Our mailman is psychic!

As I was leaving our condo, I happened to see the mailman. I knew I'd seen this guy a couple times before, but we'd never said more than "hello" to each other. The gorgeous spring weather contributed to my good mood, so I went way beyond the customary "hello" and asked, "How are you?" (Deep, I know.) We both agreed that we were in good condition. His next question, however, blew me away.

"How's...uh...Tom?"

What?! How does he know my boyfriend's fiance's name?! Yes, he delivers our mail, but our mailbox isn't by our condo. It's a communal mailbox on the other side of the road--just one tiny cubby among many other cubbies. Our condo faces the woods so there's no way he could've seen me walking from our door to the parking lot (thus seeing our address and mentally connecting our names to my face).

I'm dumbfounded. Our mailman must be psychic!

The man's definitely getting a Christmas card this year.

Princess, Paradise, and Proposal!

For two weeks this past April, I experienced non-stop princess treatment. First, Tommy and I went on a Princess cruise to Princess Cays, St. Maarten, St. Thomas, and Grand Turk. The ship was gorgeous, the food was decadent, the service was excellent, and the islands were stunning! Here are some pictures from our week in Paradise:

 

Professional Pictures: Part of the Princess Treatment (above)

Stunning St. Thomas

my new ass of a friend

a view of Magens Bay from a hilltop

Magens Bay beach

I'm stronger than I look.

Tommy's really strong.

On Wednesday, April 20th we docked in St. Maarten. The first thing I noticed once we stepped off the ship was a store called Diamonds International. (They have countless stores throughout the Caribbean.) I asked Tommy if we could go inside and look around. I figured I'd show him the type of engagement ring I like. This is something we'd done before. After looking at every single ring in the store--and trying on about a dozen--I finally found a ring a loved! That's when Tommy bought the ring. They sized the ring as he completed the paperwork. Meanwhile, a thousand thoughts were running through my mind. "What does this mean? Does this mean we're engaged? Because he didn't ask me... Is he going to pocket the ring, take it home, and propose a few months down the line? That'd be weird." Once they sized the ring, they brought it back out and handed it to Tommy. He looked into me eyes and asked me to marry him. Of course, I said yes!

Tommy excitedly told me that he had to tell his dad.

"He knew about this?!" I asked.

"No! I didn't even know," he revealed. We had a good laugh.

We were so excited to share the news with everyone, but we couldn't just pick up our cell phones and dial our families. (Not for the fortune we'd be charged every minute!) Instead, I took a picture of the gorgeous ring on my hand and sent the image to our parents.  My dad and Tommy's parents replied immediately. We could sense the elation through their text messaged replies!

My mom still hadn't replied by the time we went on our scheduled tour of the island. Before starting up the bus, he walked up and down the narrow aisle and announced in a charming accent, "I want you to know that you are in the presence of a movie star! I am RRRaphael!" He rolled the R in his name like a drum. He showed us around the gorgeous island and gave us a timely tip before dropping us off to enjoy some shopping in the French capital of Marigot. A store there allowed each visitor a free 2 minute phone call to the US!

I immediately called my mom's workplace to see if she'd received our picture message. I greeted the person who answered the phone and asked to speak to my mother. "Congratulations, Panthea! Your mom called us and told us the news! She picked up a cake and she's bringing it here to celebrate." Holy cow, good news spreads quickly! After confirming that our immediately family knew,  I posted the news on Facebook and got tons of happy responses. (Technology! How bizarre.)

I took at least a half dozen pictures of my bejeweled hand.
"Look how gorgeous it is with the mountains in the background!
Look at it with the ocean in the background!
Look how pretty it is with the beach in the background!"

For the rest of the trip, we went into every Diamonds International store we came across, just to make sure there was nothing I liked more. At our last port of call, Grand Turk, Tommy found a ring that he fell in love with. It had a massive center stone--not my taste at all! He must've made me try on that ring ten times. He tried everything to get me to like that ring. "Look how it sparkles in the sun," he said to me. The saleswomen didn't know what to do. "Sell her the ring!" he begged them. Nothing could've made me trade in my beautiful, petite ring for that mammoth monster of a stone. Tommy finally relented, but for the rest of the day he kept telling me how heartbroken he was that I didn't let him get that ring.

Our ship returned to Florida on Easter Sunday. We had planned to pick Tommy's grandmother up in Boca Raton and drive with her to Tommy's parents' home near Orlando. That morning, Tommy called Grandma to let her know we were back. He spoke to her for a few minutes. When he got off the phone, he said to me, "Everyone cares about you! Grandma said she couldn't wait to see you."

I half-jokingly told him to get used to it. "It's all downhill for you, baby!" The wedding is all about bride, I explained. People will buy me gifts and say they're for us. When we have children, it'll be all about Mommy and the baby. This idea was further reinforced once we arrived at his parents' house, where the princess treatment continued! Mom and his sister Lisa had decorated the entire house for us! The tables were decked with flowers and the walls were draped with banners congratulating us on our engagement. (Let's be honest, the flowers weren't for him...nor were the pink bunny decorations.) 

With just a few days' notice, they had even bought us me gifts! Mom and Lisa gave me beautiful Swarovski crystal figurines and a heart-shaped picture frame. (What do you think? Is it safe to conclude that these gifts were for me?)

After a beautiful vacation, we finally returned home to New York and quickly went back to our daily routine. My first day back to school was fun! As soon as I walked into class, friends and classmates started talking at once. "Panthea!" "There she is!" "She's here!" "Yay!" "Everyone's looking at your hand!" My 15 minutes seconds of fame were delightful.

It has been an incredible (and incredibly busy) few months! Tommy and I had a beautiful engagement party a few weeks ago. Our families and friends joined us. Two of my relatives from overseas even came to celebrate with us! My favorite cousin in the world, Assefeh, surprised me with a visit! She's like a sister to me so I was thrilled to see her. Tommy's dad gave a wonderful toast during dinner that still makes me tear up when I think about it. I'm a very lucky girl and I'm so thankful!

By the way, you may be interested in knowing the story behind how we fell in love. To make a long story short, let me just say that I knew from the beginning he was the one for me. You see, we both have only four toes on each foot.

So, my mom has this friend...

Disclaimer to all of my future employers and New York University, to which I intend to apply for graduate school: If you must read this, please consider my exquisite command of the English language and not the content of this story. Thank you.

One of my mom's friends just told me a hilarious, mortifying story! I have a headache from laughing so hard. Unfortunately, I cannot adequately capture the hilarity of this story with written words, so you'll have to use your brilliant imagination to supplement what I've written.

My mom's friend was at work and felt the sudden urge to use the restroom. (Maybe this friend had eaten one too many prunes or maybe her intestines were just feeling vengeful that day. Who knows?) She fought valiantly to contain her bowels as she hop-skipped to the restroom. Unfortunately, her heroic efforts were in vain. Yes, the unthinkable happened...inside her underwear...and down her legs. With new found determination, she quickened her step and at last made it to her safe haven, the restroom. She rushed into a stall, closed the door, and analyzed the situation. There was no hope for her panties; they were dead on arrival. She threw them in the garbage. Next, she assessed her pants. They would definitely survive, but they were in critical condition and in need of immediate treatment. She had to wash them.

Picture this: She had to leave the privacy of her stall without underwear, holding her pants in her hands. She spot-scrubbed her pants in the sink, praying no one would walk in, for her own sake and theirs. Afterward, she returned to the stall to don her wet pants. Before returning to the workplace, she put her jacket on to cover the circle of wetness on the back of her pants. She warded off people's questions. "I'm cold!" she lied. She periodically touched the back of her pants to monitor the drying process. A pharmacist caught her! "Why do you keep touching your butt?!" he asked her, laughing.

Thankfully, my mom's friend has a good sense of humor. She was able to laugh about this later.

By the way, the friend in this story is not me. If this had happened to me, I would absolutely tell you. You see, I have no shame.

"Don't quote me on the hippo."

Tonight, after living together for over 2 1/2 years, I learned something new about my boyfriend, Tommy. While we were driving home from dinner, I learned that he is fiercely anti-koala bears. His hatred is unfounded. Unless you've personally been mauled by a koala, how could you hate a creature this cute?

"Once I realized they were fucking drug addicts," Tommy explained, "I was totally anti-koala!" My boyfriend explained to me that koalas only eat eucalyptus leaves, which he stated are addictive. "If they don't have eucalyptus, they don't eat. Koalas are vicious because they're always in withdrawal."

I taken aback by the degree of disgust evident in his voice. "Wow. You're really passing judgment," I observed. I pulled out a pen and paper and started recording our conversation for this blog. "You hate koalas!"

"I do!" he replied, emphatically. "You hear people saying, 'Aww, I want a baby koala,' but they don't know koalas are vicious drug addicts!"

"Baby koalas are cute!" (Another keen observation on my part.)

"Anyway, koalas are fucking drug addicts. That's all. That's my point. That's why they have such a nasty disposition. Oh, you know what else?! The hippopotamus! It has the same koala issue." Tommy saw that I was fervently writing down what he had just said. He added, uncertainly, "Don't quote me on the hippo."

When we got home I decided to see whether this "koala issue" was even true. I have Google set to auto suggest; as I begin typing in a search, Google shows related suggestions based on other users' common searches. Here's an actual screen shot I took of the result:

Um... "koalas for sale" and "koalas chlamydia"? I'm not quite sure what to say.

Please and Thank You

Dear Self,

Please be asleep within a half hour. You have nine hours of class tomorrow.

Yours truly,
Self

Chicken broccoli are my most like food too.

I am starving. In fact, my hunger pangs are so intense that I can't decide what to eat. I would gladly cook but there's no meat defrosted and I'm not an herbivorous rabbit.

I quickly went through the options in my mind: Pizza toppings without the crust initially appealed to me, but that feels more like a hasty snack than a meal. A nice bunless Whopper from Burger King came to mind, but I had a burger for dinner last night. Salad from Wendy's? Nah, I had that for lunch on Friday. The insides of a few tacos from Taco Bell? No, their "meat filling" is mostly starchy filler. Aha! How about Chinese takeout? Steamed chicken with broccoli, no sugary sauce, no starchy rice. I'll make my own low-carb stir fry sauce for it. Done! Chinese it is.

I rummaged through our drawers for a takeout menu. Nothing. I Googled "Chinese near 11727" and found Golden Wheel Chinese Restaurant, conveniently located 1.4 miles from our front door. The place happened to have two reviews so I skimmed through them. Spell check can only do so much.

Reviews:

1. "I have tried their food for 9 years already. Their service and the food always be good and fresh. The place always cleaner than anywhere, that's very important. I especially like Chicken Broccoli and General Tao's chicken. Cream cheese fried wonton and the white meat dumpling are our family's favorite appetizers. I came from city and is not easy for me to find the tast like there, that's the one. Very good."
2. "We can't wait to go back and they are the best.: They are our favourite chinese restaurant. Their sesame chicken and General Tsos's chicken, also the chicken broccoli are our most like food. Their place is so clean and their service is excellent which we ever seen in the other chinese place. Everytime we be there, their food is always fresh. They are family owned all the time."

My comments: 

1. I like it when food be good and fresh. I'm glad you've found the tast that's the one like there.
2. You mean they never temporarily sell the place for the weekend? I see... So they're family-owned all the time, not just on weekdays!

That's it, I'm convinced! I be there tonight.

Monday's Midterm Paper (and random tidbits about procrastination)

My policy on papers is that I absolutely, positively cannot start them until three days before they're due. (Last time I pushed it to 12 hours before the paper was due. I got four hours of sleep and an A.)

Sometimes I procrastinate by reading internet articles on how to avoid procrastination. Needless to say, none of those tips have worked.

Procrastination, here I come! ...Later.

I'm worth more than a murderer.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of a documentary I watched in my Institutional Oppression policy class today. The video focused on a murder victim and her murderer, who was also accused of killing two other people. The victim, Risa, was sexually abused when she was young. Her mother had several children and neglected them all. Eventually, the state removed the children from the house and placed them in foster care. Risa became involved with drugs at a young age but managed to graduate from high school with a 3.5. Once she "aged out" of the foster care system, Risa moved into her own place, enrolled in college, and worked to support herself.

As it turns out, the murderer grew up in a similarly harsh environment. He was molested as a young boy. His mother, an alcoholic, abused and neglected him. Unlike Risa, the murderer was not removed from his hectic home. Instead, he turned to gangs to form a new family.

It seems to me that the filmmakers' goal was to raise questions about the morality of the death penalty. In my opinion, this story is an unfortunate example of how the social welfare system fails children and families. This is an argument for prevention and intervention, not for abolishing the death penalty.

Alright, alright, I'm getting to the point. During the class discussion, someone expressed the view that we can't judge that murderer's worth and that to do so would mean that we feel we're better than him.

While I understand that some people genuinely feel that way, I must respond by saying, "Speak for yourself. I am worth more than a murderer."

Speaking of school, I dreamt last night that someone in my class had a 4.005 GPA. Notice the two zeroes? I was pretty upset that they'd beat me by five thousandths of a point and puzzled that it was even possible to get anything higher than a 4.0 in college.

Guacamole - Finger Lickin' Good

My boyfriend and I made delicious guacamole on Super Bowl Sunday. While chopping up the final ingredient--cilantro--I managed to nick my finger with the knife. Okay, I more than nicked it. I took out a good chunk of flesh. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt. Tommy finished chopping up the cilantro as I went to the bathroom for some self-administered first aid. I rinsed my finger with Bactine and hydrogen peroxide, then wrapped it tightly with some leftover sterile gauze from my wisdom teeth extraction. I decided that I would go to urgent care if the bleeding continued. Thankfully, no blood seeped through the gauze at all and I was able to focus on finishing my half of the seven avocado guacamole.

Around halftime I decided to apply some Neosporin to the cut. I went to the bathroom to unwrap the gauze. The gauze was stuck to the wound! I tried once to gently pry the gauze off my finger but the pain--which was all but absent when the knife sliced through me--now screamed at me to stop. I ran some warm water over my finger in an attempt to soften the congealed blood. The gauze didn't budge. Tommy suggested that I let my finger soak longer. He brought me a Solo cup filled with warm water and we continued watching the game. Every so often I would wiggle my finger in the water to see if the gauze had loosened, and every so often Tommy would exchange the cooled contents of the cup for warm water. This continued for at least an hour. (Baby, correct me if I'm exaggerating.)

I finally accepted the fact that I needed to step up my offense. Using a Q-Tip, I applied triple antibiotic ointment all over and around the gauze. On its own, the lubrication didn't work. Over the next half hour I used Q-Tips to slowly and carefully pry the edges of gauze off of my mutilated finger. (Seriously, even the thought of experiencing pain makes my chest tighten with anxiety.) I had saturated several Q-Tips with blood by the time I finally got that damn gauze off.

As soon as my finger was free from its fabric confines I went to the bathroom to rinse it off. Because of all the irritation from teasing off the gauze, it had started to bleed again. Before I applied Neosporin to my big boo-boo and redressed it, I showed the finger to my boyfriend with a frown. He was speechless for several seconds and his face contorted with concern. He hadn't realized how much flesh I'd carelessly lopped off! The first thing he said was that we needed to go to the hospital. My sweetheart helped me get ready, making sure nothing touched my battle-wounded finger. There are several hospitals near us, but the only one I know how to get to is Stony Brook University Hospital...because I take classes two floors below the hospital's cafeteria. It makes sense, right?

To make a long story short, we went to the emergency room and after a few hours they sent me home with a tetanus shot and "special" non-stick gauze. I bet that Lamborghini-grade gauze will cost my insurance company a few hundred dollars. Interestingly, one of the doctors told me that I might've severed a nerve in my finger, which would explain why I felt no pain when I cut it. It did hurt when I was peeling the gauze off and I can feel sensation now, so who knows? They also said it was fortunate that my nail was undamaged because that would've required a completely different treatment plan. Later, Tommy told me that they said they would've had to remove the nail in that case! I somehow missed that part. It's a good thing I didn't hear that because I would've escaped from that torture chamber had I known fingernail removal was even a remote possibility! I can guarantee that I would have flipped out. There's no way I would have let them rip my nail off. (Can you sense the passion and ferocity* in my reaction?)

All's well that ends well, right? (I love you, Ma Ingalls. [Little House on the Prairie reference. Ignore it if you must.]) By the way, we never found that lost chunk of flesh. Tommy said he looked through the cilantro and it wasn't there. I don't know. I'm convinced we ate it. That guacamole was damn good, though.

*Ferocity is a fantastic word and I didn't have to use a thesaurus to find it.

"It was awesome!"

Have you ever known someone who has had abdominal surgery? This includes C-sections too--any surgery that requires cutting through the abdominal muscles. If so, you may have heard them say during recovery that they never realized how often they use their abs just doing everyday tasks. Bear with me as I get to the point. Exactly a week ago I had all four of my impacted wisdom teeth removed. I never realized how often I hit myself in the face doing everyday tasks until last Wednesday! A few hours after the procedure, I lay down in bed, drowsy from the pain medication. I pulled the flat sheet and blanket over me and closed my eyes. My eyelids must be very thin because the room was too bright for me, even with the blinds closed. I tried to pull the covers over my head for darkness. When I make the bed I like tucking the top sheet and the blanket under the foot of the mattress. Well, I guess I did an exceptional job that morning because the covers wouldn't budge past my chest. Determined, I yanked that damn blanket towards the headboard with brute force! I lost my grip and my hand went flying. I ended up punching myself in the cheek. Ouch! I warned myself not to do that again.

I didn't learn from my mistake. The same thing happened several times over the next few days, even when the covers weren't stuck! Several times I gently pulled the blanket up but my brain failed to send the STOP signal to my hand. Collision! My jaw stopped my hand. I was getting dressed one day last week. I have no idea how, but in the process of putting my left bra strap over my shoulder, I ended up punching the right side of my jaw. I still don't understand it.

I was awake during the extractions. This was my first dental procedure other than regular cleanings, Zoom teeth whitening, and the filling of a cavity in a baby tooth when I was much younger and even shorter than I am now. I really didn't know what to expect. I'd never had nitrous oxide and I don't remember getting novocaine injections when my cavity was filled. The oral surgeon turned on my laughing gas, gave it a moment to kick in, and then pumped my gums full of novocaine while I squeezed the hand of the female assistant. The injections really didn't hurt but my eyes still teared up for some reason. The oral surgeon and his assistants left me alone for a while to let the novocaine injections take effect. My fingers were tingling from the gas and I felt pretty chipper and calm. I remember looking around the room and reading the various oral health posters on the wall. It struck me that although I felt buzzy, I was still fully coherent. I actually thought to myself, "I could text message right now and make sense. I'm so coherent I could do a spelling bee!" Perhaps that's a sign that I wasn't totally there. What do you think?

During the surgery, the surgeon and his two assistants started talking about Family Guy. I chuckled through my wide open mouth. "Do you watch Family Guy?" the surgeon asked me. (He has a lot of experience asking yes or no questions, I guess.)

"Uhn-hnn," I answered. As soon as they finished up and took all the tools out of my mouth, I started to share a story about Family Guy. "Mah bofenz cuthin..." My mouth and lips were completely numb so I couldn't speak properly. "Nehvoh mahnd. Oo can't unnerstan meh."

The staff assured me that they could understand me, saying something along the lines of "We're fluent in Mumblese."

So I continued, "Mah bofenz cuthin had a behbeh a yeh ago..."

One of the assistants translated. "Your boyfriend's cousin had a baby a year ago?"

"Uhn-hnn. And dohwing her pwegnanceh she cawd deh behbeh Stewie."

"During the pregnancy she called the baby Stewie?" I nodded and they laughed. Stewie is a football-headed, witty, cynical baby on the show, in case you don't watch it.

I walked to the waiting room where my boyfriend Tommy was sitting. I didn't know it at the time, but my mouth was stuffed with gauze so I couldn't close it all the way. I remember thinking to myself, "I can't tell if my lips are closed or not." I was grinning like a maniac. Tommy gave me a gentle kiss and asked how it went. "It wuhz awthum!"