Dogs and Left Boobs

There have been visits of no less than FOUR women clutching teacup dogs to their chests at work today and while I'd totally expect that every other minute if I worked in L.A., it feels awkward and out of place in the valley. Why are you here? And these women always come in wearing low-rider sweats and matching hoodies in bold colors of fuchsia or aqua. Their make-up is usually impeccable and overdone with bangle bracelets and HUGE rings adorning their digits, but their hair is oddly wild and unkempt as if no brushing took place, just a quick pony-tail high on top of their heads. And the dog. The poor, poor dog smooshed up against their left breast. A fixture. An accessory. An accessory constantly smothered with kisses, baby talk, and more smooshing into the boob and all the while this poor pooch gazes intensely at me with big eyes that scream HELP ME! PLEASE! I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE OF THIS BOOBAGE! And I stand there helpless and sad trying to communicate telepathically that there's really nothing I can do beyond ripping you from her arms and running, which isn't a viable option for me because she paid big bucks for you and I cannot afford to go to jail right now because I stole a $1000 pooch. Check back in a couple of months. She tries, but can't seem to find her checkbook in that loud over-sized bag of hers so she'll set her precious doggie down to use both hands to dig properly and while her head is buried inside her Mary Poppins bag my eyes are yelling loudly Run puppy while you have the chance! RUN! But the dog just stands there shaking and broken because he doesn't know how to be a dog anymore even if he did run.

Dogs are meant to run and bark and chase after balls, to chew on shoes and wrestle around, to be a faithful companion, to develop their own personality. But not this dog because he's never been allowed to be anything but the companion or maybe the occasional dress-up doll. He's never learned to play and it makes me sad because the owner is missing all the best parts about having a dog.

An Optimist With Experience

Why is it that so many of life's experiences fall short of my expectations?

I hoped for my knight in shining armor to arrive home on a white horse ready to shoulder my burdens, but instead received a sun-burned husband covered with bug bites who was just as overwhelmed and exhausted as I was and not prepared to be as sensitive to my woes as expected. And the past week I've been all Whoa, what's your problem? What's up with this impatience thing? Do you not understand what I've been going through? Why are you not CATERING TO MY EVERY WHIM AND DESIRE? To which he responded with a blank stare and then You're on crazy old lady medication that's messing with your hormones and you think it's me?! That's amazing. YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR MIND! And all I can say is Yeah, so what?! All the more reason to CATER TO MY EVERY WHIM AND DESIRE. Not a very convincing argument on my part I realize after taking a step back. Those research doctor know-it-alls should have listed WILL IMPAIR YOUR RATIONAL THINKING DRAMATICALLY among the possible side effects of said crazy old lady medication.

But drugs or not, I've always had a tendency to set unrealistic expectations without meaning to. Well, they proved to be unrealistic each time they passed by unmet anyway. I weave ideal scenarios through my mind, then the contrary occurs leaving me dumbfounded and upset when it could have all gone so perfectly. You simply needed to read my mind and then CATERED TO MY EVERY WHIM AND DESIRE.

I'm sure it has everything to do with over-thinking a situation, not unlike hearing about a new movie in excess. "That was the best movie ever! You HAVE to see it!" "I seriously cried through the entire show it was so moving." "WHAT?! You haven't watched it yet? I was at the midnight showing and it was AWESOME!" Then you walk out of the movie theater two weeks after the film's release feeling unsatisfied, unimpressed and a little sad. Wasn't it supposed to be so much more? What went wrong? You determine all your friends and family must be delusional liars because it was decent, but it wasn't the GREATEST MOVIE OF ALL TIME when in truth you'd be among the ranks of the delusional liars if it had been you at the midnight showing two weeks earlier because you would've viewed the film with less biased eyes. Minimal expectation therefore more room for genuine liking, less for disappointment. Although, the Twilight movie did exceed my expectations of awfulness. I anticipated it to be bad, but not THAT bad.

It's a bit pessimistic, but dropping my expectations altogether I suppose would dodge some of the disappointments. If I assume things are going to fail miserably then I can't get too worked up when they do indeed fail, right? But that's where I struggle. Aren't we to hope for the best? To think good thoughts? Be optimistic? Grandpa Marshall says that a pessimist is simply an optimist with experience and some days I think WHAT A WISE, WISE MAN. Gary tells me to expect the unexpected so I won't get so upset when things don't pan out and I'm all but you're so PREDICTABLE sometimes! Unexpected, yeah right.

It's a tough balance to find and surely not one I've discovered, hence the above lamentations. For now I'm maintaining that my happiness lies in everybodys' ability to CATER TO MY EVERY WHIM AND DESIRE* thus setting myself up for further failure and another dose of disappointment. Unless of course you'd all like to prove me wrong? I could REALLY use $20,000 and a foot rub.



*was all caps subtle enough for a subliminal message or should I bold it as well?

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

Help! I'm suffering from a silent and unseen illness that is chewing up my brain, sucking all the good juices and then spitting it back out again and it's really messing with my life. My brain has the capacity of a cave man, of an ostrich, of an amoeba. I'm not sure when the brain deterioration began, but I do know that at this rate I'm not going to survive much longer. You see, I can't seem to remember anything. ANYTHING. People suffer brain farts from time to time and that's normal, but my brain has diarrhea. It's a condition I refer to as OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND. Even though it's kind of self-explanatory, I'll expand on your definition to illustrate just how serious this is.

Gary and I live off of cereal, string cheese, and popcorn. I am not even joking. The amount of cereal we consume is embarrassing and I bet really unhealthy and it's not because of a lack of other food options, it's because the other food options aren't directly in front of my face when it's time to eat. I'll buy fresh fruit and veggies, stick 'em in the produce drawers in the refrigerator and then completely forget about them in a matter of minutes. The produce drawer is where fruit and veggies get sent to die in my home. They could have had a pleasant and meaningful existence elsewhere, but instead I bought 'em up to suffer a slow and painful death in the comfort of my 38 degrees fridge.

We moved last October to a place with minimal storage space which spawned an intense reevaluation of our stuff. We could only take our most treasured belongings and I mapped out a spot for each item. Kitchen appliances here, books there, the nine hundred and five computer cables Gary owns here. It was the late spring cleaning that resulted in two full truck loads to the dump, dozens of boxes to D.I., and the little that was left to their assigned seats in the new apartment. Naturally after all of that I should remember what we brought with us, right? Well, I've been feeling the need for a new pair of comfy pajamas, some that are a light weight, breathable, soft and silky. It's been warming up and my fleece pjs are too hot and heavy to lounge around in. So the other day I'm digging through a drawer (looking for a really cute beanie that has disappeared) and discover a pair of comfy pajamas, that are a light weight, breathable, soft and silky. A pair of pajamas that before we moved was my lounge wear of choice for the past 3 years. I HAD NO RECOLLECTION THAT I OWNED SUCH AN ITEM UNTIL THIS POINT. I'm serious guys, how does one forget their favorite pjs?

Now before you tell me that it's understandable because HELLO, YOU'RE MOVING TO DOMINICA, you need to know that this out of sight, out of mind business has been going on for some time, say like six months, way before I knew I was going anywhere. I don't even get the luxury of blaming it on the mommy brain.

I got a text from somebody wanting me to relieve them of one million dollars and because I didn't respond that second, instead slipped my phone into my pocket, POOF! It's like it never even happened. Like magic. I missed my window of financial opportunity. Ok not really, but it's what has been happening with so many of my other texts. So no worries if I don't respond to your call or text one day, I simply set my phone down and then FORGOT ALL ABOUT YOU.

This disease is not without its saving graces though because when I do suddenly remember or find an item, it's usually welcomed back (except the moldy green leaf lettuce, it gets trashed) with open arms and an exclamation along the lines of HOW COULD I EVER FORGET YOU!

So I think I have a husband named Gary who went to Guatemala on the 27th of February and the original plan was for him to return home on the 8th of March, but somehow he ended up staying for an additional week and so this has all been swallowed by the monster eating my gray matter. And Gary has very much been out of sight, out of mind this week and I'm at home adjusting to life as a single wife. Huh? Gary who? I can completely see myself this coming Sunday as Gary steps off the plane disheveled, eyes red and looking stoned due to lack of sleep being all HOW WILD! I totally have a husband who shares his food with me and warms up my side of the bed before I get in. WHAT A PLEASANT SURPRISE!

It's gonna be great.

My Finger Can't Hold The Dam

Um . . . . yeah, I'm officially hitting a breaking point. I have been pretty stressed, but I've also been holding it together while Gary's been gone. My finger can't hold the dam anymore. Gary was accepted to Ross very VERY late in the game. Most people know of their acceptance by January at the latest. We found out the beginning of MARCH. The welcome packet outlining everything required to be completed before May 4th finally came yesterday. I thought we had a lot to do before. I HAD NO IDEA THE DEFINITION OF "A LOT TO DO" UNTIL TODAY. Of the bazillion things needing doing, visas for both of us need to completed, submitted, and then approved before we step foot on the island. And visas are doable, people go through the process all the time, but I don't think they typically do everything from start to finish in a two month period. The following list consists of the visa requirements for Dominica:

-1 copy of round-trip flight itinerary
-1 money order/cashier's check for $200 USD
-2 official (2x2) passport photos
-1 copy of passport
-2 original police reports/background checks/letters of good conduct (less than 6 months old)
-1 original Health Certificate form - Parts l, ll, & lll signed by physician
-1 copy of TB/PPD test not more than 1 year old
-1 copy of HIV test not more than 1 year old
-1 copy of Hepatitis A vaccination not more than 10 years old
-1 copy of Hepatitis B vaccination not more than 5 years old
-1 copy of imaging report from chest x-ray not more than 1 year old
-1 Immigration and Passport Ordinance Application form
-2 testimonials or character references
-1 letter of reference from spouse indicating that he/she will assume financial responsibility for debt incurred while attending medical school in Dominica
-1 letter of reference from a bank indicating banking history
-1 bank statement reflecting a minimum of $3000 USD for the spouse to live in Dominica
-1 photocopy of marriage certificate

Um hello, I've never had my Hepatitis vaccinations! My mother told me that Hepatitis vaccinations take a span of 4 to 6 months until they're complete. I'm sure Gary has his taken care due to his mission, but I afraid I'm going to get left behind. How could I not since I'm starting from square one? My finger can't hold the dam anymore.

Left Solo

Remember how last Friday my hubby received the phone call that opened the door to the rest of our lives? Well the amount of work it's going to take to actually step through that door is daunting. Really, really daunting. And last Friday as we stared at each other stupidly we felt that weight settle in squarely on our shoulders. And then my husband jumped on a plane headed for Guatemala to translate for a whole bunch of physicians doing surgeries and treatments for the less fortunate and as he kissed me goodbye he asked me to start working on things to get the ball rolling. Commence meltdown. THANKS A LOT. Gary doesn't get back until Sunday night and with each passing day this weight gets heavier and more awkward. Filling out government loan applications, filing tax returns and paying deposits is not my forte, that kind of stuff is Gary's department. It's as if a dog chewed off my right arm for lunch and all I have to work with now is my left arm which technically functions, but it's slower, the fingers aren't as nimble or the muscles as strong. My right arm could do a much better job and BY GOLLY I WANT MY RIGHT ARM BACK.

I'm trying, really I am, to stay calm and focused, to get at least one or two things accomplished every day, to get us one step closer, but I get so far until I hit a wall and I think I could do so much more if I could at least COMMUNICATE with my right arm. Ya know discuss issues and make decisions. As it is phone rates to and from Guatemala are pricey and time is limited for him to stop in an Internet cafe so contact with my one and only has been nonexistent with one exception. Gary sent me an email yesterday that made me think Oh my gosh, is he going to get in trouble?! He's not allowed to do that! And then I remembered that he's not in the United States. The standards, rules, and regulations our country sets don't apply in Guatemala. Here's an excerpt from that email:

I just have a minute before they call me AGAIN. I just wanted to let you know that I am doing fine and have been very, VERY busy. Yeah, I am translating a little bit when they are short and I am not busy, but it is not my main job. I am in charge of the lab and when I say in charge I mean in CHARGE. I have probably drawn blood from the antecubital vein (it is the one on the other side of your elbow) at least 100 times so far, and will get even more in the next couple of days. I had never drawn blood before in my life, and the only instructions they gave me were and I quote:

"gloves
band
syringe
needle
alcohol"

That was it. I had to figure it out on my own (and I have only had to ask for help maybe 5 times so far). I also have to run all of the labs that we get (and I had to figure out how to do that too). Some of the nurse practitioner students here are asking ME to teach them how to draw blood.

P.S. I got to see part of an amputation.... yummy :)

Crazy, huh? I mean it's not like they asked him to do a heart transplant, but still to toss him into a situation like that with no former training and to have him handle it so well, that's why my husband is going to make an incredible doctor. And even though I'm sure it's been nerve-wrecking and unexpected, I know he's loving every minute of it. Medical school will probably be some of the hardest and most strenuous times Gary will endure, but I imagine that it will be some of the best as well because Gary will be doing what he loves most. Learning.