I have read no less than 283 blog posts about Christmas cards in the past several weeks.  You’re all so stressed about getting them out.  Well, those of you completely overwhelmed with the task at hand or those feeling guilty for not having completed yours yet, check this out –> I just opened two cards I received.  Actual pictures of my friends with their kids on it.  I slipped open the envelope, looked at the pictures and threw them in the trash.  Yeah, I did.

Every time I do it, I think, “Man what a waste of money” as though their ridiculous desire to fill my home with cheesy ass cards should make me feel bad?  Moms across the country spend hours hand-addressing all those envelopes, making sure the ribbons are in their hair and their hands are placed in their laps like so. Hoping their kids haven’t given each other a recent black eye that may show up on film.  And an ungrateful ass such as yours truly, spends 4 minutes looking at it and tosses it away.

I don’t hang on to shit.  I don’t do clutter.  And pictures are clutter.  So I am not going to clutter my life because someone else thought they should spend money on a useless picture, to remind me of what their kids look like when I haven’t seen OR TALKED TO THEM in a year.  Their choice to spend the money and time.  My choice to throw it out.

~~~~~~~

Ladies, I implore you.  STOP THE MADNESS!  Stop driving all over town to please your in-laws.  Stop spending hours of precious time addressing envelopes for a gratuitous foolish “American tradition”, while you could be using that time CALLING the people you’re sending cards to.  Or hand-writing a NOTE with something sweet inscribed.  Or I dunno, helping your kids get into bed and in their jammies.  Stop with the cards.  Stop with the incessant holiday plans and the guilt and the “I should…..”  I can tell from reading your thoughts here on the web that you hate EVERY.MINUTE.OF.THIS.

So stop.

It’s just that simple.

And one more thing.  I don’t want ONE roll of the eyes or for any of you to think for one minute, “Easy for her to say, she’s single.  She doesn’t have kids.  She doesn’t have in-laws.”  You’re right on both accounts.  But what I DO have is a guilt-free life.  I do not, will not, won’t ever subscribe to the useless suppositions that others do.  Once I give birth, this does not make me a victim to my mother-in-law’s demands.  You do not get married or bear children and become owned by other people.  What happened to, “This house is my family”?

Jesus ladies I am ranting about YOUR LIVES.  The lives YOU’RE bitching about.  I want each and every one of you to live authentically.  To spend the holidays how YOU want to.  Not the way your mother expects you to.  Not the way your husband’s sister wants and your great grandparents want.  I want each of you to march into the god damn bathroom, look yourself in the mirror and repeat after me:

“As a grown ass woman of my own volition, I married that grown ass man in the other room.  We took vows to each other, to remain happy and to work hard and for this to be about us.  And then we pro-created and in so doing we made a new vow.  To keep those little shits happy and healthy and whole.  I pay the mortgage/rent.  I put food on the table.  I pay the utility bill and put the clothes in the wash, shovel the drive and rake the leaves.  I am a grown ass woman and I will discuss with my partner how best to spend the holidays.  I will not be a prisoner of others expectations.  This partnership, this parenting and this mortgage equals adulthood.  I will make my own choices and not feel bad about it.  And I will enjoy every fucking ounce of freedom that provides.”

Go forth!

Since mid-August I have spent every Monday and Wednesday evening in Anatomy & Physiology II and every Tuesday & Thursday in Microbiology.  This is completely useless to all of you but I am merely setting the stage for my Finals Preparation: FAIL story.

Last week I was feeling like real poo about my finals and was totally overwhelmed with it all.  (Shocking to feel overwhelmed in December, I know.)  But as this weekend approached, I thought, “Meh, we’ll see how it goes.”  I had a fabulously productive weekend (read: sleeping at MPs all weekend and made Spanakopita) AND did plenty of studying.

I feel fairly confident about my Micro final and my A&P II final is open book.  Sounds do-able, right?  Right.

So I spent my entire day today at an AMAZING conference for work which necessitated my getting up at 5am.  Um, yeah.  That’s like 4 hours earlier than I usually get up.  This is a sin against G-O-D.  So I got up, walked in the rain, took the train and a bus and a hot air balloon and a donkey to this conference.  Much to my delight the free coffee and snacks were YUM!  Then I got to listen to all these public health gurus talk about saving the world and I just wanted to light a candle and pass it around and hug my neighbor.  Then the greatest thing of all time happened.  I actually read the 400 page program they gave us and read that MAYA ANGELOU was speaking!!  Holy shitballs exciting, right?  (She’s the most amazing writer on the planet and I just used the word ’shitballs’.  I disgust myself).  So Ms. Angelou is so fabulous there are not words to describe the fabulousness of that woman.  This is the second time I have heard her speak AND I saw her at a restaurant in DC last year and almost poo’d in my pants right there.  Ok, I love this woman, it’s clear!

So I conferenced all day.  Got all up in my public health bidness.  Was feeling all invigorated and passionate and yada, yada, yada.  THEN I had a 2 hour mtg AFTER the already-insanely-long day, came home, fixed Indian food for dinner and quickly fell in to a catatonic state.  I must study for my finals.  I must.  Simply.  Must.

So I devised a plan:  Tomorrow is Wednesday.  I have my Micro final (*please reference aforementioned schedule).  As I was brushing my teeth I made a plan.  I’m too much of a zombie to study now, I thought.  I will head to the conference tomorrow for part of the day and cram before the test.  Micro is no big deal.  I should be ok. Brusha brush brusha my teeth.  Tomorrow is Wednesday.  WAIT.A.MINUTE!  Wait a GAWD DAMN MINUTE!  Tomorrow is Wednesday.  I have ANATOMY TOMORROW!! NOT MICRO!!

IDIOT.  SUCH an idiot.  This Finals Preparation: FAIL story is only a minor fail.  It would have been an all-out assault on my intelligence if I had actually gone to my OPEN BOOK ANATOMY FINAL, with my Microbiology notes in hand.  Talk about utter stupidity.  I guess I should feel relieved that I actually remembered this while brusha brusha brushing my teeth.  *phew*

Crisis averted

~~~~~

Phenomenal woman
That’s me

I like a completely inappropriate, over-the-top, non-PC joke as much as the next Sarah Silverman fan.  I’ve got pretty tough skin and even when I hear offensive shit, I’m like “Ooooh man, that was wrong!” quickly followed by 14 minutes of loud cackles.

But the Mexican Playboy issued this month’s magazine with a cover of a woman depicting of La Virgen.  Are you kidding me?  That’s all kindsa fucked up, mang, to my Mexican people and my Catholic people.  Daaaang, that’s just wrong.  So wrong, I am posting the article and the picture here.

One of my favorite bloggers of all time is the ever-popular Danny Evans over at Dad Gone Mad.  Fourteen billion people have him on their blogroll so obvi you know who he is.  I mean, you know who he is, RIGHT?  He’s brilliance.  Aaaaaand friggin hilarious, wicked smaht and an up-and-coming writer.  Not only does he write a sweet ass blog, his first book is coming out next year.  So excting!  Not only is he a fabulous dad and a deeply humble man and has a hot wife, he also has a book coming out next year.  Aaaaaand he’s Jewish.  And you KNOW my love of all things Jewy.  So clearly I love this man somethin’ fierce.  He doesn’t take himself too seriously, is staunchly dedicated to his family aaaaand he has a book coming out next year.  Wait, did I mention that already?

His book:

Please note, I am not his agent and am not getting paid to tell you how awesome he. (Sidenote: talking about bloggers in this fashion is almost as ridiculous as discussing - with deep conviction - whether Heidi and Spencer are really legally married, if Britney is ever going to get her act together or if Madonna really is as bat-shit crazy as everyone says she is.)  I speak of this man like I know him.  As though I know Brad & Angelina.  But I don’t.  However, we all know bloggers are way more real than those faces on Us Weekly.  Obvi.  (Danny if you’re reading this *long shot* don’t EVER pose for Us Weekly.  Just don’t).

However, I would like it noted that the man speaks and the people listen.  Like a sermon on the mount, Danny Evans speaketh and the people obeyed.  And then they commented.

Last Thursday he posted an edict titled Operation! asking bloggers, in the name of the gift-giving season in this shitty ass economy to do what you can, for free, for your fellow blogger and to comment with reckless abandon.  The messiah said, “I hereby declare that Operation: Comment Your Balls/Boobs Off! (Depending on your gender) shall commence immediately and continue until Jan. 1, 2009. ”

And comment they did.

Hell, this lil ‘ol site got 6 new commenters, how nice is that?  I don’t do this thing for the comment love but it’s SO NICE when total strangers pop in to give a shout out.  Hell, I was included in Danny’s blogroll many moons ago and maybe that’s how you ended up here in the first place.

What I am really trying to say is not that Danny Evans is awesome.  It’s that *I* am awesome because of all the attention *I* am getting.  Look at me.  Look at me.

That’s disgusting and I’m totally kidding.  Danny is awesome.  If you don’t already read his blog, add it to your list people.  And hell, if you’re so inclined you can pre-order his book on Amazon.  You won’t regret it!

I sat in the hospital cafeteria avoiding the work I get paid for.  These tests have me down and it’s not enough that I study on the weekends and at night and on the bus and while masturbating (ok, that one was a joke) … but sometimes I study at work.  Yeah, sue me.  Yeah, so I don’t actually have the time at work to study but when push comes to shove I need to pass my classes.  Not to mention, I won’t be fired for powering through an extended lunch hour with my anatomy textbook c’mon.

I placed my magical iPhone headphones in my ears and selected some lovely mood music.  I can’t do songs with words cause I sing along to EVERYTHING.  And the last thing I need is a Madonna song peppered with mitochondria and DNA.  The Roots singing about cranial nerve III, no thanks.  I select some rain and thunder melodies and cracked open my book.  Chapter 28, the reproductive system.  Oy.  I hadn’t really thought that maybe I shouldn’t study the penis in the middle of a cafeteria.  Or wait.  Maybe I should!  Mwua ha ha ha ….

Testicles.  Scrotum.  Vas Deferens.  Blah blah blah.  Oh look an ovary!  Hi ovary.  I hate you bitches.  I really think you should die.  Every last one of you.  Wait shit, I shouldn’t say that.  One day I may need them.  Doubtful, but maybe.  Hi head of a sperm covered in a magical enzyme layer so you can penetrate the egg.  Hi little fella.

A lady sat down next to me with her lunch and opened her lunchtime reading.  A bible.  Awesome.  And aaawwkkwaaarrd!  I don’t think she noticed that I was busy intellectually dissecting the sperm but it automatically made me uncomfortable.  I mean sure, God “invented” all this stuff so maybe I shouldn’t be uncomfortable.  But *ahem* I was.  (Sidenote: This totally reminded me of the time my bookclub was reading The Happy Hooker.  Note to all:  Don’t read a book called The Happy Hooker on public transportation.)

So I go about my business and up walks a co-worker.

He is a really, really nice neurology resident who is so remarkably unpretentious that he seems neither like a doctor, nor a neurologist.  It had been a while since we had seen each other and it soon became apparent that he’s got the hots for me.  Um, not cause I’m all that …. shut your face.  Cause he’s short.  And it’s a rule that if you’re a short girl who doesn’t look like a mongrel then short men will like you.  So whatevs, he’s being friendly and we’re chatting about our patients and what have you.  As he asks what I’m studying, he looks down and sees this.  Staring him in the face:

Hi doctor who may or may not think I’m cute.  I know you’re a doctor but you’re also a devout Muslim and this is aaawwkkwaaarrd.  Clearly the man has seen a penis, HE IS A DOCTOR!  Not to mention, um … HE’S A MAN!  But it was weird, ok.  So he got all shifty in his stance, walked to buy food and came back with 4 oranges and 5 bottles of apple juice.  Clearly the lunch of champions.  He got paged and asked me to “watch over” his oranges and juice (g’head and make all the penis inferences you would like there).

So I get back to my studies, headphones in place.

Oh testicles, you’re such a funny little creature.  But wait … hello menstruation.  Aren’t you fun.  No you’re not …. DIE BITCH!

I look to my left, two seats down from me at the same table and what do I see?  A priest!  A GD PRIEST!

(Bless me father for I have sinned.  I am sorry I just typed ‘gd priest’ but I can’t think of any other way to truly convey how I feel.  You get it, right?  Ok thanks.  Yeah, 5 hail marys I promise.  Kiss Kiss G-O-D).

Now, this is not a religious hospital and never before had I seen a priest there before.  Why today?  At my table?  As I’m staring at a drawing of the vag?  *ahem* A vagina that he has most certainly never seen!  Sure there are people of faith here …. I mean, c’mon, it’s the chocolate city.  Bible reading on the lunch hour isn’t that strange of a thing.  But a priest?  … A white priest at a hospital where I am generally the ONLY non-African in attendance?  What in the Lord’s name is going on?

(Bless me father for I have sinned.  I am sorry I just said ‘In the Lord’s name’. 5 more hail marys.  Promise!)

~~~~~~~~

The test last night went great.  Thanks to the help of a muslim, a priest and a great set of testicles.

I had a wonderful post all worked out in my head tonight on the bus.  And then I got home and life hit me.  Square in the muther f*ckin’ face!

Things I am failing at:

Blogging

Creativity

Finding healthy stress-reducing activities

Ensuring that my trip home for the holidays doesn’t actually kill me

School

Adding another hospital to my long list of assignments at work

Emailing Moonspun to say, “I’m so glad you’re ok.”

Emailing Sus to say, “I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU TOO!!! Welcome Rocket!”

Emailing Hilary to say, “You kick ass!  Congrats on finishing school!”

Staying above water

~~~

I’m closing comments cause there’s nothing to say.  No words can help this next week speed by.  No words can ensure that I pass my classes.  No words can give more hours to my day.

I know, I know .. this too shall pass.  God willing

And so today ends a 30-day month where some of us made a promise to write everyday.  I would like the record to show that this is maybe only the second promise IN.MY.LIFE I have seen through to completion.  The first was that whole Meatless Month thing and after impressing myself with that, I vowed to complete NaBloPoMo for myself.  To say I was gonna do something and actually follow through with it.  Who the hell knew I could promise to the internets that I would live without meat AND promise to stranger friends that I would write every day and I did.  I actually did!  Surprisingly it was nowhere near as painful as I expected.  In October I felt I had to drag things out of me.  Days and days would pass without word from me.  Yet in November, my life grew horrifically boring and I still managed to write about it.  Lucky you.

These days I find myself having nothing of interest going on in my life.  No dates, no sex, no silly city-girl escapades.  Hell, not even any insect invaders in the ‘ol SFAH to report.  Such bore!  Sure there were weddings and Jews and friend drama but seriously folks, my life has hit an all-time low.  Booooring!

MP and I do this thing before bed where one of us whines to the other, “Tell me a story … Please.  Tell me a story …”  And for the last 13,286 times he has asked me this I reply, “I got nothin’ kid.  Nothin.”  At the end of my days he asks how my day was.  To which I reply, time and time again, “Good.  Busy, but good.  Nothin’ new.”  To which he begs me to tell him a sttoorryyyyy.  And in every one of these moments I reflect upon how fucking boring my life is.  I don’t know if it’s a mid-seasonal transition thing.  Where the red leaves have fallen and we’re waiting for winter to show up so we’re just doing this wait-and-see game with the seasons.  So we’re in the in-betweens.  Somewhere in a seasonal “taint” if you will …. waiting for some event to happen.  To talk about.  To share.

When that something happens, I promise you will be the first to know.