Another Reason I Can't Get Off of the Telephone

I was talking with a friend this afternoon, when he said that he had to get off the phone because he needed to take care of a naked baby.

Only people who are fathers (or mothers) can use this excuse. If I said it, I could expect a visit from some governmental organization really quick!

They Have a Specialist for That...

So, silly me, I re-injured my right shoulder (again...it's been off-and-on for the past two and a half years) working out at the gym. But fear not! Now that I have health insurance, I can go to the Sports Medicine Clinic on campus and finally have my shoulder care of!

.....yep, apparently lifting heavy things and grunting qualifies me as an athlete. Who knew?

And bonus! It is summertime on campus (okay, it's summertime a lot of places), which means that there will be fewer students at the Health Center, which means it will be quicker and easier to get in to see someone at the Shangra-la-like Sports Medicine Clinic to finally have my shoulder taken care of!

I took some time this afternoon during a break to go to the Health Center to see someone about this pesky pain-when-I-use-it thing I have going on in my upper-right (your upper-left) quadrant of my body. Water bottle in hand (still using my right arm to drink it, from stupid absent habit), I went to the Sports Medicine Clinic on the bottom floor of said Health Center, eagerly anticipating getting some treatment.

"Oh, you need a referral from a doctor." Great! When is your Sports Medicine doctor available? "No, you should get a referral from a general practitioner." Argh...back upstairs to the main part of the Health Center, where this process of getting treatment for my right shoulder somehow involved taking my temperature and making sure my heart was still beating during "triage" (which is a French word, meaning "Yup, all the stuff you didn't come here for is fine").

After a wait, I got in to see a physician, who asked me why I had come. Stated bluntly, "I need a referral to the Sports Medicine Clinic because I exacerbated a pre-existing injury in my right shoulder....I think it's a problem with a muscle in my rotator cuff." Now, I am not a medical professional, so maybe there would be some complicated, medical-knowledge-heavy piece to all this of which neither I, nor the fine professionals in the Sports Medicine Clinic downstairs, would be aware of to accurately diagnose the precise issue at hand.

"Lift your arms the way you said gives you problems. Does that hurt? Okay, lift them that other way that you didn't mention giving you problems. Does that hurt? What if I push on your arms when you lift them this other way?" (at this point I got annoyed and "accidentally" expected her to push harder, so I lifted too hard for this little woman to stand in one place)

Diagnosis: "I think you may have injured a muscle in your rotator cuff. You need a referral to our Sports Medicine Clinic."

Really?! Because when was lifting my arms earlier, I said the same thing. Glad to see that I came here for this ever-so-necessary meeting. Can I get dressed now?

And so I have an appointment on Friday at the Sports Medicine Clinic. And, having spent almost an hour waiting for and telling someone wearing a white coat that I need to be here, I now have some sort of proof that I should be there. Because medical doctors are much better at knowing that what I say is true than lowly Physical Therapists.

On the plus side, it is yet further evidence that I am as smart as a medical doctor.

The Irony of Printed Word

The other day I was driving to work when I noticed a colorful bumper sticker on the car a lane-and-a-half over from me (Michigan does not quite have the best drivers in the world). It had words in a weird font, and between this and the garish colors I just HAD to read it. After peering at it for a few seconds, I realized what it said:

"Jesus Saves."

...and as I finished reading it, I almost crashed into the car ahead of me.

Gotta appreciate the irony there.....

People Like Me! They REALLY Like Me!

About two months ago, I began seeing a client who seemed to be addicted to internet pornography. As such, I spent some time online looking for good online resources and support groups for internet sex and porn addiction to help him (the idea being that rather than click on a bookmarked link to a porn site, he could click on a link to something that would help him when tempted online).

This past week, almost two months later, I got an instant message from someone online. Apparently, I had become listed as a member of one of the online support groups. Rather than summarize the brief conversation, I think it is more telling to just paste it below (with the guy's screenname removed, of course) and let it speak for itself:

Him: how's it going? I found your name on astarttorecovery.com.

Me: Hi. I should probably let you know that I signed into that group to get info for a client I was working with

Him: all ok. so you're not a "member"?

Me: no, I only visited that one time (in fact, I didn't even know I was listed there).

Him: i understand. can i add you to my messenger list anyway?

Me: why?

Him: just because

Me: I really don't know you yet

Him: what r your interests?

Me: music and my dog, mostly

Him: r u married?

Me: nope, single

Him: r u straight?

Me: Ummm....yeah....

Him: what r ur stats? if i may ask? you work out?

Me: I think you are looking for something else

Him: no i'm not. i'm just asking. recovering sex addict here. is that ok? i like to work out in my spare time


(this is the point at which I added him to my "Blocked" list)

So yeah, a 34 year-old married man hit on me the other day. Not only that, but apparently he is using online support groups to find new partners....really, within his psychology and addiction, makes sense to go to the place where everyone is vulnerable to online encounters like that....Still, I got hit on by a 34 year-old dude.

I have finally arrived in the online world.

Arroz con Tonto

(or "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Eating")

A few days ago, I invited myself to my friend Caroline's house to take our dogs to what she described as "a really big fenced in area for the dogs to run around in" (okay, so that's not a direct quote - but, my blog, my reality!). Unfortunately, this particular really-big-fenced-in-area was infested by shirtless teenage boys taking turns practicing running into padded metal. Double standard: when they do it, it's okay. But if kids in the "special class" were taking turns running into padded metal, it'd be sooo sad, right? (I'm still not sure that anyone doing that ranks a high IQ, though....)

Oh, and a fat, dirty woman who was missing several teeth commented that, as the man in our dyad, I should be walking Caroline's large dog Otis rather than "making her" get pulled around by him. (Thanks for your opinion, fat dirty woman missing several teeth, but I offered and am not really trying to impress anyone here anyhow.) I truly believe that fat, dirty women who are missing several teeth should NOT be making emasculating statements about me. Seriously.

Anyhow, the deal Caroline and I made was that I would bring some food over to her place and she would cook it for us. I brought a box of Minute Rice and a box of General Tso's Chicken for her to prepare. Since there was only two of us, I had assumed she would cook SOME of the food and leave some in the box. Nope. She began by dumping the entire box of chicken onto a pan; the whole 8 servings! When I pointed this out, Caroline somehow began a fairly convoluted logic equation in her head which roughly translates to:

"If I am making eight servings of chicken, then I should also boil eight cups of water and add in eight cups of rice. Since rice servings are one-half a cup, this will make four cups of rice (i.e. eight one-half cup servings) to go with the eight servings of chicken that I am still cooking for some reason."

This would be the recipie for the fine Spanish cuisine "Arroz con Tonto." A two-family-sized box of chicken and sixteen cups of cooked rice. As with all good recipies, pictures of the finished product are included:





But if I could get her to make some nachos, I'd be in Heaven....

Shaking Her Doggie Thang

A really funny image....

My cable box is always on, just because it has no off switch (it is a DVR and needs to be on to record my shows). Only my television is turned off after I am done watching it. As such, all the settings remain the same because the cable box is always on.

I turned my television on today after coming back from work. I happened to hit "jump" on the remote control, which switches to the last channel viewed before the current one. When I hit this button, the "Retro Disco Digital Music Station" came on. I had NEVER put this channel on before, and I live alone with my dog. So, what DOES my dog do when I am not around?

Just imagine my dog grooving out to retro disco while I am at work. You know, breaking out her leisure suit and dancing like mad. It's quite a funny image!

I had wondered why my dog seems so tired when I get home each day....

Can I Be the Smartest One, Too?

Remember High School graduation (perhaps not, as some of you may have repressed the entire four years between ages 14 and 18)? Specifically, the envy (or hostility) you had toward the Valedictorian? You know, the person who, by virtue of having the highest grade-point average in the whole graduating class, could thereby be considered the smartest of them all?

Yeah, there's a school around here with 11 Valedictorians this year.

Statistically, it is probable that this happened because 11 students finished with a 4.00 (or 100%). I'm certain that the school board views that as a good thing. However, I can't help but wonder if the school's standards are too low that so many students could have done perfectly. It is as if the school had no more left with which to challenge their students. "They've learned all we have to teach them, and learned it perfectly." REALLY?! Because at my High School, the standard was high enough that the teachers could challenge even the "advanced" students with always having more to learn. Hence, ONE Valedictorian, and even she only had a 3.9-something.
And does this mean that all the other students get to be Salutatorian?

Notice: I Will NOT Have to Work at a Supermarket Next Year

I have been searching for a position for next year, and I have been somewhat anxious about finding one. There are more new psychologists seeking positions than there are openings, and so I was worried that I would have to work at a supermarket or Taco Bell or something next year if I did not get a position. Well, for anyone vicariously worrying with me (or who is interested), worry no more (or continue to be interested, but with an answer)!

I was offered, and accepted, a post-doctoral fellowship at the University of Dayton in Ohio. This is a position for new psychologists who have finished the doctoral degree, but need to build up 2000 hours (e.g. 52 weeks of full-time work supervised by a licensed psychologist) post-doctorate for licensure. As with 99% of post-docs, the pay isn't great (but livable), but I will get full benefits (including retirement, for some reason ;) ) and training while also working at a professional level.

I will be doing individual therapy, couples therapy, career testing/counseling, outreach, participating in supervision of graduate students, and learning disability/ADD testing. The people there are wonderful, and I expect that I will enjoy working with them very much! Dayton seems like a cool place to be for a year, and I will also get to be rather close to, and therefore visit, the people I care about here in Kalamazoo!

Nope, definitely don't have to work at the supermarket....at least, not anytime soon..... :)

More Things Along the Road

Walking Melisma down the street again today (I do that every so often...helps keep the apartment smelling nice), I happened upon the box to a generic-brand pregnancy test about half a block from the supermarket. Apparently the woman who bought it was concerned enough about whether she was pregnant to take the test then-and-there, but not enough to shell out the extra dollar or so for a name-brand, reputable test.

A bit further along, there was an empty 8-pack box of bullets. I am guessing there is going to be a wedding happening really soon.....