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A Day in the Life

February 1, 2012

The following interaction took place in clinic the other day…and it should be duly noted that what you find below is reason #472 that I’m going in to pediatrics:

6-year-old: “Are you Italian?”
Me: “Nope! I’m Irish”

She scuttles around and brushes my hair behind my ear…

Me: “Whatcha doing?”
6-year-old: “Checking to see if you have pointy ears.”
Me: “You mean, to see if I’m a leprechaun?”
6-year-old: “YES!…I stepped on one once.”
Me: “You did? That doesn’t sound very lucky.”
6-year-old: “Yeah, I lied, I didn’t step on one…and you’re not one either.”

I mean, COME ON, does it get much better?


“South of Houston” is to “SOHO”, as “Northern Kentucky/Ohio” is to “NOKO”…

January 28, 2012

Riddle me this, when you buy a ticket to Cincinnati, flying into the Cincinnati airport, what city do you think you land in?

What? What’s that you say? Cincinnati? WRONG.

Here’s an interesting fact for you, one that I’d recommend pocketing somewhere between remembering the channel for Bravo and recalling the location of the cereal aisle at the local Stop & Shop.  When you fly into Cincinnati airport, you are actually landing in Kentucky.  That’s right, not even the right state!

Why – you ask – am I bothering to bring this up in my first post back since mid-2011? Because I have spent the past six months trying to avoid Kentucky.  Admittedly it is for no other reason than my own (perhaps snobbish) bias that my personality simply wouldn’t “fit.”  To all those who are about to judge these previous words, let me say that I have been assured that Kentucky has “the nicest people  you’ll ever meet,” and more than that, I was told that it was a “mistake to not have applied there for residency.”

That being said, I’m still sticking to my guns…I just can’t do Kentucky. You can imagine my surprise when after being in a cab for ten minutes I caught a glimpse of a road sign stating, “Goodbye Kentucky, Hello Ohio.”

Not quite the sign I passed, but rather similar

My adventure though, merely started in Kentucky (northern Kentucky, which apparently was supposed to make me feel better)…the really crux of it happened on the 30 minute cab ride from the airport to the Hilton in Cincinnati.  Having arrived at the Cincinnati-Northern Kentucky airport at 12:00AM the night before (or rather morning of) an interview,  I was looking forward to one thing, and one thing only: the Hilton Serenity beds.  Dragging myself to the taxi stand, I slumped onto the counter and ordered a cab to the Netherland Plaza Hilton.  “That’s $30.” My collector was a 22-year-old with dyed red hair and what looked to be an (impending) infected nose ring.

“You wanna leave the tip now or wait?”

This is where I made my first mistake.  I am not a night owl, and thus, my mental faculties post-10PM are limited (severely limited) seemed to me that just tossing a tip on the credit card would avoid my having to dig through my wallet while stumbling out on the other end of this ride.

“I’ll do it now.”

$7 later I was in the back of taxi #426.

“Oh hello, where you from?” his accent was undoubtedly French.



“Nope. Connecticut.”


“Connecticut….it’s close to Canada….kind of.”

“Oh, okay…Connecticut.”

I leaned back into the leather seat and breathed deeply, inhaling the soothing “Orange Crush” scent emanating from the rearview mirror’s Evergreen tree.  It was shortly after this brief meditation in taxi cab scents that we passed the “Goodbye Kentucky, Hello Ohio” sign.

“Oh! Oh! I am low on fuh-well. I am low on fuh-well.”


“I am low on fuh-well, ok if stop for gas?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s fine.”

So first of all, isn’t a full tank, or at least enough of a tank to get from the airport to say, the major city, a necessary part of a cab driver’s job? I mean, when I show up for work, I come with my stethoscope and a pen, the two most necessary tools (other than my brain) for the job.  I expect the same of my cabbie…you drive a cab, you fill the tank.  Simple enough.  But alas, I wasn’t about to be a hardass about it…plus, without gas I don’t get to bed.

Apparently though, “getting gas” meant turning around and going back to the airport (mind you, at this point we were at least 10-15 minutes out).  We fly off the exit ramp and come to a rather abrupt (enough for my face to meet the driver’s headrest) stop.

“Is open?”

Here’s the second issue…I am clearly from out of town.  And whether it’s Connecticut or Canada, is really of no matter.  Neither home base would give me the knowledge of gas station openings/closings in the northern Kentucky/southern Ohio area.

“Uh….doesn’t look like it.” I should mention that I have rather keen skills in inductive reasoning, and so, when I saw no lights on at the station (not even the Mobil sign lit up), I reckoned we were SOL.

“Oh, oh, oh, low on fuh-well.” Yeah, we established this. “Oh I so sorry, I never do this, never never, I know all my customer want is to go home, go to sleep.” He was damn right on that one.

“It’s okay,” I said, after all, who am I to be overly critical.

We drove another twenty minutes and veered off the highway, and another abrupt stop later, we had wiggled in between a yellow school bus and a gas pump.  “Oh, I so sorry, I so so sorry, this never happens, I never do this.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, how about we just fill the tank and talk about “how this never happens” when we get back on the highway?

As the digital clock blinked “1:00AM” we rolled up to the Hilton.  There was no real exchange of pleasantries, the cabbie remained on his cell phone (which he’d gotten on as soon as we left the gas station)  jabbering away (I could hear “fuh-well, fuh-well” intermittently).  I must also have seemed like a relatively “hearty lass,” (which admittedly I am) as he also didn’t feel compelled to get out of his seat and help me with my bags.

Rolling through the revolving door, I was met with a freakishly perky top-hatted gentleman, “WELCOME TO CINCI!”


Lessons Learned:

  1. Don’t leave a tip until you’ve received the service.
  2. Gas stations in Ohio (or maybe it was northern Kentucky) sell chocolate cupcakes…and not the Hostess kind…the real kind
  3. Comfortable beds and a little bit of sleep have powerful effects on forgiveness


June 14, 2011

It’s no secret, nor should it be, that I am single…available…free for the taking…up for grabs…in short, I’m in hot pursuit. I find though, that despite this God-forsaken label, I am still at a bit of a loss when it comes to meeting/finding/falling-out-of-a-cab-in-front-of my proverbial prince. Admittedly, I have never been great at dating, and for a while there it was something I just wasn’t terribly interested in. Then college happened and provided a pretty decent pre-screening process that at least guaranteed me a modicum of personal safety (although I recognize that this is actually not true at all….great harm has been done on college campuses across the country, but still, the “pre-screened” notion can hold). While I wasn’t a dating fiend in college, I realize now that I damn well should have been….what is it they say about youth and childhood? “It is wasted on the young.” Truth. False. I’m still young…and apparently restless.

Back to the point though. I am tired of minimizing my relationship status and maximizing my personal attributes, what do I want? I want to manimize my life. There are, of course, a variety of venues in which to embark upon this effort, but let’s be honest, I’ve never been much of a “meet a guy in a bar and start a relationship” kind of gal. I am, as many of us with two X chromosomes are, a hopeless romantic (HoRo). Not the ooey-gooey kind of HoRo though. I am a modern HoRo: I don’t expect him to come riding up on a white steed with a bouquet of roses and the perfect one-liner. Not at all. But I do expect that – at least for a little while – he opens the door for me, and that he puts on a tie for a wedding.

Really though, I don’t require that much….I’m into laughter, I adore banter, I can shoot hoops and throw a football. I’d like someone to come home to, who understands when I need to talk and when talking is completely unnecessary. I want someone who is comfortable calling me out in the midst of a ramble, and who can handle some alone time. I want random, I want fun, I want ridiculous and I want communicative. Rereading that last paragraph I am well aware of the repetitive use of “I want.” But I’m not that selfish…in return for my wants, I promise to do my best to fulfill someone else’s wants. I can offer a fairly regular stream of social commentary, a well-founded knowledge of Modern Family and Shakespeare, and a keen interest in the culinary arts and mixology.

So here it is: I’m manimizing. How, you ask? I’m willing to approach this endeavor from all angles, and here’s my first: Dating on Demand. This literally fell into my lap last Friday night while at Liquid Lounge. I was stopped by a guy with a microphone and a “Dating on Demand” T-shirt, who enticingly harangued me into listening to a short diatribe on his show. The premise: Comcast has a feature on On Demand for dating (a set-up/down from and eHarmony). The program shows a myriad of brief, individual interviews, available to anyone looking to speed date from the comfort of their own couch (are we really so lazy that we can’t even leave our houses to meet people?), or alternatively, it is for people who are so socially phobic that the thought of leaving their house is panic inducing. Basically, what it comes down to is that this is a show for scaredy-cat daters…and I felt it was a perfect setting for the resurgence of my dating life (I will take a moment to silently berate those friends of mine who were in my company and felt it appropriate not only to not talk me out of it, but to enthusiastically encourage me).

Being interviewed, in all my glory, by Dating on Demand

Needless to say, I did it…in costume (I thought Liquid Lounge was a country theme…oops), which coincidentally is a pretty good first impression of my personality. Who knows what’s going to come of this, I don’t even know when it’s going to air. The bottom-line is, I’m back…so once again Prince Charming, saddle up that horse, and let’s g-o.


April 11, 2011

I know that I’ve written about this before, but sometimes the iPhone autocorrect completely baffles me. Tonight’s correction…

“Iwas” –> “Obese”

Now, clearly I was attempting to write “I [space] was,” and not “obese,” but because said iPhone is incapable of actually having a thought process, it’s ability to perceive my intentions is somewhere around subpar.

Jail Bait…

March 26, 2011

Today was supposed to be a pretty decent Saturday…albeit a day full of learning how to save lives via Advanced Cardiovascular Life Support (ACLS) training.  With a leisurely start at 9AM, I didn’t have too much to worry about other than pulling some lunch together and finding my ACLS book (which conveniently was still in it’s shrink wrap waiting by the front door).

That was how today was supposed to go…here’s how it actually went:

My alarm went off at 8AM, at which point I noticed two texts waiting for me, both from Kat: “You know it starts at 8, right?” So here we have problem #1: No, I didn’t (clearly) know it started at 8…the last email I had said it started at 9. Awesome.  I pulled on clothes, brushed my pearly whites and ripped down the stairs to throw my premade lunch in my bag as I hauled ass out the door.  And here’s where it gets most interesting…

I ran up the walkway, hungry for knowledge, bags flying behind me, and turned a sharp right to where I had parked last night…only to find…NOTHING.  Betty was gone (note: Darth is currently undergoing minor surgery for a new transmission, and so I have my mother’s car, Betty).  There were no tire marks, no oil spills, no broken glass, no signs that she had put up a decent fight…just emptiness.  Now, I should probably back up to last night, as it was my own doing that put me in this current situation.  When I arrived home last night there was no where to park…no where…not in the lot in front of my condo, and not in any of the lots to the side of me, so I took matters into my own hands, which I have done before.  I made myself a cozy little parking spot in front of a sign that says “Motorcycles and Bicycles Only,” (see by obscuring the sign, no one knows that motorcycles or bikes are supposed to park there).  No one who lives near me has motorcycles, and thus nothing is ever parked in the spot…natural thought to take it, right? Wrong.

So, fuming mad, and already late, I did what any rational person would do…I called my mother.  In response to my shock and pissiness, she simply laughed and threw a few lines from Modern Family at me, told me to buck up, call a cab and go to class (I had up until that point decided that I wasn’t going to ACLS, as getting Betty back was a priority).  And that’s what I did…minus the cab part…knowing full well that it would take a cab at least 20 minutes to get to me, plus the fact that I literally live across from the health center, I decided to inflict some self punishment (it was 20 degrees this morning) and walk myself up the hill towards Dempsey (the hospital).  On my way I spoke with both the West Hartford and Farmington Police before confirming that my car had indeed been towed (and not stolen), and was sitting in some God-forsaken lot in New Britain.  And the lovely woman at Empire Motors told me that I should call just before I’m ready to come over, as they aren’t open on the weekends (so many problems with this…1) as a towing company, how are you not open on the weekends? 2) I guess #1 is really it)…I could feel her judgment seeping through my iPhone.

Fifteen minutes later, and more frigid than I already was, I made it to the Health Center doors, only to realize that my ID badge…the one you need to get into the hospital on the weekends…was in Betty.  Phenomenal.  Truly perfect.  But as luck would have it some uber-hard working first year was sidling in at the same time.

I can happily say now that I made it to ACLS just as the intro video was wrapping up, and while I understand the importance of watching a video on “how to be a good team player during a code,” I am frankly glad I missed it.  Furthermore, the whole day turned out to be a heckuva lot less painful than I had anticipated…as it is 2:30 and I am home free…when we weren’t supposed to leave until 5.  And, five hours of analyzing EKG strips and memorizing doses of atropine and amiodarone, gave me the distraction needed to get over myself.

So now I’m writing while waiting for LeighMcD to come…Darth has been discharged and is ready to be reunited…the day of the car switch couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.  I just hope that the extra six hours I let Betty sit in jail haven’t caused her harm…her sleek looking silver exterior really hides just a soft leather interior…she wasn’t made to do hard time…


Lessons learned….

  1. Don’t make your own parking spots
  2. If you live in Farmington, call the Farmington Police first
  3. A towed car sucks, but is far better than a stroke or a heart attack
  4. Always lay out your clothes in the morning and pack a lunch


Perhaps though, the best part of the day is this…I learned that the course I am currently taking for free, would cost me $200 (or more) elsewhere.  And coincidentally the amount I will be paying to Empire Motors this afternoon is $120.50…so technically, today I made a profit…or at least managed to save!




Fun Fact of the Day

March 25, 2011

It’s been a while since we’ve had one of these, but this is a good one…

Peritoneal fluid flows in a clockwise direction within the belly/pelvic, so, because ovarian cancer most commonly spreads via direct extension (the tumor sheds into the cavity), ovarian cancer metastases are often seen in a clockwise pattern…

Cool, right?

EOM #2

March 24, 2011

Trip’s really on to something here…(by the way, all captions, are what he sends me via text)

The investment banking analysts

This might be my favorite one ever…a slight bias due to my proclivity towards gummy bears…