Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Neil Diamond

Do NOT try to tell me you don't love Neil Diamond.

You totally do.

Yes, you do.

You can try as hard as you want to be pretentious about it, and talk about how you ony like REAL musicians, like local artists who aren't MAINSTREAM enough to be signed by a major label, or how you only listen to Bjork because she speaks to your soul, but the truth is, you sing along to "Solitary Man" when you're alone in the car.

I will grant you that there are two basic types of people. There are people who love Neil Diamond the most (like me), and people who like Barry Manilow the most (and you really haven't lived until you've been to see Barry with Rachel). But we ALL like both of them.

Stop denying it. Roll down the windows and sing along to Cracklin' Rosie (and listen to the words! It's dirty!)

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Just some thoughts about being pregnant

1- dude, it totally sucks.

2- No, I mean, REALLY. What to Expect When You're Expecting only needs to be, like, one paragraph long, and all it has to say is "You should expect to experience mind-bending nausea at every waking moment, long enough to forget how feeling good actually feels. Eventually, that will pass, but by then, you won't be able to breathe or go more than twenty minutes without peeing. That will pass, too, but only after you endure the unspeakable process of getting the baby out of your body. Then you would be able to sleep, but you won't, because your baby will never, ever sleep through the night. Following that, you will spend the rest of your life petrified that they're going to take up a hobby like stripping or growing brain tumors."

3- I'm a total, obsessive worrier. This is hardly news to, oh, anyone. I really and truly believe that worrying about things prevents them from happening, and I can't convince myself otherwise. In fact, we were consulted on a patient a few weeks ago who had a severe
anoxic brain injury due to placental abruption, and all I could think was, Shit, I forgot to worry about that.

Initially,I was focused on seeing the heartbeat, because I knew that once we saw that, our chances of successful pregnancy were very high. And I obsessed while I was waiting for that ultrasound- the whole process was way too easy, so many things can go wrong, etc. I just focused on that ultrsound and swore I'd be just fine once it was done. A friend of mine said, "Okay, but the thing is, once you see that, you worry about the congenital anomalies scan. Then you worry about them being born safely. Then you worry about developmental delays and autism. And so on." (see: above re: stripping and tumors) And she's right. So I am really, really working on that. So far, not having much success. Will keep you posted.

4- I know it's kind of weird looking, and my father was totally grossed out by it, but I actually think it's awfully cute:


Saturday, April 19, 2008

What kind of dog is that?

I'm still not really a dog person. I love Sam, and I like other people's dogs, eventually, but the whole dog park thing could not be lower on my list of things to do. Dozens of other people's dogs running around, some with manners even worse than Sam's? Um, yeah, I'll be here on the couch, thanks.

At the same time, I do love Sam more than I thought I could love a big, stupid dog (and make no mistake about it, Sam is dumber than jello). And it's really fun when strangers get excited about him and want to pet him and talk about how cute he is. Of course they do, Sam is adorable.

The funny thing is, everyone always asks the same thing. "What kind of dog is that?!" It's actually not funny- we all know I went to the trouble of secretly swabbing his gums and mailing it in for DNA analysis, thinking I'd be able to surprise Stephen by revealing the secrets of his dog's identity. And we all know how that went. I guess Sam could be a weiner dog...if weiner dogs had long skinny legs, or bushy tails, or average-length torsos.

For awhile, we thought he was maybe part collie, because of the stripe on his nose.


Then we thought he was part Husky, because he has a faint black mask, a bushy tail, and he loves the snow. Also because the vet pointed out some Huskies in the waiting room who were making the same warbly noise Sam makes when he's taunting the cats. ALSO because someone told us stories about their really stupid Husky. (that kind of sealed the deal, actually.)


It doesn't really matter what kind of dog Sam is. We love him even though he's stupid and has bad manners and does stuff like jumping all over strangers and pulling us off our feet when we're outside and he sees something he likes, or when he does gross stuff like eating the cat litter. He also does really awesome stuff like sitting eating our apple cores and sitting on our feet while we eat dinner, and the really cute little dance he did when we got home from the honeymoon, running back and forth between the picture window and the door, trying to figure out how to get to us faster. The only problem is, now I've written a whole blog entry about my dog.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Star Wars

It's totally cheesey. A big part of why I love it is because I loved it as a little kid. I mean, I know it's a classic, and it doesn't suffer from the truly horrible dialogue of the prequels, but overall, it's not exactly the Godfather.


If you watch it and think of our current political situation, it's hard to not walk away thinking George Lucas is psychic.

Young Luke Skywalker, radicalized by the loss of his aunt and uncle. The Imperial Council discussing how fear will suppress rebellion and keep people in line. And, of course, Dick Cheney's starring role under his most well-known pseudonym, Darth Vader. (His next-best known role being The Brain to Bush's Pinky.)

I hate to oversimplify, but come on. If they made this movie now, I'd be all, "Um, okay with the ANVILS, I get it already."

Thursday, April 3, 2008

I love this quote

From Runner's World:

"I believed that whereas success in other sports depended on raw physicality- yur height in basketball or your weight and strength in football- distance running rewarded those who trained the hardest."

-Amby Burfoot

It's not strictly true. I'll never run a 2-hour half marathon, no matter how hard I try, because it's just not in me. But I like that one thing is true- even a big spaz like me can run. And that is reason no. 32432 why I like it.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008


(no, not the totally awesome line dance that everyone lucky enough to grow up in Park Ridge learned in second grade. though I am still really pissed at myself for not having the DJ play that at the wedding.)

Every afternoon at this time, I get really hungry. I keep a stash of popcorn in my desk drawer, and right around this time, enjoy a lovely, chemical-laden bag of popcorn. However, because we have a seriously broke-ass microwave, the bag starts scorching before it's even halfway done popping. For some reason, I refuse to walk twenty yards to the nurse's breakroom, and instead scorch popcorn every day. (this seems to be exacerbated by bags that only fold in half- bags folded in thirds aren't as bad. Knowledge of this fact has displaced something really important in my brain.)

Sometimes, the popcorn scorches so badly it burns a hole in the bag. Once, it was smoking so furiously, I frantically carried it into the bathroom and poured water over it. Why? Because two years ago, I had scorched my usual popcorn bag, and about half an hour later, there was a knock at the door. The engineering department had come to confiscate my popcorn. I had set off the smoke alarm. (We'll just ignore the fact that it took them that long to respond, because I'd rather not think about what would happen if it were a real fire.) When I told the man from engineering that I had already finished the popcorn, he angrily informed me he needed to confiscate my garbage.

"Um, my garbage?" I said.

"YES. Your garbage. Go get it. The fumes will continue to set off the smoke detector."



So I gave him my garbage. A few months ago, when I had the bad smoking, water-pouring incident? I actually called engineering to tell them, haha, just me again, no need to send out the troops! The man who answered talked to me like I was impossibly stupid and informed me that, had I set off the smoke detector, I would know, because they would have come running.

Um, ok. Sure.