A bit of an exaggeration

I just called it "cooking," but I'm not really sure that's the technical term when part of the "recipe" reads Empty contents of seasoning packet...

Shopping for ties

Mrs. Lewis was my high school boyfriend's mother and my biology teacher's wife. That's right, I dated my biology teacher's son. It doesn't seem like a big deal now, but it was news in high school. Mrs. Lewis was also a high school teacher. She taught deaf students in a neighboring district.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that she's deaf?"

That's exactly how Boyfriend told me that his mom couldn't hear. She read lips and talked (lots), so most people didn't know until they were told. In fact, Mr. Lewis didn't realize it until they had been dating for quite a while. He just thought that unless he made good eye contact when he spoke to her, she chose to ignore him. (His son was equally observant, noticing that my eyes are two different colors a short twelve weeks after we started dating.)

Anyhow, Mrs. Lewis's hearing loss didn't much get in the way of hours of chatting. It was a little harrowing in the car, barreling down the middle of the road at 80 miles an hour with the dome light on so she could see my lips while she drove. Drivers we passes laid on their horns. The honking did little to phase her.

Our first trip out together was to the mall. It was her idea. We had to replace all of Mr. Lewis's ties.

"Why?" you ask.

Because the first time I had dinner at the Lewis' house, Mrs. Lewis took me up to her room afterwards, opened the closet and said, "Throw out every tie you don't like." She was concerned that Mr. Lewis was looking dated and dorky. She was right.

So there I was, standing in my high school teacher's closet with a garbage bag thinking, I'm going to fail biology. I was a bit mortified. Mr. Lewis was extremely mortified. Boyfriend was laughing his ass off.

I am really good at throwing away things, though. (I get that from my mother. Along with small boobs and almost freakishly large big toes.) So, I followed my baser instincts and started chucking ties. When I was done, there were two left. Mrs. Lewis tied up the bag and said, "Now, we have to shop. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

I should have known from the closet incident that this woman didn't have real firm boundaries, but I was totally unprepared for the conversation we were about to have at the mall. We were walking between stores when she turned to me and asked, "What do students say about Mr. Lewis?"

I said, "Well... you know... they say he has bad ties."

Apparently, lying can be read on the lips. She laughed and shook her head. "No...what do they really say?"

I panicked. "They say he's gay," I blurted out. And then, without taking a breath, I explained, "They don't actually think he's into guys, they just think he's too dorky to be with women." A small town high school--where dorky somehow meant homosexual. Now I know better. A gay man wouldn't be caught dead in those ties.

Mrs. Lewis looked at me, laughed, and said, "He's not gay. You can tell them he's not gay."

I said, "Yeah, I kind of figured that once I met you." I wasn't thinking that my biology teacher was gay. I was thinking that he traded up. He was a little dorky, while she was smoking hot--not classically gorgeous, but undeniably sexy in that way you can't quite explain.

"We have sex every Saturday night and Sunday morning and then sometimes during the week when the boy isn't around," she said.

I wasn't shocked that these people had sex. I grew up in a tiny house with thin walls and amorous parents. I knew that there was sex after children. I was shocked that she was telling me about it.

This wasn't the last I heard of their sex life. And frankly, in the end, it was probably a good thing I had to sit through those initially awkward conversations. They served as fair warning for the time that Boyfriend and I came home early one Friday night and found the definitely not gay biology teacher and his hot wife going at it on the couch.

Mrs. Lewis's fluid boundaries ended up being one of my very favorite things about her. At a time in my life when I really needed someone who wasn't my mom or my peer to talk to, I could tell her anything. I count my conversations with her among the best I've ever had.

I liked Boyfriend.
I loved his mom.

A note

Thank you to the four wonderful women who responded to my last post. Your encouragement means so much! I am currently taking some great advice by dealing with each thing as it comes. All this dealing is keeping me very busy. I've been reading your blogs in some of my spare moments, though, and they're very refreshing. Thank you.

Amusement park Monday (minus the amusement)

It's been a roller coaster morning. I used to love roller coasters, but the last time I went to Cedar Point, I realized I may have outgrown them a bit. I learned that as we get older, our inner ear fluid doesn't like to be sloshed around nearly so much as it did when we were kids. As a result, the older we get, the more roller coasters tend to make us turn green.

I'm definately sporting a nauseated greenish hue today.

I dropped off my car with a highly recommended mechanic, Larry, because it is overheating. Good news is Larry didn't get that "I just won the lottery" look in his eyes when I walked in and explained that I didn't know what was going on. Sometimes, I swear they can smell a incompetent car boob (me) a mile away. When I took it to the last guy for an oil change, he wanted to make $2000 in repairs. My car isn't even worth $2000. With a second opinion, I learned that none of the stuff he wanted to work on was even broken. He had poured power steering fluid all over the place to make it look like I had some kind of leak. Bastard. Today, Larry said it will cost about $150 to keep it running a few more months. I am going to have to look for a new car, though. The intake gasket is leaking and costs $700 to replace. Larry said it's just a matter of time before my engine goes, and he agreed that my car probably isn't worth that money. Getting a new car means getting a little help from my parents, though. My siblings don't have much trouble asking my parents for money, but I hate it. I makes me feel inadequate and small.

I finally got a hold of my divorce lawyer. I should be more specific: I got a hold of his paralegal. It looks like my divorce may be final on May 1. That will be exciting, mostly because I will be getting my maiden name back. I'm never changing my name again. It's such a pain in the ass. Unfortunately, the prince-not-so-charming will still have 18 months to refinance the house. I fear that in 18 months, he won't have done anything. He'll dump it on me, and I'll have to spend my 4th year of school (when I should be traveling and interviewing for residencies) trying to sell that damn house.

Finally, I have to do histories and physicals on standardized patients (people who are paid to act like patients and grade your fake interactions with them) this afternoon. I used to be good at this, but lately, I suck. I have had lots of experience with real patients, and these people just aren't real. It's hard for me to pretend like they are. Plus, we are now videotaped the whole time. That's the worst part. It makes me self-conscious and I end up forgetting things.

I'm nauseated just thinking about all of it.
When is this ride over?

Misery loves retching company

From my physiology book:
In retching, the upper esophageal sphincter remains closed, and because the lower esophageal sphincter is open, the gastric contents return to the stomach when the retch is over.

Bile is ejected in pulsatile "spurts," not in a steady stream.

A final mass movement propels the fecal contents into the rectum, where they are stored until defecation occurs.

Studying the GI tract makes me never want to put anything in it again. And, yes, I do realize that posts like this do little to increase my blog readership. I can't help it, though. Misery loves company.

Eating bugs

I saw Jay Leno last night. I'm usually a Letterman girl, but I was buried under a pile of notes and books and didn't bother to dig out to change the channel when Leno came on. But, I digress. One of Leno's guests, Andrew Zimmern, came with a host of bizarre foods (bugs, testicles, etc.) for Jay and the other guest, Dan Rather, to try. Mr. Zimmern talked about how trying these foods is one way to experience different cultures.

This all reminded me of the last time I chomped on a fried bug. It was during undergrad in Dr. Steve Smith's cultural anthropology course. I was not a sociology major, but this was one of my favorite courses. One day, Dr. Smith passed around a can of fried insects. Unfortunately, I don't remember all of the specifics. I think that they were crickets and a favorite snack food of Japanese kids. They were salty. Although I'm a little fuzzy on the details, I am grateful for the experience. It represents the best of my liberal arts education. I learned to think about things--bugs and other cultures--differently. Hell, I just learned to think.

Dr. Smith and the creepy-crawly snack prepared me well for my future. I thank Mr. Zimmern for reminding me of the lesson.
And, more importantly, I thank Dr. Smith for teaching me.

Wine and cheese

Eating cheese
Eating cheese
I've been eating sharp white cheddar cheese

And now we know why I'm not a songwriter. Cuz that's just lame.
I'm soliciting advice for wine and cheese pairings. I prefer not to spend more than $8 for a bottle of wine (and not to eat cheese from a can).

Any suggestions?

How do you have compassion for uncompassionate people?
I have a hard time appreciating people who are judgmental. Does that make me judgmental?
Is it hypocritical to complain about people who can't see the good in others?
Is it self-righteous to condemn the self-righteous?

Is all of that just an excuse to be a bully?

Anytime?

Since I returned from the Southern coast, I've been thinking about when I can go back. The weather was fabulous, the ocean amazing, and the studying very productive. My aunt and uncle said repeatedly, "Come back anytime." I hate to impose, though, and can't help but wonder if they really meant that--anytime. Really? What about the second week in May?

It's called The American Dream
because you have to be asleep to believe it.
~ George Carlin

The tale sans fairies

I was in the car with my aunt the other day, returning from dinner, and the subject of marriage came up. I got the impression that she wanted to know more about the recent ending of mine but didn't want to pry.
As I was talking to her, I said, "If I ever do it (marriage) again, it will be totally different." I'm not sure that she know what I meant by that. I was referring to the fact that the way I think about constructing my life has completely changed. I used to think about finding a husband and building a life--a home, kids, career, future plans--with him. Now, it's just the opposite. I think about building my life--my home, a child (perhaps), career, future plans--and then someday, many years from now, finding someone who has built his own.
A man who may become a partner.
I no longer want to be rescued by a knight in shiny shit. That whole asking my father for my hand in marriage crap is absolutely offensive (as though I'm an exchange of property). In fact, I don't even want someone to get down on one knee. If I ever do the marriage thing again, it will start with a discussion between two adults about forming a partnership.

It doesn't read like a fairy tale, but it sounds like a dream come true to me.

Trader Joe's

It's turned out to be an okay day. The sun came out! Maybe it read my last post and felt guilty for never visiting me at home. Also, I just returned from some Trader Joe's shopping. It's a 45 minute trek to Trader Joe's but always worth it. The seafood is better than anything we have in this town, and I love shopping with the Midwest's version of hippies--young parents in Birkenstocks trolling for organic food. I'm off to spoil my appetite for dinner with some lobster bisque.

The sun

I've returned from my trip. Lying in bed this morning, I thought about grabbing a snack and going to the beach. I then opened my eyes and remembered that I'm not on vacation anymore.
I wasn't ready for it to end.

I'm holding the two seashells I brought back.
They looked a lot prettier in the sun.
So did I.

Wrinkle free until security

I'm heading south tomorrow to spend a few days in the sun. I just got done packing. A college friend, Heather, once showed me how to pack clothes so that they don't wrinkle (layering and rolling them). I ironed and packed everything and then realized that none of it is going to look like that when they get done searching it. I thought about leaving something in my bag for security, like a treat with a little note attached saying, "Please carefully layer and roll all clothing as you found it. I am trying to avoid wrinkles." I decided against it, though. I heard that bribing the TSA can land you in Camp X-ray, and that's a bit more sun than I had in mind for this trip.

Dressed like Suze

Last week, I read that Suze Orman, "internationally acclaimed personal finance expert," is gay. Apparently, she was asked about her personal life in an interview for New York Times Magazine and she said, "I've never been with a man in my whole life. I'm still a 55-year-old virgin." I then ran across a blog whose author said that she knew Suze was gay all along. How'd she know? By viewing personal photos Suze posts on her website. Apparently, Ms. Orman's haircut and penchant for the sun visor gave it away. So, I surfed over to Suze's website and viewed the pictures for myself. Sure enough, she is photographed donning a sun visor on multiple occasions.

I wasn't thinking that she looked gay, though. I was struck by the fact that Suze Orman looks just like my Aunt Margie. As it turns out, lesbian internationally acclaimed personal finance experts and straight 2nd grade school teachers from Jupiter, Florida dress exactly the same. Who'd a thunk it?

More importantly, Suze also said that she and her partner of 7 years would like to get married. Because we consider gays second-class citizens, we refuse to allow them the rights and privileges of legal marriage. As a result, when one of them dies, the other will lose 50% of her partner's money to estate taxes. Both of them are financially accomplished women who stand to lose a lot.

I'm not a huge Suze Orman fan--I find her advice sound but her motivational speaking a little nauseating. I proudly stand with her here, though. I have good friends in the same situation (less money, but the same situation), and I see how much they miss out on by not being allowed to throw their lot in together like straight people can.

I was born and raised in the Bible Belt among fundamentalist Christians, and I have heard every single argument against gay marriage. All of them are a waste of mental space. These people generally defend their bigotry by claiming they are protecting the sacredness of marriage. That is bullshit.

When I was 20 years old, I walked into a courthouse in Kentucky to get a marriage license. My fiance and I approached a desk and the clerk asked, "Y'all here for a fishing license or a marriage license?" (Both were handed out at this counter.) We told her we needed a marriage license.

She asked one question, "Y'all aren't close relatives are you?"

"No," I said, "we're not from here."

She laughed and printed out the license. Just out of curiosity, I asked what she meant by close relatives. She told me that she wanted to know if we were first cousins. Not that that would bar us from marriage, they just like to have some idea of how often "that kind of thing" really occurs.

True story.

A few months after we got married, all the sacredness was gone. Five long years and a restraining order later, I now pay a lawyer $175/hour to handle all communication with the man whose name is on that license.

It all fell apart.
And the "gay agenda" had absolutely nothing to do with it.

At the age of 20, I could walk into a courthouse with any male cousin and walk out with a state-sanctioned marriage; but a 55-year-old woman can't marry the woman she has been with for 7 years. Tolerating that kind of bigotry is more asinine than wearing a sun visor.