big decision

The dork in me has read the introduction to Shakey's The Two Gentlemen of Verona... but it's dawned upon me that I've never actually seen one of his plays that I've not read, which would lead to a whole new experience....

So I'm at a place tonight where I'm trying to decide between reading and not reading... and I think I've decided, after reading the first Act, that I'll go without knowing, for a change, and try to experience the play as a new story.

Then this dork will probably come home and read it again to come full circle... seek closure, etc...

Meanwhile, I'm really intrigued by the photography of Spencer Tunick.

having an affair

It's official; I'm having an affair while The Hater is out of town.

Last night I went out on a wonderful date with The Count, husband to Unequivocal Prowess, who is also out of town. We drank the coldest beer in town between the most racy, witty conversation upon which you could have ever evesdropped.

After dinner we came back to my place and discussed more serious matters, consecutive dates, juggling our busy schedules. This took place on the famous blue couch while sipping bubbly diet sprite and listening to the cooing sounds of Avenue Q. I feigned naivety as he downloaded and burned cds to share. He's such a good share-er.

But then the conversation turned to a more serious matter... this was, albeit sanctioned, an affair. We decided our next date should be more exciting, and decided that we would go to Shakespeare in the Park to see The Two Gentlemen of Verona Friday evening. I dusted off my complete works of Willy, and then we talked about our favorite tragedies of the infamous bard, quizzing each other on the required memorization tasks that were put before us in grade school. Neither of us did very well remembering those speeches or remembering in which part of the play they happened.

It was very exciting. So exciting, in fact, that he left my place in a fever. And instead of staying up to read the play we're going to see, the cat and I tapped out for the night.

It was an affair to remember through rose colored glasses. Otherwise, what fun would the story be?

alpha, step

I'd like to give a special shout out to all of the random people who wander by this blog and stay for less than a minute.

And extra big shouts to whatever regulars there may be, those people who will really be amused by drive-by quickies...

fat fat fat

I feel so fat.

Not having a thyroid gland sucks. Waiting for my synthetic hormones to peak has been a pain. I have gained a trillion pounds and have no energy to work towards removing them.

It's true that since my surgery I've made much forward progress from slug to sloth to zombie, and now a functional human. I work and sleep, which is functional, but relatively joyless.

I see the doctor on Monday afternoon. I'm going to beg to get my synthetic hormone dose increased. If he says no, I'm going to cry. Big, big, cow tears over my huge fat cheeks.

And if that doesn't work?

I'll go to plan B... which is a Pouting-Sleep-a-Thon in the waiting room until I change his mind.

vacation

The Hater's leaving me today to begin his vacation. This evening he'll leave OKC for Vegas to visit one of our very best friends, Angry Dissenter. They'll entertain each other for a week before I can leave to come visit, too.

I'll be there a long weekend before The Hater and I drive back to OKC, just in time for me to return to work.

So today I'm jealous that my vacation isn't starting this early, too... And excited for the 6th to get here so I can get in on the action... And nervous for The Hater's drive... And happy that I'll be able to tease his dog on behalf of my cat... who of course sends her best wishes.

World Cup

It's official.... and we're celebrating England in quarter-finals!

We've caught the World Cup fever... and have caught on to some pride from our friends abroad. This evening I dyed my friend's hair into a white and red checkerboard pattern (somewhat akin to a soccer ball, if you turn your head to the left and cross your eyes while you look at it).

He keeps singing God Save the Queen. I think the dye may have gone to his head.

new job

I'm a professional sleeper.

Well, excpet that it doesn't pay, and there are no benefits, and it's not actually a job. But if it could be a job, it would be mine. I've been in extreme training this weekend for professional sleeper.

Friday night I started out with a modest 14 hours.

Saturday night I slept for another 16 hours.

Oh, sweet, sweet weekend, when I can recover from my week... The Hater does not support my professional sleeping habits. He says if I go to sleep now that he'll worry about me.

So maybe I'll wait a couple of more hours. He says afternoon is too eary to go to sleep.

Post Script: The novella post is finished and posted about three posts down.

cheers

I've been partying down, pre-wedding style, with a friend's family tonight and have had a great time. Such a good time, in fact, that it was worthy of mentioning -- this tipsy and this late, knowing that I have to be productive and work tomorrow... This guy's family has totally adopted me and The Hater since we've lived here --- invited us to Thanksgiving, July 4th, and Christmas get-togethers when we weren't going home to see our family (or even if we were). They are wonderful people who are marrying off one of their daughters tomorrow.

And since The Hater's out of town for work things, I was compelled to drink and sing-along with the best of them to make up for his absence.

It was a great time to be around people you like. And, really, I think that's the best compliment you can give for such a party...

It reminded me of the night of the Lennox Lewis versus Mike Tyson fight.... and not to mention many nights beside a tall fire in the fireplace ... and the one time, when I was a marine, and drunk at the time... and all of the fishing stories, even the ones where the ones who were caught actually fell out of the bed of the truck... and listening to BigDaddy tell stories at Headquarters... and all the nights at 119 with aunts and uncles and cousins and whoever was in the neighborhood --- My friends, I had one for you tonight.

I wish Arkansas wasn't in the way of having this party every week. (The Hater could come, too, if he were in town.)

I miss you!

under construction

I'm torn between telling a story between lots of little posts and one large post... and I'm leaning towards a long post with lots of jagged edges. I'm at a place where I want cohesiveness.

That's my story for today, that I'm working on one that will be better than this one.

Your assignment: When was the last time you saw a skunk alive?

NCUR (a novella)

This is a third-attempt at a Rashomon experience deep in the past of Angry Dissenter and myself. After reading my version, you can go read his version and be amused at how we recall a certain moment in our past.

I. Intro

Angry Dissenter and I have been in cahoots again about another Rashomon past. This one is kindof tricky because it takes place over about a week's worth of time during the National Conference of Undergraduate Research (NCUR). Instead of the two of us reliving one particular scene, we're going to write about the more memorable moments of our trip to Montana.

Because there were numerous stories to remember about our trip to Montana, I will pick my most prominent stories to relive. These stories will be separated and indexed for neatness.

II. Setting

Time: April, 2000. I'd just graduated from MTSU with my first degree in elementary education and have started a long year of prerequisits to get into the nursing program. It was my first semester taking all science-y and math-y courses, and the transition from the ed program into the land of finite sciences left me in tears most every night. I was taking 22 semester hours, including Microbiology with a lab, Chemistry with a lab, and other such things I've since repressed. The Hater and I had been dating for six months. He says he knew I was "the one", but I hadn't yet been convinced.

Place: Missoula, Montana. More specifically, the campus of the University of Montana. This was a small college town carved between a couple of mountains. Scenic, but not very exciting. We were forced to entertain ourselves.

III. NCUR

MTSU payed all expenses for us to attend NCUR (link above), an undergraduate research conference. This was a great educational opportunity that was free to you, if the conference accepted your paper.

The Hater submitted an abstract based on a paper he had written about Middle East politics. I, however, spent an hour writing a smart-sounding abstract for a paper that I hadn't written yet. I used every three-syllable education buzzword that I could remember. I was really excited to find out that my abstract had been selected, too. Angry Dissenter used a paper he had written for his research class in Psychology, we think.

A total of 5 students, all of whom were members or former members of the MTSU Debate Team had abstracts selected for the conference. We prepared 10-15 minute presentations for our research papers to present and defend while we were there. Dr. Vicarage went with us, and we were looking forward to prentending we were smart and taking a mini-vacation at the university's dime, not to mention gaining resume fodder.

IV. Adventures in Adult Stores, with Gumbo

The Hater, Angry Dissenter, and I were at a loss of things to do in Missoula. After looking through the city welcome book we decided the only exciting thing there would be to do would be to hike a few miles across town to the adult bookstore. So one afternoon we did.

And then after we had spent about ten minutes walking around the store, the sky started to get darker and we wondered what we'd have for supper. While hiking back we happened across a hotel with an open restaurant, or so said the sign outside.

So we went inside and realized quickly that our budget wasn't ready for an entree from this place. We ended up getting soup and sandwiches (or something equally cheap). The Hater noticed that the hotel's specialty was gumbo, and then was sorely disappointed that it was worse than condensed chicken and rice soup. He continues to whine that there was no sausage or okra or "even a gumbo broth".

He had asked if it was spicy, to which they replied that it was, and cautioned him against ordering it. He says now that water was spicier than his soup. Maybe Montana wasn't the place to seek cajun cuisine.

V. The Hills are Alive (no, really, and they tried to kill us)

There's a mountain on campus with a big white "M" on it. (Really creative, I know.) At one point during our trip, Angry Dissenter, The Hater, and I decided that we needed to climb the mountain. Besides, we had seen other people running it with their dogs, so it couldn't be that hard, right?

Wrong.

Now is probably a good time to mention that this was my first experience with the rocky mountains-- as opposed to homey applachia. Wow. What impressed me most about Montana was that it would be flat, like Uglyhoma, and then zoom up to the sky out of the blue. If we had mountains, they had Mountains. Serious Mountains. Jaggedy-edged, snow-capped Mountains, and we were going to climb one like everyone else.

Almost, but not quite halfway up this particular mountain The Hater started slowing down. Then wheezing. This went on for about ten more minutes hiking up the mountain. At this point he announced that he has asthma and that his inhaler was in the hotel room, down the mountain and about a three-quarters of a mile away.

Angry Dissenter was in great running shape at the time; we figured it would take him about ten-fifteen minutes to run there and back, if pushes came to shoves ... which was really too long if we were shoving already. So we sat down where we were and took pictures as if we'd climbed all the way to the top. And after The Hater caught his breath we walked back down the mountain.

Indincentally, these were the best pictures that came out of our trip to Montana.

VI. Ghost Towns

Before we left for the trip to Montana, Dr. Vicarage called a series of meetings with all of us who were going to discuss aspects of the trip. The first meeting was called, to which we all came, and spent an hour deciding what we should talk about and when to plan the next meeting. The purpose of the first meeting was to plan the second meeting.

The second meeting started, and then we began discussing what would happen at the third meeting... at which point The Hater actually started talking about not having a third meeting to discuss what would happen at the fourth meeting and so on.

We all decided that, while in Montana, we should go find a ghost town. We had several to choose from. So while we were there, we decided to find one.

We drove around for a couple of hours looking for a ghost town. Eventually we came to a random bar, in the middle of nowhere, and went inside to seek directions. We were met by a handful of nonsocial, scary people, who told us we wouldn't be able to make it to any ghost town because the roads were snowed out.

But it was April, we noted, followed by scary, blank stares. Then silence.

We left the bar without any further directions, and ended up in a smaller town on Main Street. The other people in our caravan went nuts shopping in their junk "antique" stores, and they didn't think it was funny when Angry Dissenter mused that it was just like the same junk that could've been bought in Tennessee.

VII. Bears

Dr. Vicarage just knew that there would be bears everywhere when we went on this trip. While driving the van, he'd appoint people to look out the windows and be on bear-watching-duty. Every outing was an oppotunity to go bear hunting. Seeing a bear was his main goal for taking us on the trip.

Angry Dissenter really enjoied calling random false bear sightings, and I think he did it because Dr. Vicarage would get the same look as a puppy who wanted to go outside -- his ears perked up, his eyes got really big, and his whole head would dart back and forth, looking for the bear, all the while he was also fumbing for his camera. It was mischeviously cruel, but it never lost its punchline.

Look, a bear! ... Is that a bear at the woodline? ... Bear, 12:00!

I'm sad to report we never successfully saw a bear wandering around Montana. However, their airport had a stuffed bear behind glass. I did get a picture of everybod posing with that bear, since we couldn't find any others on the trip.

Dr. Vicarage was very disappointed.

VIII. Home, but not Safe

Dr. Vicarage was known in our circle for being an awful driver. Being someone rider in the car he was driving was a life-changing experience. One scene, while he was driving about 90 mph down a windy mountain, he asked "What are all of those crosses on the side of the road?"

Without thinking I answered, That's where people have died from driving recklessly on this road, Dr. Vicarage... I coulnd't believe he'd never seen the memorial crosses before.

But that wasn't all.

Then one morning we found surprise dents in the rental van. Dr. Vicarage said he knew nothing about them, even though he was the only one with the keys... We almost missed our flight out of Montana because Dr. Vicarage had to "straighten-up" the dent with the rental people.

Back in Nashville all we lacked was finding the keys to the university van... but they were lost, and we sat on top of luggage for over an hour while Dr. Vicarage looked for them.

The drive back to school was equally scary, as we dodged between semis and family vans. At one point Dr. Vicarage drove over speed bumps and railroad tracks without breaking, and we all bounced out of our seats -- and Angry Dissenter hit his head on the ceiling of the van -- and in his true fashion, a long string of never-heard bad words sprang together out of his mouth.

We were all tired; it had been a long week.

dallying in another world

People mostly fit into different catergories. There are tall people, short people, and another catergory for people who are neither. People who can sing, people who like to sing, and people who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. There are cat people, dog people, people who are allergic to either or both, and people who are moreso one than the other. SWF, DBM, BBF, WTF. Catergories.

I'm a cat person. I've had scary dog experiences, and mostly I don't even do dogs unless their owners promise me that it's safe territory. Obviously I'm a great choice to help dog-sit while our friends are out of town!

Bad Shoe Guy* would be happy to know that I wasn't their first choice for the esteemed role of dog-sitter. I probably wasn't even their second choice, but we're good enough friends where they wouldn't mention how far down the choice list I actually was...

But even a cat person can be preapared. I bought a bag of his favorite treats, and some supper that I could cook to share leftovers. It was a plan, and the best that this cat-person could come up with...

I was welcomed with lots of barks. I'm not attuned to the subtle differences betwen happy barks and I'm-gonna-bite-your-face-off barks, so I tossed a treat. He was excited. My face was safe for the moment.

I cooked supper. He ran around in circles and peed in the kitchen. That's his thing. I mopped it up because I wasn't sure what else to do. I guess that made it my thing. He got the wrong idea.

AND THEN THE THING HAPPENED. He did the dog-thing where he flipped onto his back, suggesting a tummy-rub that even this cat-person could percieve. I started patting his belly, and then the golden fountain started and I ended up with dog pee all over my arm. All over my cat person arm.

Not cool, I told him. I told him that peeing on people was not how you won friends and influenced others. I washed my arm. Twice. Compulsively.

While he kept barking I cooked supper. I had bought some noodle thing on the way to his house. It wasn't as good as when I was in college, but it was alright; he seemed to enjoy the leftovers. I cleaned up supper (after he'd cleaned the plates), and wondered what to do next. I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk outside... His ears jumped off of his head and he ran around in circles before pulling the leash off of the wall. It was unaminous.

We went for a walk. I had no idea a weiner dog could run so quickly. He peed on every mailbox that we passed. It was the thing to do, I'm sure.

I tucked him in -- under his blanket. It seemed like we made it through the evening.

I returned home to the most brilliant cat in the world. The same cat who just jumped down from sleeping in my lap for about ten minutes, which is very out of character for her. Maybe it was the faint odor of dog pee that caused her sudden interest in cuddling, maybe it was because The Hater's out of town... or maybe it was just the moment. Whichever, it's good to be home.

* Bad Shoe Guy: This is an example of a post about nothing. You can do it! Make Seinfeld proud!

day of dad

Happy Fathers Day to all the special Dads in this world, including, but not limited to the father of Zoloft the cat. She would like for him to come home and make her string move. Now.

worst drink ever

Last night I had another pharmacology education dinner. This one was about chemotherapy regimes for patients with metastatic colorectal cancer. And what's even better than talking about colorectal cancer over supper? Only eating at the very best steak place in town. (Why anyone would order salmon here is beyond me...)

Usually at these things the sponsors will bring out several bottles of wine and we're invited to have a few glasses during the presentation and dinner. And usually I'll comply. (Why anyone would not partake of free wine is beyond me...)

Well, last night I was tired. I've been tired; that's the broken record of my story as of late. I was so tired that I thought I'd not have any wine, and that's what I told the server when they asked. Two of my coworkers teased. They wanted margaritas, and when the server asked them what kind of tequila they wanted, they didn't know.

"I want the expensive, good one." they answered.

And I'm not really sure why they always look at me when random conversations about alcohol come up... but they did. They asked what kind of tequila they wanted. I ordered Patrone and asked the server to make it three. Somewhere inside of me was a poor college student who couldn't say no to free alcohol.

The server came back with three glasses. I took a sip... and it tasted like teqila and brine, not margarita. My two coworkers took a sip and decided it was so bad they weren't going to drink it. I took another couple of sips -- what was that taste? I knew that taste, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Sure, it tasted awful, but what a waste of Patrone to send it back!

I did, much to the chagrin of my other self. It was really too bad to drink.

The server came back with many apologies. Apparently the bartender had mixed tequila with olive juice... which would explain why it was awful. She brought out new drinks without the slice of lime and without the salt on the rim.

My two coworkers had drinks that were yellow in color; mine was clear. Theirs tasted like the drinks had margarita mix this time. My drink tasted like tequila and ice and maybe a splash of mix.

I sipped it slowly.

And what did I learn at this very nice drug meeting? What did I take away that will forever change my career? How will this effect my interactions with my patient population? What is the moral of this story?

Don't complicate things; when you're offered free wine, take it.

nurse fishing

I didn't mention that I managed to skewer my right pinkie with a blunt hook while trying to take down IV tubing after a patient was leaving yesterday. Pitiful.

Today I sported a fancy foam burple band-aid. It made me feel better.

country mouse

There's a lot to be said about the culture shock from moving from rural LBG to the metropolis of OKC. It's true that there's only a minimal relationship to the country mouse- city mouse story, but the divide between the two was (and continues to be) worthy of mentioning. The world of children's literature comes full circile again.

One of my coworkers is very much the essence of a city girl. We are frequently amused by each other's stories -- mine of the country mouse, hers of the city mouse. Today at work while we were doing our thing, some birds outside our big windows started fighting and one ended up being killed. The city mouse I worked with flipped out. She yelled at the window and knocked on it, telling the larger bird to stop picking on the smaller bird. She was really upset.

me: What's going on?
her: It's attacking the little bird.
me: Oh.
her: Well, what are you going to do about it?
me: Do about it?
her: (looking out the window) It's flopping around. The big bird is coming back!
me: Well, I guess I could go outside and put it out of its misery.
her: Do you mean kill it?
me: Yeah. Would you rather it flop in misery?
her: (gasp) You wouldn't really kill it, would you?
me: Sure would. It would be more humane than calling a mini-code and trying to start a central line...
her: (looks out the window) Well, he's stopped flopping now. But the big bird's coming back! What are you going to do?
me: What do you want me to do? It's already dead.
her: But it's just out there on the ground.

At this point she's really getting upset. Our patients are all crooking their necks to see the show between my coworker and the dead bird outside. I get the silent nod from my boss and I donned a pair of gloves** and a bag and headed to the outside door. City mouse stopped me.

her: What are you going to do?
me: I'm going to take care of it.
her: You're not going to hurt the little bird, are you?
me: Not if it's already dead.
her: What're you going to do with it?
(I showed her the bag.)
her: You're not just going to throw it in the bag, are you?
me: No, I'll have a memorial first.
(She liked that answer.)

I took care of the bird.

I won't mention that one of my more astute patients asked me if it was a sparrow. When I replied that it was, he asked me if I gave the grackle a reward. City Mouse didn't get it, and thusly didn't appreciate the fowl humor.

I guess there was just enough Country Mouse in me to not only get the joke, but I was really amused by it, too.

Dorothy was right; there's no place like home.

**And there's also enough Country Mouse in me to note that the only reason I put on gloves when I went outside to dispose of the sparrow was because I didn't want to come back into the treatment room, wash blood off of my hands, and then turn around and start an IV on someone who had just seen me fix the bird -- and I was also halfway afraid I'd get out there and it would still be alive, requiring another step prior to disposal...

political polls

Tis the season to receive nightly telephone political polls... and give skewed answers to intentionally upset the intended results. The Hater doesn't think I should give skewed answers, but I feel like it's my my obligation to give more blue answers to political polls that come out of this state. Blue pride is bad pride in a red state... and it amuses me... and he's not in town tonight to give me mean faces.

The poll I answered tonight went much like this:

I will tell you about two people who want to be elected for the Oklahoma Attorney General office. After I tell you a little about each opponent, please tell me if you are more likely or less likely to vote for them.

The first canidate, Mr. X, has been married for 40 years, has three children and four grandchildren. He is active in his community and has a very successful small business. In fact, he's done lots of great things to help small businesses in his community. He is active in his church. He is tall and his farts smell like Brute aftershave. He is strongly for the death penalty and has actually offered to volunteer on death row to manually strangle inmates in order to save Oklahoma tax payers on footing the bill for the jolt of electricity used to zap them.

Are you more likely or less likely to vote for Mr. X based on this information?

The second canidate, Mrs. X, is married, but chooses to go by her maiden name. She has several lawsuits that have been filed against her by some random social groups. She has failed miserably at making everybody like her. She says that she's for the death penalty, but has actually tried to help innocent people keep from being zapped. She doesn't even floss every day. And she has two overdue library books.

Are you more likely or less likely to vote for Mrs. X based on this information?

Given the information you have heard tonight, are you more likely to vote for Mr. X or Mrs. X for *X* office?

Neither, I told the monotone tele-poll girl... because her little paragraphs were far too slanted for me to know anything truthful about either canidate.

She laughed. We bonded. I was amused.

hot or not

Friends, it's been hot in OKC this weekend. It's been 100+ in the highs for the past three days, which has made what weekend plans we had made sweaty endeavours. I think it'll be that hot the rest of the week, too.

We cooked something in the oven tonight, which turned our apartment into a little sauna for a while. The air's been on all evening, but with the washer and drying running, too, it's still hot in here. I might have to break out the fan tonight.

The time is quickly approaching where we cook nothing on the stove or in the oven. The summer heat is coming... which means it'll soon be time to sweat and eat cold cut sandwiches.

This will be my first 5-day week back to work after the radiation. I'm already tired, so they should be ready to have me fitted for a nice white jacket by Friday. Yeah, it's true that I have a white jacket at work, but I was thinking more along the lines of the really fitted white jackets with straps and accompanied by big guys and padded rooms.

Now that is hot. Let the games begin.

balderdash

We're having a great visit with The Dorks.

I wish the weekend was about three weeks long.

yawner

I've mentioned that I'm still waiting for my metabolism and energy to return to normal. You also know that I've been working full time, so I've not been a total sloth, either. I've been somewhere between an overly caffeinated insomniac and a perky yawn.

For the last few months I've returned home from work and zonked on the couch. The Hater's been my house husband and has done everything from supper to guiding me back to the bedroom. The last week I've been proud to have moved from immediately falling asleep on the couch to four feet further west to the armchair. We rejoice in all of the baby steps.

Well, last night I came in from work... much like other days. We ate supper without a hitch, and I even stayed up for a few hours with The Hater. I had intentions to visit a little longer with him before dusting the apartment before my parents came into town.

It was a great plan.

Nature called before I'd decided it was officially time for me to become productive. I was still wearing my scrubs from work, and decided after I was finished that it would be easier for me to waddle (with my pants and hose at my knees) to the bedroom to change into my pajamas than it would be for me to wrestle the hose back up just to turn around and take them off.

I sat down on the bed. The next thing I remember The Hater was waking me up...

"Sweet Girl! Are you okay?"

An hour had passed; I had fallen asleep on the bed, still wearing my shoes, still wearing my makeup, still wearing my scrubs, albeit my pants and panty hose were down to my knees. Apparently I'd fallen asleep before I could change.

The idea of falling asleep mostly clothed is so amusing that we thought it was a story worthy of sharing. I'm just proud I made it out of the living room and into the bedroom before I zonked.

Meanwhile, The Dorks have safely made their trip to OKC. Tomorrow we explore the magical Elk City.

uh, m'am...

I consider myself a conoisseur of children's literature. One of my favorite sets of books is about the misadventures of the Stupid family. The following quip could have easily taken place in one of Allard's stories...

The Hater and I went to watch a movie the other night. We went to the AMC theater across the street. We really like going to that theater because they have a point-system where we earn points for movies that we see -- the points end up getting us free concessions and movie tickets.

Usually we go on Wednesdays when we get 2 free small popcorns with our point-card. Usually if we go to a show during the week, we catch a showing where we also get the perks. It only makes sense, especially since we're still using our college IDs to get into the theater.

We bought a ticket and cashed-in points for a free ticket. But, lo, we did not receive the free popcorn vouchers. The guy behind the counter told us they didn't do the free popcorn anymore. We proceeded to the customer service desk to question our lack of vouchers...

The nice young man behind the counter blinked at us after we asked if they were still doing their point system that included the free popcorn vouchers. We realized that it had been a while since we'd been to the movies, and it could have changed since we'd last seen a show. He said he didn't think their policy had changed. And then he blinked again...

"Uh, m'am," he muttered, "today is Tuesday."

I looked at the Hater. "It's Tuesday, honey, not Wednesday." He blinked. I blinked. We laughed as the guy behind the counter gave us the unimpressed groan.

The Stupids stepped out on the wrong day.

Post Script: The movie based on the Stupid family books did not do the set any justice. It's way more funnier than the film, especially if you can suspend reality like a five year old. If you can't, then that's just sad.

pride of the Blue

I've mentioned before that I get a lot of nerdy junk mail. Today we received an alumni flyer from MTSU... and among other exciting things, we learned that MTSU will be playing OU this fall in Norman. How exciting!

I've already emailed alumni relations to see if they've started planning any special tailgating things for the game. The Hater's already hoping he doesn't have work stuff that weekend. I told him that I'd have to go to the game, even if he didn't make it.

Do we think the Blue Raiders will beat the Sooners? That's not the point, silly.

busy afternoon

The Hater and I have been busy today. We've been and returned from the 19th annual National Cancer Survivor's Day celebration at the Cowboy Museum. We're glad we faced the heat... the program was well-planned and the speaker was great.

We've since gone grocery shopping, changed clothes, cleaned up parts of the apartment, and will soon prepare supper. Then it's just a matter of getting comfortable before Monday comes.

Lady Vols Softball

The Lady Vols softball team is in OKC playing in the conference softball championships this weekend. They, an 8-seed, beat the 1-seed, UCLA, last night; it's a lose-two to DQ championships, says The Hater.

Tonight they play Northwestern, a 5-seed. We're talking about going to the game tonight. We're not really big baseball/softball fans, but we'd hate to miss an opportunity to wear bright orange in a group.

I'm exhausted after a long week of work. We've been incredibly busy at the clinic and have treated a record number of patients this week... and I'm still trying to decide if I want to leave the couch. I'm tard, indeed.

So if we don' t make it out, girls, kick some Wildcat tail tonight. If we're not there, we'll be watching you on ESPN.

salivation sadness

My mouth still takes like I've just taken a drag off of an exhaust pipe.

Okay, so I've never really taken a drag off of anything, and I've never actually tasted an exhaust pipe. But my nasopharangeal imagination is astute, and I'm sure that the taste in my mouth resembles an equivalency of sucking on an old diesel exhaust pipe after it's burned gears climbing Monteagle Mountain in August.

Even after I brush my teeth and know that my mouth is clean, it still tastes like I've gargled with toxic waste. Most of the food I'm eating doesn't taste the way I remember it should, either, which should go away in time, but for the time being it's not fun.

Speaking of time, I'm having a hard time remembering that it's only been a couple of weeks since the radiation and a month since the surgery. I'm wanting to feel better more quickly, and I'm frustrated that I'm still tired and that food tastes like rust. This morning I was thinking about it and realized that it's okay that I'm still tired; it's not been long enough yet for me to feel good.

Sometimes you just need permission to be frustrated, I guess. I gave it to myself today, and it felt great. However, my celebratory chocolate chip cookie did not taste like cookie -- unless it was someone's science fair project gone terribly awry.

Meanwhile, The Hater is taking such good care of me! He's really stocking up on brownie points by waiting on me when I get home from work. All week he's tolerated me asking him if my breath stinks (because I'm getting paranoid about the taste in my mouth; sometimes I can't tell if it's just me or if halitosis is an equal culprit!). Marrying him was the smartest thing I've ever done.

And he said he'd chew all the rest of the orange bubble gum we'd bought for me to chew while on isolation. I was chewing lots of gum and eating lots of lemon drops to help keep the radiation from settling in my salivary glands... I went through about three packs of that gum in five days, and now the smell of that flavor turns my stomach.

The pink gum still tastes like pink gum and makes equally good bubbles, so don't worry. I'm still getting my smack on.