Mama Voted for Obama!

Mama Voted for Obama!

Casey's BFF

While Chuck and I spent the night in the hospital a couple of weeks ago, Casey spent two nights with Anna and Lucy and his BFF Milo. When Milo came over for dinner with A&L on Saturday, they greeted each other happily; then Milo took ALL of Casey's toys out of his basket. We're still finding them here and there. He's a sweet puppy. Here are photos of Casey and Milo at the sleepover. I think Milo is trying to look tall in the second photo.

Gosh I'm a Good Cook!

Especially when the ingredients are right. This past Saturday, we invited Anna and Lucy for a Valentine's dinner. They brought a gorgeous chocolate mousse cake, and I made -- are you ready for this -- seared venison medallions and pork medallions in a wild mushroom and portobello port sauce, nicely roasted rustling potatoes, and beautiful haricots verts. Lots of terrific red wine and French press coffee rounded out the evening. Ahhhh.

Let me know if you want the recipe. Special thank you to Russell Hall for the perfectly prepared and marinated venison medallions. He's every bit as good a butcher as he is a hunter; I'd rank him right up there with my dad for his excellent, careful skills.

I'm De-Loitte-ed to Be Here!

Started the new gig on Monday. Two days in a very snazzy orientation program where I learned how to get around, where things are on a top-notch intranet, who does what, how to get technology and communications. Today had my first meeting with my two key bosses, the Deloitte regional managing partner, and the head of marketing for our region.

I'm loving the fab building downtown, shown here. Deloitte just moved into floors 36 through 45 before Christmas, so everything is brand new. I'm on 45, totally styling. Anyway, very glad for a new year with a new job. And it's a 2.3 mile commute. More than that, for the first three days, my driver has dropped me off and picked me up; I'll figure out parking next week.

Icing on the cake is the number of people I know from old Andersen days. I don't think I've ever been hugged this much in a new job. Or probably any. But this is fun.

Bulletins as they occur.

The Next Rule

Ok. Y'all. I've been married 23 years. I know. Many of you lose bets every time the calendar passes 12 October ("A day of great discovery," said McCabe, when he proposed. To which I replied, "Columbus thought he was in India." But never mind.)

So he's been sick for a few days. He isn't sick often. He works out, which keeps viruses and such burned out of your system. (Did you know that?) And he isn't around a lot of people every day, so he doesn't touch doorknobs, elevator buttons, and other surfaces that harbor bacteria (ewww). But he's had a virus, obviously.

Nevertheless, he is now well. Or at least on his way. And he has been in an absolutely filthy mood all day. Why? I DO NOT KNOW. Am I the one who had a SUCKY New Year's Eve? Am I the one who missed going to my favorite place--my brother's house in Helotes? Am I the one whose fifty-f*****g-fifth birthday passed UNNOTICED? Am I the one who starts ANOTHER new goddam job on Monday and is stressed beyond speech?

Yes to all of the above.

So why is HE the one who is all pissy?

I don't know either. But here's the rule.

My next husband is a hologram. That's it. Don't even think about an alternative. I'm done.

New Rule

My next book will compile all of my important rules. You know, like "No one can get inside anyone else's marriage." And, "We don't drink at lunch." Important stuff like that.

So here's my new one: "To determine how long it takes to get over a hangover, take your age and divide by 20. Round up. Multiply by 12 and add 5 for each 20 years of age or fraction thereof."

Example: If you are 20, it takes 17 hours to get over a hangover. (20 divided by 20 = 1 x 12 = 12+5). Got it? If you are 60, it's 60 divided by 20, which is three. 3 x 12 = 36 and 36 + 15 = 51, which means you are too old to get bombed, as it takes two days to get over it.

This is Arithmetic, and as the t-shirt says, "I'm an English major. You do the math."

Has Everyone Been to Amy's Blog?

Here it is. Don't miss it. She is posting every story she ever wrote. They are all worth reading and some of them will put you in the floor.

http://amymurphy-amy.blogspot.com/

New Year's Eve Sucks.

At least this one does. Chuck is sick, running a 99.4 elevated temp, spent the night in the loo. Poor guy. Poor me, also. We were going to San Antonio to party at my brother's house. And "party" is indeed a verb at Tom Wente's. Oh geez those people have fun. Anyway I am sorely disappointed to be staying here, probably watching Ryan Seacrest and Fergie wheel Dick Clark out right at midnight eastern.

Sigh.

Happy New Year to everyone anyhow. I think it's going to be a heckuva year.

Good News But I Cried Anyway.

This past Tuesday was my two-year mammogram. I made an "A." That means that I'm now officially a "two-year survivor." We've discussed before how much I dislike that survivor term; I prefer "unwilling participant."

Anyhow, Tuesday came and went. Happily. We had Carol and Rob for dinner and I played with my new stove like it was a Barbie doll. Also played "set the table" for a couple of hours, thoroughly pleasing myself. C & R brought gifts and good wine, as usual, and we had a lovely evening catching up with them.

Wednesday I went back to MD Anderson because I didn't have time on Tuesday to get my Zometa infusion -- this is the study drug I'm on that builds up bone density torn down by the Arimidex (the super anti-cancer oral drug that I'm on for the next three years). Zometa has also been shown to further lower the recurrence rates in HER2 cancer patients, so that's another plus. I'm on a 36-month study, infusion every three months.

I bopped up to the infusion clinic, whistling Christmas Carols, blackberry in one hand and a grande non-fat chai in the other. Got to the waiting area, sat down, surveyed all of those very sad people in various stages of illness, looked into the eyes of their anxious caregivers, heard the hushed tones of fear and worry, and burst into tears.

I was just so heartsick for all of them. I wished I could tell them that they'd be ok. I wanted to show them my hair, how pretty it is, and to tell them how hard I'd sobbed when it came out in my hands in the shower. I wanted to tell them how I'd gone hiking three weeks after finishing chemo and how hilarious it was that I was immune to the swarms of mountain mosquitos, and how hilarious it wasn't that I almost didn't make it down the mountain. But I did make it down the mountain, and I wanted them to know that. I thought maybe it would help. Or maybe not.

I finally called my brother to tell him my good news from the previous day, and got myself straightened up during the call. I also told him that there is a big New Year's Eve party at his house again this year, even though he hasn't yet extended an invitation to any of us. Stacy and I have already decided we're going, so he and Cheryl need to get ready.

Merry Christmas everyone. If you read this blog, you are part of the reason I celebrate this year.