Whole Lotta Nuthin'

That pretty much sums up our week-end activities. And it was wonderful.

Lately our Friday-Sundays have been jam-packed with productivity, bar-hopping, travel, or worst of all, work. And while I generally enjoy most of these things, sometimes its nice to just turn everything off, tune everyone out and wallow in unwashed, solitary introspection. Or maybe not introspection so much as a state of complete anti-social vegetation.

The only foray we made into the civilized world this week-end was to catch Run, Fat Boy, Run at the Drafthouse with our friends Katie and Derek.
It was actually the second time I've seen this movie this month. The first time was at the Paramount during the SXSW film festival when it was introduced by the director, one Mr. David Schwimmer. Its a nice, simple, funny movie, but do yourself a favor and divert your eyes during the blister-popping scene. Why, David, why??

p.s. SXSW Aside: Moby was in town to play a show during the music festival. And I know someone who MADE OUT WITH HIM! THE Moby!

Geeky cute

I won't say who, but apparently she was all cute and smitten afterward. They were apparently texting each other all the next day, and we haven't heard from her since so don't know if there was ever any follow-up. The last we heard, he said he was going to take her on some trip with him. I'm eager to hear any future reports. Ha!

Update on Mr. Mac

I talked to my mom briefly. She's at the hospital getting ready to check him out. Looks like the major stroke risk period has passed (hopefully) without incident. His blood pressure was doing some pretty impressive loop-de-loops, dropping like crazy all Friday night (down to 60/40 at one point!), but they got it stabilized by Saturday morning.

So far she's reporting that he's grumpy but in good health. :) Big sighs of relief all around.

Boys Only Holiday

A few week-ends ago, Greg abandoned me so he could fly out to Miami to meet some of his favorite English boys for some hard drinking, sun-soaked reminiscing. Here are a few photos.

James, G, Stu and Ray

Notice that while other boys drink beer, Greg orders stuff with STUFF in it. What is that? Mint? Sugar cane?


They stayed in the crappiest Days Inn ever. And it was still $150 a night. But since the bars in South Beach stay open until 5 a.m., they didn't see much of their rooms anyway.

Stu doesn't believe in smiling for cameras.




Stu cracks a smiles, but only when Ray is in pain.


Or when he is pinched.

The boys on the streets in various states of drunken confusion.


No words.... ::hanging head in shame::

Ray gets the munchies after all night benders...

...while Stuart studies local real estate markets and debates the economic ramifications of expanding his growing empire...

...and Greg, well Greg just loves everything and everyone...

Obviously, a good time was had by all. And Greg is already talking about the next boys' week-end in a year or two. All I can say is that I have got to get in a girls' week-end before he makes it to round 2 or I will never forgive myself!

p.s. Only a guy could spend an entire week-end in a new town on the coast and not take a single picture of the beach. Or even daylight for that matter...

Quick Recovery, Mr. Mac!

Our wedding, April 29th, 2005

Mr. Mac, or Brent as most people call him, has been my mom's partner in life, love, and crime for the last 20 years. I don't call him Brent and never have because when I met him at 11-years-old he was introduced to me as Mr. McAfee. I'm from Texas. This is what we do. We call people mister and missus. We say yes, sir and no, ma'am. Its respectful. Even if the person in question is your mom's new boyfriend.

Needless to say, he's been a constant fixture in my life, almost two-thirds of it to be exact. And over the years calling him Mr. McAfee became too cumbersome so it was quickly shortened to Mr. Mac. And that's what I've always called him. It's been branded into my brain, and there's no changing that now. This seems to disturb some people, namely my husband, who finds himself calling Brent Mr. Mac by accident because he hears it so often from me. Sorry.

And get over it. :)

This morning my mom and Mr. Mac drove to the hospital at 5 a.m. for a scheduled carotid endarterectomy.

At a doctor's appointment a few months ago, they found Mr. Mac's arteries were majorly blocked - actually something like 90%+ blockage. This is not good. This means that blood flow is greatly diminished and also that at any time the plaque of whatever the hell was blocking his artery could become dislodged and cause a major stroke. This is serious business.

After discussing options, the initial plan was to surgically insert a stent, basically a hollow straw placed in the artery that serves to open up the passages for blood to circulate more freely. He's already had one of these a few years ago from previous problems. My understanding is that this is minimally invasive surgery, although still scary and not without side-effects. However, when they imaged the carotid artery with an angiogram on March 1st, the doc showed my mom pictures of a twisted, mangled mess. "Tortuous" was the actual word the doc used. Apparently this blockage has contorted his arteries to the point that the doctors said there was no way they could possibly insert a stent. His vessels were too convoluted. So instead they're left with the CEA as the best option.

The easiest way to describe this operation, the way my mom described it to me, is that the docs go in, open up the artery, scrape out all the crap, and then sew him back up. Hopefully this will alleviate much of the blockage and remove most of the plaque that poses a danger of stroke.

(Wow. I just noticed how shallow my breathing has gotten. Deep breathes, Larisa...)

So I talked to my mom at noon today. He was out of surgery and doing well. But the doc said it was the hardest CEA he's ever done. And this is one of the best docs in town. There's no way they're discharging him tomorrow as originally planned. The next 12-24 hours are critical. There is still the possibility that he might have a stroke so he's under careful watch during this time.

Right now he's in the critical care unit because there was no room in intensive care. Luckily, this is the same hospital where my mom worked as a nurse for 25+ years. Her old friend Minny from the recovery room still works there and snuck her in to see him a little early. Regular visiting hours are pretty generous so she's been by his side as much as she can be. Leah, his sister, has also been there keeping vigil. I'm so thankful for this - Mom needs the distraction. She's been fighting panic attacks since about 3:30 this morning but has managed to keep sane and talked herself down from a few potential break-downs.

When he's finally discharged and given the green light, Mom has plans to kidnap him, take him up to the cabin in Ruidoso, turn off his phone, and force the bull-headed man to rest, relax, and recuperate.

Typical cabin scene of rest and relaxation, Thanksgiving 2006

I'm sending all my good thoughts and, yes, prayers his way. I'd appreciate it if you did too.

Guess What I Got in the Mail Yesterday?

ANTS! My much anticipated new pets. All 25-30 of them that I ordered weeks ago. Its time to bust out that gel farm that has been sitting neglected in the corner of my bedroom for the last month.

How do I get this damn lid off??

The directions suggest that you stick the tube, their turbulent home over the last few days, into the refrigerator for 15 minutes to sedate the ants before attempting any relocation process. But after their long, jostling trek to my house via the USPS, I figured further torture would just be cruel. They needed liberation. And soon.

However, as I tried to open the tube and accidentally shook it a little too vigorously, they got all riled up and pissed and started scrambling way too quickly for my liking. I lost my nerve. So into the fridge they went for 10 minutes. And guess what. It totally worked. They were in a little coma-like state, so much so that I was afraid I might have killed them. But no, I saw their little limbs barely twitching so my conscience was cleared.

I tapped them out onto the gel, and just as I was about to try retrieving that little bit of carrot, they suddenly awakened to more frenzied creepy crawling. Forget the carrot, get the lid on. Pronto!Locked and loaded

My sister and I tried to count them, but they're a bit too stealthy for census-taking. We think there are 25. And they're all ladies. And they're my new babies. The least I can do is name them.

So... Please allow me to introduce you to the clan: Eunice, Geraldine, Mabel, Beatrice, Imogene, Phyllis, Loretta, Mae, Gertrude, Edna, Mildred, Marjorie, Gladys, Thelma, Ethel, Wilma, Agnes, Bertha, Viola, Louella, Francine, Hilda, Flo, Delores, and Winifred. They will be our house guests for the next 1 to 3 months.This totally creeps you out, doesn't it?

Check it out! It glows! Adding that extra touch of geekiness.

Entranced by my ants...

Thanks, Shelley!

SXSW Hipster Style - a Pictorial Tutorial

Gentlemen:

• slightly greasy, unkempt hair
• chains and other metallic accessories
• tight jeans that accentuate a complete lack of any butt whatsoever
• ironic t-shirt, again, tightly fitted

Ladies:

• flowy summer dress
• cowboy boots
• huge, no, I mean HUGE earrings
• extra eye liner
  

Everyone:

• disaffected look of boredom and/or counter-cultural superiority
• tattoos
• stretched lobes
• sometimes when feeling extra-specially festive, it may be necessary to bust out the furry, multi-colored go-go boots with matching bikini

Obviously this festival afforded us an inordinate amount of people-watching opportunities, one of my all-time favorite pastimes. It was awesome. But, seriously, I've never seen so many super-skinny boys in my life. Eat something! My sister and I, who unfortunately both inherited the 'ghetto booty' gene, have enough to go around. We were walking around trying to find one decent visible butt amongst all these hipster boys but, realizing the utter futility, soon gave up. After abandoning our search, my sister turns to me and says, "You know, between the two of us, we could probably ass 5 or 6 of these guys." And you know what, it's so true.

Celebrity Stalking

Hmmm... Rumor has it that the ever-so-yummy Mr. Brad Pitt may be shooting scenes from his upcoming movie at the Capitol on Friday.

Local Brangelina sitings have also been sprouting up over the last several weeks. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love Austin?)

Soccer D-R-A-M-A

Last night we lost an exciting soccer game that kicked off with yet another spectacular fall, this time with my head sliding dangerously toward the wall at an extremely high velocity. The thunk could be heard from clear across the field, followed shortly by the simultaneous sound of synchronized sharp intakes of breath from a few team members thinking the worst. Luckily I only have a bit of a bruise this morning. No concussion, Ma! Thank God for my thick skull! It has saved my butt on many occasions.

This soccer business! Thrilling stuff! And sometimes also explosive. After the match two team members blew up at each other, and one is now threatening to quit. The other, like the ass that he sometimes is, screamed back with an offer to pay her fees right then and there if she wanted to leave. Ugh. Not helpful.

We're going to try to play ambassador and calm people down - a coming to Jesus meeting, if you will. We've had one of these before when players needed to be reined in, but I don't know if it'll work out this time. Oh, the drama... :)

Deep Southern Liberals

This week-end Greg and I ambushed our friends Karl and Terri in Petal, Mississippi as a belated birthday surprise. Our stealthy plan of action was coordinated by Terri. She had been bursting at the seams for weeks trying to keep this secret, and those text updates barely contained her excitement.

We, along with our friends Mark & Brianna and Mike & Amy from Florida, drove through the night and arrived at their garage door at 12:30 a.m. on Thursday evening. Karl had gone to bed at 11 so the plan was to bust into his bedroom and scream SURPRISE! with the camera rolling. But the dogs gave us away, which actually is probably a really good thing considering he sleeps in the nude. No one needs to see that... He awoke, dressed in his robe (thankfully), and peered out the window yelling Who's out there? Who's out there? in the most threatening voice he could muster. When we jumped out, it took a few seconds for him to realize he wasn't dreaming. But in true Karl fashion, he recovered quickly and before we knew it, 4 a.m. had rolled around and we were all drunk and exhausted. Everyone, except Karl, who was ready to kick-start a poker game.

It's been a great week-end filled with lots of drink and bbq. Karl has totally and completely embraced the whole Deep Southern living where bbq and grilling are concerned. He has a huge smoker and is working on perfecting his technique and recipes. This is an undertaking he takes very seriously. Almost as seriously as the cowboy boots he bought when he first moved to Austin from Essex. No telling what further transformation will bring.

He and Terri moved here about 2 years ago, and while they've been enjoying their jobs, the new house, the new pups, the grill, they still haven't found a niche of good friends. Its tough being a liberal in deep South, small town Mississippi without coming under constant fire as being a commie, a traitor, or a heathen. Terri has been suffering in oppression more so than Karl. He, at least, works in a department with culturally diverse professors who haven't been born and raised 'round these parts. Terri, on the other hand, works in an office and has had a hard time finding people who aren't ultra-conservative Christians and convinced that Obama is the anti-Christ (no, seriously. The anti-Christ! Said by more than one person! People she interacts with on a regular, daily basis). The poor thing even personally and deeply insulted one lady in the office when Terri said she wasn't going to take Karl's last name after their marriage. Terri might as well have told her she worshiped Satan and was going to burn down all 23 Baptist churches along the road on her drive home tonight. How do you deal with mentalities like that?

Karl also gets pissed off on her behalf. When they're together, new acquaintances shake Karl's hand. They make introductions, look him in the eye, crack some jokes. But Terri, she might as well not exist at all. She can be standing RIGHT THERE, and she's completely overlooked as part of the scenery or a mere extra appendage, something you briefly note but don't acknowledge. Karl actually has to stop conversations, turn to his wife and introduce her as a living, breathing being capable of human interaction. Its so damn frustrating.

I know. I'm from Texas too. Even in Austin, I've experienced that recently.

Wait a minute... How did I get on this tirade?

Anyway, this week-end serves as a much needed reprieve for many of us, I'm sure. I'm just sorry we have to leave already tomorrow.

Frou-Frou Coffee Fans

My lab-mate Jimmy and I share a deeply religious love of two things in this world:

1. Travel
and
2. Pretentious, wholly unnecessary yet drool-inducing, yuppie-puppie gadgets with which to further clutter our kitchens

The other day Jimmy stumbled upon a new appliance that had us both wide-eyed and excited. Behold, the Bialleti Mukka glass cappuccino maker from William-Sonoma.


Its a stove-top espresso/latte/cappucino maker. People who love frou-frou coffee will love this little toy. With the glass dome, it has the added appeal of hypnotizing us with its engineering brilliance - you can watch as your drug of choice percolates up and froths the milk. Not convinced? Take a look at the website. There's even a video! Then tell me you're not at least a teensy bit tempted.

I do actually own a regular, boring old Mukka. But who wants that when you could have one that makes your espresso and froths your milk too!

If its space that's the problem, this is clearly the wiser choice. One super-deluxe Mukka, minus one old boring one, minus a milk frother (yes, I own one of those too) equals twice as much kitchen space!

Now. How to convince my husband that this purchase of $99.95 + tax could actually be an economical one...

Presenting My Handsome Husband!

Remember when I was reveling in the thought of Greg wearing make-up? Well, here's the product of that day. Click on the photo for the larger version.



Gosh, he's dreamy... Don't you just want to lick your screen right now? Go on - you know you want to!


One of these 3 shots could possibly be immortalized on his company website. While most people were photographed in their lab coats, the photographer, obviously someone with exemplary taste, said Greg had such lovely blue eyes that he should keep his scrubs for part of the shoot.

And then they were converted into black & whites. :)

SXSW Film Festival

While Greg's been away, my sister and I have been taking full advantage of the SXSW film festival.

The films started last Friday and just ended yesterday. That's 10 days of theater hopping and film watching (interspersed with grading of lab reports whenever possible - no, really... I have evidence).

That's also 10 days of sitting in on my backside for hours in dark theaters, some of which serve delicious although greasy and toxic food. The only exercise we've gotten is walking up and down 6th Street from the Paramount to the Convention Center to the Ritz to stand in line for an hour, hoping to get in. This just can't be healthy. Detox is definitely on the horizons.

After 10 days, we've managed to see 27 films, 5 celebrities, countless hipsters & pale, skinny rockers, every shade of dyed human hair possible, endless tattoos, and more lobe stretching than I ever needed to see in my life. Its been surreal.

I'm exhausted and also feeling slightly ill. But it was so worth it. :)

And I just got a call from Greg. He was able to get on an earlier flight so his plane touches down in 52 minutes! Yay!

Ever-So-Faint Baby Pangs

Last week-end, Greg and I were invited to meet baby August at our friends' Claus & Morgan's place. Or maybe we invited ourselves... I don't remember which. Anyway, we went to meet the tiniest 2.5-week-old baby ever and here are some pics.


August was a little forward and made a pass at the boobies so I repositioned him such that there'd be less confusion for everyone.


Although Greg looks deeply confused here, he has, in fact, seen a baby before. He's pulling this face because August got a little fussy soon after I passed him over. And Greg is frustrated because he sees this as some deep cosmic sign that all babies inherently hate him and he will forever be a crap father and has no chance of ever raising a well-adjusted, loving brood of his own and his mere physical contact with any tiny one will always automatically bring them to squirms and crying. Always. And this face is also accompanied by a little whimpering, slightly pouty groan that might as well say Oh, I will never ever ever be a good daddy. I just know it.

But I have to give the guy credit. He persevered. He held on and repositioned and rocked and paced until August was finally happy and comfortable once again. All in all, Greg cuddled with that little darling for 10 minutes, which probably amounted to more baby time than he's ever experienced in his whole life put together.

I, for one, know you're going to be a great daddy, babe. :)


And one last recent photo of August decked out for St. Patty's day.

Honestly, how freaking adorable is that!

The Down-side of Mutual Co-Dependece:

desparately missing him already, having just dropped him off an hour ago.

He's probably still sitting on that plane at the Austin airport and hasn't even left the runway yet. But he will soon and then I have to contend with 3 nights of pillow-hugging, instead of Greg-hugging. Yes, its totally lame and pathetic and sappy, but I can't help myself. Since marrying almost 2 years ago, we haven't spent a single night apart. In the 5 years we've been attached at the hip, we've only been separated once before when I had to go up to NIH in Bethesda, Maryland for training. Needless to say, I'm ridiculously sentimental and pining at this point. I think he is too, but of course, to a much lesser degree. Besides his consolation is that later tonight he'll be hanging out on the beach with his boys. In South Beach, Florida. During spring break. Let me say that again. During. Spring. Break. Why did I agree to this again?

But he's a good guy and deserves a nice boys-only vacation. Its been almost a year since we were in Grand Cayman with Ray and Emma. He hasn't seen Stuart since our wedding. The last time he spent any time with James was 8 years ago! And they'll have to live it up to compensate for another inevitable long drought of no boy-time. I'm just not going to think about all the fake, perky boobies and beach bunny bodies he'll be surrounded with down there. Nope, not going to think about. Not one little bit...

God, I miss that guy...

Spring Break Survival Kit

As I arrived on campus this morning and made my way through the West Mall, or The Gauntlet as I like to call it, I was handed a "Spring Break Survival Kit" by a co-ed representing University Health Services. It was a green, hard-shell, zippered sunglasses case. And when I opened it, this is what I found:

• one sample packet of Banana Boat sunscreen - thank you very much
  
• one condom, wrapped in a cover printed with the assurance "Relax, we've got you covered"
• one small tube of ID Glide sexual lubricant
• one handy-dandy blood alcohol calculator, subdivided for men and for women
  
• a card demonstrating the "Bacchus Maneuver", apparently the correct position in which drunken and unconscious friends should be placed so as to prevent asphyxiating on their own vomit (This, by the way, is one of Greg's greatest fears.) On the back are listed the warning signs of alcohol poisoning and a somber reminder that "Friends don't let friends die drunk"
• a card advertising confidential HIV and STD testing
• and finally a card explaining emergency contraception
  

I see all this and I think to myself God, I should have had more youthful indiscretions when I had the chance. Not that I particularly want to contend with STD's or drinking myself into oblivion, of course. But as it was, my 18-to-22-year-old-undergrad self kept entirely too busy being such a damn Good Girl. I never once drank so much that I woke up with blocks of lost memory. There were no orgies or anonymous sex. There were no hard-core drugs. I didn't even know what pot smelled like until I moved up to Boulder - trying it at least once is a prerequisite for living there, by the way. Thinking back, I let so many debaucherous opportunities slip by. I mean, some really fantastically juicy stuff too. Things I would always remember. Things that bring a naughty smile to my face until I remind myself that I didn't actually take advantage of them.

Like a chump, I abstained and kept at least a semblance of virginal innocence (if not actual virginal innocence). I'm sure I made Mama real proud though.

Ah, missed opportunities. ::sigh:: Whattaya gonna do?

Crap Daughter-in-Law

If I were a better daughter-in-law, I'd remember that today is Mother's Day in Britain. And if I were a great daughter-in-law, I'd remind Greg of this little fact so he could call his mum and shower her with familial love and gratitude for all she's done to bring him up to be the extraordinary man he is today. (Sorry, Ewa.)

But as it is, I am completely reliant on the annual barrage of sappy commercials in order to remember the American equivalent. (Sorry, Mom.)

Just so you know, in case you've forgotten...

We LOVE you both very, very much!