Here I sit in my Studio for a Keebler Elf, in my bra and shorts waiting for my AC to kick in.  I just got home from the library after a ridiculously long day.

I woke up at 5:30, was at the school shuttle at 6:25, snacks and lunch all packed like I was heading on a Girl Scout field trip.  Up to the 5th floor to greet my patient for the day.  She was so nice and such a great teacher and oh my what a talker!  Although younger than I she has had it 1,000,000,000 times rougher than I.  I may be straddled with debt and needing to get laid, but at least I am not shitting in a bag strapped to my waist.  *sigh*

After the hospital I trekked to the library to start studying.  I spent an hour or so catching up with friends, eating a snack and finally settled in to start reading at 3:30 and kept at it until 11:30.

Now do you see why it’s so hard for me to post?  Because who the HELL wants to read about me studying?  I wake, I walk to the shuttle, I sit in class for hours and hours and sometimes I do some stuff and then I spend hours and hours reading and doing homework.

My glamorous life as you all fondly remember it, is gone.  I mean, in a weird way I think I even miss the insanity of the cockroaches this summer.  My swank little place has zero vermin (HALLELUJAH!) Here in Baltimore there are no crackheads to cheer me up at the bus stop, no hot doctors to distract me at work, hell, I haven’t even felt the smallest inkling I was going to get robbed at gunpoint.  Man, this city is BOOORRIIING!

Other things worth mentioning:

I have not seen one McDonald’s in the month* I have been here

I have only seen one Starfucks

I have not been in one drugstore**

The school shuttle might possibly be the most peaceful thing I have ever experienced.  Ok, those sorority girls are UPTIGHT in the morning and cram for tests the entire way to school.  But on the way home, especially on a night like tonight when I feel like I’ve been HIT by a school bus, the silence is unreal.  Just tonight as we were barreling down the horribly paved road it dawned on me that HOLY SHIT there was no one screaming.  No one blaring music from their crappy built-in MP3 player on their broke ass T-mobile phone.  No one hollerin’ at their boo on the phone.  No junior high kids screaming at each other, reminding me why I need to adopt.  HOLY SHIT THE BUS RIDE IS SILENT!!!  What this has done for my blood pressure is amazing.

I think I have gained the “Freshman 15″ in 3 weeks.  Mind you, I am not eating crap.  Hell, I think I am eating healthier than I have in years.  But what I am doing is sitting on my ass hour after hour after hour.  And after school and studying I can barely manage to exercise.  I’m simply not moving. I walk 4 blocks to the shuttle in the morning and 4 blocks from the shuttle at night.  Considering I used to walk miles a day in my old life (oh old life, how I miss you so!), I have become a sedentary blob of goo.  Yesterday I had to hold a pretend handgun to my head just so I would go running.  It was the best decision I have ever made and it was MUCH NEEDED but god DAMN my ass is large and in charge.  Fear not, I have joined the gym at the school/hospital, so I hope it pays off.

*Yes, I mentioned up there that I’ve only been here a month.  And next week are midterms.  Try to do that math.  G’head try.  There’s no way to mathematically compute the FUCKING SHEER MADNESS that comes with an 8 week semester.

**And yeah, I think I miss capitalism.  So remember when I lived in DC (oh old life, how I miss you so!) and I bitched about there being Starfucks on every corner and there was no local coffee and WHAT THE FUCK people, there are no DECENT LOCALLY OWNED PLACES?  Remember that?  Ok, maybe I didn’t blog it, but I thought it.  That city has a CVS drugstore on every friggin’ corner.  And thanks to the rates of obestiy, the McDonalds aren’t that hard to come by either.  But here in Murdermore, there’s none of that.  There is one Starfucks down in the trashy touristy part of the city, I don’t have a clue where to find a McDonald’s and heaven only knows what I am going to do when I need to buy a bandaid or need a last minute tampon.  I guess I’ll shove gauze from the hospital into my vag because THERE ARE NO FRIGGIN DRUGSTORES IN THIS CITY!!  The Starfucks and McDonalds I can live without (obvi) but seriously, what’s a girl to do without a CVS?  Did Capitalism pass Baltimore by?  Like, the American Consumer Chain Store Addiction wants nothing to do with this city.  And a part of me is like WTF people?  And then the more sane part of me goes, HALLELUJAH! LOCALLY OWNED COFFEE SHOPS THERE IS A GOD THAN YOU BABY JESUS FOR LISTENING TO MY PRAYERS YOU ARE MY ONE TRUE SAVIOR!

This was a stupid post about absolutely nothing.

I wish there were a way to quantify how much I miss this place.  Oh how I wish I could bottle all of my sadness and my angst and my stress and my love and adoration for each of you and send it off to your mail boxes.  Cause seriously, the hole in my heart is BIGGER than the blogsphere.  G’head and try to compute that.  There’s like, no way of even computing how big the blogosphere is and then my sadness in comparison to that shoved into a bottle.  You can’t argue this, it’s science.

Can someone organized a rogue BlogThis (in leiu of BlogHer) and hold it in my apartment?  Like, can all of you leave your lives for a minute and pack your bags and just come to Eager St. Baltimore Maryland (that is the real name of the street I live on)?  (Carolyn, don’t tell Scott he’ll totally flip out that I just named the REAL street I live on.  Now I am sure the robbers are en route ….)

So just come over you guys.  Cause I can’t keep up with all your words on your blogs and apparently I don’t remember how to write a goddamn post without sounding like a complete nutjob so the only way to fix this is over a bottle (or eleventy) of wine.  So c’mon.

God.  What a stupid post about nothing.

MISS YOU!!

When I started college I was thrilled about new and exciting adventures.  I couldn’t wait for slumber parties in dorm rooms and keggers and all nighters and all that other stupid shit that 17-year-olds look forward to as they approach adulthood.  Once I was legal I bought a pack of Swisher Sweets cause I could, prepared to vote in my first election the following month and proceeded to go clubbin’ every.single.weekend my freshman year of college.  Dressed in skirts shorter than my 3rd grade Catholic school uniform, my girls and I drove 30 minutes to the nearest booty shakin’ 18-and-over club and quickly proceeded to climb on the stage, get in a cage and dance the night away.  Yes, I was a frequent cage dancer.  G’head and judge.

As the school year progressed and I attended each and every party at my lame ass alma mater, I contemplated rushing a sorority.  Oh look, so fun!  They get to hang out with the frat boys.  Yay! At the age of 18, the only thing I cared about was how I could put myself in closest proximity to as many boys as possible.  So the sorority thing would become a natural digression. Certainly this would be a smart move.

I thought.  And I stewed.  And I contemplated.

And then I remembered that I’m not a joiner.  Join a sorority?  Who THE.FUCK am I kidding?  I don’t believe in meetings.  I didn’t want to pass a candle and share my secrets and wear a matching sweatshirt while I fucking scrapbook with a bunch of these girls.  WHAT.WAS.I.THINKING?  So yeah, that idea quickly came and went.  Especially once I realized I could still hang with the few girls that I liked for free.  Hmm.  Novel idea.  I never judged those that did the Delta Delta Delta thing (I always say that while holding my hands in a triangular shape held precisely over my vagina.  It never stops being funny), but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Now that I have been in nursing school over a week now, I am reminded approximately every .008 seconds why I’m not a joiner, why I never made that decision to go Tri Sig. I just can’t deal with the estrogen.  Sure, I’ve got it.  And sure, you guys do too and I LOVE you all.  But holy shit being in school with 120 women (with an average age of 26) is overwhelming.  It’s too much.  I just.  I just can’t take it.  They’re cliquey.  Like, ridiculously instantly cliquey.  I’ve NEVER been cliquey.  Hell, two of the girls wore matching shoes today.  Matching BOAT SHOES.  And on Monday, one of them had her hair in a side pony tail with a ribbon tide around it.  Ok, I’m being catty.  Sue me.  But jesus christ people, I’m a grown ass woman.  I don’t put RIBBONS IN MY HAIR!  I don’t ask someone to go to the bathroom with me on breaks and make sure my friends are meeting me outside for lunch and ensure someone is with me EVERY.MINUTE.OF.THE.DAY.  Gag me WITH.A.SPOON!

This is what I have learned in nursing school thus far:

No one should start a SECOND DEGREE NURSING PROGRAM 1 week after graduating from undergrad.  The “second degree” part of that is usually geared toward people who are CHANGING CAREERS, not those previously busy changing the tap on a keg.

Those who graduated undergrad last week, and will be in charge of a real human being’s life in 13.5 months were born in 1988.  Yes.  I just said nineteen eighty nine.  Where were you in nineteen eighty nine?  When I was graduating college these children I now begrudgingly refer to as “colleagues” were in 3rd grade.  Yes.  When I started my FIRST CAREER these children hadn’t even bought their first Jockey Bra.  Sweet Jesus.

Students that say “awesome” and “cool” repeatedly in an academic setting, whom will soon be in charge of another human’s life, should kindly be shown the door.  We are wearing white coats.  We are assessing a (fake) patient’s chief complaint.  Please refrain from saying awesome.  You and your tragically dyed hair.  You, who are not Lady GaGa.  Stop it with the “cool”.

And Katie.  You might want to consider calling yourself Kate.  Trust me on this one.  And please take the ribbon out of your hair.  Unless you are selling Girl Scout Cookies, I think you’re too old for that.  Thanks.  Oh, one more thing.  Ask your mom if she can pack you a PB & honey for tomorrow for me.  That would totally rock.  Thanks babe!

The only men who gravitate toward me are the gays.  Always the gays.  I can’t get away from it.  I’m like a homing pigeon for The Gays.  Ha!  A homo pigeon!  Frank, my new gay - you’re the most adorable 25-year-old on the planet.  Don’t change.  Please do eat a granola bar but whatever you do, don’t change!

I fear the moment all 120 of us start menstruating together.  For the love of God I am having nightmares about this already.

If we talk about Florence Nightingale one more time I am going to cut a bitch.  Like 120 of ‘em.  Seriously.

I am absolutely dressing up as a slutty nurse this year for Halloween.  I mean, obvi.

~~~~~

So although these past couple of weeks have been the most stressful emotionally trying times in my life, I’m happy I’m here, I don’t doubt my ability and I know it will all work out fine.

To the ladies of Delta Gamma Sucka Teet, please stop popping your collars.  And wearing your BFF necklaces in the hallways.  It’s killing me.  Or maybe our patients.

Probably both.

Although I am not currently in Baltimore, all of my belongings are.  Last weekend I packed my shit and finally left the SFAH.  I said goodbye to the scene of the crime, waved adios to the bloodstain from the recent stabbing in my ‘hood and bid my lovely old neighbors adieu.  I have notified the Post Office, the Bank and all other manner of business correspondence that I have moved.  I ordered new checks, bought way too much stuff for my new space (which will lovingly be referred to as “Studio For a Keebler Elf” from here on out), learned out to load and run a dishwasher for the first time in my life and successfully didn’t murder my mother (whom came to town to “help”). And this whirlwind has not left me one second to breathe.  Not one fucking second to breathe and think, “Holy shit I’m FINALLY going to nursing school.”  Not one millisecond to think about leaving work and my friends behind.  Not enough time to transition my replacement and make sure she’s got all her files and that I send formal goodbye emails to all my lovely contacts at the hospitals.  Nevermind not having enough time to call COMCAST (I FUCKING HATE THEM [and I promise to post about it]), buy scrubs, a blood pressure cuff, a watch, finish my vaccinations, make sure my financial aid paperwork is in order.  And lastly and obviously more importantly, I haven’t had one god damn second to blog.  I am NOT joking you when I have thought of this thing and YOU GUYS almost every single morning I have woken up.  Every day during my commute I script out a post in my head, make notes of aaallll the things I need to say and want to say and mean to say.  And then I get to work and it’s 0-60mph in 14 seconds and I have tooooo muuuuucccchhhh to do.  In fact, it just happened now.  I was in the middle of this and then I got pulled away and I realize you didn’t miss me but holy shit I hate getting interrupted when I FINALLY.TAKE.A.MOMENT to blog.  In fact, I think of you bitches so often that I had a dream about Carolyn.  Hell, even Scott and Parker were in it.  People, are you hearing me?  I DREAMT ABOUT A WOMAN I HAVE NEVER MET AND HER HUSBAND AND FIRST BORN CHILD!!  Clearly I am losing my mind.  (And yes I will tell you all about the hysterically random dream I had about someone I only know through the screen of my laptop).  Not only has my life been consumed with moving and jobs ending and school starting and new utilities and buying a couch and figuring out how 5′1″ me is going to hang curtain rods, the other giant crimp in my life is that boyfriend of mine.  See, we’re all in love and things are wonderful and I want to grow old with him despite his farting.  But staying at his house, even though I have been known to call it “home”, has really put a damper on things.  Not only am I unable to blog (I mean, I’ve made that clear by now, right?), I also haven’t dialed in to Hulu and watched 30Rock or The Office or Southland (OMG I LOVE THIS NEW SHOW!!) and don’t EVEN get me started on my infrequent L&O and SVU watchings and jesus don’t even ask when I have time to call friends and catch up with family.  It’s like the newness of this relationship coupled with the fact that I am moving A WHOLE 50 MINUTES AWAY, means I waltz into his house and completely unplug from life.  And sure, during the first sextastic week it was great.  But then I realized that I don’t have one semblance of normalcy, of routine, when I am at his place.  And for the sake of my sanity and of this blog, I am going to have to fix this somehow.  Someway.

Because I miss you and I miss this.  And Carolyn, I miss you dearly.  But seriously?  IN MY DREAMS?????  That ain’t right.

I know you guys are so totally over this whole swine flu thing.  I mean, who isn’t, right?  Although my nerdy public health self loves a good outbreak this thing has hit a new level of ridiculousness.  I have received emails from my health care provider (thanks Kaiser Permanente!), the University I work at, my alma mater and plenty of email blasts from the CDC and similar-such health-based organizations. 

It is important to note that this news should only be delivered to my inbox from the CDC along with my other weekly updates from MMWR - the Morbidity Mortality Weekly Report - not from your average American news outlet.  The MMWR fun little email blast keeps me up to date on infant mortality rates (woohooo!), breast cancer mapping (yess!), vaccine recalls (oh no!) and all kinds of other fun nerdy public health things. 

CNN?  Please, please stick to news of Megan McCain and those trite iReporter news videos and insane YouTube! viral hits like that shockingly talented unattractive British woman.  Media, I detest you!  I know it’s your “job” to report stories and “facts” and whateverthehell else to your average citizen with a 3-second attention span.  I know most people keep Fox News or CNN on repeat in their homes all day long.  I get it.  But I also know how much you people love the Culture of Fear.  I know how much you love to report the shitty of all shitastic news just to get your average idiotic American up in a rage. 

I also know that God has sent me to you to be your public health ambassador.  To disspell all that shit you have been told.  To help clarify the inane from the important amongst all those “facts” you see and hear.  I am here to save you!  *and the angels sang down from the heavens*

You want to know how to save yourselves and your little spawn from contracting and dying a slow and painful death from this swine flu, this hamdemic?  Wash your damn hands.  That is it.  The end.  There is NOTHING more to this.  How do you prevent you and your loved ones from getting sick every fucking winter?  (Well, because I read the inner-workings of your lives, most of you SUCK at preventing illness.  Cause, well … shit happens.  Kids are dirty; school are cesspools for this shit.  There’s not much you can do.  But damn! You and your kids get sick a lot.)  Well, whatever you do every winter, whether you’re doing it well or not, keep doing that.  Rinse Lather Repeat.

I urge you NOT to go out and buy up all that Purell shit.  Sure, maybe you should use those sanitizing wipes they provide at the front of the grocery store.  Those are fun.  Free things are fun!  Wipe your cart cause your average human being carries no less than 14 million microbes scurrying about their bodies.  Protect yourself from the sniffles and whatnot because you should try and not get other people’s germs.  But here’s the thing people.  The flu is a virus, is is not a bacteria.  Which means the little microbes that compose your average flu can only be fought off with anti-VIRAL drugs, not anti-BACTERIAL drugs (AKA antibiotics), nor antibacterial soaps and wipes and kleenex and all that.  So stop the fucking ridiculousness.  Stop it right this second.  Carry on with your normal routines and wash your hands appropriately and get on with it.

This madness is like a wetdream for the American suppliers of all things “antibiotic”.  Oh man, the manufacturers at Kleenex, et al. are busy giving handjobs to those wanks at CNN.  Like, if only this benefitted Wall Street we’d have an all-American consumerist orgy by now.  BUY ALL THIS SHIT!  STOCK UP ON WATER!  BUY FACE MASKS AND PURELL AND KEEP YOU KIDS INSIDE AND ORDER DELIVERY AND GET SOME FREE MOVIES!  And CNN can go back to jerking off in the green room about the swine flu and mmwwwuuuaaaahhhhh!!  All the world is saved.

And you poor lots don’t get sick and think, “CNN SAVED OUR LIVES!  That antibacterial kleenex is magic and those wipes?  Oh I’m going to stock up on those wipes at Costco every year now!”  No.  None of that shit is saving you.  The only thing saving you are statistics. If you haven’t been to Mexico or have not interacted with someone who has travelled to the “hotzone”, then you’re in the clear.  Maybe you will get sick in the coming weeks, well, because that’s what happens.  The seasons change and people get sick.  But don’t think your One True Savior will be succumbing to the fear and buying the crap and hunkering down. 

Please understand that the word “epidemic” or “pandemic” refers to an increase in anything above baseline.  ANY number of cases/illness above what is normally reported.  Because tens of THOUSANDS of people die of the flu EVERY FUCKING YEAR, this is NOT an epidemic.  Sure, it’s a new STRAIN (which again means NOTHING to you people), but the numbers of people who fall ill or die of any microbe in the influenza “family” is not any higher now than it was in December.  Actually, if there were a word for a “less than normal” outbreak of such things, that’s what this would be.  Cause the swine flu has e/affected a fraction of the people the “normal” flu does every year.

So people.  Shut the fuck up and wash your hands.  CNN, shut the fuck up.  Dear God Joe Biden, I love you but please shut the fuck up! 

We’re all going to be fine. 

And if you want to know what brilliant public health nerds like me do to keep healthy ALL winter long?  Free from influenza A and influenza B (our regular repeat offenders every winter) AND free from the influenza H1N1?  I touch everything.  I touch the poles on the bus and I touch the thingies on the escalators and I don’t use antibacterial wipes at the market.  And hell, the number of times I drop my pen and 20 minutes later put it into my mouth everyday, at the HOSPITALS I work at would probably totally gross you out and cause you to outcast me and unsubscribe from my RSS feed.  Yeah, I drop shit on filthy hospital floors and forget and put it in my mouth (twss) because I forget about it.  And then I think, “SHIT!  This was totally laying in a communal desk an hour ago, that’s sick!”  And then I shrug my shoulders and laugh in the face of germs and say, “Bring it on bitches!  I have the immune system of Andre the Giant and the British Bulldogs and Macho Man Randy Savage all put into a blender and sipped together for a lunchtime snack. 

Wash your hands.  Put filthy shit in your mouth.  You will live until 100.

You can thank me later.

My friends and I do this ridiculous thing where we do not speak of something for fear of it being jinxed until we know for sure it’s really happening. We refer to this as the “Mexican Superstition to Not Speak of Things” as though Our Lady of Guadalupe has told us from on high to “Keep your lips shut”.

Job interviews?  “Yeah I’ve got this meeting about this thing and if something comes of it I’ll tell you.”

Dates?  “I’m going somewhere with this person whom I’ll tell you all about after that thing we’re doing”.

And so for the past week I have sat in (almost) silence biting my tongue to the best of my ability until I knew; until I knew for sure this thing was really happening.

And now that I am speaking of it, holy shit is it happening!

Last Tuesday morning after a night full of tossing and turning and frustrated snuggling, it happened.  I reached over with a sweaty palm and touched him.  And then with his shaking hand he touched me.  His hand did not say, “I want you.”  His outstretched hand said, “Come with me.  Trust in me that we can do this together.”  That trust was not about love making.  That trust was about turning the corner.  It was about making something of this thing we have been doing for so long.  This walking like a duck and quacking like a duck.  His shaking hand said, “I want to be with you and you to trust in me, trust in this.”  And so I did. 

It is almost impossible to describe how we have gone from exhibiting very careful emotions, very gaurded feelings and physical desires to “Holy Shit Batman we have ARRIVED!”  Two years of tiptoeing around what was so obvious to those around us - even to those of you who read about us (psst, that’s you guys) - denying what we felt, running from our fears, hiding our insecurities and baggage.  We dodged the questiones and fought the rumors and exhaustedly said, “We’re just friends” umpteen million times to bartenders and strangers, friends, family members and every single checker at every single grocery store we have ever walked in to, whom questioned our interactions; whom assumed the way we coexist only happens between those in love.  And all those friends and strangers were right.  We were in love, just not admitting it to ourselves.  Somehow someway we found our way here, right where we belong, at just the right time.  Sure it took some time and sure it’s unconventional and sure no one, not even the two of us, really understand the how or the why or the when.

But what I do know is this is love.  I know love is in the cards he leaves for me around the house.  Love is scrubbing his toilet bowl and cooking dinner and running errands together.  Love is running his hands through my hair after a long day and my light finger touches on the space below his lips.  Love is the secrets and the hand-holding and the laughter and even the fights (of many years past).  Love is every second of this journey and I simply cannot say enough how elated I am for what is to come. 

We have spoken of my departure and I have assured him that I am not leaving him.  I am going nowhere.  I am simply changing addresses.  And he has vowed to be right by my side - cooking me dinner and helping with homework and listening to my patient stories - just as I have for him. 

After a very long weekend, when his work never seemed to end, I looked at him, cupped his face and said, “Baby this is us.  This is the life we have chosen.  One of us will always be called to work.  One of us will always struggle with leaving patients at work.  I know this is going to be trying.  But I beg of you, of us, to promise that we will communicate and be patient because even after a long shitty day when people won’t ever stop being sick, coming home to this makes it all better.  This is our life, forever, and I couldn’t be more proud of us, proud of what we do, proud of what we are together.”

I have never had more faith in anything than I have in the two of us.

It is hard for me to tell when things changed.  Was it when you watched me leap from the car and into your father’s arms for the first time?  Was it when your mother squeezed me and said in her broken English, Oh honey I miss you. Was it when I bowed my head and prayed at church?  I followed your lead, did the sign of the cross with my perfectly-placed trifecta of fingers on my head, on my stomach, on the left, then the right and bent down to kiss that thing.  I don’t know what it was you were telling me to kiss but I did it. I did it cause you said so.  I did it because I know it means so much to you.  I did it because I love you.

Maybe you turned that corner when your dad declared me ‘So cue’ (he meant ‘cute’) or maybe when I talked to Ya Ya on the phone.  Of course she doesn’t speak English and certainly my few Greek words only get me so far, but that woman loves me like her own.  She called on the most important day of the year and immediately asked to speak to me.  She sang me a lullaby.  Because she loves me.

And on Saturday night when we were getting ready for church, you walked into my room to fasten my necklace and told me I looked beautiful. Surely you have declared how nice I have looked a hundred other times.  But the word beautiful?  It certainly meant something and I couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in your eye.  We held hands into church and this time I needed no direction.  Money in the plate, five candles for each of us, three signs on the cross and a kiss at the thingy and down we walked to our seats.  To the hushed whispers and rumors floating in the air, I knew they were talking about us.  You, the Golden Child.  You, the child who left home ‘to be a doctor’ (of which you are not).  You, the man who has never ever brought a girl home. Not for a date or a dance or a movie or for dinner.  I was the first.  And so the rumors started.  Sure it was Easter but don’t think that stopped people from craning their necks and staring.  Speaking in Greek, pointing AT ME as though I couldn’t infer what the hell they were talking about.  But I endured it all.  I nodded my head, greeted my hellos to each and every classmate and neighbor, friend, foe, mother and priest.  Γειά σου. Νίκαια για να σας συναντήσει.  “Hello, nice to meet you” I said in my nervous Greek.

But when did it happen for you?  When you crept into my bed each morning when your parents left the house?  When I washed your mother’s dishes or spoke to your father’s sister on the phone or maybe when I went to the pizza store and worked with you for an hour?  Maybe it was when I met your best friend and his baby and you cradled her in your arms and looked at me.  With a sense of longing you held her close, tried to calm her tears; while you kissed her head you looked at me.

Maybe it was at midnight on Saturday. When the lights in the church went out and the priest claimed Christo Anesti Christo Anesti Christo Anesti!  If you believe, certainly Christ had risen.  I lit my candle and turned to yours.  There you waited.  You looked into my eyes, grabbed my hand and smiled at me in a way I had never seen before. Because you love me.

Maybe it was church.  Maybe it was the loving affirmation from your father.  Maybe it was the pizza and the baklava and that game of horseshoes and the shared meals.

I don’t really care what it was.

I just know that after all these years of wonder; all these years of not knowing, even within myself …  it is clear we have turned a corner.  Started a new chapter.  We are walking into anew and I couldn’t be more excited.

MP, I love you with all of my being.  Thank you for trusting me.

~~~~~

(pssst, yes I will be posting pictures later this week)

I am heading out to spend Greek Easter with MPs family.  That’s right, you read that right.  This non-girlfriend is going to spend the most important Greek holiday with MPs family.  You know, cause that’s how non-girlfriends do.  His adorable father, whom has never met me, has been crossing off the days on the calendar since we booked our tickets …. and the man’s never met me!

I’ve got a pretty intense church schedule ahead of me followed by lots of feta and lamb and ouzo consumption.  I’m gonna have a grindah and maybe a lobster roll and maybe get some ice cream with some Jimmies on it.

And in true Bostonian fashion I’m gonna tell everyone to Go Fuck Ya’Self.  A lot.

Cause I’m classy like that and think all good first impressions should include insults about ya’matha.

So have a good weekend my dearies.

And go fuck ya’self!