So I've recently decided to be one of those people who takes their shoes off inside their house. I never saw myself this way; I was always slightly troubled by people who gave you those disapproving looks and murmured "Ah, we take our shoes off in this house." I always wanted to reply, "Um, maybe you do, but let's be careful we that "we," lady. I don't take my sweet New Balance 10 1/2s off for anybody - if Jesus wanted to wash my feet, he'd need to undo some laces first."
Yet here I am, taking my shoes off, and using the ol' Birkenstocks as house shoes. House shoes. Is it possible to maintain respect for a man who wears house shoes? I would have thought the answer would be an unequivocal no - that house shoes are right up there next to drinking iced blush wine and wearing floral scents as betrayals of the guy code. Yet here I am. Somebody bring me a White Zin.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The Word of the Day is: Canker
So I have a canker sore on my bottom lip. It's roughly the size of a Volvo, looks disgusting, and feels like a bug is continually biting me. I keep hoping that one day I'll outgrow canker sores, but that belief appears to be a myth akin to the notion of a "runner's high" and The Force.
Plausible cures for canker sores Google told me about:
1. Salt that bad boy
2. Press a teabag against it
3. Get an oral analgesic and wait it out
Implausible cures Google told me about:
1. Get some lysine (Um, the last time I heard of this stuff was in Jurassic Park, when the old Australian guy referred to the "lysine contingency," which apparently was supposed to save them from the raptors. It didn't work for him, and it's not going to work on my canker sore).
2. Buy the "Canker Spanker" from somewhere: http://cankerspanker.com/aboutus.aspx (it's not as revealing as one would hope for)
3. Press an unlit match against it. No.
4. Let your cat lick it (okay, I made that one up, but you get the idea).
I read about the biology involved, and apparently the sores are caused by white blood cells that get confused and mistakenly attack ordinary mouth tissue. This is one of those inconvenient facts that you wish evolution had corrected a couple hundred generations before things got to you. Has anyone else ever had this thought? Like, couldn't we have evolved into a state where vegetables taste good and alcohol makes you a better driver? I hereby note for the record my envy of future generations: F*&# you, you cankersoreless schmucks, and your unearned evolutionary benefits. I bet you wouldn't hold up against my Canker Spanker for five seconds.
Plausible cures for canker sores Google told me about:
1. Salt that bad boy
2. Press a teabag against it
3. Get an oral analgesic and wait it out
Implausible cures Google told me about:
1. Get some lysine (Um, the last time I heard of this stuff was in Jurassic Park, when the old Australian guy referred to the "lysine contingency," which apparently was supposed to save them from the raptors. It didn't work for him, and it's not going to work on my canker sore).
2. Buy the "Canker Spanker" from somewhere: http://cankerspanker.com/aboutus.aspx (it's not as revealing as one would hope for)
3. Press an unlit match against it. No.
4. Let your cat lick it (okay, I made that one up, but you get the idea).
I read about the biology involved, and apparently the sores are caused by white blood cells that get confused and mistakenly attack ordinary mouth tissue. This is one of those inconvenient facts that you wish evolution had corrected a couple hundred generations before things got to you. Has anyone else ever had this thought? Like, couldn't we have evolved into a state where vegetables taste good and alcohol makes you a better driver? I hereby note for the record my envy of future generations: F*&# you, you cankersoreless schmucks, and your unearned evolutionary benefits. I bet you wouldn't hold up against my Canker Spanker for five seconds.
The word of the day is: Hemoglobin A1c
Nursing school is weird.
Yesterday, we had a full day of classes beginning with a pharmacology class, then we went to leadership management were we learned about stress management. She ended the class by suggesting that we all take a vacation-thanks for the tip. To end the day we had a three hour lecture about fertility and sex from a lady that is about Grandma Flaherty's age and approximate attitude. Yes-you have the right picture in your head-sort of an impatient, sarcastic conversation. This shouldn't be awkward right? We are in Nursing school. But instead of just medical knowledge she just has random pictures of hello kitty condoms, and other sex-related clipart. She conveyed little to no knowledge about fertility or infertility treatments, but I could tell a few killer jokes. I'm really glad she is teaching the healthcare providers of the future.
This morning I had to get up early for class. I normally don't have class on Tuesday morning because the class is normally online. The worst part of my early morning was that the teacher kept referring to our class as a "Journal Club." The journal club resembled closely a class lecture. After class we all got an email from the teacher about how much she enjoyed "club" today and I was a little embarrassed for her.
My last class of the day was guest lecturer from Children's Hospital. She was an eccentric lady came to talk to us about diabetes. She introduced herself as the person on the diabetes team as the person who makes patients cry and then she sort of cackled....It was weird. Then she went on to talk about how she likes making her patients feel uncomfortable and then she "scares" them into controlling their blood sugars- mind you her patients are young children. For example, we all know diabetes is very difficult to control especially in pediatric patients. Hemoglobin A1c is test that read an average blood sugar for the past 3 months(the life of of a red blood cell) so the healthcare provider can tell if the blood sugars have been controlled. So apparently crazy-diabetes-lady goes into a patient's room and asks them how they have been doing with their sugars and then just when they said they've been doing good that's when she drops the bad Hemoglobin A1c on them. She "gives them enough rope to hang themselves with" her words not mine. She continues her lecture by yelling about big gulps, Mcdonald's french fries, and other things that I love.
Life in Nursing school is weird...or maybe just nursing instructors.
The word of the day is Fall
Fall is here, which means everyone feels obligated to talk to me about things that I hate. Specifically, cold weather and football. 'Aren't you glad its finally getting cold?' and 'Don't you think that the UT linebackers should have blah blah blah blah blah?'
Well I can answer both of those questions with the same response: I hate you, stop talking to me. It is with a heavy heart that I put away my flip flops, and give up hope of having football-free conversations. Just like bears hole up and hibernate for the winter, so I turn my brain to auto-pilot, and dust off phrases like 'he just lost his focus out there.' That way, when a conversation about football erupts I can tune out, and think about something happy like what kind of flip flops I can buy next year, and when someone says something to me like, 'so what'd you think of the vols last week?' I just whip out the trusty old 'he just lost his focus out there.'
It's not fool-proof mind you. There have been conversations where my 'lost his focus' comment was matched with something like- 'but we won sixty to zero.' Now, in this situation, some people would simply admit to hating football and silence their eager conversation partner. But I will not stoop to such levels. When I admit to hating football, people give me the same look that I give people who claim they 'don't read.' Here's what it looks like: eyebrows furrowed together, head tilted slightly as though to suggest that surely you have heard the person incorrectly. Basically, its a person telling you, nonverbally, that your opinion is rooted solely in ignorance and could not possibly be justified. For this reason, I keep my opinions about football to myself, and suffer silently through the fall.
Unfortunately, the only people who don't want to talk to you about football want to talk about something equally mind-numbing: leaves. 'Were going to have a nice fall because of all the rain we had this year.' People prattle to me nonsensically. 'Last year we didn't have nice fall because of the drout through June and July, but this year...' The speaker of these words is rendered speechless with shock when I kick them swiftly in the knees. I know the leaves change color, and I will even admit that its pretty, but for God's sake I don't need to talk about it fifty times a day.
Like anything else in life, surviving fall for me is all about attitude. I try to focus on the parts of fall that I do like: Sam Adams Octoberfest, new season of Project Runway, and boxed wine (it tastes especially crisp during the fall. I think it has to do with the boxing process). I will tough the season out, holed up with my box of wine, and praying the Vols don't make the postseason, or the playoffs, or whatever you call it.
Well I can answer both of those questions with the same response: I hate you, stop talking to me. It is with a heavy heart that I put away my flip flops, and give up hope of having football-free conversations. Just like bears hole up and hibernate for the winter, so I turn my brain to auto-pilot, and dust off phrases like 'he just lost his focus out there.' That way, when a conversation about football erupts I can tune out, and think about something happy like what kind of flip flops I can buy next year, and when someone says something to me like, 'so what'd you think of the vols last week?' I just whip out the trusty old 'he just lost his focus out there.'
It's not fool-proof mind you. There have been conversations where my 'lost his focus' comment was matched with something like- 'but we won sixty to zero.' Now, in this situation, some people would simply admit to hating football and silence their eager conversation partner. But I will not stoop to such levels. When I admit to hating football, people give me the same look that I give people who claim they 'don't read.' Here's what it looks like: eyebrows furrowed together, head tilted slightly as though to suggest that surely you have heard the person incorrectly. Basically, its a person telling you, nonverbally, that your opinion is rooted solely in ignorance and could not possibly be justified. For this reason, I keep my opinions about football to myself, and suffer silently through the fall.
Unfortunately, the only people who don't want to talk to you about football want to talk about something equally mind-numbing: leaves. 'Were going to have a nice fall because of all the rain we had this year.' People prattle to me nonsensically. 'Last year we didn't have nice fall because of the drout through June and July, but this year...' The speaker of these words is rendered speechless with shock when I kick them swiftly in the knees. I know the leaves change color, and I will even admit that its pretty, but for God's sake I don't need to talk about it fifty times a day.
Like anything else in life, surviving fall for me is all about attitude. I try to focus on the parts of fall that I do like: Sam Adams Octoberfest, new season of Project Runway, and boxed wine (it tastes especially crisp during the fall. I think it has to do with the boxing process). I will tough the season out, holed up with my box of wine, and praying the Vols don't make the postseason, or the playoffs, or whatever you call it.
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