In case you’re curious, the first thing you should know about New Orleans is that the French Quarter is full of loveable weirdos.
Like this guy.
In all my years of spending time in New Orleans, this is the first picture of me in Jackson Square. (I’m not a tourist, psh.) And I had to cut it off because my former favorite shirt makes me look about three months pregnant.
(At first I said nine months pregnant but Y, in his infinite medical wisdom, assured me I only looked three. This is still disconcerting because I am definitely ZERO months pregnant.)
Here’s a tip if you find yourself eating at the famous Commander’s: They’re going to push your chair in for you. Do not — I repeat, do not — put your full weight on the chair. It won’t go anywhere. It will be embarrassing for all parties involved. Clearly I’m not used to eating at fine dining establishments.
Tip #2: order the cheese grits. For the love of God, order the cheese grits.
Two views of Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club.
Christmastime in New Orleans = 85 degrees and 85% humidity. It never seems to affect my friends who somehow can wear pants in that weather, but I had to wear as little clothing as possible and I still sweated far more than is appropriate for a lady. Thank goodness the glow of the Roosevelt’s Christmas lights made my hair look presentable.
(Just kidding, I photoshopped my stringy bangs. My blog, my rules.)
There’s a highway that takes you from central Louisiana to south Louisiana, a highway that I’ve driven more times than I can remember. I can tell you which bathroom smells the best. I can clue you in to where the police are hidden just waiting to pull you over. I know which gas stations have Starbucks Frappucino drinks, and which only have Red Bull.
Usually this highway is a means to an end; just another leg of a long, boring drive. But this time, in our rental car that smelled of stale smoke and a desperate whiff of “new car smell” air freshener, we decided to treat it like a proper road trip.
Which, let’s be honest, just means that I took out my camera.
Rule #1 of road trips: you don’t choose your road trip music… it chooses you.
These abandoned FEMA trailers have been sitting on the side of the highway for years.
Good sunglasses are a must. Many thanks to Y’s dad for donating these slightly used (read: have been run over by a lawnmower) Ray Ban wayfarers.
Sugarcane fields as far as the eye can see.
My road trip partner in crime — we’ve driven across the country together twice (and then some) and still kind of like each other.
My only complaint is that he never lets me stop for roadside fruit.
01. Apple cider + caramel vodka +whipped cream. The best drink.
02. A 40 degree day in December is like summer in Minneapolis. I walked Ike to the lake yesterday (without a jacket! I’ve adapted!) and the path was clogged with people. The hill was full of kids sledding. And on the lake, a group of about 20 people was having an organized snowball fight. It was like a freaking postcard.
03. It seems like every single time I’m bored at home and decide to watch TV, Garth Brooks is on TV in some capacity. I’m starting to think he’s my fairy godfather or something.
04. If a genie popped up right now, I would wish to go back in time, take voice lessons, and end up in an a capella group. This is because I’m currently under the influence of binge watching the entire season of the Sing Off. I’ve even googled “how to beatbox”. There was nothing. Google should stick to diagnosing medical problems and aiding in the search for porn, because it’s not good at a capella training.
05. On Friday night, I went to a yoga sculpt class (like yoga, but with weights and loud music ranging from Britney to Bieber. So, not like yoga). This particular class had a surprise DJ and ended up being an impromptu dance party. My second wish (assuming that genie didn’t laugh at my last wish and disappear back into his lamp to find normal people who wished for money or world peace) would be that everyday included an impromptu dance party.
06. Ike might be just a tad too big to sit on our laps.
07. I’ve never been a fan of Express, but haven’t really been able to explain why. For some reason, I felt compelled to go in the other day and ended up buying a few basic tank tops with built in bras. There are holes in the sides of the tank top in case I feel like stuffing my built in bra.
And that pretty much sums up the vaguely trashy vibe I get from Express.
I think spaghetti night is my favorite night; Y turns on Louis Prima and doesn’t let me in the kitchen (“only my dad and I can cook my grandfather’s spaghetti bolognese recipe.”)
(that rule should apply to all recipes.)
the recipe lives on a crumpled index card on our refrigerator, scribbled in medical shorthand.
there’s wine. the fancy stuff, from Trader Joe’s.
Ike is never far, whining more for broccoli than the meat sauce. We did something right there.
dinner is NOT consumed on this nice wood table that made the trip from Louisiana to Minneapolis. we eat in front of the TV, like everyone secretly does. how else will we ever finish West Wing?
dessert is tea (always tea) and whatever goodies we have on hand. Tonight’s menu: homemade graham crackers from Lucia’s and peppermint bark gelato.
also, Ike whined more for the graham crackers than he did the broccoli, so we’re back to square one on being awesome dog owners.
Sometimes I think that every other picture I have on my phone is of my husband (and dog) sleeping. But that’s what happens with residents — they sleep a lot.
They also text you things like this:
When Y was in med school, most of my blog posts were about med school. These days, I rarely talk about residency because — thank goodness– Y’s career doesn’t consume my life anymore. I have my own job that has nothing to do with medicine, my own friends that talk about things other than our husbands, and a city full of distractions.
But I kind of miss being a voice of sanity in an audience that sometimes could use a little…well, sanity. So many of the websites and blogs for medical spouses that I come across are doom and gloom, and life just doesn’t have to be like that.
Last January I started a second blog called Medicine: A Love Story, that had a lot of interest but became difficult to keep up with. The idea of it was features such as city guides, book reviews, FAQs, medical spouses groups’ spotlights — peppered with humorous anecdotes about medical life. (Such as this one). All of it with a good natured, you can do this and hey, is it really that terrible? vibe.
I’m trying to think of an easier way to revive it — weekly, bi-weekly or monthly e-mail instead of a blog? A weekly “column” on this blog? Just start posting on the other blog again and pretend it wasn’t dormant for 8 months?
Any ideas from you brilliant Medical Monday people?