A List of Thoughts

Reading the NY Times does NOT make you SMART

- I belong to a certain bridal site/blog where there is a discussion board. For the most part it's friendly banter, you know, like 'OMG we're date twins!' or "My colors are navy and I don't know what the accent color should be." There's other intense stuff and then there's additional completely non-wedding related things. I seem to like to comment most on the non-wedding things. Recently in a movie discussion, someone quoted the NYT. I was like "Just b/c the NYT says it's so, doesn't mean it is." Seriously though, it's a wedding site and was I going to get into it with this user? Oh hell no. Not worth it. Then I notice that this person is a serial poster/NYT-referencer. While there's nothing wrong with the NY Times or wrong with referencing it, I want to smack her upside the head and say "Get an original idea." C'mon woman, break away fromt the narrow opinion of a sole newspaper. Instead I just rage on this blog. Ha ha ha.

I hate an inflated sense of self

- I always tell Jam that I hate to have my time wasted. Then I usually go on to say that I don't have an inflated sense of self, I am perfectly aware of my own insignificance. I am finding that people I am working with are not getting their own insignificance and the extent to which they are wasting my time. Very frustrating. I keep getting emails from various physician's assistants asking for things that I told them I would send on November 11th. Now do not get me wrong, I respect these people. Their jobs are NOT easy, many of the doctors are divas in the extreme, but seriously, do not hound me for something I told you would be arriving in your inbox on X day. And if you MUST could you at least be polite? The most recent email I received said only this: "Send in the call-in info for this call"
Heh? No please? No thank you? Not even a greeting?
My reply: "Hello, It will be sent out November 11th. Thank you. Allison."
In other words "Incredibly rude tw@t, I told you to wait. Leave me alone. PS this is what a salutation and closing look like."
EH. At least this one was to the point. The last email I received from an assistant berated me for adding her as a "participant" in Friday's conference call when she will not be "participating." Then she goes on to say that she must be CC'd on ANYTHING sent to the doc for whom she works. Uhhh. Yeah, thus you listed as a participant. I know you won't be calling in, but if I don't enter you as a participant, your doctor will never get the proper info. Disaster!!

Emotional Eating

-I recently admitted to emotional shopping. I said that food didn't really do it for me in that post, and said that to fill an empty void after a bad day or a death or something I usually like to charge things on my credit card. Yesterday was a rare exception. I belong to an alumnae club board and I desperately want to leave. I am in charge of the South Shore area and participation in events and sheer interests is abysmal. A-B-Y-S-M-A-L. I get about a 2 % participation rate in my planned events....the club thinks this is great, but out of 400 alumnae? Not so much. Anyways, I decided at this month's board meeting I would prepare the club for my departure in February, which marks the end of my 2-year term. I came up with a bunch of solutions and offered to aid my replacement in any way possible. There was a low rumble in the room when I said "February" - the short version of the story is that at some point in the last almost 2-years, someone decided that all term limits would end in June. So even though I was actually elected in December 2007 (didn't attend meetings til Feb, so I decided to cut the board a break) I can't be finished til June 2010..."unless you move far away" one of the members clarified. California never sounded better. Misery, boredom, and apathy are not good enough excuses to leave. My college friend and fellow board member says that I am being manipulated to stay on the board - this may be quite true. Anyway, last night I bolted from the meeting so I didn't have to socialize with any of the weirdos in attendance (my friend had left already LOL) and I ran to the T. I was flustered and angered and stressing. My heart was pounding. Suddenly I realized that every heartbeat conveyed a message, "McDonald's, McDonald's, McDonald's." I knew right then that a quarter pounder with cheese, fries, and a diet coke would literally solve all my problems. I know feeling that gustatory satisfaction would erase my sorrows. Rarely would I find my solace in a hunk of x-grade meat, rarely am I possessed by a desire for food so strong that I actually don't remember my ride home on the foul MBTA - but last night proved to be the rarest of rare occasions. I sped out of the Braintree T to Five Corners, one of the MOST reliable McDonald's in eastern Massachusetts. I wanted to order a quarter pounder, but accidentally ordered a double quarter pounder. I threw care to the wind as I bit into it and found it still STEAMING HOT. So many of my fast food experiences have let me down with a lukewarm burger. This was so hot it was as if my father had just taken it off the grill...so freakin good. My stress melted away. My headache and hunger melted away. My thighs grew by an inch each and my cholesterol shot up to 250, but good LORD in that moment, life was perfect.