Tuesday, July 31, 2007

As a follow up to my last posting, I thought I'd share an example of how truly wonderful my office mate is--he's just now sent me this thoughtful e-greeting card. It really warms my heart.

Haha, check out this website: www.someecards.com
Thank you, Keif, for sending it to me.
(warning: most cards are wildly inappropriate and you are sure to snort with laughter)

Monday, July 30, 2007

So You Think You Can Dance?

These photos of mine sum up life in my office. Keeping our noses to the grindstone. . .

When we first moved into our new office together this spring, my office mate, Tep, decided to barricade my desk and me in the back corner with packing crates, chairs, and other miscellaneous items from our office. Strangely, this did not bother or offend me in the least. It actually made me feel slightly more important--like I had a tiny office of my own. I liked the privacy. Plus, when people stopped by to talk to me, they couldn't tell if I was actually there or not--which I enjoyed immensely. Leave me alone please; I am very busy back here in my corner. We frankly didn't have the room to store everything we'd both accumulated from our projects over the past two years (well, that and we're lazy), so the crates hung around unpacked for a long time. For months, people would walk by, looking at all the crates and ask, "Just moving in?" Um, not exactly. Facilities finally had to come and ask for the crates back; apparently the company is charged weekly for renting them or something. Who knew?

Now that we've finally unpacked, the office is fairly clean, and I'm feeling out of place. Backwards, I know. Clutter just makes sense to some people.

On another note, Tep and I do have amazing dance parties in our office. Tep's trying to teach me how to dance like a normal human being. It's not going so well. We especially like to shut the door and party like rock stars to the tunes of Gloria Estefan, Hall and Oates, and occasionally a little Milli Vanilli when in need of a good pick-me-up. Good taste, right? With the exception of one casualty (knocking a lamp of a shelf and breaking it during our dance fever), our dance parties serve as lovely stress and/or boredom reducers with no harm done.

You Don't Want Blood on Your Teeth

Like many people, I'm always a little on edge when I go to the doctor, like I'm going to find out that something horrible and terminal is wrong with me. Of course, I find myself at the doctor all the time, but that's another story. (Some people say I'm a bit of a hypochondriac, but I don't know what they're talking about.)

Anyway, so I went to the doctor on Friday and was pleasantly surprised to be assigned to a very friendly and caring physician. She was about half my size, super sweet, and very motherly (which was a breath of fresh air after my scary encounter with another doctor earlier this year who insisted up and down that I was pregnant and forced me to get a blood test to prove it [without examining me first] because I came in complaining about a bout of dizziness following a very recent stomach virus. And, as I assured her repeatedly, it turns out that I was not, for the record, pregnant.) Anyway, so after seeing the doctor on Friday, she sent me over to get x-rays. The x-ray technician was also amazingly friendly and warm (We had a delightful bonding experience over our mutual love of flip flops). Although, while I was lying on the x-ray table, she complimented my flat stomach, which I found pretty amusing given the circumstances. I told her thank you, but that A) I was lying down, and B) I was holding in my breath as she'd instructed, so of course my stomach looked flat! I was flattered, nonetheless. (You can tell I'm not used to people in medical settings being very friendly toward me). But I'm getting side-tracked.

This seemingly pointless and boring recollection of events at the doctor is leading up to the final part, which is sadly only slightly more interesting.....So at this point I'm thinking my experience at the doctor's office was in fact one of the best yet, but when I step up to the pharmacy, my good mood quickly dissipates. The pharmacist herself hands me my prescription pills, saying, "Now you must take this with food." Yea, yea, I think--I always take them with a little food anyway. Sensing this, she continues, "Because you really don't want blood on your teeth."
"Excuse me?" I respond, flustered, for obvious reasons.
"Well, if you don't take it with food, you'll definitely get a nasty stomach ulcer, which will cause lots of blood to go up your throat and into your mouth. And you really don't want any blood on your teeth, because that's just nasty."
Yes, now the queasiness (hypochondria, whatever you want to call it) sets in.
"WITH FOOD!" she yells again after me as I leave.
Ok lady, way to scare the crap out of me! What the heck was that? Wouldn't "Be sure to take with food" have sufficed? No need to bring my poor innocent teeth into it and leave me with a haunting mental picture of me choking on my own stomach blood for the rest of the day....GROSS! I appreciate the warning, don't get me wrong, but this woman desperately needs some sensitivity training.

So there I am Friday night, frantically stuffing my face with pretzels and chips and anything I can get my hands on before popping the prescription pill, for fear that my teeth may get bloody. Thanks a lot.

Friday, July 27, 2007

The Metaphysics of Free Will

While doing the laundry a few minutes ago, I took a huge whiff of my husband's dirty underwear in an attempt to confirm that it had already been washed (it had not). What was I thinking? Needlesss to say, I am now extremely nauseous and will likely function significantly below my usual unproductive norm for the rest of the morning as I recover.

I was going to blog about something extraordinary, but now my head is clogged. Too bad. Well, in any case, have a lovely weekend everyone.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Living the American Dream

This posting is a tribute to my amazing husband, who is currently in bumble Virginia somewhere, peddling his wares to the locals.

I have to say how much I admire how openly and wholeheartly he embraces new things. He just jumps right on in. (I'm more of a toe-dipper myself.) He knew nothing about medical sales (especially OB/GYN products!) but has transitioned into his new job beautifully. And I think that's great. He can get along with just about anyone. It's his big smile, jovial personality, and warm heart that win people over I think. Ok, maybe it's the donuts he brings to the nurses, but that's neither here nor there.

Along those lines, he really wants this tee shirt that says, "I'm not a gynecologist, but I'll take a look." I actually think it's funny. I randomly saw the shirt for sale in a store in Nashville the other week, but unfortunately they didn't have it in his size.

So if any of you ladies are in need of a mobius retractor device for an impending c-secion, look no further.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

commuting to DC

So I'm what Newsweek considers an "Extreme Commuter." I commute more than 90 minutes each way to work along with 2% of the other people in this country. We're quite an exclusive club you know. I think I should carry some sort of important looking ID card or something...

As I finally reach the light at the end of the tunnel and stop this ridiculous commute, I've been reflecting on some of the pros and cons.

*I get to watch some great fights on the subway.
*I can read an entire novel, cover to cover, including the prologue, on the way to work each morning.
*I have lots of forced "me" time. Lots.
*I get sympathy from co-workers and can stay home in bad weather.
*I've now memorized every stop on the metro system. If you have a question, I'm your girl.
*I get to see a plethera of odd looking individuals on a daily basis.

*The obvious: I waste four hours a day when I could (potentially) be doing something more productive.
*I'm always exhausted and could pretty much fall asleep at any moment.
*I inevitably arrive to work in a pissy mood due to a traffic or train delay, encounter with a most unfriendly commuter, harrassment by a homeless person or something along those lines...
*I'm too damn tired to exercise/move off the couch by the time I get home.
*I pretty much have no life.

Two years of it can really wear on you. I'm just glad it's almost over....

Oh, about the green beans in the URL.... they're only the best food in the world according to me. Strange but true. I never tire of them. Keep in mind that this is coming from a girl who never cooks, let alone attempts to. So they're pretty much a staple for me. Foie gras, cavier, truffles have nothing on these little green delights. Ok, they may indeed be considered better by those of you with more cultivated palates, but rest assured that I'll never know.