I know I know

I've been a horrible blogger. I've been doing a lot of "drive-bys" lately. Which means that I have been keeping up with your blogs (while at work, "checking" email), but I have not had a free moment to comment. Horrible, right?

I know you miss me. Maybe.

I promise to be back in the full swing of things on Monday. When Hubs and I will be official Wild Statians. And I will no longer be a swampy but a mountaineer. I would have never thought I'd see the day.

I wish that I could tell you packing is going well. I'm not really sure what step we are currently on, but its not looking good. You see we are housesitting somewhere with a pool. A really nice, big pool. So, ask me again how packing is going.

Have I ever mentioned that Hubs and I are excellent procrastinators? Which doesn't help the situation at all. And the pool. Well, that really doesn't help at all, because it is hot in this fish bowl city. Really hot. I'm looking forward to some 70 degree days. They are in my very near future. Thank you, Wild State.

I can't wait to take some pictures of the Wild State and our new abode. Wait patiently. They are coming!

Where am I?

Still here. Currently sitting on the couch with a slight headache from the vodka tonics and laughter of last night while Hubs makes me pancakes and coffee. Cure!

After pancakes, Hubs and I are going to pack up 2 boxes (since we only have 2 boxes left to pack with) and then head over to the pool where we are housesitting.

This is the life.

Oh, and the job? Well, I got a call on Friday to tell me they have extended the interview process into next week due to an overwhelming response to the opening.
Woooooooo.
Great news, right?
..................................................

I promise to be back soon.
Probably on Monday griping about something or other.

Happy weekend to you all. I see a pool in your future. Do-do-do-do-do-do.

Two Weeks From Now

Hubs and I will still be sleeping. In the Wild State.
No more 430am alarms. No more 445am alarms. No more 500am alarms. No more 515am alarms.
Thank God.

It will be our third morning waking up in the Wild State.
I wonder if it will feel different.
I wonder how the Panther will have done on the 6 hour car ride.
I wonder if we will be completely unpacked.
Knowing Hubs and I, we will.
I wonder if I will have already drug Hubs along to the paint store.
Probably.
I wonder if I will have already launched on my thrift/antique mission.
Most likely.
I wonder if I will have found my bookshelves by then.
Probably not, but I doubt I will have given up.

I wonder if I will be counting down the days to starting the job.
I hope so.

There are so many things to wonder about right now, because so many things are about to change.
And I say, BRING on the change!
I've never been so excited to start something new.
I feel like this past year has been limbo.
I'm ready for some consistency.

I am ready to be a mountaineer, dare I say it.
I hope that you all will join me on this journey.
The blog will be getting a makeover in 2 weeks.
I can't wait for Chapter 2.

10 Things You Should Know

1. Hubs and I welcomed summer all official-like last night. Chicken burgers, homemade potato salad (smothered in fresh dill) and fresh corn on the cob. The corn was amazing, inducing vulgar groanings of "oh my gah" with each bite. Mmm!

2. Yesterday, I was NOT a happy camper. I'm pretty sure that Hubs tried to flirt with me throughout the entire dinner-making process and I was having nothing to do with it. And then, when he didn't cut the rest of the corn off the cob right when I asked him to, I accidentally unleashed some of my biting sarcasm.
I'm sorry Hubs!!! I love you!!! Blame my uterus! It isn't me talking and reacting all the time.
Its a chemical thing, you know?

3. I had the best time in Charleston with my girls.
I realized a few things:
a) I don't miss going out. In Charleston, it just means you get really sweaty and nauseated from too much alcohol, 97 degree heat and 100% humidity. It also means $15 tabs for 2 drinks. What!
b) I hope and pray that I never looked as drunk as the majority of the girls that I couldn't help but watch trainwreck all night long. Disasters!
c) Charleston is SO HOT. How did I ever forget that fact?
d) Other single girls judge us-old-married-women for going out sans the hubs.
They're all, "Oh my gah, you're going out? But, you're married."
And I'm all, "Oh my gah, you didn't know that they lifted the ban on married women having a social life outside of their Martha-Stewart-kitchens?"
They're all wide-eyed stare and, "Nooo, when did that happen?"
And I'm all, "Well, let's see. I think the year was 1922, and I'm pretty sure that your great-grandmother was shoved up against a grimy wall in some basement club as some stranger felt her up while your great-grandfather, her husband, finished his shift at the mechanic shop.***"
And they're all, "Ohhh. Well, wanna split a shot?"
[Plot may or may not have been stolen from Chicago. Hypothetically speaking.]

4. Hubs and I completed Part 2 of Step 1 of the 20 Steps to Packing Bliss (or whatever I called it). We dropped off two overflowing garbage bags at Goodwill. I love getting rid of crap that you never use. Its like mental weightloss.

5. I'm a little obsessed with floor lamps at the moment. I am crushing on this one currently.

I asked Hubs if I could get it for our one year anniversary (which oh-my-gah is in two and a half months! what!!). Is that weird?

6. We also completed Step 2, packing up our winter clothes and superfluous clothes-related items that we know we won't be using in the next 2 weeks, and began on Step 3, books and knick-knacks.

7. Still haven't seen SATC2. Its killing me, but I literally have no time for anything! I am working 9 hour days, training an intern to take over for me when I leave in two weeks. Oh my gah!

8. I had the best of intentions this morning. I was lying in bed last night. Its was 1130. I thought, I feel really good right now. I should get a good rest, drop Hubs off and go for a walk (maybe run if I'm feeling crazy) or at least start back doing Jillian. Yep. Did not happen. Surprised? Not in the least.

9. I am not-so-patiently awaiting the results of my interview. That might be why I've been biting off Hubs' sweet head lately.

10. I am pretty sure that I might go into a slight depression if I don't get the job. I am currently depressed about my naked fingernails. I have been staring at them a lot lately and envisioning my favorite shade of hot pink on them, but I just haven't had the energy to make that dream a reality. Sigh.

Tell me something that I must know about you!



***I was not making out with anybody!! I am just trying to make a point, a rather muddled and exaggerated and extreme point, but a point nonetheless. Hubs is stuck with me for life. No chance of extramarital jaunts in this union!

On the road again..

Heading to Charleston this afternoon for some girl time.

I can't wait!!

I'm going to see:

A lot of her.

A little bit of her.

A whole lot of my favorite place on earth.

I'm going to miss:

Her, alot.

And him, too!!

Hopefully, I will get to talk to her for a while on the ride home.

I miss my girls like crazy!!!
Hubs, I will be home before you know it. I love you.

I hope that everyone has as wonderful of a weekend as I am sure to have!!!

For Hubs

For some odd reason, Hubs thinks that I portray him as "mean" and "uncaring" and "selfish" on this here blog.
Not a post goes by that he reads and doesn't comment on how "bad you just made me look!"
"They must think I'm the meanest guy around!"
["They" being you, dear reader.]

So, I gave Hubs some options.
Option 1: Edit my posts before they reach dear reader.
Option 2: Have a rebuttal post to "set the record straight."

Apparently, I have selective memory or a distorted view of the past.
I might also have a slight problem with exaggeration.
Its like I have this need to recount things that maybe didn't happen?
Either way, Hubs is never very pleased with how he appears on the blog, so I'm here to set the record straight.


But first, a defense.
Hubs, it is true that you are very sensitive to my continued sleeping (most mornings) (except for your 4 alarms that don't give a damn who's sleeping and go off in 20 minute intervals beginning at 430am) in that you tiptoe around, tuck me back in and generally keep the light out of my sensitive eyes.
But Hubs, Mother Theresa would be labeled as an evil villain if she slept next to me every night with 4 different alarms for company and had a need to get me up before 530am so that I could drive her to work.
See, it has nothing to do with you.
Its me.
Because I'm not a morning person.
This means that if I am made to get out of bed before 7am, I am probably very annoyed/pissed off/angry at what or whoever just made me get out of bed before 7am.
NOT at you!
But at THE SITUATION.

 source

No, not him.
You know, the sleep situation.

So, Hubs, I guess what I'm trying to say is that your alarms will always piss me off, your tiptoes will always sound like stomps and the light, no matter how hard you try, will ALWAYS shine directly in my eyes.
And in those moments, I will blame you for doing all of those things directly to me even though I know that they are only the malicious creations of my subconcious.
Deep down, I know, Hubs, that you would never treat your blond wifey like passive aggressive parents who resort to extreme measures to wake their angry teenager up before 3pm.

Dear reader, Hubs is really the sweetest man I know. I mean, he makes me pancakes every Saturday and Sunday morning while I sit on the couch and veg on the internet. AND, he cleans up after those pancakes. What!? Oh yeah.

So dear reader, please know that these off-character portrayals of Hubs are really only violent acts of my very creative psychosis that sees only what it wants to see and remembers what it wants and thinks it remembers, because they could never be accurate descriptions of my sweet, sweet Hubs.

[Now that's love: the willingness to look like a complete psychopath on the internet.]

Buuuzzzzz

is what I feel like right now.
Wheww... What a crazy day!
It probably didn't help that I drank an entire cup of very strong coffee and then took a very large sudaphed since both seem to make my heart beat at the speed of a humming bird's wings.

I didn't sleep well thanks to leaky sinuses, clogged nostrils and nerves.
I didn't want to get up when Hubs' 430am alarm went off.
I still didn't want to get up when he came back in from showering and shined the closet light in my eyes.
I decided to not get up when he walked loudly out from the bedroom.
But in the end, I got up.

Sneezefest 2010 began about 622am and continued until about 945am.
I thought for sure it would never end.
That was when I downed the sudaphed.
And half a bottle of saline nose spray.
Then, I rubbed my nostrils raw.
Poor nostrils.
The sneezes stopped just about 1015am.
Just in time for the, well, you know.
The interview.

Yeah, the interview.
So, you're probably wondering about the interview, right?
I took my position at the kitchen table about 1005am.
I tried to read some blogs to calm my nerves.
That didn't work.
I prepared my space.
10 pages of notes spread in front of me.
Computer open with various documents open and ready just in case.
A glass of water for the dry mouth that would inevitably occur from talking a million miles a minute in an effort to sell myself.
I had a pen ready to take notes.
Just in case.
At 1030am, the classical serenade that I was waiting to explode from my phone didn't happen.
Then came 1031am.
Still no explosion.
At 1032am, frantic violins erupted as my phone lit up and vibrated on the table.
I picked it up with quick breaths, speeding heart.
I took a deep breath.
Tapped the green button.
"Hello?"

It lasted exactly 30 minutes.
I had to frantically gulp down water 4 different times because my tongue was like leather.
I hardly took a breath between answers.
I spat out words like candy at a Christmas parade.
And in the end, I felt good.
Really good.
In my opinion, it went very well.
I felt prepared.
I was confident.
I want that job so freaking bad.
I hope that translated well over the phone.
The phone part is the only thing that I don't feel good about.
There were a few awkward pauses as we each waited for the other to begin talking, but I guess that is to be expected.
But, overall, I feel great about it.
That's just me though.
I don't have any expectations unless they're high--like reaching-for-the-stars-high.
I know that may seem like a bad thing, but it works for me.
It pisses me off when I don't get what I expected and makes me work that much harder to insure that I get what I expected the next time.
Nothing like competing with yourself, right?

So, after a delicious dinner of fettucine noodles, sauteed strings of zucchini and homemade tomato-red pepper sauce, I am going to try and convince myself that I should begin on Part 2 of Step 1.

**THANKS for all the blog lovin', ladies. You don't even know how much you boost my mood and confidence. :)

The Funk

I woke up with a funk this morning--killer headache, achy back, sensitive skin, jar head, mucus-y throat and leaky sinuses. I am also running a low-grade fever, so no Tuesday with Monster for me.

Since I am holed up on the couch, I thought that I should at least bring you all along on this fantastic journey that I like to call:

Packing:

The 20 Steps to Cardboard Heaven

Hubs and I completed Part 1 of Step 1 Sunday night.

Step 1:

Organize Existing Materials

(read: Throw Away ALL Your Crap)

We (read: I) chose the filing cabinet and napkin-turned-catch-all-for-junk-holder for Step 1.

Observe:

Be glad that I was too embarrassed to open the bottom drawer. Isn't it hilarious that I own a piece of furniture (a filing cabinet) that is meant for organization and neatness and for all those perfect people out there and canNOT keep it true to its purpose? Pathetic.

And who turns a napkin holder into an inbox/outbox/junk drawer? Who?!

And yes, we do everything from a seated position on our couch in front of our new and beautiful tv. Thanks for noticing/asking.

Its amazing to think that all of that could really fit in that tiny thing, huh?

And yes, we store our tv box next to the couch. I mean, we are moving in 2.5 weeks.

How insecure am I that I feel I must keep explaining our junky apartment and inability to remove ourselves from in front of our tv?

Sad.

Oh, Hubs. It can't be that bad. The Panther sure does seem to be enjoying herself.

You can tell how puny I'm feeling since I haven't taken the time to adjust the color/contrast of any of these photos or to get rid of Hubs' red eye.

[But now that the cat is out of the bag, yes, Hubs is a bloodsucking vampire. Don't worry. He abstains from human blood in so far that he doesn't actually bite humans. The blood bags at the hospital where he works are his only source of nutrients. Poor, bloodsucking Hubs.

I want to be a vampire so bad it hurts. I keep having nightmares where I'm an old woman and he is still young, beautiful, bloodsucking Hubs. 

But, he won't bite me.

He doesn't want me to suffer from the same hopeless, soulless, bloodless bloodsucking existence that he does.

What he doesn't know is that I plan on tricking him into getting me pregnant (since, you know, all he-vampires though bloodless and technically dead have a healthy supply of semen), which will force him to turn me into a vampire. 

What? You didn't know that vampire babies are deadly?

He'd be saving my life, while simultaneously killing me, dooming me to an eternity of living death.]

Sorry, I never can resist a Meyer-stab.

Ahh... that feels better. And it only took about 30 minutes.

Please ignore the fish posters in the background. I didn't want Hubs to completely loose his identity upon marrying me (at least, just yet), so I conceded to the fish posters (for now).

Now, onto Part 2 of Step 1: going through each and every article of clothing and deciding what stays and what goes.

I'm not anything if not thorough.

-----------------------------------------------

Hey, guess what.

I GOT A PHONE INTERVIEW FOR THE FREAKING AWESOME POSITION THAT WOULD MAKE ME SO FREAKING HAPPY.

Its tomorrow morning at 1030am. Fingers crossed that I am not running a fever or sniffling/snotting my way through it.

Oh yeah, and fingers crossed that I get it!!

Random for the Weekend

Well, Hubs and I are getting on the road (AGAIN) this afternoon, heading up to Virginia for his little sister's graduation--yet another time for me to sit back and feel old. Yippee.

This week has disappeared. I have no idea where it went, but I'm pretty sure that James Taylor stole it from me. I can't honestly say that I want it back. Take it, James, and keep it.

Hubs and I have still yet to begin the arduous packing process. I'm going to stop there because I might hyperventilate.

Still no word on the job situation. I am beginning to think that is not such a good thing.

Do you know if they have people called "friends" in the Wild State? Its been so long since I've seen these people that I'm afraid I won't know how to spot them when I get there.

I am in desperate need of a haircut. And an attitude adjustment. I wonder if I could get a two-for-one deal somewhere.

Hubs and I bought a stove-top griddle/grill pan (nonstick). It is like the best freaking thing EVER. I love it!

I have been looking forward to So You Think You Can Dance since last week and was very disappointed that I only got to see an hour of auditions (because of James) before they were in Vegas. I need at least 8 hours of auditions before I'm ready for the hardcore competition.

So for some very strange reason, Hubs and I decided to watch the finale of Lost. Afterward, we both agreed that we hadn't missed ANYTHING by not watching that show. It was really really strange. And, ending the show with everyone in a "heaven" type place was a total cop-out if you ask me.

I keep telling Hubs that I think its about time we tried for another fur-baby. I think ours is getting lonely.

Whenever I See Your Smiling Face

Last night, I saw James Taylor and Carole King in concert.
It was pretty freaking amazing.
The funny part is that I had been dreading the concert all day.
I did NOT want to go.
Why?
Because I have Peter Pan syndrome, and the one thing that I hate after getting old myself is when others that I look up to or enjoy get old, too.
I was worried that James Taylor wouldn't sound like the James Taylor that I listen to on my cds or itunes.
I was waiting for an old-man-voice to filter through that microphone and break my heart as I sat in the nosebleed section.
Thank God that I was wrong.
James Taylor hasn't aged a day.
He was amazing.
And Carole King, well that lady rocked the arena.
It was such a good night of good music.
I am so glad that I went even though we didn't get home until 130am.
And spent waaaaay too much money.
But it was great nonetheless.
They played my favorite song, too, as part of the encore.
I had been waiting all night to hear it.
I want you to hear it, too.

I'm under the impression that encores are no longer spontaneous--they are actually planned into the performance.
Oh well.

"When We're Rich"

is my new go-to phrase these days. Although I know better than most that doctors are not all rich, I know that one day we will be comfortable. All that I really want is for us to not have to think twice when it comes to repairing our only car so that it doesn't break down on us mid-transit or cause us bodily injury because we are worried that we can't spare enough money to have it fixed. I just want piece of mind that if I fall and break my leg, we are going to have enough money to have the proper medical care to fix it.

Have I mentioned that Hubs' medical school does NOT offer health insurance?
Does that seem odd to anyone else?
So, I am going to have to drop everything I have here in SC and move to WV in the hopes of finding a good enough job to cover living expenses and health insurance even though we will only be there three years, so even if I found a great job with benefits, they may not even look at me because I can't commit more than three years?!

Does this sound like the lavish wife-of-a-doctor lifestyle you were expecting?

Back on topic.

It is a common misconception that doctors are millionaires. Sure, some are, but most are very much NOT.

Because...
Most student doctors do not graduate from four years of medical school debt-free (laughable).
Yup, you have to pay to learn how to save lives.
And we are talking a good fraction of a million dollars in payment to learn how to save lives.
This = debt on top of any other undergraduate expenses that may have accrued in order to get into medical school.
You know, like four years of every science class that you could imagine that has a required lab with $400 lab fees and $700 book fees; like one Kaplan course at $1000 a pop to help you study for the MCAT, which costs a pretty penny to take (each time, because it should be taken more than once).
Then there are the fees to apply to all of the medical schools.
And finally the deposit once you've been accepted.

Do you see the number rising?
Me too.

I have tallied that Hubs and I will be roughly $260,000 and some change in debt by the time he walks across that stage as Dr. Hubs.

But he will be able to pay it off within his first year out of school working, right?

No. He won't. Because he will be pulling 80 hour weeks, during which time he will be missing holidays, maybe even the births of his children, etc., for a mere $45,000 a year. And this will go on anywhere from three to eight years. (Hubs' program will take an additional six after medical school.)

I guess that the whole debt thing is really a nice way of weeding out the ones who are only in it for a little cash from those committed few. You know, those crazy people willing to go as far into the red as need be will surely the best doctor make.

Finding it really pathetic what our lifesavers doctors have to go through to save lives, I mean, to pay outrageous malpractice insurance so that they can then attempt to save lives?
Remind me again how much a celebrity makes per movie, or a professional athlete per game.
And they aren't saving lives one foul ball at a time are they?
And I bet they didn't have to pay any amount of money to pretend to makeout with a complete stranger fellow actor so that millions of people can watch them on the big screen.
Oh, that's right. We pay them LOADS to do all of those things.
My bad.

I guess that where this innocent phrase has led me is here:

To all of those people who wink, pop the thumbs up or attempt to high-five me for marrying a soon-to-be-doctor because they think that I pictured a future of bedazzlement with Hubs proffering up diamonds at every birthday, anniversary or the third Monday of every month because he's a millionaire and he can, you know nothing of the sacrifice it takes to get past four years of $250,000 classes and six years of living frugally and paying off that bill.

I thought that maybe no one outside of the medical school world would understand this precarious position of doctorhood until I had lunch with my mentor a few months back. The first word he uttered as I described the situation of medical school was "poverty."

"Excuse me," I said, as I nearly choked on my tomato-basil noodles.

"They expect both of you to live in poverty so that he can go to school and learn how to save peoples' lives," he said.

Poverty. I never thought about it that way. Sure, I say that we're poor more times a day than I'd care to count, but poverty? That's something entirely different.

"What about you?" he asked.

Yeah, what about me, I thought. Its all up to me, this whole staying out of poverty thing.

"Well, that's why I am here with you now. I have to get the best job that I can, because we only want to take out enough loans to pay for school. We are trying to come up with living expenses on our own."

"But, that's insane. You're both so young. How do they expect you to do that?"

[I'm still not entirely sure who he meant by "they," but I'm pretty sure that he was speaking of our beloved government.]

"You know what I think," he asked. "I think that medical school should be free. Why do the people who want to save lives have to live in poverty while incurring hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt to learn how to save human life?"

[And this is when I thought that was probably the best idea I'd ever heard a democrat propose. (And I am a-political for the record.) I agreed with him. I may have even drank a sip of my water to that, believing that he was on to something. It seemed like the fairest thing out there. I was all about some equal rights for student doctors in the moment, but probably only because I think that Hubs is the nicest, most selfless person on the planet and of all the doctor-wannabes, surely he should be granted the fine gift of free medical school.

But the more I thought about it, the more I understood why so many people fall victim to these progressive theories. Free medical school sounds a lot like Health Care Reform, which isn't a solution at all. In fact, the same spiraling-into-failure cycle would be true of both theories. If medical school were indeed free, then every cash-loving son-of-a-gun out there would be signed up tomorrow, not because they had a passion for helping people, but because they wanted to get.rich.quick and everyone knows that doctors are millionaires, right?

The truth is that the quality of doctors and healthcare would quickly diminish and eventually disappear (remember what I said earlier about all of that debt weeding out the good from the bad?), because there would be no competition and doctors would be just as broke as well, medical students. Sigh.]

I guess all that I am trying to say here is that I picture a future where Hubs and I don't have to check our bank account a million times a day to make sure we have enough liquid funds to cover our student loans, utility bills and rent. I don't want to have to worry about spending too much money on groceries. And damn it, I want some extra cash to give to those people who have NO way of making ends meet.

I'm just saying that yeah, its pretty cool being married to a man who will one day be called Doctor, but I'm not in this for the cash, so don't pat me on the back because you think I married a soon-to-be-millionaire and deserve a "congratulations."