and hormonal...then you'll wanna run the air conditioner in November too!" She had to keep stopping class to adjust the fan blowing directly on herself. I had to keep pausing to see if my jacket would zip any further up. Like over my head. Such was the coldness.

3. The class was entitled "EKG Interpretation." If the teacher would've named it, I'm sure it would've been called "How to keep your patient from goin' to meet Jesus." Cause that's all she kept telling us to avoid. "If you see this rhythm, you're gonna wanna go make sure your patient isn't going to his eternal reward." Thanks for the tip.

4. Sitting in class all day really reminded me of how much I love school. Loooove school. I love knowing the answers. I love learning new stuff. I think the main thing is that I love truly understanding how things work. If I find someone that actually understands something thoroughly...it doesn't matter what topic...I will listen with rapt attention. Because I want to know. And this teacher was good. She has an extreme Southern accent, and questionable social filters (I know I wouldn't threaten a classroom full of licensed professionals with my nudity) but she knew EKGs. I sat through one day of class, and now all I want to do is cardiovert somebody. I want to do EKGs on everybody...and then when I find a weird rhythm, I wanna zap somebody. Seriously. I think it would be awesome. Reason number 243 to go to med school: Cardioversion.

5. To sum up, my Christmas wish list:

Portable EKG Monitor
Defibrillator
A good lawyer

Tomorrow...EKG class: Part II. This time I'm bringing a blanket. And snacks. ;)

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* I totally stole this title

** I did not lose the check.

News You Can't Really Use for Any Discernible Purpose

2006-11-14T18:10:00.000-08:00

1. I just watched a new episode of "Gilmore Girls." I generally catch GG in reruns on ABC family, but I just happened upon a new episode and decided to glimpse into the future. News flash GG fans: The future is a dark and terrifying place. Seriously, I wish I could erase the last 30 minutes of my life. Things that should never have happened, have happened. It's not pretty. I don't know where the series derailed, but it has gone hopelessly off the path. I have a lot of catching up to do to figure out just what the hell happened. Arg.

2. Overheard in the office today: "The lady was about 79 years old and needed a colonoscopy. We drug her up and start puttin' in the tube. As soon as that tube touches her rear end, she jumps and kind of murmurs "Oh, Harold!" Sounded like Harold was gettin' it!" I work with really disturbed people.

3. One word for you guys that are swearing by Airborne: waste. Taking Airborne is the equivalent of eating some fruit. It's basically a multivitamin with some baking soda. And here's the thing about vitamins: you can take as much of them as you like, you're just going to pass the excess in your urine. So Airborne, which has 1,670% the Daily Value of Vitamin C, is a waste of vitamins. You're going to get what you need, and then you're going to have some pretty nutritious pee. Yum.

4. I am indescribably excited about this movie. Seriously. It's a movie about penguins. And one of them tap dances. And one of them is voiced by Robin Williams. What could go wrong with this movie? Of course, I also said that about RollBounce. Whatever dude. Dancing penguins, I'm there. :)

Guess Who's Back?!?

2006-11-14T12:32:00.000-08:00

Hopefully he's not actually back, but it was a bizarre coincidence to see him. Longtime readers may remember creepy neighbor guy from his previous appearances on this blog here, and here.

Yesterday I was leaving work to go check on a patient, and as I walked down the sidewalk someone honked at me. I ignored it and kept walking, but the honking persisted. So I finally turned around, and who's there? Creepy Neighbor Guy, stopped in the road waving at me. I wave back and continue walking to the parking lot with another coordinator. I told my coworker a little of the backstory of creepy neighbor guy, and he just laughed at me.

4 hours later, we were walking back to the office. Someone honks at me. I look up, and CNG is pulling his car up next to the sidewalk. He's blocking traffic and rolling down his window.

CNG: "HI! How are you? It has been a long time since we have seen eachother!"

Me: "Yeah."

CNG: "So I am just over here for an appointment, do you work down here?"

Me: "That's good. Yeah, I work somewhere over here."

CNG: "Oh, that's cool. I need to get your number so we can get together for coffee and catch up!"

Me: "Oh, there are cars behind you. You better go, it was good seeing you!"

I couldn't believe we saw him twice in the same spot in one day after not seeing him for a year. My coworker said he probably just did laps around the building waiting for us to come back.

Creepy.

If You're Going to See "Babel" DON'T READ THIS

2006-11-10T20:13:00.000-08:00

Seriously, spoilers galore, don't read this post. I'm basically going to tell you everything about this movie.

S, P, and I went to see "Babel" tonight. You know the preview? Exciting music, Brad Pitt looking angry, some implication that it's like the bible story and people are no longer able to communicate with one another? It looked great and we were pretty stoked to see it. Oh, also, the new Will Smith movie trailer sucked. I have no desire to see a shabby looking Will Smith overcome adversity as a stock broker. None.

So the movie begins in the desert, and a dude sells somebody a gun. And the music is slow and boring, and there are lots of long and lingering shots of landscape. And landscape in the desert consists of rocks. Lots of rocks and sand. About 15 minutes in to this 2.5 hour snoozefest, I realize I've been had. I've been punk'd by Brad Pitt. He has suckered me into watching a movie that will slowly suck my soul from my body. Seriously, the most boring movie ever.

The film basically has 4 plots that are connected (actually, 3 connected and 1 that they threw in and probably came up with a connection for it at the last minute because it's ridiculous.):
1. Moroccan Family: Father, wife, 2 sons, and a daughter. Goatherders...pervert son who's good with a rifle...daughter who thinks it's cool to strip for her brother...and son who is an irritating whiny tattletale. Pervert son accidentally shoots American tourist.
2. American Tourists: Brad Pitt and wife Cate Blanchett...this was probably the most exciting plot simply because someone gets shot. About 30 minutes in, I began wishing someone else would be shot. About an hour in, I began wishing that someone would be me.
3. Kids With Mexican Nanny: These are actually Brad and Cate's kids that were left at home, but they have their own crazy subplot that involves a trip to Mexico and Gael Garcia Bernal. Sadly, the best thing about this subplot is the part where a guy rips the head off a chicken. The worst part is that the daughter is the sister of Dakota Fanning. And man do I hate that kid.
4. Deaf/Mute Japanese Chick: Holy crap this was the weirdest plot. Basically the plot is, the chick is horny. That's it. I started hoping someone would take care of that for her because I really didn't want to have to see her naked again. And I mean naked. It's the second movie in a week that I've seen full-frontal nudity in. Did some rule change? I don't remember ever seeing full frontal before now. And quite honestly, I could do without it. They don't seem to be doing it with anyone remotely attractive. Blech. And this plot's connection with the rest of the film is that her father gave the rifle used in the shooting to the guy that sold the gun to the family in the first place. Know why her Japanese father gave some Moroccan dude a gun? Moroccan guy was his guide on a hunting trip. What the hell were they hunting in that desert?!? Goats?!? They were really reaching with that one. So stupid.

I think the best way I could describe it is this:
Seeing "Babel" is like being punched in the face. For two and a half hours straight.

So save your money. So then you can see "Happy Feet" twice next week. Laters! :)

Dispatches from the Other Side of my Eyelids.

2006-11-09T10:57:00.000-08:00

I love the word "dispatches." Everytime I think of it, I think of letters written with a quill and a pot of ink, bound together with a piece of twine, placed lovingly into a leather saddle, and riding away on horseback with a messenger who understands that its contents include the most precious thoughts of their sender. I would have named my blog something that includes the word "dispatch," but I'd already named it "A Caffeinated Place." After a line in an Our Lady Peace song. Which kicks ass. Maybe next time, dispatches.

In other news, I haven't been to sleep in a long time. Like, I woke up on November 8th at 6 AM, and now it's 1 PM on the 9th long. That kind of length that makes you think that your life
a. may not exist
b. is definitely not worth living with this many call days and
c. is running in syndication on God's version of Comedy Central. (Along with Colbert Report...because God knows that Steven Colbert is the funniest guy on the planet. He made him that way.)

I spent the night on a neurointensive care unit...taking care of a patient. Overheard?
50 yr. old man with head injury singing alone in his room: "Save a horse, ride a cowboy!"
60 yr. old man with head injury while nurse emptied his bedside urine: "You ain't the police, is ya?"
Male nurse taking care of a 20 yr old guy with a ventriculostomy* :"Dude...you just can't rock a ventric."

I think the funniest thing about last night, was people-watching in the ICU. "Squeeze my fingers!" "John, grab my boob! I know you want to!" or the unforgettable "You can't have any Bugles, Mr. Johnson! You're having surgery!" But in the room in front of me, there was a young guy. Probably 20 something. And he was recovering from some sort of head injury...was obeying commands, but couldn't talk or anything. Could smile just a bit. The doctor would come by and ask him to perform simple commands, and he wouldn't do it. The nurse would ask, and he'd do his strained half-smile, and lift his arms. Or squeeze fingers. Or stay away from Bugles. As she walked around his room, changing blankets, drawing labs, even emptying catheters, his eyes always followed her. He'd move his head if it meant he could have a longer glimpse of her.

It made me think of my parents. They met when my mother was taking care of my father in an SICU. She was the nurse, he was the patient, it was true love. They never even went on a date before marrying. And they've been together 24 years. It made me think that I could be witnessing the beginning of something amazing. She may not have noticed the way he drank her in with his eyes...he may not have realized that she went home every night and prayed he'd be there the next day. But maybe they'd both realize it before it was too late.

I think my father does the best job of relaying how he truly felt at the time that he realized his nurse was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

"Samantha, I was on a lot of morphine."

Ahh....c'est l'amour.

Sweet dreams ;)

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*Where they drain fluid through a hole in your head to relieve intracranial pressure and prevent progression to brain death. You know that thing on tires where you put the air in? It looks like one of those..except clear plastic...and with a tube coming out of it. Not sexy.

License to Drill

2006-11-07T11:39:00.000-08:00

Now I remember why I hate going to the dentist. I just spent an hour and a half pretty much standing on my head. I was excited because I thought I would get the silver fillings out and replaced with white ones. In fact, I now have white and silver swirled fillings. And now I know what I missed out on when my parents wouldn't let me eat paint chips as a child. My mouth tastes like I've been gnawing on dried up white-out.

Deep Space 9's on. And I'm regaining feeling on the left-side of my face....and they've only got two fillings left to do. So this will be a 2 day saga rather than three. Find the silver (and white-swirled) lining I guess.

Heavy Metal

2006-11-07T08:17:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Day One of the the three day saga. Samantha's getting fillings.

This shouldn't be a big deal. I have a ton of fillings from the dental nightmare that was my childhood since moving to Alabama. Prior to the move, I never had any dental issues. Teeth looked great, blah blah blah. Then I moved here and in one blow needed four fillings. Questionable. And the dentist told me that I was "genetically predisposed to cavities" because my mother's teeth are so bad. In retrospect, I don't remember him genotyping me, but whatever. So over the few years that we went to that dentist, I was always in need of at least a filling. Every time. Eventually my father got hip to the racket and we switched dentists.

We switched to a chick who cursed like a sailor while talking about the new baby nursery she was building. This is the dentist that replaced all the other dentist's fillings, and added some of her own. That was the summer of 15 fillings. The summer that I gave up on the dentist. So, after that, you'd think that a few more fillings wouldn't be a big deal. And you'd be correct.

I got a full night of sleep last night, unlike the nights of my childhood where I laid awake all night dreading the torture that stretched out before me. I woke up this morning and realized I was kind of looking forward to the fillings today. Know why? And this is the sad part. It's giving me an excuse to leave work. I'm leaving in about 20 minutes. I'm going to get shot in the mouth, pre-existing metal is going to be drilled and removed, and more metal will go in its place. I won't be able to feel my mouth for a few hours, and when I finally am able to close my mouth completely, I'll be tasting sand and chunks of whatever the heck they use. It will be unpleasant, and I will be hungry and unable to eat, and it will not be fun.

And yet, it still beats the pants off of sitting in my office doing nothing but being occasionally hugged by the creepy smoker guy. For the small price of an hour or so of pain and misery, I'll be rewarded with the ability to go home early, put on my pajamas, lay on the couch and watch Star Trek and netflixed movies.

Plus I can watch Gilmore Girls while he's working. It's kind of win/win. Laters!

Missing

2006-11-03T14:29:00.000-08:00

I let someone borrow my copy of Eric Schlosser's "Fast Food Nation." And I really want to re-read it, and I don't think whoever it was returned it to me. And I can't remember who it was...but I suspect they read this blog.

So, if you have my book, drop me a line, give me a call, hurl it like a brick through my window...whatever your preferred method.

Thanks!

"This Stuff Happens Everywhere." Now with updates

2006-11-03T06:01:00.000-08:00

Phone Rings
Me: "Hello?"
Mom: "What's a Flava-Flav?"
Me: "Umm...he's a rapper. I think. And he's gross. Why do you ask?"
Mom: "Do you think his show is appropriate for eleven-year-olds to be watching?"
Me: "Mom, I don't think it's appropriate for anyone to be watching. I can't stand more than 10 seconds of it. Why??"
Mom: "Do you think it would be appropriate for showing in a sixth-grade classroom?"
Me: "Hell no. Are you kidding me?"
Mom: "Apparently Jo's sub decided that it was."

So my youngest sister Jo is in sixth grade in rural Alabama. Where crazy nightmare situations occur all the time and yet my parents keep sending her back. This is the same school that allowed my then 8-year-old sister to fracture her arm playing basketball and then tell her she didn't need to go to the nurse. The same system where the principal's wife fired a shotgun into a car full of cheerleaders (actually hit one in the back of the neck) and didn't spend a day in jail. The same system with the embezzling preacher/counselour. It's a real winner, let me tell ya.

Me: "Who was the sub?"
Mom: "Ms. Thiefy McGee*. Remember back when I worked at the hospital?** I turned her into DHS cause she was stealing her grandfather's social security checks. Then she called the hospital and threatened to sue me for slander. I told her to do it. Of course she never did...wish she had***."
Me: "How'd you find out about the show?"
Mom: "Jo seemed pretty upset after school, and your father knew something was wrong but she wouldn't tell him. But when she got home she told Jen and she made Jo tell us. I'm writing a letter detailing what Jo says she saw. I'm so mad right now."
Me: "What'd she see?"
Mom: "Well, according to her she saw "women in bikinis being spanked by a man wearing a big clock, a man who was naked except the little blurry thing, and a man and woman humping." Jo said her classmate told her that's what they were doing. And the teacher told them to "Be quiet, I haven't seen this episode." And also instructed them not to tell their parents they were watching this. It's all going in my letter."
Me: "Nice. For the love of God will you please move someplace where people are sane?"
Mom: "Samantha, you're going to have corruption and bad teachers everywhere you go. This kind of stuff happens everywhere."

Based on my little stat tracker, I'd say most of my readers are not from Alabama. With that in mind, a question. Have any of you people ever seen half the crap that happens at this school come anywhere remotely near happening at your or your children's schools!?? Honestly if they were all like this, I'd start preparing for homeschooling. But I remember my elementary school days. They seemed considerably more sedate. And maybe it's that times are changing. But I'm fairly certain it's just that my family has positioned itself directly over the portal to some coked-out parallel universe. Who in their right mind shows Flava of Love to 11 year olds?!??

Mom's going to see the principal this morning. And that same sub's scheduled to teach today. If she's there, Mom's plucking Jo out of class. I told her to call me afterwards. My mother's already the bane of the superintendent's existence. Maybe the lady will want to sue Mom again. I'll keep you guys posted. ;)

^^^Okay, Mom went to the school this morning. The sub was there. The principal removed the sub and put her on a year's probation from teaching there. Here's my question: what are the qualifications for being a sub? From what I remember, they're glorified babysitters. They don't teach you anything. So really you should be able to get anyone to do it. Which means you shouldn't be hard up and should be able to tell this woman she is never allowed to sub there again. But whatever. I wasn't looking for a rational resolution to this whole thing. It is Alabama. I've learned not to expect much.^^^
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*Names have been changed to protect the guilty. And also because I can't remember the chick's name.
**My Mom was director of nursing at the local hospital for a number of years.
***There is nothing that my mother loves more than getting in fights with people. Loves it. And I fully support it cause it entertains the hell out of me. And because most of the time these people desperately need their asses kicked.

My New Year's Has a First Name

2006-11-02T14:45:00.000-08:00

Okay...so I'm going to Philadelphia for New Year's. I can't tell you how excited I am about this*...and the reasons why are going to reveal what a loser I am but I don't care.

1. This will be my first New Year's Eve not spent counting my father's fingers and yelling for him to avoid potholes in the yard as he runs from the fireworks he's just lit.
2. This will be my first New Year's Eve with alcohol instead of sparkling white grape juice (which I freely admit I prefer to champagne.)
3. This will be my first New Year's Eve spent with my boyfriend.
4. This will be my first New Year's Eve with snow in over a decade. (I assume there will be snow. Better get on that planning committee.)
5. This will be my first New Year's Eve with a snazzy nickname. Philoney '07 baby.

And so I'm really excited. I get to meet Adina...I get to figure out where the hell Philadelphia is...it's all gold. And if this goes well I have a proposal.

If I have to stay in Birmingham everyone has to come south. Birmingham Alabama On New Year's Eve**. The cool kids will probably call it "BALONEY '08."***

It's gonna be great.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* I can and I will.
**I know some of you are thinking "Don't you need a comma between the city and state?" And the answer is no. Commas are dead to me.
***Tom will probably call it "BALONYE '08." But he can come anyway. ;)

Bingo Mondays and Salsa Saturdays

2006-11-02T12:42:00.000-08:00

Today sucks. Today didn't suck until about an hour ago...but then it devolved into a nightmare situation. My job includes working weekends. And when you're on call for a weekend you earn a free weekday off. If you're on 1st or 2nd call Friday that means that you get Thursday off. If you're on 3rd call Friday you get to stay at home or whatever... cause the odds of them needing a 3rd call person are pretty low. So I went to work today thinking "It's all good...I'm off tomorrow...woo!" At about 1 PM my coworker asked if I was coming to work tomorrow. (It's kind of a tradition at my place of employment that people just don't show up on Fridays. Unless you're on call.) I said that I wouldn't be around because I was on 3rd call. "Um...no you're not." "Yeah....I'm on 3rd tomorrow." "No. You're on 2nd tomorrow."

And that's when I realized that I was at work on my day off. That I had wasted an opportunity to sleep in. That I had spent the day playing Line Rider in my office when I could have been playing it at home. It's a terrible realization. It's sad and it's angry and it makes you bitter and dark inside. It makes you want to lash out at others and eat frozen cookies. In that spirit I am going to go eat frozen cookies. And watch Star Trek. Both Deep Space Nine and The Next Generation. That's right. I watch Star Trek. In fact it's probably the best reason I can come up with for quitting my job. Such is my love.

Also this post is devoid of commas. I declare it "Comma-Free Thursday." You knew someone was going to be made to pay for my wasted day. Sorry punctuation. You lose.

I can't believe that just happened

2006-11-01T12:50:00.000-08:00

I was on some stupid new site about music. www.ilike.com. And I was setting up a profile...you know, to try it out, see what it's like. And it says that the more people that you know with profiles, the better the whole thing works blah blah blah. That's not the point. The point is that it asks you to import contacts...so I imported my gmail thing cause there was no button to skip this step. And then when it was taking too long, I clicked the button at the bottom thinking it said "do this step later." No. It said "send and continue." And when my contact list popped up, it had everyone checked. Every. One.

The Dean of the School of Public Health. BU med school's head of admissions. Ex-boyfriends. The chick from Hopkins whose emails I never answer and if she ever calls me I was planning to deny even having an email address. Every single person I've ever sent an email to.

I am so completely mortified I could die right now.

In the meantime, check your email. You probably heard from me.

Oh. My. God.

2006-10-31T10:45:00.000-08:00

Now will you stop eating at McDonald's?!??

Six inches people. Six frikkin' inches.

The Winter of my Discontent

2006-10-26T05:21:00.000-07:00

I have to wake up at 6:30 every morning in order to make it to work on time. And now that it's winter, that means that I'm waking up before the sun. I know it's only October, but it's frikkin' cold outside people. It's only supposed to hit 50-something today, and it's going to pour all day long. Which leaves me in a dilemma. Yesterday I did about an hour's worth of work, and then spent the rest of the day sitting in my office doing nothing except shiver. N-o-t-h-i-n-g. This morning I woke up, faced with even less work to do today (since the hour's worth yesterday actually constituted about a week's worth of neglected duties) and the rain and the cold. So, I reset the alarm for 7 AM. Now it's 7:30 and I'm still in my pajamas, listening to The Killers, and seriously contemplating calling in sick. Like..with African Sleeping Sickness. Because I am ridiculously tired. Also there was a fruitfly flitting around in my office yesterday that eventually lodged itself in my eye and I'm beginning to suspect it was actually a tsetse fly.

Calling in sick would be fine...I'm sure I have plenty of sick days since most of the days I've called in sick, I don't actually write it down on my leave form. I just don't show up. I more than make up for it on the weekends. For instance, if I call in today, I've already worked over 40 hours this week...I probably won't even take a sick day. So that's not really a problem. The problem is, when will it stop? My desire to go to work is directly correlated with the temperature. If the temperature is low, my desire to sit in my corner office with absolutely no insulation is pretty low. It can be represented graphically as a "direct relationship." (That's right...I remember some math. Actually, I remember it from physics...some crazy old dead guy's law...Gay Lussac maybe. I don't remember anything about his law whatsoever. I just remember the graph. Maybe this is why the physics part of the MCAT stole my lunch money and stuffed me in a locker. But whatever.)

It's only October. This is only going to get worse. The problem is, I'm probably going to have to get into actual trouble to begin caring. Because as it is, I could be freezing to death in my car right now. But instead I'm at my computer in my flannel pajamas waiting for my bagel to pop out of the toaster. Pretty sweet. I could do this for a few months. ;)

Get Me Away from Here I'm Dying

2006-10-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

I had a meeting at 8 this morning. I got to work by 9. I was done with my work by 10. The radio in my office is currently playing "Baby Got Back."

I want to go home.

Conclusion: Occlusion.

2006-10-24T10:10:00.000-07:00

I hate the dentist. I hate going to the dentist, I hate being at the dentist, I hate leaving the dentist (because if never fails that I have a follow-up appointment to fill me with dread.) I have always brushed my teeth and all that jazz, and yet I always come back with an ungodly amount of cavities. So I am left to the following conclusions:
1. Dentists are crooks.
2. My toothpaste is made of sugar. Or
3. My teeth are made of cavities.

I had decided that number 1 was the most likely candidate, since every dentist I go to says something different. The first guy that said I only had 4 cavities was very nice, but my parents didn't like him or something. So we went to the next chick, who said the first guy was a crook, she would have to replace his fillings, and then add 11 of her own. At this point I decided that it was impossible for me to get any more cavities since all of my teeth are now 90% shiny metal, so when I moved out, no more dentist.

6 years later, and a considerable amount of prodding by everyone that knows my dental history, and I end up back at the dentist this morning. I went to Dr. Pak who R swears is God's gift to dentistry. He sends everyone there, and everyone is glad they went. Also, I hear his office is really fancypants...so I'm kind of down with that. So, I finally go. My heart is racing. You really don't understand...this is an actual phobia. My teeth are chattering, I really do not want to go in the building, and I am shivering. I go in, sign the paperwork and sit in the waiting room. It's a nice waiting room with fishtanks and leather couches. After about 10 minutes I realize that all that stuff they say about how soothing it is to watch fish? Completely true. I'm sitting in a dentist's office and I can breathe, my teeth aren't chattering, it's great.

They finally call me back..the hygienist is very nice, but she makes it clear that 6 years without a dentist is definitely not okay. She thinks she'll have to spend more than one day on the cleaning because most people who don't come to the dentist in that long are in really bad shape and their gums bleed a lot. She gives me a little test cleaning on a couple teeth before she gets started. She thinks it'll be okay...my teeth seem to look pretty good. Cleaning gets underway. They have a flat-screen tv in the corner and I have the remote. So, Gilmore Girls and lots of tooth scraping. I really don't think dental cleaning is good for your teeth. Surely scraping them with metal is bad for them. And news flash: anyone's gums are going to bleed when you catch them in a metal hook. But whatever. She ends up saying that my teeth look great, especially for that long without a dentist, and boy are my hopes up.

Dr. Pak comes in...sees how long it's been..."Samantha, 6 years?!? Tsk tsk tsk." And the hygienist sticks up for me! "No, her teeth look really good." "Really? Good hygiene?" "Great hygiene." "Wisdom teeth?" "Well, she's been keepin' 'em clean." And I'm sitting there thinking that I am golden. I am home free. Just look in there and I am out. And he looks in my mouth. "Occlusion number 1, occlusion number 13, occlusion..." blah blah blah. I'm no dentist, but I'm fairly certain at this point that occlusion isn't code for "Great looking tooth." Turns out that a bunch of my old huge hideous silver amalgam fillings are cracked. So they need to be replaced. Yay. Also, I should probably have my wisdom teeth out so I don't have to pay to get them filled.

So, in the end, I like my new dentist. He's very professional, he's nice, his favorite city is Chicago...we talked about good places to eat pizza. So I'll go back. Apparently I'll go back 3 times in the next month or so (shoot me now.) And I will think very hard about having my wisdom teeth out. Because I'm having a hard time deciding to pay someone to yank teeth out of my skull and send me home to the care of my parents who will probably argue that tylenol is as effective a painkiller as lortab. That is just not something I'm willing to do.

Stupid teeth.

"I choose vodka. And Chaka Khan."

2006-10-23T16:56:00.000-07:00

So the results are in. And after 4 years, countless hours of studying, the never-ending sinking feeling in my stomach urging me to turn off the television and pick up the physics textbook, and 8 hours of test-taking?

I made the exact same score that I made when I took the MCAT four years ago. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. And most likely, do not go to medical school. So, either I have learned nothing in four years, or I have learned the exact amount that I'd forgotten in all that time out of undergrad. I did kick butt in the biology section, but that was just enough to compensate for the fact that with my physics score, I've begun to doubt whether I understand the meaning of velocity. Or what gravity does. Also, it means that four years ago when I seriously undertook the crafting of a well-written and meaningful essay filled with thoughtful arguments and insightful ideas...that pretty much worked as well (read: exact same score) as the essay in which I used a moral dilemma faced by Homer Simpson as an example. I've begun to wonder whether people actually read MCAT essays. I'm pretty sure they're scored by drunk monkeys throwing darts at a random assortment of letters.

So, all in all...not good. Not good at all. But I'm trying to look on the bright side. I'm going to pub trivia with a bunch of my friends tonight. I could stay home and be depressed, but I refuse. Rather I am going to go out with many people that I love, and get drunk. Really really drunk. Laters.

"Alcohol and night swimming. It's a winning combination!"

2006-10-20T13:21:00.000-07:00

Guys, what is up with the ocean???

First, they got the crocodile hunter. Point for the ocean...cause seriously I think we all had money on the reptiles.

Then today I hear about this. A stingray jumped into their boat, and then pierced the guy through the chest. Since when are stingrays such cold-blooded gangstas?

Also, is it just me or is this whole thing very reminiscent of The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode where the dolphins decide to take over the land?

I'm just saying...watch out for sea creatures.

Chief Wiggum: (inspecting Lenny's body) "Hmm. Bottlenose bruises. Blowhole burns. Flipper prints. This looks like the work of rowdy teens. Lou, cancel the prom."

I thought I smelled something burning.

2006-10-18T11:43:00.000-07:00

I went to pick up my truck after work yesterday.
Me: "Hey, I'm here for the S10."
Mechanic: "Hey Samantha. We got her all fixed up. Um, didn't you say you drove this somewhere yesterday?"
Me: "Yeah, I was coming back from Atlanta when it started making all the noise. You know..the grinding..and the sound of running over hefty children."
Mechanic: "Yeeah. You are incredibly lucky. Mike and I can't believe you drove it all the way back. You're really lucky."
Me: "Haha. Yeah, I'm just glad it wasn't 2 grand to fix."
Mechanic: "No really, you wanna see your rotors? The one on the right was the big problem. We'd never seen anything like it."
Me: "Pretty worn out?"
Mechanic: "Samantha, we had to cut the ball bearings off of your axle. They had so much pressure and heat on them, they melted onto your axle."
Me: "I thought I smelled something burning."
Mechanic: "Your axle wasn't anywhere near where it needed to be. C'mere, I'll show you."
Me: "Okay."

So, I went outside and expected to see nothing surprising cause what do I know about what a rotor's supposed to look like?

Apparently rotors are supposed to look like this:

And my rotors looked like this:

One was fine. The other was missing most of its center. Which means that my axle, rather than secure in that middle hole, was rolling around in that much larger hole (indicated by my crappy airbrushing in microsoft paint.) So, that point in the drive when I thought I had blown a tire? That was actually when the inside of my rotor shattered and my truck's altitude went down by about 2-3 inches on the right. And the axle was bouncing around everytime I turned the wheel going 70 on the interstate in the rain at night. Sweet, huh?

Sometimes I am a complete idiot.

Drawing a Blank.

2006-10-18T11:27:00.000-07:00

Because I work in the medical field, quality assurance is a pretty big priority. We're under constant scrutiny from the higher-ups on documentation of every last single tiny thing that happens anytime we're working. Which I understand. I really do. QA is necessary, and they probably prevent me from getting sued a lot. And that's totally something I can get behind. The question is, why do you have to be so stupid about it? Is that part of the required personality for the job? That you can't think outside of the blanks? That if there isn't an N/A in the space, you actually believe with every fiber of your being that something important actually belonged there? Do you really think that I would forget to write that the patient had a third arm or that their kidney was covered in a fine layer of mold?

News flash: I wouldn't. If there is a section for additional comments, and I didn't write anything, there's nothing to be said. I don't think I need to repull this chart from months ago to assure you that I didn't want to comment on anything additional. Additional. As in, "in addition to"...as in bonus material. As in, "I'm not required to write anything in that blank for the love of God leave me alone before I chase you around this office with a 2x4."

I'm okay with you needing me to fill in a blank. I'm just not okay with the lack of independent thought. And lack of effort. I had notes this morning to recopy some lab results that I'd hole-punched through the identifier. The number looked familiar, but we do a lot of cases and they all start to look the same. So I found the information, made the necessary copies, punched the holes, pulled the chart, and went to add the information. Pulled out the pages they'd marked with post-its for replacement. When I pulled them out, I found the new copies that I'd already made last time they asked me about this case. Turns out I had already gone to the trouble of fixing this particular chart. They just hadn't gone to the trouble of removing their post-its and jumping off of my back.

I frikkin' hate QA.

Falling Apart (now with updates!)

2006-10-17T08:51:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, my car started doing this thing where if I drive it for a long distance (say, the hour's drive to my parents' house) it will lose the ability to shift into overdrive. It sounds like it needs to shift gears, it's roaring loud, and won't change. So you just drive what sounds like an angry 18-wheeler for an hour. I took the car in for an oil change and had them look at the problem while they were in there, and they told me I needed a new transmission. I usually only drive my car around town, and it wasn't a problem on short trips so in the end I said "no dice" on the new transmission and pretty much forgot about the problem unless I was on a long trip. So, Thursday I had to drive to Atlanta to pick Tom up from the airport. Long trip. About halfway to Atlanta it starts making the loud overdrive noise. I ignore it. It's fine. I get Tom from the airport, we head back to Birmingham, it makes the noise the entire way home. Fine. The next day we leave to go to breakfast. Short trip. Literally like 1/2 a mile. Car is roaring. Apparently the trip has exacerbated the transmission problem, and the car is incredibly loud no matter what the trip length is, for the duration of the weekend. Whatever though, I don't care. So yesterday, I had to take Tom back to Atlanta to fly back to Boston (boo.) Car makes the noise the entire way. I drop Tom off and head back to B'ham. About 5 miles outside of Atlanta, my car makes a huge clunking noise and the steering starts to pull. I figure I've blown a tire (which is AWESOME since I don't have a functional tire iron with which to change a flat) and pull over to the side of the interstate. Get out, nope. No flat tire. Weird. So I pull back onto the interstate.

My car sounds like I am dragging its rusty metal guts all over the road. It is grinding and clunking and the steering wheel is pulling and it's raining and dark outside. I was pretty sure I was going to die last night. But, I made it all the way back to Birmingham. Sure, I went about 60 in a 70 for 2 hours, and even that was a stretch, but I made it. I was hoping that I would wake up this morning, get in the car to go to work, and the gears would have miraculously realigned themselves. Nope. Not so much. Instead I was greeted with the ABS light. Which according to people I work with means that now my brakes are also broken. Excellent. I dropped the car off at AAMCO this morning and am waiting to hear back on an estimate. I'm fairly certain that this is going to cost about $2,000. So the real question is, new transmission or new car? I have no desire to start a car payment right when I'm hoping to start student loans for med school, but I live in a city with no functional public transportation and I have to drive in the middle of the night all the time. Reliable transportation would probably help in the whole Samantha-not-getting-killed-in-a-car-accident-or-by-angry-hobos-on-the-side-of-the-road effort. So, I am sitting at work waiting for that to play out. Stupid transmission.

In other news, I've already broken my new Treo and I was hit in the head with rainwater in my own kitchen this morning. Today sucks.

*** AAMCO just called.
"Samantha, this is Kent with AAMCO. I have some kind of good news for you? I have checked everything on your motor and transmission and that all checks out good. The problem you're having seems to be with your front end. It looks like someone replaced your brake pads a while back, but they didn't replace your rotors. And your front end has these ball bearings that sit in the rotors. Your ball bearings are so wore out, that they're not round anymore. They're egg shaped. And that means they're not fitting correctly into the rotors, so everytime you move, it's not aligned and grinding in the front. I could just replace the bearings but they're so worn into the rotors that the right-shaped bearings wouldn't fit correctly in there anymore. So, I can just replace the bearings, rotors, and brake pads and you won't have to worry about your transmission."

So, the problem was that my front end was out of control. That makes the 2 hours of driving on the interstate in the dark and rain last night not scary at all. Good gravy. My car will be ready by 3. And that is the first good news I've had all day. Well, that and I didn't die driving down suicide hill this morning. Whew. ;)

Sittin', Waitin', Wishin'

2006-10-10T16:55:00.000-07:00

My MCAT scores should come in this week. So everyday I do this Bataan death march to the mailbox, stick the key in the hole, and pray that they're not in there. And so far, I've been lucky. No scores. But they're bound to come sometime, so I'm trying to prepare myself. That means I've been spending a lot of time talking to Jesus...and mumbling to myself...and playing out every possible scenario.

Getting above a 30 and immediately celebrating myself into a drunken stupor, killing all the brain cells that I'll no longer require for standardized testing.
Getting a 29 and immediately slitting my wrists at the mailbox because I have a harder time rationalizing near-success than I do failure.
Getting the same score I got last time and thinking back on all the nights I could have been out drinking, dancing, and enjoying my life rather than sitting and torturing myself with physics, chemistry, and biology.
And for the love of God please no- doing worse than I did last time. This will be the worst possible outcome. Although really anything below a thirty is going to suck and pretty much guarantee that I become either a DO (which I'm kind of okay with), organ coordinator for the rest of my life (which I'm really not okay with), nurse (because I think I'd eventually try to go to nursing school but then I would actually have become my mother which takes us back to the wrist slashing scenario), or hobo (because I would definitely lose the will to pay rent, and trains are cool.)

During today's trip to the mailbox I contemplated intelligence. I've always been the "smart girl" in the class, but let's do some critical thinking here, people. I went to school in Alabama. If you can't shine by comparison in the state that is validated only by the existence of Mississippi, there's a problem. My high school took money that was meant to update textbooks from the 80's, and used it to purchase talking trash cans for the cafeteria. Were people not figuring out what to do with their disposable trays full of leftover concession stand nachos?! Was there an issue with the operation of an open garbage bag?! Honestly if that was the problem, talking trash cans weren't the answer. Shorter buses, perhaps.

So, I don't know what's going to happen. And I'm terrified. And for a while I was comforted by the whole, "I studied like crazy for that exam, so no matter what happens, I know I did my best." But when I really think about it, how is that comforting?!? If you did your best and you sucked, it means that the best you can do is really not much good to anyone. I guess this is how people break into the fast food industry.

The bedroom is alive...with the sound of music

2006-10-10T06:27:00.000-07:00

"A miniature loudspeaker and motion sensor implanted in the condom’s upper cuff provides a range of musical tones during sex. Music volume depends on intensity of love-making and tone varies based on the sexual position."

Its name is Treo and it dances on the sand

2006-10-09T08:31:00.000-07:00

Actually it doesn't.

It also doesn't:
1. Allow me to call anyone.
2. Turn on all the way? How is it that the PDA is on, but the phone is off? Ri-diculous.
3. Show everything on a website. It does me no good to see bits and pieces of a website. I need the whole thing.

So, I have this monstrosity of a cellphone/PDA. Which I shouldn't complain about because my work bought it, and pays the bill for it. But work doesn't have to carry that thing. They bought the Treo. And the accompanying car charger, headpiece thingie, and belt clip. Let me tell you something about the belt clip. You can clip a brick to your belt, but that doesn't make it any more convenient. You could put two Treos end to end (which is a position it ends up in on its swivel-belt-clip) and the Treos would cover my entire waist. They are ridiculously large. And heavy. I could clip it to my scrub pants, but not only would I look like a derelict, my pants would fall down.

Also, I'm pretty sure this thing will eventually cause my death. I was trying to dial a number from it yesterday, and walked straight into an oncoming gurney in an emergency room. Didn't even notice because I was too busy trying to dial with the stylus without hitting any number twice. You can have steady hands and this thing will make you wonder if all that alcohol really is doing something to your body. You're going to doubletap, and then the paranoia sets in. And if I don't end up walking into traffic while trying to make a call that, even when dialed, won't go through? I'm probably going to get mugged. Walking down the street with a giant piece of electronics and a stylus?! Tar-get.

So, I guess that if I read the manual, I might end up liking the Treo. But for now, it is a monumental pain in the neck. On the bright side, carrying the Treo is like carrying a really big rock. If someone does try to mess with me, at least I have something to chuck at them.

How to Charm Me

2006-10-09T08:25:00.000-07:00

Try to bring me a sandwich....

from 1200 miles away.

How to Make Me Hate You

2006-10-09T08:23:00.000-07:00

When something goes wrong, call and take responsibility for your actions. Actions that caused the problem and were yours and yours alone. Then in the same breath, lecture me on how I should have stopped that from happening and how I'll be named in the lawsuit right along with you.

Guess what? We use recorded lines. And I did everything right. So screw you buddy.

How to Tell I'm Sleepy

2006-10-09T08:10:00.000-07:00

1. I am overly affectionate. Man I love eeeverybody when I'm tired. And I make sure they know it.

2. The music the answering service runs over the phone while I'm on hold makes me cry. Not because I'm on hold, but because I think the song is really beautiful. (I think this morning's selection may have been "Danny Boy." I don't really remember. Of course, I barely remember my own name right now, so it's not that shocking.)

3. I make appointments to see doctors I've been too terrified to go to. I hate going to the doctor and/or dentist. Especially the dentist. But I made an appointment. Because I'm punch drunk.

4. I crave sandwiches. Seriously. I would inhale a sandwich right now.

Sick and Tired

2006-10-06T07:39:00.000-07:00

Today is my day off. I had plaaaans for my day off. Glorious plans. I was going to sleep in as long as humanly possible. And then I had a laundry list of things I'd been putting off. "I don't feel like driving all the way to the store (even though it's on my way home) so I'll just buy food Friday." Things of that nature. I was excited. I was going to wake up feeling rejuvenated, and then knock everything off the list. Instead, I feel like I'm going to die. And I can't sleep. Arg.

Last night I went out with one of my friends to "El Cazador." It has the distinction of being our favorite destination for margaritas. But it is certainly not the place to go if you feel like, I dunno, eating. So, I tried to spend the least amount of money possible, and play it safe. Most of their vegetarian options include spinach (which really isn't a no-no right now, but I didn't want to take any chances) so I just got a cheese quesadilla and some guacamole. Simple enough. Their cheese is pretty much some kind of congealed oil (blech), but after your second margarita, you kind of move past that. We ate, I got home, watched some television, all that jazz. Went to bed probably around 11, and by 1 the nightmare had begun.

No, really. I had this insane nightmare for the part of the night that I wasn't awake hurling my guts out. I was in Dodger stadium (I really want them to win the World Series, but it's probably not going to happen) watching a game, and Jim Carrey from "Dumb and Dumber" is sitting next to me. And he's staring at me, and I (as usual) smile at the creepy guy. And from that point on he thinks I'm his girlfriend. And he follows me around the ball park, and he tries to kiss me, and it's really creepy. Blech. So I was kind of relieved when I woke up. Not so relieved when I realized it was 4 in the morning and I was awake because I was sick. Soooo sick. And all I could think was "Is there spinach in guacamole? Do I have e. Coli? What's the incubation time for e. Coli? I know I have that in one of these books. Oh wait, no time to find book, too busy vomiting." It wasn't pretty.

After a couple hours, my stomach settled down. I felt like I was sore from having the crap beat out of me, instead of feeling like I was being actively used as a punching bag. Which was a step in the right direction. So, I decided to go back to sleep around 6 AM. La la la sleep, BAM. TAPPA TAPPA TAPPA. CRASH. ZING! (Well, there weren't any zings, but I thought it'd add a little flavor.) My new management company (who decreased my rent payment God bless them) has also decided to put a new roof over my head. Which is nice, since there is water damage in my apartment that the last company fixed by painting over. It's not so nice; however, when there are 20 dudes walking around, tap dancing, hammering, and laughing their asses off in Spanish above your head at 7 AM. Makes it awful hard to sleep in. Also, hard to laugh cause I don't speak Spanish. It's also nice that they've conveniently parked their little dumpster directly beneath my balcony. I can hear the crash of the shingles every two seconds, and I even have a few bonus shingles that have fallen onto my balcony to keep as souvenirs.

So, it's 10 AM. And I really want to sleep. But there's soo much noise. So, I should probably get up and work on the list. Arg. Stupid day off.

Don't Talk to Strangers

2006-10-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

Leaving work, a large African-American woman (clad in a bright orange matching tank top and pants) held the door for me.

ME: "Thanks."
HER: "You're welcome."

And so began the most insanely awkward conversation of my life. My thoughts are in italics.
Further down the hall, she starts trying to tuck her bra strap under her tank.

HER: "I would wear a white bra with this orange tank top."
ME: "Haha." Why? Why do I have this insane need to smile and laugh at people?
HER: "I have an orange bra I could wear, but in the mornin' I ain't worryin' about no colors, you know?"
ME: "Sure. They're just lucky you wore one at all." In retrospect, I don't know why I said this. I guess I pretty much asked for what came next.
HER: "You know?!? Girl, if I was skinny as you I sure wouldn't be wearin' no bra. Back when I was skinny, I didn't wear no bra ever. But then I put this weight on, and they don't tell you but when you gain weight you gain it everywhere. I wish I didn't have these big ol' breasts, cause you gotta wear a bra all the time! They get all close to your body and make ya sweat!" This woman is telling me about her big sweaty breasts. Is this really happening?
ME: "That can't be comfortable." please go away please go away please go away
HER: "I'll tell you what, it's the first thing that comes off when I get home though! I walk through that door and snap snap, I let everything hang loose! I'd do it at work if I could. Sometimes in the winter I do...wear a nice big sweater, go into the bathroom and take that bra off. It's confinin'!"
ME: "Uh huh." Annnnnd, I just died a little inside.
HER: "Oh, I'm parked over here. All this talk, I'm probably gonna take this thing off soon as I get in the car!"
ME: "Okay! Bye."

This Will Never Get Old

2006-09-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

My day in a series of letters.

2006-09-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Crazy Office Lesbian,

I have no problem with your lesbianism. Actually, I wholeheartedly support it. If only for the awesome drama. I'm sure there aren't many people who have had this scene screamed across the middle of the office:

Lesbian: "Why's that guy bringing you flowers?"
Hesitant Lesbian: "None of your business."
L: "I sent you flowers, why is this guy sending you flowers at the office? That's inappropriate!"
HL: "Don't you tell me what's fuckin' appropriate. It's none of your g-damn business who sends me flowers."
L: "Don't say that word!!"
HL: "What word?"
L: "You know, the f-word."
HL: "You have a fuckin' problem with me saying the fuckin' f-word? WELL THEN I WON'T SAY THE FUCKIN' F-WORD IN FRONT OF YOU YOU FUCKIN' BITCH!!!"

And it continued. And it was hilarious. And neither of you were fired. So your lesbianism, and in fact, even your interoffice lesbianism, is a non-issue.

What is an issue is you being a jerk. I walked in 5 minutes late today. I was on 2nd call. Which means that there is a person ahead of me who is actually responsible for things, and it is my job to back her up. So when I walk in 5 minutes late and you get in my face and say "FINALLY!" It makes me want to punch you. Because:
1. You have no idea how to do my job.
2. It's actually 1st call's job, and
3. I hate you.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Co-worker Who Had Nothing Better to Do But Share With Me Intimate Details of Others Bathroom Habits,

Sweet baby Jesus I wish you hadn't spoken to me this morning. Honestly. I now know that I can't drink coffee in the office anymore because the chick that makes it is averse to hand hygiene. I also found out about a lady at work that doesn't flush toilet paper. Seriously. She doesn't want to clog up the septic tank. (HUH??!? Country Mouse! It's on a sewer line!) So she instead takes used toilet paper, wraps it in more toilet paper, and throws it in the bathroom trashcan. If I was housekeeping, I would kick her ass.

But here's the real question. How/why do you know this stuff?? Do you just sit in the bathroom and take notes?? Really. I could have gone my entire life without knowing any of this, and I'm pretty sure that my life would have been richer and fuller as a result. Instead, I threw up in my mouth at 9 AM. And that's no way to start the day.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Chick Who's Supposed to Answer the Phones and Talk to Nurses,

What is wrong with you? Seriously. Do you have some sort of immunosuppressant disease? There's no way that you have functioning white blood cells with the number of sick days you take. At least two a week. And you don't have kids. Hell, you don't even have real knees! Where else do you need to be?!? Do you have any idea how much my day sucks when you're not there?!? Apparently nurses don't blog, because they're certainly not using writing as an outlet for their pent-up rage! They'd rather give me their 'tude. And I had to sit there and take it. All day long.

And yes, I know I should have had plenty of help. Sure, hypothetically the first call person would be bearing the brunt of the assault. But do you have any idea who I was on first call with??!? I'm pretty sure you can guess.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear First-Call Person,

As Homer Simpson would say, you are the suckingest suck that ever sucked. I have been on call with you 3 days this week, and each has sucked more than the last. You get to work at least 15 minutes late every day. When you arrive, rather than walking straight into the main center and helping me answer phones, you prefer to go straight to the kitchen, pour a cup of coffee (haha, I know something you don't know), then go sit in your office for a while. I believe today you didn't come in to help with the phones til about 11 AM. Sure, I'd like to be sitting in my office, doing nothing, chatting with my friends, playing pictionary online, but you see, I'm on call. And because of that, I feel responsible for doing my frikkin' job. And so I sit. All bloody day. Waiting for you to come in and do YOUR job. Because you suck.

Also, everytime you try to talk to me as if I were your friend, I contemplate hanging myself with the phone cord. Just thought you should know.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Boss,

I like you a lot. I think you're a great boss. You're a lot of fun, you're very supportive of everyone on your staff, and you're a goofball. You've asked me to feel your pecs every day for the past two weeks, and you're an overweight Malaysian dude. I think it's a scream. Really. And I completely support your decision to let everyone leave work early today. Everyone was in a crappy mood even though it was a Friday. Clearly, we needed a morale boost.

That being said, I needed a morale boost. And letting everyone but myself and the 1st call person that I hate leave 3 hours early, is not good for my morale. So now not only was I answering all the calls for the chick that called in sick for the 80th time this month, I was answering all the calls that came into the place, period. For 3 hours.

Honestly, I still support your decision, because I think it was really nice. But I was jealous. And sad. And I spent a lot of the afternoon looking at the phone cord. Just thought you should know.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear New Management of My Apartment Complex,

I'm happy that you purchased this place. After three people were shot here last month, my confidence in the management's ability to control this place had started to wane. And I think things are going to change for the better. You've already sent out a memo to everyone regarding the schoolchildren that stand in the street in the mornings taunting natural selection. And I commend that. Mainly because I think scraping a kid off the hood of my truck would increase my insurance premiums. And you guys have promised good things, lots of changes, new facilities, I can totally get behind it. But let me tell you guys something. As much as you can't fix stupid, you can't fix geography.

This complex is located on the border of a bad part of town (Irondale) and the most affluent and snooty part of town (Mountain Brook.) And the complex is actually located in Irondale. Or, as some call it, the ghetto. The former name of the complex was "Sharpsburg Manor." Which was already pretty fancy-pants for what it is. Namely, apartments that were probably build in the 70's or 80's. Certainly not the stuff of "manors" but whatever. So today when I pulled in, I noticed our new name. "The Enclave at Mountain Brook." Huh?!? WTF? The Enclave? Honestly, I've heard the word a million times, but I dont really know what it means. And when I think of the context in which I've heard it used, I'm pretty sure it was always where cults lived, or terrorists were hiding, or vampires slept. I've certainly never lived in one.

And another thing. You can say Mountain Brook all you want, but unless you're wearing ruby slippers, you're not going to get there just by saying it. This is not Mountain Brook. Accept your fate. Police patrol the complex since the shooting. Guess what it says on their cars? Irondale, baby. Actually it says "Irondale, baby. Oooh, yeah." But the point is, it's not Mountain Brook cops down here keeping us safe from our fellow residents. So how about a little pride in your community? Sure, the criminals are from Irondale. But so are the police officers.
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So now I'm home. And after writing this long, pointless post, I feel better. So I'm going to take a bubble bath and think about a massage (since that's as close to affording one as I'll ever get) and then lie on the couch and wait for my pager to go off. Laters!

Reading

2006-09-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

About halfway through the evening, a little group of us got the tired feet and went to lean our butts against a table by the back wall of the Garten. Like birds in a row were perched Bob Bullock, the state comptroller; me; Charlie Miles, a black man who was then head of Bullock's personnel department (and the reason Bullock had such a good record on minority hiring); and Ms. Ann Richards.

Bullock, having been in Texas politics for thirty some-odd years, consequently knew every living sorry, no-account sumbitch who ever held office. A dreadful old racist judge from East Texas came up to him, "Bob, my boy, how are yew?" The two of them commenced to clap one another on the back and have a big greetin'.

"Judge," said Bullock. "I want you to meet my friends. This is Molly Ivins with the Texas Observer." The judge peered up at me and said, "How yew, little lady?"

"This is Charles Miles, who heads my personnel department." Charlie stuck out his hand and the judge got an expression on his face as though he had just stepped into a fresh cowpie. It took him a long minute before he reached out, barely touched Charlie's hand and said, "How you, boy?"

Then he turned with great relief to pretty, blue-eyed Ann Richards and said, "And who is this lovely lady?"Ann beamed and said, "I am Mrs. Miles."

I love it :)

Brilliant!

2006-09-18T16:14:00.000-07:00

I went out to my favorite pub on Friday night. Ordered a Guinness, and then sat out on the patio with C and a couple of her friends. One of her friends was a nice guy who bought our drinks the rest of the night. Very nice of him. Of course, in all the free-drinkery I forgot that I had started a tab. And accordingly forgot to close the tab upon departure. When I got home I realized what I'd done and called my friend who's a bartender/bouncer at the pub. Left him a voicemail to please find my card and watch over it and prevent the mandatory gratuity from being added for the overnight stay. (Although 20% of $4.50 really isn't that big of a deal.) I went to pick up the card on Saturday evening, but arrived too early and the bar had yet to open. I was too lazy to venture out again that night, so I just trusted my friend had gotten the card and decided to get it Monday. (You can't buy alcohol on Sundays...welcome to the Bible Belt, people.)

So, today after work I stop at the pub. And my friend asks what he can get me. "Um, my credit card?" "Oh, is that why you called the other night?" "Yeah, didn't you get my message?" "Nope." Oh great. So, he goes through all the credit cards. Doesn't see mine. Goes through all the receipts. Doesn't see mine. Uh oh. So, I went home and checked for bandit-spending on my credit card...so far so good. I'm pretty sure that the bar has the card and just overlooked it in the search. I'm going to hold out til tomorrow and see if the charge pops up for the beer...confirming that they are, in fact, in possession of my card. But as it stands, my credit card is lost.

Leave your credit card at the pub after just one beer?! BRILLIANT!!*

*Man I am such an idiot sometimes.

Reading

2006-09-16T09:39:00.000-07:00

Jeff has a gorilla suit on (it was a fancy event, he had to wear a suit.) We have some mini bottles of liquor with us. We've stolen a cup or two. We need ice. The obvious solution: we'll go to a bodega and someone will bring a bag of ice to the counter under the guile of making a purchase. Jeff will then enter the bodega in the gorilla costume, ask for bananas, then take the ice off the counter and run. The person purchasing the ice will then act confused. “What just happened?” “A gorilla stole your ice.” We leave, confused, and fill up our glasses around the corner.

From the archives of "The Daily Dump." I'm so sad Dan's not writing anymore...that kid is hilarious.

I Hate Bobby Flay

2006-09-14T16:17:00.000-07:00

Some of you already know this, but for those of you that don't...a tirade. I watch a fair amount of Food Network programming. My father used to watch it non-stop when I lived at home and I hated it. I thought as soon as I moved out I would never watch the Food Network again as long as I lived. Turns out, I actually really enjoy a few of their programs. I am an avid fan of Iron Chef...both the Japanese and American incarnations (I think I prefer the Japanese version...although the American version does have Alton Brown...so it's a tough call), any of Alton Brown's shows, and Mario Batali's show (although I have no idea when that comes on...if it's even still on the air.) I watch the shows and have delusions of grandeur about my ability to cook. Then I go and microwave a soy corndog. I have some sort of disconnect with reality. But whatever.

So I like Food Network. For the most part. But I think the very worst thing about the Food Network, is Bobby Flay. I hate him. I hate to look at him, I hate to hear his voice, I hate to think about eating his food. Why such an intense hatred? Well, there are a few reasons:

1. He's a dick. He has this new show "Throwdown" where he goes and challenges people at making their specialty dishes. Some guy has awesome chowder, he goes over and challenges him to some sort of chowder showdown. He makes his chowder, other guy makes his chowder, then some fancy-pants judge/food critic is brought in to judge. The only redeeming quality of this show is that Bobby Flay sometimes loses. Man is that sweet. :) The entire premise of the show is obnoxious. It's basically "Anything you can do, I can do better." Which I'm pretty sure is the jerk's motto. Win or lose, he's not gracious to the competition. There's no hearty congratulations. Rather there are excuses, there are promises of rematches, there's Bobby Flay being Bobby Flay. He's a jackass.

2. He's a dick. One of my first exposures to Bobby Flay was when he went on Iron Chef before it was adapted to American audiences. He challenged the Japanese chef Morimoto...I can't remember what the ingredient was. Over the course of the show, Flay was cocky and arrogant. Always making comments to the camera about how he was going to win, blah blah blah. When the time was up, Flay jumped onto the countertop...stood on top of his cutting board...did the "raise the roof" hand motion and started chanting "USA!! USA!! USA!!" Really. Was this the best we had to offer from the American culinary profession? Morimoto was completely scandalized by Flay's behavior. He was highly offended by the act of standing on a cutting board and said as much. Rather than sincerely apologizing for his cultural faux pas, Flay brushed it off. Said Morimoto was overreacting and left it at that. Then Flay lost the battle. (hahahaha.) And all of a sudden his "equipment was inferior to that of the challenger, and he was electrocuted in the kitchen (which did happen and was hilarious), and the judges were biased." Sore loser. They ended up giving him a rematch..this time with American judges. When the time was up, he took the cutting board off the counter and threw it on the floor (because that's so much more respectful) and then jumped up doing his "USA!" crap again. Really guys, this dude is a piece of work.

3. I wouldn't eat anything he cooks. Honestly, I could be Bobby Flay. "Well, I got this lobster, and I put some mango on it. So now it's amazing and southwestern." I can sum up Bobby Flay's cooking in one word. Unimaginative. Or mango. You pick. Seriously, you won't find a Flay show that doesn't feature at least one mango. On the last episode of Iron Chef, I'm fairly certain he commandeered his menu from Applebee's. And Applebee's isn't that good.

Anyway...so I hate Bobby Flay. But I love "Law and Order: SVU." Unfortunately, I cannot love one of its former stars anymore.* I've completely lost all respect for Alex. No wonder she had to change identities. I wouldn't want anyone to know I was with Bobby Flay either.

*Yes, I know this is insanely old news, but it was new to me. And sparked this entire post. My father, knowing my hatred of the Flay, called me at work to tell me he'd just found this out. I think his exact words were "Well Samantha, looks like it's too late for you and Bobby." Thanks Dad. :-p

Instant Replay

2006-09-14T06:11:00.000-07:00

I ran into one of my friends yesterday. He works at a job very similar to mine...24-hour call, driving around the state, stuff like that. Apparently the other night he had a car accident. He was driving through a pretty rural area at about 90 MPH. In the middle of the night. At that speed in the dark, he didn't really see the construction barrels ahead of him. He swerved to avoid them and his car ended up rolling three times into a field. He was fine, got out of the car, and used his cell phone to call the police.

About 30 minutes later, he sees lights approaching. Quickly. The cop was speeding, swerved to miss the barrels, and his car rolled once over into the field. Right next to my friend's car. The cop is fine, my friend helps him out of the car, and the cop looks up at him.

"Guess I don't have to ask ya what happened."

They called the police and waited for the next victim. :-p

The Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head

2006-09-12T13:13:00.000-07:00

Today has been so frikkin' long. It's cold and pouring down rain outside. The only people left in the office are my bosses and I. And I'm eating what I brought for breakfast, for lunch. And it was not a filling breakfast people. Also, I'm still hacking my lungs out and am getting pretty sick of it. Honestly that Mucinex commercial is a bunch of malarkey.

So, earlier I decided to go shopping with B and BigB. Well, it turns out that it was just B and I. A little background on B...I think I've mentioned him on this blog before as the "office casanova." He frequently dates (read: sleeps with) coworkers, nurses, service-industry representatives, and basically anything that moves. I guess he's good looking, but he's short and stocky and I don't see the appeal. Plus the whole man-whore thing. But whatever. So, since everyone knows about him, everyone is constantly teasing me about when I'm going to date him. (Read: never.) Simply because I'm the only one who hasn't. (Again, my place of employment is the poster-business for sexual harassment lawsuits.) So, if I spend any time with him, rumors start. My boss already doesn't put us on call together because she hates him and doesn't want us near each other (she really likes me.)

So, he and I were going shopping. Our boss decided that he was going to be nice and as kind of an office Christmas gift is going to buy us all jackets. Nice ones. With a fleece liner and outer waterproof shell and a hood. (I doubt it ends up happening because these jackets are ridiculously expensive, but it was nice of him.) So, he asked B to price them out. B asked me if I wanted to go with. When faced with my options 1. shop for jackets for a while or 2. sit in the office for a while, I think the choice was basically made for me. So, B and I leave...drive to a few different places pricing out these really expensive jackets. No one knows I've gone with him...we just kind of left. So, we're going to yet another store, and he says that he needs to stop by his house to email someone some pictures. "Do you mind if we stop by my house real quick?" So, I say sure and we stop at his house. We are getting out of the car, he grabs his keys, locks the van, and I shut my door. Right as he's saying "Don't shu..." Turns out he's grabbed his housekeys, but not the key to the company van. Good job.

So, we are at his house. With the keys locked in the van. And the only spare key in my boss's office. Oh yeah. This looks good. So, we call BigB and ask him to discreetly bring us the keys. He shows up about 30 minutes later. Turns out there was no discrete about it. Our boss who keeps the keys in his office (and who wouldn't have cared) was gone. And BigB had to get the lower boss (that hates B) to open the office and give us the keys. And she'd seen us leave together. Also, B has a really big mouth. So I'm sure the rumors will start flying soon. This stupid office. Oh well...I guess it'll be something to keep me entertained.

Role Models

2006-09-12T07:37:00.000-07:00

When the new director took over at my office, things changed. All of a sudden we had a dress code....we can only wear scrubs on the days that we're on call. Otherwise, ties and slacks and whatever chicks wear in the business environment. (Really, that's what my boss said. My job is rife with opportunity for sue-happy chicks.) And our office hours changed from 9AM to 8AM. Which sucked. And we were expected to come to work everyday unless we've worked the night before. Also, they took away casual Fridays which really made me sad. Because I love wearing blue jeans. So, there were a lot of changes, everyone thought he meant business, we all changed rather quickly.

And then the months wore on. And people...well, certain people...started to test their boundaries. Two of the guys I work with, B and BigB, are notorious for testing the rules. And they are two of my favorite people to work with. Because they're a lot of fun, and they're hilarious, but they're still very good at their jobs. But everyone kind of looks at them warily, and my boss always uses them as the example of what not to do. And I don't think he likes it when I hang out with them...because my boss thinks I'm great. So far. :)

So, last night I went to pub trivia. And I drank a little bit in an attempt to get rid of the cough that's been plaguing me for days. A remnant of the cold from hell that I can't wait to get rid of. In the end it was a temporary fix, but oh well. So, it made it a little hard to get out of bed this morning. The alarm went off, I ignored it and rolled over for a little while longer. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, showered, and tried to figure out what to wear, the effort proved to be too much for me. I decided to just wear scrubs. Even though I'm not on call. Because such was my drowsiness. So, I finally went to work. I walked into the office...30 minutes late...and who's sitting in the glass room right next to the door staring right at me? My boss, B and BigB. And they're all wearing scrubs.

So, I go and put my stuff in my office and come back into the room with them. And my boss walks out without saying anything. As soon as he leaves, B, Big B and I have a conversation.

B: "Thanks for getting us in trouble!"
Me: "What?!"
B: "[The Boss] just told us that we're a bad influence on you."
Me: "Why?"
BigB: "Because you just came in late, we always come in late, and we're all wearing scrubs."
Me: "Aren't you guys on call?"
B: "Nope."

Apparently my boss is on call today. And we're all cold hard busted. But oh well...I'm about to duck out and go shopping with B and BigB. I say if you're already in trouble, make it worth your while. Laters! :)

Just Fallin' Apart

2006-09-08T16:24:00.000-07:00

I have been sick all week. I have some kind of terrible mutant cold that is migrating through my body and driving me crazy. I'm hoping to wake up tomorrow and be miraculously cured, but judging from the outcomes every morning this week, I'm not going to hold my breath. So, I am kind of a little bit miserable. But, on the upside, I worked a grand total of one day this week. Muahahaha. I do like that. On the downside, I'm on call over the weekend and I bet I'm going to have some unhappy surgeons if they get stuck sitting in a tiny flying tin can with me hacking my lungs out. We shall see.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only thing falling apart. Everything in my apartment has decided to go on the fritz this week. The other day I cooked and peeled a bunch of vegetables, put their skins in the disposal, whoops! Disposal's broken! Super-sorry! Appliance number 1, down for the count. And let me tell you something, rotting vegetable skins? It's bad news for your olfactory senses. Really bad news. Stupid garbage disposal.

Then, the bathroom sinks decided to act up. My apartment has two sinks outside the bathroom. It's great...I brush my teeth in the sink furthest from the bathroom and wash my hands at the sink closest to the bathroom. It's convenient and when people come to visit, they can have their own sink. That is, of course, unless the obscene amount of sediment and God knows what other kinds of particles don't completely clog up the sink and prevent the flow of any appreciable amount of water. Stupid thing is putting out one tiny thread of water with enough pressure to take a pinkie off. Takes like 10 minutes to wash your hands. And when you're done you're thankful to have retained any digits. Seriously, you could do laser-quality engraving with that thing.

Then there's the shower. The shower has actually been messed up since I moved in. I didn't really notice the problem until little bits of the ceiling started landing in my hair. Because apparently the showerhead is not so well screwed on and therefore is spewing a spout of water up into the ceiling. Eventually it saturates the paint (?) on the ceiling causing it to flake and fall off in little bits. I called the apartment people months ago about this problem and about a closet door that wouldn't slide open. They came while I was at work, fixed the door, and didn't touch the showerhead. So, I decided to just McGyver it. I wrapped a washcloth around the showerhead and tada! Problem solved.

Then tonight, turned on the dishwasher as I've been doing for the past few months. Went, got the mail, watched some television, and decided it was time to make some supper. Walked into the kitchen, and put my foot straight into a nice large puddle. And by large, I mean kitchen-spanning. My entire kitchen floor is covered in a nice thin layer of yellow-ish water. The yellow cast probably due to the mud, particles, sediment, and toxic waste that's dissolved in my tap water. So, I'm just waiting for my fridge to start heating my food and my stove to catch on fire and I'll be seated comfortably in apartment hell.

So, yesterday I called maintenance about all the problems (except for the dishwasher which just happened a few minutes ago, spawning this poisonous post.) A guy shows up at my door around 5 PM. With nothing. No tools, no cool Batman utility belt, dude's not even wearing paint-covered clothes or workboots. In fact, in his polo shirt and khakis, he looks more like I'm keeping him from his golf game. So, I answer the door, "Can I help you?" "Um, yes ma'am. I'm with maintenance." "Oh! Come on in." So, he first fixes the disposal by turning it on and off and then STICKING HIS HAND IN THE THING. I don't know what he did, but he fixed it without the use of tools. Go him. Then it was on to the bathroom sinks. He went to get a set of pliars from his truck (um, you could've brought your little toolbox up the first time buddy...would've saved you some time.) He unscrewed the bottom of the faucet head, pulled out the aerator thing, and scraped it with his fingernails. Way to be professional. Then replaced it. It still doesn't run 100%, but it's better. Then he got a phone call on his cell, so I left him alone and went to watch television. A little while later (after, I assume, he's fixed the other sink and the shower) he comes out, says goodbye, the end. So, the next morning, I get in the shower, and it's still shooting up to the ceiling. So, I decide that I can just as easily fix it as the stupid maintenance guy can since obviously all you need to do any job is a set of pliars. I have a set of pliars, so I get them out and tighten up the showerhead. Screw it on tightly. Or what I assume to be more tightly. Get back in the shower. Turn it on, and it goes EVERYWHERE. It's not just hitting the ceiling, it's now headed in every direction but straight ahead. It was hilarious.

So, now my showerhead has a washcloth safely wrapped around it once again. And my kitchen floor is flooded. And I'm praying that nothing else breaks. Because I don't want to have to hate this apartment. But I'm close. I'm really getting close. Stupid maintenance.

Reason #473 that I love my friends

2006-09-05T06:36:00.000-07:00

R and S went to visit my friends K and G at their lakehouse this weekend. They hung out, went boating, I'm sure there was some drinking, whatever. Then it was time for R and S to leave. K asked them if they'd like to see some of the new lakehouses...they said yes...so they drove around in the mud looking at lakehouses. Then they left to head back to Birmingham.

After they'd been on the road for a half an hour, a car kept pulling up beside them on the highway. R finally notices and looks over at the car's passengers. He notices the woman in the passenger seat is waving her arms and motioning to them. "S, I think she wants to tell you something." So, S rolls down his window. They're driving down the highway with the windows down, and the woman in the car driving beside them can't stop laughing. When she finally gets control of herself, she tells them in a thick Southern accent, "Ya'll know ya'll got underwear hangin' off the back of your car, right?"

So they pulled off at the next gas station. And found this.
Well, kind of. After driving through the mud, picture these, but dirty.

How did I get this picture? K took pictures of the car before they left, and sent them to me in an email with the message:

Bet theese girls were the LAUGH of 280 all the way back to Birmingham!

R is planning retaliation. I can't wait for this to escalate. It's going to be great :)

I am in love with this mother-f-ing snake!

2006-09-01T13:01:00.000-07:00

Man I love Stephen Colbert :)

Vacation

2006-08-31T10:37:00.000-07:00

I got back from vacation on Sunday night. And it's been downhill since. Honestly, I think 7-day vacations might be a bad idea. Sure, they're awesome when you're on them, but when it's over...it's bad. Really bad. I don't know if it was the duration, or that I had an awesome time, or that I got absolutely slammed at work when I got back, but man I do not want to be at work. I want to be on vacation. Forever.

So, I will share the details of my vacation. What will henceforth be called the best vacation ever. Because seriously, it was. Best. Vacation. Ever.

I had taken the MCAT the day before I left. Meaning that I went out with friends the night before I left. And by "went out with friends" I mean, "went to a drag show, drank way too much, stood around in cigarette smoke, and had to be carried back to the car." And did I mention that I hadn't packed yet? It was 12:30 and I had to be at the airport at 9:30 and I had packed not a thing. And I was drunk. Good stuff. So, I got home, neglected to hydrate, and instead started packing. Needless to say, when I was finished my apartment looked as though it had been ransacked. And I was too tired to put things away. And apparently too tired to drink soda and iron clothes at the same time. Because one minute I was ironing away, and the next my t-shirt was covered in brown spots. The Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper I had poured into the iron was seeping out. Take note: irons don't like soda.

So, the flight was fine...I was pretty nauseated the entire time due to my hangover/lack of sleep, but it was fine. I actually flew into Manchester, which is a nice small airport, and Tom picked me up from there. That night we went to dinner with his friends John, Lindsay, and Felecia at Legal Seafood. You can read a pretty in-depth description of our nightmare-ish service over at Tom's blog. I'll skip over it because I don't want Lindsay to have to come to Slave's defense ;) Then we went to dessert at a place called Finale. I was so stuffed from dinner that I opted to just have some of Tom's dessert, but what I had was very good. My favorite part of dessert was when John's dessert arrived. He had a death by chocolate cake and a trio of dessert wines. He took a bite of his cake, and his eyes welled up with tears. "You guys....this dessert is so good... I think I'm going to cry!" It was hilarious :) I had never seen someone so moved by chocolate. All in all, it was a good time, Tom's friends were all very nice, and it was good to be able to put faces with names. Especially John since C's mentioned him since freshman year of college. :)

Here I'm going to stop briefly and say a word about the weather. I live in Alabama. I wear tank-tops, t-shirts, and shorts/cropped pants every day from May til September. If not earlier and/or later. So, what did I pack for Boston? Tank-tops, t-shirts, flip-flops and cropped pants. I took one pair of jeans, one pair of socks, and a pair of tennis shoes. As we were landing in Manchester, the pilot comes on overhead and says "Welcome to Manchester ladies and gentleman. It's a beautiful sunny summer day, temperature on the ground, 62 degrees." 62 degrees. In August. WTF?!?? That is not a summer temperature!! It doesn't hit 62 degrees in the middle of the night here! Luckily I spent a majority of the time indoors, but still. I wore a sweatshirt in August. It's just not right people.

The day after my arrival, we went on a whale watch. I have seen whales before...I lived in Hawaii which is on the migratory route of the humpbacks, and we could see them from our backyard. But I have never been this close to a whale. We were right on top of them. We probably saw at least 10 whales. Of course, we overslept and were in a rush to make it to the boat, so I didn't take my camera but believe me. We saw them, it was awesome. Tom took pictures with his cell phone and I'll post those to my Flickr as soon as he sends them to me. (Hint hint Tom :-p ) So, whale watch, tons of whales, it was great. Afterwards we stopped at Dunkin' Donuts and got coffee. I've never been to a Dunkin' Donuts (we only have stupid Starbucks down here) and the coffee was good. Here's the thing: they put the cream and sugar in your coffee for you. And we had breakfast at another place and they added the cream for us. What's up with that? Down here, they hand you some individual creamers, a couple of packets of sweet n' low, and sent you on your way. Weird. Then we went and saw "Little Miss Sunshine" at a little neighborhood movie theatre. That Tom didn't know how to get to. We trudged around for a good 30 minutes before locating it. Trudging in a sweatshirt and flip-flops. That's right, I'm glamorous. :-p If you haven't seen "Little Miss Sunshine", go. Go now. You will not be disappointed. I don't think I've ever laughed that hard in a movie theatre. It bordered on painful. Great movie.

The next day we went to a baseball game in Maine. The Portland Seadogs. We had great seats, the weather was nice, and I didn't get hit with a foul ball. I couldn't have asked for more. Tom taught me how to keep score, so I was pretty preoccupied with that throughout the game. And then, on the way home, my Mom called and asked me who won. I couldn't remember the name of the teams, so I told her "Um, the team that we like." "Oh, that's good." When I noticed Tom was looking at me funny. "What?" "Samantha, we didn't win! We lost by a run!" "Oh, oh yeah. Mom, our team lost." So yes, I was keeping score, and yet, I had no idea who won. I was too engrossed in the individual plays to keep track of the overall outcome. At least, that's my excuse. :-p

Wednesday was Tom's little brother's birthday. So we went and played putt-putt. Just a note on minigolf: I suck at it. Really badly. But, it was fun. Also, I'm not as bad Danny. Ha! Then, we went to Sears. Tom's sister gave their Mom a family portrait package as a gift, so we went to get their picture taken. Which was amusing. Getting that many people to smile at the same time is always amusing. And I got to stand around and here stories from Tom's Mom and Grandmother. Good stuff. :) We went back to his house after that and played wiffleball and ate Jell-o cake. I didn't think I'd be very keen on a cake that was capable of that much independent motion, but it was pretty tasty. And I got two hits during wiffleball, go me :)

Thursday we helped one of his brothers move off to college. I think I carried one box. I've never had an easier time moving someone. And we put together the futon, which was no big deal. Overall, a pretty laid-back day. Hung out, watched Invader Zim (funniest cartoon ever), played ping-pong. Good times. Friday was pretty laid-back too. We were going to go to the beach, but it was raining when we got up. So, more movies, video games, hanging out on Tom's beloved couch. :)

Saturday, Tom's Dad gave us tickets to the last pre-season Patriots game of the year. I'd never been to a professional football game, but it was great. The stadium was HUGE and jam-packed full of people. Tom pointed out a lot of famous football players, but I only recognized Tom Brady. Who was amazing. Really. Threw the ball right where he wanted it. Awesome. I took lots of pictures since apparently a lot of the people were famous, but I was too lazy to go in and zoom on a lot of them. So feel free to sort through for yourself :)

The next day I flew out. And I was sad. And terrified. My first flight was supposed to hit bad turbulence according to the pilots. They even confiscated our drinks for safety reasons and made the flight attendants buckle in. Then we didn't hit any of the weather (thank God.) My second flight was supposed to be better...I'm sure thanks in no small part to the Archbishop sitting in the front of the plane. ;) I think we only landed on one wheel which was kind of rough, but we made it in one piece. So yay for that.

So now, I'm back in Birmingham. And back at work. And got slammed for 26 hours straight on Tuesday, and on call again today, and am in a pissy mood. Mainly because I'm no longer on vacation. Oh well. Back to the grind. At least I'm off Labor Day weekend. :)

Oh, and here's the link to my Flickr set for the trip. :)

Weee are the Champions, my friiiends

2006-08-19T22:50:00.000-07:00

The MCAT is over (also, I'm a little bit buzzed and have the hiccups.) Life as I know it can resume. I plan to immediately plunge myself into works of fiction, extensive catching-up conversations with my friends, and more movies than you can shake a stick at. I'm back baby ;)

So, I'm sure you're all wondering about the MCAT itself. The past times I've taken it, I've spent the whole day taking the test, finished, and proceeded to convince myself not to commit suicide. It hasn't gone well. I always get into a big funk about how I should have studied more and it's my fault I didn't do well and all that jazz. Let me tell you a little somethin' about today. Today....I kicked MCAT ass. Or at least I feel as though I did...which for an exam that takes about 4-6 weeks to score, is as good as doing it. Regardless of what I make, I know I studied my hardest, I did my best, and in the end (for the first time) I feel as though it paid off.

I actually knew the physics equations I needed for the physical sciences section. I knew how to use them to get an answer that (for once) was actually an option in the multiple choice. (Always a good sign.) The verbal section is never a problem for me, but today it seemed really really simple. I sucked it up on the essays (mainly for a lack of effort) and tried very hard not to use an episode of "The Simpsons" as my concrete example for the principle presented in the topic. Really, "The Simpsons" can be used for anything. It's great.

And then came the biological sciences. The point in the exam when I realized that my life, my struggle, my third time taking the MCAT all had a purpose. I still don't know what that purpose was/is, but I think it was all part of some strange and circuitous route that God wanted me to take. Because then he delivered the Biological Sciences section unto me. The past two times I've taken the MCAT, the Bio. section (despite including questions on my major) has figuratively taken me behind the woodshed. Mainly because both times I'd taken it, my test had been heavily weighted toward the organic chemistry side (also included in the bio section) rather than the biology with which I'm more comfortable. Today, of the 11 passages of the bio section, 9 were actually biology. 9. This is what happens when you got to church people. I had an entire passage. AN ENTIRE PASSAGE! Based solely on what I do at work. Completely something that I am good at and fully understand every component of. I almost laughed aloud during the MCAT...I just wanted to yell at the test.."I GOT YOU NOW!" I also have a little medical condition (and no it's not contagious)...upon which an entire passage was based. "What symptom will this give?" Well, I'll tell ya, cause I've got it. A-frikkin-mazing.

So, I think I did well. But if I didn't, I'm okay with that too. Scores are back sometime in October I think...until then I'm going to revel in my assumed victory. ;) Also, I'm leaving in 9 hours for Boston. Today is a kickass day.

Back on the 27th!!

How to Charm Me

2006-08-19T04:08:00.000-07:00

Wake up at 6 AM on a Saturday to call and make sure I woke up in time to take my MCAT.

(Also, I'm about to leave to take the MCAT. So, cross your fingers, say some prayers, sacrifice a chicken...I accept help from any denomination.)

Wish me luck!! I'll probably post about it later...unless I'm halfway through a bottle of tequila. ;) Woo MCAT!!

Problem Solving

2006-08-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

Problem?
I worked from 6 AM yesterday until 4 AM today. Needless to say, I woke up this afternoon with no intention of going in to the office. So, I'm lounging around in my pajamas contemplating food and a glass of water. Open the fridge. Nothing there. No beverages of any kind. (Well, I have some beer, but I'm not one of those people that can wake up and start drinking on an empty stomach. Also, MCAT is the day after tomorrow. Let's save what few brain cells I have left, shall we?) So, plenty of food in the freezer, nary a drop to drink. My tap water is cloudy with what I assume to be contaminants and sediment (plus it tastes bad- yes I already tried to drink opaque water), so that's out. I have a half a Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper, which would be appealing, except it came that way. I opened the 12 pack of soda, and when it was over, there was one can that was kind of dented and only half-filled with liquid despite its unopened status as an individual can. Needless to say, I'm afraid of it and so it will continue to sit in my refridgerator taunting me with its vanilla-y goodness. (No, I will not throw it away any time in the near future. Why? Because the solution to not having to take out the trash is not contributing to the buildup of garbage. If things stay in the refridgerator (which never gets full because most of my food is frozen), my trips to the dumpster are greatly reduced. It's called strategery, people.) Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty.

Solution?
I just ordered a pizza. Because it's the only way I can think of to get someone to deliver a beverage to my door. What can I say? I'm a problem-solver. ;)

Give Me High-Tech

2006-08-15T08:58:00.000-07:00

A friend and I were having a pretty in-depth discussion about the state of Alabama yesterday. We're both contemplating moving out of state, although he's not planning on leaving for a few years and my plans are of the ASAP-variety. He was trying to convince me that I don't really hate Alabama and that my reasons for leaving are less about this state and more about the need for change. And he's right...I'm definitely itching for a change of scenery, but it's more than that. Alabama really does suck. And I had quite a few examples to back this up. For instance, corruption.

I realize that there is corruption in every city and state in this country. Granted. No argument. But I want my corruption done the right way. If you're going to steal money, I want you to impress me. I want to think, "Man, those guys are geniuses." I want an underground network, I want hacking, I want several levels of government.

Instead, I live in Alabama. Where a town can go bankrupt because the chick taking everyone's water and sewer bill money just pockets it. And the city has lost $500,000 before anyone notices it's gone. And no one notices her new pool, new house, new car, and new ATV with the same husband who runs a lawn-mowing business. Really people. Let's think a second, huh?

Or better yet, a school can continuously lose money because of embezzlement by a teacher. Who's also a preacher. And you can take proof to the school, and they'll tell you he can't possibly be doing it. Because he's a preacher. And that's it. End of story.

I know I sound bitter. And maybe I am a little bit. Because it's not about the corruption. I can deal with that. I can understand that some people are greedy and people are going to steal and cheat and do whatever they need to do to get ahead in the world. My problem is that down here, it's accepted. The woman that bankrupted the town spent 3 months in jail and never paid back the money. She still lives in the town with her nice house and all of its amenities. The preacher is still preaching,teaching, and being allowed to handle money. No one cares. Everyone knows someone. Everyone grew up together and is related to everyone else, and will cover for each other. The city embezzler's related to the mayor. The thieving preacher is related to the school superintendent. Nothing changes. And when you try to make a change, no one will help you. Because they don't want to offend anyone. It's Southern hospitality gone horribly wrong.

I don't mind corruption. But I want people to fight back. I want people to care. I want there to be repercussions, I want the thieves to have to work. I want them to be clever. I want fake utility worker uniforms, I want master plans, I want high-tech. At this point, I'd settle for the simple use of software at any point in the plot. Hell, use a cell phone! Blog about it! Use software to skim fractions of cents off of profits! something. something vaguely interesting. please.

Why My Blog Sucks

2006-08-04T11:38:00.000-07:00

For the past couple of months, my blog has been sucking. To put it nicely. I never post, and when I do, it's really stuff that wasn't worthy of the time it took me to type. Today's entry will probably be no exception, but I wanted to make my excuse now, because it will soon be over.

You see, I want to go to medical school. I was one of those people that you see in Barnes & Noble with stacks of books and papers splayed out all over a cafe table drinking Starbucks and eating espresso brownies. The first time I applied, that was me. Studying non-stop, sleeping never, and coming as close as is humanly possible for an 18-year-old to having an ulcer. Needless to say, the first time I applied, I was not accepted. My grades were pretty average, my MCAT score was pretty average, and my participation in anything extracurricular was pretty below average (I was too busy caffeinating myself to death.) And I was 18 years old which may have played a part. That whole Doogie Howser thing doesn't happen all the time. They like mature, well-adjusted, blah blah blah applicants.

So, I went on and got my Master's degree in Public Health. It was something that I thoroughly enjoyed. I did exceptionally well, I was insanely involved in extracurriculars, and I had aged a year. The problem was the pre-med advisor at my school. I turned all my materials in to her, she was supposed to write me a letter and send said materials off, and that would be it. Instead, she decided not to send them. She told me she sent them. But she must have said this while wearing five-alarm fire pants. Big fat liar. Sooo, I finally figured out that none of my materials had been sent, spoke to her again, she admitted to them having never been sent, and sent them. A month past the deadline. So, I say that I've applied to med school twice before (since I've had to pay to apply that many times) but I'm pretty sure that second time didn't count since none of my applications met the deadline. I wanted this woman destroyed. I wanted to kill her. But my mother was very much into this whole zen "don't burn your bridges" thing, so I didn't. Although I'm pretty sure I just wanted her gone. No bridges need be harmed in the process. Unless she's standing on one at the time. But we're past that now.

So here we are. 3rd time's a charm. I have to get that horrible woman to write me another letter and send all my stuff off again. I am re-taking the MCAT. Which is a horrific 9-hour exam that covers every scientific topic that I probably never had that great of a grasp on anyway. They make sure to screw you out of any possibility of doing well. If you're good at biology (like me) don't worry, they'll be sure to bring your score down by including organic chemistry in the same section. Like inorganic chem? Hope you can do physics at the same time, because they too are scored together. My only salvation lies in the verbal reasoning section, but of course, the med schools examine the subsections seperately because apparently science is important. Blah.

Sooo, the MCAT is August 19th. Which is why my life has been crap. All day every day I'm either working or studying. Non-stop. But it's going to be over soon. I can go back to socializing with my friends (which means more fun stories for you guys), I can go back to reading books (so maybe my mind will start working again and I can go back to forming coherent thoughts), and I can go back to sleeping (instead of staying up all night going over formulas in my head.) MCAT and then I'm taking a week of vacation. And I can not begin to tell you how excited I am.

Fingers crossed people. I'll update you when it's over. :)

Email

2006-08-03T07:57:00.000-07:00

From my nearly 40-year old friend who's ready to kill himself in a remedial algebra class*:
Passed test 4 and now on to test 5!!!!

Response from his boyfriend:
Congratulations sweety!!!

Response from me:
CONGRATULATIONS!!! WOOO!!!

Response from another friend:
Yeh!

Response from other friend's boyfriend:
GO GIRLIEE PANTS, Gooooooooooo!!!!!!

Truly the nickname of champions. Go Girliee Pants indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*He is of the opinion that artists should not have to take math. And if they do, they should only have to count paintbrushes. After watching him work his butt off to limited success, I tend to agree.

Reading

2006-07-31T15:54:00.000-07:00

Since the Hummer was made available commercially for civilian use in the early 1990s, it has increased dramatically in popularity, attracting such diverse constituencies as: soccer moms, drug dealers, and professional athletes and other celebrities. You may well ask, “Where do I fit into this mix?”

I love it.

There's No Place Like Home

2006-07-25T15:55:00.000-07:00

Thank God.

Scene 1: I run up behind my least skinny sister, J, and grab her and tickle her belly. E is another of my sisters.
J: "Hahaha....don't grab that!"
Me: "Don't grab what?!?"
J: "My stomach. E calls it my criminal."
Me: "Your criminal?"
J: "Yeah. She said it's my criminal cause it makes me do bad things. Like eat ice cream for lunch."

Scene 2: I'm in one of my sisters' bedrooms. M and J (my two youngest sisters) are sitting on the bed talking to me. And then I notice the stuffed animal over the curtain rod.
Me: "What is that?"
J: "A koala."
Me: "Where's the rest of it?"
J: "Gone."
Me: "You decapitated the koala?!??"
M: "We didn't decapitate it! We just cut off its body."

Scene 3: My parents have an in-ground pool. I am in a hammock studying for the stupid MCAT while my youngest sister M swims in the pool. J and E are about to get in the pool. M is just swimming around when all of a sudden she starts screaming and makes a beeline for the ladder.
Me: "What's the matter?!?"
M: "There's a rat in the pool!!!"
Me: "Is it dead?"
M: "No! It's in the strainer! I can see it standing there moving!"
J: "Give me something to hit it with."
Me: "NO! Girls stay away from it!! Go get Dad."
M: "Let me just take the lid off the strainer so I can see him."
Me: "NO! Get Dad NOW!"
Trust me, this tone was necessary. These are the same children that called me a year ago and said they just got a new pet. When I enquired as to the animal species, they replied that it was a possum. That they trapped. On our patio. When I asked if my parents knew, they replied that they weren't home. My sisters trapped a wild possum in a dog carrier and expected to keep it. You have to watch them. They have no fear. Not even rational fear. Psychos.
So, E goes to get Dad. Mom starts screaming at us out the window.
Mom: "Go get a shovel! Then let him climb onto it and fling him into the yard."
Me: "Mom, what if it climbs up the handle and bites someone...or if we don't fling it far enough...or if you do fling it and he's out loose in our yard?"
Mom: "Just use the shovel!"
Dad: "M, go get me the BB gun."
Mom: "USE THE SHOVEL!"
Me: "Awesome."
So M goes for the BB gun, my 11 year old sister comes back wielding a BB gun and asks to be allowed to shoot. Dad tells her no and proceeds to line up his shot from the other side of the pool into this litle pocket across the way. We're standing there watching him take shot after shot. The girls are confirming hits. J leans over to me.
J: "We're watching Dad shoot a rat with a BB gun."
Me: "Yeah. I know."
J: "This is the most redneck thing we've ever done."
Me: "Yup."
So Dad shot him to death. The rat ended up looking like he came out on the wrong end of a Godfather movie. Dad chunked him out in the woods. I went back to studying. And 5 minutes later J and M got back in the pool.

Sick.

Flare-Up

2006-07-14T08:10:00.000-07:00

1. My hairdryer caught on fire this morning. Nothing big. Probably just too much hair wrapped around the fan or something. That's the second time I've done that to a hairdryer in a year. Perhaps it's time for a new hairdrying strategy...perhaps not putting hair into the hairdryer. That might help.

2. Driving to work this morning, there was smoke rising from something in the middle of the street. I thought maybe a kid had lit a leftover smokebomb from the 4th of July. Of course I stop my car to gawk and figure out what's on fire. Turns out someone had lit a t-shirt on fire and thrown it into the road. I didn't look to see if there was more clothing out on the lawn, but my money's on cheating boyfriend. Setting his clothes on fire and then letting them get run over? At least it's original.

Holy Cajun Corn Sticks!

2006-07-10T10:40:00.000-07:00

My officemate just offered me a snack.

Her: "Hey Sam, Want a hot cajun corn stick? Praise the lord!"
Me: "Umm...huh?"
Her: "Look at the label!"

She bought this snack food at the grocery store and I swear to you the label says:

Hot Cajun Corn Sticks
12 Ozs.
Praise the Lord!

Welcome to Alabama, people.

Episode Two: The World Cup Final

2006-07-10T08:23:00.000-07:00

I don't really know what to say about the World Cup final. I changed allegiances throughout the tournament. Primarily because my favorite teams kept getting eliminated. Specifically Ghana, Trinidad/Tobago, Ivory Coast, and Australia. (I'm big on rooting for the underdogs.) But when it came to the final 4, I was decided. Anyone but Italy. Preferably Germany, because it's great when the home team wins, but I was okay with anyone but Italy winning.

So of course, Germany got knocked out by stupid Italy. I probably should have changed my strategy to rooting for the team I didn't like and see if that helped. And then it became Portugal vs. France to see who would go to the final against Italy. And as much as I wanted France to win...because I wanted Zinedine Zidane to win the last World Cup of his career, I rooted for Portugal. Because I thought they would have what it took to beat Italy. And that's all I wanted. Beat Italy. Italy has been plagued with scandal for the past several months because some of the players in their league have been accused of match-fixing. A lot of the accused are on their national team that was competing. Also, the Italians play dirty. Constantly fouling people...diving...things of this nature. I don't like them. Not one bit. And I thought that Portugal would be able to take them. Mainly because they play just as dirty (if not more so) as the Italians.

In the end, it was not to be. France beat Portugal, and the final came to France v. Italy. Which I was pretty happy about. Zidane could make his final game the World Cup Final. Exciting stuff. Zidane scored the first goal of the match for France in the 4th minute on a penalty kick. Later in the game, stupid Italy came back and tied it. I'll spare you the details, but the match went into overtime. And during the second overtime, the unthinkable happened. Zidane had words with an Italian defender. And then Zidane fouled him. And by "fouled him" what I mean is, knocked the living crap out of him..soccer style. Hands-free. Really, if you're going to foul someone, I guess this is one of the more entertaining ways to do it. He reared back and head-butted the guy in the sternum. Who even thinks to do that?? Zidane. That's who. It was brutal.

And in the end, he was red-carded and sent out of his final match. It was a well-earned red card, but the manner in which it was given was unprecedented. Referees reviewed a tape on the sideline. In American sports, this is done all the time. But in soccer, it's a huge tradition that video is not used. They don't go back and review tapes...calls are not taken back after watching a playback. And yet, Zidane was red-carded for something that only the photographers saw him do. I'm worried about what this will do to soccer. But we'll see.

Italy won on penalty kicks, and Zidane won the Golden Ball Award for the best player in the World Cup despite his send-off. I think he probably won it because people who don't even care about soccer were watching the final just to see Zidane go out a winner. Instead, he went out as one of the oldest players in the tournament, sent off for acting like a 2 year old. Oh well. The next World Cup is going to be held in Africa in 2010. I am stoked. :)

Ramblings

2006-07-09T21:02:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have one of those days that you reflect upon and think, "Whose life am I leading?" Not that it's a bad thing. It's just odd. If you had asked me 5 years ago where I would be today? This is not it. And it's not a bad alternate timeline. It's just one of those things where you realize how strange life is. I thought I'd be a doctor by now. I'm not. But I work in hospitals all over the country. I thought I'd be living in another state by now. I'm not. But I've survived in spite of it. Of course, I haven't given up on either of those goals either. In fact, I think the numerous delays have only strengthened my resolve to do what I want in any state but Alabama....and Mississippi. oh. and West Virginia. And Arkansas. And really any southern state. Ok...I think that's it. :) So, today.

1. Episode One: The Death of KU. The KU is a small propeller plane that is infamous at my workplace. Everyone, from the first day they found out about my aerophobia, has warned me about this plane. People who are perfectly fine with flying are terrified of this plane. Needless to say, when I book a plane, I request anything but the KU. Case closed. Well, today I had to fly to a hospital, and I didn't set up the plane. The coordinator on the night before (who obviously hates me and is trying to kill me) did. And he got us the KU. I get to the airport (unknowing) and see the world's tiniest plane. With duct tape. Duct tape on the fuselage. And cracked windows. In fact, the windows were cracked to the point of really being shattered in some areas...and also had some polarizing layer over them to keep the sun out of our eyes (cause God forbid you bleach your rods while you're flying around in a duct-taped wind-up toy.) One of the surgeons had a cracked lens in his surgical goggles. I'm pretty sure that if he'd worn those in the plane and looked out the window, he would have been able to see through time. So, I turned around to get back in the van. The other coordinator and surgeons prodded me into the plane. Dr. ACP wasn't even there to comfort me. He met us at the hospital after flying up in his own plane. We get in the plane...I'm trying to calm down. The other coordinator looks over, puts his hand on my knee, and says "Sam, it'll be okay. If one of the engines goes out, that other engine will take us all the way to the crash site." Great. I'm going to die on a plane full of smart-asses.

The trip to the hospital was pretty uneventful. I spent most of the (mercifully) short flight time staring at the cracks in my window getting bigger as we ascended. I also spent a little time searching the ceiling for oxygen masks. I asked one of the surgeons where they were. Apparently this tiny plane doesn't get high enough off the ground to warrant oxygen masks. The surgeon said that if we crashed we needed to remember to ask the pilot to try and hit something hard...because otherwise we'd all linger in terrible pain for around 3 days prior to succumbing to our not-quite-deadly-enough injuries. And apparently no one (but me) wants that. I'll take my chances with the three days.

I begged Dr. ACP to let me ride with him in his plane back to B'ham. No dice. Apparently you have to have insurance or some bologna like that. The ride back was horrendous. The plane rocked, and seemingly slid from side to side through the air. I screamed at one point....we lost some serious altitude. But it wasn't just me. When we got back, the other coordinator was nauseated, one of the surgeons refused to ever fly on that plane again, the other surgeon literally jumped out of the plane and kissed the ground, and when we touched down I heard the pilot say "I can't believe we made it back in one piece." I don't know whether that referred to our imminent death or the fact that pieces probably frequently fall off the non-duct-taped parts of the plane. Regardless, our director has promised me that we will never fly on that plane again. So goodbye KU. I really could have done without your final voyage...but I survived. And that's what counts.

Okay, I had other stuff to blog about, but this story turned out to be hella long. So I'll try to write some more tomorrow. From work. When I'm bored. :-p Laters!

What's Cookin'?

2006-07-05T21:42:00.000-07:00

I was on Amazon, checking out what's on everyone's wishlists at the moment. In music, it's the Dixie Chicks. Electronics? iPods. Magazines? Mental Floss (incidentally created right here in Birmingham. Woo.) Outdoor living has some sort of cooking device. And the kitchen? Of course, it's babies.

Huh?? Oh yeah. That's right. Babies. Tender tender babies.

I hope I get the urge to write something interesting and insightful sometime soon, but I'm not making any promises. I spent most of today too hopped up on caffeine to string together coherent thoughts. But I did learn glycolysis. Go me. Only 46 days til the MCAT. Arg.

Reading

2006-07-05T09:00:00.000-07:00

His belief is not of the "God said it. I believe it. That settles it," sort that fundamentalists embrace. Rather, Bush subscribes to a syllogistic doctrine of presidential infallibility: God works through Christians; I am a Christian; I have decided to do X; therefore, X is God's will.

Things I Learned Today (possibly yesterday)

2006-06-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

1. It is possible to launder a thumbdrive. And retain all the data on said thumbdrive. woo $20 thumbdrive! You are a rockstar for not losing all my important med school application data, masters thesis, and all applicable data from my grant. God bless you little thumbdrive. And your resistance to the spin cycle.

2. Doing laundry at the laundromat sucks. Badly. Not only do you have to use the same washing machines as a thousand dreadlocked people (which could probably be avoided if I used a laundromat on the other side of town,) but I also have to sit there and wait for everything to be done. Between going to the bank for cash, carrying my laundry into the laundromat (while wearing 3-inch heels because I went straight from work,) and waiting for the laundry to be finished, it's quite possibly the least entertaining experience possible. Ever.

3. No matter how incredibly cute my new shoes are, they hurt like hell. (Yes Carolyn, I know you expressed your concern about this prior to purchase, but I don't care.) I have faith that they can be broken in, but in the meantime, holy frikkin' crap. Thank God they are really cute. Because otherwise I would have returned them today.

4. The World Cup referees need to be taken out and beaten. Honestly. Italy? Australia? Fair game? I think not. And I am not the only one. There are angry mobs in Sydney. And they're not even drunk, people. They are genuinely angry. As well they should be. The officiating in the world cup this year has been ridiculously unfair and has taken all the fun out of the game. Anytime anyone dives, boom. Foul. Regardless of what actually happened. It's ridiculous, it slows the game down, it's deciding matches, and it must be stopped. I would go into more detail but I don't feel like getting angry. It's almost bedtime.

5. C and I are not horrifically bad at pub trivia. I think that given possibly one or two more teammates (since we were battling teams of about 8-10 for the most part) we could have done even better. As it was, we didn't win last place, so I think we held our own just fine.

6. If you want to have your picture on the wall at my favorite bar, one of the best ways to achieve that goal is to dance on the bar. Actually, I haven't seen any pictures of anyone else doing it, but it worked for my coworker and I. We can now be seen in a Polaroid situated directly beneath the Bailey's Irish Cream. So have a buttery nipple and think of me. :)

7. My coworker that I thought was gay, is not so much. Well, he's partly gay. And partly bi-sexual. Which makes for an interesting combination the drunker he gets. Nuff said.

8. I can not drink as much as I used to. At least I can't without getting sick. Again, nuff said.

9. I can blog somewhat coherently even when drunk. We can call this post, exhibit A. Woo, go me. :) I promised myself I wouldn't drunk dial or email people...so blogging is the next best thing.

10. Registering for the MCAT is almost as boring and mind-numbing as the test itself. It took me an hour to register for the stupid exam. Mainly because after you register but before you can submit the registration, you have to take this stupid questionnaire. Which they said is 135 questions. Really it's 2 million questions, because each question has 100 parts. Honstly, one question says:

"What is your mother's occupation?"
Your choices are: 1. Unemployed or currently seeking employment.
2. Retired.
3. Deceased.
That's it! No option for those parents who are still making a living and God forbid, moving oxygen. So, I just put that she's retired...since she did retire from one job, and then put that she retired from her current job. It was absolutely ridiculous and insanely frustrating. They've been making students take this test, this questionnaire for how long? And how many anal-retentive potential med school students have been through this process? Don't tell me no one has ever pointed out this flaw. Because that would be a lie. They know about it, and they're just too lazy to change it. So, my Mom has to be retired. My Dad would have to be as well...except he really is retired. But still. You get my point.

Okay, going to bed. In the meantime, place your bets. Call in sick tomorrow or actually haul it out of bed and make it to work? (Late as usual.) Only time will tell. Laters! :)

Sending Postcards from a Plane Crash

2006-06-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

Once again I got killed at work this weekend. Worked on 1st, 2nd, and 3rd call. Ugh. But, we had a lot of good results, so it's all good. This weekend's blog-worthy story? (And yes, I know that's debatable.) Going to Mobile.

Mobile is on the Gulf Coast...about a 4-5 hour drive from Birmingham. By plane it takes about 50 minutes. By rocket, about 35 minutes. And how did we choose to travel? Rocket, baby. So, there are 4 of us going because this is a big case. We have myself, B (another coordinator), Dr. ACP, and Dr. F-word. Dr. F-word is thusly named because I have never heard anyone use that word as often in a professional environment as this guy. Which is fine...I kind of think it's hilarious. But it's definitely noticeable. Everytime he says it, it just kind of hangs in the air because people can't believe he just said it. Which kind of adds to the hilarity. Whatever. So, it's the four of us and 5 giant heavy coolers. I drive us to the airport, we unload the van on the tarmac, and I get back in the van and go park it while they load up the plane.

As I run back to the plane, I notice that Dr. ACP (who is also a pilot) is grinning like a maniac. He is just inside the door of the plane, and he's looking up at something and laughing and grinning. So I walk up next to B while watching Dr. ACP and say "Hey, what's he grinning at?" And she's smiling and laughing. "What?!?" And then I see them. The oxygen masks. Hanging down from the roof of the plane. Dr. ACP is trying to stuff them back into their little cubbie in the ceiling. "OH MY GOD WHY ARE THOSE HANGING DOWN LIKE THAT I CAN'T GET ON THAT PLANE!! WHAT'S WRONG WITH IT?!??" And B is just laaaaughing. She says "That's why we're laughing! Dr. ACP knocked into the ceiling with a cooler and the oxygen masks came down. He saw them come down and said oh no we better get these back in before Sam gets back or we'll never get her on the plane! We started laughing when we saw you coming cause we knew you'd freak." So, I said okay, I can deal with that. Jerks. :-p They got the O2 masks stored, we got the coolers into the plane, and boarded.

We're sitting on the runway waiting to take off. And we're in this tiny little jet. With these short little wings. And these ballast-looking things on the tips of the wings. Really, it made the plane look like some kind of rocket. Which turned out to be not-that-misleading. So we're sitting there, and Dr. F-word decides to strike up a conversation.

Dr. F-word: "So, Dr. ACP, what are those things at the tips of the wings? Is that just ballast?
Dr. ACP (in his Australian accent): "Oh, no. That's where the fuel is. And it courses through the wings as well."
Dr. F-word: "Oh. So, all the fuel is through the wings. So if we, I dunno, clipped something....the wing would in all likelihood explode?"
Dr. ACP: "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. The problem with these planes is how short the wings are."
Dr. F-word: "They are pretty short. Why is that?"
Dr. ACP: "They're more aerodynamic so the plane can go faster. The problem is, if both your engines fail, this plane glides like a house-brick."
Dr. F-word: "That's f-ing awesome."
Dr. ACP: "Oh, that reminds me. Sam, I need you to do something for me."
Me (looking pretty petrified): "Sure, Dr. ACP. What's up?"
Dr. ACP: "We're going to have to do something about these new coolers."
Me: "Why?"
Dr. ACP: "They're just wayy too big and heavy for these planes. They're a pain to get in and out and they weigh far too much."
Me (considering the 5 coolers in the back): "What do you mean they weigh too much?"
Dr. ACP: "They're too heavy. One of these times we're going to get on one of these small planes and about halfway up they're going to realize they can't handle all the weight."
Me: "Halfway up?"
Dr. ACP: "Yeah. We need new coolers. Smaller ones. Can you take care of that?"
Me (contemplating gliding like a house-brick): "Consider it done."

We finally get in the air. This plane is the loudest plane I've been in. Ever. Dr. ACP says it's because it's old and has no insulation. Whatever. We are screaming through the sky at about 550 mph (there's a speedometer and altimeter in the back...handy if you want to see what speed and altitude you're going to die at) in a glorified Pringles can. And we get to Mobile in 35 minutes. The flight went without incident, but I guess you knew that. Because honestly, I think at 550 MPH, any incident is pretty much going to kill you.

And yes, it has been suggested that I start to think rationally about my fear of flying rather than just freaking out all the time. It's even been implied that I'm too smart to act like such an idiot about this. But let me break it down for you (Tom.)

Number of degrees I hold: 2.
Number of degrees I hold in Aeronautical Engineering: 0.

Bam. :-p

I hate stupid planes.

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