Tropic of Capricorn

Not to, you know, make anyone too jealous, but this was the view from our hotel room in Jamaica. And yes those colors are real.

The vacation was very relaxing---plenty of sun, sand, swimming, SCUBA and sex (you know, the essential "S's"). We had a great time just being alone together, especially after the prior week of family and graduation.

The weather was gorgeous and sunny most of the time; it rained twice, but since we live where it's sunny 300 days a year, it was nice to snuggle inside and listen to the rain patter on the porch.

I also learned to SCUBA dive and actually got certified while we were there. I know this will sound corny, but I fulfilled a life dream by SCUBAing and I am SO proud of myself. Kneeling on the bottom of the ocean was absolutely amazing and was not nearly as terrifying as I initially thought. I had a few moments of panic on the surface when my feet just hung down, not touching anything, but after we descended to the bottom, the fear completely disappeared.

I have to be honest though. Driving to the resort from the airport was a bit strange. Since most Jamaicans are of African descent, I felt very much like I was back in Kenya. The school children in matching uniforms, driving on the left, the verdant rolling hills. The houses even had the same jerry-cans on the roofs to collect water; I could even tell which out-buildings were the toilets and showers. I almost felt like I was betraying my roots or something---I lived like that and now I was one of those rich white people who got chauffered around to spend their thousands of dollars that I despised. And the disparity between rich and poor is so evident, and like most places, racially divided. The hotel is staffed by Jamaicans, again most of whom are black, and even though I applaud the hiring of locals, it smacks so much of neocolonialism---whites being served by blacks. I'm having a difficult time explaining in words what I felt, but it was definitely an uncomfortable feeling.

White guilt, perhaps?

Wedded Bliss

Yep, yep. The knot has been tied. It was lovely- simple, short and beautiful. Even the hot Arizona weather cooperated with sunny skies and temps in the low 90s.

This week has been crazy between the wedding and graduation (the Med Student is now The Doctor and I am now a "Master"-- a concept I find laughable!). Honeymoon starts on Monday.

I will update with more wedding pictures and details before the Big Move to NM.

The Art of Using Gift Cards

The Med Student often mocks me because he claims I "hoard" gift cards. People often give me gift cards for birthdays/Christmases/(soon to be Hannukah!) because I live far away and it's cheaper to order a gift card online than it is to mail a bulky present.

Gift cards are like two-in-one gifts, mainly because not only do I get "free money" I gte the excuse to go buy things! But I also like to save my gift cards and not reckless spend them on the first new perfume at Sephora. Consequently, I have hundreds of dollars in gift cards. Some (like my Banana Republic ones) are being saved for something big (like a suit for job interviewing and the like). Others (like my Sephora) I was saving for when I found something I REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted (and I haven't yet).

But yesterday, I spent two cards.

After the stress of Match Day and the reality of "Oh my god, we're moving and I have to pack and UHaul and how are we going to get a dog now?" set in, I realized I needed a massage ASAP. The Med Student had given me a gift card to a favorite spa/salon for Valentine's Day (last year), so I called to cash for an appointment.

I also decided to go naked for this massage and honestly, it was 100 times better with panties to get in the way. Getting my ass rubbed was as close to heaven as I can imagine.

Then, after the massage, I realized I need new panties. I get made fun of from a number of my girlfriends on this....but, I love cotton panties. I just do. They're always comfortable, they breathe and they're good for both workout days AND the menstrual cycle. I own a wide variety of panties, from your basic boyshort to the tiniest of thongs, I have mesh, lyrca, no-show, etc. I think I the last time I counted I had over 100 pairs. But the last time I had purchased new cotton panties was sometime after I got back from Kenya (it's been over two years).

Megan had sweetly given me a gift card to Victoria's Secret for my birthday, so I decided to use it for some new cotton panties! I got five cute pairs in multiple prints (all of which looks vaguely Sixties-ish).

So now, my ass is covered in comfortable printed cotton and my back is loose and limber! Yesterday was a good day.

The Land of Enchantment

Well, the verdict is in.

Match Day has come and gone.

We are moving......


.....to Albuquerque, New Mexico!

A little suprising at first, but after the shock wore off, we're both looking foward to another adventure and another new place.

Good things about Albuquerque

• surrounded by mountains
• inexpensive living
• as white people, we'll be in the minority
• still in the Southwest
• on Route 66

Bad things about Albuquerque

• gets cold in the winter (it IS almost a mile high)
• actually SNOWS (will have to buy a winter coat)
• job market is a little iffy

So that's my list so far. But I don't know enough about the city to make any other judgments, yet. It's going to be a crazy few months. Here's the rundown:

April: 7th--thesis presentation, 10-13--Mother visiting, 17--thesis paper due, later April---fly out to NM to find place to live

May: 7th--WEDDING, 13-14--Graduation, 15-21--Honeymoon, 31---my lease is up (must be packed and moved out!)

June: Early June--move to NM, 25 June---the Med Student starts work! (I guess I'll start calling him The Resident? The Intern?)

Truthfully, I'm not sure how we're going to get all this accomplished....but I'm sure we'll get through it, one thing at a time!

Women, Infants and Children

I've been spending lots of my mornings in the WIC office lately. As part of my internship duties with the IRC, I drive refugee clients to the office (out in the middle of nowhere) and register them with the WIC program.

The WIC program is a "nutritional supplementation" program that gives pregnant women, infants and children (up to six) food packages every month. The food varies depending on whether the woman is nursing or pregnant or the age of the child. Don't get me started on the evils of the food that WIC includes---it's all politics and makes me mad! But it's a good and needed service for many women.

Anyways, the office is a great place for watching people. The waiting room is always filled with mothers and babies, most of whom are very cute. It's always chaotic and busy, and usually, we have to wait an hour before getting seen, even though we have an appointment.

Last week, there were teenagers from a group home signing up for the services. Some of these girls could be no older than 12. One girl must have been newly pregnant because she didn't have a baby with her, but she looked terrified. These poor girls looked so young. My heart broke for them for two reasons. Firstly, they are so young to have a baby. In my opinion, unplanned pregnancy is a tough situation no matter how old you are, but a 12 year-old just has it so much harder than even an 18 year-old. Secondly, these poor girls had no family support. They had no mother to show them love, despite her disappointment. I know that we all make mistakes and some are worst than others, but these girls need love and support more than anything right now---not being kicked out and living in a group home.

Calling All Irish!

Okay, Lasses. I need an instrumental version of "Danny Boy" for my wedding!

Help?

(My grandfather, who is of Irish descent, will not be able to attend my wedding and I wanted to play the song as part of the preludes to honor him).

Le Baron, Cont.

Le Baron has been recovered! I got this email last night from John:

"Coppers found Jim's car this morning and she's back at the pimp palace. Robber even cleaned the outside. But no gas was added. yippee!! Found at 707 W Miracle Mile at Wayward Winds Lodge next to TD's West. Shady area and no workable prints. End of story"

Let us note that Miracle Mile Road (real name) lives up to it's name; hordes of prostitutes (real women AND transvestites) roam the area at night (if my memory serves me correctly, the No-Tel Motel is nearby). TD's West is a notoriously trashy strip club where Weds is Chicken Parm night (Entree for $3.50). This is not a high class area, people.

Ah, the adventures of Le Baron.

Le Baron

Jim is one of my closest friends here in Tucson. Like me, he is a returned Peace Corps volunteer and together we share a love for Africa. This semester, he has abandoned me to do his thesis project in Niger; a public health project involving a nutritional assessment and the British Red Cross. While he's gone, Jim kept his apartment and car here in Tucson, entrusted to our friend John, also a RPCV and recently returned from a whirlwind trip to Ghana with Engineers Without Borders (we're an Africa-loving bunch); he's currently living in Jim's apartment (nicknamed Pimp Palace because of the hot pink flashing flamingo sign proclaiming "Realto Palace") and driving Jim's car, a 1992 Le Baron (nicknamed "Le BarON").

Le Baron is a piece of shit, though it has served Jim well over the years. It's gears are shot and the battery regularly dies, needing a jump every few. However, it's a (mostly) working vehicle, so John's thankful for the loan.

Or was.

I got a phone call last night. "Elisabeth, it's Johnny. Qick question: Do you know Jim's birthday?" After we determined that Jim's birthday was either at the end of June or July and he was either 28 or 29, John told me his reason for call.

Le Baron was THIEVED!

John parked the car next to the dumpster, which is right behind Jim's apartment window. He went out later that day to throw some trash in the dumpster and.....Le Baron was GONE! At some point, someone had come by and stolen the Le Baron right behind Jim's apartment window.

The irony of the entire story: The thieves stole a complete lemon. Le Baron's gears had shifted out of place and were held only in place with some duct tape. John had made an apointment with a mechanic to tow Le Baron in for some work for the next day.

Tucson is the Capital of Car Theft and apparently the thieves are as dumb as shit.

Strictly Ballroom

As a generous gesture, the Med Student gave me an introductory course to ballroom dancing for Valentine's day. The total package included four half-hour lessons and one group class for BOTH of us. The idea was to pick up some ballroom basics so we didn't just do the MiddleSchool Shuffle Sway around the dance floor for four hours at our wedding reception.

And amazingly, it's actually turning out to be loads of fun. The instruction occurs on the ballroom floor with several other students getting lessons at the same time--you never feel lonely! Our teacher, Christina, is a little petite riot and is continually making me laugh AND feel less self-conscious, which is no small feat.

Thus far, we've learned the basics of the waltz, foxtrot, rumba, chacha, tango and the nightclub two-step. We're not great, but we're not usually horrible. But most importantly, we're having a blast laughing and getting ourselves out of our rut and around people that we can make friends with!

It's Blah Life

So...to follow on the footsteps of my Favorite Barbara Ever, I am living a blah life right now. I kind of feel like I'm simply existing. I'm not depressed, necessarily....just bored. Alot. I'm not taking classes this semester in lieu of my internship/thesis (which has been exceedingly slow to be started). Work is boring--same old, same old. Several of my friends have moved and/or gone for the semester, so my world has narrowed down to a few people, all of whom are exceedingly busy people. I sit at home and talk to my cats (who are starting to talk back to me).

So, I've fixated on a dog to solve my problems. Now, I know that a dog is more than an upper---it requires patience and love and attention, blah blah. I know the committment that is required with a dog (I've had one before), but that is exactly WHY I want a dog. I want something that is time consuming, something I HAVE to get up for in the morning to take on walks. I want to go to dog parks to let my pup run free and meet other people with dogs.

I know that timing may not be right at the moment on the surface, seeing as how we're moving in a few months, etc. etc. But the upside to my small apartment is that I have time right (oodles of time) to spend with a dog, showing it affection, love and acclimating it to the cats.

So I want a dog. A nice, warm dog to love and be loved by. I've beaten down the Med Student by constantly talking about a dog and practicing my leash walk. He's agreed to get one as soon as next week....And now I have cold feet! What if it doesn't work out, what do I do? What if the cats don't get along with New Pup??

Stay tuned......

Crossing the Continental Divide

Driving trips are somehow infinitely more satisfying than flying--something about being physically connected to the land you are traveling across. Bird's eye views are thrilling but nothing compares to the feel of the road bumping beneath you.

The Med Student and I drove to Albuquerque this week for a second look at his residency program. I tagged along for the drive and to scope out potential job leads. The drive was awe-inspiring. Out West, the highways are so empty and you can see the rise and fall of the road, stretching out before you for miles like a black asphalt ribbon going no where. The scrubby desert plants, the yellow grass. The wide-open space, bringing to mind a past time.

On the way back, we took more deserted roads and drove through the Apache Reservation. The landscape changed from high desert to mountains. The road scaled up a mountain and then down again, weaving through the tall pines, the smell of smoke permeating the air.

There are no lights lining the highways or side roads (and no towns on the horizon), so when night fell and the sky darkened, the only lights were our headlights piercing the darkness. Just for fun, we turned our lights off and immediately were catapaulted into erie pitch dark with only the stars to light our way.

We crossed both the Rio Grande and the Continental Divide, at which point the Med Student asked, "If I stood on the Divide and urinated, which way would my stream go?" So much for the majesty of the Old West.

None of Your BIZ-ness

With the Med Student gone on another residency interview, I get lonely in the evening. I love the cats, but when Turtle and Zola start talking back to me, I know it's time to get out and actively seek human company.

So last night, my partner-in-crime Meigan and I decided to go out. We had a lovely dinner at a healthy Japanese restaurant (Mushroom Soba soup for your's truly) and then hunted down our friend Lise. After a drink and a mini-ghost hunt at Historic Hotel Congress (try corner room #24), Lise went home. After aimlessly driving about, Meigan suggested the local lesbian bar.

Surprisingly, despite my history of bar hopping and drunken debauchery, I've never actually been in a "gay" bar before. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting (think: older, established lesbian crowd, maybe a bit down-home, honkey-tonk, cowboy boot dyke?), but what we found was NOT it (in fact, the only cowboy boot wearers were the two of us). The bar was actually a pulsating, vibrating, thumping dance scene--almost like a frat party, minus straight men. I think the bar/club actually caters to the Latina lesbian scene. It was fantastic. Ironically, both of us kept talking about our boyfriends the entire time. Not intentionally, just out of...habit?

Meigan and I danced for an hour, used the unisex bathroom and headed home, a little bit wiser about a different crowd of Tucson.

Brokeback Mountain, or, What Could Have Been

Well, I went to see Brokeback Mountain a few nights ago and I can't shake that movie out of my head, no matter how hard I try. It was truly a stunning, visually appealing, tormented love story. It was phenomenal. I loved it in a depressing, heart-sinking, crushing way.

The story is beautiful. Watching the love between these two men grow, take over and destroy their lives slowly is so heart-rendering. The ending is perfect. It isn't devastatingly sad, nor is it wrapped-up-Hollywood neat. The ending was left in limbo, like the love they shared, making you think on what could have been instead of what was. It just about broke my heart in two.

Update

Wow. It has been a while and I apologize for my apparently inability to consistently blog.

Sadly, and truthfully, nothing new to report. Wedding plans are moving along nicely and the Tucson Event of 2006 will be well underway soon.

I'm not taking classes this semester---thank god. I am starting my internship project, which is slow starting because the Human Subjects Review Board is taking their sweet time reading my proposal. But, I'm enjoying the break.

I've been accompanying the Med Student along on his residency interviews. We got back from Portland last week after a great trip. Portland is a stunning city and the hospital complex is set on the side of a hill. Don't ask me how emergency vehicles get up winding, narrow road during ice storms or snow, but what a breath-taking view. The only downside of Portland is the constant dripping rain, which could be a downer if I actually had to live there. Talk about Seasonal Affective Disorder!

I'm off to St. Louis this weekend to visit with my great friend (and old college roommate) while Cliff goes through another two interviews. I had a blast the last time I was there and fully expect a fantastic weekend (although I'm sure my cats are not pleased to be left alone again!).

So, it's been a quiet life. Lots of television of dubious quality. You know, the usual.

Quarter of a Century

Today is my 25th Birthday. It's quite a shock, honestly. When people ask my age, I immediate think "23" and have to remind myself that I'm actually 24. I mean, 25.

But on my birthday, I like to take stock of my life, look back on my year, where I've been and where I'm heading.

Ironically, last year, I thought life couldn't get any worse. But it did. It got really bad for awhile; I descended to a place lower than I ever thought possible. Funny how life has a way of coming back again, no matter how badly you think it's gone for good. I'm recovering, I'm writing, I'm smiling, I'm even laughing. I can look at life head-on again, even though I'm not sure where it's taking me.

And once again, I find myself profoundly amazed at the people in my life. My friends and my lover pulled me up and out, bolstered me on their shoulders and carried me through the most isolating grief I've will ever experience. And they still love me. Even more amazing, they still listen. I can never thank them enough. Words do not do my emotions justice---they never had. You know who you are. I love you.

So life has come back, indeed. I'm five months away from wedded bliss. I'm with a man who loves me, despite my flaws. I'm learning an intimacy so deep, I never imagined the possibilities. And so, once again, I find myself learning.

On this note, my yearly horoscope from the Washington Post:
TODAY'S BIRTHDAY (December 1). This year, you'll experience a brightening and lightening phenomenon that perks up every corner of your life. You are learning how to communicate with clarity. Business arrangements are far more creative and interesting than they were last year -- finances reflect the improved situation. There are many happy times ahead with Taurus and Pisces.

Duly noted. Life can only get better from here. Bring it on!

Holidaze

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, mostly because the whole purpose of the holiday is to eat and be thankful. And this year was no exception.

The Med Student and I drove out to Los Angeles for Thanksgiving so I could see the lovely Pacific Coast and meet the rest of his family. And what a meeting it was! Honestly, I'm not sure if I was *prepared* for the whole experience of getting a WHOLE family. I was just starting to adjust to the ideas of another mother and father---totally NOT ready for new aunts, uncles, grandmothers, cousins, dogs....

Overwhelming, yes. But it was also welcoming.

LA was a blast. Got to go to Venice Beach and see all the weird people and the hippy culture. Rode the giant Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica pier at night, looking out over the inky black ocean. Ate the most delicious clam chowder outside of Boston in Malibu. Walked along the "Kodak Theater" and the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Stepped into Johnny Depp's gorgeous footprints. Even went into Sephora and exhibited a little bit of self-control by not actually buying anything!

Fat-Free

Uh, yeah. I am not fat-free, but I am on a diet. I'm going public with it, so when you all see me, feel free to pinch my fat and ask me how "heifer" is doing. It's a sick, sick motivational technique! I'm not entirely sure if it will work, but feel free to try! Of course, thanks to the stress of daily living has not helped my diet since I'm most likely found munching grilled cheese in the hospital cafeteria (catered by effing Aramark!). But, the good news is, I found the most delicious ice-cream: Dryer's Slow Churned Rich and Creamy Light Peppermint.

OMG.

Seriously tastes like NORMAL ice-cream. And peppermint ice-cream is my second favorite flavor of all time. And it tastes like NORMAL ice-cream. And I can't stop eating it. I fear this ice cream is going to become like the senario in senior year at WM when Barbara and I gorged ourselves on WOW chips, the chedder cheese flavoring turning the outsides of our mouths orange as we laid on the floor watching the Real World with Trishelle.

If I don't answer the phone tomorrow, please come looking for my bloated body, lying on the couch, watching Nip/Tuck reruns, empty cartons of ice cream strewn around my floor, my cats milling about my feet.

Sunday Blahs

I am a significantly more boring person when I'm happy. Funny things don't happen to me. I have nothing to write about. I smile alot, looking goofy. I know being happy is a good thing, but let's be honest--happiness makes for a boring, inactive blog....

I've been thinking about being adult, as my impending nuptials impend closer. With Jen a married woman, me almost a bride, Amanda a homeowner, Kailen and Cristin working a professional jobs, Megan almost a lawyer and Barbara teaching high schoolers. I think we've reached that point where we're not just waiting for life to begin, but we're actually living it. We've reached official adulthood, and I for one am slightly terrified. But in a good way.

Plug and Socket, or, My First Trick-or-Treat Experience

My friend Meigan, who throws the best parties I've EVER been to, threw a rocking Halloween bash. Because I grew up in a super-Christian household where Halloween stands for Satan's Holiday, I never got into the spirit of the day. But this year, dressing-up was a requirement for Meigan's party. So, she and I headed out to the costume shop.

I thought briefly about doing a flapper costume. Cute, but typical. Plus, I looked like Rambo with that feather band around my forehead. Then, I spotted IT. Two foam costumes of a Plug and Socket. The socket (or the female half) resembled a pillow-case with sockets on the front. The plug (male) was a foam box worn around the hips with gold prongs and a long white cord. AND the best part? The plug actually "plugged" into the socket right at the genitalia region!

So, I had to buy it for Med Student and I. And of course, he had to keep plugging into me all night long as I drained a bottle of white wine and generally made an ass in front of an 18-yr-old who was in my freshman bio lab. What fun.

But the best part of the holiday was my first time trick-or-treating. Jim and I decided to celebrate the Somalis' first Halloween by taking the 9 and 3 year old trick-or-treating. Jim bought them Power Ranger costumes and little pumpkin baskets. Holy Hell, that experience ranks up there as one of the funnest (most fun?) nights of my life. The 3-year old, Mohammed, was incredibly adorable, tripping over his costume which was a mite too big. He'd run up to the door and we'd prompt him to say, "Trwick or Tweat" and "Thank you."

My uterus and ovaries twitched all night long.

Spring is in the Air!

No, I'm not crazy and, no, my seasons aren't mixed up. But the beginning of fall here in Arizona always feels like spring to me. A breath of cooler air blows in, washing the hottness way, making everything in its path just feel more alive. I've always felt a sense of ending to fall, but here, October feels like a new, fresh beginning. Lovely, really.

Today, I got to sleep in for the first time in over a week. I didn't wake up until 10:30; it felt so luxurious laying there, stretched out under the blanket with the sunlight streaming in through open window shades. There's a brisk warm breeze outside, making the trees sway and few white clouds high in the sky.

God, I love it here. Sorry, East Coast, you will never have me back!

Poor POOR Bride

The latest email from Tasha, friend extraordinaire, always looking out for me:

EB,
First, I'd like to say, I had not heard the excitement about your wedding before you told me about the gift registry. That said, I've gotta tell ya....YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR SOME BIG STUFF!!!!!
I took a look at your registries, and I can potentially see one person getting you several things at once. (ok, I would get you several of those things--- not expensive!) None of your gifts are big ticket items that you and Cliff wont want to buy for yourselves. In fact, I didn't see anything over $280! Andmost things were under $60! (thhhwummp....the sound of future brides fainting everywhere!)
I know...you want to make the giving easier on the givees. But for MY sake, you could have asked for some HUGE luxury item just to see if someone would buy it. This is your chance to get some really awesome shit.
Of course, I'll still be getting you something inexpensive, but think of the others! haha
And you could have put in some weird crap too, just to see if someone would buy it. (can you see the look on Grams face when she sees you registered for a lifetime supply of condoms?!? or maybe men's underwear and a tire pump?)
Live it up girlie! This is your last chance at big-time gifts until...until...you die???????
Loving you glam bride,
T

This said, I'm now thinking of registering for that cool Crate&Barrel bed. Or maybe starting a "personal" registry on Victoria's Secret or Sephora.....don't worry, Tasha. I'll get right on that!

Titty Hard-On, or, What Other Words Can TA Stand For?

Yes, I know that I'm about six years older than the average freshman and no, I don't know why I'm taking freshman biology, but I do really like it. It's *fun* taking hard science classes after all the social science bullshit.

Anyways, my lab TA is really cool. She's probably just a year or two older than me, so I feel....more in touch with her than with my lab partners. Her arms and back are covered in tattoos, her face is pierced and is getting married in October. I am pretty sure I have the biggest Girl Crush of my life on her.

Yesterday, I walked into lab. TA was wearing this light blue, tight cami-top. It was totally see-through. As in, I could see both the outline of her aerolas and nipples through the sheer blue. And, on her right nipple, I could see the outline of a tiny barbell piercing.

I felt like a man. I could not stop staring at her breasts. They were amazing. Perfectly small, perfectly shaped, perfectly pert. Gorgeous. I felt jealous, but mostly I still felt like TA is the coolest TA a girl could ever ask for.

Looking Professional, or, Another Reason to Spend $

My loans have come through for the semester and I am again the proud owner of thousands of dollars. My loans are not as important for my survival this year, as I am working a good job and actually make money. However, the loans are important for maintaining my wardrobe.

Tucson has corrupted me. I looked in the mirror and realized that I ONLY wear flip-flops, despite having an entire shoe department in my closet. I can't remember the last time I actually looked *good* (Jennifer & Matthew 8.13.05 excepted). And I am almost 25-years old. It is high time I sucked it up and started dressing professionally, at least some of the time.

So, I today I did what every girl should do. I went shopping for hours, six hours to be exact. I bought an entire wardrobe of nice, but not too nice, clothing. Most purchases were from The Gap or other like-minded stores, so none of the purchases were too adventureous. I am excited about looking a little more put-together and a little less schlub.

However, we shall see just how long this *professionalism* lasts, considering I have an 8 am freshman bio MWF.

Wish me luck.

Jennifer & Matthew 8.13.05

Ah. Summer is drawing to a close, back-to-school commercials are all over the TV ("I like backpacks, I cannot lie!); the streets and Targets of Tucson are clogged with the new freshmen and their panicking parents. Traffic has increased three-fold. For reasons partially unbeknownest to me, I am taking freshman biology. I had to leave my hospital and medical campus to push my way through the hordes of children on main campus, fighting for the last copy of the Bio181 textbook.

Even though there is no fall here and it's still 100 degrees, something in the air has shifted--an energy of anticipation, of clean notebooks, unused textbooks and new faces around campus.

It's good to be home.

However, it was good to be at Jennifer & Matthew. The weekend was crazy busy, but fun. Jen managed to avoid Bridezilla, never once stamping her feet and demanding, "Make me a princess, but more sophisticated!" In fact, I think Jen might have actually been the calmest one on the wedding day. The highlight of the day was when the Wedding Planner Janelle asked us bridesmaids if we were wearing panties. Apparently, she's had many a bridesmaid pass out from "emotion and heat." And not wearing panties is a no-no when passing out. No one needs to see that---talk about stealing the thunder.

Jen looked beautiful and bridal. I cried when her dad handed her off to Matt. I cried when Michael Canestroni gave his toast. I tried my damnedest to get drunk, but it was tough as the night wore on since I was sweating the drinks out as soon as I drank them. I didn't pee for eight hours, despite the amount of liquid poured down my throat.

All in all, the wedding was a successful party, despite the heat and humidity. It was fabulous to see old friends--just wished the night could have gone on and on and on and on......

The Long Grow Out

I stupidly got my hair cut and I hate it. It's about shoulder-length (it was down my back before) with charming red highlights.

I look like I'm 12.

I thought shorter hair was suppose to make people look older, not younger, until I realized the hair cut is an exactly replica of the one I had in 6th grade.

Talk about perpetuating the insecurities that went with big glasses and braces.

I'm starting the Grow Out immediately

A Long July

So. It got pointed out to me (again) that I suck.

My "International Health: Community and Clinical Practice" is finally over. THAT was an experience from hell, yet I somehow managed to learn tons (probably because of the ... *gasp* ... five hours of studying a night!). I can put IVs into anyone who wants one (without bruising). I can perform a symphisiotomy (spelling??) on a woman whose pelvis is too small to pass the fetus. And I can even pull teeth.

Trust me?

Apologies

Dear Sorority Sister Cristin,
This one's for you!

I apologize for my serious lack of blogging in the last few weeks. I really have no excuse except that Dawson's Creek presented a much more pleasant alternative than rehashing my rather mellow life. And I would just like to say, once and for all (now that I'm halfway through Season 4), that Dawson is a complete tool, entirely self-absorbed, and it is so obvious from the get-go that he wanted Joey to be someone that she was not and that is why she chose Pacy, as she should have. And isn't it a little weird that two of the girls have boys' names?

I digress. Actually a lot has happened these past few weeks. We had another SMN with The Exorcist and Identity. The Exorcist scared the living poo out of me and SMN were put on hold for a few weeks until I could sleep alone without crying about Capt. Howdy. They're resuming tonight, but we've decided to do one scary movie with a comedy. I'm renting tonight, so it's going to be Monty Python's The Meaning of Life and probably some B-movie. Anything so I don't cry anymore.

We also ventured out to the movie theater and saw Madagascar, in honor of my friend Jim who revisted his Peace Corps site for a month and has returned home a wee bit thinner. The movie was decent ("If you have any poo, now is the time to fling it!") and I have become fascinated with Fossa (FOO-sa).

Unfortunately, I have been sleeping alone alot because the Med Student got a horribly infected bug-bite on his wrist and rather than be responsible about it, he put it off until it got disgusting (there is a more medical term for it--cellulitis, I think) and we spent Sunday afternoon in the emergency room at St. Mary's. The antibiotics made him even more ill, so we've been sleeping separately for a few days. Capt. Howdy's having a field day in my bedroom.

Gotta get back to work, but next installment...domestic violence and Somalia.

Easy Summer Livin', or, Late 1990s Television

Classes have been over for almost a month now and I have sunk into the useless existance that is summer break. My life is ruled by the television, much like how my zodiac sign is ruled by Jupiter. I like to wake up by 9 so I can fit in Maury (*I slept with two cousins--which one's my baby daddy?!*) and then continue through until early afternoon television when I put in a DVD. Right now, I am plodding my way through the Lord of the Rings trilogy and it is just so....long. I know the movies are supposed to be cinematic masterpieces, blah blah blah. But god. Did you HAVE to make all of the characters' names so difficult to understand. Sometimes when they speak, I have absolutely no idea what the characters are saying. And I even read the books.

I've discovered I like watching television shows on DVD better than I do movies. I can pay partial attention while I either work or surf the internet. I've already gotten through all the available DVDs of Scrubs, Felicity, the OC and my new quest is to get through all the Dawson's Creek DVDs by the end of July. I'm halfway done with Season 2 and only begun in earnest. Any other suggestions would be higly appreciated. ( I tried Twin Peaks, but couldn't get into it. Toook too much concentration to know what was going on.)

Let the summer continue!

The Teeth

The Teeth

The Boy

The Boy

The Bling

The Bling

A Harelip, A 'Tard and a Blindy, or, The Slowest Movie Known to Man

I would like to make a note about SMN#2. Apparently, I was so drunk, I remember nothing about the actual plot of the movie Saw. Tasha went back to watch the movie again and said it was much more interesting and easy to follow without the six glasses of wine and the amaretto/peach schapps/coke combo which made me gag, but I drank nonetheless.


Scary Movie Night #3 : The Village.
A movie where the three main characters all present some sort of physical deformity is never a good or particularly interesting. And I'd just like to say that I have some pyschic abilities when it comes to predicting scary movie plots (or maybe just M. Night Shylamalan films). I had heard nothing about the movie ending, yet totally managed to call it.

And it sucked. The movie sucked. There is no way that I will supsend my reality enough to believe that a blind girl is able to find her way out of "Covington Forest." Oh yes. And climb a fence into year 2000 Pennsylvania.

Just thinking about the plot is making me physically ill. I think I'm going to go tan out by the pool and futher my resolve to never again watch an M. Night Shylamalan film ever again since they forever disappoint me.

"The Most Fun I've Had Without Lubricant"

Last night was our second Scary Movie Night of the summer. (We watched the original Amnityville Horror during SMN#1; favorite quote was "I'm not a pink-cheeked seminarian who doesn't know the difference between the supernatural and a bad clam.") Tasha, Alanna and I ordered in Chinese and attempted to find the "scariest movie known to man." We tried for the Exorcist, but alas, three video stores later and no Exorcist. So we settled on Boogyman, starring Barry Watson (unfortunately for him, better known as Matt from 7th Heaven) and Saw.

Something movie producers need to learn: Just because you SAY it's the "scariest movie of all time" does not make it so. And Barry Watson cannot act himself out of a paper bag. And he needs to wash his hair. And remove his testicles from his anus. Actually, growing a pair of testicles in the first place might be beneficial. Halfway through, we decided we needed to be drunker, faster. Hence the following drinking game to be played during SMNs.

Drink when:
1. The car won't start
2. The characters run upstairs instead of out the door
3. Normal people ask "What's wrong?"
4. A bizarre child/creepy pet appearance
5. Sex immediately prior to attack by killer or supernatural
6. Creepy music ends in door slamming or other loud, abrupt noise
7. Omens of death appear (dead bird, T-storms, blowing curtains, etc.)

This made Boogyman MUCH more bearable. However, even five drinks into the night, Barry Watson still can't act and we just started drinking every time he said something dumb, exhibited poor acting skills or spoke. And last night, instead of nightmares about the evil lurking in my closet, I had nightmares about 7th Heaven. That says something about the quality of that movie.

Saw was next. And truthfully, I'm not really sure what happened. I think I felt the plot was a little shaky and the ending was sort of abrupt. But the movie redeemed itself with the quote used as the title of this post. How great is that? I think it's going to be my new overused phrase. "Studying for this exam is the most fun I've had without lubricant!" Or, "Gosh, I love the zoo! It's the most fun I've had in years without lubricant!"

Elisabeth 'N' Med Student, Sittin' in a Tree....

We're getting hitched!

It's been a week since the proposal and it's still a shock. The ring is still foreign and heavy on my finger (but in a really good, really obnoxious, really sparkly kind of way). I worry I'm going to lose it and that would be a tragedy, considering it's the most expensive thing I own besides my car (but I still don't actually OWN that much of my car yet, damn loan company!).

So yes. I'm excited. I mean, he's hot and I have the hots for him (like, his ass is so hot), but I'm really excited because I've found someone I can see myself living with forever and ever until I'm old and wrinkly and my teeth fall out. And that's what life is all about, right? :)

Waxing

I don't know what came over me last night (it seems to be a week of insanity). In a fit of craziness, I called my friends Tasha and Alana to see if they wanted to go see House of Wax on opening night.

I hate scary movies, yet routinely watch them. There's something so thrilling about feeling my blood run cold. Honestly, I view most of the movies through my fingers. There's always a lot of yelling and gasping, too, and I've been known to scream out loud in a movie theater before, so if you don't like the attention, suggest a romantic comedy. After watching The Grudge, it took me a week before I felt comfortable showering alone.

Anyways, I hadn't been out to the movies since Ocean's 12 and, after watching The View interview Paris Hilton, I got it into my head that I HAD to see the movie. I'm strangely fascinated with Paris--I think because I had no idea who she was prior to leaving for Kenya and then when I came back, she was everywhere! And the porn videos. Twice!

And her movie debut wasn't that bad. Well, she can't act worth a crap, but the movie itself wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. It's a much more traditional teen slasher flick. When Paris finally bit the big one, I expected someone in the audience to yell out, "That's Hot!" but to my disappointment, no one did. When I got home from the film, I called the Med Student, woke him up and made him come over to sleep with me. And unfortunately for me, he's in Phoenix tonight, so I'm home alone with no one but my cats (who, if faced with evil twins conjoined at the face, would most likely happily greet them at the door, expecting a treat).

So, now it's 1:09 am West Coast time and I'm anxiously awake and alone, to nervous to sleep...

The Famed Paris Poof

Just in case you were unsure about the Famed Paris Poof...here it is in all its glory. Actually, the more I look at her, the more I think maybe undergrads here at the UofA are really trying to emulate Paris in her entirety.

Paris Poof

Against my better judgement I went out on Weds evening. The next day (Thursday) was "Dead Day"--meaning no classes for the university. I got to the bar at 8, after picking Jim up on the way over. Parking downtown was a bitch, as usual, but we found a metered spot a few blocks from the bar where we were meeting people. I was wearing my usual flip-flops, a pink t-shirt that said Antiqua Funk (and sported a black woman with a huge 'fro) and my fat jeans. Oh yeah, and my library lady glasses.

The night started innocently enough, with a few of us grad students nursing a pitcher of beer, but quickly degenerated into a frantic, pulsating sea of under-dressed bodies and popped collars with Nelly and 50 Cent pounding in the background. Now, maybe it's the East Coast snob rearing it's ugly head in me, but, dude--fashion in the West needs a makeover. I mean, popped collars were in style when I was still in undergrad. Two years ago. Don't times change?

And holy shit. HOLY SHIT. I thought clubbing in Tucson was bad during the winter months. I forgot that summer in the city apparently means going as naked as possible. And I mean that literally. (I've passed girls going to class in their bikinis. Not a joke.) I've never seen such a combination of nude tits, ass, thighs and shoulders. AND, it was like the girls were having an anorexia competition. I swear, this one girl turned to the side and she all but disappeared, leaving the clear plastic beer cup floating in mid-air. Thin doesn't describe it. Neither does emaciated. Half of the girls weren't drinking--presumably too many calories--and had probably snorted their dinner shortly before leaving their apartments in their halter tops and eye shadow.

It's almost like these girls are trying way too hard. Or maybe I've just forgotten what it's like in undergrad. They all looked as if they came from the exact same cookie-cutter--all sporting the extra-black eyeliner and the blond Paris Hilton Poof (you know it). People are fashionable out East, no doubt. I mean, let's just look at New York. But it seems so effortless. When you go out there, it feels like people just look fab without trying. Here, "trying" is an understatement.

Perhaps I'm just bitter, since I was wearing my fat jeans. Or maybe my age is just kicking in. I know that I'm only a few years removed from that mindset, but after the stuff that's happened recently in my life, I feel like I am a world away from that scene.

It's a tough pill to swallow, but I'm not getting any younger.

Or blonder.

Acquired Catholic Guilt

So now I feel bad about my Pope Posting. I woke this morning and on all the morning news shows, the US pundits were weighing in on the new pope.... negatively.

Poor guy. He hasn't really even started his reign (?) and people are certain he'll be bad pope.

I should be nicer.

Pope, Round 1

Okay, it's time to saddle up my high horse and go for a quick canter around the block.

Pope Benedict XVI has been officially elected as the new head of the Catholic Church. A man who used to be a member of the Hitler Youth. One of the most fundamental Catholic Cardinals.

I'm really disappointed in the Church's choice. I would argue that the Catholic Church is the most influential entity in the world and the Cardinals had the chance to move the Church into the 21st Century...And they elected a man who says, homosexuals suffer from "an objective disorder"?? And a man who has alienated even Protestants by signing a document that declares the Catholic Church the only way to salvation?

I understand why the Catholic Church will be against homosexuality, seeing as the issue is directly mentioned in the Bible. I understand their stance on premarital sex--it's mentioned. I even can understand their stance against abortion. However, I cannot understand wallowing in those issues when the Church has the opportunity to enact some social change.

Take contraception. There is nothing explicit in the Bible about using condoms, which are scientifically proven to prevent the spread of sexually transmitted diseases like HIV/AIDS--an epidemic which is ravaging the continent of Africa. Many women in Africa who are contracting HIV are not prostitutes, not having premartial sex, but are contracting the disease from their husbands. Within the sanctity of marriage. Where condoms could prevent them (and their children, because despite their serostatus, they will have children) from contracting a disease which will cause them to die. And why not use contraception as family planning? The close spacing of children is one of the major causes of malnutrion (both of mother and infants) and maternal death. That seems to be more unethical than collecting sperm in a latex baggie....

I'm not asking the Catholic Church to transform its theology--that would be untrue. But maybe instead of focusing on moral issues like homosexuality, the Church could make more of an effort to enact some social change, alleviate poverty, stop HIV/AIDS.

But the election of the one of the most fundamental cardinals to the Papacy? Diplomacy is a necessary component of being the leader of the Catholic Church. I hope "God's Rotweiler" is able to embrace the world.

It's April and 90 Degrees

So it's gotten rather warm here in Tucson. Hot, even. As in 9-0 degrees. And while I love the heat and love Tucson, I do like my car to not be a sauna. The heat's not so bad when I'm inside my apartment--and I don't run my air conditioner. But god, the car is like it's own sauna with the heat just radiating off the dashboard.

Playing Behind the Shed

So, I thought it would be kind of fun to date a third-year med student, mainly to fill my third-grade fantasies of playing doctor behind the shed. Little did I know....

It all started when I threw my shoulder out on Valentines Day at a softball game. It really hurt and I was a little worried that I had ripped a tendon or something. A few days later, when the pain hadn't gone away (actually, it still hasn't gone away), MS and I were chatting on the phone about it. Sort of sexily, I asked him if he wanted to come over and play doctor....

However, he showed up at my door expecting to rotate my shoulder and test flexibility or something....So much for an examination.

Then today, we're chatting online about differential diagnosis and VINDICATES...again, rather sexily (well, as sexy as you can get over AIM), I ask him if he wants to play doctor and diagnose me. He replies, "Sure. What is your problem?"

Oh baby.

Shout Out

I think I recently (in the last month) bitched about the Pepsi "Win a Free Song from iTunes" (where "1 in 3 wins a free song!") promotion and how I buy Diet Pepsi ALL the time in hopes of winning. And how I've bought upwards of like 15 Diet Pepsis and still haven't won a free song. Basically because I am unlucky and suck as a human being. My karma is so bad, I can't even win something worth .99 cents.

Well, MS calls me from the hospital (and can I just say how hot he is in a tie, his glasses and white doctor's coat? DAMN.) to tell me that, yet again, because he is Jewish and he is not me, he won a free song from iTunes from a Pepsi. At first, I was filled with hatred for him--rubbing in my loserness. But then, he gave me the code to redeem it and told me he loved me.

What a man. That my friends, is true love.

Fatties

As part of my morning (?) routine, I've been watching Gilmore Girls reruns on ABC Family. I don't watch it religiously, but I do have a general idea of what's going on.

Anyways, I have a beef with the show--and actually, other shows featuring fat actresses (minus UPN shows that feature big black women). Why is the fat one always pathetic? For example, the fat one on GG is a cook or chef or something in food service, as if to apologize for her fatness--she'd be thin if she didn't love cooking so much....like she needs an excuse for being overweight.

And why can't the fat girls get the hot men? I mean, I verge on being a fat girl and I have had hot boyfriends as well as average ones. I'm just so tired of fat women on TV getting the shaft--especially since 60% of the American population is fat and probably normal!

Maybe I'm not watching enough TV or not watching the right shows...but if a show is going to feature a fat actress, for the love of god, make her just a normal fat girl! Don't patronize fat women around the world by giving the fat actresses fat professions. Fat people work normal jobs, outside of restaurant critics, chefs and caterers.

Let's unite and give fat people what they deserve!!

Moderation

As I sit here eating chocolate-covered strawberries for breakfast, I started reflecting on my inability to live life in moderation. My friends, both from VA and AZ, are always laughing and teasing me about how every meal was "the best meal ever--I'm never going to eat again" or "that was the WORST four hours of my life."

I've always sort of thought of it as a negative quality. Recently, I took an online test about "Which Mental Illness Do You Have" and the only two I scored positively on was "Histrionic" and "Narcissistic." Not surprisingly, histrionic is a disorder which involves a person being overly dramatic. Probably a good fit for me.

Then I woke up this morning. In my inbox was an email from Ex-Beloved. It just might have been the nicest thing I've ever received. The gist of the email consisted of applauding my ability to live life on the fringes because I really do experience life, with all it's glorious ups and downs. I never really thought about it like that. But as my ex-beloved pointed out, despite that this has been a doozy of a year (and every time I tell myself it can't get any worse, it does), I'm still really happy (most of the time).

I guess life is too short for moderation. Live hard? Eventually, just when you think it is lost, life comes back again.

Welcome to the OC, Bitch

So following Sorority Sister Cristin's advice, I have begun the rental of The OC, Season One. I've only gotten through the first four episodes, but the Med Student and I are officially hooked. I watched disc one in less than 24 hours. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for the rest of them to come via Netflix....

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Things have gotten....difficult. But it's starting to look up (sort of) and I promise I'll make more of an effort to write.

Anyways, Starting Over House is on and I need to continue my journey of self-love....

Weighing In

I've been busy and there's a lot going on in my life right now that needs to be sorted out. Thus the lack of posting. Anyways, it's Easter Sunday (btw, thanks for the book, Stickles) and I'm watching the news.

And I'm absolutely annoyed by the public response to Terri Schiavo. People were picketting outside her hospice, blocking the driveway, trying to bring her last communion. These protesters don't know her, have never met her. They are merely using her for political gains. Yelling at the policeman, "Jesus hates you" isn't going to make the courts change its mind.

I'm not going to argue whether her feeding tube should be removed or not. Regardless, the feeding tube was removed. She's dying. Let the woman die with a little dignity. Let her family mourn her passing quietly and with dignity.

The decision has been made, whether you agree with it or not.
The time for politics have passed.

Ahh, the Wisdom

Direct Quotes from My Favorite Show: The Starting Over House

The Path of Self-Love is not an easy path.
It requires practice.
It is steep and winding.

Do you think you are complete with your mourning?

It's a brand new day with Valtrex.

Now it's time to talk about the most crucial part of the self-love journey: choice.

Self-love requires vulnerbility. Living fearlessly.

Do not have fear of one's goals.

Do not beat yourself on the path of self-hatred.

If you have a problem, you must wrap it up, tie it in a bow and give it as a gift and you'll get something out of it.

Wide-Load

Sorry it's been awhile (yes, Stickles, I am alive and breathing--thank you for your concern). Having houseguests means less time to spend idly surfing the internet for hours. Unfortunately, it also means less time for school work and job (which means a lot of catching up).

However, the Barbster and I had a blast. The weather was a little shaky at first, but by Wednesday, it was a balmy 83 degrees. Barb left with a nice pink tinge to her skin and I'm glowing a nice brown. We did some drinking as well, as no visit to Tucson is complete without a trip to the Bay Horse and it's giant chair.

The kitties loved her, of course, since they love anything that pet them. My friends loved her, of course, since they love me. It was nice having someone around, too. Sometimes, I can go a whole day without saying a word to another human being.

Barb also assisted me in getting measured for this summer wedding's bridemaids dress. Now, I wear a size 12. I'm in the middle of the size 12 range. Not too tight, not to loose. Just right. I haven't gained weight. According to Juliette's Bridal by Ivana, I wear a size 18W! 18fuckingW!!!

I know that bridal shit runs small, but that's an enormous difference, especially since I fit into the size 14 dress on the rack (yes, it zipped up all the way). And, since it's a fat girl size, I have to shell out $15 extra. I can just see that I pay the $15, I get the dress, it's a complete bag and they have to tailor it down to a size 14. I am going to be pissed.

Tri-Coloured Condom Part Deux

Here it is in all its glory..... Note its resemblance to the Mexican Flag--but what else do we expect from AZ???

Point of Origin

I walked into Origins the other day and got seduced into purchasing over $100 of facial products. I bought the works---you know, cleanser (NOT soap), toner, moisturizer, anti-oxidant, etc.

And I realized, I have become extremely high maintenance. And snobby. When it comes to makeup, I no longer only shop at Target, but should buy out stock at Sephora. With my purchases alone, I think I'd probably make money instead of just spending it on lip gloss (latest purchase--$41 on lip gloss. LIP GLOSS!). I spent $179 on my dye job and $30 on the shampoo to maintain the rich caramels and dark chocolate streaks. I'm starting to feel guilty.

I don't feel like I NEED the makeup I'm buying. I just like it. I enjoy feeling pretty and sometimes, expensive things make me feel extra pretty.

I need to tone it down though. I don't want to end up being one of those extremely snobby girls that won't do anything because they might break a nail.

Kumquats and Tri-Coloured Condoms

I have discovered a new love and believe I may be rethinking my Top Ten Favorite Things.

Growing up in Northern VA, before the Central American immigration wave in the late 1990s, meant pretty standard fruits and veggies. Apples, oranges, potatoes, carrots, grapefruits...you get it. I remember the first time I had a kewi...that alien-green, mushy, slighty tart inside. It was a big deal. Now the grocery stores in my area are carrying more exotic produce because of the extensive Latino population.

Tuesday, after a very stimulating lecture on iodine deficiency and goiters in my International Nutrition class, Patricia and I got in the hospital elevator to leave. She was carrying a bag of very tiny oranges. I asked her what they were and she looked at my like I was crazy to have never seen the fruit before. "Kumquats" was the answer I got. She offered me one and I took it, unsure of how to eat it. At about two inches long, it seemed too small to peel. She assured me that I could eat the rind and encouraged me to pop it in my mouth whole.

Oh holy jesus. It was quite possibly the most miraculous experience ever (barring the Virgin Birth, of course). I put the kumquat in my mouth, and bit down. It exploded in my mouth, a fresh burst of tart citrus and sweet rind. The experience was almost shocking, but the most utterly amazing sensory experience. The scent of citrus lingered in the elevator after we breezed out. Delicious.

I finally went grocery shopping last night after realizing I had to stop eating out or at MS's house. I dashed to Trader Joe's after I got out of class at 8pm. I always buy the same things--eggs, meat, cheese, tortillas, red peppers and soy milk for my coffee. Lo and behold, as I walked in the store, a display of kumquats greeted me. I almost cried. I bought two boxes. Since buying them approximately 18 hours later, I've eaten one whole box and the citric acid is beginning to eat through my stomach lining, but I can't stop myself. Everytime I bite through the sweet, crunchy rind and the tart pulpy innards, I almost die of happiness.

This is love.

Out of the Loop

I've been reading Stickles' obessive blogging about The OC and I realized I have almost no idea what she is talking about. I know The OC is a TV show about a set of teenagers, but I have no clue what channel, day or time the show comes on.

Now, I realize that I've been home from Africa for well over a year now and at some point it's going to have to stop being my excuse. However, not yet.

I have missed the entertainment boat on several pop culture phenomenons. I missed the Survivor/reality TV craze that swept (is still sweeping?) the nation. Trishelle from the Real World Las Vegas was about as reality as I got. I was in Spain when American Idol first started and when I got back, I never caught on. And now The OC, which began while I was still pissing in a hole and cutting the heads off my dinner.

So please, oh Goddess Cristin. Fill me in with the info for the Blessed OC so I too may partake in at least one pop culture event of my time!

Attitude Adjustment (My Non-Alcoholic Version of AA)

Back When I Was Fun (Three Weeks Ago)

Do you ever wake up, groggily, and seriously wonder how your life got to be the way it was?

Like, I'm sitting here, racking my brain for something interesting I've done in the last two weeks and the only thing I can think of is when over the weekend I told a Maryknoll priest that I wasn't a priest (duh) and probably wasn't planning on becoming a nun and he replied, "I wasn't guessing you were."

My life has become repetetive and boring. I wake up late, panic about going into work, choose not to go, watch late-morning TV, think about going into work in the afternoon, choose not to go, study, panic about amount of work, go to evening class, get home late at night, panic about amount of studying I have to accomplish, realize I'm exhausted from the stress of thinking about work and school and choose to watch TV, clean, talk to MS or go to bed.

This is becoming a frightening pattern that occurs every weekday (on the weekend, I'm just obliterated much like senior year). I need to get get relaxed and adjust my attitude. I need to remember to have fun and chill out and just breathe.

Definitely Sleepless in Seattle Thanks to Beer

This weekend was the Global Health Conference in Seattle. Meigan, Jim, Brian and I were several of the many UofA delegates. Firstly, let me begin by saying the conference was very inspirational for many reasons, the most important being it was just nice to get some fresh blood and new opinions. Sometimes, I get tired of hearing the semesterly international lecture given by Dougie.

That said, it was definitely a bit of a rocking weekend. Two moments stand out.
1. At the end of the evening at an "Irish" pub (where there was no dance floor), Meigan, Jim, Eva, Flora and I huddled in a circle singing (*shouting*) off-key the words to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing."

2. As we're exiting the bar(at 2:00), a missionary man comes up to us. "Do you know Jesus?" Flora jokingly responds, "Yeah, dude, he's my lord and savior!" Jim looks at me, glances at the missionary and shouts, "We're gonna have unprotected SEX tonight!" The missionary grimaces and says, "That's a fire sin!" (If anyone knows what that means, let me know?) Jim responds with, "THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT SOOOOO GOOD!"

So yes, that is what makes it so good. God bless it.

There Is Such a Thing as Being a Little Bit Pregnant

I watch a lot of daytime TV. I usually get up, dick around my apartment for a few hours before I head off to work. I know the TV schedule by heart. Maury comes on at 9--I love finding out if Antwon is Moesha's baby daddy. Everyday, there's women on there for the 10th time paternity-testing another man. I'm honestly thinking about contacting the Maury Show after I "earn" my MPH and seeng if they need a sex-educator on staff to help these women out who obviously have no idea how their fertility cycle works. I bet I could make a shitload of money. I am definitely qualified through experience and academic work.

The View is on at 10, but I don't really watch that. I use that hour to do daily blog reading and catch up on homework (*emailing and JT's blocks*). Then at 11, it's The Starting Over House, which features a house of whiney women who are doing bizarre things in attempt to "continue on their personal journey." It's like a train-wreck and I can't look away.

Then, Roseanne comes on from 12-1, which is tons of fun since I wasn't allowed to watch it growing up. Simultaneously, Gilmore Girls is on ABC Family, so I sometimes flip back and forth, even though I find both the Gilmores really annoying and too verbose for their own good. Seriously, someone needs to shut them up. Full House (which I was allowed to watch as a kid) shows between 1 and 2 and even though I've actually seen most of the episodes, I still have fun. Then, it's back to the WB at 2 for Sabrina the Teenaged Witch.

But what I really love are the commercials between the hours of 9 and 2. They're all geared towards women--either the stay-at-home mothers (commercials for baby foods and pregnancy tests for those mothes with three screaming children under four) or older retirees (Poise pads, Medicaid and life insurance).

Anyways, time to nap. Am not feeling well, so did not go to work today. Going to cuddle with Zola Cream Cheese Kitty on my bed and take short nap before leaving for library and class. Plus, softball tonight. You know where my priorities lie (meaning large balls and heavy sticks?).

Happy VD, y'all. Be safe. If anyone needs a condom demo, you know where to find me and the wooden penis!

Brief Reflection

Although this might be more appropriate on my other blog, this email showed up in my inbox. I thought Ex-Beloved deserved a little more than ragging I usually give him on this space. I came home from Kenya about a year ago and this is in response to my question if he looked back in awe that he really was in Africa.

"e-kitty,
Yes, I remember most clearly my first ride on a matatu. You were sitting down and I was hanging on for my life with my butt out the door as the driver weaved in and out of pot holes. Then we came to a police check when I entertained the police man and all the riders on the matatu. I can still remember their laughing at me and thinking "stupid white american". In that case, bribing and corruption of the police force probably actually saved my sorry ass. And then there was the taxi ride when you argued with the driver so we wouldn't get ripped off when I thought we were going to be shot on the side of the road.
Oh the memories. Sometimes it amazes me that I was really there and I can remember the people's faces, the pineapple and maize selling women on the street corner, David, the safari, the beautiful children...
love ya, jdawg"

Sometimes, these memories hurt.

Kitchen Tools

Yesterday, I was rooting around in my cabinets looking for my cornstarch and I realized how adult my cupboards are. They smell like my mother's kitchen cabinets--this aroma of spicy chili powder, the green smell of oregano and the distinctive odor of cumin. I have cupcake papers next to red pepper flakes. Cans of cat food sit near cans of tomato soup. Bags of flour and sugar, bottles of oil, vinegar and unopened salad-dressing. Bread crumbs. I even own chicken broth and beef cubes.

I think it's officially home here. I bought a coffee-maker yesterday and it sits proudly on my counter. I have a mixer, a microwaver and a George Foreman (thanks, Rosehill28!). My food cabinets are always full. I have the staples of life lined up along shelves.

It's strange. I am assuming adulthood without even realizing it. My kitchen is the proof.

Gadabouts

So many asked about the new haircolor, I attempted a photo of myself. Pathetic I know, but can you see the black and red?

And a Sigh of Relief

I was genuinely concerned about my ass. It seemed that none of my panties were fitting. I honestly thought that somehow, overnight, my ass had expanded to fit the curve of my desk chair (seeing as that is the place I spend the most time pretending to do work).

But no. Thank god. I realized (well, desperately hoping) that the shrinkage was actually because I washed my underwear in hot water. I've always been nervous about doing clothes in hot water and usually just do warm. But when I was measuring out detergent last time, I thought perhaps I ought to try hot on my whites/panties/towel load.

At least the mystery is (probably) solved. And I will never do hot washes again. I will however, continue to monitor my ass growth to ensure that the studying (*drinking*) the last few weekends (*all week*) didn't do permanent damage to my ass width.

Sporty Spice

After class last night, as Tasha and I are walking back to her house (get this, because it's too far to walk to school from my apartment, I drive to Tasha's house, park and walk to school, just so I can get some exercise. Pathetic.), we got a phone call with Andrew and John shouting something about softball and the Fevers.

Yes, my friends, it's intramural time again and softball season has begun. Time to get my game on. I ran home, changed into shorts (I shaved my legs again) and a long-sleeved WM soccer shirt I stole from the Rec Center's L&F and drove out to the softball field where the College of Public Health Fevers were gathering on the field. Our opponents were the "Big Ballas," a team we had defeated last week; they were thirsty for blood and revenge.

But defeat was not in the cards for the Fevers and we kicked Big Ballas collective asses. I hit the ball hard and far every time. Nothing like the feel of the bat vibrating in my palms as it connects with the softball....

Unfortunately, last night I realized my ass has outgrown my underwear. I'm jogging to the outfield to my new position at 2nd and realized my panties kept creeping up my ass. Now, I'm drinking less beer, eating less cake for breakfast and running more and doing 20 minutes of Pilates every morning. If I am going to seduce Tasha or other unsuspecting female while on my cruise to Mexico (thanks to the new book "The Straight Girl's Guide to Sleeping with Chicks"), I must be in tip-top shape.

A New Leaf

I know the New Year has passed, but after much harrassing from Ex-Beloved, I feel like it is time to make some changes in my chaotic life.

Ex-Beloved is always laughing at me because I'm perpetually cleaning. Always. I'm always washing the floor, hanging up clothes, vaccuuming, doing laundry, washing dishes. He said once that he doesn't understand how I can managed to clean so much, because based on the amount of cleaning I do, there should be no mess to clean up.

I always had excuses. My apartment is small. I only have one closet. The kitties are messy. Etc. And I truly believed my excuses. Until the other day.

About three days ago, I realized the truth. I'm just lazy. My nose was running constantly (damn cats and expensive Walmart-brand Claritin). I was just throwing my tissues on the floor. The trash can was just around the corner in my kitchen. I could have easily gotten up, placed the trash can next to my desk and deposited the tissues straight into the can. However, I chose to leave them on the floor. For two days. (MS is disgusted with me for this nasty habit, sorry, Buddy.)

I do laziness all the time. It is an art and I have perfected it. I'll throw my old toothpaste tube towards the bathroom trash, but miss. The tube falls on the floor. What do I do? Leave it there. For days. Why??? It's not like I can't bend down (and now that I've been doing Pilates, I can bend even better) and pick it up. I'm just that lazy. When I try on outfits, I leave the discarded clothes on the floor, only to be picked up later. When I undress before crawling between unmade sheets, I throw my clothes on the floor instead of putting them in my laundry bag.

So I am taking charge of my life. No more unnecessary clutter. Obviously, one cannot change overnight, but I am trying. I have organized underneath all my cabinets and when I have to take something out, when I put it back, I put it back the right way. I've been doing my dishes immediately instead of leaving them until they start to smell funny. I'm taking my trash out every night. I went shopping this weekend, took my new clothes out of their bags, hung them up and placed the bags under my sink. And when I did laundry, I folded immediately instead of letting the clothes sit for days and get all wrinkly.

Who knows how long this will last, but I am making an effort. I will never be neurotic (requires too much energy), but Self-Control is the name of 2005. Am well on my way to becoming Domestic Goddess, fully worthy of a Master's in Something.

I Am Woman, Hear Me Yelp?

I woke up this morning (afternoon?) after a night of being obliterated and probably making an ass of myself at a Mardi Gras party where I was wearing a shirt I had no business wearing. (The logic behind the shirt: Mardi Gras = Flashing = Boobies = Cleavage = My shirt. And by cleavage, I mean even the girls couldn't stop staring.)

We drank hurricanes last night and I don't know what alcohol is in that vile drink, but I swear, I'm never drinking them again. I had one--ONE--and managed to get drunk and wake up with the worst hangover I've ever had.

I stumbled to the bathroom (ooh, just heard a car accident out my window) and downed three asprin (two hours later and my head aches just the same). I flushed my toilet and went to clean up the empty wine bottles and glasses littering my floor.

Thirty minutes later, I noticed my toilet was still running. My friend Megan had some plumbing troubles about a week ago and managed to fix it all by herself. So, similarly, I thought I could do the same, despite being dizzy and hung over. Right.

Feeling empowered, I slid the lid off the back of toilet and investigated the inner workings of my toilet. I stuck my hand in and sort fiddled with something. Unfortunately, I knocked the cap off some pump and it caused a jet of water to shoot up from the back of the toilet to the ceiling, much like some sort of plumbing Old Faithful. Water is spraying all over my bathroom, I'm screaming, everything is soaking wet and I'm drenched in cold toilet water from head to naked toe.

I don't feel empowered anymore and sometimes, I really miss pit latrines....

Plastic Children

I got a postcard in the mail from my oldest friend Megan.

The caption on the photo says, "Barbie's Tips for Happy Homemakers." There's a classic 1950's blond, blue-eyed Barbie sitting in a chair. On the floor next to her, a small baby lies in a lace covered basket, smiling emptily up at Barbie.

Out of Barbie's mouth, inside the word bubble, "I recommend no-fuss, machine washable plastic children."

Ahhh. Too good to be true....

Completely Disgusting

I know I haven't updated in awhile and I apologize, but I've been very busy and feel like I got hit by the lethargy train.

However, I just ate two cheeseburgers from McDonald's and now I feel completely disgusting and hate myself.

And I have class until 8pm. Ugh.

Birthing Process

Dating a med student provides an amazing insight into aspects of medicine that I now realize I have no desire to delve into.

Mainly childbirth.

MS claims that I am somewhat of a hippie, and I suppose that critique is valid. I qualify it by saying that I'm an East Coast hippie, which means I don't wear Birks and I bathe regularly but do have some tree-hugging, radically feminist ideas. One of my ideas involved childbirth. I've always viewed the process of giving birth as this empowering, awesome (as in the "enormous" sense, not "cool"), ultra female experience. The process of giving birth, creating life, bringing a new human on this planet is kind of amazing. Knowing that my body has the capacity and power to grow, change, create and house energy is unbelievable. I put my hands on my abdomen and am in awe at the mechanisms within me. I actually looked forward to the day when my belly would swell with the pulse of another human. I wanted to do natural childbirth, to feel my contractions as a life-force, to feel the baby push through my birth canal. I wanted to reach down between my legs and help guide its head out into the bright lights of life.

Not so much anymore. In fact, I've done a complete 180 and the thought of actually giving birth disgusts me more than a Cesearan.

For the past four weeks, I have been listening to stories of childbirth and getting text messages which go roughly like this: "Got to scrub in on hysterectomy this AM and use the Hibner Rod to remove uterus and scope bladder. Am also now proficient w bladder cath of female." The phrase: "And then I held her vagina open so she could deliver the placenta" actually passed his well-shaped lips. Vaginas should NEVER be big enough to "hold open." I mean, that doesn't even take two fingers!! And there's nothing like hearing about Grade 4 tearing (as in, from the back of the vagina, through the perinium all the way to the anus) and effacing cervixes to really make me NEVER want to give birth.

My mother is happy. She sees MS telling me all this as an excellent form of birth control. (Incidentally, she told me yesterday she always wished you could just vomit up children. Quick and painless.) MS, too, told me yesterday that he never wants to see another vagina again, which does not bode well for our relationship. However, if him not seeing my chach can prevent cervical dilation and tearing, I'm more than happy to oblige.

Charming

I ran out of toilet paper a few days ago. It's such an expensive purchase, yet oh -so-necessary. But it's always such a waste, I feel like. You spend all this money on tissue to wipe your ass. After that momentary three-second use, it's in the trash. Makes me upset. It's the same way I feel about tampons and "sanitary napkins" (seriously, who thought up that term??). Every woman needs them--they are a life necesity. Why are they so goddamn expensive???

Anyways, I decided to buy some extra-jumbo rolls of Charmin, since they were on sale. I don't know if I've ever used Charmin before, but I'm never buying it again. The cute little cartoon animals they use to advertise the paper are so misleading. I hate them.

The toilet paper bunches and shreds. Nothing like shards of tissue hanging out in your nether-regions AFTER you've wiped to give you that fresh and clean feeling. And I seem to be going through the "jumbo rolls" faster than I go through my normal rolls of 2-ply.

I hate false advertising.

Rocking Like a Star

This weekend might have been the most crazy weekend of my life. Ever. Well, except for the week of Fallas, when I was in Valencia. But for real. I don't think I'm ever going to drink again. At least not for a few weeks. Well, at least not excessively for a few weeks.

Saturday night, after the flaming cookbook incident, Anneke and Tasha came over for a few bottles of wine. We dressed to the nines and headed out the door to Plush to meet John, Andrew and Jonah. Since I hadn't gotten home until 4 am the night before, I was thinking maybe I'd go easy on the alcohol and have a quiet night.

Right. I don't know what happened, but moderation was not in the cards for me (um, is it ever?). After a few drinks at Plush, we stumbled over to The Surly Wench where things got really crazy. I ended up with a bumper sticker on my ass, the lead singer's tongue down my throat (twice!) and several sexually explicit drunk dials on my phone. I believe there might have been a lap dance or two, including one given to Tasha by the sweat-drenched band member "dressed" as Jesus (as if Jesus ever wore SAGGY tighty-whiteys. *Shudder*) The band was terrible--quite possibly the WORST I've ever seen. However, the lead singer had very nice chisled cheekbones a la Johnny Depp. I hope he didn't have any communicable diseases.

The night was not a total drunken loss. Andrew and I shared a conversation and some good moments together later that night. I did get to eat some of Anneke's hash browns at Denny's at 3:30.

But I swear, I am going to buckle down this week. Really.

Fire in the Hole

Saturday afternoon, I had a sudden and overwhelming desire to make corn chowder. I've never made it before, but I figured that after the Domestic Goddess Confidence Boost given to me after the new vacuum, I could easily figure it out.

I looked up a corn chowder in my new cookbook, just to see if there was a recipe worth using. I didn't have a majority of the ingredients needed, so I put the cookbook on the stove, filled the kettle up with water, put it on the back burner and turned the knob to bring it to a boil.

I went out to the living room to call Tasha. Five minutes into the conversation, I realized I didn't hear the kettle boiling. I sniffed. Something smelled a little weird.

Suddenly, the fire alarm started its high-pitched whine; I dropped the phone, ran into the kitchen to find my new Good Housekeeping Cookbook in flames atop the front burner that I had turned on accidentally. When I say flames, I mean actual fire shooting up.

The whole moment was chaotic and I'm not really sure what happened. I remember picking up the flaming book and throwing it in the sink. I remember the cats frantically running around crying because of the noise.

The aftermath was disaster. My house smells like charcoal, there's soot on my floor. My cookbook, although still readable, has suffered some SERIOUS cosmetic damage. I have a minor burn on my hand.

I did end up making my corn chowder (totally off the top of my head) and it turned out delicious. I suppose in some arenas I could be considered a Goddess, but perhaps not in the kitchen yet.

It never pays to be too cocky.

Shocker!

Imagine my surprise when I came across a photography of Jenna Bimbo Drunk Bush , flanked by her parents and dressed in a formal gown that probably cost more than my entire out-of-state tuition for the semester at the U of A, throwing the shocker hand symbol.

How classy.

Apparently, though, throwing the metal sign runs in the Bush family and actually symbolizes the Texas Longhorns. Or something. Note the following from www.cnn.com:

Norwegians Confused by Bush Salute
OSLO, Norway (AP) - President Bush's ``Hook 'em, 'horns'' salute got lost in translation in Norway, where shocked people interpreted his hand gesture during his inauguration as a salute to Satan. That's what it means in the Nordics when you throw up the right hand with the index and pinky fingers raised, a gesture popular among heavy metal groups and their fans in the region.
"Shock greeting from Bush daughter,'' a headline in the Norwegian Internet newspaper Nettavisen said above a photograph of Bush's daughter Jenna, smiling and showing the sign. For Texans, the gesture is a sign of love for the University of Texas Longhorns, whose fans are known to shout out ``Hook 'em, 'horns!'' at sporting events.
Bush, a former Texas governor, and his family made the sign to greet the Longhorn marching band as it passed during the inaugural parade through Washington during Thursday's festivities, explained Verdens Gang, Norway's largest newspaper.

Fabulous. Just what America needs. Already, we are enraging countries across the world with our foreign policy faux paus. Now we make them think that despite what the Christian Right claims about Bush being ordained by god, he's actually a member of satan's clan.

Wait. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.

Goodbyes and New (Chach-Free) Beginnings

This morning was my last day working at 6am. It was last time I'll ever have to kneel in cat feces to bathe a strange man. The last time I'll ever have to have odors of rotten food and rancid sweat greet me before I've rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

Strangely it was kind of sad. As I said goodbye, I shook his hand like I always do. As he gripped me, I felt a twinge of guilt. I wish I could change his situation, make his life a little more dignified. But as I seem to be continually learning, I can't save the world. I can only make it better for one person at a time.

A Miracle Has Happened Here

I was typing on my computer, frantically checking my email in between jobs and class. Turtle-Dog was lounging on the carpet next to my ergonomic computer chair (which ironically does nothing for my back) and Zola was sprawled in one of my purple chairs.

Suddenly, without provocation, Zola gracefully leapt from the chair down to the floor next to Turtle-Dog and began furiously licking her.

My kitties have become friends. Sort of. Immediately after swiping her tongue down Turtle-Dog's side a few times, Zola clamped her jaws around Turtle's neck. But that could be construed as "play" of sorts (even though Turtle began to mew).

Praise be to God.

How Do You Tell If Yorgurt's Gone Bad?

The semester has started and I don't even have time to pee. Working two jobs (total of 36 hours) and taking 16 credits is kicking my ass. I don't even have time to sleep, and we all know that's my second favorite thing to do. I've become grumpy and I whine alot...

However, things will be looking up since tomorrow is my last day to bathe people with developmental disabilities. HOORAY! And then I can breathe next week--maybe even have a chance to piss.

Meanwhile, I'm eating breakfast. I bought some plain yorgurt and was planning on eating it for breakfast. But it looks lumpy. And weird. It smells fine, but I don't know if it's good to eat. Unless something smells really rotten, I'm usually okay to eat it. But after watching Jeremy Plitt vomit up sour milk in Children's Church when I was 10, I've always been paranoid about dairy.

Will Power and iPods, Part Duex

Amazingly enough (and those of you that know me well, you'll know this IS amazing), I've been sticking to this diet. Granted, it's only been a few days and I've cheated a teeny bit (had salad dressing and a piece of cheese), but last night was monumental.

I went out last night to my favorite bar, The Shelter, with a bunch of friends. It was our last Hoorah! before classes start today. We all sat around looking at each other over the tops of our beers and moaned about how we were never going to see each other once school starts, apparently forgetting how we went out drinking every other night last semester.

But the best part of the evening is that I managed to get through it by not drinking!! I had not a sip of alcohol. I smelled it, imagined its taste on my tongue, but I refrained from actually drinking it. It was almost freeing, this new-found ability to say no.

Apparently, I am able to exhibit self-control when necessary. However, my lack of self-control has leaked to other parts of my life. Namely shopping. (Will I ever reach a life of moderation???)

I went shopping yesterday after suddenly coming into thousands of dollars by accident and...finally got my iPod!!!!!

Life is good and it only took $258 for me to attain sheer, glorious happiness.

Senorita Margarita

I've decided to embark on a new diet. I've been having some health issues and upon advice from both Ex-Beloved and my Dr., I'm going on a no yeast, no sugar, no alcohol, no taste diet.

Sigh. It hasn't been too bad. Mostly, I'm just trying to work on a bit of self-restraint which I desperately need.

Speaking of self-restraint, I drove up to Phoenix to see Ex-Beloved on Sunday. He had some stuff for me and I thought maybe it was time to see him. It was a great visit. We went out for Indian and then went back to his apartment to hang out and talk.

He looks good. I forgot how much he makes me smile. I've spent so much energy on hating him for hurting me, that I forgot how much I actually like him. He makes me laugh so hard. It was nice to remember how we used to be.

After I left, I immediately drove to the Scottsdale Fashion Center (hoity-toity), walked straight to Sephora and spent $97 on beauty products I didn't need.

My favorite purchase is a Margarita-scented body wash and salt scrub. If I can't drink, I might as well smell like my favorite beverage as I wash off the sins of my past to turn over a new leaf.

Damn, Do I Have to Shave?

The Med Student is currently residing in Phoenix for the next six weeks, doing his OB-GYN rotation, delivering babies and examining ulcerated chaches at Maricopa County Hospital.

Now, this boy totally gets me, y'all. For my personal amusement (and his, as well), he's keeping a "tic" sheet of the number of vaginas he sees and another one recording the number of vaginas he actually works on. Isn't that awesome?

The downside to Med Student (should I start calling him Chach Boy?) being in Phoenix is I don't get to see him. Fortunately, this weekend, he's not on call and gets off fairly early in the afternoon on Friday--meaning I might get to see him.

However, my personal goal was to not shave my legs until the end of the six weeks. But now....should I shave?

Goodmorning, Auschwitz

I woke up groggy this morning because I took too much Nyquill last night. When I arrived at my client's house, there was an inexplicable bottle of dish detergent sitting on the bath chair in the shower.

His wife thought it'd be nice to start the morning with a cheery movie about the Holocaust starring Kirsten Dunst. The phrase, "It's just like Schindler's List!" passed her lips. Just what I want to watch at 6:15 am. What a way to start my day.

Now don't get me wrong. I love the Jewish people. Probably more than anyone even realizes. I've been fascinated with their history as a group, even as a small child. But waking up with scenes of a concentration camp is not how I like to roll out of bed.

As the movie progressed, a bit of irony struck me. The movie was about a shallow American teenager (Dunst) who doesn't care about her Jewishness until she magically is transported to Poland and lives and dies in a concentration camp saving her best friend/cousin (played by Brittney Murphy with a horrible accent) who actually turns out to be her aunt. Honestly, it was a terribly acted movie, partly because of the fake Polish accents and partly because the script was stilted and forced.

Anyways, the overarching theme of the movie was "never forget."

But how short our memories are.

The Jewish community is always saying, "Never forget. Never forget." And we shouldn't. But should "never forget" only apply to Jews? The world certainly forgot Rwanda. The world is forgetting Darfur.

I wish the American Jewish community would speak up full force, to extend "never forgetting" beyond the Jewish community and into other worlds and peoples that are suffering the same horrors they did 50 years ago.

Fantasy

My alarm woke me up this morning, pulling me out of a phenomenal dream world. Stretching awake to reality was tough; I wanted simply to curl up and luxuriate further. It was a dream of my wildest fantasies and, although I know it would never come true, the thought that it might sent chills running down my spine and goosebumps on my arms.

I dreamed that my client's bathroom had been cleaned and I no longer had to kneel in cat shit to bathe him.

Such a fantasy.

Speaking of cleaning, I bought a new vacuum yesterday (goodbye iPod dreams). When I first moved to Tucson, I bought a cheap vacuum, not realizing I'd be vacuuming up enough cat hair to weave a blanket and kitty litter to soak up the Valdez oil spill. My friend Jen (domestic goddess that she is) recently purchased a Dyson and has been raving about it. Since she went bagless, I figured I could too. Dysons were not in my budget, but the Hoover Em-Power was. At $128, I am in love.

I have vacuumed my floor twice, fascinated with the sucking power, watching the bagless container fill up with cat hair, dust and kitty litter. I could spend hours just pushing the Em-Power across my floor.

First baking brownies and now enjoying vacuuming? Just call me Wifey.

Tramp Stamp

MS's friend Justin came over to MS's house the other day. I answered the door as MS was dressing.

Apparently, Justin had noticed the Sag tattoo in my armpit and mentioned it to MS. MS (who has two himself) told him that I also have the monkey symbol on my ass. Justin asked if it was a "Tramp Stamp."

LOL. Is that not the most hysterical term ever? How appropriate. In case you can't figure it out, a tramp stamp is that tattoo that oh so many sorority girls get directly in the middle of the small of their back.

MS reassured Justin that, although my monkey was nearly a tramp stamp, I am (for now) tramp stamp free.

Hairless Adonis

I think I've finally met someone who is actually more (fill in blank with appropriate word such as obnoxious, loud, etc.) than I am. Really, I swear.

For New Year's Eve Tasha, MS and I went to Plush, a club on 4th Ave which featured a band called Sunday Afternoon. (Side note: the lead singer looked like an Islamic terrorist with a bald head and bushy beard but HOT DAMN the guy was beautiful and had this deep, throaty voice. Every time he opened his mouth, I closed my eyes and imagined him singing to me in bed as he stroked me with his voice.)

Tasha (a.k.a. the Felineator) is a tall, absolutely gorgeous redhead. She has a chisled bone structure and these gorgeous cat-shaped blue eyes. Absolutely stunning in that classic Hollywood sort of way.

She's also a riot and a half. The two of us together make for a pretty funny scene. Tasha is always willing to anything. Whenever we're drinking, I bet her money to do things (like grab a man's "stuff") and she's always been up to whatever challenges I regularly put forth.

The night waxed late and I was losing energy, prefering to fantasize at the lead singer while MS stood with his arm around me. Tasha meandered over to two men, one wearing a blue button-down and another wearing a white Tshirt. A few moments later, she hurried over to me, drink in hand, and started pulling me towards the two men. "You've GOT to feel their bodies! They're hard as rocks!"

She dragged me over to the men and immediately began unbuttoning the blue-shirted man's shirt. She grabbed my right hand with her left and forced my hand to stroke his gorgeous, muscular, bare chest; my hand rippled across his smooth body, over the planes of his torso as I blushed furiously.

Wow.

That was even a bit audacious, even for me, but thank god for friends who will do anything on a dare (and even more when they're just a tiny bit retarded). Without her, my night would have been just a little less glittery.

That's Trouble.

Must I Say More?