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.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, January 24, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, January 21, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
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?
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?
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, January 03, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Ordering iPods
Karma strikes again. I accidentally ordered a $399 iPod and $45 worth of books from Amazon.com.
Why me?
I received a number of Target gift cards for Christmas and am planning on buying an iPod. But I wanted to check the price at Amzon to see if it was cheaper for me to buy it there. They had a sale where you had to put the item in your cart in order to see the price. So I did. I also had some books in my cart that I was saving, but ended up buying them at the airport.
I saw the Amazon price of the iPod and decided it was cheaper to go with Target and my giftcards and exited out of the site. I never once clicked "buy."
The next morning, I woke up and had two emails waiting in my inbox telling my that $459 had been charged to my Mastercard and my Amazon shipment was on its way. GAH!
Thankfully, I returned the iPod without problem. The shipment of books is already in the system, so I'll have to return them manually. But seriously? How does this happen?
On a sidenote, I took a personality test twice (gotta love the internet) and my results both times:
You are a SRCL--Sober Rational Constructive Leader. This makes you a Ayn Rand ideal. Taggart? Roark? Galt? You are all of these. You were born to lead. You may not be particularly exciting, but you have a strange charisma--born of intellect and personal drive--that people begin to notice when they have been around you a while. You don't like to compromise, but you recognize when you have to.You care absolutely nothing what other people think, and this somehow attracts people to you. Treat them well, use them wisely, and ascend to your rightful rank.
You are a SECF--Sober Emotional Constructive Follower. This makes you a Hippie. You are passionate about your causes and steadfast in your commitments. Once you've made up your mind, no one can convince you otherwise. Your politics are left-leaning, and your lifestyle choices decidedly temperate and chaste. You do tremendous work when focused, but usually you operate somewhat distracted. You blow hot and cold, and while you normally endeavor on the side of goodness and truth, you have a massive mean streak which is not to be taken lightly. You don't get mad, you get even. Please don't get even with this web site.
I think both are a fair assessment.
Why me?
I received a number of Target gift cards for Christmas and am planning on buying an iPod. But I wanted to check the price at Amzon to see if it was cheaper for me to buy it there. They had a sale where you had to put the item in your cart in order to see the price. So I did. I also had some books in my cart that I was saving, but ended up buying them at the airport.
I saw the Amazon price of the iPod and decided it was cheaper to go with Target and my giftcards and exited out of the site. I never once clicked "buy."
The next morning, I woke up and had two emails waiting in my inbox telling my that $459 had been charged to my Mastercard and my Amazon shipment was on its way. GAH!
Thankfully, I returned the iPod without problem. The shipment of books is already in the system, so I'll have to return them manually. But seriously? How does this happen?
On a sidenote, I took a personality test twice (gotta love the internet) and my results both times:
You are a SRCL--Sober Rational Constructive Leader. This makes you a Ayn Rand ideal. Taggart? Roark? Galt? You are all of these. You were born to lead. You may not be particularly exciting, but you have a strange charisma--born of intellect and personal drive--that people begin to notice when they have been around you a while. You don't like to compromise, but you recognize when you have to.You care absolutely nothing what other people think, and this somehow attracts people to you. Treat them well, use them wisely, and ascend to your rightful rank.
You are a SECF--Sober Emotional Constructive Follower. This makes you a Hippie. You are passionate about your causes and steadfast in your commitments. Once you've made up your mind, no one can convince you otherwise. Your politics are left-leaning, and your lifestyle choices decidedly temperate and chaste. You do tremendous work when focused, but usually you operate somewhat distracted. You blow hot and cold, and while you normally endeavor on the side of goodness and truth, you have a massive mean streak which is not to be taken lightly. You don't get mad, you get even. Please don't get even with this web site.
I think both are a fair assessment.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Instant Karma's Gonna Get Me
So, I think it's been officially decided that I have the WORST luck with paperwork. I have good luck when it comes to important things (friends, travel, car accidents, etc.), but anything involving paperwork ultimately ends up as a major ordeal in my life. Nothing is simple.
For example, registering for classes is never just a simple point and click. Something in the computer system will inevitably not allow my password to work and I'll have to call to register. Or getting my student loans to go through always takes extra legwork because someone always loses my applications. Work is constantly losing my time sheets and reports. Computers crash. Banks lose checks. Bills come late to me.
At least all the paperwork eventually gets sorted out. It just seems like nothing is easy the first time for me.
Case in point: Elisabeth's Luggage. When I arrived in Tucson, I stand idly for 30 minutes at the baggage claim to discover that the suitcase filled with my Christmas gifts went missing somewhere between Dulles and Tucson. I wasn't worried--I knew it'd come back to me. I filled out a missing luggage report and went home after being told the bag would turn up later that night and be returned to me between 8-10 the next morning after a phone call.
That next morning, I wake up at 11:17 to discover my bag still not here nor a phone call. I look on the printed handout the customer service man provided me and realize my phone number is wrong. I call AA to tell them they've been calling the wrong number. They fix the problem, telling me the courrier and my bag should arrive in the hour.
I finally got my suitcase at 5:30 pm, after it had traveled all the way to Sierra Vista (that's in Cochise County, Southeast AZ) to another Williams' residence.
I don't know what I did in my last life to deserve such minor annoyance. At least whatever I did that my soul is now paying for wasn't too serious, since it seems that the bad karma only involves minor stuff and I don't have to worry that I was too horrible and cruel of a person. Perhaps part of my vocational calling is an unconscious desire now to pay for sins of my last life. Hopefully, I'm atoning for it enough so that next time around, life will be a little easier on me.
For example, registering for classes is never just a simple point and click. Something in the computer system will inevitably not allow my password to work and I'll have to call to register. Or getting my student loans to go through always takes extra legwork because someone always loses my applications. Work is constantly losing my time sheets and reports. Computers crash. Banks lose checks. Bills come late to me.
At least all the paperwork eventually gets sorted out. It just seems like nothing is easy the first time for me.
Case in point: Elisabeth's Luggage. When I arrived in Tucson, I stand idly for 30 minutes at the baggage claim to discover that the suitcase filled with my Christmas gifts went missing somewhere between Dulles and Tucson. I wasn't worried--I knew it'd come back to me. I filled out a missing luggage report and went home after being told the bag would turn up later that night and be returned to me between 8-10 the next morning after a phone call.
That next morning, I wake up at 11:17 to discover my bag still not here nor a phone call. I look on the printed handout the customer service man provided me and realize my phone number is wrong. I call AA to tell them they've been calling the wrong number. They fix the problem, telling me the courrier and my bag should arrive in the hour.
I finally got my suitcase at 5:30 pm, after it had traveled all the way to Sierra Vista (that's in Cochise County, Southeast AZ) to another Williams' residence.
I don't know what I did in my last life to deserve such minor annoyance. At least whatever I did that my soul is now paying for wasn't too serious, since it seems that the bad karma only involves minor stuff and I don't have to worry that I was too horrible and cruel of a person. Perhaps part of my vocational calling is an unconscious desire now to pay for sins of my last life. Hopefully, I'm atoning for it enough so that next time around, life will be a little easier on me.
Monday, December 27, 2004
Righting my Christian World
This Christmas Eve, I went to chuch with my parents. Partly to please them (family togetherness and all that) and partly because I like to catch up on the gossip of the Christian circle I left behind about 6 years ago when I went Catholic. I'm intensely fascinated with the Christian Right. I even listen to Christian Talk Radio sometimes.
Let me state, firstly, that I am happy with my life. I believe I'm living a good life. I have a sense of social justice, I want to do good in this world and see good done. I like peace. I bathe retarded people in order to pay my bills, for goodness sake.
But everytime I go to my parents' church, I always feel somewhat judged because I'm not living my life the way the majority of self-centered American Christians are. I don't think that God is about me, but rather God is about doing good for other people in whatever capacity I am able. I think that American Christians put too much emphasis on their "personal relationship" with God and not as much emphasis on taking God outside of themselves into the world. A personal relationship with God is nothing compared to my personal relationships with other people. Am I being kind? Just? Loving? Compassionate? Of course, one could argue that personal relationships are a manifestation of what's inside someone (and I agree), but rather than focus on a selfish view of God (what can he do for me?), I think the point should be "What can I do for others?"
It also annoys me that people in the Christian Right worry if they're making the "right decision" and ask God to help them. Does God really care? Really? Really?? I'd venture to say in this unstable world that God has alot bigger things than whether or not you should attend College X or Y--poverty, natural distasters, war are a bit higher on the totem pole than if I should switch jobs.
And of course, the fact that I'm living in sin on so many levels adds to my feeling of judgement. Ironically, for the most part, all my friends who are married or engaged are good Christians who are saving themselves for marriage. Myself and my heathen friends who already are getting laid see no reason to speed up the marriage process. I'm all for waiting for marriage if that's what you desire. No skin off my back. I don't really care what you do in your personal life. But don't expect applause for it.
Anyways, I'm actually starting to sound bitter. I'm definitely not. I just get tired of being judged because I vote Democratic, believe in world peace and enjoy sex.
What I'd really like to see is a turn-around in the American Christian Church. A focus on compassion for others--real compassion, not lip-service. Perhaps then, I'd have a little more respect for the Christian Right.
Let me state, firstly, that I am happy with my life. I believe I'm living a good life. I have a sense of social justice, I want to do good in this world and see good done. I like peace. I bathe retarded people in order to pay my bills, for goodness sake.
But everytime I go to my parents' church, I always feel somewhat judged because I'm not living my life the way the majority of self-centered American Christians are. I don't think that God is about me, but rather God is about doing good for other people in whatever capacity I am able. I think that American Christians put too much emphasis on their "personal relationship" with God and not as much emphasis on taking God outside of themselves into the world. A personal relationship with God is nothing compared to my personal relationships with other people. Am I being kind? Just? Loving? Compassionate? Of course, one could argue that personal relationships are a manifestation of what's inside someone (and I agree), but rather than focus on a selfish view of God (what can he do for me?), I think the point should be "What can I do for others?"
It also annoys me that people in the Christian Right worry if they're making the "right decision" and ask God to help them. Does God really care? Really? Really?? I'd venture to say in this unstable world that God has alot bigger things than whether or not you should attend College X or Y--poverty, natural distasters, war are a bit higher on the totem pole than if I should switch jobs.
And of course, the fact that I'm living in sin on so many levels adds to my feeling of judgement. Ironically, for the most part, all my friends who are married or engaged are good Christians who are saving themselves for marriage. Myself and my heathen friends who already are getting laid see no reason to speed up the marriage process. I'm all for waiting for marriage if that's what you desire. No skin off my back. I don't really care what you do in your personal life. But don't expect applause for it.
Anyways, I'm actually starting to sound bitter. I'm definitely not. I just get tired of being judged because I vote Democratic, believe in world peace and enjoy sex.
What I'd really like to see is a turn-around in the American Christian Church. A focus on compassion for others--real compassion, not lip-service. Perhaps then, I'd have a little more respect for the Christian Right.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
That's Where I'm a Viking
I've been communicating with the Med Student over break and, through our phone conversations and text messaging, have realized a few things about my family vs other families.
The Med Student has been out doing fun and interesting things with his family since he's been back in L.A. Things like going to aquariums, beaches, the movies, tapings of the Tonight Show, etc. Fun Things. Things which require a little bit of thought and energy from members of his family.
My family likes to sleep.
I realized that both my brother (the little shit) and I routinely take long naps throughout the day whenever we both come home. This has really been going on for years. It seems that every time either of us come home from a break, we end up spending over half our time in Manassas curled up in bed.
I'm not sure why. We live outside of DC which has plenty of exciting cutural activities, many of which are even free. There are dozens of musuems a short skip away. There are plays and concerts a mere jaunt down Highway 66. Yet, repeatedly, I choose to stay home and nap.
I partially blame it on my mother. She keeps the average indoor temperature of my house hovering around a nippy 65 degrees. I get cold easily (sluggish blood) and am in perpetual state of freezing. I always bring nice clothes home, adorable tops adorned with ribbon and lace, only to cover them up with sweatshirts to keep my nipples from freezing off. I think much of my urge to nap revolves around the desire to hunker down inside my faux-down comforter merely to stay warm.
But I think my desire to nap must be genetic. It seems that every day between 2 and 5, my brother and I both drop whatever we're reading, writing, watching and climb the stairs to our respective bedrooms and crawl into bed. Often, my dad and my mother can be found doing the same thing around the same time.
I've decided that the sole reason for my inability to go out and engage in fun VA activities is that I am completely unwilling to give up my nap time. Choosing to nap over going out is an unconscious decision, I'm sure (well, until now). But nonetheless, I'm unwilling compromise my sleep to put myself in a place or position that come 3pm, I am unable to engage in my 2nd favorite activity.
The Med Student has been out doing fun and interesting things with his family since he's been back in L.A. Things like going to aquariums, beaches, the movies, tapings of the Tonight Show, etc. Fun Things. Things which require a little bit of thought and energy from members of his family.
My family likes to sleep.
I realized that both my brother (the little shit) and I routinely take long naps throughout the day whenever we both come home. This has really been going on for years. It seems that every time either of us come home from a break, we end up spending over half our time in Manassas curled up in bed.
I'm not sure why. We live outside of DC which has plenty of exciting cutural activities, many of which are even free. There are dozens of musuems a short skip away. There are plays and concerts a mere jaunt down Highway 66. Yet, repeatedly, I choose to stay home and nap.
I partially blame it on my mother. She keeps the average indoor temperature of my house hovering around a nippy 65 degrees. I get cold easily (sluggish blood) and am in perpetual state of freezing. I always bring nice clothes home, adorable tops adorned with ribbon and lace, only to cover them up with sweatshirts to keep my nipples from freezing off. I think much of my urge to nap revolves around the desire to hunker down inside my faux-down comforter merely to stay warm.
But I think my desire to nap must be genetic. It seems that every day between 2 and 5, my brother and I both drop whatever we're reading, writing, watching and climb the stairs to our respective bedrooms and crawl into bed. Often, my dad and my mother can be found doing the same thing around the same time.
I've decided that the sole reason for my inability to go out and engage in fun VA activities is that I am completely unwilling to give up my nap time. Choosing to nap over going out is an unconscious decision, I'm sure (well, until now). But nonetheless, I'm unwilling compromise my sleep to put myself in a place or position that come 3pm, I am unable to engage in my 2nd favorite activity.
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