Yargh

The best thing about Thanksgiving is the gathering of family and friends without the pressure of religion or presents. Perfect holiday for a poor atheist, eh?

But the worst thing about Thanksgiving is the cleaning. At least, when the Thanksgiving is at my own house. Yesterday was fun - cooking, baking.... basically goofing off in the kitchen. One of my favorite passtimes. Today, however, has been mostly cleaning. I even ironed! (Gasp!) I decided to start at the east end of the townhouse and work my way westward. So far, the kitchen (except the sink) and dining area look pretty good. You can even see the top of the dining room table. Anyone who knows me knows that a clear dining room table is a feat of monumental proportions.

Now I'm on to the coffee table. EEK!

Theft! I like it!

Stealing a MEME. Again, from Karla, who stole it from someone else, who stole it from someone else, etc. etc...

Yourself: silly
Your partner: five feet away, also computing
Your hair: strawberry blonde slowly edging towards brown
Your Mother: progressively more senile
Your Father: dead, damn it!
Your Favorite Item: prolly my MacBook Pro
Your dream last night: don't remember, the night before last was about derranged kittens and 9/11. Yargh.
Your Favorite Drink: Grey Goose vodka martini with a twist
Your Dream Car: currently the Astin Martin DB S
Your Dream Home: the Dwell home or some other such modern design prefab architecture
The Room You Are In: what do you mean what room? The second floor of our townhouse only has one room!
Your Ex: was more than 12 years ago - who cares?
Your fear: falling, seriously
Where you Want to be in Ten Years? a pedi EM doc with a house and a kid
Who you hung out with last night: husband and two kitties - one who is usually not pukey but currently throwing up what looks to be a cockroach... ew!
What You're Not: licensed
Muffins: blueberry
One of Your Wish List Items: my license
The Last Thing You Did: lounge
What You Are Wearing: a sweater! In Texas!
Your favorite weather: winter - specifically snowy winter.
Your Favorite Book: Magic's Price by Mercedes Lackey
Last thing you ate: Bo Luc Lac
Your Life: not where it should be
Your mood: quitely furious
Your Best Friends: coming in tomorrow!
What are you thinking about right now: perhaps going to bed early
Your car: needs repair
What are you doing at the moment: uhh... typing?
Your summer: freaking HOT
Relationship status: loving
What is on your TV: DVR or the Discovery Channel
What is the weather like: cool, thank the fates
When is the last time you laughed: dinner

Yay! A MEME for me!

Turkey Day!

For the first time, we're having Thanksgiving at our house. (Okay, okay, we had a Thanksgiving in our apartment in Boston, but that was an apartment, not our HOME.) Which means, for the first time, I can actually do some prep work with my stuff in my space. How cool!

So today I kinda went apeshit with the prep. Here's the list:

2 pies (sweet potato, not pumpkin, alas)
one bread starter
four pints of veggie stock
four pints of chicken stock
and a huge ass grocery run

Not to mention tiling a half of the north bathroom wall. Oh yeah, and halfway through my pressure cooker broke so I had to go get a replacement. Yargh. But that wasn't all bad, 'cause my first pressure cooker was a lesson in why product research is good. Ya see, I bought a model of pressure cooker that can only create an internal pressure of 12 psi. The international standard for pressure cookers, and thus all pressure cooker recipes, is an internal pressure of 15 psi. That was a little factoid I had not grasped before making my purchase. Oops.

I'm sure you can understand the problem.

But now that the under-researched pressure cooker has kicked it, I had an excuse to replace it with the real deal. Yay!

And tomorrow? Bread baking!

Almost thirty

I haven't been posting much 'cause I haven't much to write about. I'm still wicked underemployed, incredibly frustrated with TSMB and depressed as hell. And really, who wants to read me whining? Is not so good.

On the super upside, my best friend (AF) is flying in two days. And I saw the new Bond. (Side note - the Dossier option on the previous site is quite cool. Especially the psych profile. Hehe.) New Bond, new Bond - YAY! Ahhhh... How I love the Bond. I even like the new actor playing Bond - Daniel Craig - is so incredibly hot as 007. He gets this little quirky pout whenever something pleases or amuses him. I don't care that he's blond. His huge baby blues make up for it. (I have a thing for men with intense blue eyes, just like my wonderful Mr. Man.) Check out all the different Bond sites - each is very cool.

And AF is coming to town. We're gonna make a turkey and sweet potato pie and something veggie - our neighbor Lance is coming over, and he doesn't eat meat. I know, he's crazy - cow is GOOD. We'll have to find some movie to see after we stuff ourselves with tryptophan, 'cause it is the tradition in her family. Then again, we may just put in a DVD and pass out on the couch.

Oh yeah, and did I mention I turn 30 on Sunday. Yargh.

Camping!

I finally talked the husband into going camping. We went down to New Braunfels, TX for Wurstfest, stayed at a campground on the Guadelupe River, and drank copious amounts of beer.

All of which are good things. But the best thing was definitely our tent. Why, you might ask? 'Cause a) it was free, b) it was freaking huge c) we were actually able to put the damn thing up in the dark. It has these huge, nearly 1.5" diameter poles - they're heavy as all hell. And there weren't any drawings or directions or anything - just two drunk (and possibly high, knowing them) guys, my tired husband and myself. But we did it! The thing went up, didn't fall over, and kept us sheltered for the night.

Of course, the other fly in the ointment was the fact that the stupid thing doesn't have a rain fly. And, of course, the next day we all started feeling raindrops.

Oops.

Luckily for us, it was a false alarm and nothing more drenching than a drizzle. But we would have been in major trouble if the rain had actually come.

On another note, we pretty much had the campsite to ourselves. We reserved three spots - which amounted to the square footage of a freaking postal stamp - but ended up using seven. Hee! We pretty much had our own little tent city. Everyone else's tent was nicer than ours, but ours was the tallest, so that's something.

I also met the oddest human ever. I can't decide if Billdo (yes, that's a reference to dildos) is the greatest waste of carbon on the face of the planet or simply a marginally likable, no more intelligent than he needs to be guy... but not quite as much of a waste as I initially thought. The first night Billdo was the biggest cockbiter I had ever met, but the second night he slowed down into a mostly-normal human. I can't decide which Bill is the real one.

But anyway, hubbie and I are going to buy a tent (with a rainfly, thank-you-very-much) and try this camping thing again sometime soon. Yup.

Whee!

My husband says I'm better than pig - the magical animal, aka the source of BACON.

I know I'm loved.

Apples are sweet

Posting from the Apple Store in the Galleria. Why? 'Cause I can. And 'cause this keyboard has a very different feel from mine.

I think I like mine better. No buyers remorse for me!

Yay!

Second thoughts

I was going to use this post to talk about how much I HATE the fact that I don't have my medical license yet. About how I haven't worked since the end of July, I'm poor and I feel like my brains are slowly rotting away.

But I won't 'cause if I wrote my rants publicly about the Board the evil Intar-web police might get me.

They hide under the bed, ya know. In the closet too - once I turned sixteen they took over for the Boogy Man, who retired to Florida. I hear he's enjoying a nice spot on the beach oogling all the coeds.

Instead I'll write about cat poo. Yes, cat poo. My dear lovely feline has decided he's too good for the litter box. He has some favored spots - the stairwell, the closet, my suitcase, near the kitchen island. And sometimes, for extra special goodness, he'll excrete ooze of death along with his poop. This lovely slimey goodness is PURE mercaptan, also known as thiols. Basically, thiols be stinky stuff. Here, wiki can explain it much more clearly...

Many thiols are colorless liquids having an odor resembling that of garlic. The odor of thiols is often strong and repulsive, particularly for those of low molecular weight. Thiols bind strongly to skin proteins, and are responsible for the intolerable, persistent odor produced by feces, rotting flesh and the spraying of skunks. Natural gas distributors began adding various forms of pungent thiols, usually ethanethiol, to natural gas, which is naturally odorless, after the deadly 1937 New London School explosion in Texas, United States. Thiols are also responsible for a class of wine faults caused by an unintended reaction between sulfur and yeast. However, not all thiols have unpleasant odors. For example, grapefruit mercaptan, a monoterpenoid thiol, is responsible for the characteristic scent of grapefruit.

So yeah, when the ass juice of death appeared on my suitcase (that I had to use the next morning to go to a freaking interview!) I was a bit pissed off. Luckily, Lysol be some wicked strong mojo and saved the day.

That's my lief right now, people, interviews and cat poo. How did I get this lucky?

Salt Lake City, baby!

Traveling again. Once a week for the last three weeks I’ve been out of town. So far, all the trips have been great. Week #1 was Boston, #2 was Denver and #3 is Salt Lake City. Boston, of course, ruled the hiz-ouse. I will live there again – maybe nor for the next three years, but I will live there again.

Denver was also cooler than I thought it would be. Cheap movie matinee, nice downtown, people actually living downtown and good eats. What more does a gal want? Oh yeah… good public schools, too! (Although I only care for home resale value – not actual progeny. Remember – returning to Boston.)

Salt Lake I’m worried about. The pedi emergency medicine training is great. No question. I’ve met the faculty before at the conference they run out of Park City every winter. Good stuff – good learning and good skiing. What’s to complain about?

Oh yeah, 3.2% beer. And, possibly, overwhelming whiteness. Sickle cell crisis, anyone? No? No Black people… oh, okay then…

Beantown!

Yeah for us! We're in Boston for an interview (for a fellowship position for me) and a little wee vacation (for the both of us). I've done the interview and I have the usual post-interview headache. Just as soon as I get back to where-ever I'm staying, something in my brain declares war on the rest of me.

I just raided my host's medicine cabinet and stole 800mg of ibuprofen. I hope it kicks in soon.

Meanwhile, I'll sit on the couch and watch VH1.

Then it's time for candlepin bowling, which is the shiz-nizzle. Okay, okay, okay, that web site is shyte, but at least it lays out the rules of this truly awesome sport.

Okay, okay, okay, calling it a sport and not a drinking game is a stretch, but let's keep that opinion to ourselves until I get back out of New England. Capiche?!?

Crossing fingers, toes and all other applicable extremities

I'm gonna say this really quietly, just so I don't temp fate.

The Astros might make the post season.

Don't repeat that.

I don't wanna jinx my boys.

Go Astros!

Why is Scrap Iron Phil Garner named Scrappy? All I could find on Wikipedia was [sic] "nicknamed Scrap Iron due to his gritty style of play."

But why, specifically, Scrap Iron? He's from Jeff City, MO - so it's not like he's from old miner stock, or anything.

Anyone got some answers for me? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?!?

The Cat

Yargh.

My cat has been sick for the last two weeks, more or less. It started with his usual constipation/stool holding/inappropriate stooling nonsense that happens every time he gets a little stressed. We blamed the bathroom renovations. After all, how would you like it if someone dumped stinky adhesive in the middle of your dining room? Huh? I might just poop on the floor too!

Then his little butt go so miserable looking with stool bulging at the rectum, grass hanging from a stuck ball of shit, tail down shuffling gait... I just couldn't stand it. So being a docta I got out my lube and rubber gloves and went downtown, so to speak.

Oh boy, people, did I ever get that shit out. Grams and grams of the stuff.

Oberon usually sulks for a day, hiding and pooping on the stairs but then gets betta. Not this time. Well, I lie. He got better for a day or so, but then stopped eating.

Do you know what happens to cats when they stop eating? I did. This is what happens. To quote:

FHL is very dangerous for cats and can be life threatening if left untreated.

EEK! I like my cat. Actually, I love my cat. In the past I've ranted about how silly it is to dump tons and tons of cash into pets. My cat is not getting surgery for pancreatic cancer. My cat won't get daily insulin therapy. My cat will not get dialysis. Can you imagine giving my cat, who won't even tolerate pilling, peritoneal dialysis?

However, my cat will get urgent treatment for acute issues. Note the choice of words: urgent treatment for acute issues. There will be no after hours visits to emergency centers (unless, of course, there is massive bleeding or trauma - if the injury looks survivable, he might get a visit then). There will be no long term, expensive chronic care. There will be office visits to my regular vet during regular hours for complaints that sound something like, "my cat's not eating and I don't want him to die of liver disease. Help, please?!?"

We walked out of the vet about $100 poorer armed with meds to help his little belly push food through his stomach.

Unfortunately, this plan did not work.

Back to the vet we go... $500 later, still no definitive diagnosis. The poor cat comes home leaking barium from his anus (courtesy of his normal barium swallow) along with enema fluid ('cause he didn't poop during his hospital stay) and immediately starts pooping EVERYWHERE. Leaving little kitty butt prints everywhere from the barium. But, while at the vet, he did eat.

So that was good.

One of the meds he came home with was Valium (diazepam). Why? Apparently the stuff acts as an appetite stimulant. Don't believe me, check this out. Or, if yer lazy, read the quote.

# Uses of Diazepam

# In animals, diazepam is given as a sedative, to treat convulsions, to manage excitement or as a muscle relaxant.
# Diazepam is often used with other drugs to ease an animal in and out of anesthesia.
# In some animals, particularly cats, diazepam in small doses has been used to increase appetite and treat behavior problems such as urine spraying or aggression.

So we gave Ober-kitty the recommended dose of Valium this morning. It was a struggle. Twenty minutes pass. I catch something odd in the corner of my vision... Oberon is staggering around the townhouse. He tries to turn... and lands on his ass. Jumps from the couch... and lands on his face. He was a mean drunk too. He took Puck down in the daily fight for dominance. (He'd sobered up some by then.)

It was damn funny.

Tomorrow he's only getting a half dose. But for $50 I could arrange a private showing...

Doncha just hate it when...

I hate it when I brush my teeth in the morning before having anything to eat and I see in my sinkbowel a popcorn shell.

'Cause then I realize the last time I had popcorn was a week ago at the movies.

I hate that.

Cool new toy

So as I've been posting about previously, we're redoing the bathroom's shower surround. One of the steps required putting up a layer of #15 felt paper just under where all the backerboard is going. Now, in order to get this stuff stapled down to the corners, we had to use my hairdryer to soften it up. At the same time, asphalt mastic caulk was flying everywhere to seal the seams between sheets of felt paper... which is some nasty, stinky, sticky shit.

Nasty, stinky, sticky shit that got all over my hairdryer.

So off I went to Sally Beauty Supply and got a new hairdryer. Which is cool, but not the impetus for my post. I happened to pick a hairdryer that was part of a buy one get one free deal I hadn't even noticed. So I got a flatiron, and man does this thing rock.

I feel like I've finally discovered some kinda hair secret - suddenly I have shiny, not frizzy STRAIGHT hair on a day when I haven't been to the salon. How cool is that? I've never been able to make my hair look like this on my own.

See you guys in a bit, I gotta go back to the mirror to stare at myself some more...

A day off... from my days off?

So I'm jobless right now. Completely unemployed.

So you would think my bathroom renovations would become central to my usefulness.

You'd be right.

But I still took a day away. I biked all the way down to the movie theater and saw the totally horrible film 'The Protector.'

Terrible terribleness. But hey, if butt-kicking is to your liking, go for a matinee. You'll have fun!

Way back in May

I made the year mark. I missed my blogoversery by nearly six months. Damn, I'm forgetful!

That's right, one plus year of blogging. I really didn't think I'd make it this far. I've tried journaling in the past and never wrote beyond the three week mark. So one year (and more!) is kinda big for me.

And, well, it'd be bigger if I was a more regular poster.

Eh, oh well. At least I post. And on a good day, two people actually read this shit!

Cool!

Bathroom renovation and nasty suprises

So we have to re-do the bathroom. Our pipes broke, requiring the plumber to bash the walls up a bit. I know, I know. There should be a panel behind the bathroom wall that gives you access to the pipes. We didn't have one. Ya see, our builder apparently ran out of money about 75% of the way through the project. So a lot of the little details (like wall panels and nice kitchen countertops) got skipped. And our tile was nasty anyway, so what the hell, right?

Last week I went to work taking out the old walls and tile. Drywall saw? Check. Sledgehammer? Check. Bugs crawling out of the walls scaring me half to death and giving me the heebie-jeebies? Check!

Ohmigod, we had cockroaches the size of Texas and carpenter ants. I could take the studs out with my bare hands they were so crumbly. I was so skeeved out that I had to call my husband at work and skeeve him out.

Fortunately, due to better living through chemistry, the bug man came and told me what to do. All them buggies be DEAD! Dead, I say. Dead like the relationship between Donovan McNabb and T.O. Dead like Elvis. Dead like the proverbial doornail. (That's right, bitches!)

Now we've replaced the studs and insulation, covered the lot with 15 lbs. felt paper and replaced the tub. Did mention that we had to remove the tub? No? Well, it's easier than it sounds... provided you have two strong men to do it for you! Thanks, Rob! We're almost ready to start the original project - the damn tiling. It's gonna seem so easy after all the other crap we've already done.

Yargh.

Birthday manners

I am very proud of myself. I was confronted with blatant rudeness, immaturity and poor manners and I didn't point them out.

Now those of you who know me understand how rate it is that I keep a handle on my tounge. I lack 'the filter.' You know, the one that catches all the crap that the ID really wants to say before it gets out of the mouth. Since I don't have said filter all sorts of detrious comes flying out of my mouth when I'm perterbed.

But for once, I reinforced that filter with titanium wire and the bitch held. Why, might you ask? Because I was at a birthday dinner. A birthday dinner for a woman that I really like, but don't know all that well.

And she doesn't know me all that well. She knows that I'm loud, that I can burp better than 90% of the college fraternity population, that occationally I'm a mean drunk and that I suck at karaoke. But she's never seen me truly mad.

Fortunately for her.

So I couldn't very well unleash a can of well deserved whoop-ass on her professed best friend. 'Cause after all, this was A's birthday freaking dinner.

But hot damn, the BFF so deserved it. (For those of you not versed in pre-adolescent girl lore, BFF stand for best friend forever, biatches.) My friend A had warned me that BFF was, "loud and opinionated." Um, no. She's a f*cking brat. Here's why:

1) She shows up to her best friend's dinner 55 minutes late.
2) She immediately starts texting at the table... the traditional Japanese tatami, butt firmly on the floor, special 'cause we planned it that way table.
3) She starts yelling about how bad the service at the restaurant is, despite the fact that prior to her arrival, the staff had been doing an admirable job handling a party of 15. After her arrival and loud disparaging comments, service mysteriously slowed. What a twist!
4) Because the service is 'slow', she declares that she is not buying any of her own drinks. Oh, and did I mention that this was A's twenty first birthday? Uh, exactly who should be getting the free booze?
5) She then complains about the long hours she puts in at architecture school. Now, architecture students do put in crazy hours. But please, BFF needs to remember to check her attitude at the door when she's talking to a bunch of people who, on average, are at least five years her senior. Why? 'Cause us old fogies have realized that, well, college only kinda matters. Don't get me wrong, be cool, stay in school! But until the quality of your work determines your income, the safety of a building or, um, life or death for some poor kiddo... just cool it. We've all been there, we'll sympathise some, but not if BFF is yelling about her woes at 10 million decibels and clearly believing that she is clearly working harder than anyone else at the table.

Just to remind you, all of this was at her best friend's birthday party.

Now, kind viewers, did I smack her down? No. For once in my life, I didn't. Only because I respect A. And I like her boyfriend.

But people, realize that I'm NOT going to keep a lid on my mouth next time. Screw it, the immature bitch needs a little smack around.

And I'm just the docta to do it.

I respect the housewife

As an under-employed wife, I could be called a housewife.

But I'm not. 'Cause a true housewife does house-y things.

And I don't.

I could... but I'm just not interested. Without that interst, I'm completely, totally, utterly bored. Staying at home is horrible. I wake up when my hubbie goes to work to make sure I get out of the damn house.

Don't get me wrong - I love our (relatively) newly purchased townhouse.

But I was never meant to stay here for most of my time.

I was meant to be doctor. I was meant to bust my (metaphorical) balls against the walls of pediatrics.

So to the women who keep house, do it well, and make it into an art form - mad props.