Turner Harlem Shake

I've been under a rock. Or working. But I didn't know until yesterday what the Harlem shake was. The Turners recorded their own tonight.

I know. Get out your lighters, folks.

Of note: Michael made a cameo appearance as the creepy person eating cereal, staring through the sliding glass door.

Enjoy immensely.

Convos with Nina

My convos with Nina this morning from Richland to Pasco:

(note that her questions, I'm sure, stem from my love of Project Runway)
Nina: were you a fashion model?
Me: No
Nina: were you a model?
Me: No
Nina: were you a designer?
Me: No
Nina: What WERE you, then, before a photographer?
Me: a writer, I guess
Nina: what's a writer? (me: eye roll because I'm appalled) And if you can write, why don't you know how to spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?

2nd convo:

Nina: All I've ever wanted is a little house of my own, with a little car. But I want the car to fly a bit, like a jet. And I want it to look like a Jeep.
Me: Nice

3rd convo:

Nina: You know what I'm really good at? I can shoot a Bulban Arrow.
Me: Do you mean a Bow and Arrow?
Nina: Yeah, a Bulban Arrow. I want to go hunting with one. Or maybe you can buy me one for practice, and I need a dummy to shoot at, too.
Me: (WTH?)

4th convo:

Nina: Will you not let me kiss boys until I'm 20?
Me: Yeah, that sounds about right.
Nina: I haven't decided where I'm going to get married.
Me: You have plenty of time for that.
Nina: And I don't know who I'm going to marry.
Me: Again, plenty of time to find someone. Can we listen to music now?

Nina, 5 going on 13

Queen Nina

After I posted on Facebook about Nina telling Audrey she smelled like poop, our friend, Colleen, told her daughter, Julia, the story as an example of how words can hurt people's feelings. 

After relaying the story, Julia said,  "Oh yeah, I believe it. The last time she (Nina) was here with just Audrey to play, she threw a Chapstick at my head because I wouldn't call her the Queen.  It really hurt."

Sweet. Jesus. Nina...

gyno humor. I dare you to read this.

Ladies, only you can truly appreciate what I'm about to share. Laugh with me. Cry with me. Then remind yourself to say "No, thank you," when your gyno asks if a student can attend your show.

Disclaimer: may contain material that makes males squirm.

There I was, at the gyno, butt-naked, save the paper open-faced "shirt" and 3x3ft piece of paper on my lap. It's one of the most vulnerable positions you can be in. Right?

I take a lot of care in how I position myself in said papers, on said table/bed thing. Open-faced shirt is drawn closed, secured with my left hand. Paper square on lap is pulled around either side of me and then semi-secured with gentle tucking just under my buttocks. The tricky part is pulling that shitty paper towel thing juuuuust enough to hide your butt crack because your back is never to a wall, of course.

Now that you get the setup, here's what happened...

Doc enters, shakes my hand, and asks politely if I mind a student joining us. Doc points to a sign they have in the room about how his practice is assisting blah-blah school with education, etc. Always wanting to seem calm and cool, I say, "No, that's fine." I'm, of course, crossing my fingers and butt-crack for a female, but I should have known that that wouldn't be the case. Not for me. Ever.

Doc says, "I'll bring him in." I reply, "Ok," with a smile and a line of sweat forming on my upper lip.

Please be old. Please be really, really unattractive. Please be so geeky that it's obvious you don't give a shit what my vajay-jay or face look like.

Again, not in the cards for me today.

The KID was in his early 20s, blonde hair, hip glasses, and clearly uncomfortable to be meeting me, too. I wanted to high-five him, talk music or arts and get my paper-clad ass out of there. But, alas, I remained calm and cool.

Now it gets awkward.

Doc, "So, it says here you started your period today?"

Me, "Yep." (mortified)

Doc, "Well, we won't need to do a pap (I breathe a huge sigh of relief) We'll just do a pelvic exam."

Eff. Me.

So for the next 15 minutes of Q&A, I speak as fast and succinctly as I can. I just want to get the hell out of there. I can't even look at the kid standing 2 ft from me. And for those of you who know me well, it won't surprise you that I cracked a few witty jokes that my very professional doc did not find amusing, and since I wasn't looking at the kid, we just all fell into awkward silences. I need to wear a shirt that reads, "If you make me uncomfortable, I will be forced to crack jokes. It's what I do."

Finally we get down to business and doc starts the breast exam. Female nurse now enters so the show is really beginning. I offer to pop popcorn and, again, there's silence. Dammit.

Then doc moves down yonder, kid moves to join him. Awesome. I stare at the wall...anything...besides my audience. Doc says, "Now, this is what a normal cervix looks like." Uncomfortable Kid takes quick peek, says, "Ok," then (bless him) moves back to his position 2 ft from my head/bed.

It's almost over.

Doc does more (ahem) thorough pelvic exam, hits a sore spot that elicits a scream from me. He replies, "I don't think that's a cyst on your ovary, I suspect it's just stool in your colon."

YAY. Now we talk about poop, too!

I'm going to faint. Please leave.

And, finally, I assure him I have no further questions and they leave the room. I still don't look at the kid. No. Way.

I dress, exit quickly (but not before going the wrong direction, only to be led back in correct direction by nurse), and call Britt. "OMG...wanna hear about the most mortifying gyno experience ever?"

Of course she did. And now you have, too. It's your lucky day.