Big brother

I tried to post an Ellison picture, but our internet is not liking photos lately. So here's a happy Monday story for you. First some background.

My best friend Jen is back (semi)permanently from Egypt. Yay! She is staying with us for a couple weeks until her new job starts. Double yay!

My husband is anti-Apple. He thinks their products are too uber-cool and trendy. And he doesn't like how proprietary they are, which I think is the right word for when their stuff doesn't interface well with other brand stuff.

Jen: I love my new iPhone.
Nick: Eh.
Jen: Huh, I just got an iMessage. What's the difference between a regular message and an iMessage?
Nick: Well, one's plotting to take over the world, and the other is just a message.
Jen: Oh, right, right. Well, I just got an iMessage.
Nick: Yup, Steve Jobs is watching you.

Battle of the sexes: Quotable moments

The context is as follows: Nick and I are discussing how easy vs. difficult it is for each of us to buy gifts for the other.

Me: You just think picking stuff out for you is easy. Your taste keeps getting more and more expensive as we go.
Nick: Yeah, but underpants for women are so complicated. Guys have two options. Girls have all these things like... well, I can't even think of any of them they're so complicated.

True that. I concede the argument, dear Nicholas.

Eating my words

I think most of you have heard my thoughts on running. How much I hate it. How I only run if I'm being chased. Many of you have also heard my rule that you can't hate something until you're good at it. The latter was inspired by my time in the MICU.

Cyber-friends, I had an unfortunate realization last night.

I hate running. I'm bad at running. By my own rule, I'm not allowed to hate running.

I'm not a fan of making myself a hypocrite, so here's my plan. I have to get my body to the point where I can run 3 miles. I haven't decided yet if I'll let myself take a break at the halfway point. Kinda depends over how many weeks this ends up dragging out. Once I accomplish that amazing feat of athleticism, I'm allowed to hate running. Or maybe I'll fall in love with it and sign up for a half maraton.

Muwahahahaha!! Oh, that's funny. I kill myself. Half marathon. Ha! I'm at 1.5 miles right now, so don't hold your breath. I'll keep ya posted.

A cameo by Darth

Remember this picture?

Looks like someone's been eating her Wheaties!



Battle of the sexes: Survival of the fittest

We've been on a smoothie kick at our house lately. I tell you that to tell you this:

Nick: I need to get some more flavors of protein powder for the smoothies.
Me: Why do you need flavored protein powder?
Nick: Because the recipes call for them.
Me: Can't you just use plain in all of them?
Nick: No, it makes a difference.
Me: Well how many flavors of protein powder do they even make?
Nick: Oh, lots. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, maybe lime...
Me: Mm-hmm. So protein powder to you is kinda like shoes to me? I need lots of different kinds and colors for lots of different outfits, but you don't get it. Like I don't get why you need so many protein powders.
Nick: Nope, not the same at all.
Me: Uh, yes, my dear. It is.
Nick: Nope. This is about survival. You get stuck on a dessert island, you could put this in water and stay alive. You can't eat shoes.
Me: No, but I would barter with the natives and trade my shoes for food. So shoes can be for survival, too.

I think I make a valid point. Nick remains unimpressed. To each his own.

Not-so sweet dreams

A thousand pardons if you've heard this one, but it's so funny I have to tell it again. It's from way back when I was a wee baby intern. I actually managed to hole up in my call room and get some sleep. Enough sleep that I dreamed.
I dreamed I was on call and that I had to admit a guy. When I got to the ER, it was a clown. In fact, that was why I had to admit him. "Doc, I just woke up and looked like this. I'm a clown!" Red nose, poofy wig, giant shoes, and everything.
I woke up in a panic. I scranbled out of bed and grabbed my white coat. I needed to get to the ER and admit that clown!

Oh wait. Never mind. There is no clown. There is no disease where you wake up a clown. But if this does ever happen to you, call me first. I want to name it after myself.

Tongue-tied

I got a call for assistance with management of the dinkiest of all autoimmune diseases, which causes dry mouth and eyes. Annoying, yes. Dangerous, not at all. We don't even give steroids.

Resident: Hi, I'm calling a consult for... Um, I know I'm gonna say this wrong.
Me: OK, what is it?
Resident: Um, Sijigron syndrome.
Me: You mean Sjogren's? [say show-grins]
Resident: Yeah, that. We want to know if that could be causing her high potassium.
Me: Well, I don't think so. Sjogren's never really causes high potassium. Occasionally low, but not high. (A Google search could have told you that.)
Resident: OK, well, we still want you to come by and comment on her Sijistigron syndrome.

Can I make a rule where you can't consult me unless you can pronounce the disease? It would save me a lot of work.

Double-take

It's a two-for-one special this week on Ellison pics!

No means no except when I say it means yes.

Lots of baby toys profressionally designed with stimulating development in mind, and what's one of her favorites? A holey sock Auntie Laurie gave her one day to distract her from drooling on other clean clothes. At least it's fashionable argyle.