Nana knows best

My mom sent me this and said it reminded her of my boys. Never let it be said that Nana doesn't know best.

The Thursday Three

Well, thanks to the landslide of ideas last week, I'm not going to run out of T3 topics for quite a while. I loved the variety and can't wait to get to them all. But to illustrate a list no one brought up (Three reasons why I'm a pain in the ass), I'm going with something that's been running through my head lately.

Don't ask me why. I have no clue.


Best Chick Flicks Ever



Those of you who have been around since the beginning (all four of you) will recognize this as recycled. As a matter of fact, it was the very first Thursday Three ever and I was thrilled that it got two comments. I'm hoping we can top that this time. You can go back and read the original if you want, but the three I picked then were Dirty Dancing, Working Girl and Notting Hill. I had a terrible time narrowing it down to three, so I don't feel at all bad about doing another set.


I love chick flicks. Love. Them. In my book they're better than xanax and chocolate combined in terms of sheer mindless escapism. And who doesn't need a little mindless escapism?



#1. My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I can watch this movie over and over again. It cracks me up, because it reminds me so much of my middle eastern family on my dad's side. All that yelling and head slapping brings back lots of memories. John Corbett is certainly easy on the eyes. And it is hysterically funny on top of everything else.


My one quibble with this movie is that it doesn't have what I call the chick flick payoff moment. You know, the point where boy met girl, boy and girl got along, boy and girl hit adversity and then, right before happily ever after, comes the payoff moment. In Dirty Dancing it's "nobody puts Baby in the corner". In Notting Hill it's the press conference where Hugh Grant calls himself "a daft prick". The payoff moment is a big deal. And My Big Fat Greek Wedding doesn't have one. So it's not perfect. But it's darn close.




#2. Moonstruck. This is an older chick flick and if you haven't seen it you need to rent it. Now. Cher won an Oscar for it and totally deserved it. It's formulaic chick flick, but written so cleverly and acted so well that it's an absolute joy. This movie has the extra added bonus of making you crave Italian food. Grab some red wine and enjoy the surprisingly touching payoff moment, as witnessed by the entire family.

If you're a woman of a "certain age" it's even better.





#3. When Harry Met Sally. Possibly my favorite movie in the world, chick flick or not. I love this movie with a white hot intensity. Nora Ephron, the writer, is possibly the funniest woman in the world and she was robbed of her screenwriting Oscar here. I don't think there are too many people who don't know about the infamous "I'll have what she's having" scene, but the whole movie is that funny.


The cast is amazing. Billy Crystal, Meg Ryan, Carrie Fisher and Bruno Kirby. Directed by Rob Reiner. I hate the word perfect, but sometimes you have to make an exception.


Just in case you missed it -



Alright, people. Let's hear yours. Can we top two comments?

speed racer

I seem to have two extremes lately. Either I sit on my butt twirling my hair or I run around manically like the energizer bunny. Multiple efforts to find middle ground have failed miserably, and I've kind of given in and decided to roll with it. Sitting on my butt gets old, but I kind of like hyper. Hyper is productive.


In the last couple of days I've:


Cleaned a couple of closets.


Gotten rid of about half of my clothes by donating them to a local thrift store. (I threw away a bunch of them too, including my beloved overalls that I have lived in for the last four years or so. They were falling apart in so many places that you could practically read through them).


Cleaned stuff up in our yard that has been bugging the hell out of me for months. I was in full-swing the other day when it started raining. I just kept on going. I haven't melted in years.


Thrown away several large trash bags full of crap that no one needs or wants. It would be almost criminal to schlep it to the car and drive it to the thrift store just so someone else can take it home and realize that they don't need or want it either.


It's not so much what I'm doing as how I'm doing it. I'm running at Nascar speed. I walk fast. Talk fast. Eat fast. (I don't type fast, though, darn it). Then when I run out of gas (to continue with this ridiculous car analogy) I plop down and sit on my butt. Pretty soon I feel all fired up again and away I go.



I hope tomorrow is a sit on my butt day. Because I have a hair appointment and I'd hate to move at the wrong time and look like this.


That would be really, really bad.

cross my heart

If you aren't female you may as well toddle along to another blog right now. (This includes you, Peter). Because unless you're looking for cheap thrills, you're in the wrong place today. No, this isn't a post about labor pains or periods or the horrors of bikini waxes. It's worse. (Not bathing suit shopping bad, but bad enough).


I just bought a new bra. I'm pretty sure it took less mental effort when we financed our first new car. (At only a marginally higher cost). I'm positive it was less humiliating. And my question is...


Why?


If you believe Oprah (doesn't everyone? isn't she like the most trusted woman in the galaxy or something?) 85% of women wear the wrong size bra. That's a pretty impressive statistic. I'm the first to admit that I'm in that group. My straps never stay up, I get back cleavage and, most aggravating of all, my bra bunches up under shirts so that a smooth line is impossible. (If we still have men present, don't come whining to me. I told you to go away).


My last barely passable bra gave up the ghost over the weekend, leaving me with no choice but to suck it up and go bra shopping. What I really wanted was to go to one of those specialty shops that measure you and snap their fingers and voila! tell you your perfect size without hesitation. But we don't have a store like that in town and I didn't feel like driving. So I did what any other informed shopper would do in the year 2008. I went on the internet.



I tried this bra size calculator. Being a skeptic, I wanted a second opinion. So I tried this one, too. And of course I got two different sizes. (Neither of which I've ever worn, by the way). I tucked this questionable information away and headed to the biggest department store we've got. Can I tell you that I haven't had that much fun since my last mammogram?


The choices are overwhelming. Underwire, wire free, lightly shaped, gel foam, demi cup, smoothing, strapless, racerback, convertible...the list goes on. Every brand is sized slightly differently. And when the hell did a bra start costing $30?


I tried on twelve of them in two different runs. I tried to not flaunt the five item per dressing room too much. (I like even numbers. Shoot me). I picked the two I liked the best, which wasn't saying much. Then I hit the t-shirt sale and got a couple of them for work, since I like to wear scrub pants and a t-shirt instead of a scrub top. Went back to the dressing room and tried on the bra with the t-shirts. And could clearly see bra lines underneath with both bras. Hit the sales floor again and got six more of them in slightly different styles and tweaked the size a little. Seventeen bras later I finally found one that a) I liked that b) fit and c) didn't show under the shirt. Of course they didn't have it in the color I wanted, but at that point if lime green tiger stripes had been my only choice I probably would have gone for it. And it only set me back $32. Whee.




I had a lot of time to think while I was trying on the multitudes. I now have my very own set of lingerie buying imponderables. For example:


Why do you always look fat trying on underwear? I've lost a fair amount of weight recently and look pretty respectable in my clothes, but in that dressing room I looked like a cross between Fat Elvis and the Stay Puft marshmallow man. In a badly fitting bra. I didn't just have back cleavage. I had rib cleavage. There was only one place I didn't have cleavage. Guess where?


Who came up with the tip I read in some magazine about leaning forward while trying on bras so you would "fall into the cup naturally"? The security guard behind the two way glass? Because I'm here to tell you that that tip does no one a good turn except the voyeur behind the camera monitor. And only if they get extra wow value from women cussing like teamsters when they "fall" the wrong way.


And perhaps most importantly - now that I've finally found one I like...why in the world did I just buy one?

Fun Monday

Janet, from the planet of Janet, is our Fun Monday hostess this week and here is our assignment.


Hollywood has come calling. They want to make a movie of your life story!


So here's what I want to read about: Write the brief synopsis of this film that you might use to pitch this project and cast the principal players. Who would play you? You can either cast or ignore significant others, children and/or pets. This is, after all, YOUR movie about you you YOU! Illustrate as needed with casting photos or filming locations. Your life not interesting enough? Hey, this is Hollywood. Never let the facts get in the way of a good story!


Okay. Here's my pitch:


Our heroine is a woman at a crossroads in her life. She's not in the first bloom of youth, but she's still got a lot of good years on her. She's not beautiful, but not ugly. Not an intellectual, but not stupid. She has spent the last several years of her life on a voyage of self-discovery, and has realized, to her astonishment, that she's a pretty tough cookie. She hides this Steel Magnolias interior under a self-deprecating wit and potty mouth, which she sometimes fears is out of control. (The potty mouth, not the wit).


Our movie opens with the plot device designed to test our heroine's limits and challenge her life as she knows it thus far. Which path will she take? Will she choose this path herself or will it be chosen for her? Will she find her happily ever after? And if she does - how?


Because Hollywood hates originality, we can compare this to...


War of the Roses...without the fighting.

Heartburn...without the infidelity. Or pregnancy.

Alien...without that nasty thing popping out of her stomach.


Casting could go in many different directions, depending on budget.


So. You interested?

sunday slacker sequel

You Are 80% Left Brained, 20% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning. Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others. If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic. Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet. The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility. Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way. If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art. Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Are You Right or Left Brained?

one for the team

For a variety of reasons, I've worked a lot this week. We're getting ready to open a huge and drop dead gorgeous new Emergency Department and there's a lot to still finish up on. I've been filling in for some of the people who are on those tight deadlines to meet. I'm in the process of trying to add to my regular hours as well, although there are certainly lots of shifts to be picked up during times I really want to work - like school hours. Say what you will about nursing, but you can't beat the flexibility. It is a huge plus.



The extra work has been really interesting from another perspective, too. The last long shift I worked this week is a perfect example. On paper it was a nightmare. Two patients came in as Code Blues. One came in as a Code Red but immediately got upped to a Blue. Two emergent intubations, one of them practically in the hall. A young college student with one of those terrible flukey things that made all of our hearts hurt. We had to fly him out and I'm still wondering how he did. A spinal tap on an infant. A board that never cleared all day, a waiting room that was overflowing out into the parking lot, mental health beds that were never cold. None of us got lunch. No one got dinner. It should have been a disaster.



But instead it was one of the most satisfying shifts I've ever had in nursing. It was just one of those days where everything clicked. I was in the zone. Everything I did was effortlessly right. The first Code Blue was mine and I nailed it from start to finish. It was one of those television ER moments of people running down the hall with gurneys, holding bags of fluids and shouting orders to everyone they pass. And the whole thing, which should have had a terrible outcome, had a wonderful outcome. (It didn't start out wonderful, believe me. Every single person who saw this patient said some version of my favorite word (rhymes with truck) on first glance).



Part of my problem as a critical care nurse is that I overthink things. (Hell, part of my problem in life is that I overthink things). Sometimes you have to fly on gut reactions, which can be hard for me. But I did it all day, operating on pure instinct. And all day I was dead on. It was indescribable. I'd work every day if I could feel that way all the time.



I think so much of the camaraderie that is formed in hospitals is because of the day to day chaos that you survive together. This is true of any job. The more stress you live through and the more you depend on other people to watch your back, the more of a bond you create. Most of the time this bond shows up in little moments, moments where you realize that you're seeing a new facet to someone or understanding that a previously held opinion you had of a person is incorrect (and you're happy for it) or spot on (and you're happy for that, too). It's when the mask slips and the real person comes out. And you are thrilled to realize how much you like what you see.



Masks were slipping all over the place. All gloves were off. The black humor that this profession is so known for was out in full force. (I myself was as solemn as a judge, but some of the reprobates I work with got a little out of control). I found myself the target of a few inside jokes, had all manner of things thrown at me and received my traditional greeting from one of our docs of being body slammed into a wall. (In the nicest possible way, of course. Once the bones heal, that is). It was great.


When people are polite and formal and reserved, it may be business-like, but it's cold. To me, it says that they may not be totally comfortable with you in one way or another. In my (admittedly warped) opinion, if people like you enough to abuse you, you've got it made. You're part of the team. You're...an insider.


Every one of us took one for the team. And I loved it.