Please visit me!

Yesterday it finally happened. I reached the end of my feigned aloofness rope when the ninety billionth person asked me "are you a REAL blogger? or is it just for fun" I finally asked the question that's been burning a hole in my pockets since "what the heck is the difference?" Apparently, the difference lies in my dedication to getting paid. Shocking.

Getting 'paid' in the theoretical sense for running a blog is surprisingly easy to do. If you're not too profane or inappropriate (which I am apparenlty not) Google AdSense is free and user friendly program that pretty much does it for you. So, because I'm here anyways, since it (probably) can't hurt and because 2010 has officially been dubbed "The Year of a Little Less Conversation, a Little More Action If You Please" I have decided to be a sell out and give it a go. Since I have a whole 5 followers, my expectations in regards to the earning potential of this scheme is well adjusted. I figure by about 2045 I might maybe make $5. But you know what? That's five smackeroos that I didn't have at the end of 2009. I can buy a cup of caffeinated goodness from some other commercialized soulless schmoe working at Starbucks!

So far today, I've made one (1) cent! I'm already ahead of schedule!

So oh gentle readers (most of whom have this blog delivered right to your inbox in my shameless attempts to get you to read it) pleeeeeeeeeeeease oh please would you visit the actual page?

Linkey-poo to the blog page: http://somuchtosay-somuchtosay.blogspot.com/

Most of you already have my undying love and affection, but seriously...this could totally lock that in for all eternity!

Feeling guilty

for raging about EVERYONE ELSE'S lack of consideration yesterday afternoon...only to have EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM be insanely sweet and nice pretty much immediately afterwards.

Blogging Without a Baby

I have a blog.

I do NOT have a baby.

After a quick perusal of the dozen or so blogs after mine on BlogSpot that these two facts are largely incongruous in the blogging world. Apparently a baby is the number one reason to develop a blog these days. I admit it makes sense. Blog = one stop shop for Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Second Cousins and interested friends to keep up with the happenings of a burgeoning family. Not to mention the enjoyment that childless friends glean from reading along in real time as new parents rapidly approach a cliff of sleep-deprived-life-changing insanity then slowly retreat as their new family members learn to sleep for decent stretches of time and poop less often.

Since my blog is not specifically themed to reviewing cookbooks or commenting on politics, and it is not geared towards documenting the development of a newly created human being, it is apparenlty called a "rant and rave" blog. While I like this mode of blogging (I get to write about whatever I'm thinking on any given day) it has caused some concern amongst some people that perhaps I share too much on this blog, that somehow these items will come back to bite me in the ass. I am fully aware that it may.

Do I really share too much?

This assessment disturbs me given how much I DON'T share here, aware as I am that my mother is reading this (hi Mom!) and that since it is on the Internet, it is accessible to my boss, co-workers and just about anyone who cares to look for it. (I have to argue that given the numbers on my visit counter...not many people visit my blog and I'm probably relatively safe at the moment.)

As for concerns of offending those people who cannot fire me...does it really shock anyone who knows me that I am a liberal, feminist with a lot of opinions? Should I really be hiding the fact that, like millions of other women (and men) I struggle with eating and body image issues? That I get angry with our government sometimes or that I'm living with my boyfriend? Are these things to be ashamed of?

My ultimate goal here is not to offend or upset anyone. This is who I am - at least for the moment, and these the things that I think and do and the life that I live. Judge me if you will, but please, easy on the hate mail :)

Not Born to Run

I recently read a really great book called Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen by. Christopher McDougall. It's part adventure novel, part expose on why some people seem to be able to run, run, run, run, run, run, whereas other people develop and are plagued by knee, back, ankle and shin injuries. It's a good read and it got me thinking that you know, maybe this guy is right, maybe I CAN run like that.

Now I remember, no, no I cannot. I'm sitting here with my left leg propped up on my computer tower because my left knee has resumed it's clicking, swelling, aching activities following 1 Zumba class and 1 short run. I'm not even sure that we could call it a run, light jog perhaps.

I'm very tired of you left knee, acting up whenever I start getting into decent shape and have an inkling to run, jump or get down like James Brown. While I primarily wish that you would just plain stop clicking, swelling and aching following any kind of high impact activity, I would be satisfied if you would simply respond to the ice and ibuprofen combo that all trainers, nurses and excercise magazines suggest. If not, well, you're forcing my hand her oh' devilish left knee of mine, I'll just have to go get a pair of robot knees.

Sharkie

They don’t really need to tell you when you start this job that you ought not to get too close to your patients. Even if you’re not familiar with the survival statistics, common sense says “build a wall.” We build these walls out of self preservation, if we were laid low at the death of each patient we’d never get up off the floor. Be this as it may, sometimes when you aren’t looking a patient becomes a friend. This has happened to me twice in the almost two and a half years that I’ve worked here. I lost my friend Charlie almost two years ago, and I lost my friend Sharkie barely two days ago. We miss you already.

Sharkie was one of the first patients that I ever saw receive a bone marrow biopsy and it was awful. He was so sick in so many ways, if I could have left the room I would have but I was stuck in a corner and had to stay. I remember one of our physicians predicting that if he survived the week then he surely wouldn’t survive his first round of chemotherapy. Two weeks later he was feeling and looking better than anyone with newly diagnosed leukemia and receiving cytotoxic drugs has any right too. He ended up making it more than two years. Then again that was Sharkie: contrary in a rather delightful way. 

Sharkie was a truly gentle soul and that soul shone regardless of the seemingly endless rounds of therapy and the months upon months of illness. Even at his most ill he’d always manage a smile when we came into the room to visit. At times this smile was followed by complaints of the evil night shift nurse or wanting to go home, on better days it was whatever dirty joke he had recently heard. A lot of the time it was just a smile though, one that reached his eyes and told you how truly happy he was to see you. 

 

I didn’t see Sharkie on the day that he died. I saw him two days earlier, sitting up, smiling and with more color in his face then he’d had in months. It may have been selfish on my part but that’s how I want to remember him: sitting up, smiling and being mildly annoyed by concerned and hovering family members. I’ll remember him with his long white hair and permanent tan from fishing. I’ll remember his chicken legs and do-rag reclined in the Infusion Room. I’ll remember how excited he was to see his son’s when they came to town and how much he looked forward to fishing with them.

Leslie brought up the other morning an image that made me smile, one of Charlie, waiting for Sharkie at the boarder of this world and wherever it is that we go from here. Had they known each other in life they would have surely enjoyed each other.

To Sharkie, I hope you have found peace. You are dearly missed.

Quote of the Yesterday

"Ah yes, I can still hear her now, right before an exam...excuse me 'en examen' or a 'quizzie', "you are in deep shit Juan!"

- John Lybarger, reminiscing on the unmistakable
teaching style of Dr. Drummond

Oh dear...

I just found out that someone I email fairly regularly at work has a degree in English literature from Harvard. SERIOUSLY!!?! Come on!

The Harvard part doesn't surprise me, I work with a lot of people whose smarty pants have been permanently lacquered to their bottoms, but English Literature?!? This is health care for crying out loud, what are you doing with a Liberal Arts and Science degree?

So not only have a I wasted a good 20 minutes trying to remember if I paid proper attention to spelling, grammar and punctuation in EVERY SINGLE email email I've ever written this person, but I know have developed anxiety for future emails.

All I know for sure is that I will be veeeeery caaarefullly proof reading all emails from here on out.

blogging goes in waves

I have noticed that I blog in waves. There are days when there are just so darn many inconsequential things to ponder and inflict upon you, oh gentle reader, and then there are spans of time in which I fear my brain has atrophied. I have no explanation for this, but since it's been a week or so since I last expounded unnecessarily upon the workings of my life I'll just hit the highlights.

Wes' Pop-Pop, Frank A. Ramsden Sr. passed away last week. I only met him once but in that one meeting realized how much I owe to this man who made the man that I love, who he is. I learned that the liking that I automatically took to him (who wouldn't love someone who calls you a 'beautiful Polish woman' within 30 seconds of meeting?!?) was the rule rather than the exception. He was a brilliant soul and he will be greatly missed by so many people

I officially made it through the Atlanta airport, not once, but TWICE over the course of three days! Dare I venture to hope that the Curse of ATL might be broken??! Or have I just used up all of my good travel karma and now find myself doomed for Christmas?

For the first time ever, I disagree with Dooce. I am a complete fan of using "freaking" and "frickin'" in place of throwing down the f-bomb. Yes - I recognize that everyone knows that I'm really just itching to say FUCK!! But sometimes, an f-bomb just won't do and a "freak!" will.

I've been low carb-ing it for the past two weeks and would like to send out a giant nod of appreciation to everyone who has put up with me during this time of carbohydrate deprivation. Nurse Leslie, Laura and Wes, this means you. I refuse to zero carb it because honestly, a diet in which most fruits and a lot of veggies are off the table just seems counter productive to me. It seems that by making this logical decision I have doomed myself to the slow and steady as opposed to drastic weight loss.

Jen came to visit! She and Andy moved to Charlotte about 4 months ago and we have missed them! Wish that Andy could have come down also but it was great to see Jen again if only for a weekend! COME AGAIN SOOOOON!

I palpated an enlarged spleen! Granted I didn't know at that time what a regular spleen is supposed to feel like but splenomegally (what a great sounding word for a not so great symptom!) is pretty distinctive. All of this was done in the continue endeavor to learn as much as I can Myelofibrosis, yet another disease that I've put on my "do not get" list. Seriously though, if I had known that biology could be this crazy / amazing, I would have taken WAY more of it in college.

I got a Christmas card from Barack and Michelle Obama! Sweeeeeeeeeeeeet!

oh dear this is amazing!

more Muppet Christmas spirit!! Ashleigh, this one is for you!

(mad thanks to Wes for finding this goodness!)

Can't stop laughing at Shiny Suds!

I know that this is supposed to be offensive to my feminist sensibilities...but I just...can't...stop....GIGGLING!!!

Method: Shiny Suds from Kreatif360 on Vimeo.

Quote of the Day:

"It was the fig I was worried about when I heard!! I feeling relief after reading about it that it will probably only screw up my lungs…not the fig’s!"

PSA

Do not go to the hospital.

Do not flush the toilets.

If you must flush the toilets, please make sure that the only thing you place in the toilet is toilet paper.

Do not drink from the water fountains.

Do not drive with a cup of hot coffee between your legs.

This public service announcement has been brought to you by 1/4 of the BMT Clinical Research Staff at the University of Florida

You many now return to your regularly scheduled activities.

Who needs bread!?

Seriously, who needs bread?! Bread is TOTALLY overrated. I mean, think about, I'm sitting here eating straight tuna fish and it tastes just like a tuna sandwich! I totally can't tell the difference at all. Seriously - if I couldn't see what I was eating or sense the fork in my hand, I'd never know the difference.

mmm mmm mmm straight tuna...ooooh yeah!

Thinking...

that I really need to make some roasted, candied walnuts to go in my salad because today's installment of baby spinach, veggies, crasins and left-over grilled pork chop is less than satisfying.

I really need something deep fried but will possibly settled for roasted candied walnuts.

something epic this way comes

I have reached a landmark in my life today. One of those metaphorical road posts that you look back upon and think, "wow - that was a huge step."

Today, this seventh day of December, two thousand and nine, I, Anna Kukulka did hereby eat a salad for lunch AND enjoyed it.

My incorrigible appetite has been not only quelled but satisfied with nothing more than spinach, romaine lettuce, cucumbers, green pepper, grilled chicken and feta cheese.

I would like a round of applause please. :)

Still giggling...

about the 10 and 2

It's still great....

We played a good season

You can't win 'em all.

Proud of our boys for making it as far as they did

and still DAMN PROUD

TO BE

A FLORIDA GATOR!!!

Don't pee!! There's a man standing there!

I used to LOVE Ally McBeal when I was in high school. While my inability to follow TV shows with any regularity has of late been attributed to my recent two year stint sans cable I was equally as apathetic in high school. I did however have an affinity for Ally. Perhaps it was her tendency to dance inappropriately to the songs in her head. I do that too. More likely it was a latent crush on Robert Downy Junior. Drug addiction, schmug addiction, that man's rendition of Joni Mitchell's "River" STILL makes my knees a-tremble. It may have even been the idea of a unisex bathroom, as an adolescent chica this intrigued me.

I have never considered myself to be prudish. Maybe I am biased in this assumption but I do have a number of irrefutable facts on my side. Fact number one on my side is the fact that even at the ripe old age of 26 I am still unendingly amused by fart and poop jokes. (Reading about "The 10 and 2" is up against that pecan-less tart that Leslie just tempted me with as the high point of my week.) Fact number two is that I persist in referring to said jokes as "poop jokes" not "shit jokes." Poop sounds funnier than shit. Numero tres: I think whoopie cushions are an entirely valid form of comedy. Fact number 4:I love me some Kevin Smith and applaud his ability to write a best selling autobiography that is 90% a synopsis of his bowel movements. My point you ask? I don't think that I'm prudish BUT I do have limitations. While I find it A-mazing that my sister and her husband seem to function on the premise "the family who farts together stays together," I am not that girl. I am not that girl nor can I bring myself to number 1, much less number 2 with the bathroom door open. Some things in life should remain sacred and unless I'm in the hospital having my I's and O's tracked, sacred shall these things remain.

Still, the fact that bathrooms are stratified by gender seems to me an odd concept, while not seeming odd at all. Are there any reasons beyond members of the male persuasion generally making bigger and (usually) smellier poops than women and their overall lack of aim when peeing, that we cannot pee and poop in cross-gendered harmony?

I ask these questions because of a situation that arose at work today. The person who cleans the bathrooms in my office is a young Hispanic man, who I will call Pete. Every afternoon he hangs a sign on the door to the women's bathroom saying "Closed for Cleaning." I always assumed that this was for his own convenience because really, who wants to clean two feet from where someone else is pooping? No I and I assumed not he. So, having finished off my second liter of water this morning I went to the bathroom and upon exiting my stall found myself face to face with Pete. Apparently I had slipped in unnoticed while he was waiting for the bathroom to vacate so that he could clean it. The sheer HORROR on Pete's face when he saw me was astounding, I even tried my most charming smile to alleviate the panic that was spreading across his face but it didn't seem to make a difference. We, two members of the opposite sex had been in the same vicinity while I was peeing!!! I gave a quick check to make sure that I had in fact pulled my pants back up, I didn't have gobs of boogeys hanging from my nose and that I hadn't grown fangs in the past 10 seconds. Nada. The only option remaining was to say "lo ciento," lavarme las manos and get out. This seems to alleviate his concerns, but geeze, am I missing something?

Miss you already!

One of my favorite co-workers' last day was yesterday. :(


So in remembrance of Katie's stint with the Mean Girls in BMT Research, I thought it only fitting to share two of my favorite Katie pics.



Good luck Katie, we miss you already!!

Wondering...

What WOULDN'T I give to have my very own Diet Coke fountain at home?

Not much short of murder is currently coming to mind.

I'll never understand what God was about when 4 years ago the rat-bastard commies who run UF contracted with Pepsi, forever banning all Coca-Cola products from my place of education and eventually work.

Rock on Muppets

Nothing says "happy holidays" quite like listening to the Muppet's sing Silent Night in German with John Denver.

There's just nothing like Miss Piggy. Nothing

Charlie Brown Christmas Tree

I purchased my first Christmas tree ever yesterday. That I am 26 years old and by all accounts a Christmas fanatic, this fact surprises me.

The past few years Meredith and I had Charlie, the Potted Holiday Plant, which can be best described as a tree-like-Christmas decoration.
Charlie the Potted Holiday Plant --->

As you can see he is a tad unfortunate looking, but all the more endearing for said squirrelly-ness. Additionally Charlie was non-denominational, impressively resilient and environmentally friendly. Even if you are feeling generous enough to classify Charlie as a Christmas tree, alas we did not purchase Charlie ourselves, he was a gift from Georgia.

Prior to Charlie the Potted Christmas Plant, tree's magically appeared in (and disappeared from) the living room of my parents' house for my decorating enjoyment. (Thanks Mama!)

This year however, I decided to pull my big girl pants on, one leg at a time, and get a live Christmas tree all of my own. On the recommendation of several more experienced tree purchasers I tooled down to Pam's tree lot last night in search of the small, festive fir tree that now sits in my living room. It took me all of 2 minutes to pick out my slightly lopsided but very friendly looking Christmas tree - thus prompting Al (the tree salesman) to comment that it usually takes women FOREVER to pick out trees.

It is by such comments that my list of stereotypical differences between the sexes continues to grow. This particular one is ranked rather low on the list in terms of utility, I don't really know where in life I will throw down the "women take longer to pick out Christmas trees!" fun fact. I did however, recently read (location unknown) that after being shown a plate of their favorite food and having had it removed, men forget about it within about 20 minutes while women continue to think about it for up to 5 hours. According to the study, this explains why men find it 'easier' to diet then women.

While I often take issue with generalities and stereotypes, I am 100% in favor of any 'fact' that reinforces my claim that it's harder for me to adjust my eating habits than for Wes to adjust his. Clearly, I am up against a biological obstacle. Recent events have only furthered my conviction that this particular gender discrepancy is correct.

Following the No Carbohydrate Left Behind Tour that I took in November, I decided that my organs would greatly appreciate a month or so of extra healthy eating. So on Sunday I took myself to the grocery store and stocked up on all sorts of tasty looking fruits and vegetables. Monday was Day 1 of no bread, pasta, rice or any amazing starchy, carbohydrate-y goodness and supristingly it wasn't so bad. I had some tasty foods and went to bed feeling MUCH less loogey than I had in weeks. I thought that perhaps the not-so-terribleness was my body saying, "yes please!" I was SO wrong. I woke up this morning having dreamed, (yes you heard me right:DREAMED) of eating golden, crispy, salty delicious french fries.

One day, ONE day, ONE FREAKING DAY of healthy eating drove me to dream of fried food. My emotional attachment to french fries / my psychological opposition to dieting is apparently far more developed than I had previously thought.

Pink Gloves - courtesy of Kristin :)

visit: www.somuchtosay-somuchtosay.blogspot.com to see the funsies :)

Why Kate Moss and I aren't BFF

The number one reason why Kate Moss and I would not get along:


"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." -- Kate Moss, revealing her life motto


If only I had this entirely healthy and rational attitude towards food I too could have this rockin' bod -->

Can't stop laughing at:

This song :)

Sok0 - I'll Kill Her

*For those of you who get this by email, you might have to visit the actual blog to see the video :)

www.somuchtosay-somuchtosay.blogspot.com

Adventures in Cohabitation: Volume 1

WB and I have been cohabitating for almost a whole month now. (Ashleigh - I do realize 'cohabitating' is not a word though I beg your indulgence for the purpose of this and possibly future blogs.) Given that lengthy period of time, I have decided that I am DEFINITELY an expert on the matter, thus dethroning Carrie Underwood from this lofty self-appointed seat. Ms. Underwood has come out strongly against cohabitation lately, stating multiple times that she will not "live with anyone else unless they're my hubby...I find it offensive..."* Thankfully I am not required to live by Ms. Underwood's code of ethics and since i find the term "hubby" offensive, we're even, and now I'm taking your soapbox!


Thankfully, this cohabitation adventure has been relatively non-traumatic thus far (knock on wood.) Our stickiest wicket, if you could call it that, has been television watching, or rather my lack of regard for television watching. Two years sans cable has left me rather ambivalent towards TV watching while WB suffers no such indifference. In short order I have gone from no cable, to my very own personal DVR cable box - it's very shi-shi!

It may have been mentioned in a previous blog that I like to talk. Sadly for WB there is something about watching TV that makes me want to talk EVEN MORE. I can sit silently on the couch reading a book for hours (okay not hours, maybe minutes) but turn on a TV and I've suddenly remembered EVERYTHING that I wanted to tell you! This may be the product of the past two years in which Meredith and I literally watched the same 3 things over, and over, and OVER and OVER. (If you ever need a synopsis of Juno, any of the 8 seasons of West Wing or Across the Universe...I'm your girl. ) So when you've already seen something a hundred times, talking through it, reading through it, cleaning through it really isn't a big deal since it's mostly only on for background noise anyways. Since the advent of my cohabitation with WB I have observed that part of the appeal of television is novelty. Shows are different EVERY SINGLE week, unless of course they are syndicated, but the only real reason for watching a syndicated episode is if you missed it on its first run. Apparently TV's are more multifaceted than just background noise apparatuses and normal people don't re-watch things one hundred times over. This would explain why I get odd looks for reading with the TV on. Then again it could be the same phenomenon that drives my sister to crack my toes when I'm contentedly reading with my feet up on the couch, essentially: love. Regardless, If it weren't for DVR and the ability to pause I would probably be in distinct danger of being garroted.

I actually found myself getting stressed out by my DVR the other night. I was looking through the list of shows that I had recorded thinking, "OH MY GOD! There's so many! When am I going to find time to watch them all before I run out of space and have to delete some!" This is equally as odd as when I found myself trudging towards our room thinking, "man, I HAVE to watch So You Think You Can Dance, I've put it off long enough...sigh..." Now this is not a normal TV watching mentality and, in my humble opinion, being STRESSED by your recorded TV shows is the epitome of ridiculousness! Thus, I turned the TV off and went back to reading my book, which is what I wanted to do in the first place. I have been told by a friend that dedicating a whole day of watching recorded shows can alleviate the stress brought on by and overcrowded DVR but I'm pretty sure that my soul might shrivel up and die if I dedicated a whole day each week to such at thing.

The return of cable to my life has has another massive effect on my life: it has removed my excuse for inexplicable and hypocritical disapproval of most reality shows. (example: I find "The Bachelor" to be asinine and watching it to be on the same miseray scale as watching FOX news, but I still harbor a love for "Flava of Love" and "Dr.Drew's Sex Rehab.") Previously someone would ask me, "hey have you seen (fill in the blank with the name of a TV show" and I would say "oh no, I don't have cable!" I don't get to say that any more which is a pity because "oh no, I just don't really care" doesn't sound quite as socially acceptable.

So now you all know the truth, WB and I have disparate television watching habits. This could spell absolutely relationship disatster. Gee...I really hope that our relationship can survive this... ;)


* Please note that the Carrie Underwood quote has been abridged and taken ENTIRELY out of context for the purpose of this blog :)

oh Sally, that girl!

You may have gleaned from recent posts that I have come down with yet another cold. While granted this most recent cold seems to have struck in suspiciously close proximity to the Phoenix-Funk and while it may currently seem as if I have been sick forever, prior to this I never really thought I got more colds than the average human being. I retrospect I do seem to have gravitated towards careers that cavalierly place me directly in the war path of malignant bacteria and virus': middle schools, high schools and hospitals.

So while I have always been under the assumption that I'm a reasonably healthy individual with a virile immune system I have to face certain facts.

Fact #1: I am the only person in my office with their own bottle of hand sanitizer goo on their desk. Not only do I have my own bottle but I find the scent of said goo oddly comforting which in turn leads to a disconcerting habit of smelling my own hands.

Fact#2: My medicine drawer at home is stocked with cold medicine, and when I say stocked, I mean I could probably treat most of my neighborhood with my arsenal. I don't know that normal people have so much stuff on hand at any given time, though in my defense, WB did have to go purchase tissues for me since those were not stockpiled.

Fact #3: significantly more than one person has asked me recently "why is it you seem to catch every funk that goes around?" Usually it's just my Mom (hi Mama!) who asks that and I've always attributed it to her more than average consternation for my health and well being.

Now, if I accept these truths to be, well, true. Then far more concerning than catching a few colds and ick, is the possibility that I am at distinct risk of becoming THAT girl.

You know this girl. While it rages against my finer feminist sensibilities, it's almost always a girl. In the event that it's not a girl, it's generally a gay guy.

With THIS girl though it's ALWAYS something. ALWAYS something. She has a headache, a cold, an ear ache, an infected toenail, menstrual cramps or a swollen lymph node. She's inexplicably nauseated by all smells, but she's can't be pregnant because she also has a badder infection and is allergic to latex. She hasn't slept in weeks thanks to a recent bout of insomnia. She has horrible stomach pains and hasn't been able to eat in over a week (except the McDonald's Sausage biscuit you saw her eat for breakfast and the empty chicken and rice container on their desk...no no, you didn't see them eat that!) She's the person you've stopped asking "how are you" because unlike most people, her Mama never taught her that that question is one that you lie to!

So I have begun to practice with myself. ("So Anna, how are you today!" "I'm doing wonderfully well!" ) Sadly, the truth of the matter is that my inner smart ass just can't stay gone and 'wonderfully well' more often than not turns into inner monologue accent practice. ("VOONDERFULY VELL, and JOoo?") After all, it's always great fun to have an array accents ready for whenever you need them to spice up those times that you're trapped in your own head.

Who says poetry isn't inspired by pain and suffering??

O snot of my nose! A glorious dose

of NyQuil or Quill of the day

and yet I do knows, O snot of my nose

you cannot be blown away!

O snot of my nose, O grody green goo

I give notice that we must part

right here and now I bid you adieu

for to blow anymore, well, it smarts!

Oh snot of my nose

I blow and blow and I bLOw, BloW, BLOW

I JUST WANT TO BREATHE!!!

There is SO something wrong here

After careful consideration I have come to the conclusion that my immune system has gone MIA.

Clearly ImmuneSystem's loyalty has been compromised by Metabolism, whose absenteeism and lack of cooperativeness have been notable since I was about 10 years old. I've known for a while that Metabolism would ultimately have a negative impact on it's coworkers and low and here were are, ImmuneSystem which is either boycotting or on vacation. This departure has left me vulnerable to the ravages of every sniffly-snotty cold or flu-like illness that I come across. I am not okay with this and have lodged a complaint on the grounds that I wash my hands compulsively (thanks Mom!), take my vitamins, sleep sufficient amounts and excercise regularly. I feel as if I am doing my part and it's clearly time for ImmuneSystem to return from whatever lovely beach it is probably frolicking on with Metabolism.

In the mean time I am drinking tea and eating soup since that's about all that my throat is willing to permit. Which brings me to my point, there is something SO wrong with the saltine crackers sold in the cafeteria. They're oddly yeasty tasting and, dastardly to think much less type this: too salty. I know, I've betrayed my salt lovin' roots but IT'S TRUE!

<-- These suckers are supremely grody sherody. It ought to be criminal to ruin a good saltine cracker they way that they have. Nabisco Saltine, they ain't!

Now I understand that 'branding' as in brand names is largely pointless in most categories. In terms of medications, it's FDA regulated, thus Wal-itin is more or less exactly the same as Claritin. Toilet paper, paper towels, glass cleaner, mustard etc. you might as well save the dime and get store brand. Ketchup (Heinz! and especially not any brand that calls it katsup) coffee creamer, maple syrup etc. all make the "worth the extra dime" category in my mind. Add to that list:
Nabisco - I salute you for providing the world of sick people and bland food lovers alike with a crispy, leavened, and perfectly salty cracker.

Can't Stop Listening To:

I hate to see you cry
Lying there in that position
There's things you need to hear
So turn off your tears and listen

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No, it won't all go away, it should
But I know the heart of life is good

You know it's nothing new
Bad news never had good timing
Then the circle of your friends
Will defend the silver lining

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No, it won't all go away, it should
But I know the heart of life is good

(Whistle Interlude)

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
Fear is a friend who's misunderstood
But I know the heart of life is good

I know it's good

This morning...

Cast of Characters:
- Old Guy: random old guy wearing velcro sneakers in the parking lot
- Hurt Guy: middle aged guy with this arm in a sling and limping with the aid of a crutch

Old Guy: old lady beat you up?

Hurt Guy: yup...guess when she says no, she really means no. (*sigh)


I love it when eavesdropping pays of!

Veterans Day

I find myself feeling rather guilty this Veterans Day. Guilt that I have tried to assuage by becoming fluent on the historical significance of Veterans day.

Veterans Day (no apostrophe grammar nerds, the official spelling is that of the attributive form, not the possessive) has only existed as we know it since 1954. Prior to 1954 Veterans Day was known as Armistice Day and was in honor of the end of The Great War. In`1954, knowing all too well that The Great War hadn't in fact been "the war to end all wars" and that the generation of men who had fought at the behest of their country in 1914 wouldn't be the last that warranted a day of remembrance and honor, a shoe salesman (and WWII veteran) named Al King began lobbying for Armistice Day to celebrate more than just World War One. So Eisenhower expanded Wilson's holiday to encompass ALL veterans, expanding those honored but keeping the sentiment the same.

Why Veterans Day is celebrated on November 11th is surprisingly poetic, it coincides with the signing of the Armistice by Germany in 1918: the 11th hour, of the 11th day, of the 11th month. I'm always surprised to find poetry in anything associated with the government, thus I was not surprised to find that in 1971 the government moved Veterans Day from the 11th to the 4th Monday in October for the sake of 'consistency.' Thank all that is holy that someone came to their senses 7 years later and moved it back to the 11th.

I am running low on history here and before I get to the guilt that I am trying to assuage, I'd like to take a moment to appreciate those who serve in our military. While I may not agree with or admittedly understand the whys and hows of armed conflict, that doesn't mitigate the sacrifice these men and women make. In recent years their service has been voluntary, but again that doesn't mitigate their service, a service that is rendered faithfully and often thanklessly. Thank you.

The guilt that I am struggling with at the moment is not due to a lack of appreciation for the soldiers, but rather an outrage with the institutions that wage these wars. The psychological and psycho-social ramifications of war upon the men and women who fight in them, have been well documented to range anywhere from mild anxiety disorders to incapacitating PTSD and debilitating depression. The Vietnam War is notorious not only because of the social opposition it inspired in Americans, but more significantly because of the marginalization of it's veterans once it was over. The lack of social and psychological support for these veterans combined with a society desperate to forget, resulted in thousands of soldiers who were unable to assimilate back into mainstream culture being disparaged and forgotten. It's amazing how human beings are capable of so much, but learning from our mistakes is clearly not something we excel at.

The scandals associated with this current war in the Middle East just keep coming: poor medical care, faulty personal armor and protective gear, insufficient information and abuses of power. We never learn. Veterans Day is not meant to be the ONLY day of the year that we express our appreciation and when you're trying to show anything, specifically gratitude, actions speak louder than words.

So today (yes, I am going to go here) I would like to send a recognition of Major Nidal Malik Hassan out to the Universe. He brought unmentionable pain and suffering upon his peers at Fort Hood last week when he open-fired in the middle of the cafeteria. (Technically he is still being referred to as a suspect but lets face it, he held the gun and while innocent until proven guilty we can all but assume that it was he who fired it.) He is a soldier and a psychiatrist who was charged with caring for his fellow soldiers mental stability in combat, but who was watching out for him? This is a soldier whose ability to cope was failing and who tried time and time again to not be sent back to Afghanistan - only to be refused and told that his services were still needed. It doesn't excuse or explain what he did and it doesn't atone for the additional suffering that he has inflicted on more American soldiers and their families. Still I have to ask, how did he slip through the cracks? How was he able to become so desperate, so unhinged and so unable to differentiate between right and wrong?

Even more distressing in my mind than a disturbed soldier slipping SO FAR through the cracks that such a tragedy was possible, it the reaction that we as a society have had to it. Had he been a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, white Baptist from Omaha, we would be mourning this tragedy and examining the course of events that led up to it. Instead we are condemning, feeding hysteria, prejudice and intolerance. I get that the facts have to be looked at in light of what we are and not distorted by what we wish we were. I know that no matter how distasteful it might be to our finer sentiments, given our current situation his religion and ethnicity may very well be pertinant. To drag these facts over the coals of sensationalism and to re-enervate old, very tenuously based and ultimately disproved claims of disloyalty does not make it any less of a tragedy and is despicable. Look at the facts yes, search for answers but let us not forget that what we already know: the ravages of war do not stop with the casualties of armed conflict. His Arab heritage does not by default, exclude us from taking part of the blame upon ourselves.

Macabre bizzareness

Every time I read a medical note that refers to the patient as "unfortunate" I pause for a moment, mildly perplexed yet amused. Granted, it's always been a valid use of the noun. I personally would consider being diagnosed with cancer to be, at the very least, an unfortunate turn of events. I too would term him/her as an "unfortunate X year old with refractory acute leukemia."

Still, this phrasing never fails to stand out as the first and last language in the note that in any way humanizes the patient, thence forth returning to the common practice of referring to patients as spoiled dairy products (e.g. expired.)

Makes me shake my head in perplexity and amusement every single time.

This morning...

The song track to my life...this morning :)


The Beatles - Here Comes the Sun

The Airborne Toxic Event - Gasoline

Sister Hazel - Life Got in the Way

Madcon - Beggin'

Hypnophonic - Mediocre Miss

Paul Simon - Me and Julio Down By the School Yard

Now cheese too?!?

I have to admit that I was not shocked upon watching Fast Food Nation to find that fully cooked food that can be procured a.) without getting out of the car and b.) in under 3 minutes is not good for me. I found the sudden wave of righteous indignation that hit the vast majority of the United States to be comparable to the outrage that swept the female half my 6th grade class when they found out what was actually in hot dogs. (What? You're surprised that the tan colored, homogenous meat finger that doesn't need to be cooked before eating isn't 100% organically raised lean beef and pork?) Seriously, we've all found pristine looking McDonalds french fries in our cars months after our last visit to the Golden Arches, did it really take a movie to point out that they hadn't bio-degraded? Let's get serious mister.

What I would like to know, is when cheese, of all things, became an unhealthy food. Since when does eating healthily exclude cheese! It's calcium rich, it's protein packed and it's, um...delicious! Just think of all that we would miss out on without cheese!! What would a caprese salad be without the fresh mozzarella? Why would we even bother to remember the French if it weren't for brie? If there weren't stinky cheeses, what would we say when someone toots? What would we put on crackers? Would Wisconsin even exist? Not to mention Italy which might shrivel up and cease to function upon finding out that cheese had become a no-no. What will Winos do for funsies while they drink? Next thing you now they'll be taking away yogurt!

I for one am ready to take a stand. I am not okay with slandering cheese's good name with accusations of being unhealthy and detrimental to our health.

WHOSE WITH ME!?!?

Zumba! Zumba!

One of the things that I love most about Zumba class is that if you look around about half way though, you just know that everyone is thinking the same thing: "I'm a little bit awesome right now."

Halleluja! The world is right again!

I'm a fan of snuggling. For this reason I am very grateful that the weather has becoming vaguely chilly, no matter how fleeting it may be.

I am also a fan of communicating. I may be one of the worlds most communicable life forms. I like to talk, chat, shoot the shit, catch up, explain, argue, teach etc. Pretty much any activity that lets me motor my mouth is a go. I have a Facebook page that my sister (hi E!) claims I update to much, but I call shenanigans. One can never post too many pithy, pointless status updates. (One CAN however over-share, thus: 86 any vague intuits towards depression, bowel movements, sexual dysfunction of any kind and passive aggressiveness in general.) And for when 108 characters just isn't enough to purvey my opinion, I have this blog in which I get to ramble and expound for paragraphs at a time, effectively without censor!

Writing may be one of my most favorite means of communication because all those coulda-shoulda-woulda saids that I can never manage to think of in the middle of a debate or argument, inevitably find themselves fully formed and far more dauntingly articulated with the use of the backspace key and a good thesaurus. Towards this end I am generally in favor of making up words when the current lexicon doesn't provide one that accurately portrays what you are trying to communicate. I mean, truly, where would I be without the terms groundation ((v.) the act of being grounded), Butt-muppet ((n.) someone who acts as a puppet for someone else, as in they have a hand up their ass controlling their mouth see also) and ass-hat?!? What I DO have a problem with, is twisting an already fully sufficient word for no good reason. I just don't see the point in gross malapropism. Thus, we have reached my point:

In recent hours I have had my faith in human semantics restored not once, but TWICE! Apparently well spoken / written English is not only not dead, but it's still flippin' awesome!

I must plead guilty to having made fun of President George W. Bush on numerous occasions for his inability to speak the language that he a.) grew up speaking and b.) is the language of the country he "ran" for 8 years. Yes, I've done it more than once but I do try to let that oh so very dead horse lie. Still, I was bereft upon learning that some of his Bush-isms were being considered as candidates for Websters annual additions to their dictionary, specifically the term "misunderestimated." Seriously people? I know that this term waw spoken by a US President but that doesn't make it correct or necessary! The definition is on Google, is that not enough! Yet, low and behold, there may be a divine being: "Misunderestimated" is NOT being considered by Websters!

The second moment of this week in which I had my faith in the English language restored was actually just a reminder of something I already knew: "smegma" is ACTUALLY a real word. I had always assumed that it fell under the category of invented out of necessity like "Shaganasty" and "Yahoo." It doesn't. It's a real word, it's in the dictionary. Now, I wouldn't necessarily suggest going and looking it up in the closest medical dictionary but rest assured, it means pretty much what you think it means. To make this even better, it can be an adjective to: smegmaitc! If that isn't awesome, I don't know what is.

The Pheonix Chapter

ahhh....blog sweet blog, how I've missed thee!

I noticed today that it's been over twenty days since I've last blogged. 20 DAYS!!?!?! Now, I know that I've have blog worthy thoughts over the past twenty days but I've been quite remiss in sharing them with you oh-so loyal yet forced readers. (Please do note that I appreciate the enthusiasm that each of you muster when I call to berate you for not having commented recently :) Who says that blogging should be free from familial and friendly obligation, complete with a steaming helping of guilt?)

I went the Pheonix, Arizona earlier this month for a work conference. Of note, Phenoix is great for my hair. I felt (and still feel) sufficiently ashamed and embarassed that my first reaction to Pheonix was of all things, hair related. Seriously, I'm usually not quite this superficial or girly. Thankfully, my shame only lasted until the welcome dinner where everyone else with more than three inches of hair was also singing the praises of the arid climate.

Also of note from Pheonix, non-Gators REALLY REALLY HATE THE GATORS. I am, admittedly, a lack-luster Gator fan. I watch the games, but in large part because there's usually food and beer and fun people hanging out during them. I prefer for us to win but really, when all is said and done, it doesn't ruin my week if we loose. According to my friend Stoove, I can be most accurately described as a "non-fan." All this aside, the minute I leave Florida an interesting phenomenon occurs: I become a RABID Gator fan. I abandon all color matching common sense and wear my Orange and Blue with reckless abandon, I seek out games and...wait for it...actually watch them. So, I sought out the hotel bar, ordered some fancy libations (a bottle of Pino Noir all for moi!) and settled in to watch game. I ended up being the only Gator fan in the whole bar, LSU fans yes, but even people who weren't LSU fans would come in and say: "oh, well, it'd just be good to see Florida loose." Eeek. Still, I flew the Orange and Blue and even got to do the happy dance when Florida kicked some LSU booty!

So Phenoix was lovely, from the dry, cool weather, to the Gator win to the fancy schmancy Ritz Carleton they put me up in. When the soap in your hotel room is nicer than the soap in your own bathroom you know that you've been out-fancied. The flight home now, well, that was less than enjoyable.

Some people travel well, things just sort of fall into place and they get to where there going with very little too-doo. I'm not one of those people. I roll with the punches pretty well, delays and cancellations I can usually deal with, but sometimes the punches come from further out than left field. So there I sat in my window seat, reading Twilight on my Kindle (thanks baby!) and just ahead of me I can hear a little kid amping up for an epic temper tantrum. The book seriously came out of nowhere, well not really nowhere, it came from the hand of an autistic little boy flipping his lid in the row ahead of me, but as far as my forhead was concerned it came out of no where. Two barf bags, disgusting closeness with a couple of airport , an interminable jump from Charlotte to Gainesville next to man whose breath smelled like poo and one CT scan later it was confirmed: mild concussion. A mile concussion. Some punches like delays, rude flight attendants and turbulance I can roll with, punches like a concussion? That's just a punch that I never saw coming.

In the end though, I made it home :)

Random Reason that I love Ashleigh

me: it may have taken all day, but the people around me have triumphed and infected me with their crankiness and then, having cast it off on to me, moved on to being happy

Ashleigh: bastards

Now THAT is a true friend.

May be crazier than she appears

Why is it that when I trying to explain my logic to someone I am inevitably struck by the fact that I am neurotic and perhaps a little crazier than I may appear at first glance?

It seemed totally normal to select my vending machine snack of Jalapeño potato chips
based on the knowledge that after half of the bag my mouth starts to burn and I begin to sneeze uncontrollably. I assume that this is because of the jalapeño flavored chemical powder that deliciously coats each chip. Regardless, I usually can only finish 1/2 of the snack-size baggie due to the burn-y sneeze-y-ness. Given that I can put down a full sized bag of Classic Lays with reckless abandon and disregard for my arteries, that the chip itself can portion regulate for me is a pro on my list!

What? is this not a rational way to choose one's snack?

I like to sweat the small stuff

After many a sleepless night and many a bottle of red wine, I have concluded that life, insomuch as it pertains to impact, purpose and worth, it is all about the small stuff.

A friend of mine recently blogged about the rarity of true genius. Not aptitude, skill or talent, but the kind of genius that crosses generational, racial, cultural and social barriers. Like Aaron Sorkin. We all kind of dream of being this person: spectacular and extraordinary, capable of setting the world on fire with our voice/research/writing/art etc. We all hope that somehow our passion will incite the change we hope to see in this world. Knowing full well that the odds are against it, we all hope to be a rich and world famous teacher/CPA/systems analyst etc.

So while we all aspire to these lofty heights, I've come to believe that it isn't about genius so much. Hell, people have called Kanye West a lyrical genius and we all know where I stand on that: asshat. The times I have felt the best have not been accompanied by bells and whistles or rampant applause and camera flashes. (Well...okay that's NEVER happened, so I suppose it's a bad comparator but stick with me anyways :) ) They're usually quiet and inconspicuous moments, truth be told they usually border on mundane.

Example #1: Charlie. Charlie was a friend of mine who got very very sick and died about a year and half ago. While we originally only stopped by to see him every day because it was part of our jobs, we kept visiting long after it was no longer required. 5 to 10 minutes, once a day - that's all I did. A small enough thing, but I will never forget holding his hand two days before he died, semi-conscious in a merciful drug induced haze, he squeezed my fingers. I was there. He knew that I was there. It made all the difference.

Example #2: Old Lady at the Bagel Place. Wondie-ful Boyfriend and I went to get bagels the other morning and I was laughing as I filled up my Diet Coke from the fountain. I don't know why, WB just cracks me up sometimes. I turned to find a table and an older woman in a wheelchair caught my eye and gestured me over saying "you have a wonderful laugh, don't ever stop." I smiled, said thank you and went to find a table. 15 seconds. I kept smiling all day.

Example #3: My friend Ashleigh teaches infant swim lessons, check it out, it's super cool. She has more chance than most people I know to truly set the world on fire with what she does. Still, it's the small thing: teaching one kid to swim, to float, to save themselves if they fall into deep water. There are billions of kids on the planet, but saving one, is in and of itself HUGE.

So, three points don't exactly make a case, I know. We all want to make in impact on the world as a whole, make peace in the middle east, shatter glass ceilings and break down racial barriers. The people who have done those things? They probably didn't know at the time, it's only in retrospect that we can understand the full impact of our actions, and living for what you'll see in retrospect just seems like a bit of a waste of time. It's like that Progressive Insurance commercial, you never know how far one small act of kindness will travel.

QotD

"Life is short so you better enjoy it, instead of being so goddamn ungrateful all the time."

-- Kat Williams

Today was a very good day

Sometimes in the middle of day, you think "this is a very good day." Then you immediately put your head down and try like hell not to tempt fate. Since today is coming to a close, or at least I am in for the night with a full tummy, a glass of wine, Wondie-full Boyfriend and good friends, I am reasonably confident in declaring: today was a very good day. :)

Today was a very good day. :)

Wondering..

On a sadness scale of 1 - 10, 10 being the utmost of pathetic, how sad is it that I just almost garroted myself with my necklace?

Dear Peppridge Farm Truck

Could you please not park your truck with the GIGUNDO picture of an ooey, gooey delicious looking chocolate chip something-nut cookie outside my office every single morning?!?

coooookie!

Why I want to be CJ Cregg

I have a bit of an overzealous love of the now defunct show, The West Wing. Watching re-runs on dvd is perhaps my favorite rainy day/ Sunday/ evening activity and quotes from said show account for approximately 50% of all facebook status'. I may or may not have developed an inappropriate attachment to the characters given that they don't actually exist. But really people, how can you not love a show that lists "logistically impractical to enforce" next to "constitutionally illegal" as reasons why throwing out all US laws in favor of the 10 commandments is a bad idea!??

C.J. Cregg is the only female member of the faux Senior Staff in the faux President Jedidiah Bartlett's administration and I want to be her. She's tall and leggy, which as a short person I find to be worthy of envy all on it's own.

She's strong, smart and incredibly well spoken. I've always wanted to be able to not only ZING! but to ZING! intelligently. I've never been a ZING!-y debater, I guess I just don't have the gift of measured ZING! I've been told that the feeling of triumph and smugness following a truly inspired ZING! is less...say...satisfying than I might imagine. Regardless, CJ is definitely ZING!-y in a perfectly zippy yet not inappropriate or overly offensive way. If only Aaron Sorkin would script my life - then I could be well informed and ZING-y too.

She is professional and formidable by day but fabulous in an evening dress.

She gets super riled up over women's rights and smiles when called a "shizta feminista."

She loves Goldfish crackers.

She has emotions but she's not emotional.

She isn't a member of boy's club, but she's still the person they all want as a friend more than anyone else.

While I want to be tall, lanky and fabulous in evening gowns, I a recognize the futility. Witty, zingy, balanced, formidably smart yet incredibly endearing? I'm workin' on it.

Attack of the Freaky Flying Florida Cockroaches II

This is the first significant attack since the infamous Cockroach Shower Incident last year. I attribute this lull in hostilities to my own constant vigilance. There’s just no substitute for assiduously sweeping all shower and sleep areas for these nasty creatures before entering to prevent physical or psychological harm to oneself. Constant vigilance was working…clearly it wasn’t enough.

There I lay on the couch: cozy, full and drowsy with my feet propped on Wonderful Boyfriend’s lap.

Wonderful Boyfriend: are you falling asleep?

Me: mmmmmm

WB: Do you want to go to bed?

M: hrum...mmmmm

I was continuing to lounge when something, much like a piece of wadded up paper swiped the side of my head. In my comfort induced haze I wondered: “why would WB throw paper at me for not really answering a question he knows damn well I probably won’t answer? Where did he get the paper from? And man…that was a pretty impressive hook shot to hit me on my far ear…”

Cranky because my powers of deduction have been overpowered, I sat up, opened my eyes and immediately all warm fuzzies were gone: a giant, shiny, disease carrying cockroach is chilling out on my left boob/shoulder area.

Overwhelmed with disgust I let out the hybrid gasp-shriek that is reserved for finding strange people hiding closets and cockroach encounters. This noise, as usual, had it's desired effect of getting WB's attention as I clearly could not be expected to touch the foul thing that was currently besmirching the shoulder of my dress.

Seizing up the situation remarkably fast given that the warm, comfy, full fuzzies had descended upon him as well, WB threw all caution to the wind and snatched that bugger off my shirt, threw it on the floor and walloped it with a coffee table.

Since my gratitude was inherent in the cessation of screaming, I hightailed it to the shower to scrub my shoulder with carbolic soap and the hardest bristled brush I could find. As I went I heard the following transpire from behind me:

“What?!?!” (WOMP!!)

“JESUS!!!” (WOMP!!)

(Sound of the couch being moved) “ …what the hell?!??”

I don’t want to know.

I love...

The Snoopy Dance

Monday Observations

1.) Staring at some inspirational poster with kittens at 8 am while some quack in scrubs masquerading as a Gynecologic Oncologist takes a hole-punch to your cervix is a less than ideal way to begin a week.

2.) "It's only a smaaaaall pinch" line only works the first time before I know better than to doubt you... by the 9th time, I know you're lying.

3.) If the loudest part of your laugh is the inhale, please understand that I am most likely laughing AT YOU. It's not personal - I promise

4.) When your four year old son pipes up from the backseat on the way to pre-school and says "freak me more!" It's probably time to re-think the music you listen to with him in the car. :)

5.) In the event that you do not want to place your phone on mute because it gives you great personal satisfaction to know that we are all listening to your snarfly breathing, you MAY, just may, want to refrain from any of the following:
- saying "this is sooooooooooooooo boring!" (HILARIOUS!)
- farting

How to Evoke My Ire

Use the word "hefty" in reference to me

How to Annoy Me on a Friday Afternoon

Admit that you don't know how something works, then persist in interrupting me to explain how it works.

Least favorite lead-in's of the day:

1. Well, what happened was, back in 1961...

2. Well, put it like this....

3. At LSU we did it like this...

4. Well, when you're wife is in clinical trials too....

don't be hatin'

Don't be hatin' 'cause I got stuff to say

FTR

When your barely two year old child looks GIGANTIC next to you and you can barely pick them up, you need to gain some weight.

Women are supposed to be larger than the children they've recently birthed. It's just the way of the world.

Kanye West , please sit down

DoucheBag: (n.) - an individual who has an overinflated sense of self worth,
compounded by a low level of intelligence, behaving ridiculously
in front of colleagues with no sense of how moronic he appears.

I know that this anti-Kanye West sentiment has probably already been beaten to death in the 15 hours since his stunt on the MTV Video Music Awards last night, but I feel the need to comment and I need something more substantial than my Facebook status.

Kanye's 1st album was good. I bought it. I even used Through the Wire in a civil rights lesson plan. Then I bought his second album and liked that too. Gold Digger and The Kanye West Workout Plan made my running mixes.

Somewhere along here, he lost his goddamn mind and started equating himself to Jesus. Arrogance and ego aren't the most endearing traits...but posing on the cover of Rolling Stone wearing a crown of thorns? Seriously dude - even those of us who don't believe in Jesus are having a hard time making that stretch. He accused George Bush of hating all black people, which while entertaining, isn’t true. George Bush rejects all that is unfamiliar, this includes gays, liberals, Arabs and women, not just black people. After being labeled as a non-gangster rapper he publically talked smack about 50 Cent when their albums were released the same week. Dude, 50 Cent has bodyguards and wears a bulletproof vest – perhaps not the guy to get snotty with! He’s even managed to attract the ire Evel Knieval and when Knieval fights you, literally to his death you know you’re a complete turd muffin. He even usurped the title of King of Pop following Michael Jacksons death…now whether you are the messiah or not is between you and your God, but this I know for sure: the King of Pop you ain’t.

It seems that last night West recognized that challenging people with numerous bullet wounds wasn’t exactly intelligent, and went after fluffy, baby animal like teen pop star Taylor Swift instead. When he stormed the stage at the VMA’s I couldn’t help but think, “this seems eerily familiar.” It seemed familiar because it was familiar. Our dear friend Kanye threw a very similar tantrum at the 2006 MTV Europe Video Awards when he did not win Best Video, crashing the stage to argue why he should have won during the winner’s acceptance speech. Far less hyped then (it was just Europe after all) he still issued an apology then too. I haven’t heard it but I imagine it sounds as disingenuous and insincere as the one he issued via his blog last night. Maybe he thought that it would be okay this time since he was disrespecting a colleague (ahem…please see above definition of douche bag) in the un-solicited defense of another colleague rather than padding his own ego. He was wrong. It was equally as douche-arific, if not more so. At Katy Perry oh so aptly Tweeted, “it’s like you stepped on a kitten.”

Now Taylor Swift may be a little squeaky, she’s a bit wispy and plays up the innocent little girl card more than is my taste, and yeah, Beyonce’s video was better (and for it she won Best Music Video) but COME ON! She’s 17 – we’re all allowed to be slightly less than a force to be reckoned with then abruptly attacked on national TV when we are teenagers. So, bravo for Taylor for being a scared deer in headlights – your timidity came across and will go down as class. Bravo to Beyonce, for classing up the trashiest of trashy moments ever to be associated with you. Kanye, sit down and shut up.

Welcome to the Real World

A friend, probably more accurately described as a little brother asked me today "how's life in the 'real world.' " Given that he has just recently started his freshman year of college I assume that the 'real world' he refers to is the post-collegiate world. In Gainesville, Florida aka Title Town, USA aka the home of the Florida Gators there is no such thing as a post-collegiate world.

Like many current and former Gators, I was not satisfied with a mere four years of college life. 6 months as an Iowa Hawkeye plus 4 years as a Univ. of Florida undergrad wasn't even enough. I needed a whoooole 'nother year...so I went to graduate school. Finally, I was forced to stop being a student enter the so-called 'real world' of a full time job. The transition seemed rough at first. I thought getting to 930 AM class MWF was rough, but not when compared with getting to work at 730 AM MTWTF. Weekends took on a whole new meaning, no longer did they represent mad money making ability bartending or waiting tables, they were the time for sleep and relaxation...that is, until I realized that my 615 AM alarm clock had become internal and the concept of sleeping in had come to mean 730 AM.

While at the time it seemed to be a traumatic and drastic transition, I realized this morning that my 'real world' life is actually eerily similar to my 'college world' life, especially during football season. I actually dreaded football season in college because I worked in restaurants and boosters (specifically bull gators) are by definition assholes. They donate thousands (and when I say thousands, I mean thousands more than I lived (and currently live)) of dollars to the University of Florida and somehow that has convinced them that for them, a well done steak should take less time to cook. I doesn't. NOW, I lurve me some football season. I get to go to the football par-tays and 'watch' the game with a beer in hand on a comfy couch rather than catch snippets on the bar televisions in between tending to my tables. The liquor and beer I consume at said par-tays is of far better quality, not to mention legally consumed. I don't need to temper my Saturday night good time with thoughts of the homework that needs to be done the next day because there is no homework tomorrow. My days off are actually that, days OFF. It's an amazing concept that I don't fail to appreciate each weekend.

Today, in true college life fashion I had a drink in hand before noon (it had OJ in it and was consumed AFTER my coffee so I maintain it counts as breakfast,) I watched a butt ton of college football, I took a nap on the couch and rallied with a beer afterwards. Currently, the main topic of conversation is whether this season's Gator football team can rightfully be termed 'the best Gator football team ever or if making that statment is inherently asinine after only the second football game.

ahhhh...the 'real world' how do I love thee...

Top 7 Reasons I Miss Nurse Leslie

1. No coffee. She took the coffee pot home with her, ostensibly to 'clean' and has not brought it back yet.

2. It's raining AML patients

3. Learning curves become noticeably steeper when she's not around, thank Jeebus for Google.

4. My psychological birth control list has stagnated without the daily episodes of Cake vs. DMP

5. There's only silence when I talk to my computer

6. As a crew, we're the Mean Girls. When there's two us, I at least know I'll have company in hell. By myself, I'm just a bitch.

7. Nobody else snorts when they laugh...thus making me laugh even if I didn't get it or it wasn't funny.

More warm fuzzies:

I love the "Top Fans" application on Facebook.

Not only do I get friend points for Facebook stalking my friends but they also say nice things about me for it!

Today I was described as "an angel in disguise." (awww...warm fuzziest of fuzzies!)

What the 'disguise' is is anyones guess, though I'm thinking that the word 'asshole' might come to mind for a few.

I love...

I luuuurve me some Diet Coke and Fig Newtons

...enough to walk to the VA in the middle of a work day to get them.

...enough to blog about them

I love them because they alone can cure the unreasonably severe irritability that threatens functionality on a Friday afternoon. :)

WANT!!!! WANT!!! :)

Warm Fuzzies

Someone just described me as "sooooo nice" on Facebook today.

I can't help myself, I have warm fuzzies!

My favorite season!

I'm SO excited.

I was at the grocery store this afternoon picking up some staples (a peach, a plum, swiss cheese, hydroponic basil, fresh mozzarella and some cinnamon raisin english muffins) and bemoaning the end of berry season when I saw it. If I'd had a tail I would have chased it around in a circle for 3 minutes. I almost high tailed it over to the bulk candy aisle and made it rain gummy worms and sour gummy bears so that I could dance among them in a proxyisms of glee!

It's hard to believe that it's already here, or at least they want us to think that it's here, which honestly is more than enough for me. It may have been the ninety-eight degree weather and the one hundred and seven percent humidity that kept me from knowing this was coming. Maybe it's the semi-tropical rainy season that we are still experiencing every afternoon around four pm. Or maybe it's the fact that it was technically still birthday month that distracted me. Regardless, it snuck up on me, tiptoeing around on little stockinged feet with holes in the toes.

I wasn't paying attention, just meandering around and I saw them. Pumpkins. Pumpkins on magazine covers. Glorious golden pumpkins, squash and gourds with weird non-floral plant arrangements in dark crimson, orange and chocolate-y browns. Pumpkins posed oh so seductively next to roasted and glistening poultry. It's fall!!

Okay so maybe not REALLY fall, but if marketing and advertising says so, I accept! The season for Gator football (and by association par-tays!) Halloween, Thanksgiving, a string of near constant days off from work the mean I really only have to work 3 full weeks between October and January, Wes' birthday and oh so much more! I know that fall doesn't really come in Florida, it's still super hot and we can't build fires or sip hot beverages outside until January, but in the time honored tradition of teachers and researchers alike, I vow to fake it till I make it.

It's fall!

To make up for my recent negativity:

HUGS ALL AROUND!!