Joe: I heard something on the radio about baby otters today.
Me: Oh, tell me!
Joe: They said that they're really mean.
Me: That's a dirty lie!
Joe: Um, no, it's not.
Me: Baby otters are nice.
Joe: No, it said they're mean and their jaws are five times as strong as a pit bull's. Soooo, maybe having one for a pet isn't a great idea.
Me: Whatever, I still want one. And anyway, my baby otter will be nice.
Joe: How do you know?
Me: Because it will like me.
Joe: It's a wild animal, Jennie.
Me: It doesn't matter. I'll train it from birth.
Joe: OK. Sure. What happens when it bites your hand off?
Me: It won't do that. Why do you want my baby otter to hate me?
Joe: IT'S A WILD ANIMAL.
Me: If it tries to bite me, I'll spray it with a spray bottle.
Joe: It's an otter! It lives IN THE WATER.
Me: So, it still won't like getting water sprayed in its face. Trust me, I will train it so good.
Joe: Oh, so you'll just overrule Nature?
Me: Um, yeah, when has that EVER backfired?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Confession Tuesday: (look, I remembered!)
Back in January, Joe and I had this conversation:
Joe: Did you know Vampire Weekend is coming to Ohio?
Me: NO, WHEN IS IT?!?
Joe: Oh, well, it's sold out.
Me: NOOOOOOOOOO!
Fast-forward to a few weeks ago:
Joe: Can I tell you what I got you for your birthday?
Me: No, I want to be surprised.
Joe: ...please?
Me: I guess. If you really want to.
Joe: Remember how Vampire Weekend was sold out?
Me: ...yes.
Joe: Well, I found tickets.
Me: AHHHHHHHH!!!!
So last night, Joe and I went to see Vampire Weekend because the responsible thing to do four days before moving is to go to a concert. But whatever, it was awesome. It made me want to bop around or run around in circles like a tiny, yappy dog. In fact, there is a certain part of Mansard Roof that makes me want to twirl around in circles with my arms stretched out and when I told Joe, he told me I should do it but I didn't want to smack anyone in the head because that would ruin their concert experience, which really wouldn't be fair because they probably paid good money for the concert unless they were like me and had someone awesome buy them the tickets for their birthday.
This brings me to my confession and that confession is: The only reason I listen to any good music is because either Kat or Joe told me to listen to it. Truth!
What do you want to confess today, Internets? Come on. Get it off your chest.
Know what else? I had a bison burger for the first time last night. It was so delicious. I'm not sure if it was more delicious than most hamburgers I've had because of the restaurant or because it was bison, but I don't really care. It was a bit weird to be eating bison, though. I don't know why. I sort of felt like I was on the Oregon Trail and I'd shot some bison during a hunting expedition and was enjoying the fruits (meats?) of my labor. Although, usually when I played Oregon Trail, all I ever shot were squirrels and then I died of cholera. Not cool. Anyway. I think what I'm saying is, last night was way better than shooting squirrels and dying of cholera.
Joe: Did you know Vampire Weekend is coming to Ohio?
Me: NO, WHEN IS IT?!?
Joe: Oh, well, it's sold out.
Me: NOOOOOOOOOO!
Fast-forward to a few weeks ago:
Joe: Can I tell you what I got you for your birthday?
Me: No, I want to be surprised.
Joe: ...please?
Me: I guess. If you really want to.
Joe: Remember how Vampire Weekend was sold out?
Me: ...yes.
Joe: Well, I found tickets.
Me: AHHHHHHHH!!!!
So last night, Joe and I went to see Vampire Weekend because the responsible thing to do four days before moving is to go to a concert. But whatever, it was awesome. It made me want to bop around or run around in circles like a tiny, yappy dog. In fact, there is a certain part of Mansard Roof that makes me want to twirl around in circles with my arms stretched out and when I told Joe, he told me I should do it but I didn't want to smack anyone in the head because that would ruin their concert experience, which really wouldn't be fair because they probably paid good money for the concert unless they were like me and had someone awesome buy them the tickets for their birthday.
This brings me to my confession and that confession is: The only reason I listen to any good music is because either Kat or Joe told me to listen to it. Truth!
What do you want to confess today, Internets? Come on. Get it off your chest.
Know what else? I had a bison burger for the first time last night. It was so delicious. I'm not sure if it was more delicious than most hamburgers I've had because of the restaurant or because it was bison, but I don't really care. It was a bit weird to be eating bison, though. I don't know why. I sort of felt like I was on the Oregon Trail and I'd shot some bison during a hunting expedition and was enjoying the fruits (meats?) of my labor. Although, usually when I played Oregon Trail, all I ever shot were squirrels and then I died of cholera. Not cool. Anyway. I think what I'm saying is, last night was way better than shooting squirrels and dying of cholera.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
an era is defined as a significant period of time!
It is my long held belief that any life event, big or small, can be related back to Friends. So a few months ago, when Heidi and I decided that we'd both be moving in with BOOOOYYYYS once our lease was up, of course I thought of Monica and Rachel. The parallels are obvious. Monica is a nutso control freak and Rachel is fun and will let you borrow her clothes. I will let you all draw your own conclusions as to who is who.
Heidi and I have lived together for four years now, which blows my mind because the time? Flew by. I know it sounds cliche, but it's true. When we were in college, and it came time for everyone to leave FOREVER, we found it too hard to acknowledge that we were all moving so far away from each other. We reveled in denial and, instead of saying anyone was leaving for good, we simply said they were going to the grocery. They'd totally be right back. It didn't always work and usually ended in tears, but we tried, you know?
So, once again, it's time for Heidi and I to go to the grocery. I'm moving out this Friday.This Friday! It's so soon. I can't really think about it without getting teary which is a problem if I'm, you know, at work. I've lived with quite a few roommates and Heidi is HANDS DOWN the best one I've ever had. Way better than the one I had freshman year, who smelled like an ashtray and used to lock me out so she could have sex with her boyfriend. Heidi will let you borrow her clothes, no questions asked. She'll happily eat cheesecake and cupcakes for dinner with you, and is always ready to watch The Office over a glass of wine. She'll even go with you to meet a stranger from the internet so you don't get axe murdered. And. And! She'll almost always be smiling, no matter how shitty her day was. She has a much better attitude than yours truly and that is a true story.
This is quickly turning into a sapfest, and we can't have that, no we can't, so instead I bring you Heidi and Jennie's Greatest Hits:
On (bravely) killing bugs
On books being true (always)
On laughter, the best medicine
On pain
On hot guys, and wasting time
On difficult choices
On roadtrips
On buttsex and Full House
On sickness
On poo
On getting accidentally drunk
On geography
On cooking
On not setting the apartment on fire
On (sister) doin' it for themselves
On engagements
On marriage and Nanomonkeys
On being different, so awfully different
On bags of semen
:-(, you guys, just :-(
Friday, March 26, 2010
I'M A ROBOT. I'M GONNA TALK LIKE A ROBOT*
As so often happens in Ohio IN THE SPRING, it snowed last night. Weird snow, too. Annoying snow. I mean, more annoying than usual. It rained all day yesterday and then got really cold last night, so my car was a big ice cube this morning PLUS there was snow all over it. Stupid buttface snow.
It took me forever to get to work. I mean, not REALLY forever, otherwise I'd still be driving, right? And I couldn't post this if I were driving. Or can you do that now? I'm so behind on technology.
The only reason I'm forgiving Ohio for snowing all over the place is that it's Friday. Friday and payday. I can't be in a bad mood on payday Friday. Or any Friday, really, because the Fridays that aren't payday Fridays? I'm off work. Win win win.
I packed like crazy last night, like I was a crazy packing robot. Like Bender but instead of bending things, I pack things. So I'm Packer, but not Packer from The Office because he's a dick. Um.
SO. I packed stuff while I watched Chuck and now I'm finally FINALLY caught up. Chuck is one of those shows that I don't really miss if I forget to watch it, but then whenever I watch it I realize how good it is. But then the next week, I forget to watch it again and am all, "meh." What's that about? Yeah, I don't know either! Things I do know:
*Does anyone get this? I love you forever, if you do
It took me forever to get to work. I mean, not REALLY forever, otherwise I'd still be driving, right? And I couldn't post this if I were driving. Or can you do that now? I'm so behind on technology.
The only reason I'm forgiving Ohio for snowing all over the place is that it's Friday. Friday and payday. I can't be in a bad mood on payday Friday. Or any Friday, really, because the Fridays that aren't payday Fridays? I'm off work. Win win win.
I packed like crazy last night, like I was a crazy packing robot. Like Bender but instead of bending things, I pack things. So I'm Packer, but not Packer from The Office because he's a dick. Um.
SO. I packed stuff while I watched Chuck and now I'm finally FINALLY caught up. Chuck is one of those shows that I don't really miss if I forget to watch it, but then whenever I watch it I realize how good it is. But then the next week, I forget to watch it again and am all, "meh." What's that about? Yeah, I don't know either! Things I do know:
- I would like to see more of Chuck in just a towel, please
- Sarah and Superman might be the hottest couple ever in the history of the world
- Except maybe Ellie and Awesome (I just can't decide!)
*Does anyone get this? I love you forever, if you do
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
STOP. Hammer time.
Yesterday, it finally sunk in that I am moving NEXT WEEK. Next week is not very far away. In fact, next week is NEXT WEEK. I'm not sure what prompted this revelation. Maybe it was that people were giving me boxes and everyone knows boxes = moving. Or it could have been that someone came to pick up my endtables, making the living room look empty and sad.
Or! It could be that the living room, along with looking empty and sad, now has a random bookcase sitting next to the sofa, making it look like a very trashy college living space. But whatever. Once the endtables were gone, I realized I needed somewhere to put the lamp and the remotes and, more importantly, my beer, so I cleared off a bookcase from my bedroom (packing a box in the process) and brought it downstairs. It will only look trashy for about a week or so, so I think it's OK.
I've gotten rid of a couple things on Craigslist now, and yet every time someone comes to pick up something I've sold/given away, I think they're going to kidnap me and sell me in some faraway country (thanks a lot, Taken) or ax murder me or WORSE stand there and talk about their kids or their last vacation for hours. None of this has happened, of course, but that hasn't stopped the fear. Oh, no. I always prepare before they come over. Like, I make sure I'm fully dressed and wearing sneakers in case they try to grab me and put me in their windowless van, so it's easier to run away. I make sure they only come during daylight hours so if I do end up running away from them, hopefully someone will be out walking their dog. And hopefully this someone is in the military, which is a good bet considering we live like five minutes from the base. I also make sure someone (usually Joe) knows that the person is coming over, and I text him once they're gone to let him know I wasn't horribly murdered. It's a good system. I figure if I have a plan, nothing bad will happen. It's sort of like how I plan for the zombie apocalypse. That way, I'm covered if it ever happens but I'm of the belief that if you plan for the worst, maybe it won't happen. If you don't plan, then the Universe knows you're unprepared and it throws zombies at you. True story.
Wow, what was I talking about? Doesn't matter. Tonight, Joe and I are going to pick out paint colors. We're at least painting the living/dining rooms on account of there's a giant gaping white space in the shape of the china hutch that used to be there. Sigh. But picking out paint is fun! Right? Right. I need help, though. The carpet is blue so we need to match the walls to that. Here is a picture. It's actually of the office. Please ignore the fact that I'm wearing Hammer Pants. That is a story for another day. Maybe. Here's a picture of the living room and the current wall color. And some random family members. At Christmas time. Happy Birthday, Jesus.
Anyway, what color should we paint the walls? We'll probably end up painting the master bedroom, too, which has the same color carpet so lots of suggestions would be super awesome times a million.
Or! It could be that the living room, along with looking empty and sad, now has a random bookcase sitting next to the sofa, making it look like a very trashy college living space. But whatever. Once the endtables were gone, I realized I needed somewhere to put the lamp and the remotes and, more importantly, my beer, so I cleared off a bookcase from my bedroom (packing a box in the process) and brought it downstairs. It will only look trashy for about a week or so, so I think it's OK.
I've gotten rid of a couple things on Craigslist now, and yet every time someone comes to pick up something I've sold/given away, I think they're going to kidnap me and sell me in some faraway country (thanks a lot, Taken) or ax murder me or WORSE stand there and talk about their kids or their last vacation for hours. None of this has happened, of course, but that hasn't stopped the fear. Oh, no. I always prepare before they come over. Like, I make sure I'm fully dressed and wearing sneakers in case they try to grab me and put me in their windowless van, so it's easier to run away. I make sure they only come during daylight hours so if I do end up running away from them, hopefully someone will be out walking their dog. And hopefully this someone is in the military, which is a good bet considering we live like five minutes from the base. I also make sure someone (usually Joe) knows that the person is coming over, and I text him once they're gone to let him know I wasn't horribly murdered. It's a good system. I figure if I have a plan, nothing bad will happen. It's sort of like how I plan for the zombie apocalypse. That way, I'm covered if it ever happens but I'm of the belief that if you plan for the worst, maybe it won't happen. If you don't plan, then the Universe knows you're unprepared and it throws zombies at you. True story.
Wow, what was I talking about? Doesn't matter. Tonight, Joe and I are going to pick out paint colors. We're at least painting the living/dining rooms on account of there's a giant gaping white space in the shape of the china hutch that used to be there. Sigh. But picking out paint is fun! Right? Right. I need help, though. The carpet is blue so we need to match the walls to that. Here is a picture. It's actually of the office. Please ignore the fact that I'm wearing Hammer Pants. That is a story for another day. Maybe. Here's a picture of the living room and the current wall color. And some random family members. At Christmas time. Happy Birthday, Jesus.
Anyway, what color should we paint the walls? We'll probably end up painting the master bedroom, too, which has the same color carpet so lots of suggestions would be super awesome times a million.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
this is my confession
Hey, guess what! I'm going to rip off about a million other bloggers and declare it Confession Tuesday! And maybe I'll remember to do this next week, and every Tuesday will be Confession Tuesday and we can all discover how weird we are! Funsies!
My confession is pretty lame today, but whatever, here it is:
Today on the way back from lunch, I drove around the building complex for an extra few minutes because that Beyonce Single Ladies song came on the radio, and if it's the last song I hear before I get out of the car then it is stuck in my head for the rest of eternity. So I drove around until it was over and a new song came on, but it didn't work because it's still stuck in my head and it's really catchy and also makes me want to sing it out loud but I can't do that because I have a gajillion conference calls today and they don't take kindly to singing pop hits on conference calls (showtunes are OK, though) and I don't want to start singing and have someone be all, "Imma let you finish, but Frank from Finance had the best conference call interruption OF ALL TIME," because how embarrassing would that be? Totally embarrassing.
On a similar note, I kind of want to learn the Single Ladies dance so if the opportunity presents itself, I can impress everyone by knowing it. This is also why I want to learn the Thriller dance. Usually I just fake knowing it but THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
OK, then, Internets, please confess yourself.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Piv-AT! PIV-AAAAT!
Oh, Monday. I would so very much like to kick you in the headplace. But I won't, because I'm nice.
I keep forgetting to mention this (too busy talking about my lady lumps, obviously) but Joe and I are moving in together in less than two weeks. Because I am an uberplanner, I have already started packing so I'm not up all night the night before the move, throwing random crap into boxes all haphazardly because that makes unpacking an even bigger mess than it normally is.
I'm also trying to sell some of my stuff on Craigslist and, WHOO BOY, but is Craigslist ever a pain in my ass. I ended up putting one thing on the free board just so someone would come pick it up and I wouldn't have to take it to Goodwill myself, but I am having the hardest time ridding myself of my dining room table. So many people have expressed interest and one couple even came to look at it yesterday, but no takers. Keep your fingers crossed that the person coming to look at it this weekend falls in love with it. Platonic love. It would be weird to fall in romantic love with a table. I'm pretty sure that's illegal anyway.
Joe and I are moving into my grandma's old condo and I will tell you why. My grandma moved out of it a couple of years ago when she started having health problems, which I won't go into because A) it would take a looooong time to tell that story and B) it makes me really sad face. She's since moved into a more permanent assisted living facility and so her condo is just sitting there, all lonely-like.
MEANWHILE, Joe and I were searching for a place to live. We decided not to buy right now, for various reasons, and we couldn't find an apartment we liked, which was very frustrating but then! My parents were all, "um, why don't we just rent you the condo?" and I was like, "um, OK, can we rent it for free?" and my dad was all, "no, loser," and I said, "OK, we'll take it!"
We spent this past Saturday boxing up my grandma's stuff and taking it to storage and mylanta, was she ever a packrat. It's good to know where I get it from. I had to eat two chocolate donuts just to keep up my strength. I think one of my cousins might have eaten at least five or six donuts, because every time I looked at him, he was eating another one and I know I looked at him at least five times. I don't understand how he does that. Or how he's so damn skinny. Anyway.
Get this, Internets, just GET THIS. My grandma had had the condo painted a while ago, before she moved out, and according to my aunt, the guy who painted it did a shit-tastic job. I didn't think it was that bad until my uncle moved the china hutch that was in the corner of the dining room and OMG there was a big white patch in the exact shape of the china hutch. Because the painter had painted AROUND the hutch rather than move it. I now hate him. We'd considered painting but now we sort of have to, unless we find something that's the same exact shape as the china hutch which...yeah, that's not gonna happen so now we have to paint. I'm not very good at painting because I'm short so I can't reach all the way to the ceiling and if I'm scared to stand on a ladder on account of all the clumsy, which is apparently genetic because in the span of about 30 seconds both my aunt and cousin tripped over NOTHING and we all laughed and laughed and there was general merrymaking.
I'm so, so excited to move in with Joe but I'm also sad because Heidi and I won't be roommates anymore. It's all very confusing, this having two feelings at once thing. I can't really talk about it right now because it makes me all verklempt.
I keep forgetting to mention this (too busy talking about my lady lumps, obviously) but Joe and I are moving in together in less than two weeks. Because I am an uberplanner, I have already started packing so I'm not up all night the night before the move, throwing random crap into boxes all haphazardly because that makes unpacking an even bigger mess than it normally is.
I'm also trying to sell some of my stuff on Craigslist and, WHOO BOY, but is Craigslist ever a pain in my ass. I ended up putting one thing on the free board just so someone would come pick it up and I wouldn't have to take it to Goodwill myself, but I am having the hardest time ridding myself of my dining room table. So many people have expressed interest and one couple even came to look at it yesterday, but no takers. Keep your fingers crossed that the person coming to look at it this weekend falls in love with it. Platonic love. It would be weird to fall in romantic love with a table. I'm pretty sure that's illegal anyway.
Joe and I are moving into my grandma's old condo and I will tell you why. My grandma moved out of it a couple of years ago when she started having health problems, which I won't go into because A) it would take a looooong time to tell that story and B) it makes me really sad face. She's since moved into a more permanent assisted living facility and so her condo is just sitting there, all lonely-like.
MEANWHILE, Joe and I were searching for a place to live. We decided not to buy right now, for various reasons, and we couldn't find an apartment we liked, which was very frustrating but then! My parents were all, "um, why don't we just rent you the condo?" and I was like, "um, OK, can we rent it for free?" and my dad was all, "no, loser," and I said, "OK, we'll take it!"
We spent this past Saturday boxing up my grandma's stuff and taking it to storage and mylanta, was she ever a packrat. It's good to know where I get it from. I had to eat two chocolate donuts just to keep up my strength. I think one of my cousins might have eaten at least five or six donuts, because every time I looked at him, he was eating another one and I know I looked at him at least five times. I don't understand how he does that. Or how he's so damn skinny. Anyway.
Get this, Internets, just GET THIS. My grandma had had the condo painted a while ago, before she moved out, and according to my aunt, the guy who painted it did a shit-tastic job. I didn't think it was that bad until my uncle moved the china hutch that was in the corner of the dining room and OMG there was a big white patch in the exact shape of the china hutch. Because the painter had painted AROUND the hutch rather than move it. I now hate him. We'd considered painting but now we sort of have to, unless we find something that's the same exact shape as the china hutch which...yeah, that's not gonna happen so now we have to paint. I'm not very good at painting because I'm short so I can't reach all the way to the ceiling and if I'm scared to stand on a ladder on account of all the clumsy, which is apparently genetic because in the span of about 30 seconds both my aunt and cousin tripped over NOTHING and we all laughed and laughed and there was general merrymaking.
I'm so, so excited to move in with Joe but I'm also sad because Heidi and I won't be roommates anymore. It's all very confusing, this having two feelings at once thing. I can't really talk about it right now because it makes me all verklempt.
Friday, March 19, 2010
bullet, dodged
I had my boobasound (™ Peefer) this morning and all is well. Apparently, I have a small cyst which they told me is no BFD, actually. So, you know, whew.
Friday, March 12, 2010
TMI? Too much information. Uh, it's just easier to say TMI. I used to say don't go there, but that's lame.
It's been a while since I've shared too much information with the internet, I think, but HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS because I went to the lady doctor on Monday.
That's right. I scheduled an appointment with the lady doctor on a Monday morning, because apparently there's no better way to start your week than having someone poke around your girly parts with cold, metal instruments.
So in I went and when the nurse took my blood pressure she was all, "why is your blood pressure so high," and I was like, "because I'm at the doctor's office, duh," and then the doctor took it again later and was all, "why is your blood pressure so high" and I was all, "gee, I don't know, maybe because this one time I came in here and you forcibly ripped out a piece of my body so this place doesn't really give me CUDDLY, WARM FUZZIES."
Long story short (ha!), I have to start watching my sodium, because sodium is an evil bitchmonster, hell-bent on making my heart explode before I'm 30. JK, it's not that bad, but did you know there's a shitload of sodium in everything? Like, that water you're drinking probably has 5000 mgs of sodium in it. OK, it doesn't, unless you dumped four teaspoons of salt in there but why would you do that? That's disgusting.
It turns out lots of foods I thought were healthy are NOT healthy, sodium-wise, because they've been processed out the wazoo (what a fun word) and processed food, while delicious, is a big bad. Not THE big bad, though, otherwise Buffy could just smack it around for a while and all would be well. I wish I could shrink Buffy real tiny like and shoot her into my bloodstream to stake all of the sodium molecules before they could eff up my body. That would be awesome. It could be an Innerspace sequel which OMG I love that movie so much.
Right. So. Here is where the TMI comes in. This may not be common knowledge to those of you with penises, but when you go to the lady doctor, she spends a lot of time feeling you up. This is also when she yells at you for not doing monthly breast exams. The whole thing is less uncomfortable than it sounds, at least with my doctor, because she's really good at carrying on a conversation while she's doing all of that. Do you think they teach that in med school? I think so because I'm pretty sure that's what Karev failed on Grey's Anatomy, and that's where I get all my doctor knowledge. That and WebMD but I'm not allowed to look at WebMD anymore because doctors don't like it when you diagnose yourself.
Anyway, the doctor was rounding second base and there was a break in the conversation where she was all like, "...hmm," and that's not a good noise for a doctor to make while she's kneading your boob like a lump of dough.
"Your boobs are dense," she said (RUDE) and I told her that I TRIED to tell them to pay more attention in school, but would they listen? No. She didn't laugh, though, because she never gets my jokes.
Long story short again (ha!), I have to get an ultrasound next week. On my boobs. Because, according to my doctor, boobs are supposed to feel like cottage cheese and if she feels something pea-like IN the cottage cheese, that's a problem. WELL. APPARENTLY, my boobs feel like cottage cheese that's been left on the counter for too long (her words), so she couldn't tell if she'd found something weird or just, like, even older cottage cheese.
It's really nothing to worry about, and I wasn't even going to say anything on here, but I'm guessing that the experience of getting my boobs ultrasounded is something I'm going to want to blog about and it would be weird if next week I was like, "I got my boobs ultrasounded today," with no explanation beforehand so that's what this is. An explanation. In the meantime, I'm going to get my boobs a therapist because after being called dense and being compared to old cottage cheese, they're having some self-esteem issues.
That's right. I scheduled an appointment with the lady doctor on a Monday morning, because apparently there's no better way to start your week than having someone poke around your girly parts with cold, metal instruments.
So in I went and when the nurse took my blood pressure she was all, "why is your blood pressure so high," and I was like, "because I'm at the doctor's office, duh," and then the doctor took it again later and was all, "why is your blood pressure so high" and I was all, "gee, I don't know, maybe because this one time I came in here and you forcibly ripped out a piece of my body so this place doesn't really give me CUDDLY, WARM FUZZIES."
Long story short (ha!), I have to start watching my sodium, because sodium is an evil bitchmonster, hell-bent on making my heart explode before I'm 30. JK, it's not that bad, but did you know there's a shitload of sodium in everything? Like, that water you're drinking probably has 5000 mgs of sodium in it. OK, it doesn't, unless you dumped four teaspoons of salt in there but why would you do that? That's disgusting.
It turns out lots of foods I thought were healthy are NOT healthy, sodium-wise, because they've been processed out the wazoo (what a fun word) and processed food, while delicious, is a big bad. Not THE big bad, though, otherwise Buffy could just smack it around for a while and all would be well. I wish I could shrink Buffy real tiny like and shoot her into my bloodstream to stake all of the sodium molecules before they could eff up my body. That would be awesome. It could be an Innerspace sequel which OMG I love that movie so much.
Right. So. Here is where the TMI comes in. This may not be common knowledge to those of you with penises, but when you go to the lady doctor, she spends a lot of time feeling you up. This is also when she yells at you for not doing monthly breast exams. The whole thing is less uncomfortable than it sounds, at least with my doctor, because she's really good at carrying on a conversation while she's doing all of that. Do you think they teach that in med school? I think so because I'm pretty sure that's what Karev failed on Grey's Anatomy, and that's where I get all my doctor knowledge. That and WebMD but I'm not allowed to look at WebMD anymore because doctors don't like it when you diagnose yourself.
Anyway, the doctor was rounding second base and there was a break in the conversation where she was all like, "...hmm," and that's not a good noise for a doctor to make while she's kneading your boob like a lump of dough.
"Your boobs are dense," she said (RUDE) and I told her that I TRIED to tell them to pay more attention in school, but would they listen? No. She didn't laugh, though, because she never gets my jokes.
Long story short again (ha!), I have to get an ultrasound next week. On my boobs. Because, according to my doctor, boobs are supposed to feel like cottage cheese and if she feels something pea-like IN the cottage cheese, that's a problem. WELL. APPARENTLY, my boobs feel like cottage cheese that's been left on the counter for too long (her words), so she couldn't tell if she'd found something weird or just, like, even older cottage cheese.
It's really nothing to worry about, and I wasn't even going to say anything on here, but I'm guessing that the experience of getting my boobs ultrasounded is something I'm going to want to blog about and it would be weird if next week I was like, "I got my boobs ultrasounded today," with no explanation beforehand so that's what this is. An explanation. In the meantime, I'm going to get my boobs a therapist because after being called dense and being compared to old cottage cheese, they're having some self-esteem issues.
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