"M"--

How dare you put actual political concerns on this blog?  We want this blog to have integrity, to deal with the real issues that plague us in our everyday lives like refrigerators and child molesters.  Now I know the word "blog" may make you feel like you can write whatever you want, but that is simply not the case.  We all make mistakes, but please be more careful in the future. 

Also, we miss you.  Don't go to Wal-mart anymore---they will suck you IN.  

Yours, Yeldah

She can see Russia from her back yard. No, really.

So. Since I have some extra time sitting in Super 8 rooms at night, I decided it was time to actually educate myself on what is going on in the world. And the election. And I spent lots of time on youtube, and came across Sara Palin interviews with both Katie Couric and Charles Gibson. And I was horrified at the way she was treated in both interviews! I made my roommates (who are both voting Obama) watch them and they were pretty appalled as well. I'm not really a Palin fan, but I don't think she's necessarily less qualified than a lot of other VPs have been...and when was the last time a VP candidate was being drilled on EVERY issue like this poor woman is? I haven't even seen the presidential candidates have interviews as in-depth as this! Isn't it like...bad journalism to be so obviously biased? Anyway, I'm sure she is going to be very painful to watch in the debate Thursday, but I still think it's very upsetting that this woman is being treated so disrespectfully.

Thoughts?

Katie, I will be email buddies with your aunt.

PTA Advisory

This Just In: The meeting at the playhouse for all "chillens" has been canceled.

No chillen should attend.


-PTA Advisory Board

I have a tale to tell, chillens. Meet me in the playhouse.

-PR

tina fey, do me.

I love Tina Fey. Hell, I'm IN love with Tina Fey. I want to have Tina Fey's baby. 

Is that so much to ask?

...and while we're on the topic of Tina Fey, I'd like to bring up Sarah Palin--and share with you something I received today.

a little background: I sent my aunt an email and I thought I'd close with some light-hearted questions, so I asked "what do you think about Sarah Palin?"(politics, I realize now--NEVER lighthearted) and this was the response I got (mind you, the email was longer. this is a mere tidbit):

Regardless of where anyone falls on the argument of whether Sara Palin is qualified for high office...as a woman whose generation of fellow females burned their bras and fought for equal rights and pay in the workplace for women back in the sixties ,I am appalled at the nasty and unfair mean spirited way this woman is being treated by the media and politicos in this country...they should be ashamed and every woman should be angry. 

INTENSE! wasn't expecting THAT one. I don't really know how to respond--I think I just won't respond to that part at all.

well anyway, you live, you learn. 

West Virginia

I am in Gassaway, West Virginia.

Last night we were in Summersfield, West Virginia.

Before that we were in Wheeling, West Virginia.

I met a woman who had two daughters named Destiny and Mystical.

I have eaten at Bob Evans and KFC (apparently it is no longer legally allowed to be called Kentucky Fried Chicken, since it does not technically serve chicken- it is all chemically altered to have 3 heads or like 9 breasts) and I have been to Wal Mart not once, but twice.

Where am I??? I miss you, PHD.

Darwin Didn't Intern

Here at DETAILS Magazine, it's Power Week, and we're working on the Power Issue. "Very excitinggg!" says Ryan - he's our flamboyant fashion intern.

Well, okay, Ryan, but what about me? I'm just a postman. I deliver mail and make copies. I work from a copier in a closet. What will I do? How will I feel? I ask myself these questions. I just don't know.

But today, I got some answers.

The following is based on a true story.

At 10:02, Momma Andrea addressed the interns in order to explain the situation. "It's going to get crazy," she said, and prefaced the following with a sigh: "People will grab you to do things." (Well, hey, I thought, I love being grabbed!) "You must remain calm." (No problem - I smoke weed!) "You must remain organized." (Have you seen my room?) "People will want coffee." (Yeah? One lump or two?) Translation: Piece of cake, I'm ready, BRING - IT - ON!

She then told us that Alex (who I suspect to be illiterate) was spearheading the project and would be in contact with us via email. "He's your man." She then walked away. So we sat at our computers accordingly, and waited for an email from Alex...

A few minutes pass. My login times out. Alex comes in! I smile. He frowns. He sits. He emails! I log in. Waiting, waiting, waiting. I check my mail - nothing? Tim checks his and clasps his hands together. A message from Alex!

What? No message for me? I continue checking my mail: Ticket Central, spam, Daily Horoscope, spam, spam, Daily Horoscope, E-Card, and an assortment of subscription porn - the usual.

WTF? Did it lose its way in cyberspace or did Alex leave me hanging? I didn't know.

I began to think that Alex was holding something against me. He got beef? Tastes tangy and cold - the worst kind. Had I not been satisfying him in the way he needed most? The way I organize his mail? The way I print the gossips? Does he not like my gossips?

I didn't know. I did organize his magazines for him once. He told me to "cannibalize" them, I remember. Maybe he meant eat them, not order them?

Who knows! All I know is that I'm more than qualified to handle this job, and I'm stuck delivering mail. Survival of the Fittest, isn't that what Darwin said? Well, fuck that. Darwin didn't intern!

And so to make a long story short, which Darwin did do, someone else emailed me and gave me a creative project. Survival of the One-Who-Waits-For-Katie-To-Email-Him-Once-He-Has-Already-Left-Work - that's what I'll call it. Yeah!

Wait For It . . .

Even better: http://www.mollygood.com/david-blaine-blows-our-mind-20080925/

Hocus Pocus?

David Blaine, illusionist, magician, and escapist extraordinaire, dove to his death Wednesday night on live TV!

Except he DIDN'T! Thanks to a powerful pulley system and harness, David was able to LEVITATE on stage for a brief moment in time. He then flew about 50 feet into the air, as far as the harness could take him, and DISAPPEARED into the night.

He's truly magical. Watch him fly (in a harness) at: http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/index.php?cl=9896238

I, for one, was stupefied - and I'm a doctor!

Storytime 2

On my way to work today, as I was trying to get the last sleep-crumbs out of my eyes (gross, I know, but true), I coincidentally encountered AML, a music grad student from college...FOR THE FIFTH TIME. That's right; AML and I have now run into each other on the streets of vast new york city Five. Times.

This would be weird on its own, but I also happened to have harbored a serious crush on AML during my four years of college. And moving to new york, leaving him to finish his...wait for it...PH D was a final goodbye in my mind. The end of an era. So what, I thought, if nothing more came of us than a few short conversations about bands I pretended to have heard of. I was moving on to the big apple. New adventures and new big bald men.

So five encounters later, I'm like:

WTF is god trying to tell me? Is he hell-bent on proving to me just how shy I am?

Is AML secretly stalking me?

Am I unconsciously secretly stalking AML?? (Wouldn't that be weird? I wonder if such a condition exists in real life.)

And also I'm kind of bummed because it used to be really exciting when I would run into him. It was the ultimate "small-world" moment. But now it's as cool as running into one of my roommates in the bathroom.

Also, I had my palm read this summer (this was after 2 street encounters with AML), and she was like "you have already passed your life-long companion twice. Maybe you crossed on the street? Well, he will come into your life a third time, and if you don't act, you will never see him again." You can imagine how convinced I was that the life-long companion she spoke of was the guitar-playing grad-student who would wander the campus barefoot in a flowing orange tunic. And you can also imagined how distraught I was when during our 3rd encounter I didn't act. Maybe I cried after.

And you can imagine that I was little perplexed when I saw him a fourth time. And then again.

To be fair, that psychic also tried to get me to pay $700 for a treatment that involved sleeping in a white nightgown. Apparently it was imperative to my spiritual wellbeing. There's a lot of darkness around my aura, so...

The results are in...

I am to vote for Cynthia McKinney. 

as requested...

http://glassbooth.org/

Or!

Ditch the brother and move in with someone who cleans to relax.

That's Easy!

Dearest Doctor,

Why don't you assume all of the household chores (like taking out the trash) and get your brother to pay you for it? 

Don't be your brother's keeper--be his maid!

Shut up.  It works for some families. 

Love, your blatantly obvious admirer 

Prescription Needed

Ref. No. 207
Patient: The Doctor

Prescription: Something Strong


The Doctor needs a prescription for something strong that will fight a roommate that does not take out the trash, does not want to take out the trash, and will never take out the trash even though the doctor asks nicely and reminds the roommate that the trash is right on the way out.

Said roommate is also incapable of washing his dishes. Ever.

Or cleaning of any kind, for that matter.

Said roommate is also the patient's brother.


Is there a(nother) doctor in the house?

Signed,
Nurse Betty

Things are getting HAIRY

As per our pre-exorcism-of-emily-rose conversation

http://www.wisegeek.com/what-is-the-difference-between-hair-and-fur.htm


I am never wrong. (But I stand corrected.)

sketch-E

Apparently Pee Wee Herman has joined our blog. That's right--I googled Paul Reubens. And further, I'd like to thank wikipedia for providing both the background information on Mr. Reubens and also confirming Taylor Cronk's warped sense of humor.

...and I thought the "Doctor" alter ego was strange...PHD-lite is in trouble. deep, deep trouble (thankfully though, we are all adults, so perhaps Paul won't unload his baggage onto us--literally).

Can I get a witness? This coat is hot.

-PR

Medical Mystery

Q:

Who is Paul Reubens?

A:

Well, whoever Paul is, before Paul can contribute to this blog, Paul must submit to me a full medical history.

This includes dental records.

How To Save A Life

Did you know that an island of trash and plastic twice the size of Texas floats in the northern Pacific in a dead zone called the gyre? Five other "islands" exist, and so total 25% of Earth's surface. But no one seems to care.

Our planet is a toilet, one that doesn't flush. (Anyone know a plumber? No? Inappropriate? Eh.)


Please consider the following numbers:

In 2007, Dutch scientists captured an ocean mammal containing 1,603 pieces of plastic inside it's body.

Earlier this year, lab tests on new-born babies detected over 100 industrial chemicals that did not exist in humans in the year 1950. These chemicals are linked to rising incidences of diabetes, cancer, birth defects, and perhaps most disturbingly, genetic disruption.


Someone needs saving. She's big, blue, and ugly; she's daddy's third-born; she's Mother Earth, and I, as doctor, thinker, and part-time model, intend to save her.

I'm going to need a giant scalpel. And two abnormally large nurses.

If you know where I can find any of these things, please let me know. I'll be in my office.


Signed,
The Doctor

Storytime

Apparently, my brother Michael walked into a telephone pole the other day. The story should end there with a good laugh.

Except then the 30 foot telephone pole fell over into the street.

My brother knocked over a telephone pole by walking into it?

So I'm wondering if:

a. Michael is secretly a super-hero.
b. Our phone companies need to dig deeper holes.

now watch me make a seamless segue-way:

Large pieces of wood falling to the ground reminds me: One (blustery) day back in ye old college years, I was on my way to class (running late, naturally) when a creaking, squeaking noise from up above caught my attention. I looked and saw--about 5 feet ahead of me and 12 feet above me--a big-ass limb dangling from its trunk. The piece of fiber connecting the two was no wider than a toothpick.

The wind had picked up speed, and the dangling limb swung to and fro, directly above my path. I should have been scared. I should have been cautious. Instead, though, I thought:

"oh please. limbs don't fall on people"

...and proceeded forward.

Next thing I knew, I was splayed face-down on the ground, with a big-ass branch on top of me. Pineneedles were everywhere, and a big-ass bruise was already burgeoning forth on my left thigh. (THANK GOD IT DIDN'T HIT ME IN THE HEAD. I'd've been DUNZO for sure.)

Moral: Things fall, so don't be dumb.

This is a time when the HERESY in my title seems entirely relevant

Our doctor has been sick for two days.

He doesn't seem to be self-medicating or addressing the problem in any way. 

His cat (who could be the cause of said ailments)  is the only living creature he will allow to see him in his most advanced state. 

I must ask. 

Does our "doctor" need a Doctor? 

Ba-DUNCH. 

love, hhh

Voodoo Shmoodoo

PLEASE BE ADVISED

Dr. Michael Stolte, Esq., MD, LLC can neither confirm nor deny the alleged text message sent to one "Amy," d.b.a. "A" on PHD-lite.

This is his nurse, Betty. The Doctor wishes to add, "Voodoo Shmoodoo," in response to A's allegations.

Take that for what you will, and please, be advised.


Nurse Betty

Oh doc, doc, my doc

Dear Doc,

Will you please explain to me what you meant by the following text message, received last night @ 10:39pm est?

"You get the new yorker? Oh amy, amy, my amy"

Is cryptic text-messaging some new-age treatment that might cure the chronic headaches I've had the past two days? Or...Is this your latest trick of voodoo black magic?

Answers, please.

You want? Really?

NO NO NO. 

(And if there weren't three no's, I would still think you were crazy to even SUGGEST we get a puppy with hair.  At all.  Find a bald puppy and we can talk.  Via this blog.  Hair=SPARE me. )

I'll tell you why.

1) Puppies give us diseases (do you really need any more scares, Amy?).

2) Puppies bite you because they are teething and it HURTS.  

3) What do we do when we move?  Cut the puppy up into four equal pieces?  (I call the middle portion).

4) Puppy rhymes with Guppy and I think you ALL know how I feel about that Flounder asshole from The Little Mermaid. 

5) We already have a perfectly good acronym.  Really give some thought to just throwing in another letter.  Realllly think.  

6) Puppies Die.  

7) We can get money, moola, funds, CASH to walk other people's puppies.  How much MONEY will we get for walking our own?

8) What do we do if the puppy takes sick?  Having an MD on this blog does NOT mean we have a veterinarian.  I shutter to think what he would do to our puppy (sorry, Doc...I don't trust you with small things).

9) Puppies can help us pick up boys?  What happens when we get said boy home? And the boy is in our bed? Where the puppy thinks he belongs?  Gross. 

10) Is there really enough extra room in the Refrigerator for another being's personal food items?

11) What if the puppy learns how to climb stairs and open doors and he falls off the roof?  Will he go to hell?  Who are we to decide if he chose to fall?

12) The building doesn't allow puppies (obviously my weakest argument, but I wanted to end on a nice, even number.  Like 12). 

Why don't you get yourself a plant.  

Or a baby tiger. 

Something reasonable.

A puppy.  HA. 

I want

A Puppy:

Pros
--CUTE. CUTE CUTE CUTE CUTE.
--company
--distraction
--a friend for hadley since she doesn't have any
--fuzziness (unless hadley won't let us get a dog that sheds)
--can be used to pick up boys

Cons
--poop
--poop in the apt
--noise
--messes
--walks on cold cold winter days and nights


please feel free to add to this list as you see fit.

also I want a boston terrier.

And Now You Know

Patients,

What you heard was indeed a gun shot emanating from the eastern corner of 17th street.

As first responder to the scene, I will provide you with a first-hand account of the effort I made to save their lives.  

"I broke down the door and entered the room.  Brave, I was, like warrior.  An elderly female was staggering toward the bathroom; a younger male was lying on the floor.  Both were dunzo*, I knew it.  But I stabilized* them both, feeding them Dimetapp and generic hand-sanitizer* - the only things I had on me."

Both live today.

Fact or fiction?  True or False?  Does an apple a day keep the doctor away?

In times like these, do you really want to keep the doctor away?

I say no more apples.  

Or guns.

Doctor's orders.

- Doc

Definitions:

*Dunzo is a medical term for the state of being done.  

*Stabilized is a medical term for the act of stabilizing someone.

*Generic hand-sanitizer is messy and expensive.  

Now you know.

Addendum to two below posts

My purse has disappeared.
DIS-APPEARED.

Where the ef can it be if I never left the apartment yesterday (pathetic, but whatever)???

I think the board-gamers/murderers somehow broke into what I thought was a very fortified PH D and stole my shit.

UGH.

I'm mad because my camera and my keys are in there. But mostly I'm mad because I actually tried to be on time for work today, and instead I was 25 minutes late.

PHD is not safe.

A man and a woman were found fatally shot on East 17th street right outside of union square yesterday at 2:15. The women was 72 years old. The police are not releasing the age of the man (what the hell?!)

Katie heard a gun shot last night. Amy heard someone playing Scrabble.

Girls, I think desperate times call for desperate measures.

We should move...or buy a gun.

Discuss?

PS. This is my first blog!

PSS. Congrats to Hadley for being the next IT nyc tour guide girl.

noises from below

last night, at approximately 6:00 a.m, an unusual amount of yelling was heard from the street (or maybe, even... another apartment). I also swear that I heard a BANG! amidst the yelling. 

I asked Amy about this when we woke up this morning, and she admitted that she, also, heard the yelling. 

my theory: the (bang!) was a gun. someone was shot. hence the yelling.

amy's theory: "it sounded like they were playing a board game or something!" 

thoughts? other theories?

Just what the "doctor" ordered??

Two nights ago, I woke up with a stabbing pain in my upper abdomen. I'm convinced it was the product of black magic. Voodoo magic.

H says she too experienced an usual stabbing pain in her leg the other day (I can't remember where the pain was. I'm going to say it was her leg. Yes? Yes. Hey, speaking of H's body. One time, we were walking down 5th avenue and she told me to feel her chest because it was hot. What's even stranger is...I did. We're close like that?)

Anyway, so over the last week, we both have been the victims of voodoo black magic, and I'm trying to figure out who's sticking pins into the doll versions of us. (Oh man, you know, as much as voodoo magic sucks, it may all be worth it just to know that somewhere out there exists an action figure of me!! I KNEW I'd get my big break one of these days.) Now, who on earth would be vindictive enough and learn-ed enough in the teachings of witch doctoring to do voodoo black magic?? Hm I wonder if I know any doctors? Or people who pretend to be doctors on blogs? ...wait a second...

Girls. I think we're in trouble.

R/x

The Doctor is in!

A - pronounce from your throat and always in muffled voice - try sounding husky but nasal, and you'll be french but american.

H - beautiful poem, but sad story - are you losing sleep?  try hydrating, exercising during the day, drinking a glass of wine before bed, or downing one pill box of valium.  try them all together - have some fun!

H, again - your professor is lying.

- Doc

Memoirs of an Insomniac

I can't sleep.  Can you hear me?

I can't dream.  Do you see me?

I can't snooze.  Are you near me?

I am infinite. 

Give me sleep.  I can feel you. 

Haunt my dreams.  Let me touch you. 

Make me snooze.  I am with you. 

Is a quarter my life?

The camel must see the mounds on his back.  

Do you?

Yours, 

Midnight Mistress

help needed (be like frank, please!)

Dear Doctor,

Please come teach me french tonight at 8. Bring your assistant.

I'll bring beer and horrible pronunciations, which only you (and your assistant) can cure.

thank you

a

Help, Doctor!

I was recently taken aback by a contract I was forced to sign to further my quest into the indiscernible abyss of academia.  I like to laugh.  I signed up for a class called "Comedy".  However, the moment I walked into the stuffy classroom, I knew what wasn't in the air.  Humor.  And I soon found out what was never to be in the air.  Perfume and other such sundries.  

I am writing to you because I am deeply concerned about the mental and physical condition of Professor Susan Jonas.  Please, Doctor, read the following words I have extracted from the said contract, and let me know what you can do to help.  Your words have been so comforting in the past.  

*Excerpt*

IF YOU WANT TO ATTEND THIS CLASS , IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU AGREE NOT TO WEAR PERFUME, COLOGNE, SCENTED OIL, SCENTED MOISTURIZER, OR USE HIGHLY SCENTED SOAP, CLOTHING DETERGENT OR DRYER SHEETS, NAIL POLISH OR HOUSEHOLD CLEANING PRODUCTS BEFORE CLASS. 

I have "Chemical Sensitivity" or "environmental Illness" cause by sustained exposure to chemicals after construction, and making me hypersensitive and intolerant of many common chemicals.  Even brief exposure can lead to: dizziness, difficulty breathing, blurred vision, nausea, fainting or migraines lasting days.  If you forget and come to class wearing a product, please tell someone in the class about your absent self and do not enter the classroom.  IF I DISCERN SCENT, I MUST ASK YOU TO LEAVE.  If I have a reaction, I will have to cancel class. 

If you have a disability, please be sure to consult with me so that we can arrange for accommodations. 

I have read and understand the description of Dr. Jonas' condition, and understand that it could put her at serious medical risk were I to wear one of the before mentioned products.  I will inform Dr. Jonas and absent myself from class should I realize I am unable to rid myself of a potentially harmful element.  I will make every effort to comply.  

*End of Excerpt*

One thing is for sure.  This is no laughing matter, ironic as that may seem.  Can you help us, Doctor?

Sincerely Yours, 

Concerned Student of "Chemically Sensitive" Comedy Professor (who shall not be named).  

addiction

i. am. addicted. to. coffee......again.

every so often, i ween myself off just to prove that i can. i fear the worst these days. i see no end in sight--9:30 a.m. classes, real life... it's all getting in the way. i need DETOX.

also, i feel guilty that i have yet to write a blog on HA (household affairs), but i realize it is because i have not been here long enough to resent anything. i do not begrudge the refrigerator. i do not "hate on" the grout. you know what i do like, though? the blue water in the toilet. and how it turns green when you pee (unless you are sufficiently hydrated, and then it turns a lighter blue).

k

Dear A

Dear A,

Good question.  

Unfortunately, I'm not a therapist, just a pediatrician.

- Doc

H2O

Yesterday, I tried to buy a bottle of water from one of those street stands. I walked up to the guy, who was busily wiping down the surfaces of his lil cart. I figured he didn't see I was there, so I cleared my throat and said "Hi sir?"

Nothin

"Sir, I'd like to purchase a water?"

Not a thing

"Ummm, hello? Sir?? I'd like a water?"

NO ANSWER. NO EYE CONTACT. Noooothing.

(under my breath and with sass) "Forget it."

The second I turned to walk away, suddenly he was VERY eager to sell me a bottle of water: "Miss! Miss! No, no, wait!! Noooooo..."

I stared him down and shook my head as I walked past, feeling totally vindicated. You don't want my money?? FINE. I'LL JUST GO TO ONE OF THE OTHER NINETEEN BILLION WATER STANDS ON THIS ISLAND.

...six blocks later, i was still looking for a bottle of water and feeling a little embarassed. I finally had to buy one at food emporium.

So my question:

Have I become a total Manhattanite, New York bitch? Or am I just a defender of my own (and often delicate) self respect, dammit? He probably could have used my water-money more than I could have used my "so there!" moment. But at what point are we big apple dwellers allowed to assert ourselves without falling into the I'm-a-hardened-cold-person new york stereotype?

The whole experience made me feel like I was...wait for it...thirsting for more.

Nothing Matters

Poor H,

Be happy, or hungry, or, or heretical, but not mournful.

To remedy this situation, I am prescribing to you a special cleaning agent: Kaboom.

I'll call it in for pick-up early tomorrow.

Out 'til Monday,

The Doctor  

Grout Matters.

It's something I can't let go.  

Every time I walk by, it calls to me.  Every time I pour a glass of crystal Brita liquid, I can feel it pulsating between the faux Mexican Tiles that surround it.  Even when I am nestled safely in the blossoming cocoon of my electrically cool blue sheets, I can feel it's presence lurking on the other side of the wall.  And then the bathroom wall.  Two walls.  

I long to know what it looked like before the years of mindless misuse and debauchery.  But I can't.  Because I wasn't there.  

Were you there?

I dare say you were not there. 

Once every few months, when the memory of my last attempt has faded into the crevices of my dark, dark brain cavities, I set out on my mission.  I am a soldier, and this dirt, this grime, this grout is my nemesis.  It is mighty.  It is everywhere.  I assemble my weapons, my battle gear, and set out to free the white binder--that was once so happy--free of its hateful captor.  I am flailing, catapulting every ounce of energy and adrenaline I possess out my right hand and into my chosen scrubbing appendage.  Minutes pass, then hours.  The bleach and formaldehyde have clouded my perception of reality.  And then, just then, when I am about to expire due to a brutal combination of exhaustion and harsh chemical fumes, I begin to cry. 

It happens every time.  I look down and the spot I have been working on for what seems like a lifetime (not my lifetime, maybe a small child's, or a fragile puppy's) looks the same hue as the spot next to it.  Black, grey, black, it doesn't matter.  It is dirty.  

I need to find the right chemical.  And my search will never cease.  Until I do. 

Mournfully, 

H H hhhhhhhhhhhh

One Hell(er) of a subletter

Things I am thankful for:

Katie
The spice rack Katie brought
The US OPEN hat Katie gave me
The fake window Katie will install
The new home for the Microwave Katie discovered
That Katie walks around without pants on too!

Things I am not thankful for:
The scale Katie has shoved in our bathroom.

Diagnosis X

Please Be Advised:

During a ten-minute silent meditation session in today's Mysticism class, I heard what sounded like the whooping cough.

As a precautionary measure, prescriptions for cough syrup will be made readily available.

Signed,

The Doctor

 

SEPARATION---a Haiku, by Ellen

The world is now cold
For I am no longer there
Where happiness flows

Refrigerators (unlike myself) Are Cool

Thank goodness for refrigerators! Long gone are the days when we salted meat for fear it would spoil (although, don't I love some good dried venison) or hid vegetables in mountain springs! How much better is watermelon (or diet coke for that matter) when it's been sitting all day in cold air?? Here here, fridges! Good work.

The fridge at the PH D, however, is less PH D-liteful and more PH D-manding of my patience (snap!). First and foremost on the list of less-than-ideal qualities of our sweet little fridge is the limited real estate in there. It's a small fridge for four big eaters. I'm not calling us fat, girls. Nay, we are (it's unbelievable) four twenty-somethings who actually have functional, healthy attitudes about food. Here here, girls! Good work! But jesus christ, that fridge looks like my stomach feels after dinner at Outback. Or like any suitcase I ever take anywhere.

Also, maybe this is just me, but I don't think we really need to refrigerate bagels.

The stuffed-to-the-brim look of our fridge is indicative of good things: we do eat, in fact. And we grocery shop and cook instead of ordering in every night (...annnnnd that's a total lie), but at least we intend to cook the things we buy! Good work, girls! But though intending to but not really ever cooking means we get to eat so many orders of delicious Gramercy Cheese Fries, it also means we neglect the food in our fridge. Enter another MAJOR problem when it comes to the fridger. Ew, gross, sometimes it gets so gross. Yes, fridges are meant to keep foods from spoiling, but they aren't super-power-God-forces that preserve food forever as we PH Divas (myself v much included) sometimes seem to believe!! I will spare you the most graphic examples of some of the little treasures we have discovered lurking in the far-reaches of our fridgy (H, please feel free to share some stories, if you feel so inclined); all I'll say is this: that shit gets nasty.

Our particular fridge also has some unique quirks that annoy the shit out of me: A broken bottom drawer. Opening it, retrieving its desired contents, and closing it replaces a trip to the gym--burns just as many calories and takes just as damn long and is equally unpleasant. There is also a restraintless door-shelf, which, if you open the door too quickly, spills its contents (mostly salad dressings) with a clatter onto the kitchen floor. Loud and messy. I gotta say, though, these spills are the exception to the rule. I have to give the ol fridger (and those salad dressing bottles) props for their impressive balancing act.

I just gave my refrigerator props. I think that means it needs a name (suggestions, girls?!!). Or that I need to be less lame.

signing off,

A.

How It's Going to Work

I will not live in PHD.

I will write on this blog.    

Signed,

The Doctor

  

kind of like tasti

once in a blue moon, brilliant minds come together and form a more perfect union. this is not one of those times. this is just four girls (sometimes five) walking down this road called life. so let this blog commence.