humility

A virtue by which a man knowing himself as he truly is...

I was reminded last night that there was a time in my life in which I was a big JACK ASS. It was bad. Really bad. I guess one of the best things about getting older is that you can look back and laugh at yourself while wincing.

I hope you read this. I hope you realize that I am so grateful for your presence in my life and that I promise that I will do whatever it takes to erase that sting that still makes you say ouch. Please know that you are so precious to me. And next time I get a paper cut, I'll let you squirt lemon juice in it.

YIKES!!

Oh work. I hate you so much.

I have a patient whom we shall call Melvin. We drew the lucky card on Melvin one cold night in April as he had fallen outside of a bar and broken his shoulder. Yes, he was wasted. So in flies the super boss, fixes his shoulder and leaves ole Melvin in the hospital to walk it off. Well Melvins's nurse calls me the day after surgery and tells me that Mr. Melvin repeatedly walks down to the nurses station and asks for vodka tonics, and then when the nurses say no, he asks them why they don't take visa. He is also "lewdly flirting" (is there any other kind??) with the nurses.

WHHHHAAAAAAAA???

Fine we'll order the psych consult that the hospital is wanting on the guy. Whatever. He's obviously off his rocker. Well we didn't hear from Melvin again until recently when he received his big fat bill from the hospital stating that he owed in excess of fifteen thousand dollars for his "stay". Four was for the surgery he had, three for the nights he spent in the hospital and eight and some change for the psych consult and treatment (for DT's of course). Melvin is PISSED at me. Because it says very clearly on his chart notes from the hospital that Rachel at Dr. Wonderful's office ordered this psych visit. I simply told the man that Dr. Wonderful wanted him to see the shrinks and that if he had a problem he could take it up with my boss. Also I gave Melvin Dr. Wonderful's address and told him the tales of the liquor cabinents in that house. Just kidding, but that would've been hilarious.

P.S. All that ridiculous crap I learned in college did not prepare me for having to deal with situations such as these. I'm going home to have a vodka tonic, cause that sounds delish. Thanks Melvin.

BIRTH CONTROL

I'm getting old-er. I wouldn't say that my "clock is ticking" because I think it's so so freaky weird when people say that, but kids haven't been totally written outta my equation. . .yet. I still think about it sometimes. OKAY. SO. I stay with the boss man's kids when he and the "wife" go outta town. Which is usally not a bad gig. Big house, brand new Caddy. . . I was just released from duty yesterday and I think this TDY might have cast the final vote in the children: to have or have not issue.

1. SIXTH grade homework that includes an essay (500 words) on the difference between magma and lava. I can B.S. with the best of them. I have a piece of paper hanging on my wall that says so. A.K.A. college diploma. However, when it all boils down to magma is under ground, lava is above ground. . . there is not a lot of gray area to covered there. It was rough. That essay was followed up with the laws of motion and the different types of simple levers. ICK.

2. A five year old who insists at seven forty five a.m. that a tall mocha frappuccino is the only way he can make it through his day and then proceeds to ask me when I'm gonna get a boyfriend. That doll baby is lucky I didn't leave him in aftercare permanently.

3. And the hum-dinger of the weekend. LICE. Now I don't mind gross stuff. I love medicine, I think it's incredibly fascinating. But parasites eating human scalp just rates right up there on the heebie jeebie meter. At eleven thirty on a Thursday night, I should be brushing my teeth and watching Horatio Caine take his sunglasses off in a horribly over dramatic way, or sitting in a corner drinking my dirty goose while making snide remarks about the sleezy girls that come out for ladies night. I should not be at the Utica Square Med-X with a five year old in his supeman p.j.'s "flying" up and down the isles, and a poor ten year old who has just learned the meaning of lice and why they are bad. P.S. If you ever have to explain lice to a child, DO NOT reference fleas and dogs. BIG mistake. If you don't believe in the power of suggestion or pyschosomatic illness, sit next to someone who has lice. You will think that your brain itches in no time at all.

I had to go to the pediatrician's office and have my head combed. Good News. My PARASITE FREE record remains untarnished.

I'm blowing my childcare earnings from this weekend. Screw the horrible economy and getting outta debt. So far with my lice loot i've purchased a nice shiraz/viognier and a knee length patent raspberry rain coat. Also on the to be purchased list is a big trip to sephora. Nothing will make my psychosomatic lice go away like NARS, Benefit, and possibly some Philosophy. Ugh.

Goodnight Mr. Mayer

My new favorite days are the days when I realize something negative about myself. I think I spend so much time trying to be positive, I happen to overlook the honestly dark spots. Realizing the bad spots helps me remember that as important as "I think I can, I think I can" mantra, that there are much needed "you suck" moments. So today on the trusty XM I accidentally stumble onto O.A.R's new song "Shattered". I turned it up, raced home, immediately letssingit.com'd the lyrics, opened a bottle of cab, and was all set to pull the trigger on my favorite episode of "Rachel laments into a glass of dark red". And then I had an epiphany (lightning has just struck my brain. . . for you sisty) CONGRATULATIONS. YOU are pathetic and cliche. These lyrics are for the other million trillion people who miss someone and always thinking about going back. Way to go the extra mile to be just like everyone else.

I have a serious problem that is summed up in the oh so sweet words of Lauren Conrad "My type is someone I've already dated". I live in the glory days. I don't necessarily miss people, I miss moments. I miss an awful movie and a drunken cinnamon kiss that smelled like curve. I miss my first "relationship" when it was permissable (but not OKAY by any hygenic standards) to use the other person's toothbrush. I miss sayings, glances, gestures, hand squeezes with a morse code-ish meanings. I miss a beach in California that I swear is still a dream. I miss the bottle of white merlot, a bag of fritos, and all the reprocussions that ensued. I miss the slow dance to #41 and the messages written in my winshield in the morning.

Those moments and people served a purpose for a stage and a phase in my life. Time to stop looking for reasons and to be sad and nostalgic. Time to switch it up. SO I've decided that I am going to memory lane rehab.

1. I'm going to find a healthy habit or a hobby (other than trying out all the new EXTRA fruit sensations gum, but strawberry banana is the best one so far) such as dragging out the classics and reading them again. Starting with Jane Eyre.

2. I will refrain from speaking to ANY of the aformentioned memories in any form. No emails, No texts, No friendly waves from across the questionable establishments in which we might run into each other.

3. I will not listen to any John Mayer, Coldplay, Frou Frou, DMB, Mat Kearney, Lifehouse, etc. I will listen to Jill Sobule, Hole, and Poe until I throw up.

I feel better. Sort of. I'm still drinking that cab. I mean. . . it's already open and stuff.

ADDENDUM:

Cinnamon Curve Kiss is amazing. I stand corrected. Sorry.