The world's most random post.

Oh man. I've been working hard. And a lot. I need a good random post to blow off some steam. Nothing deep. Nothing heavy. Just a few--okay maybe more than a few--monumentally unimportant things swirling in my head (outside of medicine) right now.

Here we go.

It is summertime in Georgia. So you know what that means? It means that the giant palmetto bugs aka ginormous cockroach bugs have come up from underground to scare the crap out of those who fear bugs.

Before you say it I know that they are technically in the cockroach family. But calling them that 1. scares me and 2. mistakes them for the tiny, icky ones that infest people's homes. The big flying palmetto bugs don't usually infest. But they do manage to get indoors whether you like it or not. And I agree that you mostly see them outside. But. I don't care how clean you keep your home or how excellent your pest control service is--if you live in the sho' nuff South, you WILL have the bejesus scared out of you at some point by one of these suckers. Yikes.

Dude. Depending upon where you live--they just might FUH-LYYYY!  Not. Even. Kidding. Fortunately, when I left Tuskegee, Alabama I left the flying variety. But the first time I encountered a flying, ginormous cockroach after growing up in Los Angeles? I went to the nearest pay phone on my dorm hall and called my parents.

"Must. Come. Get. Me."

(They never did.)

Big. I'm talking big-big. Some are big enough to lean against a wall and speak to you in a low husky voice. Saying, "You mind turning some AC on up in here? And giving me a light for this cigarette?"

0_0 ---------> "AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!"

Oh, you didn't know? The ones here talk. Sure do.

Which reminds me.

Maaaaaan. I was at this kid gathering and me and a bunch of moms got to talking about the giant palmetto bugs of the southern United States.  So I say, "It freaks me out when those things get into my house! Yuck!" And this mama (who fortunately wasn't a good friend of mine) looks over at me and says, "Hmmm. I see them occasionally outside but I've never seen one inside of my home, thank goodness."

0_o

Can I please tell you what I was SCREAMING inside of my soul at that moment? 

"CHILE PLEASE!! LIAR! LIAR! PANTS ON FIRE!"

But I didn't. Instead I just gave her the hairiest sideways eyeball e-ver.

Uuuuhhh, yeah. Okay.

The kids are away at Camp PaPa so that means some grown up time for me and the BHE. What does that mean? Hmmmm. It means holding hands and making all sorts of plans. It means chilling on patios at swanky Atlanta restaurants sipping adult beverages. It means being able to oblige someone when they invite you somewhere at the last minute.

But, of course, you know what it mostly means, right?

SLEEP.

Deep, luscious sleep. The kind you get on a honeymoon or while you're waiting for anesthesia to wear off of you. Nobody busting in doing the pee-pee dance at three AM.

Which reminds me:

What's up with little kids feeling the need to announce all forms of body evacuation? Mine do go independently but they always, always have to tell me first. And not because I told them they must. They just do. Especially at three AM.

What else?

I was watching the O.W.N. network last night. I was watching and thinking, "As much as I love me some Oprah, I can't believe that I have watched this channel only like. . .negative two times since it came on."

Look. In Atlanta, the O.W.N. network is on channel 131. Which, if you ask me, is extra random. I would think that someone like Oprah could have snagged a better channel. In fact, one of the radio personalities here said it should be called the "On-your-OWN" channel since it's so damn hard to find.

Heh.

Yesterday this patient said to me -- NOT KIDDING -- "I think cellulite is a kind of sexy. Just a little bit. Not a whole, whole bunch of it but just a little is kinda sexy."

0_o

And let's just be clear -- the context was Kim Kardashian who was strutting her stuff on the channel he was watching with his girlfriend. The girlfriend says, "She got cellu-LEET!"  And that is when he made that statement about low-grade cellulite being "kind-of-sexy."

Mmmm hmmm. He sure did.

I looked at that twenty-something year-old girl and told her, straightest face ever:

"I suggest you marry him A-S-A-P."

Ha.

She wrinkled her nose and told me that "she don't have no cellulite." To which I quickly retorted, "Aaaaah, but sweetheart you will. Trust me on that--I'm a doctor." And we all laughed out loud.

Hmmm what else?

Damn, I love coffee. It's such an experience. People who don't drink coffee--do you have any idea what you're missing? My Grady bff, Lesley M., does not drink coffee. Neither does her husband. This perplexes the hell out of me. No . . . coffee in the morning?

*thump*

Just fainted at the thought of it.

Harry was watching a special with George H.W. and Barbara Bush on HBO yesterday.  From the special, they seem nice enough. But my thoughts when pausing to watch this had nothing to do with red states, blue states or politics (which the special had little to do with either.) Instead, I was left with this monumentally unimportant thought:  What is UP with Barbara Bush looking so, so, so, so, so much older than her husband???? It's more than just the grey hair. She really looks like she could be his mama. No, for real.

Is that mean? Yikes. Sorry.

I'm sure it wasn't always that way for her. At least, I hope not. This just made me hope that the BHE and I age at a similar pace. Looking like you could be your husband's mom is not like " a little bit of cellulite." In other words, it's not kind of sexy--at all.

Dude!

I made some microwave popcorn the other day that had a hole in the bag. In case you didn't know, the whole thing burns and smokes when that happens. It smells so extremely horrible and sets your smoke alarms all off. This was especially bad because Harry wasn't home so when he walked in he was like, "WHAT THE EFF?!?"

I said, "Oh you didn't see my text? I told you I tried to burn down the house with some microwave popcorn."

His reply:

0_0

Oh! And I almost forgot. We had a great time on Father's Day. As soon as I got home from rounding, we went to lovely restaurant in an awesome revitalized neighborhood in Atlanta. Then we went over to this area called Atlantic Station and walked around a bit followed by some excellent people-watching. And let me tell you, people: People-watching with Harry is hilarious. Hilarious, I tell you.

And lastly, a random YouTube commercial that made me laugh out loud.



These are the important things I look at when I'm not stamping out disease at Grady.

Yawn.

I guess I'll go to work now. That was fun. Hope you day is, too.

***
Happy Monday.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . because sometimes this is all I want to do.