Quote of the Day:

Compliments of Sarah (hi Sarah!) explaining why being a stay at home mom can be simultaneously the best and most stressful thing she's ever done:

"Just imagine being totally, completely, head over heels in love with your boss.  It's horrible!"

the revered dictator known as

Meow Zedong.

It's SO FLUFFY!!

I. Love. This.



That is all.

Ondansetron

It may look like a harmless medical implement...but really it's a Decepticon named Ondansetron .

An Ode to Papa

I generally don’t put a whole lot of credence in life philosophies. I think that much beyond being kind, telling the truth and laughing loud, hard and freely, not much holds water. This week though, I’ve decided to add one to my list: better late than never. Think about it: apologies, cleaning, cutting the grass, eating, falling in love, discovering the West Wing, waking up (and for that matter, falling asleep!) and taking the time to give a really, really good hug, all things that are better done late than never. And in honor of this addition to the principles that guide my life, I will embrace it and choose a topic that is both belated and worthy of a blog: my Papa.

There are a solid few thousand things that I could say about my Papa in (belated) honor of Father’s Day because lets face it, he's mine and in my opinion the best of the best in this area. Today though I’m going to stick with a few that I’ve just recently come to appreciate in full.

1. He’s a really, really good son. He’s his mother’s everything and he does it without grudge, without self-aggrandizing sanctity and with the perfect measure of frustration in dealing so intimately with a parent. While I hope that such a thing is never necessary (because clearly he and my mom will both live forever – duh) I hope that should it become necessary, I will be half as practically helpful, kind and concerned as he is.

2. He always provides the tasty wine  :)

3. He’s a really kind husband. Now I get that what I’ve seen of my parents relationship is maybe like, um...maybe 5% of what it is, but what I do know is that after 30+ years he still brings her flowers and recently suffered quietly through watching Mama Mia. He supports the causes that she holds dear, playing cabbie and chef to both her and her teammates during the 3 Day. He loves her, he respects her and treats accordingly. He is the reason that my sister found Gabe, someone who loves her and treats her well. He is the reason that I’ve found Wes. He showed us what we should be looking for.

4. He is the only person, to date, who has not mocked, giggled at, made a face at or looked askance at me when I explained my 3 Book Reading System.

5. He lives by: "when there’s a problem, just look at it and see if you can figure it out.” Simple enough...maybe, but very effective.  As a result when I find things that I’ve never come across before (which lets admit, I’m 26 and it happens ALL THE TIME) this tactic works just about ever time. And when it doesn’t, a little Google helps too.

6. He eats the orange Popsicles.  In a household where Erica and I would FIGHT TO THE DEATH for the cherry or grape Popsicles, having the orange ones myyyysteriously disappear so that we could open a new box was (and is) a very very good thing.

7.  Papa Fries - 'nough said.

8. He's a creative curser.  When all is said and done, he doesn't swear very often but when he does...it's not your boring 'ol F Bomb hitting the floor.  It's much more akin to Ari from Entourage and (as I believe I've written before) that's the kind of cursing that I aspire to.  Rare and only when warranted but skillful to the max.

9. He smells like peppermint, smoke and sawdust.  Clearly he doesn't always smell like that but when I think of him, that is what I smell.

All reasons aside though, he's my Papa and I love him.

Happy (belated) Papa's Day :)

Thinking...

I was totally born in the wrong decade.

I TOTALLY could have rocked out a poodle skirt and sweater set.  But no.  I was born into the era of Kate Moss, heroin chic and skinny jeans. 

I was robbed.

To Grandma's House I Go

I'm sitting in an airport bar on my way to see my Grandma today. I seem to do a lot of writing in airport bars, it's a stretch of free time that usually includes a beer or two to lubricate and facilitate a naturally verbose nature. I would say (and Wondie Full Boyfriend just concurred) that I am generally a pretty lovey drunk. I might be a stumbling, giggling, hot-mess of a lovey drunk but I usually find myself just loving EVERYONE. While this alone might not be embarrassing, the inability to stop telling people how very much I love them is rather embarrassing, which is why I rarely drink that much.


All this to explain to you why I am a more than moderately tipsy after two beers in the Buffalo airport. I've been in a funk about traveling for a couple of days and was hoping that a couple of beers to the tune of the vuvezuelas would help. In a completely predictable turn of events it hasn’t. This is why I don’t drink when I’m sad.

I think the funk is nerves about seeing my Grandma. Nervousness isn’t a good word though. Apprehension maybe? I know that she's going to be slower, more tired. I think that’s probably inevitable, or at the least expected when you are 92. I know that she cannot live forever and one of the things that my job has given me is the perspective of knowing that sometimes the end can be as much of a blessing as the beginning. It doesn’t make it less sad for those of us left living and so here I am, worrying.

Thinking...

There are moments that I feel unavoidably grown up. Some are stressful and uncomfortable but others, like right now, are lovely. As a teenager I used to dream about traveling ALONE. Today I'm sitting in an airport bar waiting for my sister to get here and the combination of alone, yet not alone...well it makes me smile into my beer. :)

To Kate

Note to reader: if you're not Kate, some of this is not going to make sense.  Okay fine, MOST of this is not going to make sense and for this I do apologize, but Kate is one of my oldest friends.  If enduring me for the vast majority of her life is not enough to deserve a dedicated post, she also has a fabulous, fully worthy of reading blog of her own.  (Check it out here) I started reading late but I've been workin' on it and I'm finally caught up with the present and I have some comments that beg to be shared.  I'd save you the time of reading the first five lines of this before clicking away (are you still here!) but new comments on old blogs rarely get noticed and you know me, I'm not one to be subtle!


1.  I can't BELIEVE that you slandered Tim Tebow on the Internet! (Don't believe me 'cause you can't believe that someone would do such a thing?  I know, but check it out here.)  While I too may have channel surfed during his well publicized anti-abortion commercial (get a uterus AND a vagina and we will talk), I just have to say:

That is all.

2. Dude - I can't believe you're getting married!  Congratulations mi amiga - I hope and wish only for the best for you and Scott. 

3. A suggestion for the continued efforts towards Goal #23: Learn World History.  Four words home girl: World Map Shower Curtain.   You will for rizzle find countries that you didn't know existed AND it makes showering an educational endeavor that can be reasonably prolonged. :)

4. You talk a lot about your religion and beliefs on your blog (here, here, here and especially here) and I truly admire the balance that you are seeking (dare I say achieving?) between the dictates of your faith and the values by which you live your life.   I often get riled up over religion because what we hear in the news is usually the work of far right leaning fundamentalists, you remind me that just because they're loud does not mean that they are necessarily representative of Christianity as a whole. 

5. The 6 word essay by Ernest Hemingway that you posted?  (For those of you who are wondering: For sale.  Baby Shoes.  Never Worn.)  Yeah...I've been thinking about that ALL FREAKING DAY.

6. You are nothing if not ambitious.  You want to write a love poem IN FRENCH?  I'm just hoping to some day write a decent love poem in English some day...

7.  Thanks for the shout out oldest friend!  It was so awesome to see you when I was in Chicago - thank you so much for fitting me in to your busy adult schedule!

That is all.  :)

ZOMG

Oh holy hell - Paula Dean has built in deep fryers in her Food Network Kitchen.  Honest to god, set into the counter for aesthetic, easy access deep fryers.  I know that I shouldn't be so impressed, when every recipe starts with "and then you get you your stick of butta," the only next logical step is to deep fry it. 

Even though its SO DAMN hot down here that my band aids sweated off my feet 3 times today - I do love Southern cooking.

The day that I wore shorts

I wore a pair of shorts for a full 5 hours today.  I know, stop the presses right?!  But seriously, this is actually an oddly significant thing for me.

I stopped wearing shorts in high school when a guy that I was talking with told me that my legs were too chubby to wear shorts.  I know that I may have chubby legs but TOO chubby for shorts?  I think that's an exaggeration.  And while we're on the topic of high school romance, how insanely unjust is it that our generation doesn't date but rather, we "talk"?!  See when you "talk" you do just that.  There are no flowers or dinner or even movies for crying out loud!  It's group dates and hanging out.  As someone who wasn't taken out on a genuine, honest to goodness date until I was 22 years old, let me just say that in retrospect I feel totally gypped. But I digress. 

So - for the past decade at least I've worn pants almost exclusively, and in the muggy sauna that is Florida 10 months out of the year this is not a small feat.  I don't even wear shorts to the gym, that's how bad it is.  It only took me about two years to consciously disregard the comments made by said douchey-mcdoucherson but subconsciously I just wasn't okay with my legs anymore and shorts felt awkward and uncomfortable.  They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty and in this case I would agree because looking back, I could seriously kick myself.  My legs might be on the short side but when I was 18, they were strong, toned and cellulite free.  They might never have or will rival those of Meghan Fox but they were (and are) far from repulsive.  I should have been reveling in them but rather I was covering them up in shame. 

So here I am at 26 and I still don't wear shorts.  My legs are less impressive now then they were then but they're also probably far more impressive then they may be a some time in the future.  In honor of this and in an honest attempt to not look back with measured regret in another 10 years, my goal for this summer is to re-integrate shorts into my wardrobe.  Today wasn't SO bad but it wasn't great either and after 5 hours I was definitely desperate to have my jeans back.  Maybe next time will be easier.

Escape Maneuver #3

In my adult life I've been single for a embarrassingly short period of time, I'm not even putting it here because it probably would result in the loss of my feminist card.  While it would probably make me a more rounded person to have spent more time on my own I just can't see the point in walking away from someone who not only makes me smile, laugh and feel safe and happy, but who I also happen to love incredibly.  Can you get that lucky more than once?  I'm not willing to risk it so I'll just have to find another way to become well rounded I guess.  So while my stint as Single and Ready to Mingle was brief, it did yield some of THE BEST stories that I've got.

You can go into a blind date situation without an escape route but that's just not a bad path, it's the Misty Mountain path of paths through dating; there's nothing but goblins and orks waiting on it.  If you are like me then you would most likely assume that your friends can be trusted to match you up with someone  with basic personal hygiene and interests that reside in the same planet as yours.  There is a very good chance that you would be wrong in this assumption.  Enter, Small Hands Super Conservative Guy and Blind Date Escape Maneuver #3.  All you need to do it lay some groundwork and carry a pager.

Small Hands Super Conservative Guy had small hands. Not only did he have small hands but he was super conservative and  he practiced false personal advertising.  I have no problem with a little extra lovin', what I DO have a problem with is providing someone with a 10 year old picture when a picture is all we have to go on.  I'm all about best foot forward but come on, it's not like I'm not going to notice that you're a solid decade later than your picture - you might as well be up front about it.  I like to think that I'm not so shallow as to let some love handles and insecurity keep from knowing someone but the small hands...well those were just plain weird.  We're talking doll hands, teeeny, tiny little hands with a creepy limp handshake and a habit of over gesticulating when he talked.  Can't.  Stop.  Staring. At. The.  Hands.  So there I sit, staring at the hands.  Can't stop staring at the hands.  They're just so...small.  Through the haze of small hand preoccupation I hear the words, "Sarah Palin, wow, she's got it ALL figured out." I am no longer staring at the hands because my mind is now entirely consumed with insane gratitude for the alarm on my pager that is about to go off. 

The alarm on my pager is set and when it goes off, it sounds just like a page.  He knows I work in a hospital, he knows I work with cancer patients and all of this sounds VERY important.  What he doesn't know is that I'm so not that important.  So the pager goes off  and you say, "excuse me, this is my boss, I'll be right back."  One imaginary phone call and one made up work emergency later and you are out of there reasonably clean.  Sure it takes a little bit of planning but isn't it better than having a 'friend' call with an 'emergency?' 

Escape Maneuver #3.  Works every time.  And when I say every time?  I mean once but still...I find myself to be brilliant. ;)

Quote of the Day: Elizabeth Gilbert

 Every time I go downtown in Gainesville, I find myself being a little (or more than a little) judgmental about a lot of the girls / women I see down there.  Then I read this quote and I remember... life is a learning curve.  Some people learn faster than others.  Some people had better role models than others.  I was blessed with amazing, strong, intelligent role models and I'm still figuring it all out.

"What you have to understand is that we live in this time of this radical new social experiment and I think that sometimes we forget how new it is.  And that radical, unprecedented new social experiment is what happens if we give women autonomy , education, finances and control over their sexual biology.  What happens if we give you all this freedom?  What are you going to do with it?  We only have like two decades of role models on how to do that."

- Elizabeth Gilbert

Is it just me?

Is it just me or does Kristin Stewart ALWAYS look naked!?

I mean, I know that she's NOT TECHNICALLY nakie but that's A LOT of legs.

Want to see my head explode?

Do this:

just throw the God damn wrapper AWAY!

(No John Lybargers were injured in the creation of this post.)

The 1st class experience

I feel the need to apologize at the outset as I am drafting this blog more than a little tipsy.  I'll get to the cause of said tipsy-ness shortly but suffice it to say that at present I may have had a few chardonnays (what of it?!) and am feeling a bit chatty.  Rather than bother the fellow with a charming British accent in the fancy seat next to me, I shall inflict it upon you oh gentle reader -- I do hope that you don't mind. 

So, in a random, unanticipated and very appreciated twist of fate I found myself in 1st class on a flight from Chicago to Atlanta.  I might never leave Atlanta once I arrive since we are leaving late, the connection is tight and it is what inevitably happens when Nurse Leslie is not with me, but at least I'm going to get there in a comfy seat with a drink.  (Please note that I did in fact spend the night in the Atlanta airport.)

I have to say that I'm of a mixed mind with this first class thing.  It IS fabu in that I'm thoroughly enjoying myself right now but really that's only because I have the strong comparison of coach class.  Truly, it's an ingenious set up.  It isn't that first class is so staggeringly amazing (objectively, it's not) but that coach is so god damned awful that a little more space and a pillow makes us turn into contented goo.  I shall henceforth be referring to Coach class as Steerage because that's what it really is.  So out of Steerage and into the fancy life, I find myself sipping inexpensive white wine and munching on Sun Chips.  SUN CHIPS PEOPLE!!  A single serving bag of baked multi-grain potato chips are what delineate the fancy from the proletariat on Delta.  My seat is comfier but I think that the main comfort is not having to smell my neighbors deodorant. They have effectively lowered our expectations to such a point that cheap white wine, a faux leather seat and some baked snacks are well, classy.

For the sake of accuracy I have to note that said cheap wine was actually the schmancy wine on the plane.  After my first two glasses the 1st class stash ran low and the stewardess (flight attendant?) had to snag some vino from the poor steerage schmoes who have to pay for their in flight alcohol.  Glass #3 was definitely less refined but after 2 glasses who really cares? 

Oh first class, you're a wannabe wearing designer imposter perfume but when you're tipsy, it just doesn't matter.

There's nothing like a good poop

I bumped into a patient this morning in the hospital.  Having recently had a fairly severe bowel obstruction she gave me some of the best, most truthful advice ever:

"Anna, there's nothing like a good poop."

Amen.