I don't wanna grow up

I've been thinking about updating my wardrobe to reflect a more grown-up me, and while I recognize the need to replenish some work wardrobe staples in my closet and add a few business casual and dressier items, I have decided that I'd really just rather wear t-shirts. Every time I want to go out somewhere, I'm all like, oh I don't have anything to wear, and I either don't go (classic Michelle wuss-out) or I wear a t-shirt. Which isn't very feminine or flattering.

You know what? Screw feminine and flattering. If I wear some generic sweater or cute top, it may look a little more grown up than a t-shirt, but it says nothing about me. I love my t-shirts because when I wear one, you know a little of me. I haven't bought a t-shirt at a store in a few years, and yet still they overflow--evidence of pieces of my life. My t-shirt may tell you that I love soccer (or more specifically, Creighton soccer or ABK or Abby Wambach). It may tell you that I am proud of my family (Rule #77: Made with Greek parts). It may tell you that I like animals (pio, pio; bone appetit), or gee, perhaps that I went to Creighton for a long time and was in Phi Delta Chi and that I obviously kicked butt in intramural sports. I have the occasional "I care about cancer victims/survivors" and the enigmatic yearly LP9 editions, and a few that prove my existence in Omaha (homaha, Marian football). I want my clothes to say something about me, yeah? So maybe I'll add a few actual pieces to my wardrobe in the coming weeks. But the t-shirts stay.

Okay, lunch is ready and I'm starving. My stomach growling can be heard in Kuwait.

How 'bout a little rematch?

There have been a few firsts for me in the past year, notably first degree (happens to be a doctorate), first salaried job (yet to start), first time living solo (again, yet to start), first professional and college football games. But I'm pretty sure that the "first" taking place on July 13th will top all of those...well, maybe not the doctorate. It's certainly going to be more entertaining and exciting for me though.

Check it out here!!!!

That's right my friends! I am going to see Abby Wambach, Carli Lloyd, Hope Solo (hopefully), Heather O'Reilly, and all of my other fave players at Dick's Sporting Goods Park right here in Denver. Who'da thought? For years I've been complaining that all the WNT games are played in L.A. or NY or D.C. or any other number of two-lettered cities. But the best women's soccer team in the world is coming to my doorstep. Or my old doorstep, because by then I'll be in Omaha and I still have to convince my boss that I deserve a day off two weeks into my residency. It's a Sunday so my chances are slightly improved but the Med Center still owns me for 365 days.































The game will be televised on ESPN, so mark your calendars and watch for Laura and I in our (sort of) matching Abby Wambach jerseys--hers is gold, mine is white. I'm also pushing for a massive sign, wordage yet to be determined.

And did I mention that the game happens to be against Brazil who seriously massacred us in the semifinal game of the WWC last year? We are looking for some revenge against one of the most individually talented teams out there. My nerves probably won't be able to handle it. But at least this time when I'm screaming in frustration or celebration, it will be along with 14,000 other rowdy fans and not in my living room at 4 in the morning. Plus, maybe this time we'll start the right goalkeeper, and if the six-goal stomping at Canada's expense is any indication, our offense is hitting their stride as well.

In a final sporting world comment, here's my well wishes for Big Brown to tackle the Belmont with flying colors in three weeks, because 30 years without a Triple Crown is a little too long.

Whatever gets you through the day

I have a new favorite blog to read. It is to be found at dooce.com and it makes me laugh, which I of course love. This is yesterday's post.
http://www.dooce.com/2008/05/07/were-back-will
I had to try not to laugh out loud because I'm getting my computer completely wiped clean and I'm supposed to be following instructions.

In other news, I'm graduating in approximately 52 hours. That's right, I will soon be a "doctor". Okay, I really have to go now.

I'll be kicking myself later

Okay, so I'm supposed to be studying, right? I realize that. And I realize that the overwhelmingly common theme to my professors' advice when it comes to studying for my boards is "don't tarry." (Dr. Keefner's words, not mine) But I finished reading a somewhat depressing--yet thoroughly classic me--FBI thriller novel about government corruption and terrorism this morning, and I needed a pick-me-up. I got a little bit of productivity in, covering cholinergic and adrenergic drugs briefly and finishing up with the top 25 nutraceutical products (still not quite sure that it's necessary for those to be on the NAPLEX), but overall the day was a wash. Until...

Sundays at Tiffany's. Seriously. I love a good James Patterson novel as much as the next guy. His Alex Cross books can be a little too dark and serial killer-esque for pure enjoyment, but Women's Murder Club rocks my face off most of the time. And Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas and Sam's Letters to Jennifer prove he's not a genre writer. I even like what I've read of the Maximum Ride series (does this guy ever stop writing?). But none of his books have hooked me like this one. I read about it online and rushed to Target to buy it. Lack of willpower disaster #1. Then I thought I'd use it as a study reward and I could only start reading it if I had a brilliantly productive day, or week. Disaster #2. I started it today and the only reason I haven't finished it yet is because I'm savoring it, reading far more slowly than normal, trying to prolong the escape it provides. It's escape as only books can give me, and it's been perfect. I could write how well-written the characters are or how realistic the dialogue and sentiments have been. Or how the descriptive prose makes New York come to life for someone who has never seen it with her own eyes. But really, as usual, the enjoyment comes from being able to place myself in the protagonist's shoes as she discovers the love of her life. Sigh. I'm not done yet, but when I am, I'll be telling everyone I know to go find a copy and disappear for a few hours into a wonderful fantasy world. And it is fantasy, because I haven't even told you the worst part. It's a book about a woman who falls in love with her imaginery friend from childhood. Yup, I've gone off the deep end.