Last Night

me: Also I accidentally ate at a strip club last night.

C: Whoa.

C: How do you accidentally eat at a strip club?? And what did you eat?

me: I ate at a restaurant right next door to a strip club. Came back to the hospital, told them where we'd eaten...apparently it's the same operation.

C: You need a t-shirt.

me: Yeah. I'm excited to turn in my receipt at work. "Foxy Lady."

C: Hilarious.

me: I ate at "Frank's" but apparently it's "Frank's Foxy Lady"

C: Frank's Foxy Lady. I love it. What did you eat?

me: A scallop roll. Which of course now I regret. Because I ate stripper scallops.

Interference

My landlady is making me crazy. She shouldn't be...because she really isn't doing anything wrong. However, the fact that she finds any little way to remind me that she exists drives me crazy. I'm used to living in apartment complexes. I sign the lease and pick up the key. One year later, I drop off the key. That is the extent of your impact on my life as a landlord. Or it should be. Here I'm living in the right side of a house that is split in half. My landlady lives in the other half. She parks in the driveway, I park in the sandy dirt beside the driveway (which will be interesting when it starts snowing.) I don't have a problem living near her. I just don't want it to seem like I'm living *with* her.

Whenever she's leaving town, she calls to let me know. I don't need to know. Then she says "So, just grab my mail and I'll get it from you when I get back." Umm...am I your b-fri? I think not. Get your own mail. Or get a friend who can pick up your mail. I really didn't have a problem grabbing her mail for her the first time. It would've been nice if she'd asked rather than assumed that it was okay to tell me what to do, but whatever. The real problem was that she said she'd be home Sunday. Instead she comes home Friday, then calls me at 10 PM asking me to bring her the mail. I'm not at home. "Okay, no problem. Just knock on the door when you get back." I hate her. 10 PM I'm skulking around the front door wondering whether I should ring the doorbell and wake up her kid, or just throw her mail in the street. I ended up leaving it on her doorknob then calling her so I wouldn't have to talk to her in person. I've had to get her mail twice since then. I hate her so much.

Another fun game is the driveway war we've been having. She has a two-car garage and a driveway. She only drives one car. However, I'm instructed to park in the sandy dirt beside the driveway. I keep mentioning its sandiness because it's almost impossible to get out of the passenger side of the truck. It's a hill and you just sink into the sand. Absolutely impossible after it rains, and probably my truck is going to be swallowed by the earth when it snows. So, I have the crappy spot, she has plenty of space. I come home from work one day, she's in my spot. Driveway's wiiide open. She's in my spot. So I park in the street. Two days later, there's some giant truck in my spot and it is pouring down raining. So I park in her spot. She calls me 30 minutes later asking me to move my truck. Turns out that the giant truck is hers too. She's getting a fence put around the backyard (that I'm not allowed to use) and she's been using the truck to haul stuff. Is it my fault that the contractors have been parking in her spot? No. Does the fact that her spot is being used for her own purposes give her license to use *my* spot? I think not. Seriously, do you see how petty I'm becoming? It's the fact that she's constantly doing little stuff that makes me want to hurl cats at her face.

Then yesterday, I pull into my driveway and I see that my trashcan is out at the curb. I'm sure she did this to be nice. However, my trash wasn't in the freaking can yet. Oh, but there was a bag of *her* trash in there. I realize that she's just trying to be nice, but come on! Use your own trashcan! Stop touching my stuff! Ugh.

So, she really doesn't do anything but remind me that she exists. But that's enough to make me absolutely crazy. Because if I like you, I will do anything for you...but if I don't like you, I'll do anything to forget you exist. And she's making that really hard for me. Stupid landlady.

Michael Jackson's Liver?

I was recently with a group that met a liver transplant recipient. What follows is the conversation that we had with her. Questions from various people in the room are in italics.

"I am so grateful for my transplant. It gave me a second chance at life."
"Have you met your donor's family?"
"No, but I feel as though I know my donor already."
"How so?"
"Well, I think that he's sharing my body."
"Because you have his liver?"
"No. A lot of strange things have happened to me since my transplant. For example, when I woke up from my surgery, I was holding my privates. Now, I'm not in the habit of holding myself down there, but I think it's because of the liver. I think my donor was a male."
"Oookay..."
"Also, I never used to like healthy stuff! Now I like to eat healthy foods, so I think my donor liked to eat healthy foods."
"Really? Like what?"
"You know...healthy stuff. Like I never used to like strawberry ice cream. Now it's my favorite. Also, I used to always get sunburned. Always. I was very fair-skinned and would burn if I was in the sun at all. So, I think that my donor was a person of color. My skin is much darker and more pigmented since the surgery. I think my donor was a person of color and my DNA is changing to be more like his."
"Really?"
"Yeah! I told my doctor but he just laughs. He won't test my DNA. I've talked to some nurses and stuff, but they don't have access to the DNA tests. I need the access!"
"Oh. That's too bad."
"Ooh! Have you guys watched that show Heartland on TNT? It's all about transplant and it's awesome. I mean, I probably enjoy it because I know so much about transplant, but you guys would like it too. Don't watch it this week cause it's the finale, but catch it in re-runs. It's great."
"Okay..."

Random thoughts cropped up in her mind every ten seconds over the next hour, but that was the gist of it. So, just to clear up any misconceptions:
1. Organ recipients do not take on the physical characteristics of their donors.
2. Your DNA can not be changed by a transplant. Or anything really besides radiation.
3. Ice cream is not a healthy food.
4. Heartland sucks.

The Commute

I drive over this bridge:











And I drive through a tunnel like this:










And seeing this tells me I'm almost there:














It takes longer, but it beats the pants off of passing the future home of one of these every morning:











Woo Boston! :)

Critical Mass

I moved from Alabama to Massachusetts last week. Here's the recap so far:

1. Say cheese! Bostonians don't smile. Well, they smile, but not at strangers. Walking down the street, making eye contact and smiling at everyone you pass will get you a free crazy stamp right across the forehead. Or at least I assume that's what happened to me because the only people that returned my glances were the mentally ill and creepy old men.

2. It is hot in Topeka*. Speaking to people in Alabama, you would have thought I was moving to a polar ice cap. In fact, it was 90 degrees in Boston today and I got a terrible sunburn.

3. Keep Walkin'. Boston has pedestrians. Pedestrians with no fear of death. I drove into the city twice this week and was constantly dodging pedestrians who *saw me coming* and yet continued into the street. They even have weird blinky traffic lights that have something to do with pedestrians (I've obviously yet to figure out what these mean.) In Alabama, the road is for cars. People in the road=front end fodder. I will say, however, that the ubiquity of sidewalks is pretty refreshing. At no point did I have to walk in a ditch. And that's a definite step up. You know what I'm talking about, C. :-p

4. You say "rotary", I say "death wheel." Seriously New England, wtf? I've been trying to figure out how to drive in these high speed circles of doom but every one has different rules! We're driving through one and I'm told "You have to yield to the main road." At another, "The people inside the rotary always have the right-of-way." I think the advice my boyfriend's parents gave me most accurately captures what actually happens inside a rotary. "The rule at the rotary is, whoever's going the fastest has the right-of-way. So, you just bomb in there going top speed and you'll be fine." Terrifying.

5. Marco....Polo! I've been constantly lost since the day I got here. The funny thing is, if you're lost in Alabama you can drive anywhere from 2-6 hours before you find yourself in another state. In Massachusetts, you can be in another state in 30 minutes. Which means that I've had to greatly reduce the length of time I take to decide to turn around. Because without adjustment I would probably regularly find myself in Vermont. I think a lot of my problem is orientation. You can really walk the entire city of Boston in about 15-20 minutes (I think....I got lost a lot in the city) but I cover a lot of the same ground 2-3 times without realizing it because I'm on a different side of the street, or facing a different direction, or wearing sunglasses. I've really got to learn the landmarks. And I've quickly learned that landmark can not mean Dunkin' Donuts. Because they're on every corner.

6. There is no sweet tea. Seriously. None. I went to Dunkin' Donuts yesterday and ordered one of their new iced teas. Peach flavored. Peachy flavor, no sugar. Who drinks plain iced tea?! It's a travesty. I don't understand. I miss the sweet tea. I miss it so much.

So, I start my new job on Monday. I've been informed that I will be on orientation for two weeks and then placed on the call schedule. I've been doing this same job for over a year, but to only have two weeks to get used to doing it a whole new way in a whole new city...a little nervewracking. Luckily before I start, I'm spending my last weekend of freedom at the beach! I haven't been to the beach in two years (thanks a lot summer of MCAT) so I'm pretty stoked about the prospect.

Welcome to my new blog everybody. I'll keep you posted. :)

* If you don't watch Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, you are missing out. It's hilarious.