pink shoes

i don't know how they do it.

2010-01-07T01:08:00.002-06:00

I'm sitting here in my 'hotel room' that just so happens to be the SEA-TAC airport and it seems like every few a minutes another family has to say good-bye. I'm sitting in front of the security area and farewells are abundant.

Then a man or a woman comes up in their fatigues with a spouse in tow and sometimes a child or three. They hug, kiss, and then there are tears. There are always tears, usually the quiet kind - no sobs or gasps - just the sad, quiet good-byes.

I don't know how they do it. They're not going away for a day or even a week or two. They're going away for months. I've been away from my wife and kids for three days and I can't wait to see them again.

Thanks, I guess, for all of this. Sorry about all the good-byes. I can only imagine how that must suck.

a brief rant

2010-01-06T23:19:00.000-06:00

I am sitting on the quarantine side of the Victoria International Airport…finally. I arrived here confident. I had looked up the new international flight guidelines and had packed accordingly. In my would-be carry-on were my laptop, my camera with three lenses, my iPod, my Flip video camera and the applicable cables for each. I had planned to check my other bag, even though it had arrived as a carry-on from Houston to Victoria…and this all took place on the 1st of January, when these new rules went into effect.

In short, on the advice of the Horizon employee’s advice, I went to the security checkpoint to ensure that my bag could indeed be a carry-on as all the items within it’s zippers were exceptions to the new carry-on rules.

The first lady I spoke with apparently did not possess the authority to give me the thumbs up or the thumbs down. She called Janice. Janice arrived from the depths of the security checkpoint and before greeting me or looking me in the eyes, began to shake her head.

“What? I can’t take this as carry-on? All the items in here are exceptions – laptop, camera equipment…” and so it went.

She was adamant. Apparently every exception to the new carry-on rules has to be in it’s own, appropriate bag (i.e. laptop bag, camera bag, video camera bag and so on). I was unsure of how to proceed as removing all these items would leave my backpack completely empty. I asked Janice if I could use one of the gray, security bins to move my stuff from my soon-to-be checked backpack to the other side of security/safety.

Surprisingly, she said no. This lady was killing me. Not only was she sticking to her guns she was rather rude and non-understanding about it. I returned to the ticket counter to check my now empty backpack and juggle my valuables from there through security. Now back at security, Janice was pleasantly absent, but the other security personnel looked at each other awkwardly. “Are we allowing three carry-ons?”

WTM. These aren’t three carry-ons. These are three items that just came from ONE carry-on that wouldn’t let me carry on because people like you in a country far away didn’t check someone’s carry-on like they should have and he tried to light his carry-ons on fire and now my single carry-on is checked and you are questioning if I can take three small items onto your plane and all this would have been OK six days ago.

I am still feeling…what is the word…incredulous!!

To my sheer pleasure, they let me on with my three “carry-ons” with the advice, “If anyone gives you any trouble just tie two of them together.” Nice.

Hey, America. Don’t punish the passengers for attempted terrorist attacks. If the security checkpoint personnel would have done their job, this attempted attack last week wouldn’t have occurred. Instead of taking the time to train and educated the security screeners, it would only make sense just to make their job completely non-thinking by not allowing anyone to bring anything through security. Yeah, that should help. You know what would make their jobs even easier? Tell passengers they can’t take their clothes with them. When they arrive to check-in for their flight, just have them check all baggage and remove all clothing items and ask them to stick a camera up their bumhole and then go through security….and only if they’re international passengers.

As I finished typing that last line a small group of passengers, myself included, we’re asked to line up at the gate. There was no boarding announcement and the man didn’t belong to the airline.

After surviving the first security check, every passenger’s items and junk (literally) was inspected. My arms, neck, man boobs, booty, legs…everything was patted down. What? This wasn’t some random security check. Every passenger underwent a pat down. The lady a couple people in front of me got her boobs patted down. Even though this patting occurred by a female it seemed inappropriate just out in the open. After the pat down, we were allowed to sit in ‘special’ seats cordoned off to indicate that we were checked.

I’m a huge supporter of life and the prevention of people taking that gift away from other people, but this seems a bit much. On a larger scale, say, if our plane was full as opposed to having only 10 passengers, these measures seem a bit improbable.

I’m glad I’m not flying international anytime soon. Or ever!

Peace.

12/31ish

2009-12-30T23:03:00.003-06:00

Today marks the beginning. Actually it marks more of an end as I'm not sure what this might be the beginning of. The official end is tomorrow, but it's only a matter of minutes and subsequent hours away.

I'm free at 5pm tomorrow.

But...I don't have to show up in another facility or institution or hospital or anything again until I am employed.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to be here, but I'm also quite enthralled that the work, effort, sweat of the last 2.5 years has come to a fantastic end.

I have mixed emotions - glee, anxiety, joy, nervousness, tremors - but the predominant feeling is joy. I find myself doing spontaneous happy dances. In the elevator out of the building today I ran in a little circle and I might have kept going, but the elevator stopped one floor down. "Hello."

Perhaps the predominant feeling is anticipation. I have a love/hate relationship with change. I get uncomfortable and my back sweats, but at the same time the heart races with excitement for the new and the different.

I wax...boring. I think I'm off to bed...right after I finish my 7th movie of the last few days. I'm productive.

four25

2009-12-20T13:48:00.005-06:00

Dear Cupcake -

So much has happened in the last few years - we met, ran a marathon, you graduated, we got married, you and the kid moved to Houston, we had another kid (thank you Hurricane Ike) and now I'm about to graduate and we're on the verge of another move across the country. It's amazing what we have accomplished together. My life is enthralling with you...because of you. Despite all this excitement, I can't remember the last time we had an evening together...alone. I'm not complaining, but I want to spend some time with you and only you (good bye, children:) Now that graduation is right around the corner, we have no excuse.

With that thought in mind, I want to cash in my foam coupon that I received for graduation. I want to spend a weekend with you. Far away from little people that know our names or call us 'Ma' and 'Dad.' So I took the liberty to pick the location for our get-away and I booked some "entertainment" for us. I hope you don't mind. If you simply click here and enter your name in the requested boxes...

Yes, ma'am. We're going on a vacation. Obviously, the details have yet to be worked out, as I don't have a job to request vacation from yet, but this will all be worked out at a later date. Also, I was thinking we could fly in one of the grandmas to look after the kids for five or so days while we tour the California coast on foot.

I can't wait (claps hands together while doing happy dance). Let's go running.

Oh, and I almost forgot, in the New Balance shoe box on top of the bookshelf, you will find one more present to complement you're training.

I love you, Mrs. Burman...and Merry Christmas.

on parenting.

2009-12-12T09:25:00.004-06:00

Earlier this year I dashed my child's belief in the Easter Bunny. I threw in Santa Claus just for good measure at the same time. I have not noticed any noticeable decreases in childhood happiness, but my wife has noticed clinical depression in our child ever since. You can see the history of this on her post Goodbye Childhood.

I have been called many names by my friends. Apparently 6 years of age was way to early for a child to find out that there is no Santa. In my defense I'd like to think that my child is smart enough to realize that Santa can't get into our house and if he did, your mom would be the first to call 911. Reindeer don't fly and I've never seen one with a red nose. Also, Santa can't deliver gifts to the entire world of children. There are so many impossibilities associated with Santa and I got tired of answering the questions (after one year).

Needless to say, my wife was less than pleased, but she recently bought me a t-shirt that has a picture of Santa on it and it reads, "I don't exist." I wear it proudly.

Yesterday my brother-in-law in Canada sent a personalized message from Santa to the kid. It was super difficult to get the kid to believe that Santa was not real, but now to go back, I wasn't sure she could do it. But she did. Sort of.

After watching the video twice, she asked, "Can you write Santa back?" I assured her I could as an email to her uncle is rather simple.

There was a long pause. "In his next video, can you ask Santa to show me the reindeer? I really want to see if Rudolph has a red nose."

"Sure. I'll ask."

Another long pause. This usually indicates that thinking on a very deep level is taking place. In the video Santa had itemized her wish list, which included a Barbie doll wedding dress and a tux for Ken. "If Santa is real, I want a hand-made dress from Mrs. Claus." A brief pause was inserted here and then, "Well, that is if she knows how to knit."

Later she asked, "Can you ask if Sidney Long is on the naughty or nice list?"

"What? You can't ask Santa about your classmates. You need to just worry about yourself." To say that the questioning went on forever would be an understatement.

The video posted is of her watching her video message from Santa.

I wrote "Santa" back thanking him for her renewed belief and questions. It was a sarcastic email. Unfortunately, he doesn't know the ongoing history of this and I think I may have offended him. Oops. Apparently I don't know when it is appropriate to break the news to the kid. I've already started telling Pete just to avoid all the confusion.

In the end, I told her if Santa brings her a knitted wedding dress for her Barbie doll on Christmas morning, then Santa is real. If not, than he is a hoax. We'll have to wait and see.

I think I'm going to write a letter to Santa this year and leave it out with milk and cookies. I mean, if they're gone in the morning I'll know Santa is real. Maybe I'll just eat them and pretend. I'm unsure. Perhaps I'm just a bad parent for not perpetuating the false belief in Santa, the Easter Bunny, Disney Princesses or the landing on the moon.

i need pictures in colorado.

2009-12-12T08:57:00.003-06:00

In iPhoto there is this feature that allows you to view your photos by places - as in where the photos were taken. There are a lot of open spots.

On the cusp of finding a job, I have looked at this map and decided that I really want more pictures from Colorado. Not only would it be a fantastic place to live, but I would be able to advance my little red pins to the East.

I've scoured the country for places to live and Colorado keeps coming to the top. This seems to be the place where I could live, settle, multiply, etc. I suppose I'll have to wait to see if I really do get to take more pictures in Colorado.

the push

2009-09-19T17:29:00.004-05:00

My head is never quiet. Normally I can rest, I can find some quiet, but lately this has become more difficult.

In less then two weeks I give my capstone presentation on xenon. I can't stop thinking about xenon. Every moment I am awake I find myself thinking about this inert gas. It's uber lame, I realize this, but I can't help myself. I think about how I am going to say this about that or that about this. It's an ongoing turmoil in my brain. I can't wait until it is over. Unfortunately I have a test next week to distract me for a few more days. Then after this presentation I have my comprehensive examination (essentially a review of all material from the last 2.5 years) one month later.

It's go time, but I feel as though I have nothing left to give. I am not complaining, but I am tired of living this life of meaninglessness. At the end of my life, I will not look back and wish I had known more about xenon. All of this seems like one more loop to jump through before my family and I and can get on with our lives. I feel in limbo, doing what I have to do to get by. I sure hope I get by.

I think the official countdown is 104 days. It's go time.

discussions with the head

2009-09-19T17:10:00.005-05:00

I worked with the head of the department again this week. Twice. I am not sure if my heart can take much more.

"Good morning, Dr. Hobab (not her real name)," I said with as much enthusiasm as could be mustered for 0645. I walked past her into pre-op holding, but I didn't get very far.

"Why did you call me yesterday at two in the afternoon? Did you think I'd be at home? What is position? Do you think I just go home and hang out? Did you think I would be at home? What would I be doing at home?"

I was dumbfounded. I had called her the day before at 3ish or so, but I didn't realize it would be a grand offense. Normally when that happens, people just call back and no one loses any sleep over it. Actually, as far as I know every one on earth returns phone calls when called. It's polite, normal. I stuttered out an, "I don't know."

She kept going essentially repeating herself from the first outburst. It ended with, "Do you know my position? I am the chairman of the department of anesthesiology."

I wasn't sure if I should bow or explain to her how phone etiquette works. In the middle of it all I told her that I had thought that perhaps she worked at home. Apparently this was preposterous. As a side note, she is the interim chair of the department of anesthesiology. I realize that is a minor detail, but I thought it best not to bring it up at that moment.

We proceeded into pre-op holding to see our patient for the day, but instead of just one patient as posted the day before there were two. This is a recipe for complete disaster.

"And the first patient has complete previa. You never told me that patient had previa." She wasn't happy.

I was again caught off guard. The posted patient did not have previa. I quickly scanned the chart of the patient with previa and realized that this patient was not the patient that was posted yesterday and that we had discussed on the phone. She was an add-on for the day and yet somehow I got blamed for knowing nothing about this patient. I had never seen this patient before. Needless to say I got pulled from the case so someone more competent could care for this patient. She actually gave me permission to be in the room, but I could only chart.

By this time it was only 0730. We only had 8 hours left together.

By the time the day was out, I was told that I don't listen and this must mean that I don't like learning. I assured her that I was listening and she assured me that I wasn't. WTM?

On the bright side, I'm not sure I ever have to work with her again. Ever. I am smiling on the inside.

the most lovable bear named Kunt

2009-09-19T16:55:00.007-05:00

I frequently frequent (I wrote it because I can) msnbc.com's slideshows. Whether it's the latest Celebrity Sighting or Animal Tracks or Week in Pictures. I'm not sure why these little slideshows suck me in, but they do. I love clicking mindlessly looking through pictures of the new baby rhino in Zimbabwe or Eva Longoria at yet another event where she wins no award. I rarely read the caption that is ever-present with every picture, but every so often the picture pulls me and I have to read to find out what is happening in the picture.

I was on lunch at work and was browsing the latest Animal Tracks show. I clicked 'next' and it showed the polar bear Knut swimming in a pool of green something. I didn't know what the something was so I read the caption. The caption can be found in the photo.

I took out my phone, snapped a picture and giggled to myself. I'm such a small child.

I'm actually rather proud of this as I knew by the time I had gotten home some well-intentioned individual would have noticed the error and notified msnbc.com and it would have been corrected. It was.

crazy land

2009-08-26T22:27:00.006-05:00

"Which of you is going to be with me in pre-op?" I asked the two attendings sitting in her office.

"I am," came the reply. I asked a couple more questions to ensure complete understanding of her expectations of me for the day. She is a very specific and volatile dictator and I wanted things to go as well as they possibly could.

Even with my last question she responded with, "How long have you been with us now?"

"Two months."

"Well you should know how we do things by now."

The inner dialogue was going rampant. Yes, except you do things different than anybody else.

I left the comfort of her welcoming gaze to go post-op patients from the previous day. Oh, the sheer pleasure of my assignment today. The post-ops went on for much longer than I would have liked, but I completed them just before 10 AM. I returned to the anesthesia lounge and she stopped me in the hall. "Any pre-ops yet?"

"No. I just got back from doing my post-ops, but I am heading over there now." The pre-op clinic is across the hall on another unit. She stopped in the doorway of her office as I began walking down the hall.

"Can I speak to you in my office for a minute?" she asked.

"Sure." Aw crap! What have I done now? Again, my brain went rampant with possibilities. I stepped inside her office and she sat down. I was not invited to sit nor did I have time to even think about sitting.

"We are your superiors. Do not talk down to us. Do not say 'Which one of you...' to us. You need show some respect. You should say 'Whose my faculty today?'. Do not talk down to us. You need to show us respect."

There were many more suggestions, but I think I tuned out. My mouth was agape. My astonishment was emblazoned across my face. Of all the things that I thought were coming, this was not it.

"I...I...I'm sorry," I stammered.

She continued. It was more of the same.

"I promise you being disrespectful was not my intent. I am sorry." I was sincere, but still aghast.

She nodded her head and made a noise as if to indicate that she was done with me. I retreated from her doorway and mumbled, "Thank you."

Thank you? Thank you? For what? Seriously. Is the phrase 'Which one of you...' derogatory? Offensive? Demeaning? WTM!?! Is 'Whose my faculty...' some means of communication that conveys complete respect and awe. What English class did I miss?

I feel like I should bow next time. I wonder how that will go over.

I remain perplexed.

It is this sort of behavior that makes me lose respect for an individual. If you want my respect then act in a manner that deserves it, because if you demand it from me respect is the last thing I will have to give you.

a touch of gas

2009-08-22T20:57:00.003-05:00

I worked 16 hours last night. I used to think that was a long time until I started doing 24-hour shifts. I have one of those in the morning. The problem with those is that I go in tomorrow morning and come home 24 hours after that. That sucks.

Needless to say, my 16-hour shift last night seemed longer than usual as my body was wracked my relentless gas.

Seriously.

I let out liters of gas with no relief. At one point I was in the OR about to get a c-section started and I felt my abdominal cavity shake as gas bubbles moved about. I was in anguish.

Later, I was preparing for another case in the OR and I was walking down one hall when I thought I'd let out a little squeaker. That fart started in one hallway and continued around the corner and all the way down the next hall. The distance of that fart was approximately 50 feet. Still no relief.

I can't figure out what devil food I ate that caused me to experience such symptoms. I hope I never eat that again.

I am happy to report that my fart frequency and duration are waning.

so hot

2009-08-05T05:40:00.004-05:00

My wife is two weeks post-delivery of Pete. Her body is trying to keep up with her beatings. The other night she joined me for the now 8-minute ab workout...and she is phenomenal. As we were 'sitting' there doing leg kicks and dead cockroaches I looked over and I thought to myself.

'This lady is everything I ever hoped for in a wife.'

Seriously, the expectations, the list of desired characteristics and attributes weren't many, but very specific. I got everything. EVERYTHING!!

My wife is a machine. She pushes herself more than anyone else I know and she looks good doing it. She even did some pull-ups with me. When I watch her I can't help but smile. I'm the luckiest boy in the world.

She's already got her next 26.2 planned. The training has already started. I sit back and watch in awe.

home

2009-07-20T21:52:00.004-05:00

Today we got to come home. Word on the street is that our insurance only covers two nights of stay in the local hospital so whether or kid had hyperbilirubinemia or not we were out on the street.

And I have never been so excited to go home.

We packed up our belongings and made the 2 mile trek home with one extra family member than we had when we left on Friday night. I can't believe there is actually a little body that now fills the care seat. I am in constant awe.

Since then we have fretted over the lack of wet and poopy diapers Pete has been having. He has definitely showed symptoms of dehydration and we're trying our best to get him caught up.

Tonight he had his first poop in 40 hours. Oh glorious poop! We are so proud.

I can't seem to take my eyes off of him. It's weird to leave him for even ten minutes and go about some normal activities of life. He's quite captivating.

I think we might watch the birth video in a little bit. The wife is super excited.

circumcised and waiting

2009-07-19T13:34:00.003-05:00

We awoke hoping and crossing our fingers that we could go home today. The pediatrician and the obstetrician both said that we could go home today.

Then, in a twist of horror, we were told we had to stay at least another night so Little Pete could get some phototherapy for his jaundice/high bilirubin level.

What?

When we were told the news Lindsay asked if the window opened as we're on the 25th floor and she was contemplating suicide. Last night was miserable. I'm not sure how much sleep we actually got, but it was minimal. The crying baby was a pleasure compared to the vital signs and peri-care checks and hey-it's-11:30-at-night-and-I-need-to-weigh-your-now-sleeping-baby check. Aaaah! It was awful.

All was going in the direction of discharge until lunch when the nurse came in and told us we had to stay at least another 24 hours. WTM?

The only productive thing done today was Big Pete's circumcision. The kid was a champ. He sucked on his sugar water without crying while the doctor made comments like "Peter, well that's a fine name for someone about to have this procedure" and "Well, you're pencil is sharp now and what a fine pencil it is." Here is proof that even circumcisions can be fun.

The kid and I came home so we could sleep and we'll be reuniting with the wife and new kid tonight. I like our now expanded family.

a day in review

2009-07-18T20:23:00.003-05:00

As I sit here typing, there are two blue eyes looking at me (or at least in my direction) from the lap of Lindsay. He's opening his eyes more. He's also pooping and crying and eating more. So goes day one.

It is absolute insanity to one day have a pregnant wife and the next a little ball of sneezes and snots and spit-ups. To sit here and say that I understand all the ramifications of the birth of this child is a complete lie. It's almost cliche to say surreal, but that is the best word that describes this feeling. Today begins the sleep-less nights and burping after feedings and poopy diapers.

I am in awe to see this little creature, this human, and know that I had some part in his life. The words I am attempting to find to describe this moment, this day, do not exist. I have feelings inside of me that I cannot say I have felt before.

With eyes heavy and heart doing whatever it is that it is doing, I look forward to tomorrow. The surprises seem inevitable no matter the best planning.

0855

2009-07-18T20:04:00.005-05:00

It all went down at 0855 this morning. I figured we would be here much longer pushing, sweating, waiting, but instead Lindsay pushed like a champion and little Pete came out in three pushes.

Aw shnap.

He came out that blue/red color in silence. I watched. I waited for what seemed like minutes for the cry, a sound, anything, but in the end I think he was mustering his energy for all the crying and kicking he was about to do for the next six hours.

At 8 lbs 10 oz this kid is no lightweight.

I can't believe this little mass of legs and arms and reflux is mine.

the sun

2009-07-18T07:07:00.004-05:00

0708.

Pitocin is running. The water is broken.

The latest exam is 6/100/0.

Baby Momma is getting some oxygen and things seem to be progressing.

Our nurse is preparing for a birthday party. Oh shnap!

contractions

2009-07-18T02:00:00.002-05:00

LDR 3.

Here we sit. The kid is wrapped in her Hello Kitty blanket and me in my 'I'm Fantastic' shirt. And my wife is wearing a scandalous blue gown with sexy openings everywhere.

Here we sit.
Waiting.

4/80/-1. That's a good start.

do a little dance

2009-07-17T20:47:00.003-05:00

I am frustrated.

I am tired of being talked down to as though I am stupid.
I am tired of of excitable people telling me what to do.
I am tired of having opportunities taken away from me.
I am tired of being treated as though I am nothing.

I am tired of being patronized.
I am tired of the disrespect.
I am tired of keeping silent.
I am tired of the yelling.

I am tired.

I want this all to end.

24-hours of ___________

2009-07-12T14:27:00.006-05:00

I am recovering from my first 24-hour call shift. It sucks to lose a day - an entire day of quality life - to work. I hate losing a day to the whims of screaming women. I am in mourning.

In the end, it's all very deceiving as I am actually in the hospital for 25 hrs and it was no picnic.

My classmate and I split up the night so that I was awake until 0230 and then she took over until 0730. The CRNA and MD on call with us were all sleeping as well. Just after midnight, there was a request for an epidural and so I went in and got everything ready. The MD was called (she has to supervise us newbies) and she came in and didn't even glove up. That was the first time that happened. Usually there is a lot of sterile-gloved hand holding as I advance the needle into the unsuspecting backs of whatever lady desires pain relief. Last night, the MD stood there watching. It was the best feeling in the world. The epidural catheter slid in without incident and the patient immediately fell asleep. I love that instant gratification.

Babies continued to pop out all night. Crying babies are frequently seen being rushed down the hall to the resuscitation station or wheeled about in bassinets. It's rather fantastic.

Another lady came in who spoke neither English nor Spanish and she was a screamer - like, audible through the door/walls loud. It was horrendous. I was on the phone with the AT&T interpreter with the air being pierced with Arabic epithets (not sure if this is true, but you would imagine those might be slipping out from time to time) and screams. By the time I was done with the interpreter, her water was manually broken and she was pushing.

"Well, thanks for calling me. Peace out."

con artists

2009-07-08T16:34:00.003-05:00

My wife and I are nesting (more my wife than me, but I'll take credit for some of the recent activity around here). In the process we have found some things that could be sold to free up some space and put some cash in our pockets. One of the items for sale are her beloved bike racks. They're up on craigslist and this was one of the replies I received from Fred.

Do you still have it for sale ????

sent from i phone ????

First, what's with all the questions marks? Are you super excited? Regardless, I responded with:

The racks are still for sale. I'm not around Saturday, but if you're still interested, you can come pick them up Sunday.

This is the reply I got:

Hello Seller,
Thanks for the prompt response,i am very interested in buying it so i will instruct my boss to mail out(overnight) Certified bank check that could be cashed in any cashing stores and any bank destination for quick payment,while you hold on my behalf. Once you receive this, my mover will arrange for pick up at your location. I will be needing the following information to issue out the payment...

1.Your full name
2.Your mailing address not P.O. box(Physical address)
3.Your phone number.

Please note that the payment will be overnight to your address and it will be delivered within 2 days.I have taken a close look at the AD and am satisfied.I appreciate you keeping the item for me.Kindly delete the posting as i am definitely buying it from you and it would be sad for me to have the payment in the mail only to be informed ofit's sold.
I will also wait for the check to clear before i have my mover come for the pick up.
Best regards,
Fred

What? What is Fred talking about. I hate Fred. I'm tired of people trying to snow other people. It frustrates me. These people should be treated the same as pedophiles.

My reply was this.

No, thanks. I will not hold the racks for you and for the record, you might be more convincing if you worked on your English.

I'm not normally a violent person, but this causes me to boil.

an unknown pain

2009-07-04T13:05:00.006-05:00

I started my OB rotation on July 1 and my eyes have been opened in the two days that I have been wandering the halls. The halls are not quiet, but are filled with the muted sounds of pushing and the pain that goes along with such effort. Minutes, sometimes hours later, I get to see the result of those screams and all is well in the world. This is all very real to me as it is easy for me to put myself in their shoes. Please don't misunderstand. I will never experience the pain associated with childbirth, but from a subjective point of view, I will be the helpless man in the corner that nervously carries around his wife's belongings, hoping for an excuse to exit into the quieter, less smelly hallway.

My role as an anesthesia provider is to prepare the moms-to-be about their anesthetic choices - epidural, spinal, and general if the first two options don't work and she has to have a c-section. It's a coin toss really as to what their choice is going to be. This surprised me. Many of the ladies elect to not have an epidural, but rather embrace the pain.

I walked into one room the other day and asked my colleague who was already in the room if his patient wanted an epidural. The contracting mother understood English and mid-contraction yelled out, "No! I don't want an epidural!"

She continued to writhe in pain and I half-smiled to myself wondering why anybody would choose to endure the pain when a rather painless solution is available. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

In the end I decided that if I were a woman on the verge of giving birth to a child I would try it one time without any medication intervention. My wife thinks I'm crazy and perhaps I am. I would just want to see if I could do it. My approach to life is quite similar. I try things just to see if I can do it.

I have no less respect for the lady who desires an epidural (my wife included), but I want to walk over to the yelling lady who is in mid-contraction and give her a high-five because in the end, I'm not sure I could do it.

In the meantime, I will do my best to supply every lady pain relief the moment her request is made.

proud new owner

2009-07-03T21:42:00.004-05:00

Today I spent hours looking at running shorts. Originally I left the house thinking I was going to go with the tried and true, but in the end, I decided to out on a limb a bit, to be a bit ballsier if you will.

Despite hours spent in various stores, I came up empty handed. I couldn't find the perfect short, except for the pair that I already own, but who wants another black 2-in-1 short with a 5" inseam?

Not me (I think).

I came home and scoured the internet, for additional options, suggestions, reviews, and other thigh-revealing paraphernalia. My motivation for choosing an inseam less than 5" was that I recently bought my wife a Zoot Runfit bra as a result of a pact we made to get six pack abs. The sports bra is one day to be worn without a shirt when she goes for a run. I have no motivation for myself. I needed an article of clothing to be my goal outfit (see Biggest Loser).

I continued searching.

In the end, I decided on a pair of shorts with a 3" inseam and a slightly less dramatic slit on the side (aka my balls should remain modestly concealed as long as I don't engage in any sort of stretching). What sold me on this pair was the sale price and one of the reviews for this product. It reads, "As soon as I put these shorts on I started running faster! My 5k dropped by 5 minutes! Not really, but these are damn good shorts! The only problem is you must always wear sunglasses as the color is so bright!"

Hellya I'll buy a pair. Anybody wanna go for a run with me?

one fine year

2009-06-29T19:43:00.005-05:00

Today marks the first anniversary of marriage between my wife and me. It seems surreal to be celebrating a year of marriage here...with her. Two years ago I wasn't even contemplating marriage or another relationship.

That all changed when a lady from Washington emailed me and now here we sit staring at each other over a table filled with P.F. Chang takeout. Life has sort of happened to us and no matter how much we plan or prepare. Within two weeks we will be responsible for yet another human life and then the other kid starts 1st grade shortly after and then I will graduate and then we get to move to, as yet, an unknown destination. No matter the plans, life sort of happens. I always thought that life would slow down once I got out of school, but I am seeing that this is not the case.

And on our first anniversary I want the day to drag by, to inch along, so that I can take it all in. There will never be another first anniversary. There will never be another lady in my world.

Looking back on our last year together, I can't help but smile. I have learned so much about my wife in the last 365 days - we have laughed, cried, fought, played, sweated through Ike, and gone to doctors apointments for a growing fetus.

Life is good. Real good.

say hello to my belly button

2009-06-14T21:19:00.002-05:00

This last Saturday found my wife, child and I being toured around a the hospital where we are planning to give birth (and by 'we' I mean my wife). It surprised me to find that in addition to my little family, there were approximately twenty other couples present for the tour. Stupid hurricane Ike.

We got a little talk about where to go and what to do when the baby is coming. We were shown the delivery room, the operating room and the post-partum room. There was quite a bit to take in, including the twenty or so bellies with belly buttons wandering around the hallways. Do you realize how many fewer people can fit into an elevator when half the occupants are eight months along? It's a tight fit with belly buttons on all sides.

As we meandered through the rooms and hallways and listened to our tour guides, I couldn't help but notice the various sizes and shapes of the ladies present. Very few ladies present seemed to have the prego glow that so many people talk about. Some looked exhausted and some looked super intense (I feel sorry for their kid). I noted that there was in fact someone for everyone.

Which brought me back to my wife and her hair wispies and calf muscles that haven't lost their tone and her petite belly that looks quite good on her. She was the most beautiful lady in the room. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I kept smiling because I'm pretty sure that I'm one of the lucky ones. There aren't too many ladies that are seven months pregnant and run five miles in one go. I have complete respect and admiration for all she does to grow that monster in her belly (if you saw him beat her up, you'd think he was a monster too).

In the end, I grabbed her bonfire palms (her body is in a state of hypermetabolism) and kissed her. I'm glad I get to go home with her and her not-so-subtle belly button.

In a month, it all goes down. I finally convinced the child that it was not in her best interest to continue praying for him to arrive on June 30. The plan is July 15, while realizing I have no control over any of this. The wife keeps threatening to walk to the hospital when she goes into labor. Nice. I'll let you know how it goes when our child is born along the bayou.

the tooth fairy (and other impossible creatures)

2009-05-16T09:45:00.004-05:00

On May 14 the child came home again wiggling and pushing her bottom tooth. I had tried to pull it out two days earlier, but I was unsuccessful. My efforts resulted in tears and promises that she would never participate in such activities again.

Two days later, she was ready for another go. With the video camera rolling and 2x2 inch gauze close by, we were ready. After multiple attempts to secure the string around her tooth, a quick yank from her mother resulted in a shiny white tooth springing from her gums.

There were tears and then she saw the blood on the gauze. More tears. Waterfalls of tears really. I don't think it hurt, but blood equals pain or fear or I'm not quite sure, but there was full on sobbing while her parents danced around joyfully.

After the drama subsided, there were questions about the Tooth Fairy. As a parent I am continuously in awe of the blatant, ignorant trust she places in these fictional characters. I enlightened her on the death of the Easter Bunny just recently, yet she persists in believing in the Tooth Fairy - a character with much less notoriety than the Easter Bunny.

Regardless, the tooth was placed under the pillow and a smiling child struggled to fall asleep.

In the morning the child was happy to report that the Tooth Fairy had brought her $1.52. WTM? How did the Tooth Fairy arrive at that number. Sounds like someone emptied out their change purse if you ask me. Yet to a believing six year-old all of this seems quite logically normal.

I understand that it is my job to protect, care for, shelter and feed my child, but why is it my responsibility to lie to her about fictional characters? Why is there more fun believing in Santa than knowing that your parents are fantastic humans? Is that really any less fun or fantastic? The toys and the money and the eggs are all still the same. I'm all about letting my kid dream and be creative and letting her imagination roam, but who am I fooling by thinking that her imagination is really taking off believing in Santa.

Despite my apathy towards fictional characters, it was quite fantastic to see the kid holding up her tooth proudly while holding gauze in her mouth with her other hand. She lost her first tooth and she couldn't be happier. She looks goofy, but it's only temporary. And hopefully this believing in nonsensical characters will be temporary as well.

the (semi) good samaritan

2009-04-27T04:58:00.003-05:00

I ride the Metro, the train version.

Upon disembarking, I walked along the platform and crossed the two lanes of traffic going north. I proceeded up a small hill and began my descent to the 'tunnel' that goes under one of the large, skyscraper style hospitals. As I walked along, I heard a voice. "Chris. Chris!" I turned my head to the right and saw a small child of perhaps three years making a run for it. He was ambling along at a much faster pace than the voice.

"Christopher! Get back here!"

I kept walking. The kid ran up some steps and then kept running up the hill in the direction I just came from. The busy, four-lane road was about 100 feet away from this little terror and there were four-lanes between this kid and me. In my mind, I told myself that everything would be fine, that his mother, although considerably slower and out of breath and obese, would catch him.

This wasn't the case.

I made it into the shade of the tunnel when I heard, "No. Stop! Don't go into the traffic." The voice was frantic.

I turned to see this little villain traipsing across the four lanes of traffic that were less busy than the other four lanes of traffic. His mother was just barely stepping off the curb while we was crossing the white stripes of lane three.

A truck was driving toward me and this child. Without thinking I raised my hand to slow the truck and I took off running for this kid. It was a healthy sprint and as I closed in on terror child he caught my eye and froze in his tracks. When I got closer he started to slink back to his mother who was now about ten feet away. I was going to pick that child up and give him a little chat.

Instead, he intelligently made his way back to his mother. She picked him up and in a sweet, sing-song voice, said, "You can't run away like that."

That was all.

Then she looked at me and said, "Thanks" and walked off.

Hey, fat lady, you can't catch your own kid. Maybe you should figure out a way to at least make him listen to you seeing as you don't have a Plan B.

I was perturbed that this lady neither reprimanded nor spanked her child and the likely result will be that he will one day get run over by a car or his mother will have a heart attack chasing him.

I resumed my walk. From behind me I hear, "Thank you, Sir." There were four people, one in a wheelchair, and one of them thanked me.

Then I walked by the truck that I had stopped and the rear window was down and a lady waved at me and said, "Thanks."

It wasn't a big deal at all, but I kind of felt like a hero. I suppose that in order to be a hero I would have snatched the child from his mother's arms and promised to raise him with love and discipline. Then, I'd be worthy of the thank-you's.

Two suggestions.

Manage your child or run faster.

my side of the story

2009-04-26T08:06:00.008-05:00

Cupcake and I were sitting on the couch yesterday and she said, "Look at my belly. He's moving."

She does this frequently, but it seems that whenever I look or place my hand on her belly the child ceases to move and I give her my skeptical eye.

I watched her still belly. There was no movement. I looked to the left. To the right. Up. Down. You just don't know where the child is going to stick his heel next.

I said, "This is just like whale watching. You never know where they're going to come up next."

She said, "What? You just called me a whale! Oh, you think I'm a big whale."

The downward spiral continued.

I assured her that I did not call her a whale, but that watching for the child to move is like whale watching.

"Oh, you called me a whale."

This went on for a minute or two - me assuring her that I didn't call her a whale and she whining about the fact that I called her a whale. My patience waned.

"Yup, you're a whale. This isn't like whale watching at all, but more like watching a whale. There. Is that better?"

My side of the story is much more accurate...and sensitive.

Note: See her side of the story.

the end of an era (of sorts).

2009-04-11T04:52:00.003-05:00

I'm not easily attached to objects. Stuff comes and it goes. And lately more stuff has been going than coming. The rule is that if I haven't used something in the last year, I'm likely not going to use it again (there are exceptions) and to the Goodwill it goes.

Other things, don't fall into that category, like, say, my truck. My truck is used, but not to its full capacity. For the most part, it sat between two white lines in front of our apartment and that was as exciting as it got.

Since moving to Houston, my NISMO king cab 4x4 Nissan Frontier has been bored. I can't remember the last time I threw it into 4-wheel drive for a worthy reason or the last time I made my heart beat out of my chest because I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get myself out of the situation I somehow got myself into with a 4-wheel drive vehicle.

Four days after purchasing my brand new truck, I got it stuck in a mud hole in Big Bear, California. Since then, we have been inseparable. My first drive up highway 1 was in this truck. Brian and I slept in the bed of the truck before we attempted a summit of Mt. Whitney. I remember getting the first scratch on the side of the truck after I had 4-wheeled myself up a hill that had refused my passage once before. I felt proud. I got two flat tires in the same week after chasing fires in Southern California. I remember flying around a corner after coming back from a fire lookout and not having enough time to slow down before hitting a fairly substantial ditch running through the middle of the road. The truck bottomed out. I pulled over and looked underneath to discover that I had dented my skid plates. I guess that's why they're there. And then, the final hoorah was a trek from California to Texas.

Since my arrival to Texas the truck just hasn't got that much use. I mean, I sometimes drive it to school and back or perhaps it makes the trip to a local park, but it is no longer serving the purpose that it once did. With a growing six year-old and a baby on the way, it was time to say good-bye.

As I cleaned out my truck, I patted the seat, smiled and said, "Good-bye, little truck," and walked away.

While it seems like that end of an era, this statement is also overly dramatic. As life seems to go, at the end, there is just another beginning.

And so it is.

We got a new (to us) vehicle and it's got all sorts of gadgets and space. Cupcake kept saying, "Wow! I can't believe we're an SUV family." I'm not sure what that means, but if it means that I can still drive over curbs or sleep in the back before a hike up Mt. Whitney or haul my bike around, I'm in.

As the child walked up the stairs, she said, "Thank you for my new vehicle. Oh...I can't stop thanking you. I love it!"

Speaking of over dramatic...

drug dealer

2009-03-15T10:18:00.004-05:00

I have never sold anything on eBay.
I have never sold anything on craigslist.
I usually donate my stuff as I don't want to have to deal with the supposed hassle of selling my treasures.

Today is a new day.

With a new kid coming and space being of utmost desirability, I decided to sell some items that, although near and dear to my heart, probably aren't going to be used any time soon.

A bear cannister anyone?

I used it one time to climb Mt. Whitney and now that I'm in Houston far away from mountains and bears and all things serene I'm probably not going to need the bear cannister.

On a side note, that cannister would come in real handy if I could somehow modify it so it would be wife-proof. Pregnant ladies can eat a lot. I'm not being critical of my wife. Please don't misunderstand, but lately my wife will say, "Hey, I bought you something."

And there on the table will be some Cadbury Mini-Eggs. I love those! Then when I come home then next day those same mini-eggs that were a gift to me will be gone! When I inquire about the whereabouts of MY mini-eggs the usual reply is, "Well, you didn't eat them fast enough."

What?

Needless to say I don't think a bear cannister will stop my wife. I also have 70ft of slackline tubular webbing. If I had the time to slackline, I would. It, too, must go.

I have about ten items on craigslist and my phone has been blowin' up (I've always wanted to use that phrase).

As I ran out into the parking lot to make my first sale of the day I felt a bit conspicuous. I mean, I know I'm always skeptical of people exchanging money. Anyone that gives someone else cash is definitely a drug lord...even if it looks like they're just buying cotton candy for their three kids. It's all a cover up.

I've already made $70 today. I think crack would be more profitable, but I don't think I could handle the stress. I'm nervous just selling backpacks in a parking lot.

notes

2009-03-14T12:01:00.004-05:00

My wife is the best wife out there. She's gone...but temporarily I hope. Her and the kid ran off to the NW. I hope they remember to come back.

Before she left she wrote me notes. Lots of them. I didn't know this until I crawled into bed on Thursday night and she says, "Did you find anything in bed?"

"Ah...no. Should I have found something?"

"Really? Are you sure there's nothing in bed with you?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure."

"Turn on the light and check again," she said rather excitedly.

"Ugh..." I dragged myself out of bed. Nothing.

She persisted. "There IS something there!"

I moved the pillow and there was a note there for me. Good thing, too, or that would have been a mean trick.

Awww. I know.

Apparently there are little notes hidden everywhere - one for everyday she is gone.

She's only been gone three days, but I miss her. This is the longest we have been apart since we got married. Poor me.

It's raining now. She loves the rain (sniffle, sniffle).

her laugh

2009-03-14T11:46:00.004-05:00

Yesterday I was in the OR with my program director. This happens occasionally. It is not uncommon for students to be placed with a CRNA on any given day. Yesterday was my day to be with the man.

He made the comment yesterday, "I think I've worked with you more than anyone else."

Yeah, don't I know it. Before we were in clinicals he made a statement, "Sometimes if I feel a student needs extra motivation I request to work with them."

Yup. I'm the slow kid.

No matter the day or the case or even if I pass him in the hall, my heart speeds up just a little. Needless to say, I remained tachycardic throughout most of the day and came home exhausted.

Our last case of the day was a little girl with big brown eyes and curly brown hair under the blue OR hat. She had a bear with her and liked to laugh. A lot. No matter what I said or did she would erupt into head-turning laughter. I felt like Sulley with Boo. And her laugh was virtually identical to Boo's. It was a lilting laugh, that was contagious to all that heard it.

All the way back to the room, she laughed.

And I smiled. I couldn't help myself. For a few seconds this child pulled me out from my tense, focused world. She was just what I needed.

i am NOT amused

2009-03-11T08:32:00.002-05:00

On call again. The night seemed to go on forever, even the time that I spent sleeping. For whatever reason, I was quite mellow when I arrived at work. That is to say I wasn't very excitable.

I'm not into insinuations. If you have an issue with me or with what I'm doing or not doing, just come out and say it. It saves me time guessing what you want. Being a student I frequently get asked question after question and alway with the follow-up, 'Why?' When I get pushed, I get quiet.

I got quiet. (I know, I know. I'm being vague, but I want to write, but HIPAA restricts me).

After the case got started, my attending gets close and says, "Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, sure. What do you mean?"

"You seem perturbed," he says.

Damn! I hate it when I'm obvious.

I hate being underestimated. Don't talk down to me. These things make me get real quiet.

Then, to top all this off I worked with a know-it-all. I don't have many people issues, but this guy makes me wince. In a word, cocky...but so annoyingly so.

We got called to a room for a STAT case and I showed up in the room with my hands full of the usual drugs for STAT cases. He looks at me as he is pseudo-prepping the room and says, "Did you get the drugs?"

And I quote. "Nah. I went all the way to pharmacy and came back empty-handed." I dumped the drugs on the cart.

"Ha. Always the funny guy," he says.

What?

I'm not funny, but mostly I'm not amused by you thinking that you're the bomb. This is the same guy that is super intense when he finds out we had another STAT heart coming. He walked down the hall cussing to himself and pounding the door-opening buttons.

What a dick!

I'm going to sleep and perhaps rectify my lack of amusement issue.

strangers in the petting zoo

2009-03-10T09:01:00.004-05:00

On Sunday, we ventured out...to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. This is year two of our annual outing in Houston. It's a tradition if you will.

There are skinny cows, fat bunnies, pregnant sheep, booths where you can win any number of unattractive and useless 4 foot Scooby-Doos, people the size of large cows, erect horse penises (Cupcake's first viewing...where has she been), and virtually anything else you may or may not want to see.

We meandered over to the 'birthing center' to see the new arrivals. Sunday had seen the birth of a new calf. There it sat, up to its ears in hay and then somewhere between its position and its mother, was some ooey-gooey red substance. Cupcake wrinkled her nose. "That's so gross. Oh, that's disgusting."

Ahem. You do realize that you are pregnant?

The problem is that on the day she gives birth to our son, she is going to be completely disgusted by the process. This all seems a bit strange to me. I mean, some animals eat their own placenta. Mothers of all people should be able to handle this. No deal.

After the birthing center we went over to the petting zoo. Inside are ducks, a llama, sheep, kangaroos (little ones), a donkey or two, and goats galore (the pygmy kind). One of these goats looked particularly uncomfortable, as though it might be pregnant. I gasped audibly. A stranger standing close by seemed to share the same amazement.

"Oh! That thing's either pregnant...or...or retarded!" he says.

There was a small pause before that statement sunk in with Cupcake. I started to walk away, pulling Cupcake with me. "Awww..." her voice trailed off. "Do I look retarded?"

It was a sad day at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. Pregnancy really gets her down.

On the bright side, the erect horse penis caused her much more delight than I think was appropriate. She giggled...a lot.

End of story.

The picture is of the kid on her first roller coaster ride. For the three of us, this ride cost us just under $15. She better be smiling.

baby ellie

2009-03-07T12:32:00.004-06:00

Last weekend my sister and her new baby came to visit. Ellie was born last October and I haven't been able to see her in person since her arrival.

This is her - my semi-new niece. She's rather fantastic and I think my favorite part about her is her hair. There are bald spots and tufts like nobody's business.

I made her scream pretty good after I tossed her into the air. She's got some lungs. Perhaps I should be more gentle.

booya

2009-03-05T14:18:00.001-06:00

Peter Caleb Burman.

The gender is official.
Although the name may not be.

a boy can dream can't he?

2009-03-05T08:38:00.006-06:00

If money were no object, these are a few things I might purchase:

Canon 100mm Macro Lens
Canon 70-200mm f/2.8L
Giant Anthem Advanced
Jetta SportWagen OR Jeep Rubicon

Oh, and just to be generous I would get one of these for the wife because I'm nice like that.

This is the short list, but these are the things I lose saliva over.

tomorrow.

2009-03-04T09:14:00.013-06:00

Penis vs. va-jay-jay.

Boy vs. girl.

Superman vs. Princess.

Peter vs. Andi or Aubrey.

It all comes down to a little appointment tomorrow at 10:30am...and the coincidental presentation of genitalia.

I'm a little excited.

touch my body

2009-02-25T18:33:00.005-06:00

I run warm. Very warm.

I wear shorts whenever possible and when I can't wear shorts I compensate by lifting up my pant legs whenever I'm sitting.

Today, I was minding my own business in the break room watching the latest developments on the Young and the Restless, when the nurse in my room and a scrub tech I frequently work with, walked by.

"Oh, nice legs," the scrub tech said. I think I turned red. There are a good number of people in the break room and I became speechless.

"Oh, seriously. Do you shave your legs? I have to touch them," the nurse said. Before I knew it she was touching my legs. "I wish I had legs as smooth as yours. So soft."

I was still speechless and red.

Then, they were gone and my pant legs slowly lowered to the ground.

Seriously. What is wrong with people?

"hilarious giving"

2009-02-22T08:26:00.003-06:00

I'm at school and should be studying, but I can't get a certain preacher out of my head. I know. Weird.

Last night, my family and I went to a local church that we have been attending. We dropped the kid off at her class and the wife and I meandered over to the gym where the service is held. Upon walking into the building I caught, "...and you thought we weren't going to be talking about money tonight. Well, we tricked you...".

Great.

I'm not opposed to the 'money talk' that churches do. Money is essential to operate a budget and implement service projects and blah, blah, blah. Money makes the world go round (I hate cliches).

The preacher did a fair, although abbreviated chat on tithing and what that means. Shortly thereafter he had us find some subtly placed 'giving' envelopes with pens and had people start filling out their information.

I thought, Hmm, this is a bit pushy. My wife started filling out the form and I looked at her with my big eyes. She stopped. I figured if he had us fill out the generic information and sent the envelopes home so people could pray about how much they wanted to give, I would have let it slide. Obviously, this isn't how the story ends.

The preacher explained the different gray portions of the envelope. The first was for the operating budget or the tithe and then the next line down was called 'Ike'. This church sustained some serious damage when Ike came through. He talked about how they have the insurance companies by the throat, but in order to get their 23 year-old Ike -damaged building up to speed, or "to make it how I believe God would want it" an additional 8.2 million dollars is needed.

Excuse me? I think I missed something.

We never talked about tithe again. Rather, he went on and on and seemingly on talking about how we need to give, generously, sacrificially, hilariously...because God loves a hilarious giver.

Is that in the Bible?

I looked around and people were filling out their cards as though directed by some dictator (or perhaps they're just better people). I couldn't do it.

Throughout his entire persuasive speech, he kept saying, "Nobody move. Everyone stay seated. If you don't, you'll get hurt." He was joking, but not really.

Then, to top it all of, we were dismissed by rows so they could funnel every last person by the coffers (officially called the 'chests of Joash').

On the way home, my wife asks, "What does it mean to be a hilarious giver? I thought giving $14.72 would be pretty funny." This is why I like her.

"I thought a penny would be rather hilarious," I said.

I had such high hopes for this church. I don't want to go back. Back to Google we go for church shopping.

back in the saddle

2009-02-20T20:34:00.004-06:00

I've been riding my bike again to and from work. 'Work' is really a strong word for what I have to do everyday. It almost implies that I'm getting paid. Don't be deceived.

One sentence in and I've already digressed...

The other day I was riding home along the bayou (read giant concrete ditch filled with dirty city runoff) and I noticed something bobbing along in the middle of the bayou. The object seemed to match the outline of a human head.

What?

It's hard to know what to expect around here. The shape could have been a log, or debris or a duck or a corpse (this has happened). I continued riding only to see the head-like object to rise up out of the water.

Yup, there was a man completely submerged in the bayou...fishing.

What the...?

As I rounded the corner I noticed two other men fishing from the concrete banks of the mighty bayou.

One. Why are you wanting fish from the visibly polluted bayou?

Two. Why is it necessary to fish while submerged under water?

And three. Do you think the bailout is likely to help these underwater fishermen?

I'm not sure I have the answers to any of these questions.

Hmm...

"There is somebody for everybody."

2009-02-19T21:33:00.003-06:00

Today I was in the urgent room. I did urgent cases (in case you couldn't put those two together). My first case was on the ortho service. Like most surgeons I have never seen, let alone met, them before in my life.

I was preparing my paperwork before I went to see my patient when two people came bouncing down the hall.

The surgeons.

He was in a tie and a lab coat and she in a black dress. They presented as happy, quirky, content, and they were the ortho attendings. Most surgeons in this facility do surgery by themselves. Sometimes a resident is present, but mostly they just get in and get out and we're onto the next case.

Two attendings. They were married and they were going to do the surgery together.

I didn't know what to expect.

Once in the room, the happy banter continued. They took turns doing the surgery. They talked amongst themselves or to no one in particular. They were incessant, but not annoying. They were a rather odd, but pleasant duo.

After a number of comments made, the circulating RN comes over, leans in close and says, "There is somebody for everyone." We laughed. They did seem perfect for each other - they complemented each other in seemingly every odd way.

(wait for it)...

Watching them banter and work and chit-chat, I started thinking of my wife (why do people call their wives 'my old lady?'). I haven't been married for long - months, really - and I am constantly astounded by my wife. I learn something new from her or about her every day. She's fun and odd and beautiful and I couldn't help but think that it would be fun to work together one day. I would be proud to have the observers in the room roll their eyes and say, "There really is somebody for everybody."

I like my [prego] wife.

soaps.com

2009-02-19T21:17:00.003-06:00

I don't own a television and if I did I would never watch day-time TV (Except for the Price is Right. I use to watch it with my Omi. Love it!).

I have never understood the concept of soap operas. What's with the cutting from scene to scene to scene to scene and back to the first scene again and all in low lighting? Why are these even broadcast? Do people actually watch this nonsense?

Oh... yeah, they do. I'm on my pedi rotation this month and with each new rotation I get to meet the people in the ORs as well as the lounges. I am allotted 40 minutes of break a day and in this particular OR lounge, the Young and the Restless or the Bold and the Beautiful seem to be broadcasting with only commercial interruption.

Who is controlling the remote?

What takes place in this OR lounge is beyond my comprehension. People actually talk to the little black box suspended from the ceiling. Audible gasps are routine punctuated with, "I can't believe she's doing that with him!" or "No! No! Don't do it!"

Are you kidding me?

Whether it is break time or not, people are poking their heads into the lounge to see the latest developments of whatever soap.

I sit there observing, wondering, watching, trying to see what I might be missing. I've been there three weeks with no solid conclusion. I still don't get it.

Soap operas are stupid. I do think it would be pretty sweet if my entire life was lived in low lighting. Oh, the suspense.

sometimes i feel like the dumbest person in the room

2009-02-12T18:37:00.005-06:00

Pimped or see it here.

This is a term that is used frequently at my educational institution and I'm not sure what it means. This morning I followed two resident physicians across the skywalk and the comment one of them made was this. "What was with all the pimping this morning?" These two budding vessels of knowledge had just come from conference and were discussing why they were asked so many questions.

I again tried to fathom the meaning of this word in that context. Perhaps I am ignorant, but when I hear the word 'pimped' I think of a variety of definitions that do not apply to the realm of higher education.

Pimping, in this context, is done by someone who knows more than the person who is getting pimped and consequently knows all the answers to the questions being asked. It's like a spontaneous and random oral examination that can occur anytime and any place where a subordinate is in the presence of the aforementioned pimper.

You have heard it said before that there is no such thing as a stupid question and I couldn't disagree more. There are stupid questions and people who think otherwise are brainwashed. Stupid questions are asked by a person who already knows the answer to the question being asked. I know it's a bit of a stretched, but pimping is equivalent to asking stupid questions (although admittedly the goal my differ slightly).

I have been pimped numerous times since my arrival to the clinical arena. Pimping comes in many shapes and sizes. If you know the answer to the first question, the pimper proceeds to the next question of choice and so on until the person being pimped is stumped, dumbfounded, stupefied, etc. This is usually the result for me except I feel that it occurs much quicker for me than for my classmates.

After a recent pimping sessions I was told, "You lack the ability to critically think."

Thank you?

Since then I have tried to figure out how to increase my ability to critically think. I'm drawing a blank. I think this might be my problem to begin with. Compounding my lack of ability to critically think I can't figure out how to hone my critical thinking skills. I'm jacked.

I don't consider myself smart or intelligent. I don't give myself much credit. I have this constant sensation that I am the dumbest person in the room, no matter the room or the quantity of people in that room at any given time. I'm tired of being asked stupid questions (pimped). I'm tired of feeling like the only garden shed that's missing the tools.

Yeah, I'm a Debbie Downer or perhaps I'm a Dumb Debbie (I'm so clever), but I can't wait until I'm actually good at what I do and I can support my every action with logical evidence.

Until then I will plod along in my ignorance (at least I'm happy).

I love PETA...I mean VEGGIES

2009-01-29T08:27:00.003-06:00

This was supposed to be posted awhile ago, but I got a little busy.
If nothing else, this commercial proves that you should always wash your vegetables. You really have no idea where they've been.

i don't see color

2009-01-20T19:13:00.003-06:00

I'm color blind if you will. I see you, but I don't know what color you are. Rather, I don't care what color you are. I don't even care what color I am. All of it seems rather irrelevant. My happiness as a person is not founded or even remotely based on my skin color. Never, when I kneel by my bed at night, have I thanked God that I am the color that I am. It's pointless information. The color of my skin in no way affects how smart I am or what I am capable of or the dreams I dream.

After a particularly frustrating MLK assembly for my wife at the kid's school, I decided it would be a good time to talk to the kid about racism.

How do you talk about racism to a six year-old?

I'm unsure.
But I tried.

"What color is your skin?"

She looked at her hand. There was hesitation as though she though it might be a trick question. "White," she said.

"Really?" I moved her white napkin on top of her hand. "Are you sure?"

"Um..." there was a pause. "I don't know."

"Do you have any friends that are black?"

She started to list off some of her friends at school. "Harry, Jillian...".

"Really?" I pointed to her black dress. "Are your friends the same color as your dress?"

"Well, no." There was confusion in her eyebrows and I think that is where I wanted her to be.

The conversation went on about if skin color matters. Does being 'white' make you a good person? No. Does it make you a bad person? No. By merely being 'black' make you good or bad? Of course not.

I am Canadian. I am the son of parents that immigrated to Canada from Germany. My grandma was around when the Nazis oppressed the Jews. Does my descent from German ancestry make me culpable today? This question is meant to be rhetorical.

Why is this such a difficult concept for people to understand? Why does ignorance continue to prevail?

I am not naive to think that racism doesn't exist. It does. It is alive and well in every corner of the earth that I find myself and this disappoints me. What is the solution for racism?

I'm unsure.

Perhaps we should stick all the racist people in a big box with guns and see what happens.

Let me put it straight. If you don't like someone because of their color, the problem is you. Fix yourself.

Disliking or discriminating against someone because of their skin color is as silly as disliking the morning because that's when the sun comes up. Get over it.

The reverse is also true. If you voted for someone because of their skin color without being informed, you are guilty (in my humble opinion).

Someone told me that the new President of the United States of America is black.

And?

The phrases "progressive" and "making history" and "today is a new day" has been thrown around quite loosely the last few days. I do hope all of those statements are true. I really, really do. I am optimistic, but at the same time I refuse to succumb to the speeches and the fervor of the masses. I don't care if your my neighbor or the president of the United States of America or the homeless guy under the bridge; I don't care what color you are or the genitals that dangle between your legs; I don't care where you've come from or where your parents came from or where their parents came from. All I care about is where you are going.

I refuse to see color.

dream family

2009-01-17T11:41:00.003-06:00

Yesterday at 14:44 I got word that I could go home.

What? I get to go home while the sun is still shining above the earth? I didn't hesitate. I bolted for the door.

The sun was indeed shining and the air was cool. I had thoughts of going for a run or to the park with the ladies, but all of that doesn't matter unless the ladies are on the same page. This is at times harder to accomplish than it sounds.

I got home before the ladies had arrived home from the kid's retrieval from school. I hid behind the counter and scared the little one. That never gets old for me. There is always a scream and then, "I knew you were going to scare me!"

Cupcake suggested we go for a run. Oh, I love that woman.

We got into our running attire and the kid into her biking attire. She resisted. She didn't want to ride her bike. Her smile turned upside down, her eyes filled with tears and she avoided eye contact (How do they learn that at such a young age? Oh yeah, her mother). We made it out the door with no improvement in attitude. I don't have patience for a crying six year-old who is crying because she is scared.

"I don't want to ride my bike", she sniffled.

"Get on your bike and start pedaling", I said.

I turned around and found her walking her bike towards our apartment's exit. She was walking her bike. I let it slide. We made it out the gate and she continued to cry.

"I'm scared. I don't want to ride my bike," she cried.

"Get on your bike. You have 10 seconds." I turned and asked Cupcake to start running. She disappeared. It was just me and the crying child. She started to walk her bike again.

It was over. "I am going to start running in ten seconds. If you are not on your bike you will be left behind." It was an idle threat, but I was frustrated.

A little history on this drama is that I took the kid biking while I ran before and we went along the bayou. The bayou has a couple of hills, on and off-ramps of the bayou if you like, and the path is about five feet wide. This instills terror in her that she will go into the bayou. And yes, I readily admit that if she went into the bayou it would be terrifying. It's about a 30 foot slope into the dark, dirty water below. But she can ride her bike well. So barring some catastrophic accident (seizure, tire blow out, sudden paralysis) I am confident that she will not got into the bayou or I wouldn't make her ride along the it. She doesn't understand. That and the last time we came back home she ran into some prickly bushes because she was crying again and not paying attention.

"Don't tell me you can't do this. I don't know what the word 'can't' means. It's OK to be scared, but you can't let that stop you from doing cool stuff", I said. My breath was wasted. We had finally made it to the top of the hill (on-ramp) to the bayou. She was bawling. I gave her 30 seconds to get on her bike and riding down the hill. More tears. More 'I can'ts' and such. She started to walk her bike down the hill.

"I'm scared. I can't do this. I don't want to go into the bayou." I lost it. I ran back up the hill to where she was now perched over her bike and I pushed her.

She was off. She rode the remaining 50 feet down the hill like a champ. She braked and pedaled and then cruised onto the bayou path.

I ran next to her the entire time. I looked over and there was a smile on her face. "Was that so bad?"

"No, that was fun."

We pedaled hard. She wanted to catch up with Cupcake who was no nowhere insight on the path ahead of us.

"Dad, this is the best ever. Thanks for taking me bike riding."

I couldn't believe my ears. My child is bi-polar. My child also doesn't realize what she is capable of. Perhaps I'm harsh. Perhaps I need more compassion or perhaps I just need to try harder at showing her that she can do anything and that fear is motivation, not an obstacle. I wish she could have seen herself riding. I wish she could understand that she can do anything. I wish she could see what I see.

She pedaled. I ran. Finally, after a mile, we caught up with Cupcake. We kept catching glimpses of her blue Portland marathon shirt in the distance and the familiar yellow of her soles rhythmically lifting off the pavement.

The kid didn't cry again for the rest of the five miles around the park and back down the bayou. She pedaled and pedaled and pedaled all the way home. She never crashed and she didn't go into the bayou and she even skipped the visit to the prickly bush. She even made up a song about the bayou as we cruised along.

As we ran and biked and traded places with Cupcake I couldn't help but think, this is my dream family. I love spending the afternoon with my ladies out and about. I wouldn't have it any other way.

I can't wait for our next run. Perhaps there will be less tears and more smiles. And soon we'll have a little kid strapped into a stroller as we run. Can life get any better? I'm not sure how.

I'm pretty happy with my dream family.

last night

2009-01-10T11:22:00.003-06:00

I was on call...for 16.5 hours.
I sat down for a total of 60 minutes.
It was a long night.
I came home exhausted.
Yet could only sleep for 3.5 hours.
My head hurts.

I don't want to go back.

Chocolate Toffee Corn

2009-01-04T22:11:00.005-06:00

As is tradition in our house (now two weeks running), after a visit to the local Baptist church for the Saturday evening event, we make a stop at Whole Foods across the street.

The wife wanted Tabouli, so we made a stop. The samples aren't too shabby either. After perusing the shelves and heading towards the register with only Tabouli and Polenta I felt somehow short-changed. I wanted more.

I looked around and spotted a spindly little table loaded with unhealthy snacks. On the top was 'Chocolate Toffee Corn'. Inside the clear, teasing plastic were mounds of caramel corn with almonds covered in dark and white chocolate with toffee everywhere. It looked too good to pass up. I grabbed the plastic container and made for the register.

"What are you doing?", asked the ever curious wife.

"Nothing." I replied.

With three items the grand total was $23.21. I winced, but the guy at the register was engaging me in how I was going to cook my polenta (which I've never cooked).

I tried to do quick addition in my head, but $4 polenta and $3 Tabouli just weren't adding up.

Once home, I looked at the receipt.

I paused. My eyes bulged. $14.99.

Oh my.

"This had better be good," I said, hoping to justify my spontaneous purchase.

The good news is that this little container of goodness was indeed amazing.

The bad news is that there is almost none left.

Oh, well. My belly and I are going back to work tomorrow - to the job that pays nothing.

print me

2009-01-04T22:05:00.002-06:00

I just clicked 'purchase' on our wedding book. This is the first page.

I am rather excited. Cupcake and I have put in a few hours on this project. We didn't pay for the album to be included with the photos because I wanted to do it. Now, six months later, our wedding book is going to press. I can't wait to see it. Rather than a wedding album per se, it will be more like a coffee table book. We used blurb. I'll let you know if the finished product is worth the hub-bub.

Peace.

sledding (cough, cough) in houston

2009-01-04T09:25:00.013-06:00

Yesterday we went out and about. We went for a run while the kid rode her princess bike and then we played at the playground, ran back and had a picnic. Once back at the parking lot area we noticed mayhem on the grassy slope in the distance. Cardboard was blowing across the grassy area and on the slope there were humans (real live ones) utilizing cardboard pieces to slide down the hill. There was no magic here. The hill was covered in grass and dirt and humans on cardboard.

A spectacle? Yes! We made our way to the base of the hill thinking that we were just going to watch. Apparently the girls were not thinking the same thing. They grabbed pieces of cardboard and started the climb up the hill. I went back for the camera.

It is one thing to laugh and poke fun at the strange people in Houston, but to become one of them made me uncomfortable.

Here are a few videos that document this spectacle. Help us all (And no. We did not make the kid wear her helmet. That was all on her own.)

church

2009-01-03T22:50:00.004-06:00

I spent 2.5 years studying theology.

I quit. I wanted to help people with my hands. I was tired of lip service. I was tired of being a hypocrite. I wanted to help people.

I became a nurse. I thought that this might quench my desire to help people. It didn't. I had my membership removed from my childhood church because I got tired of the stereotypes. I got involved with the youths in my local church and then quit a year later. I started attending church for me. I started questioning more. I was in a good place. Then I moved to Houston.

I stopped going to church. Please don't misunderstand. I realize this isn't the end all, but I am not satisfied with who I am. Compound that with my dissatisfaction of churches that I have attended here and I am left wanting more.

Much more.

After arriving back home from the local Baptist church this evening, I browsed through the video podcast section of iTunes. After downloading some Chelsea lately and the latest National Geographic podcasts I meandered over to the religious/spiritual section. I found a podcast from Mars Hill and one from the Adventist cluster. Then I downloaded one from xxxchurch.com.

I was curious.

I downloaded a few podcasts...and I like what they're doing. One of their little pdf 'booklets' is called Jesus Loves Porn Stars 2009. They have a church (if you will) in Vegas. It's called The Strip Church.

Again. I am curious and strangely drawn to people who take what is considered average and normal and old and push it. This isn't to say that I agree with everything they are doing. I might, but I haven't had enough time to explore their site. They also introduced me to Red Frogs. I always thought that this Jesus thing was bigger than me, but somehow He kept finding His way back into the box.

I hate the box!! Granted. The box is comfortable for me, but probably not for Jesus.

My friend, Brian, and I have talked many times about starting up our own church - making it different, available and relevant. I haven't given up my dream. Countless times I have been told that I am throwing away a gift by not continuing on in theology. Countless times I have been told that I'm running away from God.

Perhaps.

Or maybe not. I'm unsure. I'd like to think that there is more to come, that perhaps we don't have it all figured out.

I just want to be around when we do figure it out.

49 ways to improve your life

2008-12-31T07:48:00.003-06:00

After some new brakes and other assorted items from Midas, I took Cupcake's car directly to a collision repair center. I have the rest of this week off and it's about time I fixed the pregnant lady's car before she gets, well, really pregnant. I couldn't let her go another six months hauling her ever expanding belly over the emergency brake and center console. I'm nice like that.

After getting a quote from Santos the collision guy I decided to leave the car there. I'm not opposed to walking, but I thought this might be faster. Even Santos offered to give me a ride home, but I quickly said, "Nah, no big deal. I live five minutes away. My wife can come get me." I called the wife to see if she could pick me up and just my luck, she was free.

I sat down and started perusing the latest issue of US News. I read an article on Obama and the transition team and another random news story about the economy and then I read on to '50 Ways to Improve Your Life in 2009'. I'm not sure why, but I'm a sucker for these types of lists. I prefer these massive lists as opposed to a few pesky resolutions. This way your chances of succeeding our higher and you get to pick and choose. Who wants to do all 50? I don't want to learn Russian...at least not this year. Apparently I'm late to the party as this is the fifth year US News has put together such a list. I already can't wait for 2010's.

I read this article through, tucking away some of my personal changes for 2009. I got done and I looked at the clock. What? Where is my wife? The five minute drive from home had turned into more than ten minutes. I realize that Main Street is a bit congested at the six o'clock hour, but ten minutes is more than adequate to maneuver the streets. I put in a call. "Um...did you get lost?"

There was silence on the other end and a giggle. "Shoot! I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

What? Are you kidding me? My lovely wife had tried to outsmart the streets and was losing miserably. She has GPS for a reason, if you know what I mean. She went on a tour and I learned how to improve my life. I win.

Happy 2009, People.

sniffle, sniffle.

2008-12-29T12:24:00.007-06:00

Although nothing is permanent at this point, the initial steps have been taken to sell, yes sell, my truck. I realize it is no longer mine, but I still refer to it as my truck. Times are changing and so is our family. We have a six year-old that refuses to stop growing and another one that refuses to allow my wife's stomach to stop growing.

So, the time has come to part with my piece of dark, smooth metal with oh so soft seats and stiff, 4WD suspension. Who knows? Perhaps it won't sell, but I am mentally prepared for the farewell of my little truck.

Wanna buy a truck? For you, special price. Click here.

huuwaaah! (that is my retching noise)

2008-12-25T05:34:00.005-06:00

Yesterday, Cupcake and I jumped in the shower together. We tend to do this and it's fun and scary. It's like the dorm all over again. Don't drop your soap.

I digress.

Half-way through the soaping and shaving process, I realize again that we're standing in about two inches of water. "Perhaps we need some drain-o," suggests the wife. I agree, but make a mental note to check out our drain for any superficial cloggage.

After the shower, I put on my clothes and got out the screwdriver. Yes, our drain requires a screwdriver. With the drain removed I am met with the sight of a mound of wet hair coated in gray, soap-scum. As a nurse there are few things that visually can turn my stomach, but matted, clumpy, soap-scummy hair does it for me.

I tried to pry the hair from the drain, but it made the tearing hair sound (if you don't know what this sound is, it's awful. that's all you need to know). The prying wasn't working. I went to my cardboard toolbox and selected some pliers. I proceeded to pull and tear moist hair from the drain's grasp.

Throughout this entire process I'm complaining loudly and making pseudo retching noises. The ladies of the house come to see the problem.

They arrive in the bathroom together to view the tangled hair that is now being vomited from the drain. The older one says, "It's not mine." The younger one adds, "It's not mine."

I pause. I look at them both. "What? Who's hair is it? Mine? Stephanie's? Andy's?"

They look at each other and together say, "It's Stepanie's!"

Hosers! I realize there really is no prevention for this, but I needed sympathy and in the end all I got was two ladies that are in denial.

Anyways, thanks Stephanie for the massive amounts of hair that you let accumulate during your stay here.

Huuuwaaah!

and the award goes to...

2008-12-25T05:19:00.003-06:00

Last night Cupcake and I were sitting on the couch and she looks at me and says, "Did we buy the kid any toys?"

I sat there for moment thinking that there was some sort of telepathy going on and then said, "No." I had the same thought yesterday, too. Being that we're not exactly rich this Christmas, we opted to spend our money on clothes - jeans, shirts, and a foo-furry princess skirt - rather than more toys. The reasoning? She needs jeans that don't look like capris.

This being said we went through the list of other people the kid would be getting gifts for this year and Cupcake thinks they all got her clothes, too (she knows this because she carefully inspected every gift that came out of the parcels we've been sent).

We sat there simultaneously thinking about the sad face of a girl who receives no toys on Christmas. Will she be OK? Of course. Will she be disappointed? Likely.

There's not much we can do now. The stores are closed and our piggy banks have been broken. I hope she likes her new wardrobe. She's a good kid and I think she'll understand.

So, although, we're probably not going to receive the award for parents of the year, I hope the kid realizes that no matter the presents, she has two people in her world that love her beyond description.

One year when I was little, I asked for a Nintendo. I got a Nintendo, but I didn't get the games I had asked for. I cried and cried and cried. Very annoying I was. Kids are fickle and looking back on that moment it probably saddened my parents a bit. They gave me everything they could, every day of my life. I am grateful now for all they did and still do. I wish that somehow made up for how I acted back in the day.

I can only hope that our kid sees the good intentions and the love more than how many Little Ponies she didn't get.

We love her so much. Hopefully she'll be grateful for that one day, too.

man panties

2008-12-24T21:41:00.002-06:00

I try to involve the child in household chores. She helps with dishes and separates recycling. She folds her own clothes, but rarely do I ask her to help fold the parental laundry.

Cupcake recruited her to help with the folding of the parental laundry and from the room I heard giggling. Lots of giggling. Soon the child appeared in the doorway holding up a pair of boxers.

"Hey, Dad. I'm folding your man panties."

Really? My life as man has been reduced to nothingness. I wear man panties.

can i tell her? please.

2008-12-24T21:25:00.005-06:00

I'm over it. There is NO Santa Claus. There are NO reindeer. There is NO north pole where little elves work. And if there was, it would be impossible for a fat man and little people with gravity bound reindeer to pull off the delivery of gifts to the kajillions of children in the world.

There. I said it. I feel better.

Cupcake refuses to let me tell the child that Santa Claus is bogus, fiction, make-believe, a farce. So here I sit making up stories and defending a jolly, fat, fake man. I'm done. I can't do it anymore.

The other day, the kid said, "How do reindeer fly?"

There was a pause as I stifled the truth. "They have wings. All reindeer have wings."

"Um, no. They don't have wings." She wasn't biting. I tried to convince her that reindeer do indeed have wings. This made no sense to her. "I bet they are able to fly because of magical flying dust."

What? I suggest wings, what I consider to be a logical explanation and she won't buy it. But magical flying dust seems to make complete sense to her. Are you kidding me? I can't take this any longer. I'm tired of defending a myth.

How many times do I have to try to explain away why the different mall santas look so, well, different? How many times do I have to try to explain how Santa is going to enter our apartment that is absent one chimney? And why do I keep capitalizing Santa? That's it. Santa has been demoted to lower case.

I gave notice. This time next year, the child will be wonderfully, blissfully aware of reality. This translated means that kid will no longer believe in santa. I think the age of seven is a good time to be given the gift of reality. Oh, I can't wait.

As I type this I'm eating cookies and Cupcake is drinking chocolate milk and writing 'Thanks' on the note left for santa. I am part of the problem. I realize this, but next year I will be free. FREEDOM!!

Merry freakin' Christmas, santa!

merry christmas (a letter of sorts)

2008-12-14T00:37:00.003-06:00

'Tis the season to be merry and jolly and happy and generally nice to everyone. It really is the most wonderful time of the year (see previous blog).

I've digressed already in two sentences (I got talent like that).

Rather than write a letter here on this lovely space called Blogger, click here to view a Christmas letter.

Enjoy the read and the pictures.

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

SNOW

2008-12-10T19:11:00.003-06:00

Yup. It happened.

It snowed in Houston and I am ecstatic.

And in true Houston fashion it should be in the 50s by tomorrow.

Welcome to bizarre-land.

get lit

2008-11-23T07:38:00.003-06:00

Last night the family put up Christmas lights and we watched it's a wonderful life (and by we I mean the kid and I watched it as the wifey went out for a nap long before the end).

Growing up, my mother would always have light-up night in our house. This usually occurred on November first as we did have Thanksgiving in November to worry about being in Canada an all. The fake tree would go up and we'd have a big meal and then we'd turn on all the lights and start listening to Christmas music.

One word. Delightful!

The kid even wrote a story about the evening. I'll share it with you.

Title: Mom & Dad (I'm not so sure about the title, but that's what she wanted despite my superior suggestions:)

In November I put up Christmas lights

The end.

She's into the short stories. I'm pretty sure Light-Up Night rocks. It's a 'new' tradition in this house.

I love Christmas lights. There is something childlike that comes out in me when it comes to putting up Christmas lights. I think a little nazi comes out in me to as I like the lights to be just right, but in the end they always are. My only disappointment is that I don't have more lights and more places to put them. As I put up lights on our deck, I longingly lusted after the roof peaks and gutters surrounding our apartment.

I need a ladder.

In the meantime I'll be content with the lights I have and hot chocolate and Christmas movies and seeing the kid happily dance around in her now-lit castle.

Now all that's left is to wait for the shipments of trees to arrive to Texas from Washington and then our preparations will be complete.

Peace.

my little mind

2008-11-16T14:30:00.002-06:00

There has been some attention given of late to Proposition 8 in California. I won't go into Prop 8's details here, but in brief 'Yes' on Prop 8 means "protection" of man/woman marriage and 'No' obviously means that same-sex marriages would not be recognized in California. Prop 8 got the thumbs up and the issuing of same-sex marriage licenses was suspended on November 5.

I am a Christian. Sometimes I don't know exactly what this means or perhaps even what a Christian looks like, but no matter my thoughts, at the end of the day, I know I have a lot of work to do. I am not perfect and I will never claim to have a corner on the market of what is right. I have my opinions, but it is beyond my right to impose those beliefs on someone else. I support open discussions and rallies and free speech...and I even support same-sex marriage.

Here's why.

I live in a way that I believe is the right way and any sub-par living I participate in is usually a cause for improvement. In addition, I have respect for any other human who strives to live in the same way - this may or may not be the same as my right way, but as long as they are striving to do the best they know to do, I will gladly engage in life with them because this is how I learn, improve, become a better human. As a Christian, God set it up that a man and a woman should be joined together as husband and wife in a monogamous relationship. This is all good and well, but for those people who do not hold this belief an argument in support of same-sex marriage is completely logical. Just like I cannot make everyone believe in God, I am unable to convince everyone that man/woman marriage is the only way to go. With this reasoning I can understand why equal rights should be respected in this situation.

The supporters of Prop 8 seem to be Christians, people whose minds are closed to any other belief or opinion outside of their own. The people in opposition to Prop 8 seem a bit fanatical/overboard in their approach and perhaps that is what is required to win their case. In the end, the odd and awkward things said, I believe, come from passion.

Maybe, just maybe, as Christians our passion should be people rather than issues or topics or agendas.

Just a thought from my little mind.

3 (piddly little) miles

2008-11-15T17:12:00.002-06:00

I came home from work yesterday wanting to run. I haven't run in a couple of months. As of late, the act of running has consisted of chasing the kid around the apartment or while she wobbles to and fro on her bicycle. It's hardly a means of increasing my heart rate.

As unbelievable as this might seem, the day dawned bright, clear and cool. It was ideal weather for a run. Perfect, if you will.

I abandoned the girls and headed off for a jog. I felt like a flamer out there in my running a gear and yet unable to run. My legs felt stiff and my internal chest organs were on fire, but I ran/jogged (whatever word you prefer) and it felt amazing.

As usual, there was the usual presence of odd/interesting characters cruising the gravel strip. I saw a man/wife combo pushing a triple stroller filled with pea-pod sized bundles. I saw the usual assortment of bum-cheek and cameltoe. Ah, the joy of running. Seriously, runners are perverts and for some reason or another throw all sort of restraint to the wind when dressing for a public display of exercise (pervert is my new favorite word). Oh, and on display today, due to the 'cold snap' we've been experienced called 'winter', there was a surprising use of headbands utilized to cover the ears and gloves. Really? Houstonians, to their credit, fair well in the rain, but if the temperature dips below 75F fashion chaos breaks out.

My three miles of bliss finished up and I rejoined the ladies at the track where the kid was doing laps like a mad woman. She's fun to watch as she rides her princess bike around and around and around. It was a satisfying day.

I should run more.

BAD words

2008-11-15T16:55:00.005-06:00

There are many words that should not be said by a child or around a child. The list is long and varies from family to family, but there are some words that should not be said period. They are vulgar and crude and only uneducated people are unable to refrain from speaking these words.

On this list are the F word and sh*t (Yet another of my pet peeves. Really? Is that asterisk really so subtle that we can't figure out the word. Help us all.) And yes, in this family ass is still on the list. So is b*(i)tch and stupid and dumb and idiot and moron and some that are only identified after spoken (i.e. brought home from Kindergarten or discussed in a grown-up manner after the kid's parents slip up). In addition to the usual list of offenders, I would like to add "y'all".

Yesterday, the kid whilst riding away on her scooter, said, "I'm going to beat y'all."

There was a pause. I was unsure of how to proceed. Then it came to me. I threatened punishment. The issue is black and white. I will not tolerate the 'f' word, nor will I tolerate y'all. My kid will grow up polite and educated and I am willing to do everything in my power to give her opportunities to learn the correct way of speaking. This is why at my earliest opportunity, we will be moving far, FAR away from Texas.

If you or your smarta$$ (Again...really?) friends attempt to cuss or speak in an uneducated manner around my child, there will be consequences. Screw you!!

e-WHORE

2008-10-24T08:52:00.004-05:00

After a much desired trip to the library, the girls returned home with books, CDs and a movie. The books are a welcome variation from the usual Berenstein Bears and Curious George books that seem to be routinely on tap. Last night, we broke out a borrowed Disney book. Having a child that is five allows opportunity for many errors in pronunciation. We've all done it and continue to do it to this day (Kanye is not pronounced 'cane').

Last night, Cupcake asks the kid what the donkey's name is?

"E-whore!" came the excited reply.

"What?" I asked.

Again. "E-whore!" Cupcake is spasming with laughter.

"You mean Eeyore, right?" I asked.

"No! E-WHORE!"

I turned my attention to the responsible parent. "What? She's said it like that forever and I've never corrected her because I thought it was funny."

Nice.

The kind parent that I am, I corrected her so that she was now referring correctly to a Disney character rather than an online prostitute. Real funny, Mom.

Needless to say there have been many other examples - brefkis (breakfast), napkume (napkin), the usual pisgetti (spaghetti) and then the British spin on pajawmas. There really is no rush in learning the proper way of saying things, but when she emphatically says, 'E-WHORE!' I feel like that should be corrected so she doesn't take that out into the public. Cupcake, however, apparently believes that saying 'whore' in public is rather humorous coming from a five year-old.

To each their own.

no shame

2008-09-24T20:24:00.001-05:00

This is the funniest thing that happened all day.

click.

2008-09-20T14:23:00.003-05:00

It happened Thursday night. My wife rolled over and put her arms around me and said, "The electricity is on."

I reached out in the darkness to the lamp next to our bed.

It's not that I didn't believe her, but I wanted to see it for myself. After six days without electricity, it seemed too good to be true.

Click.

Blinding, white, beautiful light burned through my eyelids. I smiled.

Click.

Darkness again.

I awoke a few hours later and took a WARM shower. Minutes later I pulled COOL soy milk from the fridge.

Luxuries. Complete over-the-top, taken-for-granted luxuries. I am spoiled and most of the time I don't even realize it. When I turn the tap in the morning, I expect water to flow. When I flick a switch, I expect light. When I go to sleep at night, I expect to be able to control the temperature of my environment. I expect to be able to buy gas when and where I want and buy groceries at stores that have shelves filled with food and then be able to take that food to a fridge where it is kept cool or frozen depending upon my decision. I expect to have internet and a place to charge my phone and a stove top that warms my food at the twist of a dial.

This last week my expectations have been shattered and I have been reminded of how spoiled I am. Daily, I take from any number of luxuries offered to me just because I live in America. There is so much I take for-granted and there is so much that a little hurricane in a big city taught me.

These are some lessons I've learned.
1. Life without electricity is possible.

2. Life without water is unpleasant.

3. Having a roof over my head is a blessing.

4. I like disasters (sort of).

5. Playing with my wife is something I should do more. Even after just two months of marriage it's easy to let slide spending quality time together. Often we spend the evening in the same room on our computers. Boy, was I missing out. While the lights were out, we played Skip-bo every night (we have a best of 21 tournament going on and I am devastated that it is 8-6 in her favor). Post-Ike we have decided to have Skip-bo nights just because we can. We might even wear our head lamps.

Life is back to normal for us. To the South of us, life may not be normal for quite some time. Entire communities are gone, swept away.

Life is a commodity. The unpredictability of life is a thrill, but it is possible that before you expect it - click - and the lights will go out. Nothing is certain. Live life and always be thankful for what you have left.

I'm off to play with the lights.

when god rolls his eyes

2008-09-14T11:28:00.003-05:00

Here I sit on the tile floor of The Galleria using their internet and their power. We have no power and a wee bit of water pressure came back last night. We're fine though and we really can't complain.

To be honest, this Ike was a bit anti-climatic. I know. I know. We prayed that we would be OK and when it was all said and done, we looked at each other and said, "Well, we would have liked to see a bit more."

After we said that, I added, "God must be rolling his eyes at us. I mean, we pray for safety and then we wish it could have been a bit more dramatic."

Oh, well. There is some patchy flooding, but for the most part, Houston seemed to make it out OK.

My girls are alive and this causes me happiness.

That's all for now. People keep pointing at me and laughing as they go up the escalators conveniently positioned on both sides of my electrical outlet.

Peace.

ike

2008-09-11T23:23:00.004-05:00

500 miles across.
Moving at 10 miles per hour.
Category 2, expected to reach Category 3 by landfall.
Storm surge is expected to be 15-20 feet.
Flooding is certain.

Ike is coming.

i'm not wiping andy's anything!

2008-09-08T16:47:00.003-05:00

"The only thing I'm concerned about is what if all of us have GI (gastrointestinal) distress and we only have one bathroom," Cupcake mused as we drove home.

I glanced over at her wondering why this was her primary concern knowing that maybe she and her cohorts should focus more on finishing their 50-mile race rather than the explosive diarrhea afterwards. I'm just saying.

"What?" I said.

"You know. What if all of us have GI distress and there's only one bathroom? What are we going to do?" There was a pause and then she added, "Good thing we have a bathtub."

"Excuse me? Why is good that we have a bathtub?"

"So that one of us could poop in the bathtub," she nonchalantly replied.

"Um...no. That is not going to happen. Oh, and for the record, I'll nurse you through your GI distress, but the other two are on their own. I'm not wiping Andy's anything."

Our conversation broke down at this point, but I wanted to make it publicly known that if you have so chosen to run 50 miles and you think that some male nurse is going to clean up after you and your explosive diarrhea, you are wrong. My days of wiping booty are over.

In case the above is not clear enough, here it is again. If you shart in your shorts, I hope you enjoy the ride home in the back of the truck.

Oh, and good luck on your run. Haha.

i like days when she wears her marbles

2008-09-08T16:23:00.004-05:00

Don't let anyone every tell you that I don't give good gifts. I mean, who doesn't want a pair of Texas flag shorts. Guess what happens to the white patch when it gets sweaty? Delicious. This is what I get to see when I go out and about in Houston. Anyone wanna come visit?

I digress.

Cupcake's birthday was only a few days ago. She's not 27. I don't think she likes being 27, but she doesn't have much choice. I think she'll get over it.

We went out to P.F. Chang's, our favorite restaurant, and ordered up. It was amazing. Then we went out for cheesecake. It was like happy birthday to me, too.

All of this doesn't matter. Just two short months ago we got married and I have never been happier. I can't wait to celebrate more birthdays or just random days just because we're together. This marriage thing is good. Real good.

the absence of training wheels causes my heart severe pleasure

2008-09-08T16:02:00.003-05:00

This kid learns on her terms. After many, many tears, I can now sit on the bench while she rides lap after lap after lap. We have a long ways to go, but for now I don't have to listen to "I hate riding my bike" or "it's so much easier with training wheels" or the worst words ever uttered, "I can't."

The post ride interview.

Now all we have to do is get her a mountain bike. What?

race-walkers (cough, cough)

2008-09-08T15:59:00.002-05:00

The Olympics are a time for greatness, doing your best and inspiration. Unfortunately, when your wife and child are inspired by race-walking, the result isn't pretty.

can we have a snack?

2008-09-08T15:48:00.002-05:00

Sport beans and Sharkies and some water to wash them down sustained us.

For 7 miles.

Yessir. The kid and I spent the day together hiking. While Cupcake and herfemale life partner were supposedly running the same loop, we plodded along. We ate snacks. Lots of snacks. I told stories and we sang 'Father Abraham' and we threw purple berries at each other. It was rather entertaining.

Then, before we knew it, we were finished. We ran the last 100 feet of the trail trying to let the ladies see that we were fine after our little amble through the woods.

I told some of my classmates that I took the kid on a 7 mile hike and they said they were going to call Child Protective Services. Stupid friends! I can't help it that my kid's METS is higher than theirs combined.

I'm funny...and the kid is rather fantastic.

happy dance

2008-08-19T22:13:00.005-05:00

Cupcake comes home tonight.

I'm all smiles except for one moment of panic when I realized that I forgot to feed the kid's fish all weekend. I ran upstairs and to my relief there were no bellies up in the murky water (that little fish bowl needs a cleaning).

Nice.

I'm not even at the airport to pick them up. How lame am I? In my defense I was at work when they flew out so they drove and parked. It would be redundant if I drove out there just to say hi so we could drive home in separate vehicles.

Instead, I'm running around the house like a four year-old after a good poop.

Needless to say I'm excited.

you think i'm kidding

2008-08-17T10:38:00.003-05:00

For whatever reason, stuff like this catches my attention. I've even talked to Cupcake about building a house that's different, better, cleaner. And...

...she's in...when we're not dirt poor of course.

Life affords us many opportunities and I've always been told to do what I can with what I have. Sometimes I squander what I have...and that's becoming not OK.

Rooftop gardens and solar panels are sexy. Don't worry, I'll let you all come visit my sexy house one day.

i'm [almost] a fraud || recycling is sexy

2008-08-16T15:58:00.003-05:00

Have you every watched someone flick a cigarette to the ground, step on it and walk away? Have you ever seen someone pull up to stop light, open their door, set a drink container next to them, close the door and drive off? This sort of nonsense incenses me. I hate when people litter.

I had a revelation the other day. When I throw out a can or paper or cardboard into the trash and choose not to recycle, I am acting as irresponsibly as the morons (I've always loved that word) that litter.

Ever since I moved to Houston, I've struggled with the waste I create. The amount is no different than what I created in California, but they had a recycling program in place so my waste wasn't all going to the dump. Despite my 'struggle' it wasn't enough for me to find a recycling center.

This changed when the ladies and I moved into our new apartment. The Ikea, moving, and wedding gift boxes began to pile up. I couldn't, in good conscience, just throw all of it into the trash. The ladies thought I was ridiculous as they watched the trash pile up.

Then, one day after a corner in our house was full to overflowing with recyclable items, I found a place that is open every day for recycling. Although this sounds nerdy, I was excited. I felt relieved. We could recycle.

The ladies and I drove off through the concrete maze of Houston, parked along the curb and we recycled. It doesn't sound heroic or glamorous in any way, but it is. Every item we recycle does two things. 1) It prevents the build-up of trash in sites that have the possibility of contaminating water, earth, air, etc. And 2) It reduces the need for new products to be manufactured. I figure that has to save some energy somewhere along the way.

Since then, we bought three containers for our recycling goods. I came home last week and the containers were empty. I hugged my wife. I can't help but agree that recycling is sexy. I like people who recycle.

On another front, I have ceased riding my bike to and from work. I have no excuse but laziness. It is hard to hop on my bike at 5:30am and head off into the darkness. I'm a fraud. For now I'm driving the 3-4 miles to work and that's that.

I'm hoping I'll work up the motivation to hop on Blue Lightning again. Its nothing but beneficial for all involved.

In addition, at work I go through 20-30 glass vials filled with syringes. These end up on the trash. It pains me every time I use a drug. What a waste. I'm sure it would be hard to recycle those vials.

I'm not sure where my eco-conscience came from, but at times I wonder if I'm simply crazy, overboard, nuts.

Then I remind myself that by doing what little part I can, even if I'm just one person, it's sexy...and helpful for this little earth of ours.

hello?

2008-08-15T22:38:00.002-05:00

Can you tell that the girls are gone for the weekend?

I'm bored out of my mind.

training wheels are for pansies

2008-08-15T22:28:00.005-05:00

"But pansies are pretty," she says.

It's a lose-lose situation over here when it comes to the teaching of bicycle riding. With the move, the training wheels came of the pink wonder and now she has to go at it without them has a crutch. Instead, I spend hours running behind her holding her as she rides down the path at a 45 degree angle. I'm very close to voting the training wheels back on.

Sometimes I wonder if I have the patience to be a parent. Sometimes she does really good and then other times it's unfathomable how little she thinks she needs to pedal. The lack of effort frustrates me at times.

Last week, while Cupcake went running, the kid and I went for another installment of the bike lessons. She pedals and I run behind her ensuring that she doesn't eat it too hard.

The kid rode about a half mile with assistance down a gravel path. It was noted on my part that she was no longer pedaling and thus, she would fall over. I gave her two options. She could either hop on her bike and ride with assitance the half mile back to the truck or she could walk back and push her bike.

She chose to walk and push. WTM? I felt terrible for making a five year-old push her own bike, but I stuck with it because in all my wildest scenarios, I couldn't understand why she wouldn't have picked the riding option. Who wants to walk a bike?

Apparently she does. And she's stubborn so she walked her pink ride all the way back to the truck. I don't understand her sometimes.

But I still kind of like her. And contrary to what she might be hoping for, there will be more lessons...once mom stops riding the kid's bike around.

thank you?

2008-08-15T22:25:00.004-05:00

I find it difficult to find the words to show my gratitude for a second-hand/used sex book. I mean, the generosity shown is incomprehensible.

You dirty, DIRTY people. We are offended...and mostly can't wait to pass this on at the next wedding we're invited to.

In advance, you're welcome.

THIS girl

2008-08-15T22:04:00.008-05:00

This is where we went for our honeymoon. I realize that for the average woman, this is not what she dreams of when she hears the word 'honeymoon.' This is why I'm grateful that Cupcake's not like any of the average women I know.

No one makes me laugh harder than this lady. She entertains me for hours. I like that in a girl. It works out well.

And she likes Canada. I would say that this situation is a win-win for me. I think I might keep her around for a bit.

And she also takes good pictures and puts up with my endless fascination for animals.

And I met her on Myspace. What more could I ask for in a girl?

6.29.08

2008-08-15T20:30:00.004-05:00

I slept like a baby. I didn't get cold feet. There was no second guessing. The guests arrived and so did she.

It was on.

On the morning of June 29, 2008 I woke up single and happy and that evening I had dinner with my wife in our hotel room overlooking the Seattle skyline. It's amazing how much can change in a day. It's amazing how much changed in a year. One day I was minding my own business on Myspace and the next day I found myself curious about a girl in Washington. I have no theory or recipe for how this works, it just did.

So there we were - the kid, our family, friends and the hottest day of the summer. It was magical.

The last few months feel like a blur, but no matter the day, it is always a pleasure to come home to Mrs. Burman.

WTM? I still get tachycardic when I think about who I get to come home to.

I'm a lucky boy. Blessed, really. I can't believe this is my life. I never thought marriage was in the works for me. Then it happened and with Cupcake. It seems like yesterday that we jumped out of an airplane in Houston and ran a marathon in Portland and climbed a little hill in Spokane.

Life is good. I have no complaints.

did you read?

2008-07-23T13:46:00.004-05:00

Um...so this clinical thing has a couple ups and then...downs. Yesterday I participated in the care of four pediatric patients. I have never given anesthesia to children before and it showed. Within 30 minutes of starting the day, the CRNA I was assigned to for the day asked, "Did you even read?"

I paused.

I said, "This is my first time with kids. I'm a bit lost."

"Well, clinically I expect this, but you don't seem prepared at all."

Thank you?

Needles to say, the day continued on like this. I took some heat for something I didn't do. I'm not sure I care.

Then, upon arriving back in the room, the MD asked why I had no blood pressure. I said, "Oh, it just took and it was 90/54 or something like that." The blood pressure is set for every 2.5 minutes.

The MD tapped the monitor and pulled up the last blood pressure, which happened to be 94/40. "Well, it's not good to lie when there is a computer that tells the truth."

Really? Are you serious? First, I wasn't that far off and second, I was simply acknowledging to you that I had looked at the pressure recently. It was not for documentation purposes. I can take a lot, but if you call me a liar, I might take issue with that.

I kept silent and took the cowardly comments in stride.

I survived the day and now I'm going back for more. I'm on for the next 16 hours. I feel stupid. I feel dumb. I feel incompetent.

I can't wait until this 18 months is over.

wedding shower

2008-06-26T10:34:00.005-05:00

Hello.

I went to my first (and last) wedding shower last night. It was awkward. I don't think showers were created for boys.

The sucky part about last night was that Cupcake doesn't have a voice. This made me the token talker for the night's events. Let me add in the one detail that I knew no one at the shower. It was not OK.

We ate and opened presents and it was quiet...really, really quiet.

Then a smiling, gray-haired lady asked about how we met. Lindsay can't talk so I launched into a story about us. Without intention I started crying. I became overwhelmed with how much I loved Cupcake. It was surprising and yet the audience of ladies ate this stuff up. I think all ladies like to see a man cry, not because he is sensitive because somewhere inside they now know he is weak and they like that. It's a messed up world.

I survived and Cupcake survived. She still has no voice, but I love her. Sunday is almost here. This is the good life.

14:05:29

2008-06-23T11:06:00.003-05:00

Yessir. She did it.

I stayed up last night to watch her finish, mostly because I couldn't fall asleep. I want to let out a cheer when I saw her and the kid making their way to the finish line.

That was good TV last night (or at least great internet livefeed action). I wanted to be there so bad, but instead I was sitting on my couch surrounded in darkness except for the glow of my computer screen.

I get to see her tomorrow. The excitement is overwhelming.

a matter of minutes, hours, days

2008-06-21T17:15:00.003-05:00

Stuff goes down this week.

My mother came into town two days ago. Aside from it just being nice to see my mother again, there are other perks as well like she washes dishes faster than I can use them. She came to Houston in order to help me pack and clean the abandoned apartment. This is helpful as I have to get packed up and moved out of here on Monday. I need a some help.

Tomorrow Cupcake and trigirl82 are involved in a little race. I applaud their efforts.

On Monday, I have two tests. At 4:30pm I will be officially done my first year of school. I will come home, move my worldly possessions and get the new apartment set up for the arrival of the Burmans (thats me and my new family).

On Tuesday, my mother and I fly to Spokane where I get to see Cupcake again. It's been six weeks since I've seen her and it's about time to see her again.

Then, after a few errands here and there, Sunday comes along and I get to marry Cupcake. After that nothing else matters.

Life happens now. It's go time.

page me

2008-06-17T19:36:00.003-05:00

I sat through six hours of clinical orientation today. Today we heard about all the creative ways students (like me) can find to screw up. Very motivational...and encouraging.

I received in excess of 20 hand-outs detailing my weeks work requirements in the coming months. Oh shnap.

Then, the professor passed out pagers. I have my very own pager. I've never owned one before. I'm sure by the end of this 18 months I will be more than happy to give it back, but for now it's rather exciting. It's a sign that I get to move on to the next step. I'm growing up over here.

I tried to make Cupcake page me, but she wouldn't play into my games. So I paged myself. It works. I almost feel professional if it weren't for the gaping void of knowledge between my ears. I don't say that so that you will feel sorry for me, but because I have so much more to learn.

If everything goes well, on July 7 I will arrive in the OR at around 0530 to begin my first real day as a nurse anesthesia student. What now? People better keep a close eye on their teeth. My bad. That's terrible. Someone the other day reminded me not to knock any more teeth out. I wonder if they really thought I needed reminding.

So...page me. Seriously. I'm ready to return some calls.

i was scared to be first

2008-06-16T14:45:00.002-05:00

I looked around the room. Everyone was still seated, heads bent over their 27 page test-booklets.

Uh-oh.

I had finished my test. I'm usually student number three to complete a test, but today, I was somehow done and everyone was still present. Instead of being proud or happy or satisfied, I got nervous. I couldn't make myself get out of my chair. I had to pee, too. I flipped open the first page of my test and went through it again. I checked my answers twice. WTM? I didn't get any smarter since the last time I checked it, but I forced myself to stay seated until someone else got up.

I erased answers just so I could write them more legibly. What in the world happened to me?

Upon going through my test a second time, which I'm pretty sure didn't help me, the usual number 1 test completer got up and sauntered out. That's what she does. She saunters. I happily tucked away by HB #2 and light-powered calculator and went pee. And now I can't even gloat. I'm sure it would have gone something like this. "I was the first person done as well as the first person to flunk out of the program." That test was a mother. I could have studied another week and still not known the material she covered.

It's possible that I failed. The good news is I just saved $324 on my car insurance. No, really. I did, and it wasn't with Geico either. I highly recommend Ameriprise through Costco. Their online site wasn't too fluid, but the people (they actually have real humans) on the other end of the phone are more like people you would would like to see in church than on the other end of a call at a insurance company. High-5 to Mary & Kathy. I had to call twice. Hmm...yet I'm strangely satisfied.

I'm off to renew my safety inspection permit. Stupid Texas.

504 hours

2008-06-08T18:58:00.004-05:00

It's all going down in three weeks. I can't tell you how excited I am to know that in 504 hours, my wife and I (I think I said that in public for the first time here) will be headed on a plane somewhere. The place doesn't matter so much as the company.

I am one lucky boy.

I have three tests left and while they might be the biggest tests of my life (I'm not at all dramatic) their significance pales in comparison to what is going down in 30,230 minutes.

I have moments of disbelief and I have moments of sheer bliss. I have no idea what the future holds for us, but I pray that I get to live out my days with Cupcake.

I have never looked forward to any one event so much as I am looking forward to our wedding.

I apologize for the cheeziness of this all, but I can't help it. I like my life.

I am blessed.

i have NEVER done one of these before

2008-06-06T21:43:00.003-05:00

Thank you sarah j clark. Whatever.

What were you doing five years ago?
A strapping nursing graduate, I got my first job as a murse. I was terrified and enthralled all at the same time. I never thought wiping booty was so much fun.

What are five things on your to-do list for today (in no particular order)?
1. Go for a ride.
2. Talk to Cupcake
3. Sleep
Is it bad that I only have 3 things to do tomorrow?

What are five snacks you enjoy?
1. Goldfish pretzels
2. Jamba Juice
3. Coffee Crisp
4. Fruit snacks
5. Clif Protein bars

What five things would you do if you were a billionaire?
1. Marry Cupcake
2. Pay off my loans, parent's house, sister's house, etc.
3. Build a ranch for kids that don't have another place to go.
4. Buy matching bikes for Cupcake and me.
5. Feed some children. Lots of them.

What are five of your bad habits?
1. Riding without a helmet
2. Snoring
3. Picking at scabs
4. Laughing when someone falls
5. Sweating (i need an intervention)

What are five places where you have lived?
1. Victoria, British Columbia
2. Spangle, Washington (where I met Cupcake)
3. Portland, Oregon
4. Loma Linda, California
5. Houston, Texas
Which state is not like the others? (vomit, vomit)

What are five jobs you've had?
1. Construction peon
2. Janitor
3. Resident Assistant
4. Behavioral Specialist (psych facility = good times)
5. Registered Murse

These are the people that I'm tagging. What? You better do it.
honestgrl
sean
trigirl82
smrteepants
mule

quad-pack

2008-06-06T21:24:00.003-05:00

I move. Soon.

To facilitate this, I spent some time on the phone this week trying to transfer my electrical and internet services. I thought I might try a new internet provider as Comcast was charing me $64 per month. I thought this rather steep and I didn't want to put up with it anymore.

I called AT&T. They offer high-speed DSL for $39 per month. A deal? I would say so. The customer assistance lady I got was rather helpful, but it my call deteriorated fast. I wanted to know the price for having a phone line so I could get DSL. She told me she was unable to provide this information to me until she obtained more information.

LIAR!!

I played her game. I gave her all the information she requested until she asked, "Will you be living with anyone?"

"Yes I will."

"Will you have a roommate?" she asked.

"Actually I'm getting married," I said, happy to talk about my fiancee.

"Oh, congratulations. What's her name?"

"Excuse me? Why do you need to know her name?" I asked, now becoming skeptical of this lady's 'help' that she was offering.

"Well, we just like to get as much information possible," she said.

"Um, no. I just want a price for DSL."

"OK, I can do that for you," and she proceeded.

The questions kept coming, but they seemed at least pertinent to the process even going so far as to ask for my wireless provider. I let her slide.

"So the basic phone line will be $29.99 per month," she said.

This is an additional charge to the $39 for the DSL. WTM? This is not OK with me.

"Actually I'm trying to save money and this isn't going to do it for me."

"Sir, I would actually recommend to you the quad-pack. What you get for this is wireless service, a free RAZR phone, a land-line with special features such as call-waiting and caller ID as well as DSL. You get all these services for only $139 per month," she said as though she actually believed that this was the deal for me.

"I told you that I have a wireless service and I don't need long distance. I haven't had a land-line in over five years and would only need it for your DSL service," I said.

"No, but Sir, this is a great offer and is very convenient..." she went on.

I hate it when someone persists in recommending something to me that is not helping go in the direction that I have clearly stated. I want to pay less than $64 per month for internet. I don't want to pay $129 for your convenient quad-pack. I wasn't frustrated, but I was completely turned off to doing business with AT&T.

"Ma'am, please destroy all the information I have given you and I hope I never see anything from AT&T in my mailbox. Please don't send me anything." With that I hung up and dialed Comcast back. "Uh, yes, instead of disconnecting my service, can I arrange for a transfer." I repented of my ways and in a surprising turn of events, the transfer was set up without a hitch and the lady says, "So I've set up the transfer and you're new monthly fee will be $39.99 per month."

What? You have to be kidding me. I just lost 20 minutes of my life with an AT&T operator when all along you had something better for me?

Sign me up.

my cinderella

2008-05-31T09:59:00.006-05:00

I detest princesses!

The pink, the fu-furry nonsense, the fake diamonds, and the associated delusions that are inherent to their use.

Being on the verge of becoming a father, the princess thing is about to be brought on ad nauseum. I can't fault the kid for this. Someone, somewhere along the way, told her she was a princess. Soon after she walked down the aisle of Toys 'R' Us and saw a princess in pink plastic and an association was made that will not soon be broken.

I almost detest Disney as much as princesses. No, I detest Disney more.

These thoughts came upon me yesterday as I tried to make sense of pulmonary artery waveforms and such. I'm not sure if you've heard, but Steven Curtis Chapman's youngest daughter, Maria Sue, was killed just over a week ago. One of his sons accidentally backed over her with a vehicle.

Tragedy. I cannot imagine the sheer despair in their house. I cannot imagine losing my daughter. My heart was made to feel things that it hasn't felt before.

The connection is this.

Mr. Chapman has recently released a song called, Cinderella. His album was set to be released, unbeknownst to him, just days after he would lose one of his princesses.

It's about his daughter that grows up and eventually leaves to be married, but the similarities of losing a daughter to marriage and losing a daughter until the other side of heaven are goose-bump similar. I sat there listening to this song, now knowing that he just lost a cinderella. The goose-bumps covered my arms.

The terrifying part of this is that in less than 30 days I will have a princess running around my world - the kind that wears tiaras and purple fu-furry crap and dances around to no beat or music, but because she can. While I detest the Disney influenced princess, I probably won't be able to change it. She will be, after all, my princess. I can only hope that I will never forget to enjoy the moments I have. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed. Thirty days from now isn't guaranteed. All I have is now to show my princess that I love her (and hate Disney). Even though I met her less than a year ago, I can't imagine my life without her.

I am going to do all I can to enjoy the time I have left with my Cinderella. I've already missed out on five years. I have some catching up to do.

This is the video of the song and the background, all recorded prior to losing his daughter. This is nothing short of profound.

We may only have today. Don't be lulled into a state of confidence or procrastination. Take advantage of today, this minute. For soon it will be gone and we are never assured that the people here now are going to be here the next minute.

Tell someone you love them. Show them. Dance with them.

the cleaning lady

2008-05-31T09:36:00.003-05:00

I just so happens that I'm usually at school in the same room after 5pm. This has caused me to have numerous encounters with the cleaning lady. As is the irony in our society, the people cleaning Baylor usually know less than ten words in the English language. While I struggle to understand how one can live their whole life in the United States without learning English, I know this happens. Frequently.

Before Thursday we had exchanged maybe three words.

"Hello."

"Oh, I...sorry." (Trash is being emptied).

"Thank you" and the door closes behind her. It's so awkward to be in the same room as someone and not speak.

Whether it be a language barrier or any type of barrier people don't talk to each other. We're bad at making eye contact and/or conversation. It's like we all got home-schooled (that sounds mean, but that is not my intention).

On Thursday, the cleaning lady made an effort to speak more than the usual three words. I broke out my Spanish and a friendship was formed. She has three 'babies' and the youngest is 14. She works two jobs and works every day. She is tired often. She thinks we study too much. And then she was gone.

My classmate, who doesn't know Spanish other than si and no, asked "You weren't talking about me were you?"

"Actually I told her that it is a privilege to know you because you have the world's smallest pee-pee."

Yesterday, she came in a again. I was alone as my classmate opted not to stay indoors with me on a sunny afternoon. She came in and we chatted. She asked me my name and the name of my classmate.

Her name is Maria. I couldn't help but smile. I don't think the name Maria will ever become a thing of the past.

I asked her why she's never taken the time to learn English.

"I don't have enough time and everyone I talk to speaks Spanish." While it may seem incredulous to us that someone can make it here without knowing English, it seems very logical to her as to why she hasn't learned.

We talked for a few minutes before she had to resume vacuuming and dumping trash and wiping. Cleaning isn't fun, but it's a job. My first year of college I cleaned toilets and I vacuumed lobbies. I took my work seriously and pretty soon I was cleaning the deans' offices. After a year away from college I got offered a job as a resident assistant without even applying for it.

I thought it odd. I keep thinking that if I were a janitor in the Baylor College of Medicine I would be motivated to learn more. I don't know if I could be content cleaning toilets. I wonder if Maria is. I wonder if one day she would like to learn English or become a doctor or if her dreams are now about her 'babies'.

It's funny how life sneaks up on you. Regardless, I made a friend and that makes me smile.

FIRE [drill]

2008-05-30T15:46:00.002-05:00

I can't remember the last time I was involved in a fire drill. It's been years. I was strangely excited about the idea of having to leave the building and missing school time. Granted, it only lasted 10 minutes, but it was 10 minutes more out in the sunshine than I would have had normally.

I was so excited that I took a picture.

much ado about helmets

2008-05-28T21:59:00.005-05:00

At 9am this morning I sat down with the only 13 people I know in Houston for our pharmacology final. Its contents spanned the last 11 months. Five hours was allotted for 28 pages and 173 questions. I brought water, a long-sleeved shirt and 'quiet' snacks so my classmates wouldn't get mad at me.

It went. I got out in 3.5 hours and I feel as though I passed. I am not going to be any sort of hero for my score, but I'm pretty sure I passed and I'm OK with that. Really OK.

I came home, tried to nap and then I tried to rectify my apartment that has been neglected for at least two weeks.

What a slob.

I also went out and got Jamba Juice cards for the boys who "saved my life" last week. I'm going to run them by their work as a thank you. Despite the minorness of the incident it was rather impressive that two boys stopped and took time to get involved. People don't do that anymore.

I don't do it. I suck as a human. Getting involved takes time and effort. It's usually worth it, but I usually convince myself otherwise in an effort to reationalize my way out of helping.

Enough about [the sucky] me.

I took out my stitches today - all six of them. I have to laugh at myself that I only got six stitches and yet I'm relieved it wasn't more. They're all out now and my head is healing.

Which brings me to my next point.

Helmets.

First, I'm a believer.

Second, I'm also not naive to think that a helmet would save me from everything. Granted in this particular situation a helmet would have been quite advantageous. It would have saved me from two hours in an emergency department. While I don't want to die foolishly or for no reason, I also don't want some flimsy piece of plastic to keep me alive enough to be a vegetable.

The logic isn't sound, but it's what I got. It's currently being reevaluated due to the imminent addition of a wife and child. I can't just think of myself and I realize this. I do in fact wear a helmet when I ride - defined as being on my mountain bike doing 15 mph through the trees. I see value in it. I'm putting myself at a greater risk (at least this is what I tell myself) and therefore it warrants a helmet. In the same line of thinking I find it difficult to justify a helmet for a two mile ride at 8 mph. It seems rather benign.

That said, accidents happen (as I am well aware). As of now, if an accident happened and I was on the receiving end of a car, I don't want a helmet to allow me to live only part way. I choose death.

(gasp!) I know.

So, while I appreciate the well-intentioned advice about helmets, I continue to ride helmetless. What I ask of you is that at my funeral you smile smugly to yourself knowing how wrong I was and how right you were. That way we can both be happy.

Ignorance is bliss. I would also say that knowing can be bliss as well.

am i boring you?

2008-05-22T21:25:00.002-05:00

I made it to class on a break. I tried to sneak in, but being late and having blood on my shorts, it wasn't a quite entrance. I was greeted with "Are you OK?" and "Let me see."

After inspection, the greeting quickly changed to "Oh, that's not bad at all." Great. Thanks for your sympathy.

The professor (director of the program) came back and class got underway. About five minutes into his lecture he notices that I was present. There was a cordial greeting and a check to make sure I had survived. Satisfied, he went on.

The next two hours preceded in a manner that I could not have predicted. I was made fun of like you would believe. Every comment was racially motivated (anti-Canadian if you will). I got the right, left, right and then the knee to the groin. It was astounding.

I laughed, stayed quiet and took it like a man.

Somewhere between ED and getting kicked while I was down, I let out a fairly large yawn. It was silent and I didn't think it had drawn much attention, but when I recovered and looked to the front of the classroom, my professor's eyes were looking my direction. There was a pause and then, "Am I boring you?"

You got to be kidding me. I just got called out on a yawn. WTM?

I tossed my notes onto the table in front of me and leaned forward addressing my classmates. "I yawned people. All I did was yawn."

It was out of control. It was just one of those days.

Now I'm at home, listening to some Fergie (her lyrics are very seductive and repetitious. hmmm....) and eating some spaghetti.

My bloody clothes are getting a washing. The entire washing machine is red.

I'm off to eat. My head hurts.

an incident

2008-05-22T13:02:00.002-05:00

The morning was like any other - humid, rainy and hot. I set out on my trusty steed that as of late hasn't been as trusty. Oh, well.

I pedaled along through the drizzle wondering where the rain had come from. Before I left the comforts of a roof and air conditioning there was no rain to be seen. That changed.

About a quarter mile from home my chain came off. This has been happening rather frequently the last couple of weeks, but I've been mostly patient. This morning I wasn't. Lengthening my time in the rain was no my goal.

With the chain back on its ring, I set off again.

I crossed the first intersection and made it 20 feet down the sidewalk. I was riding on the sidewalk because my bike lane had been taken over by traffic that was pushed over due to construction. I pedaled out of my saddle as I usually do when disaster struck.

The chain popped off again. I heard the sound before I realized what was happening. Without resistance on the down stroke I fell forward. The wet side walk didn't allow my back tire to hold firm when my white reached the bottom of the stroke. It slid and I flew. My flight ended when my head it the metal fence to my right.

I was pissed that my chain had come off. I don't fall. It's rather inconvenient.

I stood up to gather myself and my bike and my stray water bottle that had exited by back pack.

Red. There was red everywhere. I could feel the moisture on my cheek and see the colored liquid splattering the wet side walk. It took me a second to realize that I was indeed bleeding from my head. I pulled off my shirt and applied it and pressure to my scalp.

Across the street and construction worker was sweeping. He looked up and kept sweeping. About 50 feet past my a yellow Xterra slowed. I tried to figure out what to do next. I was unsure how I was going to get me and my bike to school while I was half naked.

A car pulled up in front of me. The window was down. "Are you OK?" a blond-haired floral-scrub printed lady asked me.

"Yeah, I'm OK. Hey...can you tell me if it's big?" I withdrew my wet shirt from the side of my head.

There was a pause and then she said, "Yeah, it's pretty bad. You should probably go to the hospital."

Frick.

A man approached on my right. He introduced himself as Rafferty and came from the yellow Xterra. He advised me to sit down. I got a second opinion.

"Yeah, you need to go to a hospital" he said.

I picked up my water bottle as he locked my bike to the offending fence. He and his friend Joe offered me a ride to the emergency department. There are numerous hospitals in a two mile radius and I didn't know which one to choose from. At least I was able to make a choice.

Joe dropped Rafferty and me off at St. Luke's. I was still half-naked with dried blood caked to the side of my face and glasses.

Rafferty helped me fill out the usual paperwork and then we waited. I stepped into the bathroom and got myself cleaned up. It didn't look so bad. The laceration ended up being about 1.5 inches. Not to shabby.

I called Cupcake. She was asleep, semi-delirious and concerned. I told her I would call her when I got out from my stitches.

I got called back and I offered Rafferty a get out of ED free pass, but he claimed that watching me get stitched up was way better than going to work. He hung out. We talked about work, running, triathlons (I'm an authority and I bragged about Cupcake), his sister that just got diagnosed with cancer and that's why he shaved his head. We covered a lot of ground. We spent two hours together, just chatting.

The doctor came and she had the largest rock on her finger that I think I have ever seen. I was concerned with how that was going to fit under a glove. Not my concern. soon my face was covered with a drape and a bright glow of light came through the white paper.

"I'm getting married in a few weeks, is there anything you can put in there so that it heals faster?" I asked.

"No, but I will stitch it up for you" she said. "You got hit pretty good. You have a hard head. Does your fiancee know?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure she's aware."

The lights went back to normal, the drape was removed and the doctor excused herself. I had six shiny new stitches. It was kind of anti-climactic for all the bleeding, but at least I was put back together. I had donned a new shirt that was in my bag. It read, "I'm fantastic."

Without further ado, Rafferty and I took to the sidewalks and walked our way towards the center of the medical center. We shook hands, I said thank you again and he went off to work and I headed to class that I was now two hours late for.

Before I left the ED, Nurse Kevin says, "Oh...and if I were you, I'd make up a better story."

The Scalp Laceration

Look Ma, I'm bleeding.

'hoodrat stuff'

2008-05-19T12:37:00.004-05:00

The first time I watched this video I couldn't believe my eyes. Really?

Now I can't help but laugh. This boy needs some redirection. He needs to have his gaming system of choice backed over instead of just losing the privileges for a weekend.

I am astounded at this boy's moral incoherence. I'm guessing he might end up in prison in the near future for doing other cool, hoodrat stuff.

WTM?

pink is the new brown

2008-05-18T22:09:00.002-05:00

I would like to announce to the world that my poop is pink.

This is thanks to a watermelon.

i kissed dating good-bye

2008-05-14T23:21:00.005-05:00

I got up, my backpack hanging from my shoulders, and started to head into the neuro lab.

I was intercepted.

A girl whom I had never spoken with walked up to me and said, "Hi. I'm Jane. And you're Kevin." She said it matter of fact like, as though she knew me. I had never spoken with this lady in my life although I knew her name simply because she is in the same TA group as me.

"One of my friends is interested in you. Are you seeing anyone?"

A smile came over my face, "Actually I'm engaged."

"OK, thank you" she said and walked off to the same class as me. Interesting.

I relate this story not to toot my own horn, but to tell you how pleased I was to report to her that "I'm engaged." Holla.

It is rather fantastic to know that I go home every day to the one and the same Cupcake. The sheer pleasure this causes me struck me again today as my new 'friend' walked off.

I'm not looking. I'm not perusing the crowd looking for a pretty face. I'm not flirting with intentions. I'm not trying to play any games. I'm sold. I'm done. I've found the girl for me and I have never been more happy. I never thought that having only one BFF could be so enthralling.

I couldn't stop smiling today thinking about Cupcake and from now until death, I will always come home to Cupcake.

It feels good, real good, to be happy, confident in a relationship. I am blessed.

For those of you still in the dating scene, I have no advice. I don't even know how I got here and to be honest I don't know if this particular road would work for anyone else. Single and happy is the way to go, until the happiness is not only matched but surpassed by the addition of a BFF.

I'm a happy boy.