Memory lane

I have a sudden urge to watch Clueless on VHS. And eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. And stay up very, very late for no particular reason. It can only mean one thing...

Roommate reunion is almost here! Waco, here we come.

And that, my friends, will be the happy thought to get me through the week. Happy Wednesday!

Abracadabra, alakazam!

Today is a story about being a doctor.

People go to the doctor for lots of things. Sometimes it's "stabbing chest pain with shortness of breath." This is bad. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Go directly to the cath lab.

Sometimes it's "I hurt all over" or "My lupus test is positive." But that's old news.

Sometimes it's "I have a rash." Disgruntled sigh. Looking at people's unusual rashes is one of the least pleasant aspects of my job. But part of my job it is, so I look at rashes. Red rashes, raised rashes, itchy rashes, even butterfly rashes. It's enough to make you break out in hives. Hee, hee. Pun intended.

But sometimes, people point to their cheeks or backs or ankles or whatever, and I see... nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I'm not talking about the it-used-to-be-there-but-went-away-before-my-appointment kind of rash. That happens. But sometimes people just keep pointing and gesturing and saying, "Look! Look! Do you see that?!"

No, frankly, I do not. This leaves me in the awkward predicament of trying to gently suggest that there is, in fact, no rash.

Or maybe I have a healing gaze. Just by looking at your skin, I make your rash disappear.

Lazy Sunday afternoon

I have no excuse for the lack of tales of hilarity or pearls of wisdom today, folks. My paper is edited, my presentation complete, and the baby asleep on my lap. I'm just being lazy for once.

I'm going to distract you with a cute picture of my cute baby. Hey, maybe I'll make this a weekly Sunday thing. It would motivate me to take more pictures.

Yup, yup, yup

I had an unfortunate realization the other day. What, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.
I realized that I am...a yuppie. Big sigh.

Signs and symptoms of yuppie-ness:
1) I am 30 years old.
2) I am a doctor.
3) I drive an SUV. A big one.
4) I live in the burbs.
5) I have a baby.
6) Most of my wardrobe came from Ann Taylor or Banana Republic. I even have a Kate Spade bag to tote stuff for the aforementioned baby.
7) I watch HGTV. And the Food Network. Double whammie.
8) I've had an argument with my husband about whether we should choose the "ivory" or the "off-white" tile for our kitchen remodel.
9) I not only know what "New American" cuisine is but like it, too.
10) I recently upgraded my Blackberry to a Droid.

Do not despair! Before you decide you must friend-divorce me, listen to my redeeming factors.

Bethie's anti-yuppie traits and tendencies:
1) I do not and will never drink coffee.
2) I don't do Volvo or Subaru.
3) Organic doesn't matter to me.
4) There are no Apple products in my house (or car).

Um, I can't come up with 6 more. You'll just have to love me for my mostly-yuppie self.

PS If loving Kate Spade is wrong, I don't wanna be right!

Happy Easter!

Pick your poison

I was shooting the breeze with my ob-gyn earlier this week. He asked me about my rheum fellowship.
Me: Yeah, I've got a ton of new patients in clinic this week, and you know how the initial work-up for rheum goes. They haul out a three-ring notebook and start reading me their complaints month by month for the last seven years.
Dr. Ob: I don't know how you handle that.
Me: Well, you get used to it.
Dr. Ob: I had a call from a lady last week because she thought her uterus was swollen. I told her I didn't know what she wanted me to do about that at 2:00 am.
Me: Ha! You know what I do when people tell me things like that?
Dr. Ob: What? (shoots me a knowing smile)
Me: I tell them they should discuss it...with their ob-gyn.

Battle of the sexes: Variety is the spice of life

Nick likes "different" in lots of places. Movies. Books. Even cars. "It was different. I liked it." Oh, how often I hear those words. Except for when it comes to food. The same ol' same ol' stuff appeals to his less-than-delicate culinary sensibilities. I'm telling you, if that boy could eat a steak with a twice-baked potato and chocolate cake every night for dinner for the rest of his life, he'd die a happy man. "Variety" would be switching it up for a grilled hamburger, cheese fries, and brownies. Adventurous, right?
I am the categorical opposite. I hate most change simply because it's different. I like to re-read my favorite books and watch my favorite movies over and over. Even my clothes - as much as I love shiny new things, I love the stuff in my closet and lament when something gets ruined to the point of un-wearability. But food! Oh, give me something different every day! I rarely make the same recipe twice, given my druthers.

This can occasionally result in the slightest marital discord. I haven't made this recipe yet, but I can already tell you how the conversation will go.

Me: Dinner tonight is gonna be cider-brined pork chops with butternut squash and apple tartin.
Nick: A tar-what?
Me: A tartin.
Nick: Like I said, a tar-what?
Me: Sigh. A tartin. Kind of a savory upside-down cake.
Nick: Sounds fancy. Too fancy.
Me: I think it sounds good.
Nick: Why you gotta go and change it up all the time? What's wrong with hamburgers?
Me: We just had hamburgers.
Nick: Last month.
Me: I like to try different recipes.
Nick: I know. And I like to eat hamburgers.
Me: Well, we can have hamburgers some other time.
Nick: You always say that. And then we never do.
Me: Well, always having hamburgers is boring.
Nick: Nuh-uh. It's good.
Me: Well, I'm having pork chops and squash tartin for dinner. You can have whatever you want.
Nick: Fine. I'll eat your tar-whatever-it-is.