photo study: my gynecologist’s office

Since my last photo study was such a success (yes, I am full of myself, thankyouverymuch), I decided to make it a series.  Today's photo study comes from my gynecologist's office.  That would be the offices of Nekkid Lady Doctors R Us, St. Tammany.  

The waiting room.  

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I wouldn't even call this the waiting room.  This is the torture room that knows no time.  The television in the corner plays soap operas or EXCUSE ME, daytime dramas.  I got a daytime drama for you — me waiting in that damn room.  When I was pregnant with Andrew the television played Food Network, which was great, because I was pregnant and always hungry.  Now I'm not pregnant, but I'm also not launching my own makeup line or having an affair with my ex-husband while trying to figure out if my newborn is my husband's or the gardner's — so soaps really aren't that interesting to me.  There are no decent magazines in this room.  I am told it's because they are all taken to the exam rooms by patients.  Yeah.

It's art time!

Y'all know I am nothing if not an art lover, but I simply cannot stand the art in this office.  

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I don't remember the title, but I call it "Blank Stare Chick in a Chair."

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I don't remember the title of this one either, but I call it "Blank Stare Chick Against a Wall."

Onto the art in the my exam room.  I've been a patient here for a little over five years and only twice have I been taken to another exam room.  The exam room has a little tv monitor playing a video of the laser skin resurfacing procedure you can have for Rosacea or acne scars.  It's on a loop.  A loop.  I've seen this video eleventy seven times.  

Oh, and there's art!

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I'm sure this has a perfectly decent title, but I call it "Wednesday Adams at Boredom School."   I dislike this one the most.  I don't know if it's the creepy porcelain doll (I hate porcelain dolls and think they're creep city, just so you know) or chickie's blank stare, which seems even more blank (if that's possible) than the others.  Eeek.  

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Yeah.  You know what I'm going to say.  This chick has white afro puffs on her head for no damn reason.  I've sat in the exam room three times in the past month and stared at this picture.  I have pretend conversations with her.  

Me: What's wrong, afro puffs too tight?

Her: No, I'm just thinking about Birdie.  Wondering where she is, what she is doing, who she is with, is she thinking of me, and will she ever return to me someday?

Me: Let me guess.  Your bird flew out the window?

Her: Yes, Birdie.  

Me.: Sadly predictable, window being open and all.    

Her: Birdie was a gift from Pablo, my Spanish lover.  He gave Birdie to me the night he left for the bullfights.

Me: So, Pablo's gone too?

Her: Si.

Me: I see.

Her: And so I sit here, wondering about Pablo, what he is doing, who he is with, what he is thinking, is he thinking of me, and will he ever return to me someday?

Me: Damn, stop staring at me.  I've been sitting here too long and I watched way too much Kids in the Hall in the '90s.  It's cold in here.  Why are there so many pamphlets?  Is it "pamphlets" or "pamplets?"  Did I put on deodorant this morning?  Yeah, I did.  I wonder if I have time to get my phone out of my purse and sit back down before my doctor comes in.  Why didn't I bring my purse over here?  Ugh.   Do I need laser skin resurfacing?

a story from the hubs

There are a couple of things keeping me from being myself today, (this week, so far this year, whatev) but that's not why you dial up The Kerry Blog every day, now is it?

So, today I have a story from my dear hubs.  I don't often write about the hubs, because I get in enough trouble as it is.  

Here are a few things to know about Mr. Faler: 

  • He first struck up a conversation with me at Pizza Tech in the Student Center of Louisiana Tech when I was standing under a sign that said "Pick Up."  He took the sign as a sign apparently.
  • Favorite beverage: every single beverage ever made.  You know how when you're meeting someone for dinner and you get there first and order them an unsweet tea because you know that's what they drink? I wouldn't even try it.  If I got him a tea, he would have wanted root beer.  If I got him root beer, he would have wanted a real beer.  If I got him a beer, he would have wanted a cosmo.  
  • He never knows what a movie is titled or knows any actor's name.  Actual conversation from before Christmas when he called me from Salt Lake City: "I watched a good movie tonight." Me: "oh, really? What was it?" Hubs: "Iron Man is in it with that black guy who was in that movie."  You see what he did there, right?   Me: "Robert Downey, Jr."  Hubs: "Yeah, he was a reporter.  And the other guy plays a fiddle."  Me: "Will Smith?" Hubs: "No, Ray Charles."  Me: "Hon, I'm pretty sure Ray Charles is deceased."  Hubs: "No, he WAS Ray Charles."  Yeah, that clears it up.  Me: "Oh, Jamie Foxx."  Hubs: "Yes!  That's him!"  Me: "Glad we got to the bottom of that one."  It was The Soloist.
  • What he SERIOUSLY wanted to name our first child: Andromeda.  

Now that know you the hubs a little better, you know that he's as random as it gets.  He lost his glasses and has narrowed down the places he must have left them to exactly Starbucks (watch, I'll find them in his Explorer).  He calls me yesterday to relay this story:

He went to Starbucks to check if he left the glasses there, since he's convinced that's where they are.  

He asks the barista, "have you had any glasses turned in?"

She replies, "sure, could you describe your glasses?"

He says, "they're roundish, made of glass-like material."

Barista says, "we haven't had any like that turned in."

I told him it was Starbucks, not Eyemasters.  

tunes you need Tuesday: more Regina Spektor

Just because.  

Regina Spektor is probably the most unique woman in music today.  I can't get enough of her stuff.  She is a talented songwriter and pianist I wrote about in a previous post, but here are a few more songs, just because. 

"Field Below" is the reason I decided to do Spektor for the post today.  It's melancholy, like my mood, and the lyric "I am awake and feel the ache" is quite appropriate, since it's 2:42 am and sleep eludes me once again for reasons beyond this post.  Here's a good live performance.  

This one is the jam.  "The Consequence Of Sounds."  Because white Jewish chicks should rap more.  For some reason this isn't on iTunes, but it's fantastic.  Listen.  

Because I love this song, bought the entire album on iTunes because the song was one of those "album only" songs — from The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian Soundtrack, "The Call."  It's a great song about friendship.

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Finally, it's "Music Box."  I choose to believe this song is about the monotony of motherhood, but I'm sure I'm wrong.  You tell me– "Life inside the musicbox ain't easy/The mallets hit/The gears are always turning/And everyone inside the mechanism/Is yearning to get out/And sing another melody completely/So different from the one they're always singing/I close my eyes and think that I have found me/But then I feel mortality surround me/I want to sing another melody/So different from the one I always sing."  Anyway, it's sweet and silly and also has the line "the greatest voyage in the history of plastic," so you know that's fun.

Sunday rewind: from yesterday’s drive

The drive back from my hometown was '80s (of course) and since it is a four and a half hour drive, I listened to the all-purpose '80s playlist.  Here for your reminiscing pleasure are two choice videos of said playlist.  

First up, The Gap Band's "You Dropped A Bomb On Me."  If you don't like this song, something's wrong witchu.  Yes, I said "witchu."  If Bush would have played this after 9/11, Bin Laden would have not only surrendered, he would have come out dancin'.  

I like the camo combined with sequins.  That works for me.  The dancing and special effects are awesome.

I defy anyone to find a better '80s video than Cameo's "Word Up."  Not only is "Word Up" one of my favorite phrases, it's one of the best songs evah.  Oh yeah.  Not only does the video feature Levar Burton (hell yeah!), unitards, fingerless gloves, stripping cops, handcuffs, cage dancing, and the spelling of the word WORD, you'll see that the lead singer is wearing a giant red codpiece.  Fanfreakingtastic.  

The music industry today needs more codpieces.  If I'm sure of anything, that's it.

resolutions for 2010

I always say I’m not going to write these.  

In 2010 I resolve to:

  1. never go back to a certain cell phone store in Shreveport again unless they’re giving away iPhones that brew coffee and shoot actual bullets.
  2. write Steve Jobs about making an iPhone that will brew coffee and shoot actual bullets.
  3. stop making faces at babies in the grocery store when their moms aren’t looking.
  4. start paying more attention to the stars of the Disney Channel.  I’m pretty sure one of those teens is the anti-Christ.  Allegedly.
  5. commit to a skin care system for once.
  6. continue my 35-year run of not smoking.
  7. stop referring to my crazy neighbors as “my crazy neighbors.”
  8. bring back Bitch Pants Friday.
  9. at least attempt to rush the stage at Jazz Fest to sing with Aretha.  
  10. wear more tiaras.
  11. not refer to myself as “foxy” after taking a picture of myself wearing a cardboard New Year’s hat.
  12. <img class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a010535d6b7c6970c0120a7986186970b " alt="IMG_1281" src="http://kerryfaler.typepad.com/.a/6a010535d6b7c6970c0120a7986186970b-500wi" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; display: block; " title="IMG_1281"

    /> not to say “hellz yeah” after that.

photo study: my mom and her new cell phone

I gave my mom a new cell phone for Christmas.  Saying she's technologically challenged would be putting it mildly.  Here's a story from 1996 to give you a reference point.  

My parents had recently gotten caller id.  I'd come home on a break from college and both my parents asked me to look at the caller id box (remember when you had to have the box to see who was calling?) because they couldn't clear the info on the display.  My mom said the display showed someone named Melissa with a 555 number had called, but they didn't know a Melissa.  I went to the box, peeled off the display sticker and handed it to my mom.  True story.

So, yesterday afternoon, I gave the phone to my mom.  It's a very basic phone.  Here are the pictures to show her confusion over trying to figure it out after the lesson I gave her on how to use it.

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People, I am clearly a glutton for punishment.  I might as well set up an automated service to answer her questions about the phone.  And just so you know, while she was taking pictures of the kids with the new phone, my grandfather told her she'd better slow down or she would use up all the film.  Don't worry, there will be a photo study of my grandfather's house, per my friend Molly's suggestion.