Thanksgiving break was really rough on the waist of my pants (and the behind area). Really rough. We had five thanksgivings in four days and I made it through all of them slightly nauseous, waddling, and damn near incapacitated. On the fourth one I cried because I couldn't get my pants to button.
We hosted our first thanksgiving which was also our first shin-dig in our new house. It was great and we slaved away in the kitchen for almost twelve hours. It was an entirely gluten free thanksgiving and it was delicious; the skeptics agreed. The other four had special dishes made especially for me that were gluten free so I couldn't not eat them.
Although it doesn't help that we've recently gotten into expensive cheese and wine. And by expensive cheese I mean one trip to whole foods and the cheese center shelf by the deli at Publix with the cheap to expensive mix (we went for the inbetween) and by wine I mean really sissy stuff (and some including Arbor Mist, as alex says, "made by women for women") because I don't really like wine.
That probably didn't help the pants problem. Neither does the hip flexor injury that kept me from running for a week.
I did drag my larger than normal ass out of bed this morning before class for a run. With each painful step I reminded myself of my now jiggly booty and the courthouse wedding monday.
Oh, we're getting married early. As in we signed the marriage license yesterday and going to the courthouse monday. Don't worry, I'm not knocked up. But I don need insurance and albeit the county offers good insurance for us paramedics, the basic insurance is forty dollars more than what it would cost for us both to be on his insurance which is a lot better and covers a lot more. That and I need financial aid for school.
Apparently being twenty one with your shit together, a job most people turn into a career, and trying to better yourself to help mankind does not qualify for getting financial help to do so.
The trashy hoodlin's in my class? Well, they DO qualify.
work has been busy and by busy I mean I apparently bring hell with me to work.
We got toned out for a call as soon as I got to the station to start my shift and ten minutes later I was intubating. I proceeded to pace someone, run a stroke alert, wrestle with a combative 'Nam veteran who was hypoglycemic and ETOH, and treat SVT in a psych pt.
It was busy.
He's sick, which means I'll probably die. Usually he coughs once or has a tickle in the back of his throat for half a day and the next thing I know I'm retching until my lips turn blue with a 104 fever and half a foot in the grave. Joke is on him because we're not legally married yet and I'm up to renew my life insurance policy. Ha! (Kidding). So yesterday I made some homemade soup on the crocpot and baekd a loaf of cheese/french bread that I expertly timed to come out of the oven 10 minutes before he made it home from work.
I know, I know, I'm a domestic goddess.
False, our house is a wreck and I'm pretty sure I re-injured my hip flexor when I tripped over his batman boxers that were on the floor. Fail.