Sometimes when my mom and I are in conversation and the topic of health comes up, she regularly references Dr. Oz. If you aren’t aware of Dr. Oz, you probably do not watch Oprah. I don’t blame you. Mehmet Oz, a cardiothoracic surgeon and award-winning author is a frequent guest on Oprah’s couch. He answers medical questions, give advice and insight to all aspects of health.
In short, he’s pretty awesome. He founded a non-profit organization called HealthCorps which pays college graduates a stipend to spend two years mentoring high school students about health, nutrition and fitness. He also serves as a director of Siga Technologies, a company whose goal is to create countermeasure to prevent and treat serious infectious diseases. He’s written a number of books, one of which was a NY Times bestseller.
He obviously has a great passion for what he does and is proactive in trying to really accomplish his responsibilities as part of the medical field. I really wish he was my doctor.
I haven’t had a lot of luck with them, probably since I was a teenager. To this day, I haven’t been able to find a doctor who was willing to take the time to listen to my problems and offer constructive advice.
I watch a show called “Mystery Diagnosis” on TLCWRWE and it’s so disheartening to hear about these people who knew something was wrong with them and every time they went to a doctor they were shut down, called crazy or misdiagnosed. It usually takes visits with dozens of different doctors to finally come across one that is determined and happy to help solve your problem
With that said, I don’t know what has happened in the field of medicine in the last five to 10 years or so and pardon me for saying this, but doctors are absolute and utter crap these days.
Case in point, I have a problem with constipation. I admit it and I’m talking candidly about it, because if Dooce can, so can I. When it got to a point where I really realized I had a problem, I went to see my doctor and tried to explain that I would love to hear her ideas on what I should be doing to open the gates of my digestive system.
The first question she asked me is if I experienced major discomfort while going to the bathroom. And the truth was, I didn’t. Not enough to notice.
“Then you’re perfectly fine!” she said. “Someone can not go to the bathroom for a week, and if it doesn’t cause them discomfort, then it’s perfectly normal!”
I was slightly dumbfounded, but she kept pressing on.
“In fact, if you don’t go to the bathroom for a month and you don’t feel any pain, then that’s completely ok! Everyone is different!”
At this point, I wanted to call whatever medical school this woman had finished in and have them rebuke the M.D. after her name. She kept babbling on about how everyone goes at their own pace and if you don’t know for one week, one month or you know, for whatever long period of time, that does not mean something is wrong with you.
Moving on, I tried to point out the excruciating pain in my upper left shoulder I had been experiencing for quite a while now, so much so that that part of my body felt really numb. She felt my back and agreed that something was wrong, yet her only response was that it wasn’t anything “that a good massage couldn’t fix!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I could have come in with chicken pox and this woman would probably have prescribed me acne medication and told me not to worry.
And since we’re on the topic of acne, I brought that up too. The only thing she did was prescribe me a ridiculously expensive prescription acne medication that had a lower amount of benzoyl peroxide than the regular cream I used and bought at the super market.
I really felt like I was taking crazy pills.
I left her office baffled. I never went back to her again. Luckily, she quit her practice and went to pursue a career in the pharmaceutical industry before I could.
My most recent doctor (the one who thought I was happy to have a pap smear because she confused my nervous laughter with enjoying the moment), is no where near the stupidity of “if you shit once a year, then count yourself lucky”, but still, there are things that irk me about her, and it’s not just her, it’s about how the medical field has evolved in general.
In the same episode as the pap smear, I had also gone in for a general checkup. This was my chance, or so I thought, to explain my absence in the bathroom, acne at 23 and inability to lose weight to her. She’d understand, I thought. She’ll listen to me, ask me intuitive questions, give me great advice and not try to just prescribe me pills to solve my problem.
You can guess what happened. I didn’t even get a chance to tell her anything beyond the pimple problem because she rushed me so horribly and didn’t let me talk. The entire appointment, which I waited almost 45 minutes for took 10 minutes, perhaps even eight. In and out - no time to listen to patients, or show a genuine interest that you care for them.
I was so disappointed. I went home confused. How come no one cared? Why were people becoming doctors if they didn’t honestly care about the well being of their patients. Even the offices of a doctor in a great hospital had turned into a business.
I wish I had the luxury of going to a doctor who had a private practice and specialized in alternative medicine. I feel like these are the only ones left who aren’t tainted with their military style of seeing patients and making judgment calls in the first two minutes of a meeting.
The truth is, I think doctors have lost their sense of responsibility - they see their profession only as a business. What happened to that Hippocratic Oath you took? I mean there used to be a time when doctors would be on house call and would willingly travel to people’s houses in the middle of the night to treat them. Where are those doctors?
I hate to bring up Grey’s Anatomy in all of this, because it is, well, fictional, but you see it in the show too. So much so that when the Chief of Surgery found out that Seattle Grace Hospital had come 12th in the list of best teaching hospitals this season, he restructured the entire program to make sure they move up. And then there’s Cristina Yang (Sandra Oh), hell bent on scrubbing in on surgeries, not necessarily because she cares about a patient’s chance of survival, but the fact of slicing and dicing and sewing up and taking out organs, tumors and what not in the human body is what she lives for. Her passion is in surgery of the patient, not the well being of him or her.
Just this past week my uncle was telling me about how he went in for an annual checkup and the doctor tried to prescribe him anti-depressants even though he was clearly not depressed and didn’t ask for a prescription. What is wrong with you people?
I actually read an article in SELF magazine about a doctor who refused to give a woman who had just been raped the morning after pill because it was “against his religion.” In an homage to Grey’s Anatomy, seriously?
New York magazine writer Robert Kolker interviewed a panel of anonymous physicians in June 2007 about a variety of very interesting issues. Though the article is seven pages long, it is a fascinating read. This doctor seemed to mirror what I have been saying all along:
The way we used to train physicians is that you worked all the time. You were on call all the time. Medicine was holy work—a calling. It was a privilege and an honor—you should sacrifice everything. Everything else came second. It didn’t matter if you didn’t eat during the day, it didn’t matter if you didn’t sleep. Now, the thinking is, if people don’t sleep they make mistakes, and if they make mistakes it’s bad for the hospital. So residents are being taught medicine as a career choice as opposed to a profession, a calling. They’re being taught as shift workers, which I think is a huge problem. When that clock hits a certain time, they have to leave the hospital. They can’t go to the library and read about the patient. They cannot go to the pathology lab and look up their patient’s pathology on microscope.
While I do agree, that half the job to receiving great care is up to the patient, as well as the doctor, I think a little effort goes a long way. I remember when Henry had his luxating patella surgery in the summer, and I received a follow up call from his surgeon and his regular veterinarian inquiring about how he was and it made all the difference in the world. So, I’m not asking you to be in a relationship with me and I realize that you have other patients to see, but don’t make me feel like a number. Don’t make me wait 45 minutes to see you and only give me long enough to tell you one of my problems. Most importantly, do not tell me that having one bowel movement in a week is perfectly fine. I may not have a medical degree, but I’m not stupid. Constipated people of the world, unite!
Come November, I know that what is on most of our minds is the showdown between Obama and McCain, however for California residents, there are a number of very important propositions on the ballot that need your vote. After getting a call last week from Planned Parenthood urging me to vote no on Proposition 4 and then getting an email from the ASPCA calling for all animal lovers to vote yes on Proposition 2, as well as hearing Warren Olney talk about Proposition 5 on “Which Way L.A” on KCRW, I’ve decided that it might be beneficial to myself and whoever is reading this to be informed when it comes time to cast a vote on Nov. 4.
Proposition 1: High Speed Rail Bonds. Legislative Initiative Amendment
What it means: California is congested. Rising gasoline prices and grid locked freeways have taken over the state. This act means that the state will build a high-speed train system and improve existing rail lines by creating a rail trust fund that will issue bonds totaling $9.95 billion.
Pros and cons: The pros are obvious - we know and so does the whole world that our transportation system is horrible. These high-speed trains will not only reduce traffic, but reduce greenhouse gases. They’re also cheaper than building highways. The con side says that this will cost taxpayers $19,200,000,000. Wow, big number. That money could be used for schools, health care and public safety.
How I will vote: Yes. As someone who is in traffic for more than 2 hours a day, I whole-heartedly agree with this proposition. People might argue that the money could be used for something else, but if it’s not now, it will be five years from now and by that time, there might be so many cars in Los Angeles that it might take someone longer to get to work than it takes me.
Proposition 2: Standards for Confining Farm Animals
What it means: This would require that certain farm animals be allowed for the majority of the day to have enough space to move around so that they can stand up, turn around, extend their limbs or wings and lie down. Voting yes would be that beginning in 2015, the state law would prohibit the confinement of calves, egg-laying hens and pregnant pigs.
Pros and cons: The pros in this case are obvious. Animals deserve humane treatment and denying them space is cruel and wrong. Although in my opinion, there are absolutely NO CONS to this measure, people argue that Proposition 2 would eliminate egg production and increase human exposure to Salmonella and Bird Flu.
How I will vote: As someone who loves animals dearly and does not eat chicken, pork, beef or turkey anymore, this is perhaps the proposition I am most passionate about. As humans, it is our responsibility to protect the animals on this Earth and if I find out that anyone I know was so selfish and ignorant to vote against this measure, needless to say our relationship will be in trouble
Proposition 3: Children’s Hospital Bond Act
What it means: This will authorize funds ($980,000,000 to be exact) for the construction, expansion and overall renovation for children’s hospitals. It is set to cost the state about $2 billion over 30 years or so.
Pros and cons: This proposition aims to help children with leukemia, cancer, heart disease and traumatic injuries and give them a better chance for life. The con argument again, is that people’s tax dollars are going to fund this while millions from a measure in 2004 for a similar cause remains unused.
How I will vote: Most definitely yes! I am so tired of Americans complaining about taxes. This is why people in Europe have a better quality of life, including universal health care. Because of taxes. I would rather pay taxes, so that I can go to the doctor whenever I wish than seeing so many people who cannot afford health care.
Proposition 4: Waiting Period and Parental Notification Before Termination of Minor’s Pregnancy
What it means: This proposition if passed, will prohibit abortion for minors until 48 hours after the physician notifies a minor’s legal guardian.
Pros and cons: The proposition, also known as Sarah’s Law has a track record of working in 30 other states by reducing teen pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases. Of course, this can also forced scared and pregnant teens to take matters into their own hands if they are required to tell parents.
How I will vote: My initial reaction was to vote no, because I believe that if teens are already scared, having to tell their parents will frighten them so much more that they might run away or go to unlicensed doctors or have a child they are not prepared to take care of. However, if the proposition has reduced teen pregnancy and STDs in other states, it might not be such a bad thing. The solution is to teach better sex education, in my opinion. I will most likely vote no on this prop.
Proposition 5: Nonviolent Drug Offenses : Sentencing, Parole and Rehabilitation
What it means: Proposition 5 would require the state of California to use over $1 billion annually to treat and offer rehabilitation programs for nonviolent drug offenders and parolees. It would shorten parole for most drug offenses and would change certain marijuana misdemeanors to infractions.
Pros and Cons: The number one pro to this prop might be the fact that it would reduce overcrowded prisons and would create treatment options for people who actually want to get better. Also, a similar prop that was approved, Prop. 36, has provided treatment and rehab for 84,000 people. The cons might be a bit obvious. This could potentially backfire and be seen as a “get out of jail free” card as well as shorten parole for serious drug felonies from three years to six months.
How I will vote: I’m not sure. Although I do believe that this state and country’s prison system is in dire need of help, I can understand the opposition against this prop. I also believe that reforming the system means recognizing that there are perhaps hundreds if not thousands of people (if not all!) who have seriously mental health issues and what these people need is cognitive behavioral therapy and counseling, not to be put away in a jail cell for the rest of their lives. With that said, what this prop proposes is a great start, I just think it might need to be restructured in a better way.
I will have propositions six through 12 next week.
In the past few weeks, I have found myself contemplating my future more than ever. This is partly due to the fact that I’m looking to apply to about four graduate schools come December and January. My anxiety doesn’t stem from the fact that I doubt my abilities, it stems from the idea that others could possible doubt my abilities. Graduate school professors, perhaps? Or the team of people that review applications. Or even publications I might try to pitch ideas to. The problem is a couple of things. First, the world of print journalism has been dying a slow death for the past couple of years. Although I firmly do not believe that big institutions of news, like The New York Times or USA Today will go away, because broadcast and new media rely so heavily on them as the gatekeepers of news, it will be horribly impossible to be considered for any editorial type job there for the writers and editors of my generation.
As any recent grad in the journalism field knows, it is so difficult to find an entry-level job, let alone one that is willing to pay you a decent wage. Once I applied for an editorial assistant position that paid $14. Fourteen dollars. That’s one dollar more than I was making in the last year of the customer associate job I had during college. Only one dollar more. I see countless listings on Craig’s List for reporters and writers, but many of them are not only volunteer-based, but pay anywhere from $10 to $12. I mean, really?
But, let’s face it, no one becomes a journalist for the money, except for the delusional students who somehow think majoring in journalism is going to launch them into the helmet hair, salmon colored suit hell of broadcasting for a local network. I became a journalist because I’m passionate, and really, that is the number one thing that this field responds to: passion. If you don’t have it, you’re better of going to Business school or enrolling in another program. The trouble is, at first, you’re not going to make much money, in fact, if you’re not good, you won’t ever make good money at all. Second, you’re going to be possible met with criticism from the public. News flash: Journalists are not liked. I once read a poll conducted not too long ago that ranked journalists in the same league as user car salesmen on issues about honesty and trust.
I can’t believe I read this week that the Los Angeles Times is cutting another 75 editorial jobs. Who do they expect to run the paper? Advertisers? What is in the future for print-lovers like me who want to make our careers in journalism? When I toured the Los Angeles Times office when I was a sophomore in high school, I was so overcome by emotion. Yes, I was a big dork, but that’s besides the point. The point was, I knew that where I belonged, ultimately, was in a newsroom. Most of you are thinking, wow what a loony, of all places, why would anyone want to be there? Let me tell you, when news breaks, the best place you could be is in a newsroom. The thrill, the rush, the excitement, the messy desks, the editors and writers whizzing past one another, the televisions on, the radio on standby, web pages open on the army of computers. Transport me to a newsroom any day, and I’ll get right to work. You won’t even have to ask.
This is the stuff I live for. The stuff I’m passionate about, the stuff that has the power to induce compassion, incite anger, change minds and expose the truth. During the day, I plot ways that I can replace Erica Hill on Anderson Cooper 360, pitch a story to the New York Times and be taken seriously, even though I’m relatively young. Erica Hill is 32. Thirty two! That means I have about eight years plotting time to come up with a plan to be on air with the silver fox known as Anderson Cooper. On my way to work, I try to think up the questions the reporters on NPR might ask, before they actually ask them. If you’re not a fan of radio news, I suggest that you don’t step foot in my car, because that’s mostly all I listen to on my long drives from and to work.
My Saturday mornings are spent with my mother on the kitchen table trying to solve the crossword puzzles on the last page of every issue of New York Magazine. People, I have the Society of Professional Journalists “Code of Ethics” pinned on my wall at work and “Beyond the Inverted Pyramid” by The Missouri Group on my desk. I reference the Associated Press Stylebook almost daily.
In short, I love journalism. Someone get me a bumper sticker: I <3 Journalism. Yes, I love it. I hope to succeed in it. I hope to leave a mark on the world. I hope to be recognized for my craft. I hope that years from now, journalists can be looked at on the same level as doctors and artists and other prestigious professions. I hope that when a high school students declares a desire to become a journalist or writer, his or her parents don’t try to persuade them in the pursuit of something reliable and realistic such as business, or something that will make bring in the money, but make you lose your soul in the process.
I hope that I can be among the Ida Tarbells and Christiane Amanpours and the Ernest Hemingways of the world.
You know sometimes when something is so wonderfully great that you can justify calling it a masterpiece? This is exactly how I feel about the magnificence that is “Blame it on Rio.”
Before I actually tell you about “Blame it on Rio,” let’s discuss how I discovered it. It was June 2008, and both Nathalie and I rushed home from work to help my sister get ready for Prom. After all the makeup and hair and jewelry was over and done with, we were to head over to UCLA to watch Djivan Gasparyan and Michael Brook perform. I was excited to be going, not only because I was reviewing the event, but because Djivan Gasparyan is one of my favorite musicians and I was especially proud he was appearing here because he’s Armenian. To make a long story short, the traffic coupled with the twisty turvy campus of the Bruins pretty much guaranteed that we were going to miss the performance. And we did. Oh, we so did. We drove down Sunset and almost an hour later, we finally reached the super market by my house where we decided to pick up some dinner before going home. Lo and behold, in the $5 bin, in between a Hello Kitty movie and Jerry Maguire lay “Blame it on Rio,” the greatest movie ever made. Nat ranted and raved about how we need to buy this immediately and watch it tonight because the contents of that plastic box were sheer genius.
At that point, I was up for anything, so I relented. We bought the DVD, our food and made our way home. Little did I know what was in store for me. Little did I know, that Blame it on Rio would be the end all be all of my existence.
“She’s the hottest thing on the beach. She’s also his best friend’s daughter!” so goes the tagline for this 1984 film that stars Michael Caine, Joseph Bologna, Valerie Harper, Michelle Johnson and a young Demi Moore. Directed by Stanley Donen perhaps known for directing such classics as the original 1967 Bedazzled, Charade, Singin’ in the Rain and the timeless “Lionel Richie Collection.”
“Blame it on Rio” tells the story of two best friends, Matthew Hollins (Caine) and Victor Lyons (Bologna), who decide to take a vacation to Rio, Brazil with their two teenage daughters. With Victor involved in a divorce and Matthew experiencing certain marital troubles of his own, the two decide to go it alone with their daughters, Jennifer (Johnson) and Nicole (Moore), otherwise affectionately known as Nikki.
Matthew is at times, a socially awkward man. With his fogged up glasses and curly adolescent hair Matthew feels uneasy most of the time, especially around the scantily clad women of Brazil. Victor on the other hand, is a take life by the horns type of guy. His dark, healthy and abundant head of hair proves it. Still, they’re a great pair together, even Eduardo, their next door neighbor thinks so.
Eduardo Marques: You are, how you say, the queer couple?
Matthew Hollis: Odd couple, odd.
Oh Matthew, this back handed insult is the least of your worries. Let’s talk about Jennifer, shall we? A typical teenager, Jennifer’s overly processed poufy hair, braces and goofy phrases do not at all match her curvaceous figure, which is used to its full potential in Rio, as it seems that Brazilians are immune to any kind of clothing that remotely covers their bits and parts.
When Matthew, his daughter Nikki, Jennifer and Victor attend an impromptu Brazilian wedding, the sparks that begin to fly are not only reserved for the bride and groom. Over come by desire and the all around air of Rio, Jennifer and Matthew consumate their relationship, or lack thereof on the beach, even with the 28-year age difference. Ah, as they say, love knows no age. Except this isn’t love. This is teenage lust, which, although its origins are unknown in this case, can only be blamed on one thing: Rio!
Jennifer Lyons: Kiss me!
Matthew Hollis: Kiss you? I ought to spank you!
Jennifer Lyons: Oh, please, and bite me too!
What ensues here after is nothing particularly special in terms of plot, however the execution is what makes this film ensure a place in my heart for eternity. Jennifer, desperate to get Matthew to love her, visits a mystic, surprises him when she can and constantly tries to grope him under the table, all within close distance of her oblivious father. Matthew, torn between the raw desire he has for Jennifer and his moral code (she is, after all, the same age as his daughter), becomes more a nervous wreck, and therefore hilarious, than ever before. When Jennifer decides to tell her father about the boy (errr..man) she slept with (”But Daddy, I loooooove him!!”), Matthew, over hearing the conversation in the next room, tries to pack his suitcase and escape out the window.
Victor: You can’t go!
Matthew: I’ll be back but I have to go first.
Unsuspecting Victor enlists the help of Matthew to track down whoever it is that has de-virginized his daughter, and between the Brazilian backdrop, cheesy 80’s sound affects and scenarios and Michael Caine, “Blame it on Rio!” is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. If you’re ever feeling down in the dumps, this is the movie for you. The sheer ridiculousness of it, coupled with the insanely infectious, completely off-key and ludicrous title song will have you in hysterics.
Matthew: You only live once, but it does help if you get to be young twice.
What if we broke a few rules, acted like fools, what do weeee careeeeee, BLAME IT ON RIOOOOO!
If you didn’t know, I love shoes. I’d like to think that I’m unique in that aspect, but who are we kidding, every warm blooded woman and their mother would kill for the perfect pair of shoes. Let’s face it, I most likely cannot afford more than half the shoes below, but that can’t stop me from admiring their beauty. And it’s not only about the money, because unlike Victoria Beckham, I would rarely have a place to wear such fabulous creations to. Between those Miss Sixty Anklestraps, to those Ruffle Back Prada Pumps, I really could just melt. Interestingly enough the “pump” has been around since the 1500s, when it was known as “pompe.” Every woman should have a couple pairs, as their timeless class and understated beauty will never go out of style.
In line with my fascination of extremes in human nature, I sat down to watch “17 and Counting,” the newest documentary style show from the Duggar family. Oh you know the Duggars, admit it. You know, the family with 17 children whose names all start with “J” from Arkansas. How can you forget the patriarch of the family, Jim Bob! And matriarch Michelle, with her long flowing mousy hair, House on the Prairie smocks and never ending pregnancies. To say I am fascinated by this hockey team of a family would be an understatement. Whenever I watch Jon and Kate plus 8, I feel a bit sorry that they have to deal with eight kids with sticky hands, snotty noses and crying. Oh the crying. But then, I remember Jim Bob and Michelle and the fact that this woman has had 17 squirmy bodies pass through her birth canal (BY CHOICE!) and I scoff at Jon and Kate for their measily contribution to society. Eight? Try 17, suckers! You don’t have anything on Jim Bob and Michelle.
The first and second episodes of “17 and Counting” featured the Duggar family going on a trip to New York City to be on the “Today” show where Jim Bob and Michelle were due to announce their 18th pregnancy. I almost fainted. That’s just because I think the idea of having that many children is inconceivable. I don’t mean to pass judgment on the Duggars because clearly, they have managed to raise all those children pretty well and by no means are they in need of any charity. If someone has the choice of never having children, I suppose others should have the choice of having as many as they want.
At times, I find it unfair on the children. Obviously, Michelle cannot raise all those kids on her own, and even with the help of Jim Bob, things could get out of hand, so more or less, the older kids are in many ways responsible for the younger ones. It just upsets me a little that their time is consumed by raising kids, when it should be consumed with teenager-type activities. They obviously don’t have any semblance of social lives, because let’s face it, every day is a social gathering in the Duggar house. That means they can only function within the confines of their family and perhaps town and are more or less unprepared for the real world, as evidenced by their trip to New York City. The family are conservative Baptists who follow the Quiverfull movement. The Quiverfull movement prohibits the use of contraceptives of any kind and endorses homeschooling and homesteading in a rural area.
To put it simply, the whole thing is just…strange. You can pretty much guarantee that I will keep watching, in between bouts of cringing.
And I got happy. I know it sounds strange, but I felt energized. I did some cleaning, I gave Henry a bath, I did some decorating for Halloween, and I spent some time baking and helping my mom make lunch.
We had salad.
And edamame and potato leek soup.
Overall, Saturday was good. One of the best ones I’ve had in a long time. A Saturday where I could just do what I needed to do to get done and feel like I accomplished something afterwards, instead of being plagued by stressful thoughts about what I needed to do and how I don’t have time to do all of it. Amen.
This morning after eating breakfast, I decided to come and make my bed, when all of a sudden, a little monster named Henry just wouldn’t let me. He hopped up his mini stairs and began chasing my hands around as I was trying to straighten out the quilt cover. He was not only nipping me, but growling as well. I wanted to shout, “The power of Christ compels you!” in my best Dr. Evil voice. He had gone nuts. I continued about trying to get my job done, while this 6lb white gorilla kept gnawing on my hands. There were times when he would stop biting and spin around like dervish, until I relented and moved around to the other side of the bed.
And then, in an uncharacteristic move, I put my hands behind me, thinking I had outsmarted him. He looked up, blinked at me twice and before I knew it, he had jumped up and taken a nip at my breast! My right one to be exact. I scowled in pain between my fit of laughter and checked under my shirt to see if there was bleeding involved. Thankfully, I got out unscathed. Henry, shame on you. I guess it’s safe to say Henry is definitely not a fan of the behind.
That’s me. I might be in deep thought, although I’m not sure because that photo was taken at the Los Angeles Zoo last year. I might be thinking about how miserable the animals are there. Mayor Villaraigosa, improve L.A. Zoo conditions ok? In fact, I will volunteer to be on that committee. Thanks.
Lately I’ve been feeling more like photos instead of words. I think mostly because it’s been a stressful week and I can’t find the energy to sit down and write a proper post (I’ve got one ready about The Duggars - so I know you’re on the edge of your seat about that one) and because I have so many things I want to write about that I can’t concentrate. Suffice it to say, that is has been quite an interesting week.
That’s how we met. July 2003. I was nervous and so was he. We talked on the phone in our separate rooms for about 15 minutes until I gathered up the courage to walk to his room and say hi. Evenings on La Rambla, looking at street performers and bunnies in cages, a swap meet by the sea, holding onto him while navigating through a crowded street market, spotting the Beatles’ “Rubber Soul” font in a signage for a restaurant. Feeling completely and utterly happy. I mean that. How many times in your life have you felt completely at ease and easily complete. I felt that. I still remember it to this day. I looked up at the polka dot sky, tried not to blink and paused. Thousands of miles away from home, and we both were just…happy.
Our lives would never be the same again. I had a funny feeling this was it. You know, it.
