I May Survive

My hair looked good. I remembered my toothbrush and lipstick. I did not hack everyone's limbs off, and I spent very little time curled up in the closet of my hotel room sucking my thumb. The entire experience was probably similar to immersion in raw sewage, but I have all my life to live and all my love to give. hey hey.
It's nice to be back home, but I hafta do something with these kids because they are somehow all over sticky and also starting to smell funny, at least no flies buzzing around them as yet. They missed me.

Mr. Bunker's brilliant idea is that if I don't pass, I quit my practice and gestate another bandaid. Baby! I meant baby. Everyone please pray hard, cause that shit ain't happening. He has also suggested that I pay back the time he spent "babysitting" while I studied by filing his friggin' crazy ass paper blizzard pack rat motherfuckin' piles which he has been collecting since childhood. Make me wear bright orange Croc's and throw me back in the sewage. fack! (that's how the Brit's say it. With their little fingers sticking whilst sipping Earl Grey tea).

Anyhoo, happy days are here again!

One Decade of Bliss

A full official decade of the ball(s) and chain has come to pass...yes, our 10 year wedding anniversary was this weekend.

Seems as though we share our anniversary with another happily-wed-for-a-decade couple, namely John & Kate Gosselin. It looks as if they may be beating us to the lawyer's office; they have a major announcement tomorrow. The interwebs' assumption is that the announcement will be "splitsville" whereupon Kate will return to John his shriveled manhood as well as relinquish her hard earned title of "Grand Empress Supreme Bitch Wife"; next to her I'm positively loving and affectionate toward Archie Bunker. Hopefully, once freed from the bonds of marriage, they can really get down and dirty and fight publicly about which hair strategy is worse: reverse mullet or weird transplant-hair plugs. Meanwhile, their brood can go work in a 3rd world sweat shop where they will be exploited to a somewhat lesser extent than that which is allowed by their parents.
Alternatively, they could just be toying with us & the real announcement is that Kate is knocked up with another litter, this news delivered as she sits in John's lap nuzzling his neck and asking if she can rub his feet.

But back to the important news of MY anniversary.
I felt an obligation to get Mr. Bunker a card. Ideally it would have said something like "Thanks for the health insurance and the babies, please clean up the garage and then see if you can't find yourself a nice goomah".
Unfortunately, when I got to Walgreen's there were exactly two anniversary cards from which to choose. One contained seriously sappy drivel with endless yammering about soulmates. The other option was en Español. Which to buy?? I squandered a valuable 15 minutes of my life torn and undecided. Finally I got the lugubrious English card because who knows, the Spanish one could have been carrying on with the same crap and then I would suffer embarrassment upon translation by a third party. Painful.

6 days to boards. Dayum, get it over with already.

Drug Rep McDreamy

HOT MAN!
Technically he's not a drug rep because he's selling instrumentation (big costly machine), but anyone who's spiffed up in a suit and brings lunch along with randomized multi-center placebo controlled studies may be loosely referred to as a "drug rep".

I believe that the image most often conjured of the modern day pharmaceutical rep is somewhat interchangeable with the images one may find in the Victoria's Secret catalog. Yes, some of them do actually dress like that; then they can come into the office and chat up my male colleague, and give him the ol' "oops, I was just getting some samples for you and my bosoms accidentally fell out!" routine. This method is tried and true. It doesn't matter if she's selling cyanide tabs- New!! Controlled Release Cyanide Tabs!- he's gunna start writing for that shit like a well trained monkey.
More often that not, she then will come ask me about my nail polish and sigh about the indignity of getting ogled by my male colleague; we female-bond a bit, and she gives me some cyanide samples and implores me to write for her drug so she doesn't have to lower herself by calling on the ogling men. vixen for him, victim for me. That's a typical drug rep visit. But now....

The HOT (straight!) MAN with the magic machine that fixes everything. Yup, the machine fixes everything! I'm writing a check right now, because I want to be able to call him every week with questions about my special instrument. Unfortunately it is technically so easy to use that a "Rock of Love" contestant could master it in five minutes, but I will manufacture pressing questions about the physics involved and pester him for answers in person. And how do I know he's straight? Well...I don't actually, but let's don't kill my little fantasy just yet. He's visiting Wednesday for another pitch, so I've got to get myself fixed up, and this could take a while. Studying for Boards? puleeze.

Scary Poppins

Yup, that's Brit looking every inch the lady. She really has little to do with my topic today, but how could I resist this fine picture? I mean, who would be caught lookin' like that? soo tacky. When I was all preggy in Daisy Dukes smoking with my tattooed belly all out there I would have died before wearing boots like that; ugly and bad for your feet, not to mention the funk that develops after wearing them in a warm climate. sheesh, my eyes are so rolling.

Anyway, I've been a little busy with my favorite springtime activities; gardening, long runs, spring cleaning, and,... oh yeah the pesky FUCKING EXAMS.
One down! The first one was completely computer based in a mean & nasty testing center where I was stripped of my watch, my phone, and my LUCKY PENCIL which that rotten bastard had to pry out of my hand. This was much different from my previous experience 8 years ago, at which time it was written on paper with all victims sequestered in one big room. I had my own special proctor that time because I was 9 (nine!) months pregnant and I needed someone to escort me to go puke and make sure I wasn't developing kankles sitting there all day long. I did at least have my lucky pencil on that occasion.

Anyhow, the night before my exam of last Saturday, The Boy got very ill in the middle of the night, and has subsequently been dx'd with pneumonia (or ammonia, if you are seeing this Archie Bunker, in which case your lips are moving as you read -- thoroughly annoying). The child's convalescence is entirely jacking up my drankin' schedule, and has put the childcare hurt on me. Tuesday I was fortunate enough to have Hannah, the sweet & happy vegamatarian come play games and do ecco friendly art projects all day with the younguns (thanks Troy).


Next day, the man who throws extravagant parties at the Four Seasons and yammers on endlessly about his largess suddenly hunkers down into cheapass mode, and therefore Archie Bunker took it upon his ownself to find today's childcare provider for mah bebbies...hence, Scary Poppins.
I like to save a buck and I can pinch pennies with the best of them, these skills come honestly after so many years as a busted out student, however, having the cheapest childcare on the block has never been one of my goals. Sometimes you have to ante up because you get what you pay for. The sitter in question appeared a little dinged up, like maybe she spent the night passed out in a grocery cart; that's ok, hasn't everyone? Anyone?? Just trying not to judge... but when her second question to me was "where can I smoke?" (first question was if I was going to pay for her parking) I got a little concerned. I mean sure, when I was a teenage babysitter I used to grab a quick puff now & again after lights out, but unless the neighbors snitched or the kids got loose, nobody actually knew about it.

...So then, when you smoke ma'am, will the kids be coming with you, or will you be leaving them unattended? Is it going to be a leisurely type smoke or you gunna hot box that bad boy?

WHY ME? WHY NOW?
So anyway, I did some rearranging and made it a really short work day. Where are you, sweet Hannah? Grab that tofu and RUN over here. Please.

I'm SPECIAL!

SPECIAL is me. And not special like I need a full time aide to explain to people why I'm blowing spit bubbles and to tell me it's medication time, but SPECIAL, as in special enough that I got a custom made birthday card. Announcing my own reality show, no less. See, they LIKE me!

Obviously they know I'm just playing a funny when I call them all whores and accuse them of stealing when I can't find cream for my coffee. Joking! And jeeze it's not like anyone would ever actually have to pay money to...well never mind that! JOKE! all jokes.

So here I am again with the birthday. Hardly a change in my sentiments about this since last year. I think I'm getting even more hunched over though, and either my hearing is going or I am getting better at filtering.

Archie Bunker had a surprise for me in that he remembered, most likely because I mentioned that I didn't really want to do anything because I'm trying to study; naturally this prompted him to plan an all day event. Oh well, at least no kitchen appliances were involved, and I did get a Spiderman cake (little mix up at the bakery).

Best of all, my gift to my ownself, fit to be displayed in Jennbird's great shoe spank bank:


Yes, indeedy doody, that's 5" total heel height in some serious Gucci Trampiness! The shoe purchase was easily justified, as I needed something to glam up my TJ Maxx $19.95 dress (which was less than the tax on the shoes). See how it all works out?

Wipe those tears away Lisa, I know I done ya proud, and yes, of course it will fit you!