This is how we roll

If you ever wondered what it is like working in such an academically sound research institution with many highly educated and intelligent people all working for the betterment of today's trauma victim, look no further than this email I sent out to my fellow colleagues upon learning that our once sick co-worker would now be joining us for an intense day of research :

From : Carrie
To : Core Research Group
Subject : Josh will be in

Due to a miraculous recovery that can only be attributed to good health, proper nutrition and a hefty infusion of H2O and bacon, our brave Josh will now be joining us today.

While he will not be joining us at his regularly scheduled time, we can all thank each other for the well wishes sent his way that have assisted in his being brought back from the brink of death, just in the nick of time.

Congratulations on your speedy and efficient recovery Josh! If only the rest of us could hold dear just a little bit of the awesomeness that you possess.

Sincerely and with much shock and awe,


**And if you weren’t a believer before, you should now fully understand the wonderful healing powers of bacon, America’s favorite fruit. There really is nothing in the world better than bacon. Nothing.**

Carrie A. Awesomeness (not my real last name, but it sure as heck should be)

Clinical Research Assistant

CORE Research Group

R.A Cowley Shock Trauma Center

University of Maryland, School of Medicine

From : Allison
To : Carrie
Subject : Re : Josh will be in

Truly the world is not ready for the gifts that Josh possesses. We must keep his skills secret, safe, lest the petty jealousies of the ignorant masses steal him away to rend him limb from limb, to realize, all too late, that Josh’s gifts cannot be possessed by any other.


P.S. The first inkling of the coolness that is Shock Trauma was noted while shadowing Dr. Stein during rounds in October of 2006, when the team nutritionist began extolling the virtues of bacon ….


Happy 8th Birthday to my crazy little mutt.

My dog Lucy and I have been together for nearly 8 years now. That is longer than taking every crappy relationship (which is every single one up until the meeting of Mr. Hot Pilot) and rolling them into one steaming pile of relationship dog poo.

From the beginning, Lucy has adopted a role of being my unwavering life defender, protecting me against the likes of just about every other human being that walks on this earth. She has perfected the art of rigid tooth baring and deep internal growl that would scare any evil Mormon or Jehovah's Witness into submission.

Those kids walking by the house on their way home from school? They are secretly wielding machetes and other weapons of wrath that could potentially harm her mommy.

That nice lady from down the street who waves at everyone? According to my little dog, you can't trust anyone who is that friggin happy all the time.

Lucy's junkyard dog instincts don't only convey to those outside the home. While my dad thinks Lucy is the coolest dog that has ever walked the face of the planet, and tries as hard as possible to snuggle and cuddle and offer treats that any dog would roll over in submission for - Lucy just doesn't give a crap.

While sitting in his lap, she will growl at the slightest pat on the head from him. As he is showering her with words of adoration and apple slices, she will bare her teeth, all the while snuggled right up tight to him. Some may say my dog has borderline personality disorder. The only people she will show affection and sweetness to other than her treasured mommy are her granny, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin. Try to come into my room with her either guarding the door or sitting on the bed however? Don't. Even. Go. There. Just avert your eyes and run to the safety of another room.

I love my little weirdo dog with all my being. I realize that her feelings of protection for me may just border on completely insane and slightly neurotic, but she is my dog. She has been through everything with me from divorce, to cross country moving, to living with two evil roommates to moving back in with granny and grandpa and adjusting to life with two other half-wit dogs with nothing more than walks and balls on the brain. I find Lucy to be eternally patient with all of the changes in her life.

So Lucy likes to show her dominance with a friendly ankle bite here and there? So what. She and I are a package deal. And I am lucky to have found a man who understands that.

Here's to you Lucy, aka - Looty Pie Jones, Poopy-head, Floofy, Loot Loot, Looty Lou.

Happy Birthday you crazy little loon.


One way to instill humility

Growing up, my parents instilled rather strict christian moral values in my brothers and I. I would like to think that I still hold most of these morals near and dear my heart, but look folks I am nearly 28. I have been married before. (Gasp! I know! Worse than my decision to buy a second blue Dodge Neon!) I had put a couple of not so great relationships under my belt before I met the more-awesome-than-he-lets-on Mr. Hot Pilot and my world was once again turned upright.

Now Mr. Hot Pilot and I share the same christian values and enjoy doing things the right way in order to ensure that we don't fall into the same craptacular rat hole that we both ended up in with our first marriages - i.e - he with the world's craziest blonde chick and I with the world's least self motivated guy. Let me tell you, he and I would forgo a rockin' honeymoon if it meant eternal peace, sunshine and not the slightest chance of a mental breakdown.

So I didn't think much of it the other day while I was at my annual chick appointment and my doc asked if it was ok for her to leave a message on my machine regarding my results. Of course I didn't care, and I went on my merry way.

Imagine my shock and surprise when I was sitting at the computer the other night and my mother went to play the messages in the voicemail, and I heard the cheery voice of my doc. "Hi there, just wanted to let you know everything is negative, and your pregnancy test was negative. Hope you have a great day!".

I began yelling "Oh my God! I know I'm not pregnant for crying out loud! It was just routine! Oh God! I already know I'm not because I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!!!".

Funny how even at 27 one phone call from the doc can entice such a feeling of utter humiliation.


My (angry) thoughts exactly

I don't make alot of money. I am just beginning to pay back my student loans and I have yet to really start my life. So when I heard about the furloughs being brought against Maryland state employees (of which I am one) I was ticked. Didn't they just pass a crapload of slots that were supposed to bring in a Donald Trump sized amount of money for education, healthcare, Sheila Dixon's kid's college fund and other things? First and foremost, I did not vote for slots. But the rest of Maryland felt they were necessary and now I still have to pay consequences.

When I found this cartoon on PolitickerMD.com, I thought I should just go ahead and share.

(you can find the original page here)


She's craf-tay!

This past week I have decided to try and save some money by creating my own christmas ornaments. I ended up spending nearly $200 on supplies. I really don't believe that Dave Ramsey would be proud of my attempt at saving money as I pretty much failed miserably. Despite my money saving efforts, I have saddled myself with several daunting projects. I'd like to consider myself somewhat crafty, but I often get either distracted or disinterested very quickly.

I have taken to painting wooden ornaments, painting wooden christmasy decorations, gluing paper strips to styrofoam balls and I even decided to fold oragami birds. I am finding the oragami to make my brain feel somewhat like mashed jello and am hoping maybe it is a good brain exercise which will keep me from the grips of alzheimers for maybe one extra year.

Little did I realize what a literal pain in the neck ornament painting would truly be. I woke up the next day with such a massive stiff neck I thought for sure I had meningitis. Until I realized it was nothing more than terrible posture which I'm sure my grandmother would chastise me for.

For tonight I am taking time off of my crafty ways and have come up with a new project I hope you will all enjoy : Really bad christmas lights. Christmas decor wrecks if you will. I will be scouring my local area each day at dusk for the most heinous acts of electrical expression in order to make each one of you feel just a little bit better about your decorating tastes.

Tonight I took the lazy way and found a picture online (as I learned the hard way that I should be taking these pictures at dusk and not under the blackened night sky whilst wearing my robber uniform of black clothes and panty hose over the face).

Enjoy tonights little christmas treasure and I will be bringing some of Marylands finest tomorrow.

(photo via Ugly Christmas Lights)


Censorship for kids!

When we were kids growing up, there were many things our parents put the kibosh on and kept us sheltered from : rap music, rock music, any music found on mainstream radio, The Simpsons, horror movies, crack smoking, swearing, vodka shooters and any movie with a rating higher than PG. Looking back I can certainly understand the extreme measures they went to to ensure that my brothers never saw a set of boobies before the age of 21 and I never saw a mans 'danger zone' until at least 3 years after I married.

I still remember going through the annual 5lb JC Penney catalog as a teen trying to find my style, and realizing that my mother had ripped out the 'lingerie' section in order to keep my brothers from fulfilling their curiosity by viewing middle aged women modeling granny panties or maternity bras. Very enticing.

When it came to movies and television, my parents were very guarded about what we were and were not allowed to watch. These rules lightened up quite a bit by the time my youngest brother was a teenager, but I had to live my younger years without the likes of "Roseanne" or "The Simpsons". Not good for a kid trying to be cool in the 5th grade.

Any time we watched a movie, my mother would sit in her chair, poised with the remote control to scan forward in case a woman were to dance bare chested across the screen. There had been more than one occasion where we would be watching a movie as a family when a love scene would suddenly appear and out of the corner of our eyes a small figure clad in flannel kitten pajamas would move in slow motion from the side shouting "No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!!!!" and block everyones view with her nightshirt. It was quite a picture.

Now-a-days we are used to seeing every movie imaginable with my parents. And I believe that they have become used to having grown children whom they don't have to censor movies for. It is because of this new and more grown-up life that we got caught in a sticky situation on Thanksgiving day.

As usual we were looking for a movie to go and see after Thanksgiving dinner. My dad suggested "The Four Christmases" with Reece Witherspoon and that guy that Jennifer Aniston once shouldn't have dated. I thought it looked funny and we decided to all go, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin included.

We should have known something was amiss when we didn't see any other elementary aged children in the audience. Then Mr. Hot Pilot whispered "are you sure this is rated only PG?" to me as the rather grown-up previews flashed across the screen.

I hadn't even thought about what rating this movie was. I'm not accustomed to even thinking about it.

Then the first scene of the movie flashes up and after the two characters begin ripping each others clothes off in a bathroom, I realize we have trouble.

Without a second thought, Mr. Hot Pilot had Munchkin in a football hold and was racing down the steps and out of the theater. Looking back it was rather funny, although I was quite embarassed that we even went to see the movie with Munchkin.

Luckily we got our money back and all was right with the world again.

Maybe, just maybe, I will become the mom who will wear flannel kitten pajamas and ensure Munchkin never sees any womans bits and pieces until he is at least 35.