Happy Halloween, Charlie Brown!

Kissing a Fool.

This looks like something that would belong to me.

Another Fine Birthday Gift

This is awesome! Tesco (a grocery chain) in the UK has pulled a pole-dancing kit for kids after getting complaints from parents. The kit sells for around $100 and includes a chrome pole, a garter and a DVD that shows girls some sexy moves.

Here’s how it’s described: “Unleash the sex kitten inside…simply extend the Peekaboo pole inside the tube, slip on the sexy tunes and away you go! Soon you’ll be flaunting it to the world and earning a fortune in Peekaboo Dance Dollars.” Tesco has removed the product from its kids section, but will sell it in its fitness section.

.

Quite possibly the worlds worst gift for a 10 yr old. Unless of course you are Jenna Jameson, then it might be a good idea.

I told you so...

Christina Applegate (on the right)

Mary Kate Olsen

Jessica Simpson

All have dark nails. Just like I said!

Told ya so!

Love this story...

I love this story... and my favorite line is: It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think?

[From Sports Illustrated, By Rick Reilly]

I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay For their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots. But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.

Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in Marathons.Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a Wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and Pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars--all in the same day. Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back Mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. On a bike. Makes Taking your son bowlinglook a little lame, right? And what has Rick done for his father? Not much--except save his life.

This love story began in Winchester , Mass. , 43 years ago, when Rick Was strangledby the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him Brain-damaged and unable to controlhis limbs. "He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life;'' Dick says doctors told him And his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. ``Put him in an Institution.'' But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes Followed them around the room.

When Rick was 11 they took him to the Engineering departmentat Tufts University and asked if there was Anything to help the boy communicate.``No way,'' Dick says he was told. ``There's nothing going on in hisbrain.'' "Tell him a joke,'' Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain. Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? ``Go Bruins!''

And after a high school classmatewas paralyzed in an accident and the School organized a charity run for him, Rickpecked out, ``Dad, I want To do that.''Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described ``porker'' who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he Tried. ``Then, it was me who was handicapped,'' Dick says. ``I was sore for two weeks.''

That day changed Rick's life. ``Dad,'' he typed, ``when we were running,It felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!''And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly Shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.``No way,'' Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quitea Single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few YearsDick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then They found a wayto get into the race Officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the Qualifying time for Boston the following year.Then somebody said, ``Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?''How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick Tried.

Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans inHawaii . It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud Getting passed by an oldguy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you Think?

Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? ``No way,'' he says.Dick does it purely for ``the awesome feeling'' he gets seeing Rick withA cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon,in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best Time? Two hours, 40minutes in 1992--only 35 minutes off the world Record, which, in case you don'tkeep track of these things, happens to Be held by a guy who was not pushing anotherman in a wheelchair at the Time.``No question about it,'' Rick types. ``My dad is the Father of the Century.''

And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a Mild heartattack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries Was 95% clogged. ``Ifyou hadn't been in such great shape,'' One doctor told him, ``you probablywould've died 15 years ago.'' So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved eachother's life.Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick,retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass. , always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreakingrace every weekend, including this Father's Day.That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.``The thing I'd most like,'' Rick types, ``is that my dad sit in thechair and I push him once.''

Lincoln Park After Dark

I'm so excited that my new nail polish came in the mail today! I just painted my nails with my new bottle of Lincoln Park After Dark (yes, that is the color) and I couldn't even wait to for them to dry properly before I started to blog about it. You have no idea what a talent it is to type with wet nails while avoiding any nasty smudges!

.

Lincoln Park After Dark is this season's must have item. Well, not exactly. Chanel's Black Satin is this seasons must have, but there has been such a run on the nail polish, that it is now going for nearly $40 a bottle online! Seriously! It's a dark maroon, almost black. I loooove it. So, LPAD is the closest thing to Chanel, except it's around $5. That works, right?

.

You see, I suffer from a terrible affliction. I have the fashion sense for a size "0", but not the body to match. So where I would be wearing skinny jeans, brown leather cuffed boots, and a giant bag (obviously not all together!). I am forced to wear old navy cargo pants, a hoodie and flip flops. But, I suppose we all have our burdens in life, right? At least my nail polish is haute!

Uh Oh

Randy is making beer again. I will let you all know if anything blows up in our "laboratory".

Crocks and white socks ROCKS!

By now I am sure you are all aware how painfully over-stretched I am in regards to work and school. Because of my time constraints, I rarely, if ever, get to spend time with the friends I really care about. I have a drawer full of invitations to baby showers, birthdays, anniversaries, and other festivities, all of which I longed to attend but was continually unable. The few moments I have to myself are usually spent staring at a large pile of dirty laundry mentally willing my clothes to clean and fold themselves. So this afternoon was a special treat!

.

I got a phone call from a dear friend, and we spent over an hour catching up and encouraging each other with our life endeavors (and, of course, making fun of other people!). It was a great time. Unfortunately, it was mandatory that my hour on the phone was also spent multi-tasking. While we chatted I started getting my stuff together for tomorrow. (I'm finally learning that 4 AM is not a good time to look for my stethoscope!) Eventually I sat down on the couch, let my hair down (literally) and put my feet up. Nearly 45 minutes into the conversation, I realized that I needed to find something for dinner (Randy is at work tonight). So I grabbed my keys, found my ATM card, slid on my comfy work shoes, and walked out the door. All while on the phone. I planned to drive through El Pollo Loco and get some chicken and rice, so it really didn't matter what I looked like, right?

.

The conversation lasted as I drove up the boulevard and parked near the restaurant saying our goodbyes and promising to chat again soon. It was at this point I somehow forgot that my initial plan was to DRIVE-THRU!!!

.

Standing before the register, I began my order:

.

El Pollo Loco Register Guy: "Welcome to El Pollo Loco, what can I get for you?"

.

Me: "Um.... well, I guess I'll take the chicken and rice....um.... bowl"

.

It was at that exact moment, after the chicken and rice but right before the bowl that everything hit me. .

.

In that little pause, the "um", a million thoughts were rushing through my head. It was one of those perfect Oh Shit moments. I looked like I had just crawled out of my own butt hole. (Click Here to get an idea of what I look like when I'm "lettin' my hair down").

.

My first sin was the Crocks. Those ugly plastic shoes that are OHHH SO COMFORTABLE! Although I am sure my subscription to Vogue magazine would be canceled if they ever found out, I love wearing my crocks to work. And sometimes places other than work. But normally they are hidden under a wide leg cargo pant, so I find it somewhat justifiable. Today was not the case. Underneath my black crocks were a pair of white gym socks, the really short ones that cut my ankle at the absolute thickest part. (thanks mom's side of the family!) Above the crocks and the socks, the landscape really went downhill. I was wearing a pair of gaucho pants (I know, I know... so WRONG!) and an old thin t-shirt that did not match, yet allowed the color of my bra to show through (orange. bright freaking orange. hey, it was on sale). My hair was sticking in a million directions, and I WAS IN PUBLIC! I was mortified. That cashier could have charged me $50 for my chicken bowl and I wouldn't have noticed! I was wearing Crocks with Socks! I wanted to die!

Domesticating Myself, Day 2...

Pot Roast. Or roast of some sort. After 3 hours of cooking the meat, I have added the veggies and sent it through for another hour or so. I sliced off a piece for Randy. His response?

R- "Not bad"

Me- "Not bad- as in you'll eat it?"

R- "Yeah"

Me- "Would you eat it twice?"

R- "Maybe."

Me- "I'll just order a pizza."

R- "Can we get an order of Hot Wings too?"

Me- "I was kidding about the pizza, you ass."

R- "Ummm... yeah, I was too"

Edit: 10:00 pm, we should have gone for the pizza the roast-of-some-sort was NOT good. Maybe I should try something more useful. Cross stitching? No... I am not a quitter. Therefore I will make my husband another disgusting meal tomorrow as well. You know, get back up on that horse...

Pho! Whaaaa???

My stint as a modern twenty-something girl is coming to a close in the next few months. As my thirtieth birthday looms closer, I realize that it's time to learn a few skills. Primarily cooking and cleaning. Up until now, Randy has been the sole provider of all things domestic in our home. If I ever decide to sweep (Randy is much better at it anyway) or mop, I usually have to call my husband and ask him where to find all of the cleaning supplies. On the rare occasion I decide to make something from scratch in the kitchen, it is traditionally prefaced with Randy, again, finding all of the gadgets and utensils I will need. I think it is time I faced the inevitable. Eventually I will be a mother and have children who rely on me for sustenance. The time has come where I need to get in touch with my inner Martha Stewart, minus the whole criminal conviction thing.

Attempt #1 at domesticating myself:

I have fallen in love with a Vienamese dish called Pho (pronounced "fuh"... like DUH!). Basically it's chicken noodle soup, with a Vietnamese twist. Normally I order it to-go from the local ethnic restaurant, but the last time I went I noticed a "B" rating. I decided it was time make it myself. I found a recipe this morning and headed down to the local asian market. It was a little intimating to walk up and down the rows without knowing what 99% of the items were, but I managed to find what I was looking for and now I've got my pho on the stove! (Actually, it's in the crock pot).

To make Pho I cook two chicken breasts in broth with garlic cloves, coriander seeds, star anise, onion, and cilantro. It cooks for 5 hours in the crock pot and then I strain the seasoning, veggies and chicken away from the broth. After cutting up the chicken I place it in a bowl with rice noodles, fresh mint and basil, and a wedge of lime! I spice mine up with some hoisin sauce and a little hot sauce! Perfect on a cold day.

I hope Randy gets home from work early. Somebody needs to clean this mess up.

Must be an acquired taste.

Last night around 9:30, Randy ventured forth into the world of Vons to find us some dinner. Among other things (like cat litter), he brought home two dozen cookies. For dinner. It hit me that our dietary needs are probably not being met and that our choices may need to be re-vamped.















While I am sure most normal people would just go buy some chicken breasts and broccoli, me, being anything but predictable, headed off to Trader Joe's to find something new and healthy. I passed up our usual fair of traditional Americanized versions of dinner and went for the Punjab Choley.



As it turns out, it tastes much like it sounds.

I'm hoping it's an acquired taste.

I bought four boxes.

They were on sale.

I think I found the problem...

This is my way of dealing with midterms. Does it help that I only had 3 strawberries for breakfast? I skipped lunch because I was so tired that I just wanted to take a nap instead?
Probably not.

.

It's almost 9 PM.

.

Not good.
.
Not good at all.
.
I wonder how late the gym is open?

I will, however, applaud myself for the bottle of water in the background.

.

Or maybe I'll just blame it all on my crazy professor!

Welcome to my personal hell.

Job Offer

I was offered ANOTHER job on Friday. It was the coolest moment of my week. In fact, I'm still feeling pretty snappy about the whole situation.

I was at Arrowhead Regional Medical Center, in the middle of my clinical rotations for school. ARMC is San Bernardino's county hospital. This hospital sees the worst of the worst in terms of patients. It is, however, the best of the best in terms of medical care. The facility is only a few years old and routinely allows hospital administrators from around the world to tour this site, so that they can model the foreign hospital after this one. It is an incredible place to work.

.

Friday's rotation was a bit nerve-racking! I was the first student to present a current patient's case to the lead pulmonologist. I arrived around 6am and found the patient I would present. I had to run a number of tests on this patient, look over the lab work, and research the patient's history. All before 9am. Just as I was finishing up with all of my chores, it was decided to change this patients ventilator status. Basically all of my information was now worthless. I had 20 minutes to re-group, re-write and be ready to present. In addition, the pulmonologist I was presenting my case to is NOT known for his tact. He is one of those characters that we dread at school. Conversations about him traditionally go something like this: "Oh MAN! You had to present to Dr Robinson? How bad was it?" Rarely does anyone come out unscathed!

.

9:05 Not only does Dr. R. arrive so does every therapist on duty for the day, as well as the supervisors and the DIRECTOR of cardiopulmonary department! If I was going down, I was going to go down in front of a crowd! 9:06 I began my presentation. I presented the information as best I could and tried to sound like I had done this a million times. No problem, right? As I finished, I stood there and waited for the aftermath. As Dr. R slowly turned to look at me, I resisted the urge to give him a begging look for mercy.

.

He said: "That was an outstanding presentation. I am quite impressed".

.

Quietly I said, "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate that." On the inside, I was singing "Neener Neener Neener!!! I didn't make an ass out of myself... and now all of the OTHER students have to follow my lead! Neener Neener Neener!" Once everything was finished, I was congratulated on my "outstanding" job by numerous therapist. Yeaaaah my team! But as with every great accomplishment, it was soon over and I had to run back to a patient's room and continue my day's work.

.

Ten minutes later, the director of the department came into the patient's room with me. She said that "I've had a good feeling about you since I met you last year. You really impressed Dr. R. and that just confirms what I thought. I want to offer you a position here once you are finished with school in the spring. Don't bring me a resume, just walk into my office and you have a job on the spot". My clinical supervisor said to me later that job offers like this are quite unusual.

.

I am sooooo awesome.

Pick-A-Part-athon

Over the past few weeks my car has been running really rough. Anytime the engine was running the smell of gasoline would flood through the vents in my car. Unfortunately the windows don't roll down... yes the car is THAT bad! So whenever I'd drive anywhere, I would tend to get dizzy and a little nauseous. After enough complaining (actually the car was overheating AGAIN, and it HAD to be fixed) Randy finally went out and looked at my car. He found that I had a leak in one of my fuel lines and it was actually squirting gas all over my engine when I drove. I still wonder how I avoided blowing myself up on the freeway. Over the weekend we thought he had fixed the problem, only to discover yesterday that it had actually gotten worse. After no luck at the auto part store and being outrageously over-charged at the dealership, Randy suggested that we head on down to the local Pick-A-Part to see if we could find a replacement fuel line. Since I (ok, Randy) didn't think it was totally appropriate for me to watch TV in my underwear while he was out fixing my car, I decided (it was strongly suggested) that I should go along.

.

We arrived around noon at the Ontario Pick-A-Part. It was instantly obvious that I had the only matching set of chromosomes for 10 square miles. In addition, flip-flops were clearly a poor fashion choice for this particular event. (I made sure to mention both of these facts about every five minutes.)

.

After paying our entrance fee I asked:

.

"So, Randy, what exactly do we get for our entrance fee?"

.

"We get to walk around and look for the part" He informed me.

.

"Are you freaking serious? That's it? Do they at least give us a map and a soda? You'd think they'd put a churro cart out here or something. Maybe sell a few snacks. What does that entrance fee go to anyways? New dirt flooring?"

.

"Just shut up and look for a Dodge Neon" He grumbled.

.

What we failed to notice upon our arrival was the lovely piece of cardboard taped to a stick with a hand-drawn map of the facility. Evidently they sorted all the cars by brand. We, however, just started walking up and down the rows of cars, like complete idiots would. My tactic was, as usual, to indirectly annoy my husband so that he'd never suggest my participation in the Pick-A-Part-athon ever again.

.

After ten minutes of searching (and complaining... mostly me) we were still unable to find any Neons. So I decided to have a little fun.

.

"OOHHHH... I see one... over here!" I'd lie

.

"Nope" Randy would state "That's a Honda"

.

"Oh, sorry.... wait, I see one way down there"

.

"Nope" Randy would state, "That's another Honda, and you are an idiot"

.

This little charade went on for another 10 minutes. Just as Randy was about to blow, we managed to blindly stumble upon the Neon department. Quickly Randy reached into his back pocket to pull out some thin plastic gloves (the kind we use at the hospital) I had to hide my giggles. Randy is totally a manly man. He can fix cars, repair appliances, build homes, and all of that other manly stuff, but he absolutely HATES to get dirty. It irritates him beyond words. Dirt is the kryptonite to my Superman. So here we are in an extremely dirty environment. Surrounded by sweaty, dirty men crawling into car engines to retrieve the perfect part. And then there is Randy. Delicately gowning up, careful to avoid any dirt on his hands! I had to walk down a few rows to the Ford department where I could finally laugh out loud!

Going back to bed

I was up at 6am for an Asthma walk but around 9ish I got a call asking if I would work. So it's back to bed for me. Tonight/tomorrow is another long one! I work from 6pm tonight to 3pm tomorrow. 21 hours! Why didn't I do this crap when I was younger?
My new saying: "The rent aint gonna pay itself!"