Tuesday, January 28, 2003

Nothing really going on tonight. Same old: watch State of The Union address, knit Better Half's sweater, contemplate anthropology of the American Wedding. All in all, a typical night.

Monday, January 27, 2003

Tonight the Better Half and I had a rare night where we were completely alone. We ate leftover tuna alfredo, drank red wine and hot chocolate, and we watched, with bemused horror, the last 15 or so minutes of the Fox reality show Bridezillas, in which psycho brides, their mothers, their wedding planners, and their gay and female cohorts wreak havoc on all that is matrimonious. It was rather disturbing to watch. Basically, these women acted horribly, then at the end, expected themselves to morph back into their pre-nuptual selves. I have a sickening feeling that many of those marriages won't last. There was very little equality or balance between the brides and grooms- most of the men were portrayed as befuddled, well-intentioned buffoons caught in the middle of a hurricane, seeing the mothers of their children and future mates sphew venom at hotel managers, florists, caterers, waiters, French videographic artistes, and other poor saps with really nice intentions. At one point, a bride turned towards the camera and said, with her fiance in earshot, "I hate him. He's absolutely no help whatsoever." I have a feeling most of the show was edited to portray the brides as wicked wedding wenches, and I have a feeling they will look at themselves and feel ashamed and pissed off at the same time. But hey, it is Fox, your show came on before Joe Millionaire, so you might have figured something was up.

The Better Half turned to me and practically begged me not to become as controlling and abusive as the brides were to their husbands and loved ones. I didn't have the heart to tell him how I was feeling yesterday (see below blog entry). Plus, I'd wanted to believe that I was above the Bridezillas and the bitchiness. Because I can't really pull off a bitch vibe without appearing passive-aggressive. For me, it's much more fulfilling being pleasant and agreeable. And to be perfectly honest, for me, a perfect wedding isn't something I'm craving. I mean, those of you who really know me and my Better Half know that we are so not perfect! I think not a Thursday goes by at Rare Olde Times where I don't dribble something on my shirt, and John had no idea who the Osmonds were. How are we gonna pull off a perfect wedding? All we can hope for is something that's not tense, a lot of fun, and a start to a great life together.

I just hope I can keep this perspective in the months to come. I'm still glad that I don't have a yacht. Or that I am not Lisa Marie Presley. Or a Bridezilla...
To be continued...

Sunday, January 26, 2003

So, our Super Bowl party was rather just Average Bowl. No one really cared about the teams involved, and my family always hates the halftime show, where the women always seemed to be too scantily dressed, and the music always almost mediocre. Last year's was really nice, with U2 and the 9-11 Tribute, but Sting really disappointed me this year. My uncles came through with the food. Brian made some great buffalo wings and Gene's BBQ was really really good. My teenage cousin Kelly won $5 in the first quarter, and we all laughed at the Osbournes Pepsi Commercial. I was glad that the network had the decency to refrain from that god-awful Miller Lite commercial in which those two bimbos tear each other clothes off and wrestle in the water. Yucko. I wish they did a commercial featuring women dissing men by making cracks about their penis sizes. I've decided to boycott Miller Beer because of that ad. Not that I drink it to begin with, I think mule piss would be more appetizing.

I've never been a football guru, and watching the game usually isn't done without my knitting in my lap, but I've come to appreciate the game in the last few years. Maybe because my cousin and sister are huge Virginia Tech fans, and going to a Tech game is always contageous fun. The Oakland fans remind me a bit of the Tech fans- dedicated, fun-loving, rather vocal when their team wins, but sheepish when they lose. It looks like Tampa may win, which is nice, because they've never won before.

Somehow, the planets lined up just so, and when the Better Half walked through my door this afternoon, all of my tension melted away, and I was no longer wanting to unload on him all of my complaints. I did my laundry at my parents house, and he says Chessie did fine by herself this weekend. He had an amazing experience with the confirmants this weekend, so it all ended up okay.

And I watched him tonight at my family's Super Bowl party. He looked so right, sitting in a sweatshirt, beer in hand, bonding with my younger cousin, who also is one of his groomsmen. And I thought how nice it was knowing that I was going to always have him there. The rest of my life. And I couldn't wait for it to start.

Lisa Marie Presley, the former Mrs. Nicolas Cage, once got so insensed at her ex-husband that she tossed her $60,000 engagement ring off the bow of the couple's yacht while they were having a sail. Nick had divers try to locate it, but to no avail.

When I first heard this story, I thought to myself, "Gee, maybe she's just a tad irrational."

Now, I am not so sure.

Don't get me wrong, I would like to think that I would never toss my oh-so-not-sixty-grand engagement ring off into the deep blue. I've grown quite fond of it, even gave it a nickname- The Princess. But, gosh dern it, I can understand now, WHY she did it.

When men and women get engaged, they change. They change pronouns- "I" and "me" become "us" and "we." Suddenly, it's almost an obligation to hang out together. You've become the two-for-one deal on Amazon.com. I was pretty sure though, that I, a somewhat strong, independent woman, would resist that temptation. The Better Half and I would be grown-ups. We would be able to maintain that delicate yet crucial balance between our lives together and our independent lives. We'd be a couple Dr. Phil would wish he'd worked on so he could make some moolah off our success story.

So why the hell am I so pissy right now? It's been about three days since I've seen him. I don't have a key to his place, so I have not been able to go and do my laundry, which includes my work uniforms, which I need for starting tomorrow. Also, I have not had any access to Chessie. I wonder if she's been fed for three days. Also, he told me he would either call or stop by, and probably wouldn't spend the entire weekend at the retreat. This morning, I got a call from one of his coworkers, whose daughter just happens to be in the retreat as well, on his behalf, inviting me to the Mass for the confirmation kids.

Also, this weekend, we were supposed to sit for our engagement photo. I had to cancel the sitting appointment.

When I was single, and an engaged friend reiterated for me the exact same story, in an attempt for a perspective and for advice, I would have dismissed it entirely. I would have thought nothing of it. Hell, if it had happened to me a few months ago, I would have thought nothing of it. I would have stressed balance and independence, and encouraged her to actively communicate her feelings to her man, but in a gentle, non-confrontational kind of way. I would have praised his wonderful desire to be with the kids at a very important time in their lives, and the fact that he was off bonding with God. Besides, I(oops- I mean, she) she doesn't even really like having her picture taken, and she finds wedding engagement announcements to be rather pretentious.

But today, for some strange reason, I don't feel balanced and independent. I don't wanna hear about active listening strategies with my mate. I want to be pissed. I want him to know I am pissed, and I wanna stay pissed for a rather lengthy amount of time. I am thinking, "Bastard. I have dirty uniforms, a hungry cat, no engagement picture, and you didn't even have the balls nor the time to call your fiance to invite her yourself, you just passed the buck along! Is Oprah right? Are you men all sharing one brain? Because it's certainly not your weekend to have it! Is this what our marriage is going to be like? Just passing the buck around like some dense buck-passers? Because if it is, you can just take this ring and..."


You see where we're coming from, Lisa Marie and me? I am just glad I don't have a yacht.

Friday, January 24, 2003

Real reality TV, in which you really hope no one gets "voted off the island." I was just watching an infomercial about the kids of St. Jude's Children's Hospital. I was amazed. There was a profile of a family in which the mother and the father tried to get pregnant for 18 years before their only child was born. The child became stricken with a rare form of cancer at age 5 or so. Having battled cancer herself, the mother was confined to a wheelchair. Between going to and fro to treatments, and dealing with the massive heartbreak of having a relapse of the cancer, this family continued to remain calm, focusing on the good, and encouraged the child to go skating, and to understand her illness and her treatment. The segment ended with a picture of the child hugging her pediatrician after a follow-up appointment. It made me think about my days as an oncology nurse. I don't miss the heartbreak. Special people find rewards working with the palliative patients and their families. I wasn't that great a comfort to them, in that I myself was grieving too much to help them. During the last few times I worked with Bobby, one of my favorite patients, I couldn't go into his room without my stomach and my chest tightening. I remember one early morning I crept into his room to check his IV. I stared at him for a long time. His face was pale. His cheeks sunken. His hair, what was left of it, cropped close to his head so it didn't fall out in clumps on his pillow. As I jostled the IV tubes to adjust the pump, his eyes opened, and that familiar drawl sounded so much weaker than I ever remember.

"Hi, Jenn."

Bobby died in October, at home, surrounded by his family and friends.

For 8 months, I took for granted Bobby's soft drawl as he greeted me. Now that he's gone, I realize I'll never hear him say my name ever again. It's amazing how much you miss something once it's taken away from you, no chance of ever getting it back.

Ah. The weekend is upon me. I plan just to veg. The Better Half is off doing a confirmation retreat, so I am flying solo. My plan tonight: bake cookies and work on the Better Half's Christmas present: an orange and maroon sweater (his Susquehanna U colors- yes, they are the same as Tech). Tomorrow, aerobics class and shopping at Target, and then it's Super Bowl Sunday!

Last night, the Better Half and I stayed in, not wanting to brave the cold. We talked about a variety of things. He was telling me about this sicko movie he watched as part of his Classroom Management class about a real school in England that has no rules. Yep. And apparently it's rather Lord of The Flies-esque creep-fest. There was one scene in which a group of boys captured and killed a stray rabbit, decapitated it and brought it to the science teacher! Our mutual friend, Jenny, was ready to lose her lunch. I don't tolerate animal cruelty in any form, and suddenly found myself wishing that these boys and the schoolmasters who foster this dribble all developed comorbid cases of hemmorrhaging anal fissures and explosive diarrhea for the rest of their pathetic lives.

That lead to a discussion of "Lord of The Flies," and a few other pieces of work I like to call (especially to peeve the Better Half) "Stinky Boy Stories." It was derived from the statement I made in response to the Better Half's disbelief that I didn't enjoy the Golding classic: "No, because I don't like stories about a bunch of stinky boys doing their homoerotic stinky boy crap on an island!" Also, disliked reading Twain and Hemmingway for the same reason. I just couldn't relate to all the heaping helpings of testosterone. But I do love many male writers, including Poe, who I think wrote specifically for women, and Fitzgerald, who had a wonderful muse in his wife, Zelda. We talked a bit more about other things as well, those talks where you and your signifiant other bond over some weird thing, but you find it so comforting and pleasant just the same. And it makes you happy that you have the opportunity to bond again many times over the next 70 or so years of your lives.

Tuesday, January 21, 2003

I find it rather funny about all the recent stuff about the "authenticity" of reality TV. Apparently, network execs are being critiqued because some of the contestants chosen for these shows were not completely honest about their backgrounds (i.e. Rick Rockwell being worth a million dollars, or that 3 survivor contestants work together, or that couple on Temptation Island having a child together).

Gee, what a shocker.

Finding reality TV show contestants with morals is like trying to find original cartilage in Michael Jackson's nose. Hello? You get people together, tell them to screw each other over, last man/woman standing wins a million dollars, and you expect saints incarnate to show up to the audition? These desperate, pathetic, misguided, intellectual equivalents of horse snot you call "contestants" are not creme-de-la-creme human beings. If they were, they'd be out working for a living, and avoiding the sleaze, ease and skeeze of a reality tv career. Audiences watch because it's NOT The Waltons or Providence, or carries a moral message. They watch, just like our ancestors watched the gladiators in Ancient Rome, because they want to see how the scourge of humanity lives and suffers. As long as there is that impulse to look when passing a bad car accident, the popularity of fads like reality TV will always endure.

Sunday, January 19, 2003

I wanted to hug everyone in the world. Father John will be at our wedding. :) He told John and I last night. I leapt up from the chair and threw my arms around him, almost ready to burst into tears. We've also asked a few other priests to help us celebrate, including Father Mike, Father Jim from Canada, and possibly two others. I think it'd be so wonderful to see all of them come to celebrate.

Friday, January 17, 2003

I was actually surprised at the number of patients who braved the snow and and decided to keep their appointments. Dr B. bought us Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and gave me an innovative idea for an engagement photo by showing me pictures of his kids. He and his family are really cute, suburban people. Their Christmas card is very nice.

So tonight the Better Half and I went to Border's to look at books. I found a big pink mama-jama wedding planner and diary. It was really cool, in that it has pictures from "actual" weddings. Granted, a lot of them are rather goofy, but half the fun was snickering at them, knowing "oh that so is not going to happen with ours!" Soon the Better Half was joining in on the fun. We decided to continue the fun with a few bride mags as well. There's Southern Bride, East Cost Bride, Big Olde Bride, Bitchy Bride, Anxious Bride, Bride With A Bun In The Oven, and my personal favorite, Bratty Bride. Actually, I got the Martha Stewart Weddings and In Style Weddings. More pictures to snicker at.

Not so funny was the ride home. We were ready to cross a median when I looked over and saw the Better Half clutching his head. It turns out his blood sugar had dramatically dropped since he got into the car. He was nodding off at the wheel. I got him to pull over, we switched seats and I promptly drove into a McDonalds to get some food. He hadn't eaten since 11. It worried me, but I tried to keep my cool for his sake. I felt a lot better after he scarfed down and Big N' Tasty and the majority of my fries. It was a relief when we got home, and he perked up quickly at the site of Butters romping around in the snow in the front lawn. I realized then that the wedding wasn't the most important thing. The marriage that follows it...that's what is most important. Scary as it was, that event really put things in perspective.

Thursday, January 16, 2003

It turns out that I may not get to have Father John at my wedding. We want to have the wedding at St. Bridget's, since I received all of my sacraments there. But since Father John is the only priest at St. Mike's, he may not travel to St. Bridget's to the wedding. I wonder how many times I can say "wedding" in the next few sentences. Jeez. Wedding, wedding, wedding.


Now that's out of my system, I'm trying not to acknowledge the dilemma I may face. To tell the absolute truth, everyone keeps giving me permission to "have the wedding I want."

I think the best thing I want is not to have to plan a wedding.

Now, that doesn't mean I don't wanna marry The Better Half. I do. Really. I want to walk down the aisle wearing my Grandmother's gown and my Great-Grandmother's veil, with my cousins, sister and best friend in cute dresses, (they don't even have to be black) smiling, and my family in the first couple hundred pews (not an overstatement), smiling, and John smiling.

And me not stressed out about flowers, seating placements, reception sites, registries, color schemes, finances or photographers. Or flying to some exotic location to honeymoon. I've decided I think it's best if I just show up and look pretty. I mean, I trust my mom and grandmother and cousin and sister. I think they know me well enough to plan something that I'd like. And they really seem to get off on planning this shindig, so I'll let them know that would be the best wedding present in the world. I'll brush up on a bit of ettiquette, throw a slumber party for my girls, give Nanny and Papa some pin-able flowers, and have everyone gush over me. I just am not all about the anal-retentive, cut throat, Type A personality that is usually required to plan a high-publicity event that is a wedding.

I think I'd better ask my doctor for a bottle of Xanax, in case my plan fails.

Wednesday, January 15, 2003

Although I am trying to avoid turning this into BrideBlog, I must admit, this wedding stuff is kind of fun and funny at the same time. I've become a rather insatiable sap, and I've only been engaged for a few days. I'm hoping I don't become a blob of jello come July of 2004. That's when we're having the wedding. Co-inciding with the Summer Olympics.

I have to admit, the Nuptual Bug has really sunk his teeth into the Better Half. Today he came to drop off some gym clothes for me at work, and asked Debbie and Gil, our receptionists, for "his fiancee" and then remarked "Ahh, I love saying that, 'my fiancee.' " Sure, it's cute. For now.

I realize that my family is the "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" family. My Nanny and Kristen, my co-Maid of Honor (MOH) brought me the Bride's Guide to Ettiquette. I must admit I find this book useful. To me, there is nothing sadder than a tacky wedding. Except maybe a tacky funeral.

Joke of the Day:
Q: How does Michael Jackson pick his nose?
A: Out of a catalog.

Wakka wakka wakka. Granted, when Dr. B told it during a surgical procedure, it was ten times more funny.

Ugh. Wednesdays are our crazy days. We have 3 doctors the entire day, so the place is hopping and usually we run late. For the past week or so, I have been working with Dr. B. I don't mind it a bit. He's very talkative, he seems to like having someone to rattle off dermatological facts to, and he's never short with anyone. We just run late A LOT. SO it's up to me to keep Dr. B focused. Also, I've been running the photo light box the past few times. Most of the patients who never show up did so today, I think the threat of impending snow stirs people to get their affairs in line. Tired. Going to fix some soup and maybe watch Undercover Brother. John Y gave me the idea.

Tuesday, January 14, 2003

Yuck. I woke up this morning with ulcers on the back of my throat. It hurts. I got one of the docs to look at it, and he told me that it was a virus that usually young children get, and in adults, it can cause ulcers on the mucosa of the throat. He says there is not much I can do besides chew ice to relieve the pain and try not to yell or do anything to strain it for about a week. It was okay today, I don't have to do much talking. But it was fun showing off my ring.

Monday, January 13, 2003

Okay, here's what bugs me: people who name their children after the places they were concieved: Posh Spice named her kid Brooklyn. Please don't do that. It's yucky when you tell people how your child got their name. Unless it's something funny, like, "This is my child, Twin Oaks Motel Smith." Then it's cool.

My nails look a bit better now, after a bit of sandblasting and the Sally Hansen French Manicure kit.

I've been wearing these very artificial looking acrylic nails for less than 24 hours now. I now know why I never strived for my cosmotology license. They need a lot of work.

I caught a cold this weekend. I think all the emotion, combined with not bundling up my sweaty self against the cold, caused it. I took the day off to rest, because I absolutely no energy. The Better Half sleeps the entire day when he is sick. But he usually is only sick for 24 hours, and once in a blue moon. After that 24 hour hibernation is over, he's back to his old self. Chessie is sleeping at my feet, snoring with little "mew" sounds on her exhale. She's still not used to the idea that Mommy will become a permanent staple in her house. The Better Half is still Her Person, she only comes to me when she's hungry and can't wake him up or he's not around. Still, I think she is slowly warming up to me, as she hasn't moved the entire day. Either it's love or sheer laziness.

Sunday, January 12, 2003

Okay. So yesterday, I go to the Y, do my EzFit class, see Ed from UB there, and go home, gather up my laundry to take over the Better Half's house. Nonchalant, I find him sitting on the couch, looking tired. "Sit down here," he tells me, and I flop down next to him and put my feet up.

"We need to talk about something."

Uh-oh. "Okay, what is up?"

"Well, I've been thinking l don't like where our relationship is right now. I feel the need to change. I'm going to have to ask for my class ring back."

Immediately, my hands shot up to my neck, where my Christmas present from John was. I started to undo the clasp. My mind was racing, hoping that whatever was bothering him about us, we could work out. Meantime, he reached for his pocket.

"Because I want you to have this ring instead." He produced a red box, and for a moment, I thought, 'Oh, he's giving me his college ring now. I've moved a step up.'

He opened the box to reveal a princess cut carat with matching bagets and a platinum setting. While my heart was jumping into my throat, John told me he loved me, got down on one knee and attempted to ask me to marry him. Keyword being attempted, because my brain had just registered that he was proposing, and before he could really get the phrase out, I was jumping up and down and laughing. I called my parents, then my Nanny who quickly spread the word amongst the family, then my sister, then Marian, my closest Bahead friend. .We later went to Nanny's and had a champagne toast as my female family members clucked and cooed over the ring. After Mass, where more people, including Father John, clucked and cooed, we went out to Peking for dinner, saw Taryn, and then attempted to see "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," but we were both so exhausted with all the emotion of the day, we decided to call it a night. It was pretty magical. I'm still smiling uncontrollably. Those who know and love me, please know I will try, within the next year and a half, not to become Bridezilla: The Obscessive Queen of Tying The Knot. I will try to live as normal life as possible. I will just try to have better looking fingernails. That is all.

Saturday, January 11, 2003

I am getting married.

The Better Half proposed to me today. Magic. My head is swimming, and right now, I am still in shock. But I will be back later for details.

Talk to you later!

Friday, January 10, 2003

Okay, between the starved kids in New Jersey, the bitch in California who left her kids for 2 weeks so she could bone her internet lover, and the murdering of a dog by police in North Carolina, I almost want the world to stop so I can get off. Sometimes I want to petition for a law in which people who hurt kids and dogs (intentionally and accidently) are tied to barbed wire poles and have hot unlubricated irons shoved in their orifices. The people who do the shoving will be those eco-dorks who have nothing else better to do than to trash SUVs. It'd be great, useful goverment job with all sorts of lovely benefits. Okay. My goal for the retreat tonight: learn to forgive. I'll work on it.

It was fun last night at Marian's birthday, but I was absolutely exhausted. I almost did not enjoy myself I was so tired and almost unmotivated for fun. After one glass of wine, I was so ready to sleep.

It was freaky. In line for Starbucks this morning, I could have sworn I saw Bobby Olive. It's not possible, since Bobby died in October. This gentleman, slightly older, dischelved and balding, could have passed for Bobby's older brother, if he had any. I don't believe in ghosts, but it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I guess I was thinking very hard about this, because the next thing I knew, Dr. C. was next to me in line, telling me, "You must need something to wake you up. You look like you're in a daze." She asked me about weekend plans, and thanked me for some babysitter names. I'm not really used to it, the idea of physicians being nice to you, inquiring about your life in such a way that they seem interested. In psychiatry, the residents were nice enough, but the attendings (which is what I consider our docs to be the outpatient equilvalent of) almost never acknowledged your presence outside the hospital, and most of the time didn't acknowledge your presence inside the hospital, unless they wanted something you had. No one knew your name for at least 3 months. In oncology, the residents would change each month, which was a relief if you had a pain in the ass. But the friendly ones left too. And mostly, they left before they found out what your name was. Many of them didn't care anyway. But here, it's different. Nicer.

Tonight, a retreat at St. Bridgets for the Young Adults. Something about spiritual goal setting in the New Year. Something I definitely need. I find though, that I wrestle more with humanity than I do with God. My relationship with the Man Upstairs really is pretty good; at least I think so. He may beg to differ, though. I consider us on good terms. When it comes to my relationship with God, I think of a line from The Tao of Steve:
"People constantly turn to God mostly because they want something. No one says, 'Hi God. How are You? What can I do for You today?' " I consider myself more a "Hi God..." person than someone who constantly asks. Not that God really really relies on me, but...I always think it's nice to ask.

Thursday, January 09, 2003

Okay, I feel a bit better. I searched AOL Careers: Improve Yourself section, and there was something there that caught my eye. In the 10 Tips for Your Career in 2003, number 5 is: Never hire a person you'd hang out with. It makes an interesting point that diversity lies in hiring people with different visions of the company's philosophy and goals. And that the person you hire should scare you because she has such differing views than you do. Which can expand horizons and increase productivity. Although I haven't been there long enough to want to change the company's infrastructure, I'm kind of relieved. It means they didn't hire me because they thought I was cool. They hired me because they thought I could do the job. I think that is much better.

Okay. I feel better now. I found bodyshaping on Mondays, and can take that in the same studio as my yoga class that starts right after. On Wednesday, I can do Pilates and then Susan's Easy Fit class, also without leaving the studio. BUT just to make sure I can take these other two classes, I am going to stop by the Y on my way to the pub (that just sounds like such an oxymoron) and pick up a RULES and REGS brochure. I don't think I could stand the embarassment of being alienated from two exercise classes.

Wow. So much for fun and exercise. I was interested in taking a spinning class. Key word: WAS. But tonight, I was sort of turned off by it. I got there right at 5:45PM when the class started, and knew it was bad when they were calling roll. Usually classes at the Y are a lot more inclusive. Anyway, Mary Anne, a blonde Susan Powder Stop the Insanity lookalike, abrasively informed me that I should have gotten there ten minutes early. I told her I would come back, and she agreed that was a good idea. Meaning: get out of my class, you late wench. My self esteem, which was so high on self-pride that I was going out and working out, fell like a ton of bricks off the Sears Tower. I was even more embarassed that I missed the display right next to the room about the spinning class. Susan W.'s Easy Fit class it ain't- apparently, you have to register the previous day for each individual class. You can't just sign up for a couple of classes. Nope. I guess it makes sense, with the bike rentals and all, but I say, if you don't have the resources to make it fun and inclusive, don't have the class. Wait and offer it when it can be fun, you have enough bikes and you don't have to kick people out of class. I'm almost tempted to complain, but instead I'll find a class more suitable. Up yours, you spinny nerds! (No pun intended)

I've decided to adopt a new philosophy when I work. I was, up this afternoon, going the distance for our patients, calling around, doing research for them. However...well, it seems that people ask the most utterly stupid, random questions you could imagine. So, I've decided to simply offer over the phone suggestions, then let them do their own legwork. It'll save me some quality time, plus I have a reputation of slightly above average intelligence to uphold, and if I continue to be the advocate for them, it will be flushed down the crapper. If you do call our office, please note the following:

1) If any other doctor other than Dr. C calls you back, chances are, it's bad dermatology news. Not that Dr. C is the Jolly Clown of Good News, it's because she's really independent and a bit of a perfectionist, so she prefers to call the patients herself. I'm down wif it.

2) Any other doctor does not want to talk to you.

3) The office does not know off the top of it's head whether or not the Providence of Quebec outlaws a certain acne drug (we actually got this question today). Call the Canadian Embassy, and if there are any special instructions, let us know. We'll be happy to help you. We stand on guard for thee.

4) Don't call us at 4:30PM asking for a prescription refill. Ain't gonna happen for 24 hours.

5) Please follow all instructions. Chances are, if you have a question about the way a medication is taken, it will be answered if you just read the instructions.

6) Common sense on your part guarantees a successful dermatological outcome on our part.

7) In dermatology, there is no emergency. I repeat: In. Dermatology. There. Is. No. Emergency. Again, I will say: In dermatology, there is no emergency. Unless it's melanoma. That's a bitch. But it's still something that can wait til 8:30 AM the next business day. Trust me. Go to the ER and tell them you have melanoma and want prompt admittance for treatment on the oncology floor. They will laugh in your face, call you an ungrateful asshole and tell you the oncologists have bigger, better cancers to deal with. Sure, it's harsh. But it's how it is, because in dermatology, (let's say it again, class) there are no emergencies.

8) If you ignore these rules, or the laws of common sense, or your gut intuition, the staff of our office reserves the right to make fun of you. Behind your back.

Thank you for your time. Support public radio.

So, today at work is rather boring. I feel terribly useless sitting reading a book. I decided to blog. It's rather pleasant because I have a cubicle and a bit of privacy. At the hospital you had no privacy whatsoever, so coworkers were privy to thoughts that didn't concern them.
Here though, I don't think my coworkers would be really interested. I don't have a whole lot in common with my coworkers as a whole. I think we're all at different places in our lives. I don't consider myself the most sophisticated person in the world, but I do like ballet, NPR, theology, and some fine arts. Mainly, the conversations I've been privy to involve sporting events, shooting pool, their boyfriends and Joe Millionaire. Apparently though, everyone loves Joe. People who I consider to be highly educated, intelligent, articulate people flock to prime slime reality tv like a moth to candlelight. I've never really gotten into reality TV. I have no idea who "won" Survivor (except one was a naked gay guy) I find people striving for their 15 minutes of fame rather pathetic and small. I remember a catchphrase of 'reality bites!' Now they can't seem to get enough of it.

Wednesday, January 08, 2003

So, it's pretty obvious that I am very very our of shape, having not worked out in an infinite amount of time. Tonight I went with my mom to a beginner aerobics class that she has been a regular of for the past year or so. My mom took tap, jazz and ballet for many years and is a terrific dancer, very light on her feet. The first time I went with her, I was huffing and puffing. Tonight wasn't too bad, but I know I gotta keep at it. I'm trying to choose classes that I like. I really like the Wednesday night class because I really like the instructor. The first instructor was a bit of a Nazi. This one, named Susan, teaches fifth grade and her class is a lot more fun. It beats sitting around watching reality TV.

Sunday, January 05, 2003

It's snowing!

I used to dread snow. I used to hate it when I worked at the hospital. I would still have to go in, and chances are, it was more chaotic than usual. Plus, if the next shift couldn't make it, you were expected to stay over. Nowadays, the office becomes quiet, patients stay home and cancel appointments, and the day becomes almost leisurely. It's rather nice.

Oh, now the snow has stopped. Too bad.

Saturday, January 04, 2003

Sorry haven't updated much. The Better Half and I have been spending a lot of high-quality, low-cost time together. Today we battled the crowds to see Titanic Science exhibit at the Science Museum. Apparently everyone in the city had our idea. The IMAX Titanic movie was sold out for the next three performances. It was a neat exhibit, full of artifacts and tidbits about how the ship sank mostly and how it was recovered. At the beginning, you get a card with a passenger's name and class and at the end of the exhibit, you can check to see if your person survived. Mine was a third class lady who didn't survive. But the Better Half's passenger, also third class, did survive the sinking. There was a story of a woman who worked on the Titanic and two other ships that met with sinkings. I would not have let her on my boat for fear she was jinxed. Afterwards, we spent a chunk of time discussing what would have happened if we were passengers on the Titanic:
HIM: I would have made you get on a lifeboat.
ME: I wouldn't have left you.
HIM: I would have picked you up and put you on the lifeboat.
ME: Well, then, I would have kicked you in the nuts to stop you.
HIM: The women and children go first. That is the rule. Don't worry, I would have gotten on the boats with the other men.
ME: You know I like to bend the rules. And there were no boats for the men, even the first class passengers. Considering a first-class ticket on the Titanic would have had a modern day cost of $50,000, we would have been in steerage. You would have been shark food.
HIM: Most likely.
ME: RIght. Don't be silly, I am not leaving you behind. We're a package deal. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I survived a situation that you didn't? The life I want doesn't happen if you're not in the picture.
HIM: Yes, but who would take care of Chessie?
ME: The person we asked to house sit while we were away going on to the Titanic. People would be fighting over her. We don't have to worry about her welfare.
HIM: So we'd be just like Mr. and Mrs. Astor. Remember the movie A Night to Remember? She didn't leave him.
ME: You're thinking of the Strauses, the couple that owned Macy's. Mr. Astor died. Mrs. Astor got on a lifeboat. She was pregnant at the time. But, did you notice that at the exhibit they were mentioned but the Strauses weren't?
HIM: Well, maybe they wanted to focus more on the common passenger's experience?
ME: John Jacob Astor was the richest man aboard the Titanic.
HIM: Well, maybe. But I know this: I would be the richest man on the Titanic because I have you!
ME: And you just helped me prove why I wouldn't have left you. :)

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