Monday, July 27, 2009

Flossing's for the birds

I can hear my dental hygienist scolding me in my mind when I don't floss. So annoying! I have clearly committed dental sin and then I have to floss twice the next day as penance. However, I can pop in the cheetos and my doctor is still smiling merrily at me saying, "you deserve it!" I like my doctor. So sometimes I want to tell my dental hygienist to get herself some fanny floss and mind her own business.
Some things I do solely out of guilt. Flossing is one of them, hands down. Checking out books that can be classified as something other than literary junk food is another. You know, the classics, like (yawn) Moby Dick. I'll get a few chapters in and then, whoops!, they're due again already. Darn. But no one's the wiser that I finished that cheap-o murder mystery or read every recipe in the cookbook about chocolate, plus polished off the whole Twilight series in the same week. And it's really just because the librarian gives me that stare, you know? I feel all guilty inside if I slip into the romance section because I know she's throwing me eye darts from the set in the back of her head.

So does anyone else do things like this solely out of guilt? Or does everyone actually read those stuffy classics they check out?

Monday, July 13, 2009


You know that feeling when you drink the first cold sip of water in the morning and you can feel the coolness spreading all the way down your chest? It’s like someone poured cool water right through you. I love that feeling.

And here's a non-sequitur--I really want a camera. There was this window at MGH this morning that had a letter on each of twelve 8 1/2 x 11 pieces of paper spelling, "GET BETTER DAN!" It was so simple and it looked sunny but sad in the window of the 14th floor. It would have made an interesting story captured in a photograph. That's what I was thinking. Also, I was thinking that I wanted Dan to get better too.

So now I'm at work. A part of me really wants to get all sorts of scut work done with so that I can go to my boss and tell her all the ridiculous things I've been doing with my days and also tell her that there's really nothing more I can possibly do because no one else has scut work for me. In essence I've done IT ALL. And then another part of me thinks, I am really too good for scut work. And instead just writes on this blog of mine. Or checks my bank account. Or writes Boyd an email. Or looks up the movies in town this weekend--which, by the way, includes the 6th Harry Potter :) I mean, really, they're paying me $10.50/hour. What do they expect when they don't give me anything to do? I am only 50% the type to seek out grunt work is all I'm saying.

At the house I'm subletting for the summer there are these water glasses with little blown glass goldfish embedded in them, and there is also a white bone mug with an artsy panda on it that says "bei jing" all phonetically with the accenture marks over the vowels and everything. I'm really in love with both of these. Needless to say I drink my chammomile/spearamint tea out of the panda mug which makes me feel like I've just consumed a hug. The panda helps. And the fish glasses are sort of rose-colored (theoretically speaking) making me think that life is going swimingly to say the least.

Also, I'm addicted to Pandora, which is only a slight consolation prize for the gorgeous 70 degree day I'm missing outside. My optimistic side made me put on sunscreen anyways, since I don't want the spotty, fugly arms that seem to dot most women in their 6th decade. And since I may decide to become a dermatologist it only seems logical.

No cute photos of our kids until I get that camera! And then, no promises since said kids don't exactly exist yet. Ah well.