Cold call

I hate getting telemarketer calls on my cell phone. But this one actually made me laugh. Now if only I'd been quick enough to have this conversation, which came to me immediately upon hanging up.

Me: Hello?
Telemarketer: Hi, this is Susie Q from University of Pheonix.
Me: Uh, ok.
TM: I was just calling to see if you're interested in going to school.
Me: Well, I have already been to plenty of school. You do count college and medical school as "school", right?
Click.

In real life, I just said, "No." So she told me, "Thank you" and hung up. The end.

The dark side

Everybody knows one. That previously well-minded friend who suddenly went crazy loco and committed to some crazy work-out program like Insanity or P90X. I've been married to one of those fools for years now. Nick has an on-again, off-again relationship with Tony Horton (and more recently Shaun T), defined mostly by the state of his (bum) knee. So when P90X3 came out, it went straight on the Amazon wish list.

Where my mother saw it.

And bought it for him as a Christmas gift.

Sigh. Big, long sigh.

Why the sigh you ask? Because this time he wants to really do it. The whole 9 yards, P90X style. The rigid schedule. The crazy moves and millions of crunches. And, most importantly... the diet. Now he doesn't want to waste money on the supplements, thank goodness. But he does want to commit to 90 days of eating only healthy things. I asked him about cake for my birthday next month, and he said there could be a slice of cake but not a whole cake, which makes him an insane person.

The only one crazier than my darling husband is me because I've agreed to do this with him. It's a long story related to many things, including my post-Archer wrinkly belly skin and a small-group conversation about how Nick and I somewhere along the way stopped doing things for each other that we didn't really like but used to do anyway just to make the other person happy.

Kick-off is tomorrow, and can I just tell you the culinary horizon is bleak. Lots of kale, unbuttered sweet potatoes, and lean chicken breasts are in my future. Nick even bought me a Keurig for Christmas that I apparently won't get to use for 3 months. In fact, as I write this, I'm drinking my farewell cup of hot chocolate. So please don't offer me a Rice Krispy treat or sweet tea or heaven forbid a brownie because I have to say "no" for 90 days. Just stick it in the freezer and save it for me, will ya?

I wanna hold your haaaaaand, I wanna hold your hand

I was on call a few weekends ago. Digression: I am now on call only 1 of every 8 weekends or so. It's so amazing to have almost every single weekend off. Like life-changing awesome. Back on track: The fellow texted me about this incredible consult. I was so flattered that they would turn to me for help. (Since I know tone doesn't translate via the written word, I'll just go ahead and tell you... that last part should be read dripping with sarcasm.)

Fellow: So the ____ team called a consult. This lady came in with blah blah symptoms. Diagnosis 1 and diagnosis 2 were on the initial differential.
Me: OK, sounds reasonable.
Fellow: Then imaging suggested diagnosis 1 but not diagnosis 2.
Me: Ooookay.
Fellow: Then a biopsy confirmed diagnosis 1 with no findings of diagnosis 2.
Me: Um, ok.
Fellow: So they just want us to come and comment on whether we think it might be diagnosis 1 or diagnosis 2. Because they just want to be sure.
Me: I haven't even read the chart, and I'm already sure.
Fellow: I know.

Yes, for real. I had to get out of my pj's and drive up to the med center for that business. As we say in the consultant world... Thank you for this interesting consult. Rheumatology will sign off. Please call us back with any questions.

All the single ladies

Apologies to the friends who heard this one in person a few days ago. 

Through various circumstances, I went to my department's holiday dinner party alone this year. So I got gussied up with my hair curled, in my LBD with my blingy earrings and AWESOME fully-sequined, orchid, super tall Cole Haan pumps. Ellison and Nick approved, and off I went. 

I walked into the party room, and no joke, one of the waiters nearly tripped trying to get to me to offer me a drink. What follows is my stream of consciousness response.

Ha! I still got it. Guess I'm not as old and fat as I thought. 

Hmm, wait a minute. Isn't wondering and worrying about whether I still "got it" a sign of actually being old? When I was 21, my response would have been how that guy can go drool elsewhere. Now it occurs to me to be flattered. Yes, I think that is definitely the response of an old lady. A response at which I previously scoffed.

When did I get so old?!

At least I can still wear the heels without my bunions hindering me. 

Just another Monday

So my momma gave me a pink personalized pen for med school graduation. I have used it every day since then. It's been through a lot, including the washer and dryer. I lost it a few times, too. 

Me: Has anyone seen my pink Beth Scholz pen?

Other residents: Um, what does it look like?

Me: Well, it's pink. And it has my name on it.

Nobody ever tried stealing it. Would have been kinda obvious, I guess.

I couldn't think of a more faithful friend to get me through yet another Monday. Cheers.

Law and order

I flew with E & A by myself this last weekend. We went to Tucson to see Laurie (and my mom, who came in for the weekend, too) and then all road-tripped to Vegas to see my aunt and uncle at their new condo there (talk about an upgrade from Wichita - Kansas, not Texas). Can I just tell you, that whole idea was craaaaazy, but flying with 2 kids was actually not all that bad thanks to my crazy obsessive-compulsive hyper-organized type A personality. The diaper bag and toy bag were each strategically packed so I could reach in and know exactly what my hand would find in any given nook or cranny. And there were lots of rules. So many rules. Poor E. But it worked. And people took notice. Segue to this conversation at the end of my outbound flight.

Woman: [leaning across the aisle] Your baby is just darling. I've been sitting here wishing I could hold him. And they are both so well-behaved. And you're so good with them. I hope you plan to have lots more because you handle them really well.
Me: [guffawing and blushing]
Man*: Yeah, you really do.
Me: Thank you so much. And I might be crazy, but do you work at Vanderbilt medical center?
Man: Yes, I'm one of the {surgical subspecialty} faculty. Why?
Me: Well, not all that long ago, I was an internal medicine resident there.
Man: Oh, wow. I'm Dr. A. Sorry I didn't recognize you.
Me: I know, and it's ok. There are dozens of us every year but only a few of you.
Man: That's funny. Watching you with the kids, I told my wife you were probably either a surgeon [I like to think he really just means "doctor" in general but forgets there are doctors besides surgeons] or married to a military man.
Woman: Well, I wish we'd figured out that you knew each other two hours ago. I could have been holding that baby!

True story. The end.

*I've been staring at him out of the corner of my eye the entire flight because I really, really think I know him from somewhere. At this point in the conversation (upon hearing him speak), I'm certain I do.

Battle of the sexes: Subject to interpretation

Yesterday was kinda a rough day at the office. No one thing in particular was terrible, but there were lots of little things. And it was a long, long day. But then I came home, and Ellison ran up to me with a leg bear hug. And Archer went crazy in his littler exersaucer thingie, bouncing like a madman and baby-squealing at the top of his lungs. And I picked him up, and with a full-face baby grin, he started nuzzling into my neck like he was digging for gold. And my bad day wasn't quite so bad.

Me: I kinda wish that every once in a while you would get as excited about me coming home as Archer does.
N: You don't mean that.
Me: Oh yes, I surely do.

After all the kiddos were (finally) tucked in their beds, I stood in the kitchen prepping the next day's breakfast and lunch and on and on, oh my. And Nick walked up and stood creepily close on my right side.

And he started bouncing and full-face Joker smiling and making squealing noises that sounded how I imagine a dying hyena might sound. And then he started rubbing his face in my neck and pawing my shoulder and hair.

N: See, you don't want me to get excited like Archer.
Me: [no words. no breathing. just quiet, sustained, oxygen-depriving laughter]
N: See? I told you.
Me: Nooo! [more laughter, less breathing] I meant an adult version of what Archer does! Goober!
N: Nope, that is what you get.

At least it's cute when Archer does it.