Yea.  It’s been a while.  I would like to say that I’ve been busy changing the world, or traveling, or doing wonderful things with my life.  But mostly, I’ve just been hanging out, drinking beer, and having a good time.  It’s almost like I’m a frat-bro or something (except for the whole degradation of women bit). 

So now, I’m at my computer for the first time in about a month with no impending homework deadlines and a full cup of coffee.  Where to begin…

Well, in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, my body decided to create a creepy little lump in ole Righty.  Thank goodness it wasn’t in Lefty, because she’s my favorite.  Nonetheless, I spent all Friday getting groped by a bunch of men who call themselves “doctors.”  My favorite line of the day comes in during my sonogram when I bring out Righty, and my doctor says, “My!  You have a lot of breast tissue!”  I asked if that was clinical for, “You are very busty.”  He said, “Well, you ARE 25 and have enough estrogen running in you to jump start a semi.”  We continued our uncomfortable banter for a while, and I began to fall in love with my fondling doctor when he called me skinny and said he could see my rib on the sonogram.  True love at last. 

All of this is to say, I absolutely LOVE going to male doctors for my female-parts maintenance.  They don’t talk to you about anything, and I HATE talking about my lady crap.  They don’t try and have awkward conversations or make you feel more comfortable by talking about your dating life or the most recent episode of Desperate Housewives… They just go down there, and it’s business as usual.  I’m in and out of the office in 15 minutes.  My doctor is like the fast food chain of gynecology, and I love it. 
Of course, having these speedy male doctors also has some disadvantages.  For example, any commentary about my parts that are not spoken clinically, just come across as creepy.  The first time I ever went to my doctor (about a year ago), he takes a look at my love-vault and proclaims, “OH!  Very nice!”  It threw me off at first, but then I realized that I’m not really in the business of rejecting compliments, so I just threw out a “Thanks” and let it go.  Anyone that would like to tout the glories of my dusty old womb is ok in my book.

Enough flower talk…

I have also been watching A LOT of football (I bet you didn’t see THAT one coming!  Boom).  I’ve also notice a lot of Saints bandwagon fans.  I feel a little torn about this.  I have already expressed my disinterest in t-shirt fans and bandwagon fans are equally annoying.  However, I would like to publicly proclaim that any Lions’ fans are more than welcome to bandwagon.  Being a lifetime Saints’ fan, I fully empathize with your situation, and welcome you with open arms.

So what else?  Well, I have taken procrastination to another freaking level.  I am still making great grades; I’m just doing it in very shady ways.  Last week, I had a five page paper due, and I decided to go out EVERY SINGLE NIGHT of the week instead.  It’s terrible really.  Nonetheless, my deadline was impending and I was still sitting at a bar with a beer in my hand.  I get home and open my computer with about 20 minutes to spare.  There is NO way I am going to write a decent 5-page paper in 20 minutes. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, dude.

I opened a Word document, typed in a couple of lines of WingDing font, skipped down five pages, and submitted it to my professor to buy some time.  As expected, my professor sent me an email the next afternoon saying there was some sort of compatibility problem with my document, the text had come across blank and nonsense, and asked me to resave and resubmit the work.  I finished my paper that night, turned it in, and got a 98.  Victory is mine.

It’s safe to say, my 17 year old brothers are reaching the inevitable conclusion that their sister has a lot to offer in the art of kicking life’s ass, and are becoming my BFFs.  The family caravanned to Dallas this weekend, I had one brother in my car, and my mom had the other.  About 2.5 hours into the drive, I ran through my call log to count how many times my mother had called me.  Eleven.  My mother had called me ELEVEN times.  And three of those times were when we were at the McDonald’s drive-thru ordering the world’s most time consuming cup of coffee.  Anthony finally kept her on the phone by giving her a play by play so we didn’t have to hear my phone ring anymore.  After call number eleven, my brother and I decided to start calling her over and over.  I would call and ask a question, then he would call and ask the same question.  This happened about six times before she got pissed and turned her phone off.  My favorite dialogue was between Anthony and her at call #6:

Mom: What do you want?
Ant: I’m hungry.  Do you have any fruit?
Mom: I have an apple.  For me.
Ant: Do you have any grapes?
Mom: No.  I have an apple.  For me.
Ant: Do you have any oranges?
Mom: ONE apple.
Ant: Oh, so you have an apple?
Mom: Yes.
Ant: Can I have it?
Mom: No.
Ant: Do you have any beef jerky?
Mom: No.  Your sister does somewhere in her car.
Ant: Yea.  But it tastes like Teriyaki.  I want your apple.
Mom: No.  It’s mine.
Ant: Hey, what number are we?

Mom hangs up the phone, so we call back and see that the phone is off.  We decide to call my brother’s phone who is in the car with Mom:

Ant: Hey.
Rob: Hey.
Ant: Put Mom on the phone.
Rob: Ok.
Mom: WHAT?!?!
Ant: Why didn’t you answer?
Mom: Because you’re bothering me.
Ant: But we answered all ELEVEN of your calls!!
Mom: Do you need something?
Ant: I need grapes. 

We finally reach our destination and I thought Mom was going to kill us.  We were all jacked up on Red Bull and beef jerky at that point, so we didn’t really care.  Rob was a little jealous though.  Ant and I got out of the car laughing and cutting up, and Rob said that mom talked about fashion for most of the time he was awake. 

But now, I’m back in Austin… and getting ready for work… and I am going to post this with a terrible inconclusive ending.  I will write more later… hopefully.