So, I've been graduated and working at a "grown up" job for nearly a decade now. (I say "grown up" because part of my job is teaching people about social media and writing for them and really, that's just fun and not so grown up - all of the teenagers that I know basically want my job. . . and maybe I paint a prettier picture than reality so that they all think I'm cool. So what? They don't need to know that I Facebook for medical supplies and not Nike - specifics aren't necessary.)
In that decade, I've met a lot of people at work - some of them have become great friends and some of them, well, let's just say that I would totally duck into the feminine hygiene isle at the grocery store to avoid seeing in my private life. Anyway, a lot of people. Yes, that was the point. And these people must be categorized.
I'm going to tell you right now that I have very strict boxes that I put people into once we meet at work: buddy or professional acquaintance. Crossing over is not easily tackled.
If you do, by chance, enter the coveted "Co-Worker. Friend. All-Star" box of greatness, you are basically there for life. This is like the all-access pass that says "Hey, not only would I trust you with my budgets but I'd trust you to throw down at a dance party without hurting yourself as well." It's kind of a big deal - not because it's a special club with free movie tickets or anything but because I have a very low, VERY LOW, annoyance tolerance so to beat that in a social AND work setting is a tough job. I don't issue passes to this club (if I did, they would absolutely have glitter on them) - you just know when you are in. The people that have this title are literally the best, brightest and coolest people I know. We can have a contest. They will beat anyone at coolness. Easily.
I'm proud to say that this box has grown size-ably over the years and there are exactly 30 members at this current juncture. (This is going to send all of my former co-workers into a crazy spin wondering if they are in. Remember, you just know. So if you don't, keep reading. This section isn't for you.) Considering that I've been working professionally for about eight years, this club is more exclusive than Congress. Well done, my friends. Well done.
And then there are the "other guys" - the people that are content residing in one of my previously-mentioned compartments. My thought is that they are either content because they don't care (not usually the case because the non-carers are in the All Star box, more than likely), they don't know that they aren't in the crossover section of peeps, or they are total jerks. (This third category is surprisingly large - not all of them mean jerks, but jerks in some sense).
Anxious to know where you sit? Well, other than the "you just know" hint that I've already thrown out (and who doesn't feel comfortable with that??), here are a couple of hints:
If you send me a request on LinkedIn because we are "buddies" and worked together once and I never respond - it's not because I didn't see it. It's because I think you are excellent at parties and a super great bowler but I have zero desire to connect to you on a work-endorsement basis. Translation: you might want to look at our relationship in a strict "work only" sense and see if I am the right person to ask for an endorsement from because, more than likely, you don't want any of this. I probably know all of your work secrets like the three hour lunches after you spent your morning on eBay and finishing YouTube. Trust me, it's better that I just ignore the request. It's kind of like seeing someone's baby for the first time and all of the comments you can make are about arbitrary things like "man, her hair sure is curly" or "look at those feet" or "oh, he looks so happy". I'm trying to avoid telling you that your baby looks like the spawn of Mars life without being insulting. Same issue applies with work stuff. Don't ask me for the endorsement unless you are really sure that I'm actually going to compliment your work and not write "Has great socks" as your professional thumbs-up. You, my work com padre, are in the buddy box. I don't want to be tied to you professionally. Don't ask me to help you get a job or a raise - I don't wanna. But hey, we can still bowl.
The flip side is also true - just because I give you a ringing professional endorsement on LinkedIn does not mean that I am anxious to see your weekend escapades with your cousins and the World's Largest Ball of Twine on Facebook. I just don't think of you like that; I respect you at work and would totally hire you in a heartbeat and will get you a raise before you know it but we do not know each other otherwise. We aren't buddies if we see each other at Target - I'll likely introduce you to whoever I'm with but will do so as my "co worker" and move on. . . if I haven't already ducked somewhere to avoid the awkward social interaction. Welcome to the professional acquaintance box.
There is one other box that I put people into that I don't like to talk about because it's a very dark and scary place. It is even more difficult to get a spot in this box than my All Star box. . . it's the "I'd sooner drink the water than share it if your clothes were on fire" box. These people have done the near impossible of not only being lazy and incompetent at their jobs but being jerks about it and generally, no fun at all. I only talk to these people because I'm getting paid to and even then, I have to give myself a pep-talk before I go in. Getting into this box has proven a difficult task for most. In fact, until just a few years ago, I didn't even have this fourth box because it was unnecessary.
The good part about this fourth box (and the only reason I disclose it) is that it makes the other two divisions of my game seem a lot less harsh - at least we can bond over spreadsheets on Just Dance - not both, but one or the other. Oh, and I would at least share the water.
Don't judge me for compartmentalizing people. Ah, the irony.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Real People Don't Win Things
I'm baaaack. I hope that read as creepy as I meant it to. And if it didn't, you need to up your scary movie intake big time.
I've had a fairly random tangent on my brain lately so I figured that it was only appropriate to take to the blog-o-sphere to write about it. After all, this is my completely public diary of my most embarrassingly twisted thoughts. . . Oh, you thought I was going to post pictures of my family from the past year? Sorry to disappoint but you are on the wrong blog. No photos here; just a dose of sarcasm with a side order of cynicism so abort if you must.
This train of thought is brought to you by Ellen. That's right, Ellen. You know the hilariously real television host who loves to give stuff away and is a friend to the animals? That's who I'm talking about. You see, I've always been an Ellen fan - read her books, watch her specials and tune into the show; she's one of the few 'true to herself' folks on television these days and I find that rather refreshing. I support people like that so it's why I watch.
If you've seen her show, you know that Ellen is a giver. She is always giving away cars and money and shopping trips and whatever to her audience and to people in need - it's rather inspiring and awesome. She gives to charitable causes and people down on their luck and in tough spots. She even gave away a brand new house once to a lady that needed it which floored me - it's a pretty big step up from Tickle Me Elmo, right?
Well, some years ago two of my besties and I decided to take a road trip to see So Cal and (drumroll), we got tickets to Ellen! I was so excited. We went to the show and had a great time dancing and laughing and all of that good stuff.
Confession time: I probably should have done the Christian thing before we left and warned my friends that (here comes the thesis of this blog) I, Carlee Hansen, am the most unlucky person on Earth. I don't win things randomly. I don't even get detergent samples in the mail when they are issued to entire zip codes - somehow, they always run out right at my address. But I was sure that the trip would be a success and I'd at least get the CD of a musical guest or something so that I could say that Ellen changed my luck.
About half way through the show, Ellen was interviewing a guest and talking about bettering the world and then it came. The tension was palpable. I could tell she was about to do a give-away and I, Carlee Hansen, was about to end my unlucky streak with the woman who makes everyone's dreams come true! Ellen turned and said "And everyone in the audience is going home with. . ." hold your breath. . . "A dog collar."
Um. . . what? A dog collar? You can imagine my dismay when I realized that my unlucky streak flew with us to California and sat next to me at the Ellen Show. A dog collar? I don't have a dog. I don't even know someone who would want said collar!
Now I'm not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth; for heaven's sake I would have been happy with a CD. But a dog collar? I was at a loss for words. The one time I actually am issued something like everyone else, I couldn't even use it. If the dog collar had said "Ellen" on it, I probably would have framed it or something at least but it was from a non-profit group and came in a plastic bag like the ones you get a toy in at McDonald's. I could hear an audible "wah waaaaaah" in my head.
The point: every time that I've watched Ellen since that fateful day, not once has she given away a dog collar. Not one time. What do I do? Well I do the only logical thing: I keep watching and hoping that by some crazy stroke of luck, I'm going to see Ellen's bus pull up in front of my house to make up for the dog collar incident. This train of thought is particularly hilarious considering that she has no idea that we exist or that I'm harboring feelings about said dog collar.
I have come to a point that I do realize that I'm not alone. I bet Ellen's swag bus has never even been to Utah, period. (I promise we don't all wear bonnets and long dresses. Salt Lake even has a democratic mayor now! You know, just in case that is an issue). I have come to the conclusion that regular people don't win things. . . ever.
I have thought back about the people that I know and I think that the best thing anyone has ever one is an iPad. I know that you are thinking that my friends probably just don't post about their amazing winnings but clearly, you don't know my people for if they won something amazing, the first thing they would do is take to the inner-webs to announce said winnings. . . narcissistic jerks. Jokes, jokes.
I just don't believe that regular people win things. I've seen the commercials for Publisher's Clearing House and there is a haunting similarity between them all: everyone that wins PCH lives in the sticks of some underwater county and barely speaks English. I've concluded that this is the case because anyone at a socioeconomic level above that would read the fine print of the contracts they sign and PCH wouldn't be able to jip them out of a ton of money. Normal people don't win $5000 per week for the rest of their lives. They just don't.
Here are some other things that I have never seen or heard of a person winning: a car give-away, mortgage paid for for a year, free house, any amount of money. I barely hear of anyone actually winning gift cards. Not at the mall, not on tv, not anywhere. I've never actually seen or heard of someone winning these items that, oddly, I see being "given away" all of the time. I smell conspiracy. Lastly, there are enough people in this country that eat McDonald's multiple times a day that someone, somewhere should have won something of value from Monopoly at this point. And it wouldn't it be awesome publicity for McDonald's to publicize these winners? But it never happens. Ever. Why? Normal people don't win stuff.
Just once I'd like to see someone I know get something amazing. I've succumbed to the fact that it won't ever happen for me because I'm the unluckiest person on Earth, despite the fact that Fate owes me a huge bone after this year. But it would restore my faith in humanity if someone I knew won something big. . . and I mean something that they didn't have to lift a finger for, just because the universe wanted to balance things out a bit. So prove me wrong, Fate. And Ellen, we're that weird shaped state between Nevada and Colorado. Now is a great time to visit - you and Portia can get your ski on. I'd be glad to give your driver directions. Holler if you're interested.
I've had a fairly random tangent on my brain lately so I figured that it was only appropriate to take to the blog-o-sphere to write about it. After all, this is my completely public diary of my most embarrassingly twisted thoughts. . . Oh, you thought I was going to post pictures of my family from the past year? Sorry to disappoint but you are on the wrong blog. No photos here; just a dose of sarcasm with a side order of cynicism so abort if you must.
This train of thought is brought to you by Ellen. That's right, Ellen. You know the hilariously real television host who loves to give stuff away and is a friend to the animals? That's who I'm talking about. You see, I've always been an Ellen fan - read her books, watch her specials and tune into the show; she's one of the few 'true to herself' folks on television these days and I find that rather refreshing. I support people like that so it's why I watch.If you've seen her show, you know that Ellen is a giver. She is always giving away cars and money and shopping trips and whatever to her audience and to people in need - it's rather inspiring and awesome. She gives to charitable causes and people down on their luck and in tough spots. She even gave away a brand new house once to a lady that needed it which floored me - it's a pretty big step up from Tickle Me Elmo, right?
Well, some years ago two of my besties and I decided to take a road trip to see So Cal and (drumroll), we got tickets to Ellen! I was so excited. We went to the show and had a great time dancing and laughing and all of that good stuff.
Confession time: I probably should have done the Christian thing before we left and warned my friends that (here comes the thesis of this blog) I, Carlee Hansen, am the most unlucky person on Earth. I don't win things randomly. I don't even get detergent samples in the mail when they are issued to entire zip codes - somehow, they always run out right at my address. But I was sure that the trip would be a success and I'd at least get the CD of a musical guest or something so that I could say that Ellen changed my luck.
About half way through the show, Ellen was interviewing a guest and talking about bettering the world and then it came. The tension was palpable. I could tell she was about to do a give-away and I, Carlee Hansen, was about to end my unlucky streak with the woman who makes everyone's dreams come true! Ellen turned and said "And everyone in the audience is going home with. . ." hold your breath. . . "A dog collar."
Um. . . what? A dog collar? You can imagine my dismay when I realized that my unlucky streak flew with us to California and sat next to me at the Ellen Show. A dog collar? I don't have a dog. I don't even know someone who would want said collar!
Now I'm not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth; for heaven's sake I would have been happy with a CD. But a dog collar? I was at a loss for words. The one time I actually am issued something like everyone else, I couldn't even use it. If the dog collar had said "Ellen" on it, I probably would have framed it or something at least but it was from a non-profit group and came in a plastic bag like the ones you get a toy in at McDonald's. I could hear an audible "wah waaaaaah" in my head.
The point: every time that I've watched Ellen since that fateful day, not once has she given away a dog collar. Not one time. What do I do? Well I do the only logical thing: I keep watching and hoping that by some crazy stroke of luck, I'm going to see Ellen's bus pull up in front of my house to make up for the dog collar incident. This train of thought is particularly hilarious considering that she has no idea that we exist or that I'm harboring feelings about said dog collar.
I have come to a point that I do realize that I'm not alone. I bet Ellen's swag bus has never even been to Utah, period. (I promise we don't all wear bonnets and long dresses. Salt Lake even has a democratic mayor now! You know, just in case that is an issue). I have come to the conclusion that regular people don't win things. . . ever.
I have thought back about the people that I know and I think that the best thing anyone has ever one is an iPad. I know that you are thinking that my friends probably just don't post about their amazing winnings but clearly, you don't know my people for if they won something amazing, the first thing they would do is take to the inner-webs to announce said winnings. . . narcissistic jerks. Jokes, jokes.
I just don't believe that regular people win things. I've seen the commercials for Publisher's Clearing House and there is a haunting similarity between them all: everyone that wins PCH lives in the sticks of some underwater county and barely speaks English. I've concluded that this is the case because anyone at a socioeconomic level above that would read the fine print of the contracts they sign and PCH wouldn't be able to jip them out of a ton of money. Normal people don't win $5000 per week for the rest of their lives. They just don't.
Here are some other things that I have never seen or heard of a person winning: a car give-away, mortgage paid for for a year, free house, any amount of money. I barely hear of anyone actually winning gift cards. Not at the mall, not on tv, not anywhere. I've never actually seen or heard of someone winning these items that, oddly, I see being "given away" all of the time. I smell conspiracy. Lastly, there are enough people in this country that eat McDonald's multiple times a day that someone, somewhere should have won something of value from Monopoly at this point. And it wouldn't it be awesome publicity for McDonald's to publicize these winners? But it never happens. Ever. Why? Normal people don't win stuff.
Just once I'd like to see someone I know get something amazing. I've succumbed to the fact that it won't ever happen for me because I'm the unluckiest person on Earth, despite the fact that Fate owes me a huge bone after this year. But it would restore my faith in humanity if someone I knew won something big. . . and I mean something that they didn't have to lift a finger for, just because the universe wanted to balance things out a bit. So prove me wrong, Fate. And Ellen, we're that weird shaped state between Nevada and Colorado. Now is a great time to visit - you and Portia can get your ski on. I'd be glad to give your driver directions. Holler if you're interested.
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Everything I needed to know about life I learned on Facebook.
"I Facebook." It's like hearing someone say "I breathe," isn't it? Even after years of being on Facebook, I continue to be amazed by what people are willing to post online for the masses to read. Seriously. No, no. . . seriously.
Sidenote: there is a good chance that this post may be a good ol' slap in the face to a good portion of my Facebook readers that also consider themselves FB aficionados. I'm doing this for everyone's sanity so don't take it personal. Also note that I do social media for a living so I see EVERYTHING you post so I've just become easily annoyed. . . I blame the frequency.
The last several months have taught me a lot about life. . . and not just mine. I'd like to thank all of my FB buddies for teaching me all about life and your points of view on things. Here is what I've learned:
Sidenote: there is a good chance that this post may be a good ol' slap in the face to a good portion of my Facebook readers that also consider themselves FB aficionados. I'm doing this for everyone's sanity so don't take it personal. Also note that I do social media for a living so I see EVERYTHING you post so I've just become easily annoyed. . . I blame the frequency.
The last several months have taught me a lot about life. . . and not just mine. I'd like to thank all of my FB buddies for teaching me all about life and your points of view on things. Here is what I've learned:
- Jesus doesn't support spam emails or photos on Facebook. In fact, He didn't even have Facebook when he was alive (that may shock you kiddos). Me not "liking or sharing" a picture doesn't mean I hate Jesus or puppies or kids with cancer. It just means I don't want to.
- Generally the people who talk the most about politics know the very
least. These people are also the perpetuation of misrepresentation of
political ideals (smartest sentence I've written in a while).
- On a related topic: You can find an article or info-graphic to support your thoughts on anything. That doesn't make it real or right or true. (but feel free to use this blog to support your ideals at anytime. . . it's about as credible as NBC News or Fox these days).
- Mondays still stink. . . after all these years. Thanks for the reminder.
- All kids with odd diseases are sweet and beautiful. I know that you think these photos need "likes" to prove it but you don't. 100% of people should agree with me and if they don't, they are heartless and don't matter anyway. And no, there isn't a company that is going to donate $1 to research said disease for every like their picture gets. No company is that crazy. . . or that generous for that matter.
- Popping the world's largest zit is apparently more exciting than any other video on the internet, followed closely by Robert Pattinson moving out and fighting over their dog. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit and am embarrassed for you.
- Equality and the right to free speech are both very, very important. They are. Any time we try to rank the order of importance of rights granted in the Constitution, we are in a bad place. One is no more important than the other. In fact, it is the right to free speech that allows minority groups to stand on a corner and picket a business. Smell the irony? What would happen if we boycotted everyone who said or watched or wrote something off-color or, I'll even grant, stupid in their lives? (See previous bullet - a good portion of Facebook users should be boycotted for watching that video). People can have opinions and you don't have to agree with them. . . that's what makes America great!
- eCards have made everyone funny. "Thanks funny people who write eCards for letting me post twisted Hallmark cards online. My "likes" have gone up 30%."
Monday, June 04, 2012
I have a complex. . .
I've missed this. A lot. I was telling some family yesterday that I wanted to get back into blogging because seriously, my heart is here. Going six months without blogging might not aide in proving my point but what can you do when you have a baby. I don't even do my hair.
I'm pretty sure that there is only one male that reads my blog (hey David) so I feel like the start of this blog may only be rough for him. Stay with me though, my point gets much more vast and much less uncomfortable as my ranting continues.
I have a complex. I think it may be one that a lot of people silently suffer from but since I find it not only disturbing but mildly humorous, I think this is an appropriate venue to talk about it.
I called my doctor today (how many stories start this way and you immediately want to check out?) to schedule an appointment - you know, the kind that generally only happens once every twelve months. (I could say this same sentence 15 years ago and everyone would automatically assume I was talking about my physical I would always get before basketball camp. If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can stick to that.). Anyway, as I called today, June 4th, I was notified by the appointments desk that my doctor's next available appointment is at the end of July. JULY. Three things struck me at this very moment: first, I need to stop doing such an amazing job of telling everyone how great my doctor is because they are making it so my yearly becomes a year and a halfly. Second, I missed my calling. Apparently there is a pretty major market for doctor's that can do. . ahem. . . physicals. I think I should have stuck out biology and went the way of job security.
The final thought that went through my head (and this is where the complex comes in) was (audibly): "Alright. That will give me another two months to lose more of the baby weight. She'll be proud." Um, what? Did I just project my need for acceptance onto my doctor? Really? Yes, yes I did.
You see, I have this issue that anytime I go and get a professional service done, I, in the back of my warped head, am hoping that said professional will turn to me and say "I am not needed here. You are free to go." Or, at the very least, nod in amazement because they have never seen such a specimen and they feel overly privileged to be performing such a service. I'll give you a couple of examples of this:
The Pedicure
Do I think I have the most fabulous feet in the world, no. Do I like to think that I offer some sort of relief to my pedicuring vixen that my feet are not the grossest thing they have ever seen? Yes. The point of a pedicure: to relax, get your feet treated and PAY to walk out with perfectly manicured toes. So naturally, it only makes sense that I remove my chipped nail polish and pumice my feet for a week before I go in for said treatment. I don't want them to work too hard (or talk about me when I leave, or while I'm right there, either way).
The Dentist
I have straight teeth and I brush. . . but never as hard or as long as I do the day I go to the dentist. Most of the time I even rinse and floss before I go so that when he asks, I can say "Sure do." Never mind that one day of rinsing will not fool a seasoned professional (or a third year student for that matter). The point is that in my head, it totally fools him and every dental tech that enters the room. I sit in that chair ready for him to say "I have never seen such a fine smile," and then proudly sends me on my way. Usually, reality sets in and for one reason or another, I can't feel the right side of my face for the next few hours. BUT I RINSED!?!?!
The Hairdresser
Did I just wash and straighten my hair before I got here? Noooo. "What, oh my gosh no. Seriously, I haven't washed it in a couple of days and it looks so dirty right now." False. PS: I pulled out the couple of gray hairs in the front too so that you can wonder how my color holds so well. Must be that expensive shampoo that I use every day. Must be that.
You get my point? So back to the doc. During my pregnancy, my doctor was amazing at reminding me to eat healthy and try to not gain too much weight. (Pregnant translation: eat all the chocolate cake you are craving. Who is going to say anything?) So, I did what any patient would do and took her advice: I ate more vegetables (with my hamburger) and drank skim milk (after that chocolate cookie). Ok, I wasn't horrible but I could have been better.
One week, Trev went to an appointment with me and over the previous two weeks, I had gained like five pounds or something that sounded WAY more astronomical to the doctor than it did to me apparently. So, she started quizzing me about what I was eating.
"What did you have for breakfast?"
"Some eggs. . . on a piece of toast."
"Hmm. . . ok. Maybe just egg whites next time? Lunch?"
"Some carrots and a turkey sandwich."
"Hmm. . . what kind of bread?"
(Here was my opening)
"White. . . I probably should have done wheat (like THAT made five pounds of difference)."
"Yeah, let's try that."
When she left to get some test results, my cute husband turned and smiled at me. . . and I buckled. "Ok, I know I didn't eat toast and eggs for breakfast but if I had said that I ate a breakfast burrito from Burger Stop, she would have killed me!!"
In my head, I got away with it. Reality says that my doctor walked straight into the hall and said "Eggs and toast my. . ."
Man is she going to be proud of me in two months. . .when I start eating healthy the Saturday before.
I'm pretty sure that there is only one male that reads my blog (hey David) so I feel like the start of this blog may only be rough for him. Stay with me though, my point gets much more vast and much less uncomfortable as my ranting continues.
I have a complex. I think it may be one that a lot of people silently suffer from but since I find it not only disturbing but mildly humorous, I think this is an appropriate venue to talk about it.
I called my doctor today (how many stories start this way and you immediately want to check out?) to schedule an appointment - you know, the kind that generally only happens once every twelve months. (I could say this same sentence 15 years ago and everyone would automatically assume I was talking about my physical I would always get before basketball camp. If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can stick to that.). Anyway, as I called today, June 4th, I was notified by the appointments desk that my doctor's next available appointment is at the end of July. JULY. Three things struck me at this very moment: first, I need to stop doing such an amazing job of telling everyone how great my doctor is because they are making it so my yearly becomes a year and a halfly. Second, I missed my calling. Apparently there is a pretty major market for doctor's that can do. . ahem. . . physicals. I think I should have stuck out biology and went the way of job security.
The final thought that went through my head (and this is where the complex comes in) was (audibly): "Alright. That will give me another two months to lose more of the baby weight. She'll be proud." Um, what? Did I just project my need for acceptance onto my doctor? Really? Yes, yes I did.
You see, I have this issue that anytime I go and get a professional service done, I, in the back of my warped head, am hoping that said professional will turn to me and say "I am not needed here. You are free to go." Or, at the very least, nod in amazement because they have never seen such a specimen and they feel overly privileged to be performing such a service. I'll give you a couple of examples of this:
The Pedicure
Do I think I have the most fabulous feet in the world, no. Do I like to think that I offer some sort of relief to my pedicuring vixen that my feet are not the grossest thing they have ever seen? Yes. The point of a pedicure: to relax, get your feet treated and PAY to walk out with perfectly manicured toes. So naturally, it only makes sense that I remove my chipped nail polish and pumice my feet for a week before I go in for said treatment. I don't want them to work too hard (or talk about me when I leave, or while I'm right there, either way).
The Dentist
I have straight teeth and I brush. . . but never as hard or as long as I do the day I go to the dentist. Most of the time I even rinse and floss before I go so that when he asks, I can say "Sure do." Never mind that one day of rinsing will not fool a seasoned professional (or a third year student for that matter). The point is that in my head, it totally fools him and every dental tech that enters the room. I sit in that chair ready for him to say "I have never seen such a fine smile," and then proudly sends me on my way. Usually, reality sets in and for one reason or another, I can't feel the right side of my face for the next few hours. BUT I RINSED!?!?!
The Hairdresser
Did I just wash and straighten my hair before I got here? Noooo. "What, oh my gosh no. Seriously, I haven't washed it in a couple of days and it looks so dirty right now." False. PS: I pulled out the couple of gray hairs in the front too so that you can wonder how my color holds so well. Must be that expensive shampoo that I use every day. Must be that.
You get my point? So back to the doc. During my pregnancy, my doctor was amazing at reminding me to eat healthy and try to not gain too much weight. (Pregnant translation: eat all the chocolate cake you are craving. Who is going to say anything?) So, I did what any patient would do and took her advice: I ate more vegetables (with my hamburger) and drank skim milk (after that chocolate cookie). Ok, I wasn't horrible but I could have been better.
One week, Trev went to an appointment with me and over the previous two weeks, I had gained like five pounds or something that sounded WAY more astronomical to the doctor than it did to me apparently. So, she started quizzing me about what I was eating.
"What did you have for breakfast?"
"Some eggs. . . on a piece of toast."
"Hmm. . . ok. Maybe just egg whites next time? Lunch?"
"Some carrots and a turkey sandwich."
"Hmm. . . what kind of bread?"
(Here was my opening)
"White. . . I probably should have done wheat (like THAT made five pounds of difference)."
"Yeah, let's try that."
When she left to get some test results, my cute husband turned and smiled at me. . . and I buckled. "Ok, I know I didn't eat toast and eggs for breakfast but if I had said that I ate a breakfast burrito from Burger Stop, she would have killed me!!"
In my head, I got away with it. Reality says that my doctor walked straight into the hall and said "Eggs and toast my. . ."
Man is she going to be proud of me in two months. . .when I start eating healthy the Saturday before.
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