Nothing to see here

Thursday, July 23, 2009

No, really, there isn't. In fact, you should be redirected to newer and cooler things in less than 6 seconds.

(Still here? If it doesn't move you soon, click yourself to

Oops I did it again...

Sunday, July 19, 2009

(Ha. You're going to sing that all night.)

So apparently, my newest weekend obsession is building new blogs.

Yes, it finally happened. I decided to move my blog from here, my 2+ year home, to a place that is all mine.

All my archives have made the transition and in a few days I will set it so that when you click here, it'll automatically redirect you there. But for now, I'll give you the choice to go to the new site.

My twitter name is the same and as soon as I figure out the whole feed thing, it'll be up and running for you. For now, go, take a look and see the new digs.

I think you're going to like it there. I sure do.

(p.s. Dude. I've gotten precisely ZERO comments on The Kitchenettes for my first recipe. Come on kids, show me some love. Please?)

Thank God the day is almost over

Friday, July 17, 2009

I'm not thankful it's Friday. I'm thankful that it's almost not Friday.

You ever have one of those days that's so lousy that you don't even want to start over, you just want it to end?

That would be today.

And no, I won't be elaborating.

(My crappy day and disposition aside, I will be posting a recipe tomorrow on The Kitchenettes and Daisy has already put the first cooking one up, so go check it out. It looks absolutely delicious.)

If you...

Thursday, July 16, 2009

General life advice for you.

If you know you are allergic to MSG, you should not assume that all Chinese places have removed MSG from their ingredient list. In fact, it should be a significant sign to you that they do NOT have any signs at the store or on their website, indicating a lack of MSG. If you do not check this, you may end up sick for an entire night. Wishing that you could just die instead of live through the rotating nausea and cramping.

If you are up way too late from an allergic reaction, caffeine may not be just enough to stay awake for your 54 mile commute.

If you are having trouble staying awake, you should not drive in the lanes closest to the bushes. Although, accidentally "grazing" a bush was probably better than "grazing" a car.

If you didn't put a diet coke in a fridge, you should NOT take one out. Because a VERY tired person might think you a HUGE douche. Especially if it's the second time it's happened.

If you drive a convertible, you shouldn't pick your nose.

If you spend most of your day touting the wonders of sunscreen to elementary school kids, you should probably apply it to yourself so you don't end up sunburned after lecturing them.

If you can't keep up with work and one blog, the best idea ever is to start another.

If you are going to BlogHer in a week, please join me in a big giant freak out over the fact that it's one. week. away.

If you want to learn to cook and have anything special you're yearning to learn, go to The Kitchenettes and tell us. By tonight if you want your input involved in the first recipes.

If you want to share any life experience, please see your way to the comments.

We interrupt this blog...for another one

Monday, July 13, 2009

Last week, my friend Daisy and I made a big decision. A time sucking, life changing (okay, not really) decision.

We decided that with our mutual love of all things cooking and baking and well, basically kitchen-related, we should begin a new blog. You see, Daisy is a fantastic cook (and a great baker, don't get me wrong) and I am a fairly talented baker. And when our powers combine, we are...The Kitchenettes

No really, we are. Go see for yourself.

I spent much of the weekend wading through code and "themes" in wordpress and now have a very early (beta, if you're technologically inclined) version of our new blog ready for you to go visit. Not only that, but we need your help with it.

You see, the whole cooking/baking blog thing doesn't work at all, if a) no one reads and b) no one likes what we're making. And since our major goal is to give you ideas and recipes that you'll use, well, we need to know what you want. So hop on over there and tell us what you're interested in seeing and eating.

And while you're there, go ahead and bookmark or feed us. And hell, you may as well grab our twitter feed too (@thekitchenettes). I mean really, why not?

We are so excited and absolutely cannot wait to see you there. Bon Appetit!

The glamourous life of a doctor's wife

Sunday, July 12, 2009

The past two weeks have been Slappy and my first real glimpse of the lives of doctors and their wives.

The first week was, at least for me, pretty uneventful. Slappy was not on call and he had a 3 day weekend (4th of July). Basically he had a 9 to 5 job, er, maybe 7 to 3 and perhaps it was a little more involved than the typical 9 to 5. But still, not anything that would seem outlandish.

And then we began pager call. And I say we because pager call is not an individual event. Frankly, the sound it make is practically a zip code event.

While on pager call, Slappy does not actually go to the hospital, he just calls in and orders treatments or tests or things. Because he's in the newborn nursery, any real emergency matters are handled by the NICU and for the most part, we are in jaundice hell.

His pager shrieks at decibels that make my brain quiver and some nights it goes off once (or that one night, not at all) and some times it goes off like 5 or 6 times. Never close together, always like an hour apart, that way you have time to go back to sleep. And every time he has to get up, read the information and at least call and give orders. At worse, call, get information, do some research, call back and give orders. It's a circus.

But dude, all that aside, pager call is HOT. Because whenever he gets paged he has to call in and deal with the problem. And when he calls, he identifies himself. And everytime I hear him say "Hi, this is Dr. McBigbrain" I get weak in the knees.

I'm not sure why. I mean, I knew it would be his name, but dude, be still my heart. And I'm sure that the novelty of this will wear off in a few years when the pager sings its shrill song at 3 in the morning and all I want to do is sleep, but for now, well, be still my heart.

And the other night? Just as his pager went off, he put a dirty dish in the dishwasher. I swear I don't think I was ever more in love with him than I was in that moment.

The quickest route to a woman's heart is through the dishwasher, and apparently, being in a position of authority.

All I can say is, rawr.

Thuck it

Thursday, July 9, 2009

If you follow my twitter stream, you might have found out that camp was interrupted yesterday afternoon by a nearby fire. Not wanting all the kids or counselors to breathe in the smoke, we moved everything indoors and had the parents come pick the kids up early (well, they left earlier, traffic made it so they arrived at almost the normal time). As the afternoon progressed, the fire was more and more in control and by late last night the Los Angeles fire department declared the fire 90% contained.

And last night, while relaxing at home, I hopped on twitter (okay fine, I was already on it because it's practically an extension of my consciousness. Whatever) and joked with my boss about the hectic day. I asked her if she thought camp would be cancelled today because of the smoke and she assured me that things had calmed, the skies had cleared considerably and things should be good to go for Thursday.

So I got up at 6, I got ready, including, because today was slated to be a "special" day at camp, blow drying and straightening my hair, and left the house. I normally leave by 6:30 because my 54 mile commute is in the same direction as 30 billion other drivers and I'd rather get to work 20 minutes early than sleep 10 more minutes and get there late.

But today, I left at 6:45. And of course, almost immediately, got stuck at an accident. The first accident in the morning on this freeway in 3 weeks. I ended up getting off the freeway and taking a surface street route to get around some of the looky-loo traffic. I knew I was running late and I considered calling the office at work to let them know, but thought better of it because I'm known to be kind of an alarmist and most likely wasn't actually going to be late as much as not early.

So I drove on. And on and on. The closer I got the more I worried that camp would be closed, but still didn't call, figuring that parents would be wondering the same questions and the phone lines would be tied up. I was relieved when the entrance gate was open because that meant that people were there (since it's otherwise locked).

But curiously, as I drove through the gate, I saw a co-worker drive out of it. And I got a deep sinking feeling in my gut.

As I pulled up, one of my higher ups signaled for me to roll down the window and when I did, she told me that I might want to consider updating my phone number...because they'd been trying to call me all morning. To tell me not to drive 54 miles that morning. Because camp was closed (due to air quality, no damage to the campus).

I got out of the car because I had to pee, and several higher up staff members were all on campus and they all half-heartedly laughed at my outfit (again, special day) and the fact that I was there. I was somewhere between despair and hilarity and found myself alternately laughing and wanting to yelling profanity.

At one point, I walked up to a friend, stomping and made some gritted teeth comment that I couldn't believe that I'd forgotten to update my new phone number and kicked my foot in the air in disgust. When I did that, my shoe went flying, and of course, landed on the roof. ON THE ROOF.

I then went in and updated my phone number (while someone retrieved the shoe I was planning on leaving for all posterity) and then walked out to my car only to discover that I didn't have any keys.

And then a horrible thought crossed my mind. If I had locked my keys in my car as I was pretty sure I had, there was nothing I could do. I no longer have evidence of a AAA membership because of the jackass who stole my wallet in December, meaning I'd have to pay to get my damned keys out.

As that scenario passed in my head, I tried to calm down and remember what I might have done after I kicked my shoe on the roof and scarfed down half a donut (why no, I'm not a stress eater. Why?). And then I looked again and discovered that in one of my fits I had set them down on a desk. Oops.

And then I drove the 54 miles home, arriving 3.5 hours after I'd left that morning.

I walked in the door and found my kitten covered from head to toe in a foreign and now dried substance. I initially thought it was vomit (praise the heavens it wasn't) and then discovered the place where the shower had dripped and he'd created a kitty litter mud pit. I cleaned him, the wall, the floor, the kitchen table and the kitchen pantry door off (apparently, while covered in kitty litter mud, it's imperative to touch every surface in the house) and the sheets are in the dryer now.

And then I went shopping. Because, damnit, I deserved it.

Thursday can thuck it.

(p.s. I would be remiss if I didn't mention that today marks 5 years since the day Slappy and I officially began dating. I feels like just yesterday, and also, like I've known him a lifetime. It's been a remarkable and wonderful 5 years.)

(p.p.s. Today is also our cat's 4th birthday. I'm not crazy enough to bake her a cake or actually celebrate, but I'd just like to mention that I'm thrilled that she didn't vomit on the kitten. Though he'd certainly have deserved it.)

Rest in Frivolity

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

I have tried to avoid writing this post for some time because I envision that it won't go over well. But, I've bitten my tongue as much as possible. Feel free to stop reading at any point, I just need to rant a little.

Michael Jackson died last week, as everyone in the world knows by now. And yesterday he was buried. With greater fanfare than I can recall of any other deceased human being, including celebrities and presidents. Here's the thing: he was just that- a human being. He was a singer, he wasn't an inventor, he wasn't a god or a religious prophet, he was a SINGER. And I know that he contributed greatly to African-American singing, but also? the man was, for the vast majority of the time, a shitty role model.

I mourn him as I do any one else in the world. He was a man- a father, a son and a brother, and he is dead. He is dead, likely of his own sad addiction. He leaves behind huge debt largely due to his tangles with the law, particularly in regards to child molestation claims. He also spent frivolously and lived lavashly. And now he is gone.

And I think that his family did us all a disservice yesterday. Michael's life could've easily been celebrated without the Staples Center being packed with fans. He could've been memorialized without an online scramble for tickets. Without scalping of said tickets. Without hordes of people descending on Los Angeles.

He could've been celebrated without his daughter having to bear her pain for the entire television world. And he sure as hell could've been celebrated without the city of Los Angeles having to spend 1.4 MILLION dollars for SECURITY ALONE.

Those of you who are up in arms about taxes right now should be appalled, hell, I think we all should be. Generally, I do not argue about taxes, generally I do not bitch about giving my money for the greater good. However, I can't chalk Michael Jackson's funeral up to the greater good. It was one family's parade, show of mourning. It was a public display of frivolity and I resent that my tax dollars were involved. In a financial crisis like the one we are deeply stuck in, it makes no sense to waste whatever funds we have for one singer's funeral.

I understand that he will be greatly missed by many, and I understand that he had an impact for some of you. I even realize that he had a family. But if you really want to let him rest in peace as so many have trumpeted, let him rest, stop spending money to memorialize him. If he has such a great legacy, let it speak for itself.


Tuesday, July 7, 2009

As BlogHer draws near, the topic of blogging and bloggers is perpetually on my mind.

I have a small blog (and I love it, just for the record) but many of the blogs I read are not small. They are ginormous. Like the size of things my mom has heard of (she who does not read blogs (that's her Native American name)). These bloggers are like the popular seniors in school with the fancy cars and boys/girls fawning over them for attention. And I am but a mere freshman.

I had the luxury of meeting some really wonderful Los Angeles bloggers a few weeks back, and what surprised me the most was that some of them actually knew my blog (or at least graciously pretended to, and that has to count for something, right?). One direct messaged me on twitter afterwards to let me know that he just realized that he also had read here before and didn't make the connection at the time.

And all this went to show me that I am totally not an upperclassman in the high school of blogging. Because every time someone indicated that they had some idea of who I was, I secretly freaked out. Even when someone commented that she expected me to be "edgier" in real life (which I found hilarious, by the way), I more than taken aback that she even knew who I was than that she had any expectation of me.

Every time a "big" blogger (that is, size of readership, not physical stature, of course) comments or twitters to me, I nearly pee my pants, (and then immediately email Daisy, if she didn't email me to tell me in the first place) because I'm a huge dork. I'm that freshman who plays the french horn in the marching band of Blogging High School. Or maybe more like the 8th grader who takes only math classes at the high school and has no social skills. No matter how you slice it, I'm one heaping pile of dorkiness. And social awkwardness.

More and more the idea of going to a conference with these women (and men), scares the bejesus out of me. Not because I think poorly of myself or worry about not making friends, but because of how I react in such situations. If I'm star struck by someone else's words in the comment section of my blog, what the hell am I going to do when I'm (theoretically) face to face with them in Chicago?

If I had to guess, I'd say most likely I'll run and hide. Or burst into tears. Or hurl.

I can promise you, with almost 100% certainty, that I will not be cool. I probably won't even be intelligible the vast majority of the time.

But then again, if you're a regular reader, you probably wouldn't expect anything more.

(Anyone here going to BlogHer? Would you like to be my friend? PLEASE?)

Green eyed bitch

Monday, July 6, 2009

I've spoken briefly in the past about my sisters. I have one biological older (perfect) sister, 3 step-sisters who range in age between 24 and 28 and one half-sister who is a(n angstful) teenager now in college. We're all exceedingly different and pretty damned independent.

My older (perfect) sister is brilliant. She, almost literally, has brains coming out her ears. She went to the same school (and program) I am starting in August, got perfect grades, scholarships every year and is now an adjunct faculty member. It's important to keep in mind that this is the best program in the country. She got one of two internships they offer in the whole school and the job of her choice. She's, as the parentheses indicate, perfect. And always has been.

My younger (angstful) sister is an athlete. She's smart, but she is in college on a full scholarship for swimming. After one year she has half the school records and placed in the top 10 in the western conference (division 1). She's less than half a second off olympic trial cut times. She works hard, but she's just so naturally athletically inclined it's gross. In a good way.

I, on the other hand, am intelligent, not brilliant. I'm a fair athlete in some sports, but in general suffer from a severe lack of coordination. I got some academic scholarships, but in the end, did not graduate from college with any honors, awards or recognition. I'm not trying to demean myself, but I'm not in a league academically with my older (perfect) sister, nor athletically with my younger (angstful) sister.

What I have had is baking. When I started college, I began to have a love of food (which is ironic since it's also when I stopped eating for a year, but whatever). I began to cook and especially bake, every chance I got. I won a ridiculous number of pie and cake baking contests and I was officially given the job of providing dessert for every family gathering. It was my thing. It is my thing and I love it.

My younger (angstful) sister has recently decided that what she wants to do is become a baker. She wants to get a degree in business and then go to culinary school. She wants to run a bakery. She wants to do the one thing I'd do if I had all the money in the world. She wants to steal my cake, and eat it too.

Rationally I know her decision has little to do with me and considering that she's 19 and changes her mind about everything every 15 seconds there's a good chance it won't happen, but I am a little HUGE bit jealous that she's going to do this. That she's going to be bringing the desserts for family gatherings. That people will wonder what she'll be bringing next time and make requests for her baked goods.

I want to be bigger than this. Bigger than these feelings and just be happy for her. But this wave of jealousy has crashed over my head and I'm drowning in it. I want my talent back and I want it all to myself.

In case you were keeping score, that's jealousy AND selfishness.

My cup runneth under

Sunday, July 5, 2009

I know I kind of skipped over the 4th of July post that I usually write. And I did consider writing a few things here and there, however, it seems that the vast majority of you are of a wildly different political persuasion and most likely even though my intentions are good, the post wouldn't lead to good things. So, for the first time in my life, I'm leaving well enough alone.

And talking about my boobs instead. You're welcome.

So, I went shopping with my 19 year old sister today and the first stop we made was to Victoria's Secret. In truth, I had no intention of buying much, but the 5 pairs of underwear for $25 got me like they always do and then because my sister was, I decided to try on a bra.

I have always had a VERY small bust. When I was heavier, I could sometimes manage a B cup, but it was always too big. These days, even an A cup is sometimes too big. But I grabbed my 34A and went to try it on. The cup fit great, but the clasp around me was too small.

So I grabbed the woman working in the dressing room and asked her for a 36A, which she informed me that they didn't carry in that style. She then asked if I'd like to be sized. Now, the last time I was sized, I was told I was a 36C, which was, at best, laughable. But, my sister encouraged me and I relented and let the woman size my boobs.

She measured my band width to be a 34 and then, to my dismay and my sister's GREAT amusement, she measured me as a C cup. Again. I'm entirely serious when I say that sometimes my A cups are too large. I am the founder and president of the itty bitty titty committee and I wear the title proudly. I frequently wear tank tops with nothing underneath because it's not noticeable. Because I have no boobs.

But, she explained before I had a chance to mock her measuring skills, I have and I quote, "weird boobs." She was trying to be polite, but basically what she was saying was that I have saggy armpit boobs and I need to pull them forward some. Because apparently having a completely flat sternum is not normal and that's near where most people's boobs reside. Weird, right?

And so I tried on bra after bra after bra. And truthfully, several of the C cups she brought almost fit, sort of. After at least 20 minutes and 10 bras, the saleswoman relented and gave me a B cup, which, with much armpit boob positioning, almost fits-ish. And so I bought it.

Because, dude, I had a woman feel me up for 15 minutes and tell me my boobs were bigger than they really are. And surely that self-esteem boost is worth 20 bucks.

Summer Suckage

Thursday, July 2, 2009

I haven't spent much time trying to hide the fact that my head has been a mess this week. I missed Slappy's intern barbecue on Sunday, I was nearly incapable of being upright Tuesday, and today I had to leave work early.

Today's headache was compounded with a sore throat and the most serious case of tired I'd ever had, but it was also such a fierce and pervasive headache that I wasn't even sure what to do with it.

I did the normal- threw some drugs at it. I tried sitting in an air conditioned room free from kids for a few minutes. And finally at lunch, I cried uncle and drove home.

I then laid down and took a 2 hour nap. And woke up, STILL with a headache because as much as I want it too, sleep is no longer a headache fix as it used to be. If you know me well you know that it ate me up inside to leave work early because I love love love my job, but I also know I'd have been no good to my campers this afternoon.

And so I imagine the start of my weekend will involve even more lying on the couch, painkillers, caffeine and chocolate. And I hope beyond hope that this weekend will be fun and rejuvenating. And for the love of all that is good and sacred, I hope it'll be pain freaking free.

But I'm also not holding my breath. Because I'm an eternal optimist like that.

Follow up

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

I want to thank you all for the comments and emails in support of what I shared last night. I wasn't even sure I was going to say it until the words came out of my fingertips.

Please know, for those who feel that I am rushing the decision, that no action is being taken immediately. I will continue to go to Temple on Fridays and once we settle at one here in California, I will sign up for adult education classes and learn more about the religion I believe I want to commit myself to. I will not go into this haphazardly, I will not go without careful thought. But I will follow my heart, my head and what I feel God's plans are for me.

I realize that some of you are surprised, some disappointed. I am very sorry for that. The thing is, while I love all of your support, in a competition between my faith and your support, my faith must always come first. Support is wonderful, but a life without faith and without spiritual well-being, is not worth living. In fact, it's not really living at all.

And so if this is where we part, then I think that's tragic. If you're only reading here because of my Christian upbringing, then you were here for the wrong reason to begin with and perhaps it's time for us to go our separate ways. Know that I hold no resentment, I'm just disappointed that it has to end this way.

Thank you again for all the uplifting and celebratory messages from those who felt they could offer support.

And now the journey begins...