19 December 2012

So, I had a date the other day.  This is an unusual event for me since I haven't had one since Super Hot Slice O' Cuteness left for all points Thailand, found the love of his life (whaddya mean it wasn't me??), and started to procreate.  This all started with a friend harassing her husband about what is wrong with men that don't see some bonus is being with a woman who has a freezer full of meat, no less than seven channels of ESPN, and counts Die Hard as one of her favorite movies, continued with a drunk doctor asking me at the Christmas party, "Why are you single?" (Because I asked for the thrill of being widowed?  What kind of a question is that?), and ended with a blind date.  Me, being me, became more anxious as time went on, let my imagination run wild and thoughts of a hundred horrors that could go wrong from me being 20 minutes late and him thinking I had stood him up (which happened on my first (blind) date with the man who became my hubster), to me suffering a tragic fondue accident that would lead this poor man to needing me to be incarcerated for severe nerdiness.

All this led me to ponder the gender differences in date preparation.  I'm sure his preparation began that morning with a close shave and taking a change of clothes in to work, with a possible freshening shower 15 minutes before he left to meet me.  Women, on the other hand, usually need a few days to prep.  For instance, about three days before, we look in our closet and realize we have absolutely NOTHING TO WEAR!!  Which requires a woman to do her best Darryl Waltrip impersonation on the way to buy at least one suitable article of clothing.  You know, dress to impress, but don't set the bar so high you have to reach that acme every single time you go out.  Then, two days before the date, you have to finalize the ensemble: coordinate the shirt, undershirt, pants, shoes, makeup, hairstyle, and jewelry.  Perfection.  The day before the date there is the microdermabrasion of the face, mud mask to draw out impurities and heavy duty, night time hydrating lotion to prepare the canvas of your face for the next night.  And let's not forget the pregame shaving of whatever needs it.  Whether it will be seen or not.  *ahem*  The day of said date is spent relaxing and finalizing your plan for cleansing, perfuming, primping and dressing. Voila!  Perfection personified!  Unless you're me. Then, in an effort to keep yourself from totally chickening out,  you spend the entire day cleaning like a meth addict on a three day binge, until you see your face in the granite counter tops and one could serve Christmas dinner off the baseboards.

02 December 2012

I am a orienting a new nurse at work.  And when I say, new, I don't mean just to labor and delivery.  I mean new to nursing, fresh graduate, holy-cow-I-have-to-break-everything-down-to-it's-simplest-parts, new. I may be getting too old for this, because, much as I tell myself that I was new once, everyone learns at a different pace, she has a huge learning curve facing her, all I feel in my head is that I am Kevin Costner as Crash Davis in Bull Durham when he gets sent down to A ball and says, "Yeah, well, my triple A contract gets bought out so I can hold the flavor of the month's stick in the bus leagues. Well, fuck this fucking game!"  I wish I could find a clip for it, because it's just pure truth at this point.  I'm going to blame my attitude on lack of interest in my girly parts from anyone of the non battery persuasion and the stress of the holidays.  Yeah, that sounds good.