Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

So, in light of the past few days, I’m going to have to revise some of my previous statements about Mardi Gras.

Last year, Mardi Gras sucked. I’m not going to sugar coat it. It sucked.

It was sort of a perfect storm of Slappy’s bat-shit-crazy mother being here and me being rather very ill. And when you’re with Lucifer his mom, in the french quarter for 14 hours with a 102 degree fever, you just might not enjoy it. I know, it’s hard to imagine.

It could’ve been when Satan my MIL begged me for all the cool beads I caught. It could’ve been when she insisted that one chair would be fine for all of us and then sat in it all day, despite my being sick. It could’ve been that she made us stake out a spot for Endymion in the French Quarter, sit for several hours amidst total drunken chaos, some of it involving guns, and then called to say she was sitting in a hotel bar (note: not the hotel she was staying in because she was staying IN OUR HOUSE) and didn’t want to see Endymion after all.

Could’ve been.

This year, however, things have been different. I will admit to leaving 2 parades early: one because it was really cold and one because I hurt all over. But the ratio of kind people to drunken obnoxious people has been totally reasonable. Our alcohol has been plentiful but not excessively so and the catches have been good. We went to Endymion, got totally hit on by an old man (more on that another time) and then last night Slappy, Daisy and I met up with NOLA Notes and Pontchartrain Pete for Bacchus, and guys? It. was. great.

Loved it.

Loved it so much, we’re doing it again tonight. This time we’re bringing the food (McDonald’s, because while the fried chicken kicked ass last night, I have now eaten Popeye’s 3 times in the 3 days. And I’m fairly sure my entire body is going to go on strike if I so much as consider ever eating fried chicken again), the bead catching box (also known as the box that has caused many people to get hit in the face with beads) and hope to get some good stuff.

Apparently the recipe for a good Mardi Gras? Good company, good food, and Slappy’s mother being 2000 miles away. Who knew?

So I have an issue (shut up, so I have several. This is a different kind). An issue that several might take offense to, but I’m going to say it anyways.

I cannot STAND smoking.

I find it vile and disgusting. To an extent, I understand older generations than mine who smoke because it is addictive and because the danger was not present (most likely) when said people began smoking. It’s sad and I wish we could encourage and help them all stop, but my grandmother smoked from age 20 to about 6 months before her death. And she was a nurse. I do empathize with the fact that smoking is very very difficult to give up.

That said, smokers my age and younger? You’re just idiots. You are. You’re ruining your health for a cigarette. It doesn’t look cool. It doesn’t make you cool. In fact, it makes you look stupid. STUPID.

Last night at the later parades a group of high school students (hey moron, if you don’t want us to know you’re in high school, perhaps don’t wear your school’s hat to Mardi Gras?) decided to weasel their way in front of us at the spot that Daisy and her friend had staked out hours before. And then they started smoking.

And perhaps this makes me an unkind person, but I cannot help myself. First I did the “polite” cough when they smoked in my direction. Then I got Slappy’s attention about the smoking and he started blowing the smoke back in their face (which, while not wildly effective in terms of actual air quality, was both hilarious to watch and almost passive aggressive enough to get them to move). And finally I called to him and I said (and I quote) “Honey, it’s almost like if I wanted to smoke, I’d go buy my own pack of cigarettes to destroy my lungs.”

And low and behold, they moved.

For like 10 minutes.

I think we’ll chalk that up to a moral victory nonetheless.

So, I totally didn’t mean to come across nearly as whiny as I did (and I’m sure you’ll be surprised to know that the anonymous commenter that apologize right after I forbade apologies was my husband. That, ladies and gentlemen, is my life).

I really wasn’t trying to guilt trip you as much as I was trying to see if I had turned a corner in a wrong direction that was driving you away (whoa, unintended car metaphor). Now that we’ve established that perhaps it’s because, like me, the never comments reader, y’all are busy, we can just move on. In fact, let’s pretend like I didn’t have an entire blog of insecurity and finding out if you were still my friends. (Yes, I am in 1st grade.)

And now, the long-promised salmonella story.

Back in January, I flew to Los Angeles for a weekend to go to an open house for the grad school (the #1 school in the country!) I will most likely be attending in the fall (because I am a money-tree). After the open house I drove 2 hours to visit with my family. While there I got to meet the brand new baby, and just generally enjoy some family time.

On Sunday, my last family meal before leaving, instead of going to the sandwich shop I really wanted to eat at, we went to the Elephant Bar (where ironically, the person who threw the fit about going to the sandwich shop ORDERED A SANDWICH).

Now, I tolerate the Elephant Bar, primarily because they have stellar mojitos. However, since it was a meal with family and I was driving, no alcohol was imbibed. Instead, I decided on the chicken, shrimp and sausage jambalaya.

Let me stop here and say, look, I know that you never order jambalaya outside of the South. I know. It’s never as good. However, while unauthentic, it’s usually a palatable meal and I wanted to see how (un)authentic this jambalaya might be. Trust me, I regret the decision.

Surprisingly, the jambalaya was actually fairly edible. The portion was huge and after eating for what seemed like a lifetime, I was pretty happy with the quantity of leftovers I’d have for dinner that night.

And then I decided to have just a little more, I cut a piece of chicken in half and started chewing.

(You see where this is going, right?)

As I’m chewing this bite of chicken, I look down at the other half, still on the plate. The other half, still completely RAW in the middle.

It took a moment to process the fact that I had raw meat IN MY MOUTH and that I had possibly just eaten a meal full of it. To be honest, the texture of the raw chicken was unnoticeable with the texture of the jambalaya in general.

I managed to not hurl all over the table but instead, spit out the bite and FREAKED OUT. Because, hello? Fear of vomiting over here? She does NOT do salmonella.

The manager came out after we alerted the server and offered free dessert, and while the idea of eating in general was horrifying, we got some cobbler (and it was goooood). They comp’ed my food and told me that if I came down with anything, they’d pay my medical bills (I don’t suppose one can claim a brain nugget a month later as a complication for raw meat, can they?).

Obviously I did not get salmonella. But I swear, I’m just waiting to realize that I have one of the packages of peanuts full of it because, hello, this is me we’re talking about, and if it can happen to anyone, I’m the one.

Hello?

Is this thing on?

So here’s the thing, lately, I’ve gotten a rather significant increase in the number of visitors to this site (and by the way, we’re approaching 100,000 visitors, check the site meter box on the bottom right and be sure and let me know if you’re the one!), and simultaneously, a noticeable drop in comments.

I had two people ask specifically how I cut my face open with a sweatshirt (to quell your interest, it was the small metal opening to the strings that cut my face) and yet, only 2 commenters on the post about Slappy shaving his head for cancer research.

That said, those 2 commenters plus 5 others have managed to get him to 300 dollars so far, but still, I don’t know, I think our relationship needs some therapy. I think our channels of communication are clogged.

So I’m asking for your opinion: what has happened with this blog that has reduced the comments to nil?

Would you like a health update? My head hurts almost every day. I have heard nothing back about the brain tumor cyst nugget from the neurologist yet, and it’s been almost a week since I dropped off the CT. Yes, I am freaking out a little bit here and there. Where here and there is every moment I’m not doing something important.

Would you like a stupid update? I dropped my calculator in a full bathtub. It wasn’t my fault. It was in the case and it slid right out of the case and right into the tub. And in case you wondered, it was a TI-89 super-expensive calculator. SUCK.

Would you like a random update? Daisy is most likely coming to New Orleans to stay at my house from Thursday until she leaves. A trip for both Mardi Gras and because I’ve pretty much decided we’re best friends forever. You can throw up over there. But seriously, she’s awesome.

So, now, you tell me (the comment link is just below where you’re reading now in case you’re struggling with that part), what do you want more of? What do you want less of?

Bring it on. I can take it (not really, but I’m going to try).

So, last night in my chemistry lab we had to melt glass. Specifically, we had to do this:

Not pictured in this video is me burning the shit out of 3 of my fingers (like, blister-esque burns), which was legitimately not my fault. I tried to tell my professor that the place she told us to melt was not the right place and we would all burn ourselves, but until every single person in the room screamed something profane and dropped their piece of flaming hot glass (to which she twice responded: “be careful, that’s hot.” REALLY? IS IT?), she maintained that she was right.

And then she admitted that maybe she was wrong. She wasn’t sure because SHE’D NEVER DONE IT BEFORE. If I die in the next 4 months, it won’t be a sudden death from the brain tumor nugget, it’ll be from that Chemistry lab.

Or maybe just from life in general because, I swear to you, catastrophe’s like an epidemic right now.

Slappy met me for lunch today and surprised me with food from one of our favorite little po-boy shops. We sat down to eat, I grabbed my bottle of diet rootbeer, opened it, and it EXPLODED.

Everywhere.

Especially on my white shirt.

The one that I had to wear for parent-teacher conferences tonight.

It was pretty great. And cold. And wet. And strong-smelling.

I really, truly, cannot wait to see what Thursday has in store for me. I probably shouldn’t mention that I have a biology exam and am dropping off my tumor-ridden CT scan at my neurologist’s office for him to review.

What could possibly go wrong?

Googling “colloid cyst in Foramen of Monro”

Do you know why?

Because “[a]lthough colloid cysts are histologically benign, they can acutely obstruct both foramina of Monro, resulting in sudden loss of consciousness, coma, and death.”

Sudden. Death.

Awesome.

Props to Daisy for a very well-timed e-card.

Excuse me while I wallow horizontally with a monster headache that surely can’t be rooted in stress. Surely.

I am safely at Daisy’s (she’s not a serial killer…yet) which is all things lovely and wonderful.

But, and this is a big but, my cat is missing.

Karma, my kitten that I got when she was 1 and 3/4 pounds and 6 weeks old, is missing.

She’s been missing for almost 12 hours.

I know this is ridiculous, but if you have a minute, say a prayer for my cat. And for Slappy and I, because we might not have children, but Karma is pretty much our everything.

We need her to come home.

Hi, remember me? I used to blog here.

This week has been the most horrendously busy 3 day week ever. It was like a normal week on crack. Not that I have any idea what crack does, but it seems like the correct expression.

First, this is my 600th post. I’m not sure what to say besides, wow, it’s amazing how much free time I’ve had on my hands in the past almost 2 years. Really.

Second, Slappy got a residency in California. More on this next week because a few bits of information are trickling in still and I want to give this exciting moment it’s proper celebration, rather than a small note embedded in a different blog.

Third, what I’m really writing about, is that I’m in the airport as I type this, getting ready to board a flight (which is leaving early- are they even allowed to do that?) to New York, for my final grad school interviews. Tomorrow night I’ll be hopping a flight to Chicago to meet up with Daisy (and maybe for another interview. But mostly for Daisy.) Who hopefully isn’t a serial killer. If you don’t hear from me by like, say, Monday night, assume the worst and send search parties to Chicago.

(I’m only slightly kidding).

And now my early flight is boarding, so once again, I’m cutting the blog short. I just hope to God that no one (myself included) vomits on this flight. Because seriously, of the past 4 flights I’ve been on, twice there has been vomit (one of which required paramedics), and once an ADULT peed her pants. All 3 situations smelled really good, in case you wondered.

I will try to post from Chicago to verify my status of living. And to report all the sordid details of the blog fun-ness (bloguness? funlogness?) that I am completely sure we’ll be having!

So, we are supposed to find out tomorrow if Slappy matched for his 2011 Pediatric Neurology residency, a match that is much more selective than the basic match that happens in March. MUCH more selective.

Which is why it was really surprising tonight that he got an email informing him that he matched.

He did it.

We don’t know where yet. That is a MINOR detail we’ll find out tomorrow.

And now, blog and real friends, it’s time to commence the proud comments for Slappy. He has earned them.

So I’m alive, just busy with any and everything. So busy I don’t have time to tell you the horrific story of the plane-vomit-paramedic incident (wasn’t me). So busy I don’t have time to finish this mini-update.