Merry Christmas!

And Chappy Chanukah!

So we've already done our gift exchange, and my husband officially rocks.

As do I.

He gave me the Weekly World News, Zoggles Buddies #1 (two little clay statues with watercolor paints to make the statues less boring and more pretty), a Nutragous bar, stockings ('cause it wouldnt' be Christmas if someone didn't get a pair of socks!) and a wicked cool make up bag. Oh yeah, he also got me awesome earings from James Avery.

He got two cans of Planters Deluxe mixed nuts (two for one, baby!), the Dymo label buddy, martini shaped plates, Ice Breakers mints and gum (the combo pack) and a Leatherman... oh yeah, he got a Global santoku knife. He's been lusting after santoku knives for years, but we've never gotten around to buying one. Of course, as soon as I get one for his gift, he starts getting more proactive about buying one for himself. So then I have to start dreaming up diversions every time we go into a kitchen supply store.

Luckily, I'm a sneaky bitch. Christmas was saved.

Merry Christmas, ya'll. I hope yours is going as well as mine.

In other news, Karla's quote generator gave me this:

We are strongly urging parents to write their state's machete. If a child were to see this show's irresponsible scenes of almonds and how they walk away from themselves with envelopes, they may think that they too are able to advertise a hamper!

How cool is that?

Small freakin world

Five plus years ago, my husband and I got married. We went on a marvelous honeymoon in Napa and had big fun with wine. Along the way, we also got interested in visiting distilleries.

Which is how we found Charbay.

You had to make an appointment to come up and see the facility, then brave a rather tortuous mountain road. At the end of the road lay a small, barnlike structure that, on initial viewing, was completely unimpressive.

Then we met Marko, and everything changed.

He told us of the twelve generations of distillers that came before him. He told us of his father who made a fabulous dessert wine using fortified Chardonnay - and how he was evolving as the thirteenth generation distiller.

At the time, Charbay was a small operation. He took fruit essence - Key Lime, Meyer Lemon, Blood Orange and Ruby Red Grapefruit - and infused small batch Midwestern vodka with the flavors.

Ohmigod.

After having the Charbay version of orange vodka, Stoli Orange tastes like Tang. Marko took the essence of each fruit and made it into an alcoholic treat that was out of this world.

Now you ask, how does this story have anything to do with the title of this post?

We met Marko's national sales rep tonight. (She says he's like an older brother to her - how cool!) At Specs (a local liquor and wine store). We saw that some woman was giving out free samples of our favorite vodka ever and wandered over. She started giving us the standard spiel, but we cut her off saying that we knew 'cause we'd already visited the distillery.

Suddenly, we're one of the cool people.

We stood around with Moxy shooting the shit for five minutes... and invited her to our upcoming Meat and Martini party (invites aren't out yet).

She said she'd come if she was in town. How cool is that?

Hopefully she'd bring samples.

Aww yeah...

PS Sorry for the run on sentence.

Back to the Dreaded Community Hospital

Actually I've been working here all December, but it didn't start to really irritate me until yesterday. I returned to Houston from visiting my cutie-patootie nephew in Dallas to work a 8p-8a overnight shift. Not a great way to start, but I got a nice snooze in the car.

The shift started fine. I like the people I was working with, and their medicine isn't crazy. But then the 21 years of constipation began for Ron, and Berkley and I got reminded why - generally speaking - humans are scum.

Between the two of us, we took care of two young women barely into their teens who had been raped by some pissant of a man. One of the girls attacked this asshole as he raped her friend and they both escaped.

And you know what? One of the girls' mothers didn't show up for three hours 'cause she was 'busy'. What the fuck? No wonder this girl was wandering around the streets of Houston - and not the best part of Houston at that - at 11pm.

But anyway, that kind of stuff is somewhat out of the ordinary, at least for the pediatric side of this hospital. The 21 years of constipation, however, aren't.

Question - if you have had abdominal pain (due to constipation that you already know about) for ten years, why come to my ER at 3am? On a Sunday night? What's, say, five more hours? You know, when you can visit your regular doctor? And if you had two children - one with seven years of constipation, one with four years of constipation - would you come to the ER at 5:30 am?

If it's my kid the answer is hell no! The best part was none of the patients wanted the one thing that would make their pain go away, at least until the next build-up of stool. So they all left in as much pain as when they showed up. Great use of resources.

Here's another one for you:

If my child has a temper tantrum, do I
a) slap him upside the head
b) take away his TV privledges
c) put him in time out (provided he is over three years old with one minute of time out per year of age)
d) call 911?

That's right - the answer is d! (A true story - someone really did call 911 for a temper tantrum. Sheesh.)

Well, I gotta go. I've got a 15 year old to see with... abdominal pain!

Gone amuck

First of all, how do you spell "a-muck"? Do you spell it phonetically or like the title or like in the first sentance?

Secondly, I LOVE cheesy movies. I love Underworld, Constantine, Sin City, Kill Bill.

I am a movie whore, and I'm proud of it.

I own a copy of Next of Kin.

Take that!

Today I bought three flicks - the Sin City special edition (new expanded scenes!), Underworld and Constantine. A huge three for one indulgence for our budget, but I just couldn't resist. And I bought my man a Leatherman.

A good gift day... even if most of the gifts were for ME!

Perils of pediatrics

Being a pediatrician is great. I love the kiddos, especially the healthy ones. Squealing and giggling and falling off of things - life is just good for (most) kids.

But then there's the fact that I get exposed to every damn infection every damn kid in Houston gets. Which means, right now, I have the gastro. Also known as gastroenteritis, also known as AGE, also known as a stomach bug.

So I'm stuck on the couch getting up every 5-15 minutes to "evacuate" and feeling sorry for myself.

At least Kids in the Hall in on the telly. Life could definitely be worse.

To the man in the van...

Yes you. The jackass in the white van with handicap plates...

Please, get off the valium. The accelerator is on the right and the speed limit really is 35 MPH.

And what the fuck is up with your spare tire? You have a hubcap on your spare tire. Why? For the love of all that's good and holy, WHY? And why does it have to look like a spare prop from Krull?

Good gracious, man. Get a life.

Totally freaking confused

So one of our cats is bulemic. Give him a meal that's too large and he'll puke it up. Simple, right?

What am I to think when he pukes up a large fistful of undigested food hours after his last meal? I mean, I didn't leave the other cat's food open (the Tuperware lid is firmly closed and the thing is on the bathroom counter for Christ's sake!) and I haven't given his overweight ass any snacks!

I'm totally fucking confused.

Help.

My gut

My gut is a thing of beauty and wonder. And, oh boy, is it on a rampage.

You see, I made beans from scratch the other night. Oh, beans beans good for your heart, the more you eat them... Now, the problem with beans from scratch is that occationally one or two black beauties don't quite get cooked all the way done.

And you know what that means!

Farts waiting to happen. And not just any fart - wicked cumin-soaked black bean farts.

Totally toxic.

But wait, there's more!

Last night we partied hardy at the white elephant party with a mini-keg of Spaten. So, so good that beer. Light, hoppy yet slightly sweet with none of the sharpness that so plagues Heinicken. But lo, that Spaten produces a uniquely foul brand of barley farts.

And if you don't know what barley farts are, count your blessings. But man, they are rank.

Now imagine beany goodness farts mixed with Spaten barley farts.

Yes, we have stunk ourselves out of our own house... and out of the house where we slept after the party. (Sorry Andy!)

So yeah, we'll keep the fans on around here a little longer. And avoid the beany leftovers in the fridge.