I get a REAL LIFE friend!

Today we matched for my husband's residency at THE UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH!

These are our thoughts thus far:

It was very high on our list and a very prestigious urologic training program.

We will not be Steelers fans - but I do love penguins.

It's better than Dayton and still within driving distance of my mom.

There are lots of job opportunities for me.

It's still cold - but not as cold a Minnesota.

There is a doctoral program there for me.

It's a 6 year training program for hubs, so buying another house is totally a possibility.

I'm not afraid to move to Pennsylvania.

I get to turn a blog friend into an IRL friend ... Mermanda, here I come!!

WHY is there an "H" on the end of Pittsburgh?

The jokes on YOU SUCK-AH!

My hubs has been asked some pretty crazy questions on the interview trail so far. Of course people always ask him if he's married (duh! see ring on left finger) AND if he has/wants kids. For a surgeon the CORRECT answer is... No. This is a no good, terrible, very bad thing but surgeons see procreation as time where they will have to cover your ass while you're off doing whatever with your new offspring. One interviewer even went as far as to say he used to make his female residents come into his office everyday so he could WATCH THEM TAKE THEIR BIRTH CONTROL PILL! This is wrong. So so wrong. Hubs just gives a general answer, something like, "Well I'm 31, so at some point I will want kids." That seems to suffice and although it makes me FURIOUS that this is an accepted standard - I'm somehow okay with him equivocating a little.

He also gets frustrated with silly hypothetical questions where people judge you for your answer - no matter how arbitrary the question is... like these.

What animal would you be?

and if you say a cat because you love naps you look like a lazy ass who is going to be SLEEPING ON THE JOB. So, you might as well say OWL because you like to stay up all night swooping in on patients. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

What ONE WORD best describes you?

I laughed my butt of when he told me that he casually muttered "enthusiastic" and then made a joke about how UN-enthusiastic his answer was :)

We decided CURIOUS was a better answer, with limited implications.

What is your biggest weakness?

He went with the, "You should ask my wife this question..." reply.

I told him I would make a list for him to keep in his pocket, a very long list which includes the inabilty to make the bed and hold in his farts in public or attempting to use cliches. This weekend I about fell out of the chair when he said that one last touchdown would really "put a knife in a coffin" UM, WHAT? Then he told me this one hospital he went to was "a real shit in the wall" AGAIN, STOP ATTEMPTING CLICHES.

If you could meet three people, past, present or future who would they be?

I think he said his grandson and two other answers that were so forgettable I forgot them already. He's not so good a intangible impromptu questions.

or how about this one, Tell me a joke.

Um, okay because an applicant's job is to entertain whatever crusty old surgeon is interviewing them. You tell a Jewish joke, you're a antisemitic? Try to bash blondes or fat people? Hello? You've never seen this guy's wife! OR, if you tell a dirty joke you're totally inappropriate and a law suit waiting to happen. WORST OF ALL- you tell a LAME joke. And then you're just NOT FUNNY. Do they really want to work with someone who's not funny? My husband and I are both terrible at jokes, so luckily he hasn't been asked this question ...yet.

If I were asked this question, the only joke I know is this one:

Two peanuts were walking down the street. One was assaulted.

I used to know a dirty joke that had something to do with wrapping someone in saran wrap but I forget it. Which is probably good. I also know a joke about a girl who used to have a mouse tattoo on her lady bits and when her boyfriend asked where it went she said, "My pussy ate it." Does that even count as a joke? This is supposed to be a clean blog for the most part so we're going to pretend I didn't just tell you that one.

Do you know any acceptable jokes for my hubs to tell?

We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!

This week is the pinnacle of BO-RING. I’ve got nothing going on, in my brain or otherwise. You know how some weeks you have a hair appointment, dentist appointment, toe-painting party, SOMETHING to look forward to? Not this week. And it’s only Wednesday. My credit card is blowing up after purchasing maternity clothes and several emotionally-charged trips to Target – so shopping is out of the question. TV is a total suck-fest because of base and ball, which I happen to care NOTHING about. BTW, did you know there is a player on the team and his only job is to pitch the last inning of the game? What a total slacker! When hubs told me that, I seriously told him to get out of town. What’s so special about THAT GUY that he doesn’t have to run around in the fields or lob a few more balls over that hexagonal place mat? This enhances my conclusion that baseball sucks. White pants to play in the dirt? Seriously?

In other news, my hubs is orbiting around the country interviewing for residency positions for the next few months. His biggest challenge is that he has to make small talk. Me? I could chat someone up in the grocery store about their Vera Bradley purse or the coupon I found in the deodorant aisle FOR HOURS. Him, he could care less. He’s one smart cookie, there’s no doubt about that – but proving he’s the type of guy you’d want to be stuck standing in the OR with for some 8-hour penis surgery – is his biggest challenge yet (yes my husband wants to cut on boys’ nether regions. Please don’t judge me.) Don’t get me wrong, He’s hilariously charming and I’d want to converse with him on a boat or with a goat- but sometimes it’s just hard to talk to people you don’t know about shit you don’t care about.

Like baseball.

Two blogs are harder than one

It is hard to think about things to blog about for ONE blog - let alone TWO! I promised myself I would not bombard my readers with blah, blah, pregnancy crap. HOWEVER, it turns out, when you're actually pregnant - it's all you can think about!

That aforementioned crap is spewed over at Please Send Parenting Books, which if you are so inclined, can find by clicking on the cute little bird in my sidebar. Except for Jennie!, because Jennie thinks babies are assholes.

So I figured tomorrow I will do a My Favorite Things post - because I haven't done one in a while. And that leaves today. Well, today I wanted to send some shout outs.

Congratulations to MERMANDA! She got hitched to her perfect merman last weekend. WOOT! WOOT! She was a beautiful bride and I CANNOT WAIT to see more pictures and hear all about it once she's done shagging her brains out in Mexico.

Here we find her in a bathroom stall with a bridesmaid up her dress. Isn't she gorgeous? (sweetheart necklines make me ::swoon::)


And, my good friend E gave birth (NATURALLY! GOLD STAR FOR E!) to her second baby yesterday! (remember her red-headed daughter Miss Z whom I ADORE) Welcome Amelia Lindsay, good luck trying to get your sister to share her goldfish crackers!



And lastly, a huge HOLL-AH! to my Hubs. Because he is amazingly awesome and has 18 residency interviews already and is that much closer to actually having an income. YAY!!

All of my moments are yours for the taking

Can I tell you that the weekends have been glorious. Well, they have. The perfect combination of sun and my husband have made me forget that Monday even exists.

For the past three years, medical school has sucked the life out of his two day break - and residency will no doubt leave me a weekend widow - so we are delighting in this time together while he's finishing up.

A recent survey asked doctors if they could have anything what it would be. Their answer: THEIR 20s BACK.

There are days when we feel old, like our 20s were supposed to be young and free - with nothing but time and money to burn. Did we give that up in exchange for school loans and stability? The path to medicine involves living on a shoestring budget, studying your head off and always anticipating the next step, rarely reveling in the current one. Who revels in library cubicals or 31-hour calls anyway? Much of our time together in the evenings is spent speculating on where he should apply for residency, should we rent or buy, how hard its going to be to sell our house, where and when we could fit in a baby and what the future brings for both our careers. Those are heavy things for two gorgeously attractive married people to contemplate on a nightly basis, you know?

But there are a few hours each day that we have a life, a marriage. And while our 20s are behind us for the most part, we want to take advantage of being (almost) 30. Being in love. Just being. Medicine can't rob you of your 20s, you simply let them pass you by.

I have a beautiful picture of my mother before she was pregnant with me. Just her face looking into the camera. I keep that picture tucked in a book next to my bed. I don't know this person, but I want to. I look into her eyes and want so badly for them to tell me a story. Do you ever think about what your parents were like before you came along? What was their day like? Did they smooch in the kitchen and ride bikes in the springtime? Did they stand in IKEA in front of the dressers for three hours wondering which one to pick? I imagine one day we will have children and these are the days they will wonder about. What did we do with our moments? Did we grow more in love everyday? Did we laugh and joke and drive for ice cream cones twice a week? Did we argue sometimes and spend the rest of the night making up?

I know we can't turn our backs on the waiting and wondering, but right now there are afternoons with nothing to do but be together. Summertime is just waiting to share her treasures with us. We'll walk hand-in-hand at a street fair, share a meal on a sunny patio or drink red wine from huge ballooned glasses while we talk the night away. Our nightly sleepovers consist of two people snuggled up in an enormous bed with one tiny cat purring at our feet.

There will be a time when we are stable and have money. He won't be studying or letting residency directors and computers determine our fate. But I imagine our sleepovers will look very different then. Hopefully our big bed will be filled with little feets and thankful bodies. I pray we're still just as in love as we are now, because my future looks amazing with him in it. But, for now, so do my weekends, and the next four days will fly by when you live in moments like these.

Please have patients - and meatloaf.

Tonight I am meeting my darling husband for a dinner date at the hospital cafeteria. If I'm lucky, we'll have dessert in a supply closet. I hope tonight is filled with hairnets and jello molds... but most importantly, a meal with my husband in his doctor costume.

Where is the weirdest place you've ever gone on a date?



***update*** I had a ruben for dinner (and they had caffeine free diet coke!) and it was so nice to see my husband. While we were eating "our song" came on the radio there. Corny, I know, but he actually noticed before I did.

Husband: You know, if it weren't for that lady with the IV bag you wouldn't even know we were in a hospital.

Kissing more is NOT a problem for me

My class was pretty lame last night and should be manageable except for that the instructor (who looks nothing like a statistician and everything like a man in the trenches of a mid life crisis who’s trying entirely too hard to look cool) wants us to use this software program I frikin' hate to analyze our data. When husband and I were in grad school we “used” the same program, I say “used” because I mostly “used” his answers to complete the assignments – pretty much everyone did. That’s.how.much.it.sucks. So this resolution is going to be a toughie! Wish me luck people.

Speaking of my husband, last night after he told me a tale from the diaries of his surgical rotation about a guy who had a giant needle-containing probe shoved up his well-dilated sphincter, he told me he wants to kiss more (kiss ME more, in case you were confused by the mental picture). THEN he told me about how during the procedure all of the surgeons told him never to have kids because your life is ruined never the same. Great.

To you, Mr. Butthole-needle surgeons, I say, “SHUT. UP.”

Glamour’s MARRIED JAKE wrote an article about how he secretly loves being married to his wife, Orange Blossom and THEY are having a baby. Mathew McConaughy even had one !

This proves that men can come around. And, according to second grade ideology, when it comes to girls, boys and bees, kissing more is the first base step. I think he’s coming around. Don’t you?

Reese and Jake smooching court side!

Bubble Bath Kisses from Le Love (get me a claw foot tub!)

Are you afraid of the dark?

Husband is in his surgery rotation so there are nights that I sleep alone. I lived alone in college and much of grad school with no problems what so ever. I actually enjoyed the quiet and the fact that no one could tell me not to watch trashy movies on Lifetime because they are fake and the actors are terrible. But not now. Somehow sleeping snuggled with my husband for so many years has left me with empty bed syndrom. Futhermore, I’m convinced someone is going to break in and brutally kill me. The thought of sleeping alone makes my heart pound. I’ve told you before that I’m nuts but with this, my neurosis has escalated. A few weeks ago, Heidi told me about a rapist on the loose in Columbus (thanks Heidi!) and then I watched a show about killers one night. Last week I had terrible panic attack one night waking up every hour gasping and sitting straight up in bed. When husband finally did get home around 1am he said I sat straight up in bed and looked at him scared out of my mind.

Husband: I thought you were going to scream your head off.
Me: Did I?
Husband: No, you just asked me why I was naked.
Me: That’s weird, why would I say that?
Husband: Probably because I was.

Now when I know I have to sleep alone, I am going to try to bribe my friends with pizza and wine with hopes of a pajama party. This week, I have to make my house sound more fun than Christmas lights at the zoo. Zoo, smelly. My house, fragrant. Zoo, cold. My house, warm. See? After all, I need someone to call 9-1-1 when the assailant tries to attack me. (but let’s not mention any dates, the killers might read my blog too!)

waking up is hard to do

Oh this morning! Grrr and double Grr. Husband has to be at the hospital by 5-something AM. He has to have TWO alarms because he sleeps through the first one (and sometimes the second). Last night he was on call, which means AT THE HOSPITAL AND NOT IN BED (actually he is STILL at the hospital and not in bed). He forgot to tell his alarms that he was on call. So, this morning they woke me up instead and since I also have two alarms of my own (and no! idea! how! to! work! his!) our bedroom was an orchestra of doom this morning and I was the conductor. beep! (slam) beep beep beep! (slam) beep! beep! (slam) SLAM.SLAM.SLAM HOW DO YOU SHUT THESE FRICKIN THINGS OFF!!! BEEP! (slam)
Bad wake-ups make me cranky. I wanted husband to be off call and pick me up from work and take me on a lunch date to Chick-Fil-A. That probably isn't happening. I am jonesing for a creamy chai tea latte. I might just get one after work before my haircut (trim, no bangs). SLAM.

My boyfriend's back and I'm gonna be in trouble

FI is done with the boards and I now have my boyfriend/FI/Future Husband/Friend/Lover back. He is slowly adjusting back into real life, this will take some time. I might even have to show him how to use his beloved vacuum again. But last night, after the exam – he was definitely a changed guy. No more of the nerdy zombie I’ve been living with for the past four weeks or so.

I actually gave him a full 24 hours before he was required to dive in head first into the tsunami that is our wedding – but alas – he has already started [and called me 25 times at work today]. We are picking our menu for the rehearsal tonight and meeting with the organist for the ceremony music. Yes internets, I think our marriage will be safe and in three short weeks we will become man and wife. Well he is already a man – but I will be a wify.

We get to sleep in together for the first time in a long time tomorrow. I can’t wait! Oh and then we are going to pick out chairs for the reception – chairs people?! You have to pick chairs! Take it from one of THE MOST indecisive people on the planet: Weddings=Decisions. It must be a life test that the industry thought up, because by the time you’re done with all of this picking and choosing, baby names or school districts will seem like a piece of [wedding] cake! Happy Weekend!

The sensory receptor is broken, you can try the backdoor.

This has been a crazy week. I picked my dress up from my [very Philippinio] seamstress Tuesday only to find out she had botched the job. Yes, you heard me correctly, my most coveted gown, she screwed it up. She was supposed to add a simple bustle to the back… instead added a b-dazzled pearly bustle. UM DO YOU KNOW WHY THERE ISN’T A SINGLE BEAD ON MY DRESS…. BECAUSE I HATE THEM! Then, and worse yet, she totally f’ed the back where she was supposed to take it out 1/2 inch at the top of the zipper! It looks like she stapled a “V” into the zipper! What?! I thought alterations were to be completely UNNOTICABLE! F, F, F and when I asked her why she added a b-dazzly bustle she said, “oh soooo pretty.” That’s all she said! And when I asked her why the back looked like shit she said, “no, no that what supposed to look like, good, it good. ” No ma’am, it's not GOOD IT GOOD, IT BAD, IT BAD!! So after getting nowhere with her, I spent $136 to have my dress F’ed. I now have to bring it to some nice little American lady this evening to see if she can fix it... in english. THEN, my dress was bought off another bride, so it needs cleaned. The cleaning company cannot take my dress until June 23 and well get it back to me on JULY 1ST! That’s cutting it close people! So although I have spent the last 48 hours in near tears, I regress. It is only a dress. No one but me will notice the Philippino shit job and hey, July 1st is better than July 5th right? Sigh.

I have filled almost every night between now and the wedding with appointments, and I approved the final copy of the program yesterday [man was that a bitch to write]. Now all I have to do is finish the other 199 things on my list and convince Bax and Heidi to come over and help me assemble, hole punch, and ribbon the programs. I have wine girls; you just can’t drink it near my programs.

In other news, FI takes the boards today [correction: Is taking them as we speak]. Last night he asked me if I had something special planned for him, “this is a really big deal for me, and for us”. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. I consider myself a very thoughtful person, but with a boss on my ass at work, on top of the wedding drama, ALL of my thought receptors a full – I spend most of my days trying not to cry and pound my fists in the wall. The specialness of this milestone indeed slipped my mind. Granted, every time I’ve planned something special for him he’s totally unenthused [like the surprise bday party I threw for him and it took him an hour to figure out why all of his friends were eating at the same place we were] but he was right, I should have planned something. I should plan something! I need to find a happy hour, hire a clown, get some fireworks, and ask the band to learn our song, “Drift Away” by Uncle Kracker. Why is this our song? I have no idea, it just is. But alas, I am at work, have to get that damn dress fixed tonight and I don’t know any clowns. I think I can find a happy hour and convince some people to join us. I’ll even be the DD. This IS a special milestone, I can’t even express it with a party or a card – I am SO PROUD of him and all of his hard work – I will have to wear something extra slutty to bed tonight… that'll do it!

I told you I'd eat them on a boat or off a goat Sam!

FI and I eat lunch together – one of the many reasons we are getting married and not breaking up. Medical school has been tough on us both and it’s nice to meet up for lunch since I work in the same building where he studies. All of that will end June 12th when he takes the boards and starts rotating through hospitals. I am sad, because I look forward to my lunches with him. He also comes into my office and eats snacks out of my drawer. I put them in there for him, if I actually want to eat them myself, I hide them somewhere else [just like at home]. Even my secretary puts food out for him. Its like he’s the office dog, sometimes she’ll say “I’ll set these out here, maybe J will eat them.” I actually told her yesterday to stop feeding him because I'm trying to keep his weight down.

So, anyway, today at lunch we sat with some other medical schoolers, which I don’t generally like to do because it means I have to try really hard to have benign conversation and laugh at innuendos about the cremaster muscle. Today was fine though – it was actually with a few guys that make me laugh. FI was eating Cheetos [as usual] and found a particularly odd-shaped one which he admired before popping it into his mouth. His colleagues, er uh, classmates, were making fun of him and saying that he will probably have blocked arteries one day.

FI: Well if I do have a blocked artery I bet there is a cheeto in it.
Boys: [laughing at the realization of this statement]
FI: … and if there did end up being a cheeto in there… I would eat it.

I sat there and thought about a bloody cheeto being pulled from his chest cavity, then, before the surgeon has a chance to put down the forceps, FI grabs his hand, free’s the mangled cheeto and pops it in his mouth. He even smiles and says “see, still crunchy!” I bet even under all of the blood that damn cheeto was still orange. Yes, I have a *very* active internal dialog, which may disturb some of you at times. I actually googled ‘bloody cheeto’ and found a picture that would be absolutely irresistible to dear FI [picture ME in the bathtub and not the overweight vampiress]

where does it end and where does it begin again

I was totally robbed of the intrinsically relaxing sigh that comes from within when you finally reach the week-end. No, the seemingly democratic "evil-doers" of the world did not officially manage to revoke Bushes tax cuts AND make us work 8 days a week - but I did anyway. I had a cycling training from 730am-5pm Saturday and Sunday. Needless to say MY PARTS HURT. I use term this term inclusively and as a metaphor for my 'nether region' because 1. ALL of my parts hurt, muscles, skin, head, feet and 2. My nether regions hurt mega bad. I did probably burn over 60,000 calories and received great instruction from a 40 year old man who shaves all of his body hair.

Actually the term weekend now generates a cognitive dissonance that I've never had before. It used to give me that warm melty feeling of sleeping in or lying on the couch or possibly going to dinner and a movie with FI and then staying up until 230am talking and laughing in bed. It now feels like just another two days. Two days in which FI will be locked in the basement of a stale library shoving information in his brain at an inhumane pace, only stopping to eat meals - which usually need to be prepared by me at a certain time - then off again to basement hell. I on the other hand have the opportunity to get up at 8am on Saturday and teach cycling at the gym. After my sweat session I will go home, shower, and either sit around wishing I was hanging out with FI, beg one of my friends who also don’t have a life to hang out with me or I can run all of the errands we don’t have time to do during the week. Not fun stuff either, mundane stuff like pick up the dry cleaning, depositing checks in the ATM or ordering flower girl charms. My most unfavorite of such aforementioned crap-tasks has been returning stuff left over from the blessed 12/25 without a receipt. I then proceed to read the Internets for three hours and go to bed. Sunrise on Sunday finds me driving downtown to teach the booger tweezers.

Now that the backside of the work week is a total enigma, I must escape to my happy dreams where we are married, FI is finally a doctor, our kids are of legal drinking age and after spending Monday thru Friday on a beach in the Caribbean, we are off to Vegas for the weekend. TGIF.. no, let's try TGI2032

More on Vegas later.

I blogged!

So I love reading my friend Jennie's blog and feel like I may also have things to contribute to the blogging world [btw this means, "wow Jennie is nuts. I have crazy shit going on in my head too - I should share it in the form of an online narrative. I want to be Jennie. "]

Okay, that and the real reason I am starting a blog is because my FI [knottie shorthand for fiance - more on my love/hate relationship with THEKNOT later] is in medical school and I need friends. Note: I said FRIENDS, not other brides who want to talk about blowing 50K so you can finally screw the guy you have been going to third base with every night for the last two years. Note: this also does not include other medical students who, although may be smart enough to palpate your asshole, they apparently don't know that by petting my cat you cannot contract feline AIDS. Seriously people - just PET HER?! And and a final Note: if you are not in either of these groups there may be other stipulations. However, until I see how f'ed up in the head your are I cannot include a clause for you.

Okay, Okay and the third and final reason for me to engage others in the world wide web of complex neuroses that is my life.... I am bored at work a lot. Cheers - I blogged.