Tuesday, November 29, 2005


Medical Lampoon: Road Trip (Day Two cont'd)

…I had planned on sleeping in. Due to those early risers mentioned above (and a family of Eskimos who let their child swim in the pool at 6am) it was a tortured affair. Just as I was drifting off to sleep yet again, my cell phone rang. It was R-n-R. On day one of Hoochwatch, he had locked the dog in the apartment and himself out of the apartment. This is not without precedent. When we first moved to San Diego, we lived in a house in Pacific Beach with a horny black Labrador retriever named Hank who got carsick. R-n-R was taking him to the beach one day when he locked him in my car (i.e. dog and keys inside car, car running, R-n-R standing in driveway perplexed). I was an intern in the ICU getting my ass handed to me by some uptight attending when my pager went off. I ignored it. It went off again…and again, and again, and again. I had to call AAA (thanks for the membership mom) and explain the whole story. The phone rep laughed heartily and I’m sure asking me if the dog couldn’t just unlock the door made his day.

Once I’d safely put him in touch with an extra set of keys and once again braved the mini-shower, I charged back onto I-5. The rest of the drive progressed at (or, to be honest, 10 mph above) the speed limit. It was gorgeous. I went through the mountains in Northern California. Finally, at odometer marking 802 miles, I crossed into Oregon.

I spent the night in Ashland, Oregon at a colleague’s parents’ house. He had been doing this trauma training right before me, and we met there to exchange pagers, keys, etc. While I had not met his mother before, I’m sure I made a lasting impression. You see, I had been in the house for less than 5 minutes when I fell down their stairs. Fortunately I slid down them on my ass. While it was loud and dramatic, it was safe and less than spectacular. And I didn’t break the Thank You gift I brought them (which I was carrying and which was glass) – a selection of martini olives (sundried tomato stuffed and blue cheese stuffed) and some funky cocktail picks. Just to prove that there are still saints in this world, these kind people promptly made use of these in a round of vodka martinis. While it did nothing to improve my coordination, it did soothe my ego.

A glass of wine, a warm meal, and several embarrassing childhood stories about my colleague later, I finally got a good night’s sleep…


Medical Lampoon: Road Trip (Flashback)

The day before I was to leave San Diego, we had a particularly busy clinic day. I left clinic and returned to my office to pack up the books and files I’d need for the next three months. Several friends had offered to take me out to dinner and Hooch (the needy but beautiful boxer mix) needed some attention. Unfortunately, the last several weeks had been particularly stressful. And apparently it was more stressful than I realized. I underwent the kind of decompensation I used to undergo when I came home from college on Xmas break. The completely overwhelming-ness of everything I’d been blowing off finally settled in and I was exhausted, nauseated, and headachey.

The one decision I had made was to leave Hooch in San Diego. And this is where we introduce a new character to our story – Rock-n-Roll- or R-n-R. R-n-R is an ex-boyfriend from way back. We met in Philly while I was in medical school. We call him R-n-R because when I met him, he was doing lights for rock bands. He has lots of tattoos including a full left arm sleeve, a large flaming sacred heart on his chest, and a heart tattoo that says “your mother”. Charming. I know.

I met R-n-R during my last year of medical school and fell instantly in lust/love. It was, perhaps, one of those true moments of opposites attract. It happened hard and fast – a few months later, we moved to San Diego together (more on that later – maybe). Once we got to San Diego, unfortunately, I assumed the life of a medical servant and R-n-R continued to party like a rock star. As you might imagine, things came to an appropriately dramatic end.

While it was a nasty breakup, we eventually became close again in a way that only people who’ve known each other at their best, worst, most creative, least attractive can. And our friendship has led to some interesting situations.

At any rate, the point is that R-n-R was in an untenable living situation and needed a place to stay. He’d met Hooch. Hooch loves spending time with him. Being a rescue puppy, I was concerned that a new apartment, a new dogwalker, and long hours might mess with his head. It seemed we had a win-win situation…

p.s. Here is a picture from the day I left of Ruby and I trying to look superglamorousthin in our Olsen Twins commemorative sunglasses...

Sunday, November 27, 2005


National Lampoon: Road Trip (Day Two)

While everyone, including myself, likes to think of themselves as a conscientious drivers, very few of us ALWAYS keep our hands in the 10 o’clock/2 o’clock positions and our eyes and minds on the road. I was reminded of that on my drive through Northern California into Oregon when my feet got cold. See, I like to drive barefoot. This works well in the deep South or Sourthern Calfornia. Less so at 5000’ in the Shasta National Forest. Therefore, I found myself PUTTING SOCKS ON while going 75 MPH down a winding 6 degree grade. And rest assured that these were not easily applied tennis socks but fully elasticized snowboarding socks.

When I took the time to ponder the stupidity of this action (and 800 miles on I-5 later, there is plenty of time to ponder), I recalled other dumb things I’d undertaken behind the wheel…

Eaten breakfast
Applied lipstick
Taken off cowboy boots
Choreographed routines to rap songs
Scratched dog's ears
Took these pictures of Mt Shasta to share with you

That being said, the all time most dangerous activity I’ve heard of was when three friends of mine drove from Massachusetts to Florida. Two of them would sleep while the other would drive. She woke up to find the driver steering with his knees and putting drops in one eye while “keeping the other eye on the road – I swear.” Needless to say, that was the last time he drove that trip.

If anyone is reading, I’d love to know what the dumbest/most dangerous thing you’ve done while driving. And no, we don’t want to know if you got a blowjob while driving. If ,however, you GAVE a blowjob while driving – well I’m sure we’d all be interested in the logistics of that. And your cookie is in the mail.


Cheap Motel Etiquette

Far be it from me to play Miss Manners, but there are some standard behaviors which have apparently not been passed on to some of my fellow travelers…

1. Motel Etiquette for Skeevy Men

If you are standing in the front office of a motel in the middle of nowhere after dark, don’t strike up conversation with obviously uncomfortable women who are traveling alone. If you must (and I once again emphasize that you shouldn’t), do not persist in trying to find out exactly where they are from or exactly where they are headed. Vague answers are vague for a reason.

If you should then pull up next to one of these women in the parking lot and it is obvious that you are both headed down the same dimly lit corridor, BACK OFF. Do not walk up right behind a single woman and pass behind here while she is opening her door. That’s just creepy (serial killer kind of creepy).

If you are going to go out and get drunk and then return home in the middle of the night, yelling, singing, and intoxicated arguments about taxation are all highly discouraged.

2. Motel Etiquette for the Early Riser

Should it really be necessary to get on the road at 4am, try carrying your luggage rather than rolling, dragging, or kicking it along the cement past other peoples windows.

If there are children with you, muzzle them until they get to the car. If you choose to let them talk after that, well, that’s your decision entirely.


Medical Lampoon:Road Trip (Day One)

Day one of driving ranks up there with one of the more frustrating days ever spent traveling. Ruby and I had a relaxing lunch at Ki’s – a great little restaurant just across from the beach. We sat outside in the sun, and it was a beautiful day. I set off boldly on I-5 north and promptly came to a dead stop in traffic. An hour later, I briefly hit the speed limit past Camp Pendleton and through San Clemente. That would be the last time I passed 30 mph for 200 miles. Most of the time, traffic was moving slower than some people can run – not me mind you, but some people. Here’s an example, at 4:31 pm the odometer read 102.3 miles. At 4:45 pm, the odometer read 106.2 miles. I have pictures to document this but as they were taken from between the steering wheel or without focusing on the clock, they suck. Thus, you’ll just have to take my word for it

I made it over the grapevine (a tedious part of the drive well known to those who’ve done it before) and finally decided to stop in Lost Hills, CA at around 9pm. The only motel that did not completely skeeve me out was the Motel Six. It must be better known as the Motel 6 that time forgot in Lost Hope, CA. Tom Bodette says they’ll “leave the light on”. Perhaps they should turn the lights down and invest the money saved on electricity in some post-1970’s décor. I called my mom and told here I was staying in the same motel room we used to stay at on family trips in the late 70’s. No, it didn’t remind me of the ugly comforter. I’m pretty sure it was the same one.

Now I’m no giant – I’m only 5’8”. Apparently my room was designed for a tinier clientele. My ankles hung off the end of the double bed. I had to do half a backbend to get my head under the shower head. The towels were large enough to dry only half a thorax at a time. I climbed between the 13 thread count sheets with the 100% polyester blanket, turned off the TV with a remote (batteries held in with scotch tape – nothing but class), and settled in for a good night sleep…

Thursday, November 24, 2005


"I'm going nowhere..."

"...but at least I know the way" -Jason and the Scorchers

So I made it to Seattle Sunday night after a glass half full kinda road trip (crappy first day sitting in LA traffic, beautiful second day driving through way north Northern California, and a so-so third day of stunning views, blinding fog, and road construction). Why half full when I'm usually so one and one-half empty? Because I love a road trip. I have so much to share...
-the thrill of going 40 mph through LA
-the Motel 6 that time forgot
-Stampy's guide to motel etiquette (with a special chapter for skeevy men)
-Mt. Shasta
-Fun in Oregon
-How your parents can still embarass you when you're over 30 and successful
(and this time, it wasn't my parents)
-Dangerous things I have done while driving
-World's Dumbest Song Lyrics
-My secret tips on how to pick the winning racehorse (just kidding)
-The beautiful view from my apartment window
Unfortunately, I have no internet access in the apartment where I am staying here, I'm on call twice this week (including tonight), and am getting my lazy ass handed to me. Happy Thanksgiving!

Thursday, November 17, 2005


Karaoke, anyone?

Well, this audience participation thing is so not working. Think I'll just stick with random thoughts and updates for my internet shy friends (you uncreative bitches).

I'm leaving tomorrow morning to drive north on I-5. If I hit Canada, I've gone too far. Thus begins a three month tour (a three month tour - please sing to tune of Gilligan's Island theme song) of Seattle. I'm going up there to do some orthopaedic trauma training. While I'm there, I hope to get to sit in on at least one "Salon of Shame" (see www.defectiveyeti.com for description), have the 6-course hedonists breakfast at the Snoqualamie Lodge (backdrop/waterfall scene from Twin Peaks), and do some cool surgeries. I'll take pictures on the way...my goal is to forget my digital camera and do an entire travelogue with disposable cameras from gas station convenience stores (Hey, you gotta have goals).

My other creative goal is to have various strangers "crush the Space Needle". You see, Von Kranki (at krankipantzen.blogspot.com) has "Crush Your Cat's Head" Friday. As she is in Canada, this got me thinking about old "kids in the Hall" skits - in particular, the one where the guy holds his thumb up, closes one eye and goes "I can't see you" or squeezes his fingers together while squinting to "crush your head". Last time I was in Seattle, I was with ah-sweep-ay and made him pose while crushing the space needle. He was such a humorless, tightass at the time that he looks as if he is simultaneously passing a kidney stone. Anyway, I'm hoping random strangers will see the fun. Then I'll share. Unless I can't see you... (i'm squinting)

Wednesday, November 16, 2005


Name That Tune I

So, I heard this old classic country song for the first time in decades the other day - "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden". Don't ask me why or how I heard it. Let's just say I was instantly impressed (in my maturity) at the rhyming of "jolly" and "melancholy". Here are the original lyrics as recorded by Miss Lynn Anderson forever ago...

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden
Along with the sunshine
There's gotta be a little rain some time
When you take you gotta give so live and let live
Or let go oh-whoa-whoa-whoa
I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden

I could promise you things like big diamond rings
But you don't find roses growin' on stalks of clover
So you better think it over
Well if sweet-talkin' you could make it come true
I would give you the world right now on a silver platter
But what would it matter
So smile for a while and let's be jolly
Love shouldn't be so melancholy
Come along and share the good times while we can

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden
Along with the sunshine
There's gotta be a little rain some time

[Brief Instrumental Interlude]

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden

I could sing you a tune and promise you the moon
But if that's what it takes to hold you
I'd just as soon let you go
But there's one thing I want you to know
You better look before you leap, still waters run deep
And there won't always be someone there to pull you out
And you know what I'm talkin' about
So smile for a while and let's be jolly
Love shouldn't be so melancholy
Come along and share the good times while we can

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden
Along with the sunshine
There's gotta be a little rain some time

Now since that day, I've heard it again and again. Apparently it's been re-recorded by a newer Country star (Martina McBride). Now in the spirit of the Bobo (Ruby's husband), I've been making up new words to it. My latest version is...while I'm walking the dog and thinking of the poor flowers he's killilng with his voiding...

I beg your pardon, but I'm fertilizing your rose garden.
Along with the U-rine, there will be a little poop sometimes...

Still looking for a "jolly" and "melancholy" substitute. So here's my challenge to all the people who don't read this. What would your lyrics be? And Bobo, try to keep them only marginally offensive. Thanks from everyone.

(brief musical interlude)

Tuesday, November 15, 2005


Look Up the Word Pizzle

After Hooch threw up several pounds of rawhide several times, a good friend recommended Bully Sticks. They are much more easily digested and dogs seem to love them. Well, just in case you didn't know, I got this info from the official website.

"Bully Sticks are 100% Bull penises, Not a tendon, and not processed meat strips. Bully Sticks are dried, lightly smoked or natural flavor and delivered to your door. We never try to hide what they are by giving them little cute names."

And on the little label attached to the bovine schlong, it helpfully says "We recommend you wash your hands after handling this product." Gee, thanks!


You can take the girl out of the trailer: Part I

Several years ago, I was invited to a Halloween party out in the desert. The desert (in this case "The Gateway to Death Valley") is a special place. Some say mystical. Some say otherworldly. I say a place where you are so f'in hot and so dirty all the time that any self-respecting behavior you might usually exhibit goes out the window. Ruby's husband (then boyfriend) affectionately referred to as "the Bobo" had a work party to attend and we drove up for it. None of us was quite sure what to wear so we made a game of it - 20$ a piece at the Walmart and not a penny more. We challenged each other to new depths of tastelessness. This is always a bad idea with closet rednecks.

We ended up dressed as "trailer trash". As Ruby is from Georgia, I'm from Alabama, and the Bobo is from just outside the coal mines of rural Pennsylvania, this is not politically incorrect. It's called "going back to your roots". Ruby and I purchased matching shoes (on sale for $2.99 and we were robbed) by the brand name "Fanfares" which we insisted on pronouncing "Fahn - Fahr - Ays". We also got matching fake nails with "jewels". Ruby got herself a fine t-shirt with a metallic iron on decal. Finally, we both got some balloons. Figure out for yourself what they were for...

Aren't we charming. Now - the party was in a gated community with extra security. If you want to know how we got in and what godforsaken appetizers we brought, you'll just have to stick around for part deux.

Sunday, November 13, 2005


Tour de Stampy

I have mood swings. And not the gentle kind like a playground ride which whisks you back and forth gently in the breeze. Mine are more like what happens when you reach the end of a bungee jump. There is a momentary pause when you think everything has finally stopped. Then – WHOOSH – suddenly you’re flying back in the other direction completely out of control but wishing someone would grab you on the way back by. These things tend to cycle, and lately I have been cycling fast enough to be drafting Lance Armstrong.

There is no explanation, or at least not a complete one. I have a good life, great friends, and a dog who does not fart nearly as much as he could. My childhood was a happy one, my parents are still happily married, and my relationships (while ill fated) have been non-violent and non-destructive. Despite my best efforts to drive my liver to an early retirement, a recent physical shows that I am disgustingly healthy. Yet for some reason, I am completely overwhelmed and want to hide out under a down comforter and cry myself to sleep. Getting out of bed each morning is akin to sitting down for a root canal without the novacaine (Of which I have also had the pleasure).

The slightest wrongs become magnified. Everyone hates me. World disasters are somehow my fault – if I’d only studied harder in college I would have found a way to stop genocide by now. Yes, I realize that not everyone is out to get me, that I am not the center of everyone’s worlds, nor do I have the power to individually right every wrong. There is something very egocentric in all of this I am sure – that doesn’t stop me from hating myself. It just adds self-centered to the long list of things that are wrong with Stampy.

I’ve tried so many things to slow down the ride – medications, meditation, yoga, more alcohol, less alcohol, no alcohol, psychiatrists, bubble baths before bed, Ambien for a good night sleep, more sleep, less sleep, less sugar, more chocolate, aromatherapy (stop laughing), and zinc (don’t ask)…I still can’t do that damn pigeon pose in yoga, the money for the psychiatrist was better spent on massages, and the dog smells like lavender.

Yet still, I am so sad.

Sorry for the downer. Just needed to complain a little bit and didn’t know who else to call.

Saturday, November 12, 2005


Kiddy Casino

AH, the much promised Chuck E. Cheesey post. Let me just say that the Chuckster's palace has changed alot since the last time I was there. For instance, when you walk in with children, they stamp your hand so you can only leave with the same children. What if you want to leave without them? Also, there is no more crazy ball thing to dive into. I asked why, and one of the attendant parents said it had to do with hygiene. Apparently, children had been pissing and vomiting in there and it became a health hazard. Altogether now - EW! Chuck's is now one giant arcade with ride and payouts. Yes, payouts. If a child wins a game (for which he has paid a token to play) he gets a/some tickets which can be traded in for much coveted but completely worthless crap. This is where my casino comparison comes in...

Some games, no matter what you do, you get a single ticket. Well, on another game, I had my friends 5yo with me and in one fell swoop we got over 100 tickets. You then take said tickets to the "ticket eater" to exchange them for a voucher. As I fed the tickets in, this five year olds hands were shaking as if i was holding his next fix of heroin. After we got our voucher, we ran back to the same game and plugged token after token in - never again did we win so many. There were bright lights, there was competition with the promise of payout, there was a robotic floorshow...can anybody else channel Vegas here?

When it was time for the actual birthday girl celebration, the rat (not the first rat I've met with Ruby -more on that later) came out in person and sang Happy Birthday. Just to prove it, I will post one of the worst pictures of me ever. Seriously...mugshots often come out more attractive...

After they finished singing, they threw a bunch of prize tickets up in the air. Once again, it was if fixes were raining from heaven. These kids were on their hands and knees scrabbling for a ticket that wouldn't even buy them a livestrong bracelet.

All in all, however, Squirrel Nuts had a good night. She ate crappy pizza, danced with the rat, and got some messy presents that will haunt her parents for years to come. Someone bless the Chuckster.

Friday, November 11, 2005



This post is in response to the one Hanni posted today about her vegetable and fruit loving felines (check it out at http://hannihaus.com). I've stated before that i have one weird dog. In the past, his petty larcenies have usually involved loaves of bread (one night i woke up with a half eaten baguette on my pillow) or my shoes (little bastard - fortunately, they've all been out of style shoes that i've had a soft spot for. Is my dog a secret agent for the fashion police?) But tonight, it's as if he's been surfing the internet right along with me.

I have a big licensing exam I have to sit for tomorrow and stopped by Whole Foods to buy some snacks. I decided to treat myself to an asian pear. I've never been quite sure what this is. The first time I tasted it, my mind screamed "abomination of nature" - part pear, part apple, part weird. But my tastebuds screams yummy and expensive. Keep buying. When I came home, I hid all the puppy temptors (i.e. bread, cheese, plastic wrap) but left the asian pear sitting on the table. An hour later, i looked up from studying and saw this...

The furry little miscreant ate it core and all. Here are his mugshots which I will be saving should he ever eat a shoe which is actually still in style...

Doesn't he look guilty as all hell. He wouldn't even look at the camera. Just be warned Hooch - stay away from my organic produce or I will tell the internet that you pee like a girl.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005



Things I found out today that left my mouth agape and a trickle of dumbfounded drool coming out of the corner of my mouth...
(Attractive, huh? - I'll try and pick my nose or something in my next post).

1. Paris Hilton has "fans". Apparently, she was seen with bruises which are attributed to said "fans" rushing her and trying to touch her. What did she do to get "fans"? (Sorry, I'm always going to have to put the quotes up to qualify that one). Also, one of her bodyguards pointed out that she bruises easily because she's sooo thin. Here's a tip Paris - try eating solid food.

2. Kate Hudson is suing a bunch of papers and magazines for publishing pictures that make her look "too thin". No, really. I hearby solemnly promise that if anyone can find pictures of me looking "too thin", you may publish them for the world to see without any fear of repurcussion. What a skinny little problem which must be so tedious to have. Once again, eating might be the answer.

3. Two cheerleaders from a professional football team were arrested at an away game after starting a barbrawl. It seems they were having sex - with each other - in what I'm sure was a very romantic public toilet at the bar. Some inconsiderate patron who had to piss like a racehorse banged on the door. One of the girls started throwing bitchslaps while the others resisted arrest. Even better, one of the girls was originally misidentified (publicly) when she lied about her name and produced the license of a fellow cheerleader who presumably was not present. I'm gonna guess that friendship is gonna take a hit.

4. Finally, someone resembling me was spotted playing skee ball and singing along with rodents in a pizza place Monday night. There were lots of children present and this person who looked like me was drinking a light beer (father, forgive them. they know exactly what they do but it was that or white zinfandel and booze was of the essence). I would vehemently deny I was there but the Chuck E. Cheese security camera captured this photo of Ruby and I...

...unfortunately, no barbrawls erupted at the party. And no, we did not have sex in the bathroom. What do you think we are, cheerleaders?

Tuesday, November 08, 2005



An old Australian friend once told me about a show which I seem to remember was called "Hey, Hey, It's Saturday". The actual title of the show is as unimportant as it is appallingly bad. What is important (and what I do remember) is that they had a recurring skit called "What Cheeses Me Off" in which people would complain about random things. Currently I am on call (again) and vaguely annoyed (I can't find any chocolate hidden in my desk - how could i be so negligent). Therefore this seems like the perfect time to start my very own revival of...


I cannot abid the use of the word "impact" as a verb. I don't care what newer editions of Webster's might say. "Impact" is a noun, people. Keep it that way.

p.s. This is in no way related to the Chuck E. Cheese adventure (as no 2-6 year olds were using "impact" in any conversational form). I will post on kiddie hell tomorrow.

Monday, November 07, 2005



Today is li'l Ruby's (aka squirrel nuts) second birthday. Her mama (Ruby I) is hosting her birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese. To me, this is like a special day pass to hell - you get to see what it's like and feel the flames. Then you get to go home, do a shot of Jack, and hopefully get all the little hand shaped pizza sauce stains out of your overpriced jeans.

Unfortunately, I missed Squirrel Nuts first b'day party. Why? Because it was already planned and thus held at the house where I formerly lived. Let's introduce a new character into this plot. I like to call him "Asswipe" (pronounced Ah-sweep-ay). We broke up that summer and I moved out in June. His new (very young) girlfriend (soon to be fiancee, now wife) was the hostess. Her parents were even invited and flew in from the East Coast. I had not met her yet. Nor had I seen asswipe during the interim. It was too uncomfortable to walk into a house still decorated the way I had (except for that tacky IKEA couch and coffee table on the sun porch and the study which he painted charcoal grey - yuk!). I stayed away. I still regret missing it, but hey, its not like squirrel nuts remembers.

So what's this about payback you ask? Well, when I was little, my hippie aunt was always giving me these art project gifts like papier mache and decoupage (rated 8 and above but given to an energetic 5 year old). In the family spirit, I have purchased the little one a childrens art easel complete with chalkboard, magic erase board, and butcher paper on a roller. Just so it gets used, i have also purchased crayons, chalk, and dry erase markers. How does it go...mwahahaha. I stopped myself at the finger paints - but if the beer isn't on Ruby, Squirrel Nuts gets the paints for xmas.

To all of you in Georgia (you know who you are), did you ever think Ruby would be hosting a party with a rat (especially a rat that doesn't drink martinis)?

Sunday, November 06, 2005


When dinosaurs roamed...

I ran home earlier to walk Hooch (remember, I'm stuck at the hospital overnight) and was looking through an old box of photos. Why? Because I have no life. Therefore, I have no pictures from this Halloween to post. I do, however, have pictures of the Halloween where Ruby and Jolene truly came into their own. Unfortunately, trash of that magnitude was not sober enough to keep track of a digital camera so I'll have to scan these in. If i'm as timely with this as I am with my xmas cards, consider this your Kwanzaa gift.

As I am ever so organized, I found some old girlscout badges among the photos. Hell, I think they're girl scout badges...those memories are either on dead brain cells (you'll be disappointed to learn that there is no badge for underaged drinking) or buried along with the memory of the time I had poison ivy all over my face for school picture day. (Kids can be so cruel.)

Here's what I found...

No recollection, whatsoever, what I did to earn these. All I remember about girlscouts is snack time and getting poison ivy every frickin' time we went camping. I tried looking these up on the girlscouts.org website. No dice. There are all kinds of new things you can get badges for like "being high on life" and "cyberscout" (both of which I'm sure I would have failed). From what I can figure so far, the top one was for running away from home, the middle one was for following traffic rules when I hotwired that Gremlin (autotheft badge was missing), and the last is for either learning to play golf or beating up a bagpipe player (both worthy pursuits).

There are a couple others (one has something to do with pitching tents-I don't remember dating any boyscouts) I'll share at a later date. Meanwhile, I better answer that page...


No Talent Required

For years, I've sat around thinking of awesome band names. Well, I don't actually sit around with this purpose. But in lectures or presentations (you know those really painful ones where shoving a pencil in your eye would at least distract you enough to stay awake) when a particularly amusing phrase comes up, it could either be a t-shirt or a band name.

Don't let this confuse you and think I have any musical talent to back this up. I never got past the recorder in grade school. I sang in choir for years. Unfortunately, I sang tenor and was the ridiculous curly headed blonde in a magenta dress (uniform - not a personal fashion statement) on the half of the risers filled with pimply faced boys in navy blue jackets. You can bet my mama was proud.

It doesn't seem like talent is what it's all about these days, anyway. It's all in the presentation and marketing. My friend Ruby (remember, that's her trailer trash codename) and I once decided we were gonna be a rap group and couldn't decide between "Salt and Salt" or "SPF 15". A guy I work with wants me to be the angry fronthowler for a band called "Don't call me Sammy!" I always thought a punk rock band that did covers of well known polka tunes could be a cult classic. Any name suggestions for that one?

What sparked all this? Oh, I was cleaning off my desk at work (I'm on call today) and found some scraps from meetings with potential bands names on them. Couldn't figure out what to do with them so thought I'd inflict them on you...

1. Not Necessarily Tools
2. Full Shot 32
3. Cement Kills
4. Corona Mortis

As you can see, I'm easily amused. More to follow.

Friday, November 04, 2005


Way too serious...

For those of you who don't know Mammoth, let me explain why i wait every day for a snow report. The Sierra Nevadas get a heavy snowfall every year. The problem is, no one can quite predict when itis going to happen, When I was dragged up there 4 years ago, there were 3 runs open and we all decided to party instead. This past year, I was heavily ensconced in the training of ortho residency when there was a late October snowfall (several feet!) but I really didn't have any time to spare. I called an old friend, blew off a weekend educational experience, and did a bar crawl up I-395. We had the best single day of snowboarding (nothing extreme, just uncrowded) I can remember until I wasn't paying attentiion...wiped out face first, saved my distal radii, and sacrificed my ribs... I spent the afternoon drinking irish coffees and taking 800mg motrin. It was all worth it...

I keep hoping Mammoth will storm before I'm forced to leave.

Thursday, November 03, 2005


Number of the Day

The number of the day is 4 (four/cuatro). This is not Sesame Street with a lame spanish lesson thrown in. This is the number of pieces that my mother's proximal humerus is currently in. Let me tell you about the women on the Irish side of the family...

We are fallers. When I say we fall down, I don't mean we faint or get woozy or slip from time to time. I mean we go to ground in spectacular fashion. I was on vacation in Cancun and we were staying at the Ritz Carlton. We arrived back from a dreamy day of scuba diving and touring Mayan ruins in our cute little rented jeep. The valet opened my door and I stepped out. Despite the fact that I was windburned, covered with sand, and wearing a cute little pair of board shorts, I still felt elegant enough to waltz towards the doors among the older, better dressed clientele. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground in a tangle of backpack, flipflops, and a torn beach towel. The valet froze. The fancy clientele froze. Everyone made half a step towards me - no one sure quite what to do. My boyfriend at the time turned around to see where I was and started laughing. I jumped up, unscathed, saying "i'm ok" a little too loudly and skulked inside. Several shots of tequila later, I also saw the humor.

Another time, my mother was hosting a dinner party. She is a tad bit OCD about the cleaning thing (a gene that unfortunately skipped a generation) and was loading dishes from the first course into the dishwasher. The phone rang. The phone was located on the other side of the open dishwasher door. Forgetting the old physics maxim that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time, she went for the phone. A resounding crash, some loud "I'm ok's", and a trip by the entire guest list to the ER to assure the good doctors that this was not a case of domestic violence but merely the laws of gravity, they returned home to finish dessert. We may fall like lead balloons, but we are nothing if not excellent hostesses.

Today, she was walking into a building carrying some files when she tripped. Did she let go of the files? Of course not, they might scatter and make a mess. Organization won. Her left shoulder lost. She is having surgery next week.

All is well, and I'm sure she'll come out of this just fine. There is just something that makes you feel helpless when you are a surgeon on the West Coast and your mother is a patient on the East Coast. That being said, physical comedy runs in our genes. Chevy Chase, eat your heart out.



Don't worry. The word for the day thing may be a recurring theme, but i'll try not to bore you with it everyday. However, I would ask that you try to incorporate the words in a sentence during the day. Preferably at a completely inappropriate time. Some of the words will be words that I love the sound of (onomatopoiea), others will be words with obscure meanings, some will be things I just can't believe someone put in the Dictionary.

Today, I give you HOOCH. As noted in the first post, one definition of Hooch is "spirits of questionable provenance" such as bathtub gin during prohibition. Here's another one...

He is a good spirit, but also of questionable provenance. I'll tell you all about him (til you're begging me to stop). Internet, meet Hooch. Hooch, the internet.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005


The Word for the Day

The word for the day is ONOMATOPOEIA.

Just so no one has to look it up, that is when a word sounds like the sound it represents. Clear as mud? Examples: splash, buzz, kapow (think early Batman TV series).

Another example is THUNK. That is the sound of my heart hitting my stomach. Or BOOM - my head exploding. Bad things continue to happen to good people. I just found out that a friend's husband was killed in Iraq. He was a brave and funny man. She is a phenomenal woman. Together they made me laugh, and I felt like part of the family the first time I went over to their house.

Regardless of whether or not you support the war, please recognize that bad things are happening to good people. And if you can find the time, take a quiet moment and send some happy thoughts towards Oceanside, CA.


Tuesday, November 01, 2005


Help me!

I'm afraid i've already proved myself a computer moron. Can't figure out how to post picture. Registered with that "photobot" thing (do bullets fire out of its jock) but was never given option to uploadl. Does this system work for macs? I have a powerbook. Why am i so hopeless? Did I mention that I've had three irons shoot flames out the water spout, two toasters explode, and a coffee maker just refuse to produce ( I still think that one was spite)? Negative ion girl, indeed.


Welcome To My World 101

1. I'm new to this whole blogging thing (no, you don't say.) I'm sure my meager computer skills will soon give me away. However, I've been a long time lurker of some very talented bloggers and I aspire to make you all proud.

2. I'm single and straight, but not judgemental of anyone elses choices.

3. I really like wine. In fact, I'm drinking right now and probably will be when I make a lot of my posts.

4. I tend to like animals more than people. Nothing personal. I just consider children and animals the true innocents. (I exponentially prefer dogs to children).

5. Why "Stampy"? It was a nickname given to me by my ex-boyfriend. It's the best thing he left me (close runner-ups are the fly-fishing rod, the snowboard, and the wine fridge).

6. Why "Durst"? I used to own a red baseball cap that was my absolute favorite to run in. My last dog chewed it to shreds, unfortunately. Anyway, that was when the limp bizkit song with "now this red hat gets a rap from his critics" was out and I used to make "Fear of a Red Hat" jokes. Oh well, it seemed funny at the time.

7. My favorite joke: Why do chicken coops have 2 doors

8. My favorite answer: Because if they had 4 doors they'd be chicken sedans.

9. I'm laughing even now.

10. I don't approve of light beer. Why not just drink half a real beer?

11. Half Irish/Half Italian.

12. This adds up to a wicked temper, a high tolerance, and a susceptibility to maternal guilt that the cdc should study.

13. I have a boxer named "Hooch".

14. No. He's not named after the movie. If you look up "hooch" in the OED, it's listed as "spirits (alcohol) of questionable provenance" which seems to fit him just dandy.

15. He's allowed on the furniture and he sleeps in the bed.

16. When I was little, i really wanted to be an archaeologist. Blame King Tut.

17. Since then, i've wanted to be a stockbroker, a lawyer, a dancer, an animator, an architect, a bartender, a chef, a hotelier, a museum curator, a vineyard owner, a winemaker, a yoga instructor, a cheerleader for a professional football team (hey, a girl's gotta dream), a politician (trust me, with my chest this is more realistic than cheerleader), a graphic artist, a professional activist for Amnesty, a professional sailor, or somebody who gets paid (lots) to be drunk and charming at fabulous parties.

18. I ended up an orthopedic surgeon.

19. Don't ask me how. Blame it on Glenfiddich and Charlie's Angels reruns.

20. I grew up on the original star trek and Captain Kirk. I've hated any incarnation of Star Trek since.

21. Hate my thighs.

22. Have big ears.

23. I work with all men. There are over 30 resident and attending surgeons in my department and they are all men.

24. I have, unfortunately, adapted. I burp in public. I claim my own farts. I can have entire conversations in quotes from Will Ferrell movies, Ben Stiller movies, and the Austin Power trilogy. Oh yeah, don't forget Office Space. I'm gonna need you to work on Saturday.

25. In keeping with this, I found a peanut m&m on my kitchen floor last week (date of origin unknown) and ate it.

26. Of course I smelled it first.

27. I don't usually wear makeup but I buy alot of it once a year. They convince me at the department store that I look REALLY good. Then I get it home. When I put it on, I just look like a whore. Usually end up washing it all off and going out in mascara and lip gloss. Oh yeah, and clothes.

28. Used to trust people very easily. However, it only took one time to screw me over and there was no redeeming it.

29. Many hurts later, I have become very suspicious.

30. I am a very happy only child.

31. When I was 3 or 4, my parents asked me if I wanted a little brother or sister. I replied, "no thanks, i'd like a cat instead".

32. This still haunts me. I got the cat. Should have dreamed big and asked for a dog.

33. All my dogs have always been maladjusted wingnuts. Sometimes you have to ask, did i pick them that way or make them that way?

34. All my boyfriends have been maladjusted wingnuts. I accept no responsibility on that one.

35. All my dogs have been rescue dogs. "Don't breed or buy while shelter pets die".

36. No tie in with the boyfriends. Keep all comments on this one to yourself.

37. I am clinically depressed. The days start out well but afternoon/evening is hell. I highly recommend William Styron's "Darkness Visible" if you want to understand how out of someones control this can be.

38. I grew up in Alabama.

39. My parents are both from the northeast.

40. If you have a southern accent or i've been drinking, my accent comes out. Otherwise, I got so tired of saying "y'all" for people that I can fake it all the time.

41. If I'm really tired and pissed off, I've been known to scream "y'all quit" and then leave the or with my ears turning bright red.

42. I have no problem with blood and guts, but snot and loogies (sp?) disgust me.

43. The best part about being one of the rare women in my field is that there is never a line for the ladies room at meetings/conferences.

44. Even better, there's always a long line for the mens room.

45. The worst part is that despite wearing a giant nametag that ends in md, people still assume I'm one of the reps (or someone's nurse, or someone's wife).

46. Very eclectic musically...When I'm home in the South or it's a warm day out here, I listen to country music (older stuff and country punk). When I'm doing a big nailing case in the or, I prefer metal (gnr or metallica), if I'm in a bad mood in the car I listen to alt rock/metal (drowning pool), on Sundays when I have time to read the NYTimes I listen to endless hours of old blue eyes (Frank Sinatra for you philistines - and yes, I know the philistines were quite advanced but I couldn't think of a better word).

47. I don't have any tattoos but no through lack of trying. When I was in grad school, my roommate and I went to get them. Apparently you needed an appointment. It didn't seem like such a good idea at our week later appt. time. At the time, I was going to get this Chilean voodoo cat with a skull head (doing third world studies at the time). Then, several years later, I wanted the dancing skeleton from the social d albums with the mexican hat, martini glass, and cigarette. Didn't have enough money. Since then, I've just spent time trying to pick out a design I won't hate and a location that won't turn to fat. Currently I'm torn between a horseshoe on my lower back with a banner reading "good luck" or a heart on my hip with a banner reading "your name here". Comments welcome on this one.

48. I've dated scientists, fellow surgeons, motorcycle mechanics, bartenders, construction workers, and a guy who did lighting for rock bands. They've all failed in the most dramatic fashion.

49. Guys always want to change me. They love that I'm one of the guys that can drink them under the table at first. Then, they want me to quit my job and have their children. Game over.

50. My mother used to tell me it was because I was intimidating.

51. I told her, "Bullshit". This is what all mothers say to their lonely daughters with jobs.

52. My last 3 boyfriends told me I was "too intimidating".

53. There's no fucking way I'll ever tell her she might be right. Talk about opening a pandora's box.

54. I don't want to have children. Never have. People always tell me..."Wait til your 25 (28, 30, 32). Still waiting. No stirrings of maternal instincts or biological clock.

55. I sing along with every song I know in the car.

56. I think I sound damn good.

57. Keep your critiques to yourself.

58. I once fell instantly in love with this friend I was giving a ride to who told me I had a great voice and should really be in a band. Needless to say, I'm sure he was tone deaf and his love of light beer precluded any type of hook up.

59. I can cook like a mo-fo. Several friends have offered to finance a catering operation.

60. They soon realize how disorganized I am and how drunk I get when I cook.

61. They still invite me to host dinner parties at their houses all the time.

62. I was into Australian wines before they were hot. (it's not bragging - I had an Australian boyfriend at the time and we used to get the lower end stuff for 3 or 4 bucks at Trader Joes)

63. My favorite gift from a boyfriend ever was a chef's knife.

64. I am like a petulant child. If you tell me you are going to do something, I remember it. If you say we're getting ice cream, I'll go to bed that evening pissed we never got ice cream. (Obviously I don't really mean ice cream...unless, of course, that's what you promised me). Just follow through dammit.

65. I hate internal inconsistency.

66. This has made life one constant guilt trip for me. I was a vegan for years but still wore leather shoes. There are many more examples but I'll wait till I trust the internet more to share.

67. I hate people who dress their pets in sweaters, coats, or booties.

68. My favorite time of year is Dooce's annual Chuck at Halloween posting. This year, also cried laughing over Pete's costumes at Marit's site, Yoshi as sumo and Madonna at Von Krankipantzens site, and others. Damn that internal incosnsistency thing again.

69. Pet peeve: Here in California, when they play songs on the radio that have cusswords or something objectionable in them, they put in sound effects or blur it. In the Everlast song "What it's like", you can shoot people, do drugs, etc. but they blank it out when "she" wants to cut something off or when they call "her" a "whore". In the song by sublime or long beach dub allstars "date rape", the whole rape thing is okay, but they bleep it out when they say "he takes it up the behind". This reminds me of when Letterman couldn't say "pants".

70. I cuss like the proverbial sailor.

71. I spit on the sidewalk when I'm running.

72. Despite all of this, I cannot tolerate white pants or shoes after labor day or before memorial day. Blame it on my southern upbringing.

73. I can cut people open and sew them back up, but I still won't call a boy first. I will call him back. i apologize to all the southern women who have come before me for this faux pas.

74. When I was a child, I had the most amazing green thumb. I could drop seeds in sand and they would bear fruit. The only things that currently survive my ministrations are jade plant and a rather anemic rosemary topiary. I kill all other herbs and flowers with a combination of benign neglect and overzealous watering (the gardening equivalent of make-up sex)

75. I love alone time.

76. Don't even try to talk to me when I'm reading.

77. That being said, I'm terribly lonely right now.

78. There goes that internal inconsistency thing again.

79. I love British humor - Monty Python, Fawlty Towers, BlackAdder.

80. I'm not that taken with Mr. Bean. Please, Rowan Atkinson, back to less pathetic characters.

81. When I was a child, I loved to fly. We lived far away from family and I collected more than my fair share of plastic pilots wings and decks of cards.

82. Now, I have developed plane-specific claustrophobia. Stuck on the tarmac without the ac on...shoot me.

83. If there are 198 passengers under 200 lbs. and 2 over 400 lbs, they will be sitting on either side of me.

84. One of them will puke or have gas.

85. They will still eat the airplane meal.

86. I think airplane flights should still provide playing cards. I have no moral, economic, or social leg to stand on...I just always liked it.

87. I have a huge belly-button phobia. Don't touch it. Don't poke it. No really, this isn't a joke. I've cold-cocked people for less. REALLY. Just stay the fuck away from it. No really. It is not a hidden erogenous zone. Why do men have such a hard time with this.

88. I am terrified of slides and hills. There is no rational explanation for this. 4 foot tall playground slides or 4 story water slides. I have to be kicked down from the top.

89. This translates, unfortunately, to snowboarding. If I can't see where I'm going (i.e. a whiteout condition) I've ridden single black diamonds at Jackson Hole. When the clouds cleared, I couldn't even get off the lift.

90. Please refer back to the "i grew up in alabama" and realize that I began snowboarding at 30 yo.

91. In Alabama, skiing involves a boat, a rope, and (hopefully) a bathing suit.

92. People who tell you it hurts more to fall on water than it does on snow are f'in liars.

93. Oh, yes you are.

94. Nutella is the most awesome snackfood in the world. Eat it with a spoon. Put in on warm bread or bagels. Trust me.

95. I transitioned from regular underwear to thongs when I realized that it really didn't matter. It was all going to end up riding up your ass anyway.

96. Thongs, while sexy, were also uncomfortable. I highly espouse commando now.

97. Unless, or course, you have to wear polyester. No ones bits like polyester.

98. When my friend and I dress up as trailer trash (this comes up more frequently than one might think) her code name is Ruby and mine is Jolene. Unless you've met Jolene before. Then, actually, my name is Delta Dawn.

99. Delta Dawn is the first song I knew most of the words to. There is a tape recording of me singing it. I still sing it sometimes. not when anyone can here of course.

100. There is also a tape of me trying to teach a too young Mary Kate Grady to read. If you should ever read this Mary Kate, I apologize. I was real bitch. Even at 4, I had problems with authority.

101. Internet and Blogspot, welcome to Stampy.

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