This post will have absolutely no rhyme or reason to it. If you are looking for something deep, please refer to the archives which are occasionally peppered with deepness.
So. Where to begin?
Let's start with my Newton running shoes. They make me happy inside when I put them on. And make me want to run. I sort of feel like I'm cheating on my Brooks but oh well. They were feeling super clunky and I made the mistake of going into the Highland Runners shop where they are Newton crazy. I tried them on and immediately got sucked in. Yup. How could I resist those bizarre lug thingies on the bottom? And, I mean, how could I not fall prey to fun little hashtags like #lugitout and #hellobetter? I'm just sayin'.
I'll periodically return to these guys, though. They've been good to me, albeit clunky.
Dude. I need to discuss The Democratic National Committee for a minute. Or rather the SPAMOcratic National Committee. Maaaaaan, look. I love me some DNC, some Barack, some wild Joe, and, of course, some Big Bill. But LAWD HAVE MERCY! Am I the only one receiving seven hundred and fifty trillion emails from them each hour?
Then they come all inconspicuous like it's from one of the homies. Like "Hey Kimberly. What's up, girl?" So I'm halfway through the email before I realize it's another $3 appeal. And I'm saying. I think the whole thing is genius and I do click the $3 give button every time. But I think whenever you do it alerts the DNC to send you an exponential increase in emails. And I'm saying, Mr. President. You know I love you. But y'all need to pump the brakes just a wee bit.
And yes. I know there was drama in the Supreme Court with Obamacare. But I still would be cool with like only four emails per hour instead of four hundred. Has this been happening to y'all? Let me know if it's just me.
Speaking of healthcare. . .
A man told me he wanted to "just cut out sugar" for three months instead of taking insulin for his rip-roaring and not-EVEN borderline diabetes. He also refused pills. And I explained that "sugar" is about more than sugar. But he wasn't having it.
So then I told him he wouldn't be able to get erections.
Insulin: One month supply. Refills: 6.
I've been eating like a crazy person lately. Lots of social events and lots of excuses on my end. I keep allowing a bunch of carbs because I've been running. But not like ULTRA marathons or anything. So really, I've been tripping. Stepped on the scale and it told me that I needed to scale it on back. And so I shall. Why? Because every good internist knows that you can't out run a big behind while eating a crappy diet. Real talk.
Speaking of real talk:
Me: Babe, do I look like I may have gained a couple?
BHE: (smiling) A couple of what?
Me: Dude. Pounds.
BHE: Uhhh. Yes.
Me: Wait, huh? Did you say 'YES.'
Me: Yes you said 'yes?'
BHE: Yes. And Yes.
BHE: You asked.
This is my pedicure I got while in Los Angeles. Every time I'm out there, I get one of these--for the story more than anything else. I mean. . . . who can resist the option to get "the busy toe?" Not me, man. This woman that JoLai goes to religiously (though not always for a "busy toe") literally knocked it out by hand in like ten minutes. And I swear it cost only $22. But here's what's awesome about it. It's the universal conversation piece across all races, ages, cultures and socioeconomic levels. I ain't even exaggerating.
Case in point:
Fortysomething soccer mom in Publix: "Oh my goodness! Your toes are so FUN!"
Me: *fake smile* (Have I told you about how I think "fun" is NEVER a compliment?)
Eclectic older hippie white grandmama at Trader Joes: "Wow! What a cool pedicure! So artistic."
Me: "Oh. Yeah! Thanks! I got it in Los Angeles".
Hippie Lady: (head almost on my foot) "Such a remarkable use of color. Beautiful. Now that is cool!"
Me: "Hey thanks!"
She was pretty damn cool, too.
Youngish guy in a Midtown restaurant wearing lipstick and skinny jeans: "YAAAAAAAASSSSSS, baby! Them toes is giving me LIFE, chile. LIIIIIIFE! (*snaps fingers in a circle*) YAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSS, honey! Yes LAWD!!"
(That was the whole conversation.)
By the way--I am not a big fan of Nene from the Housewives. But I do love a good Nene gif, man. Ha.
Resident's wife at intern welcome dinner: "What an amazing pedicure! I love it!"
Me: "Thank you!"
Res wife: "How did they do that?"
Me: "By hand. And super quick, too."
Resident's wife: "So, so awesome. Wow. Just amazing."
Two year old at the car wash: "I like you toes."
Me; "Awww. Thanks, sweetie."
Teenaged sista in the beauty supply shop: "Girrrrrl! You DID that! Them toes is HOT TO DEATH! Where you got that did at?"
Me: "In L.A."
Teenaged sista: (lips all curled): "MMMMM hmmmmm. That's hot. I knew that wadn't here. That's that new-new. That fly Cali shit. And what it cost. Like ten dollars, right?"
Me: "Well. Close. Like twenty two."
Teenaged sista: "WHETT? (that's supposed to be "what") Twenty two dollars? Mmmmm. My homegirl? She stay off a Crenshaw and she get hers for only like ten, sometime fifteen an'nat's it. AND she get some lashes. "
Me: "Oh yeah? Lashes, too?"
Teenaged sista: "Yup. Sho do."
Me: "Hmmmm. Hey. . .miss? Do you think my toes look . . uh. . fun?"
Teenaged sista: "Whett?"
Me: "Oh nothing."
She said that like I didn't grow up right off of Crenshaw. C'mon, boo-boo. Ain't NO pedis jumping off for $10 unless they are being done on my front porch by Isaiah and Zachary. I don't care WHET you say.
How random is this? Ran a 5K a couple of weeks ago and when I got my number, I saw that my brother's veterinary practice was one of the big baller platinum sponsors. I was so excited that couldn't stop telling people at the race. Most of whom I didn't know since I went alone.
My brother has like totally arrived.
I asked this patient to do something just because. She said no.
What's up with Robin Thicke begging his wife back on national television through song? I am kind of over it. I mean, they were high school sweethearts so I'm sort of rooting for them to reconcile. But can he like get a room please? And by a room I mean like one with just her in it and not me?
Hey. More excitement! I'd been stalking this Morehouse resident because her car had both a TUSKEGEE and MEHARRY alumni sticker on it. And she's a Delta, too, I think. But I didn't recognize the car so would leave notes on it all the time. With no reply.
Maaaaan. What's that about? Well. I finally meet her and she's super sweet. So I let her off the hook. Plus she's a busy resident who was surely wondering what crazy lady kept leaving ripped scraps of paper on her windshield.
Family dinner with Small Group Delta! They've finished year one. They're legit second years now. Imagine that.
I'm getting over a summer cold. Summer colds suck. Wait. What even IS a summer cold? Remind me to ask a doctor.
Hey! Isaiah lost a tooth at Grandpa's. Zack told me on the phone and let me know that his Grandpa would leave a dollar under the pillow while his brother was sleeping. You know. "Just like you guys do." Well so much for that.
Me: Babe. Does my hair look a little funny today?
BHE: When do you get it done?
Me: That's not the question.
BHE: Okay. Yes.
Me: Damn, bro!
What else? Oh. Yes. The BET Music Awards was yesterday. I so cannot wait to go to the hair salon just to hear them talk about it. It's going to be awesome. I have all of my talk points ready. Seriously. I do. Which includes my BOO HISS Chris Brown soap box and how I want to throw a very, very ripe tomato at him. (Even if I find his music entertaining.)
Guess what? My niece Gabby is in New York dancing with the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater. Seriously? Seriously. I'm insanely proud. Yup.
I had some pivotal encounters in clinic today. One in particular I'm still letting marinate in my head. Tears were involved. For both patient and provider.
Lady at restaurant: "I love your hair."
Lady: "So fun!"
Happy Monday. #hellobetter