Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Poopety Poop Poop

I was at Yoli's last night and we decided to have a little potluck on Friday night. I speculated bringing over an Indian dish and Jesus was all, "I love samosas!" I got really excited OKAY!! and later that night I was tooling around in my kitchen trying to figure out exactly how one goes about making samosa when I realized, fuck, I can't cook! I've never made samosas before in my life. I thought making a cake from scratch meant making it out of a box mix until about 2 years ago. I know my way around some Bisquick and a spatula but that's pretty much it.

I wonder if I could just buy samosas from Masala and pass them off as homemade. (I'm just kidding! They're gonna eat what I make and they're gonna love it. Even if it tastes like dirt.)

On another note I just did SEVEN loads of laundry today. SEVEN. And I discovered a fun little surprise on my last load. I keep plastic baggies to pick up Reflux's poop when I walk him, and sometimes I'll stop by my friend's apartment on the way back to my apartment. When I do that, I'll put the poop baggy in my sweatshirt pocket. (Because I can't just walk in holding it. That'd be gross! And we're not allowed to have dogs in the apartment building, so I can't just walk to the dumpster and throw it away like you're supposed to because someone might see him then I'd get evicted blah blah blah such adversity in my life.)

So then I washed my sweatshirt today without checking for poopy pockets and...yeah, you guessed it. Dog poop everywhere. GOOD TIMES. (I don't get it. He weighs 8.2 pounds. It's like he poops out half his body weight everyday.)

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Imagine all the people...

Last night I had to sit at home all evening because I was on hotline call for RVAP. I got the very special privilege of receiving my first ever prank call on the motherfucking RAPE CRISIS HOTLINE. (Seriously. People are so goddamn sick sometimes.) At about 4 AM the hotline phone woke me up and when I answered it, it was some asshole demanding to know what was I wearing.

I was really caught off-guard. For a second I was confused and thought I was getting drunk dialed by an ex again, until I realized that I was holding the crisis phone and not my personal cellphone. Then he asked again what I was wearing, bitch, and I could hear people in the background: Dood, are there more beers in the fridge? Where's the beef jerky?

Aw, fuck. Seriously? You woke me up for this bullshit?

Apparently, in Iowa, there's a real serious problem with sexual deviants abusing local and state crisis hotlines. The cops have gotten involved numerous times; hundreds of calls have been traced back to certain people. They were unable to convict them of anything though. It was happening so frequently that my agency very reluctantly adopted an unfortunate policy of not processing any male callers. We're supposed to ask for a callback number and a full-time staff person will call them back. How much does that suck?

I've gotten only a handful of male callers and not a single one has left a callback number. Many of them say they'll just call the office during the daytime, or just need a quick question answered. It's impossible to know who's legitimate and who isn't. (Obviously drunk-dumbass-who-confused-rape-hotline-for-phone-sex-line was one of the non-legitimate ones. I just hung up on him and went back to sleep.)

This morning I went to the office around 8 to go drop the phone off and I was going to park my car somewhere and catch the bus to the hospital but then I realized I'd left my bus pass at home. When I went back to look for it I ran into my dog, squeezed into that space between the counter and the fridge, staring at the wall. He is so weird sometimes.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Que suave!

I just returned to my Iowa City apartment from Centralia. Viva the long weekend!

Hello old friend. (That stupid semi rolled right in front of the Gynormous White Cross of Oppression just as I was trying to snap the photo.)

In a fit of extravagance my dad bought me a first class plane ticket to India. (THIS is exactly why I'll be over 200 grand in debt by the time I finish my education.) In exchange, I'm supposed to collect as many miniature bottles of alcohol I can get my hands on and save them for him. I said something about how I'd rather horde all the liquor and get really plastered on the plane by myself. To which my mom said, "Then you can be like TAKE ME TO THE COCKPIT!! I WANT TO SEE THE PILOT!! Wouldn't that be hilarious?" Sometimes I think my mom and I would be really good friends if I knew her when she was my age.

When my brothers got home they made me watch Saw with them. When I took out the DVD to put it in the player I should have noticed all the dismembered limbs on it and just gone to bed. But I can be remarkably unobservant sometimes. And OH MY LORD that was the most fucked up disturbing movie I've ever seen. I've had to sleep with the lights on every night since I saw it.

That first night I woke up around 3 am because I heard the most ungodly, inhumane screeching noises I've ever heard in my life. I woke up all in a panic, thinking it was the scary clown from the movie coming to get me but then I realized it was just Reflux. He had somehow gotten both of his hind legs wedged in between the mattress and the footboard of my bed and his upper body and torso were flailing about panickedly. I rescued him from the bed and stuck him in the bathtub for the rest of the night, lest he scare the shit out of me again with another crisis of stupidity.

On Thursday (after a very delicious Thanksgiving dinner of samosa chaat and frozen burritos! We are classy peoples.) my older brother and I went all over town (Ok, reading this again, it looks like we roamed far and wide ALL OVER THE VAST CITY OF CENTRALIA in search for pie when really all we did was drive by the 3 grocery stores and Wal-Mart, because that's pretty much all there is to Centralia) looking for pecan pie but the only place that was open was Aldi's. I saw this marked as "Christmas Fun Toys! For Little Children!"

Ok, America: Wake up! We are being manipulated from childhood to crave fast food and be obese! Boycott the fastfood crapaurants! (Except Wendy's. Wendy's can stay. I love that Spicy Grilled Chicken sandwich. Mmmm. So spicy. And greasy. YUM.)

On Saturday my younger brother drove my parents to Chicago to drop them off at the airport, and my older brother flew off to Texas for an interview, so I was the only person left to go this wedding of a close family friend's daughter in St. Louis. I had to go to my mom's friend's house so she could help me put my sari on. I'm half-retarded when it comes to saris. It's more challenging then it looks! It's basically 6 yards of fabric that's supposed to be all pleated and shit, and not fall off when you try to move even though you have 17 safety pins on. The kicker? My mom's friend is PHILLIPPINO. And she has the sari skillz, while I'm sari-tarded. Objective #1 for upcoming India visit: Learn how to dress myself in a sari FOR GODSSAKES. (I guess that'd actually be Objective #2, behind "Embrace cultural heritage/Reunite with relatives etc.")

The highlight of the night was when I was explaining my research to an obstetrician and she said, "You're like a Fountain of Knowledge!" I am no Fountain of Knowledge, but the compliment went straight to my head like bad champagne. In fact, the only reason I was able to hold up my end of the conversation was because my PI makes me research and write the protocols entirely on my own, so I kind of know my way around what I'm researching. (And that's pretty much all I know. That Fountain would have dried up quickly if she'd wanted to talk about anything else.)

It's been a long time since anyone's had anything nice to say about my fund of knowledge, mostly because you spend your 3rd year of med school being made to feel like a useless piece of crap because you can't answer all the stupid and irrelevant pimp questions constantly thrown your way. I know some of my friends had a tough time adjusting to med school in general, because the environment can be extremely competitive but not everyone can honor every rotation and be in the top 10. (I, on the other hand, had no such problems. I very easily embraced my mediocrity!) I think all med students have felt this way at one point or another, though. Unless you're one of those ridiculous geniuses that never has to study, goes drinking 3 nights a week, and still has all of Pocket Medicine memorized and got nominated to AOA, in which case GO FUCK YOURSELF you lucky motherfucking bastard.

Anyway, back to work, just for a few more days anyway!

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Express This

My mom took it upon herself to schedule a grooming appointment for Reflux this weekend when we go to Centralia. (Fully expecting my failure to have groomed Reflux at all in the last 4 months.) She called to tell me that I had to fax a copy of all his vaccinations to the groomer's in advance.

R: Can't I just take him to Rhonda's again? Rhonda runs a grooming service out of her laundry room. She didn't care about any of that shit. And we're all healthier for it -- exposure leads to immunity!

M: This place is so much better! They will clean out his ears, clip his toenails, and EXPRESS HIS ADRENAL GLANDS.

R: The ones on his KIDNEYS? They can do that? But why would they need to? Oh you mean his ANAL glands?

M: Oh...yeah.

Reflux looking psyched about the impending activity in and around his ass.

Monday, November 21, 2005

It ain't no secret.

I found this on PostSecret today

and it cracked me up, because this is something that I freely admit to.

Just for shock value.

A phone conversation with a friend who was on the el today reminded me of something I read in cunt. My friend got a little freaked out because some scary lookin' dude got on her train and proceeded to stare directly at her unabashedly through like 8 consecutive stops. We've all been there.

I was telling my other friend (male) about this later, and he was all, "She should have stared back at him." Are you kidding? Creepy dude would get all Oh she wants me and smarm her to death. Make enough eye contact to show them you can make an accurate description to a sketch artist later if necessary at the po-po station, but no more!

In cunt, Inga Muscio talks about how she "seldom consciously thinks, I am a woman." But then she goes on to say:
I am most often aware that I'm a woman when I feel threatened, or when someone--through actions, body language, or words--points out that I am a woman. The rest of the time, I'm just me.

Dude, I'm aware that I'm a woman EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE, for better or for worse. Some days, I'm just more acutely aware of it. It'd be nice to say that I feel as secure as a man walking down the street at 2 AM but that's just not the truth. Being a woman is such a large part of my identity, and absolutely shapes how I view the world. It's influenced all my extra-curricular activities since I was 6 years old, my career-choice, and my relationships with everyone around me.

Anyway, I used to swear by cunt but I reread it again last year, and there be's a whole lot of crap. The biggest problem I have with it right now is how she talks about reproductive health care, especially about periods. Muscio says that the entire painkiller industry is a sham generated to pickpocket women's earnings by compelling them to spend money during their periods. She argues that analgesics are tolerance-building and addictive. (For example, if this month you have to take 1 a day during your period, next month you'll have to take 2 a day, and so on.)

I never really thought of NSAIDs as part of the patriarchal machine of domination. In fact, if anyone tried to take my Motrin away from me when my uterus was cramping I would have to beat them.

I actually humored this idea (Maybe Muscio was a secret med student!) and did a PubMed search for "NSAIDs" AND addictive and this was all I found:

1: Merskey H. Related Articles, Links
Abstract Pharmacological approaches other than opioids in chronic non-cancer pain management.
Acta Anaesthesiol Scand. 1997 Jan;41(1 Pt 2):187-90.
PMID: 9061105 [PubMed - indexed for MEDLINE]
2: Herrmann WM, Hiersemenzel R, Aigner M, Lobisch M, Riethmuller-Winzen H, Michel I. Related Articles, Links
Abstract [Long-term tolerance of flupirtine. Open multicenter study over one year]
Fortschr Med. 1993 May 30;111(15):266-70. German.
PMID: 8330823 [PubMed - indexed for MEDLINE]

2 journals I'd never heard of. Neither is in English, or are even about NSAIDs.

My conclusion: The only risk involved with taking NSAIDs during your menses is the risk of heartburn.

(Muscio also says that women are being hustled by the tampon industry. Instead of tampons, she says, use SEA SPONGES. I'll let you make that call yourself.)

Currently filling out: My RVSP to P's wedding. I'm having problems deciding if I'm +1 or +0. I'm not seeing anyone, and my Default Date (DD) has a serious girlfriend now so I feel weird asking him to go. One of my girlfriends wanted to go but the wedding is literally the day after Christmas, and it's in St. Louis, and she'll be in California.

Would it be OK if I came rolling up by myself? It might be awkward having to babysit some dude that I barely know around a bunch of friends from college. (And then you're commited to TALK to him, and DANCE with him, and basically ruin your whole game, because now everyone thinks you're his GIRLFRIEND, even though he was just the guy that was free and owns a suit.)

Friday, November 18, 2005

I Heart Stone Phillips

Oh Stone Phillips. So much the handsome you are.

I was obsessed with Dateline NBC when I was in junior high. (I was a huge geek, and this was before Dateline went all trashy and stupid.) I used to daydream about being an anchor, and I used to WRITE LETTERS to Stone Phillips. "Save that seat next to you for me, Stone! I'm coming!" Then I got to high school and discovered a very unfortunate lack of public speaking skillz. (In med school sometimes they used to make us watch videos of ourselves examining fake patients, and I would be, like, embarassed FOR myself as I watched them. I play with my hair a lot. I swivel back and forth unstoppably on that little wheelie stool. I'm a huge pen twirler. How annoying.)

I was just reminded of this today, when my PI asked me if I could take her car to pick up her kids from school for the next few days. (Very important research duties -- I decided not to tell her about my 4 tickets and upcoming court date.) Anyway, her kids are the most adorable, well-behaved little set of twins, (And I don't even usually like kids) not to mention SUPER, SUPER SMART.

Sometimes I wonder what adults used to think of me when I was a kid. I'm sure they just thought I was really shy and quiet. I think the whole "Indian" thing threw them off. (Centralia wasn't exactly a beacon for diversity and culture.) I bet they had no idea about the 27 letters I wrote to Stone Phillips and my secret obsession with Dateline.

When I grew up I was never really exposed to any positive aspects of being brown, outside of the brown community, except for this one really weird time. We had these neighbors whose grandkids would come visit every summer, and one of the girls was my age, so we would play together. Once we were sitting in their backyard in a little wading pool, and these teenage boys in the adjacent backyard started catcalling us, like "Take it off!" etc. (Dude, we were like 7. Motherfucking pedophiles.)

Anyway my friend started screaming at them, and I shushed her, "Stop that!! Your grandma might think I'm doing it too and she'll tell my mom!" (And then I'd get a WHUPPIN'.) To which my friend replied, "Oh no, Grandma says Indians are very peaceful people." And I was just stunned, like, in the what now? Because clearly she hadn't met my family if she thought we were PEACE-LOVING.

I had no idea what the hell that meant til a few years later when it suddenly occurred to me -- Ooh!! I'm like THE MAHATMA. It was kind of a nice change from the usual, "Ha ha you WORSHIP HAMBURGERS and McDONALD'S IS YOUR SHRINE."

(And last summer I was in Centralia and I went to Big Lots to buy some baskets to make floral arrangements and I SWEAR TO GOD the checkout guy was "hamburger worship" asshole from 2nd grade. That felt so good. "Hell yeah I want those baskets gift-wrapped, BEE-YOTCH. And I hope you give yourself a paper cut." Of course, he has a brain the size of a PINHEAD so he probably didn't even remember, but whatever.)

Just watched: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Did anyone notice that Willy Wonka's dad is Lord Dooku from Star Wars?

She watched the clerk fill out the form and mentally high-fived herself. No one’s gonna know that I’m American! She had watched countless Bollywood movies and worn out her Berlitz CDs for this very moment, to fit in seamlessly in the city of her heritage.

“Yeh leejiye aap ki package.”

“Thanks,” she said reflexively. Damn.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Rups does India!

In preparation for my return to the MOTHERLAND, this weekend is my pre-motherland shopping weekend. Namely for JELLYBEANS and HAIRSPRAY. Seriously. I emailed my cousin who's getting married what she wanted me to bring for her, like make-up or magazines or CDs or whatever and she was all, "Jellybeans and hairspray!"

This is why I love visiting India. My relatives there are so easy to buy gifts for. Jellybeans and hairspray, check. I could bring a whole suitcase full of Dolce & Gabbana perfume and BCBG tops and they'd be all, "Where the fuck are the jellybeans?"

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

I'm an irresponsible piece of crap.

I had to go to the ATM today so I could go buy my peanut M&Ms from the book store, and I was totally shocked to see that my balance was $136.58. Oh DAMN. I totally forgot I wrote a check to my mom for $900 AS A JOKE (for her time and energy helping me move to Iowa), I didn't think she was actually going to deposit it. (Hey mom? The next time you plan to deposit a check I wrote to you 4 months ago, a little advance warning would be nice.)

I'm going home next Wednesday for Thanksgiving, and I think I can steal enough stuff from my parents house to make it after that til my next paycheck.

Until then, though, I've made a list of things that I will be sacrificing, or at least postponing til the 1st:

1. Fancy dog treats for Reflux.

2. No groceries: I'll have to buckle down and eat my Niblets and Val-U-Pack of frozen broccoli.

3. Dog food for Reflux: If corn and broccoli's good enough for the human it's good enough for the dog too, right?

4. No more peanut M&Ms (This will be the toughest one to let go, for sure.)

5. No more cigarettes (This one's not so bad, I'm supposed to be trying to quit smoking anyway)

6. No more fancy Propel sports drink at the gym. Guess I have to use the water fountains and risk getting Staph just like everyone else.

7. Pack Tupperware lunches of broccoli and niblets. Can't afford hospital cafeteria food! Oh...don't know if I own any Tupperware. Think I might have a moldy old tub of Cool Whip in the fridge I can wash out and use.

8. Seek out as many drug dinners/lunches as possible to go to.

9. Call my guitar teacher and ask him not to deposit that last check til after the 1st.

10. Put off paying my credit cards til next month.

Wow. It's a good thing I spent $25 on The Money Book for the Young, Fabulous, and Broke. That book's going to be really handy to beat myself over the head with when I come down with Kwashiorkor and am going into nicotine withdrawal.

And not to detract from my own irresponsible crappiness, but I blame LGOP for part of this. I figured we'd be going dutch but I didn't expect the night to be so damn expensive for how craptastic it was. $85 in cab fares! EIGHTY FUCKING FIVE. Besides that I was falling all over myself trying to pay for everything because I didn't want to feel obligated to have to be nice to him if god forbid I ever run into him again. *Shudder*

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

V. Special Educational Post

We had a v. entertaining research talk yesterday re: "Bowel Function during Pregnancy" and I learned about the Bristol Stool Scale, a patient-friendly tool with which to classify poo. I loves me a good poo talk but even I couldn't finish my black bean soup after this popped up on screen:


Right after the research talk the drug rep who bought us dinner came in to give his spiel. Last Thursday the AP came out with a pretty damning article re: Ortho Evra (The Patch) and risk of venous thromboembolism. There's kind of a gynormous freak-out right now because it's been all over CNN that the risk of VTE with the Patch was 3x the risk of VTE with the Pill because it has a bit more estrogen.

The warning from Johnson and Johnson subsidiary Ortho McNeil, makers of Ortho Evra, says women using the patch will be exposed to about 60% more estrogen than those using typical birth-control pills because hormones from patches get into the bloodstream and are removed from the body differently than those from pills.

Well that's part of it; the estrogen in the patch is more efficiently transferred to the bloodstream because it's not in a form that has to be digested first. Basic physiology: The pill offers a fluctuating level of estrogen, while the Patch provides a consistent level of estrogen 24/7. The NET AREA under the estrogen curve of Evra > the sum of the area under the Pill estrogen curve area by 50-60%, this is true. BUT because the Pill has peaks and troughs in estrogen, the HIGHEST amount of estrogen a user is exposed to at any one time is actually LOWER with the patch than with the pill.

Documents released to attorneys as a result of that litigation show Ortho McNeil has been analyzing the FDA’s death and injury reports, creating its own charts that document a higher rate of blood clots and deaths in association with the patch than with the pill.

This is a half truth. There haven't been any studies comparing the incidence of VTE between the Patch and the Pill; what this refers to is the number of VTE incidents reported to the FDA by Patch users. So, this conclusion isn't necessarily evidence-based.

In addition, an internal Ortho McNeil memo shows that the company refused, in 2003, to fund a study comparing its Ortho Evra patch to its Ortho-Cyclen pill because of concerns there was "too high a chance that study may not produce a positive result for Evra" and there was a "risk that Ortho Evra may be the same or worse than Ortho-Cyclen."
That does sound scary but again I don't think we're hearing the whole story; OE admits that decisions to fund studies are based on scientific merit. For the record at present Ortho-McNeil is conducting a large-scale prospective cohort study comparing the actual prevalences of PE, DVT, and stroke in Pill vs. Patch users. I hope they have a control group in there too.

Net result: We don't know if the risk is greater with the Patch or the Pill. If you're freaked out call and get your Rx changed from the Patch to OCPs, it's very easy to do. Don't just go off your medication though. (What's ironic is that the risk of VTE with unintended pregnancy exceeds the risk of VTE with the Patch or the Pill, yet women (esp smokers) might possibly go off hormonal contraceptive all together after this scare.)

(And I'm sorry and this is completely unrelated but the Ortho Evra drug rep was SMOKIN' HOT. I think it's hilarious how the drug companies are starting to realize most ob/gyns today are female and are trotting out the hot guys to sell birth control. My cute friend Rashaun from college was hired by Johnson & Johnson to sell OrthoTriCyclen Lo when he graduated. He was assigned to FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA of all places. He was afraid he would be the only black person in both Dakotas.)

(Also, I googled "Ortho Evra" and "blood clots" to see all the press that was out there so far and the first thing that popped up was 5 billion lawyer websites inviting you to join their lawsuits. Big surprise there.)

And oh what the hell, as long as I'm in the mood:

Plan B: I just got a NARAL update email that counts down how long Bush's FDA has fnur-fnurred about making a decision re: making emergency contraception available over the counter. Right now we're at 1,734 days, which is how long it's been since the FDA's own advisory board of experts overwhelmingly recommended improving access to Plan B. (At Northwestern everyone is entitled to get it up to twice a year for free! Rock on!)

Samuel "The Constitution Does Not Protect A Right to An Abortion" Alito: "The White House can’t expect Americans to feel secure while they pursue the dual strategy of telling the public to ignore Alito’s own written documentation of his legal philosophy but simultaneously using it to assure far right groups of his anti-choice positions." says Nancy Keener. Word.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Oh, the horror.

When I started this blog way back 5 weeks ago I made a commitment. I vowed I would never specifically speak ill of any one person. A day would come when I would be forced to break my own rule and that day is today. This is just way too damn funny, and there is an important message to be gleaned here: Ladies, listen to your Auntie Rups and NEVER LET YOUR MOTHER SET YOU UP WITH ANYONE. She will try long and hard but DO NOT LET HER BREAK YOU. (Unless it's with this guy. Or this one. It's all good then.)

Alas, I fell victim to this very affliction. She caught me at a weak moment. I think it was the weekend Reflux had Giardia, and I was cracking under the pressure of scrubbing bloody poo out of my carpet every 30 minutes. What can I say? He was "Looks Good on Paper" (but Sucks in Reality) Guy. LGOP and I made plans to get together this weekend in Chi. How bad could it be, right?

He had asked me to think about stuff I might want to do, so there were a few shows I thought might be fun to see, and I also picked out a few restaurants I'd heard good things about. I was thinking we could compare notes and make plans together but he called a few days before and was all, "Here's what we're gonna do." Way to hijack my evening, asshole. But that's ok, some guys just like to plan dates themselves to avoid any tragic mishaps.

I was willing to give it my best. I did my nails. I even put on my DRESSY PANTS. People those pants don't come out often. I even motherfucking DRY CLEANED them and I'm usually way too lazy to dry clean anything.

So first, he wanted to go to an Ethiopian restaurant. (Q: If one is trying to make a good impression, why pick a restaurant with such high gastrointestinal liability?) So we get in a cab and go FIFTEEN FUCKING MILES to the crappiest little shithole the Chicago Dept of Health has ever approved as a dining establishment. (Making us the first people in the history of Chicago to leave the neighborhood with some of the nicest and cheapest restaurants in the world (Cafe Iberico? Erawan? Bandera? Pasha's? The motherfucking FOOD COURT at Water Tower?) to go out to bumblefuck. Dude, we didn’t have to pay $30 to go to a craphole and eat bad food. There’s a Popeye’s right on Michigan Avenue 3 blocks away from my apartment.)

So anyway, at said craphole we were stuck in a table in the corner where LGOP proceeded to talk my gd ear off in attempt toward ‘conversation.’ So, so painful. This mostly consisted of me propping my chin up on my palm and trying to act engaged while he blathered on and on re: residency and fellowship, awkward stages of male development, various periods of weight gain/loss, personal hygiene habits (and lack thereof), and neglected childhood. I haven’t tried at anything so hard since I took the Boards, and several times I came dangerously close to having my head slip out of my palm and thud right onto the tabletop.

I tried to interject with my own THOUGHTS and OPINIONS occasionally but LGOP didn’t seem to realize that I was capable of independent thought too. In fact he yelled at me because I drive an SUV and love Grey's Anatomy. (That car was a gift from my dad, you jackass. And you own Ren and Stimpy DVDs, you -- ok. Enough with the insults. Though the one I have in mind has both the words "repressed" and "bedwetter" in it.)

At one point I escaped to the loo and on my way there LGOP hollered, “THERE’S NO WINDOW IN THERE! CAN’T ESCAPE! HA HA HA!” Har har. Buddy you have no idea.

In the loo I called Gaya because I really needed help figuring out how to bail (not that there are any cabs with which to escape in out in bumblefuck). She was all, “He’s just nervous! It’ll get better! Get back out there!” all channeling my mother.

So I went back out there and thankfully drinks had arrived so that provided a distraction for about 30 seconds. Seriously, it was SO MOTHERFUCKING BORING. I wanted to gnaw my own face off. And eat it. Because the food sucked too.

Then, we took a cab ride to Andersonville, where the show LGOP wanted to see was, and hung out at a bar for a while before the show began. (What a great neighborhood. Why didn’t we just eat there? There’s a great Ethiopian restaurant there too. Either LGOP is lying about attending med school in Chi or homeboy really never got out much.)

So this is where the evening actually took a turn for the less boring: We were in a bar and LGOP said, “Remember when you asked if I had any really scandalous history with girls?” Well no I didn’t because that seems like kind of a rude and tactless question even for me but “Oh…yeah I guess” I unexcitedly faked.

“Well…I said no but that was kind of not exactly the truth.”

At this I perked up. Ooh. Could there be a personality lurking in there?

“Its kind of embarrassing.” Averts eyes, shifts around on bar stool.

Wow! My curiosity was really piqued. Boring McUnfunnyPants had skeletons in his closet? I wondered what it could be. Secret love child? Sex change operation? Bout with gonorrhea?

LGOP: I was pretty serious with this one girl for a while.

R: Bored again. Ohreallytellmeaboutit.

LGOP: Well we meet on the Internet.

R: Like on

LGOP: No at a chatroom. A chatroom for people who like movies.

R: Was bored but is now a little grossed out too. So what happened?

LGOP: Well we went out for a few weeks and she wanted to get really serious but y’know, I couldn’t.

R: Well motherfucking DUH but Why?

LGOP: Well. She was unemployed, and lived at home with her parents. And …she was… morbidy obese.

R: Cracking up outrageously almost to the point of sliding off bar stool. And that’s not your type?

LGOP: Laughs sort of uncomfortably. She was kind of crazy too. Like kind of a stalker.

R: Disclaimer: Stalking is NOT FUNNY. Except if done by Morbidly Obese Internet Girlfriend (MOIG). Envision's MOIG hanging upside down off a tree branch with a pair of binocular's in LGOP's back yard and now cannot stop laughing uncontrollably even though she knows its rude and even snorts a couple of times while slapping palms on thighs and wiping tears from eyes. People are starting to stare.

LGOP: Yeah, she finally stopped calling me a couple of weeks ago.

Later on, we were standing on line for this comedy show we were going to see and I'm dying to know more about MOIG. I totally gracelessly blurt out “Hey, tell me more about MOIG! How big was she really?” LGOP looks all constipated and says this is not really the conversation he wishes to be having at the moment. “Oh…sorry.” I say, properly chastized.

THEN, this group of 3 girls attempts to join there 3 friends who are directly ahead of us inline. LGOP bellows, in all seriousness (I shit you not), “HEY! It’d be OK if ONE of you wanted to CUT IN but we can’t have the WHOLE LINE cut in front of us. GO TO THE BACK OF THE LINE!!”

I was mortified. People were craning their necks and peering over each other’s shoulders to see who is this dweeb that is regulating the line? The girls shoot us dirty looks and go all the way to the back of the line. I’m sure everyone in line is thinking Who are these uppity brown people?

Anyway, to make an extremely long and extremely stupid story short (I've had more fun on Saturday night at home by myself squeezing ingrown hairs out of my legs and cleaning up my dog's bloody shit and I'm not even being sarcastic), we FINALLY decide to call it a night, and take a cab home around 2:30 AM. He gets out of the cab with me at my stop, and we share this awkward handshake/slap on the shoulder farewell moment. For a split second I am horrified that he might lean in for a smooch, but THANK GOD he doesn’t and we finally part.

As soon as he saunters around the corner I dash to White Hen and buy an extra-large frozen cheese pizza because I’m STARVING. And thus begins what is HANDS DOWN the best part of the date: going upstairs and making and splitting the pizza with Maria. (Maria was all, "I knew I should have made you a sandwich before he picked you up.")

Another great part of the date was the next day when I was recounting the event over brunch and I was laughing so hard about MOIG I almost peed in my pants. At the end of it Grace remarked how she kind of felt sorry for him. Sorry for HIM?? What about ME? That’s 5 hours of my life I’m never getting back.

Twizzlers, No. of: 0
Twizzlers, No. of times desperately needed nicotine buzz from: 27

Oh well, I think I’ll make it. I was happy to return to Iowa and come home to my main squeeze.

Currently scheduling: My motherfucking COURT DATE. (Please don’t make me go to traffic school again, State of IL.)

Just watched: Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Shit I mean Sith with Gaya and YasuMCA (shout out!!). Was discussing how the light sabers were much like electrocautery knives, with the clean cuts and lack of bleeding. “Like a giant Bovie,” said Gaya.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Chi-Town, Put Them Lighters Up

It's late and I'm a little buzzed but Rupadupe has a confession. What started as an innocent occasional social college treat became a nasty habit over 3 years of med school. I am a smoker. I know. It's totally disgusting and oh so bad for you.

Tonight, I made a monumental decision to STOP SMOKING. NO MORE. Was smoking at a club here and realized that I was the only one. One of my friends told me that there's a referendum in Chicago this month to ban smoking in bars. At first I was disappointed but then I realized that ... it's a filthy habit and just isn't that cool anymore. Well it was probably never cool. Smokers on average live 7 years less than non-smokers, not even counting quality of life of those later years. Well no more!

In my attempt to quit I'm going to keep track of how many cigarettes I'm smoking per day. Except I have a hard time facing the truth, so I shall call them Twizzlers.

Twizzlers, No of: 4.5

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

i be twisted

I love the holidays, I really do! Even Christmas, with Jesus and whatnot. I love this weather, people get nicer, homes get warmer, and of course there's tons o' shopping to be done.

The whole winter season is full of holidays, all Happy Diwahanukwanzidmas to fill up your time and give you reason to see your family again. (It's that TUNNEL OF DARKNESS from February to April that kind of gets me in the dumper.)

One of the secretaries was in here pumping yesterday and discussing the drama in her family about who was going to host Thanksgiving, and who would boycott it if they hosted it, and who didn't have money to spend on the holidays and would leech it out of everyone else, blah blah blah dysfunctioncakes. I was thinking that I couldn't even imagine all this stupid bullshit in my own immediate family, like, how retarded, it's your fam damily so just suck it up. Anyway, she told me that I was lucky that I was the only girl, because it's when you have too many girls that the drama starts, because they just can't seem to get along with each other!

I know, everyone is like, Well motherfucking DUH. But I HATE that women have a "reputation" for not being able to get along with each other like that. I refuse to believe that women are inherently petty, jealous people who can't compromise. (I blame men.) We've all come across it sometimes, but I know plenty of men who are assholes too. Yet for some reason when it comes to women this behavior is generalized and stereotyped, whereas with men we're willing to take it on a case-by-case basis.

Unfortunately, the media bombards us with these same ideas. (ok, if you don't watch The Apprentice none of the rest of this will make sense.) I've been watching this season's The Apprentice, and as usual the teams were split up by gender. The men's team had some big jerks on it but they won most of the challenges. The women's team was doing okay at first but then sort of devolved into caricatures of each woman's ego. (Except for Marshawn. Marshawn! Sweet flower. Hope you win.) And then the women's team divided up into factions and just couldn't get along with each other, or so the editing portrayed. Well there was really only one bad seed and her name was Toral. Some of the other women were kind of caustic and some were incompetent but there was no hairpulling catfight sort of thing.

The men's team had just as much "divisiveness" and incompetence too! (Clay? Motherfucking MARCUS!? Markus is half retarded!) But the editing shows us their team as a bunch of decent guys working together with a couple of morons who can't really get along with the "team", showing them as being outside of the team. On the women's team, it looks like the team is ONLY composed of dramatic females.

I took Intro to Sociology in college with Charles Moskos ("Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy for the military was HIS idea) which was probably one of the best classes I've ever taken. On the day he lectured about gender, he said that sociologists who study conversation concluded that women tend to be inclusive in their conversations, trying to draw everyone in and helping everyone participate, in comparison to men. And that's one stereotype I'm ok with: females as being kind and inclusive. Not that I want the media to start portraying us all as Aunt Jemima or whatever but it wouldn't hurt if we could let go of some of the catty stereotypes.

Currently Reading: The Devil in the White City. Everyone says this book is AWESOME but I have yet to experience the AWESOMENESS. I would describe it as BORING and kind of SLOW. Maybe it's because I've only attempted to read the book while on the bus squished next to the drunk homeless guy. It's kind of cool to read about all these downtown locales in Chicago and what they were like at the turn of the century, though.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

my head hurts

Ugh. I'm too tired and nauseated to get angry about anything today. I hate these motherfucking delayed hangovers. And I can't take any Motrin. Because of the heartburn, you see? Because I'm really an 80 year old woman. Will you help me find my glasses?


Everyone uses my office to pump. Milk. Out of themselves, that is. Call me Central Pump. At first I sort of planned my lunch/coffee breaks around pump time just out of politeness but then I realized that no one really cared if I was in there or not. The pumps have a nice rhythmic tone to it, like a washing machine. Or a car engine. Makes me want to take a nap.