Oh....yes....sad fact is I am indeed VERY SHORT.

As I am just about in the middle of exams, most of my day consists of sitting. Granted, I may sit in a variety of places, the library, a coffee shop, barnes and noble, my kitchen table. But still, my most common activity during the day is sitting...
So I started to get a little worried about two days ago when the back of my legs started hurting-like just the skin. Being a second year, that meant that I immediately started self-diagnosing myself with the beginning stages of some rare muscle disease...right. Upon talking with my much more reasonable and level-headed husband, we came upon a hypothesis.
Apparently, my legs are too short. What this means, is that when I sit at a chair, my feet don't rest fully on the ground and HENCE cannot perform their needed function of SUPPORTING MY LEGS. So my poor thighs (not quite the posts of strength that they once were) were baring the brunt of my weight.
This however, has not solved my problem. I still need to sit and study but my legs are hurting....So my husband makes a suggestion to me.
Put phone books under my feet to give me the chance to rest them flat on something. SWEET I say to myself, this will be great. Mark goes to work, I get ready to get some studying done at the kitchen table and pull out Phone Book #1, the slim phone book (as seen here).

I place it at my feet, take a seat, try to get comfortable...and realize this one simlpy isn't going to cut it.
So I upgrade to the LARGE phonebook. You know the one I mean, weighs a ton, gets delivered to your door, is rarely actually used....And I place this one at my feet, sit down, think I'm going to get comfortable and come to another distressing realization. THIS one isn't big enough either. So I try the combo of the BIG and the LITTLE.
Oh tragedy, not tall enough still....
So I go into our cupboard, pull out the other monster phone book, stack it on top of the the already in place monster phone book, sit down, and give a sigh of relief. Two big phone books at my feet finally makes the chair the right height for my legs.
No more thigh pain, a comfortable day of studying, and the undeniable proof of the extreme shortness of my legs.
Wonderful.

One More Reason why Cigarette Smoking is Bad (as if we need anymore)

In the past month, there was a report of an Russian spy who was poisoned by an unknown assaliant. The means of death was a radioactive substance called Polonium 210. Being the ever-inquisitive (and easily distracted) med student that I am, I decided to do some research and find out a little about this substance.
So I went to my handy-dandy reference website (like WebMD but for doctors..) typed in Polonium 210 and waited with baited breath for my results.
Two results: Both of which pointed to the presence of Polonium 210 in cigarette tobacco.
I mean, let's be honest, cigarette smoking is LEGAL and yet it can also contain substances that directly POISON and kill people. I'm not against free choice or decisions, but this seems a little absurd.
I mean, REALLY absurd.
So just think about that the next time you light up.....

Oh Professional Sports


Let me start out with a few confessions. First, I am not what some would call "light on my feet;" although I love to dance and greatly enjoy standing in one place trying to find a beat in a hip-hop song without tripping over my own slightly oversized shoes, I am not one to look to for new dance moves. As well, I have not been given an ideal "dancer's body." I would more liken my shape to sturdy and functional. This all being said, I am AMAZED by professional dancers...one of our old family friends is a professional ballerina and even her photo is in a pose that I attempted once before falling over and causing the neighbors to wonder what large object we had just thrown on the floor. See below (And yes, that really is her):



So my following rant is NOT about dancing or the profession of dancing. It is instead, against the defamation of women at professional sporting events and the negative stereotype it propagates. Mark bought us tickets for the Wizards/Bucks game last night at the Verizon Center downtown-a very fun idea for a date. We get there, take our respective seats in the nosebleed section, and buckle in for a long evening watching grown men play a sport. Right now, I would like to take note of the common basketball uniform:

Note: full length shorts, a shirt that covers his entire stomach, AND socks that go up to his knees. From said uniform, we don't know how well endowed he is, or how defined his abs are, we instead, just watch him play basketball.

Ok, thus begins my rant. About halfway through the first half the "Dance Team" came out. I'm not including a picture because I don't think it is appropriate. Just imagine a black bra, black underwear, nylons and black shoes and you're about there. That's it. No short, no room to move, just tightness. Then, they got in two small groups just off each corner of the bball court and proceeded to do a semi-suggestive dance for EVERY musical blip that was played on the system. INCLUDING the organ ones that are like duh-da-da-da-da-da CHARGE! And they did this the WHOLE GAME. And it made me sad.

BECAUSE next to me sat a very cute little girl about four who was there with her dad. And she sees this whole staduim full of people there to watch men play basketball. And the only example of women in this setting that are getting any attention are wearing UNDERWEAR.

I'm not saying that professional sports for women should be made famous, because it is true, watching some men's sports is better than watching women's, but what I am suggesting is that we place women in prominant roles where they exceed because they are GOOD at what they do, NOT because they provide a temporary distraction from reality by their shimmy shimmy moves (if you know what I mean).

I hope I don't sound prudish, because I'm not, I just have seen so many women and girls think that the only way they can acheive merit and get attention from men is by dressing and acting in a way that makes them "objects" before they are seen as of people who are good at what they do.

SO to these girls, I say, you are beautiful and can be watched and admired WITHOUT showing off every part of your body except the ones they blur out in the Victoria's Secret Catalog.

For future costume designs, I would simply refer them to: www.wholesomewear.com (no, this sight is not a joke...they actually sell this stuff). (hahaha....)

Ok. Back to me perfecting my wicked dance moves for the time when the Joeffrey Ballet realizes that I have a future as the company hippo.

A Real Job Someday...


Every morning when I get up, I am faced with the ever difficult decision of what to wear. I'm not a picky girl, so for me, this means I look at the jeans on the floor from last night and see if they are too stretched out to continue wearing, OR if I should just throw on the sweatpants next to my bed. You see, I'm not really "employed" or "working for money" as many such people my age are. I, instead, am STILL in school. In fact, I am not even HALFWAY through my education...cause I am in "continuing" education, which at the moment, basically means I'm in school forever.



Thus said, my day entails.....wake up, drink coffee, fall asleep in at least one out of three lectures, spend VAST amounts of time by myself with no company but my textbooks, check my email 50 gazillion times hoping that one of the spams that I will receive will miraculously actually be something I want to read, check the Facebook and get my daily stalking in, see the latest celebrity fashion gaffs on go fug yourself, plan my bathroom trips to give me a break in the studying, stare out the window at the carefree undergraduates (or if I'm feeling especially bold, stare at the wall in the dank, windowless silent study room of the library...) then eat some lunch, and try to stay focused and awake for the afternoon.

Then I get on the bus with my backpack take it home and walk into our apartment. To check my email, clean up, start to study some more.....



And the crazy thing about this whole day? I am PAYING to do it. SPENDING money to have NO time for friends and sunshine and bees and tennis. Insanity.


Someday, I'll grow up, and not have to take a schoolbus to class, and actually get paid for my work AND when people ask me what is wrong with them I might actually be able to say something helpful....instead of just pointing out that they clearly have rhinitis (i.e. medical jargon for a runny nose).


Someday I will carry a briefcase instead of my old beat up black backpack from senior year of high school.

Someday I will be required to talk to people in my job instead of sitting quietly in a corner with my nose in a book.

Someday I will be REQUIRED to wear real clothes (unless its scrubs) AND have to brush my hair in the morning.

Someday, I won't have to pay to work....ahhh

Someday....

In the mean time, back to studying.....enough procrastinating...

The End of Friendships


So I'm what some might call, a "saver." I save stuff. But its normally not junk, its mostly just saving in the form of EVERY card I have ever received. The birthday cards, the valentine's cards, the random thank-you notes that people send me....you get the idea. Last night, Mark and I decided to make our study a livable space again...and for me, that meant going through all my saved stuff and deciding did I really need it. I'll admit, some of the throw-aways were easy, the card that just has a signature from the distant family friend, or the thank you note from my mom for her birthday gift ten years ago....those went pretty easy. But what was the hardest part was reading over the cards from people who I used to be friends with.
This was sad. Because I have had some tricky friendships that, probably mostly due to me, have "ended" somewhat badly. I mean, we didn't get in huge fights, or yell, or scream, but they sort of just sadly trickled away. The result, mostly, of piled up misunderstandings, jumbled communications, and not saying what we felt at a point when things could still be fixed. So reading cards from such friends made me remember when the friendship was good...
I guess I'm just not sure what to do with these cards. They are the ones that make me pause, make me think, do ended friendships mean that there has been a failure? Or do some friendships end just because it is time for them to end? Because two people may not be the same as they were when the friendship started and that's ok?
Do I throw away the cards with a sigh of regret? Or do I try to make friends again? Try to eliminate the awkwardness that has accumulated after weeks, months, even years of not speaking?
Maybe, maybe not. Maybe its ok to look back on those cards and instead of being sad about the failure, trying to remember the good things and take what I learned from the failings and use them now....
So I saved a few cards, didn't throw away any pictures, and felt still vaguely unsettled....

Items I have recently dropped in the toilet:

1. Bar of soap. While washing my hands, the slippery thing escaped and plop! ended up where no self-respecting soap bar goes of its own free will.

2. Box of dental floss. While doing my nightly duty of flossing (since I got yelled at by both my dentist and my husband) I lost my grip on this small box and managed to drop a nearly new box in the toilet. (Don't worry. I threw it away).

3. Mark's Retainer. Yup. You got it right...needless to say this did not go over well and almost resulted in the same fate for my retainer. But my vigilance in STILL wearing my retainer meant that it was by the bed and out of reach of my extremely gross-out husband. So what do we do in this situation? By extra strength denture cleaner, soak the retainer multiple times...AND for the record, Mark has not put it back in his mouth...although he may someday...

Identity Crisis.

Yes, I changed the background on my blog. Again. I think it is an identity thing. I look at my blog for a while, and you, my three readers look at it for a while, and I think it starts to look dull, the colors too brash, too grating, the proportions of the shapes just a little off, and frankly, I get kind of tired looking at it. I really think this could go somewhere deep, but I don't think I'm in the deep writing mood, although I could maybe turn on the bullshit engine and crank something out that sounds academic and interesting, but I think I'll just pass.
Cause truth is, sometimes I wish I could just change my "background." The appearence of what people see when they look at me. The main reason I am thinking this is because last night, I came to the sad realization that I am indeed, out-of-shape. And I don't mean, like three weeks ago I was in shape and now I'm feeling a little antsy, I mean Out-Of-Shape. With capitols. The kind of shape where I have forgotten what it feels like to be in shape.
It makes me sad and I'm trying to figure out what to do about it. Honestly? I probably need to work out. Simple answer, yes, I know. But I don't really like working out if its not on a team and someone isn't there to yell at me when I go slow.
I guess that's part of getting older, figuring out what things in your life you simply HAVE to do and then finding the discipline to get them done. Ah, the words sound so nice....now I just have to work on getting my butt moving.
I read a column in the back of a running magazine once by a person who kind of hits the point when they know the just have to work out...and they ended it with "Waddle on..."
And maybe I should start there....just work on waddling on...

Oh! You lived on Magnolia Lane in Topeka, Kansas during the blizzard of ’83? Do you know Mr. Macpherson?

The Origin of the Name Game-Yes, it is Biblically mandated.

We’ve all done it (and by “we,” I mean at least myself and my three friends). Met someone, talked for a few minutes, exchanged random, shallow facts about ourselves, and then, lo, discovered that we indeed, shared some random piece of minutiae. Immediately, the response usually is to say, OH! I know someone who also ate sushi in Washington D.C. on the date of June 11th-do you think you might know them? Usually, they give us a slightly confused look, then try to politely state, that no, they don’t know everyone who ate sushi in D.C. on that day, but they ARE still relatively cool and social despite their obviously limited social circle. The conversation then gets awkward for about thirty seconds, because the truth is, you really don’t know them or anything about them and your one attempt to connect in a deep meaningful way has failed miserably. Generally, the next topic of conversation is something that you are both completely familiar with…i.e. the weather. Or recent movies. Or the food you are eating.
HOWEVER despite the overwhelming failure ratio of the name game, I believe that it should still be pursued in ALL situations possible, because, as I will share, it actually started in the Bible, and is therefore Biblically mandated.


In Genesis 29, we encounter the FIRST (I think) recorded evidence of the name-game, here it goes:

Genesis 29:1- 11 Jacob Meets Rachel
Then Jacob went on his journey, and came to the land of the sons of the east. He looked, and saw a well in the field, and behold, three flocks of sheep were lying there beside it, for from that well they watered the flocks. Now the stone on the mouth of the well was large. When all the flocks were gathered there, they would then roll the stone from the mouth of the well and water the sheep, and put the stone back in its place on the mouth of the well. Jacob said to them, "My brothers, where are you from?" And they said, "We are from Haran." He said to them, "Do you know Laban the son of Nahor?" And they said, "We know him." And he said to them, "Is it well with him?" And they said, "It is well, and here is Rachel his daughter coming with the sheep." He said, "Behold, it is still high day; it is not time for the livestock to be gathered. Water the sheep, and go, pasture them." But they said, "We cannot, until all the flocks are gathered, and they roll the stone from the mouth of the well; then we water the sheep." While he was still speaking with them, Rachel came with her father's sheep, for she was a shepherdess. When Jacob saw Rachel the daughter of Laban his mother's brother, and the sheep of Laban his mother's brother, Jacob went up and rolled the stone from the mouth of the well and watered the flock of Laban his mother's brother. Then Jacob kissed Rachel, and lifted his voice and wept.

And, as we can see, Jacob drops the name-bomb, is SUCCESSFUL and ends up meeting his future wife all because he was willing to play the often-awkward and much failing name game. We too continue to play in the hopes of establishing such a lasting relationship as Jacob was able to find with Rebekah (after toiling for 14 years, but that is another story).

So play on, name-game players, keep dropping those names.

Miss Universe Controversy


Just so everyone is on the same page. Allen Thicke hosted this year's Miss Universe pagent (I know-that in and of itself is absurd). But it gets better. In filming the final segment of the show, i.e. when they announce MISS UNIVERSE. He says the WRONG GIRL!
Yes. He annouces that Miss Costa Rica wins, she gets the crown, the streamers fall, she cries, blah blah blah. Then off stage, this t-shirt wearing old man with glasses (probably the producer), yells at Mr. Thick that he says the WRONG girl.
He should have said Miss RUSSIA.
The story goes on that the girls are SO mad and annoyed that they don't show up for the re-filming and re-crowning so Miss Russia gets the crown from Miss Costa Rica and only about three girls are on stage with her.
Pretty hilarious-I mean, come on Allen, all you had to do was read "Russia!"

Because just what you want is something else to try and get through security-check out....

My friend, while flipping through the infamous SkyMall catalog, found on all self-respecting airplanes, came across this gem of an invention (I'll let it speak for itself):

NEW! Cocoon yourself in revolutionary comfort.
The poshAir sleeping bag is a breakthrough in inflight comfort. This luxurious cocoon, that's easy to slip on and off, zips you into an extra layer of lightweight warmth. The poshAir features a hood, armholes, inside pocket and two belt loops for your visibly fastened seat belt to slip through. Patent pending, the poshAir - 65% polyester and 35% cotton brush machine washable fleece - is a modern, hygienic sleeping accommodation for travel. Convenient, chic and confortable, the poshAir may be used in private jets, commercial airplanes, helicopters, yachts, automobiles and trains. Proper care of a poshAir entails a gentle cold water machine wash cycle. Please do not tumble dry. For a maximized poshAir experience, please remove your shoes before stepping into your poshAir. Grey only. Tote bag included.
Adult sizes: S (5'4" L x 3' W), M (5'8" L x 3'W), L (6' L x 3' W), XL (6'4" L x 3' W).
Adult tote bag: 14.5" W x 12" L.


Plus, doesn't the guy in the picture look kind of like William Shatner?

Clean the Bathroom!

So over the past few months, our once sparkly pink shower had become a murky gray color while the white tiles began to take on a hue closer to "cream." I wrote the color change off as unfixable. I had tried many things. Well, maybe not "many things," mostly one thing, Mr. Clean Orange Power cleaner. Needless to say it left the tub no cleaner, but it put my mind to rest that I had least tried to clean the bathroom.
Then yesterday I decided to actually buy bathroom cleaner....the real stuff.
So I went to the bathroom cleaner aisle in Target and tried not to get overwhelmed by the vast array of choices. Being the thrifty girl that I am (yes my sunglasses are $10 and from a random fishing goods place bought out of desperation and I am STILL wearing them), I looked at the cheapest and biggest spray tile cleaner I could find....and I grabbed




Scrub-Free Soap Scum Remover....(mine is with Oxy action)







Now, I was not expecting much except maybe a slightly cleaner tub, less blackish-gray over pink and more just gray over pink. So I sprayed my shower. The tile walls, the pink tub, the faucets, everything I could see and I left it there for about two minutes.
Little did I know that in the interim, the mad efforts of oxy-action were eating away at months of gunk. I wiped away the streaks of cleaner and beheld a miracle: pink tub streaks shining through the dirt along with white tile stripes...
Then I proceeded to spray the whole shower thouroughly-making sure every surface was coated. I let it stew and then wiped away the gunk.
It was truly a beautiful sight.
My sparkling pink bathtub.

Fighting the Urge to Patronize Mainstream Coffee Shops and instead just using them for their Wifi:

I received the following conversation in full on aim during a time I was away...

Dear Amelia:
I would like to tell you of a small triumph on my part in the area of unnecessarily-expensive-latte-etc. purchases I have been addicted to.
This past week I used the wireless at Port City Java for about four hours (writing job apps. and such) and I did not purchase a thing. Instead, I made myself a french vanilla coffee at my home before I left. Secondly, I had to run into a Starbucks after picking up a Mother's Day card, because I needed a place to write up said card before popping it into the mail.
And once again....a triumph. Despite the strong smell of overpriced caffinated drinks, I resisted the urge to spend $4 on a confusingly-italiano-named sized item. Instead, once again, I made my coffee at home.
Thanks for the prayers that have no doubt allowed me to resist this temptation. Please continue to pray for strength in this area of weakness.
God bless my fellow latte-loving friend.
ML

getting the man one skipped cup of coffee at a time.
well done.

Worst Car Name EVER
Meet: the Toyota Picnic.

Ode to Dried Apricot.

Oh dried apricot
how i love your sweet taste
like candy
how i love your bright orange color
how i love to eat 20 of you in one day

oh dried apricot
how i hate you and your deceptive taste
how you make my stomach SO angry
how i hate your easily snackable nature
how i will never again eat 20.

this is a lesson learned the very hard way.
20 dried apricots plus one digestive tract are bad. very bad for everyone involved. i only dare you to try it.

I like animals, they are usually funny.
This video goes to show.
I promise you won't believe it unless you see it.
http://www.esnips.com/doc/bd84ec0a-102e-4baa-9f17-2da98b2a7952/CoolDog.wmv

So Nice Outside....
This one won't have any pictures, I'm in an academic mindset and we don't get pictures anymore in our textbooks of anything good...only charts and graphs and diagrams.
However, the academic mindset has prompted me to make an observation about why school is better than work.
Take today. The weather? BEAUTIFUL. I mean, cloudless blue sky, slight breeze, and a temperature hovering right around 68ish maybe even 70 in the sun. I have school today and had lectures all morning inside, downstairs, in the drabbest worst lecture hall ever. It makes me think of my grandparents basement on their "cottage" that was built in the 70s and upholstered in a "stylish" olive green. This being said, it is my afternoon that is so good.
Cause I took my work outside. That's right. I took my books, my notes, my gazillion notecards with every hormone listed on them that is possible (I'm taking endocrinology right now...) and I sat at a picnic table and studied outside.
I mean, when can you just tell your boss, "Hey, I'm just going to take my computer and go work outside, really." Let me know if he ever stops laughing at you.
Or maybe in a few years when I'm doing surgery I can just ask the very friendly intern if he would mind if we just did this one outside cause it is so pretty. HA that'll never happen.
Anyways, just trying to take advantage of my last few years as a student when I can actually, legitimately, do work outside.
And in honor of my text flow charts, I'm going to draw you one now:
Spring = Nice Weather = Sit outside = do work!

Maybe not as funny as we thought…

I’m a girl, this is true, which means that I have most definitely gone to my fair share of chick flicks. You know, the genre that tells the beautiful romantic story about the perfect guy falling in love with the girl who may or may not have everything together but is most definitely hot. Usually I leave with a sigh over the loveliness of love, commenting with my girlfriends about the clothes and why we thought it was so good. Usually though too I leave with a sense of sadness, as many of my chick flick watching nights occurred while I was convincingly single.

Maybe these movies aren’t quite as “harmless” or “romantic” or even as “funny” as we had previously thought. As I was discussing movies with one of my friends last year, the point was brought up that this type of movie may be more destructive to our society than the most violent, hate-filled movie that you have seen yet, and should, I posit, garner our outrage even more than the recent release, Brokeback Mountain.

How is this so? Well, I think for a number of reasons romantic comedies mess with our heads (specifically the heads of women). They tell us that in order to be happy, we must have a man who will romantically care for us, who will take us out to dinner and bring us flowers, who we will most definitely have immediate sex with, and who will finally give us the meaning in our life that we have long been waiting for. I think this type of thinking takes away from so much of life, from single life and even from “relationship” life (i.e. married or dating). It says that to find another person is completeness, that one person alone is not “complete” or wholly acceptable to society as something of value. It says that women, just don’t quite have it figured out, and that a single woman, especially a single woman who is getting older, just isn’t quite good enough as she is when she is with a man. If fact, she is sort of a stigma, almost a pariah.

Now don’t get me wrong, I think relationships are great (I just recently entered a very long term one…) but I don’t think that a relationship is a source of absolute purpose in one’s life.

So maybe next time you see a romantic comedy, or hear a girl talk about seeing one, ask her how she feels after the movie. Most likely, there is a vague sense of discontent about life, especially if she is single, and this type of though pollutes the mind of women to no end.

Not so funny or romantic after all…

My brother wrote this story about meeting with a poor woman-it made me think a lot about how we interact and how we "should" interact with others...maybe it will make you think too?

She was in my path, I could not avoid. I was on my way out of the hospital after some tests. But averted eyes failed me as she began to talk, ask, and I acknowledged. Her teeth looked like they hurt, as she crunched on Cheetos. Age had born down on her, gray hair wiry straight, dark yes clouded, weathered skin, teeth worn, some missing. She spoke, but I could not understand. Again? She probably needed money. Little else makes me squirm inside like such questions, face to face, in the reality of the person. She said her mother had just died. Four hours ago, I later found out. She needed the bus, money for the bus. I stood there, mute. I listened, not comprehending. She said her name, and extended her hand. I shook it, saying my name. She explained she needed to get out to Ballston, to take the bus and the metro, where her brother and sister were staying in a hotel, to bring them back to the hospital. She said she hated being poor, that she couldn’t do anything, probably that she had to ask someone, me, for enough stinking money to take the bus home the day her mother died. She said she had to be strong, to carry the load, but she felt so weak. She didn’t know if she could do it, but she had to be strong. She grieved, but she didn’t cry.

She mentioned ten eighty several times, but I could not figure out if this was the bus line or the dollar amount. Wading through her words, through my reactions, the need for clarification did not long stay in my mind. Did her story made sense, yes, was she dangerous, no, crazy, no, but be careful. I was suspicious, and concerned. She appeared distraught. I stood there. Her mother was 80 and she died of congestive heart failure. The heart disease was not new. Gloria said praise Jesus, thank you Jesus when I stayed with her. So I asked if I could pray for her. She said of course. So I prayed a good prayer, with care, while trying to avoid my own insidious self-righteousness. I finished the prayer, and we continued walking, shuffling, to the bus stop. It was only twenty feet away. I ask her if I could give a ride, her there, them back. She said no, just the bus, and then to metro. She was walking slow, stopping, starting again, face downcast. I asked her if she was going to have a funeral. She said yes, that her mother had had insurance. She had to be strong, had to be strong, no one else would. She sat down at the bus stop.

I couldn’t tell if she wanted me to stay with her, so I stayed, standing. She beckoned me to sit down. I felt the eyes of others at the stop on me, then off as I glanced at them. Her voice was rough, scaly, and her words, still hard to understand. A phone rang. It was her mother’s, in her bag. She said to her brother, rasping as she did, that she was taking the bus back to the hotel. Her mother had lived in the hotel, she told me, and now her brother, sister, and she were staying there. In a mixture of pain, sorrow, she said they were staying in one room.

She asked if I had a phone. I said yes, expecting she’d ask if she could use it. She looked through her bag, gave me a pen with Cheeto dust on it. She gave me a piece of paper, and said, your number? I hesitated. She looked at me again. Again I hesitated. She gently took it back from me, with a look of sadness mingled with frustration. To invite you to the funeral, she said. We sat in silence.

Twice she said is the bus coming. Twice I looked over my shoulder, and said no. I asked her if she had the chance to talk with her mom before she died. She said yes. We waited. The bus came, and she said again said ten eighty. I only had three dollars in my wallet. I had just gone out to lunch. The bus was there. She said ten eighty, again ten eighty, and I understood. Later, I realized it must have been to cover the return trip of her, her brother, and her sister. So I gave her three dollars. Again, she spoke a sound of sadness mingled with frustration, and she got on the bus. I walked slowly away. I then realized I did not have enough to pay for parking, so I went to the ATM in the hospital lobby, and took out a twenty.

Jean Shopping with my brother
So I should preface this whole blog with the comment that the LARGEST fight my brother and I have ever been in occured just about a year ago before we were about to embark on a jean shopping expedition. My brother and I, both relatively level-headed people actually started yelling before we got to the GAP. All of this resulted from my insistance that my brother be willing to try on any pair of jeans that I gave him. Now, I'm not a fashion guru, but I do have my foot in the style door and my brother is a handsome guy who needed some jean updating. So we shopped. And we shopped. And we shopped. We successfully tried on EVERY pair of jeans in the entire store. In fact, we tried some of the pairs on two, and even three times.
On the third time that he tried this specific pair of jeans on he cried, "SUCCESS!" And the whole store applauded our efforts. (Well not really, but that is what it felt like...)

Today we embarked again on a jean shopping extravangaza due to his HUGE amount of compiled gift certificates and I'm proud to say that there was no yelling, although at one point in time, Judd boogied in his much too tight jeans (that he was trying on only to reject..) to the "hip" music piped into the Banana Republic store.
The final booty for the day? Two hours of shopping? Two stores? Money left over? But one very sweet pair of khaki pants for my hard to please and ever thorough shopper brother. It was a success indeed.
Also, question for any male reader, at what level do you wear your pants? i.e. # of inches below the waist? Just curious....

I've Been Tagged....

I got tagged so I thought this would be a good way to open my blog:

4 jobs i've had
1. camp counselor. $110/week for 24 hour a day 7 day a week fun.
2. grocery store deli worker complete with hairnet, blue apron, and a wicked eye for good headcheese.
3. babysitter. and yes, i did get puked on.
4. singer in choir. by far the best job. if i thought i could sing, i'd quit med school in a second~

4 movies i'd watched on repeat
1. Usual Suspects. Kaiser Soze is so smart!
2. Center Stage. you know you tried to do the dance moves after you watched it
3. Zoolander
4. sleeping beauty.

4 TV shows i like
1. Oprah. sigh...the makeover shows are the best
2. Lost
3. Simpsons.
4.Jeopardy. the best game show ever.

4 Vacation spots I would like to visit regularly
1. Cairns, Australia. scuba diving and trying to touch as many fish as i could.
2. Coast of ireland. took my breath away
3. Orcas Islands off Washington. Flying in an open air biplane listening to opera
4. Southern ITaly...blue blue blue water by Capri

4 websites besides blogs i visit daily
1. www.boredmark.blogspot.com. he's my husband. of course i'll comment
2. www.facebook.com hey-i'm still a student!
3. www.som.georgetown.edu gotta do some work.
4. no idea? thats all i could think of.

4 Foods I lust after:
1. Chocolate. of any kind. i don't discriminate.
2. Marinated pork tenderloin. preferably peppercorn.
3. French Fries. the crispy ones that good restaurents make. yum. i can feel my arteries clogging.
4. really good celery. i know. its strange. but fiber makes me happy.

4 Changes to my house I would make, if possible:
1. a window in my study
2. more kitchen counters!
3. piano corner (or even just electric keyboard....i'm willing to compromise)
4. bigger closet. due to my clothes hog nature

4 beers i love and people i would drink them with:
1. Guiness with my husband
2. ummmm
3. ummmmm
4. in a pinch? maybe shinerbach

4 things that should have been lists
1. 4 most regrettable outfits/fashion trends
2. 4 new band names
3. 4 favorite childhood memories
4. 4 ideal animals

4 Tags
1. Mikaela?
2. CAtie?
3. Judd?
4. JAquan?