Archive for the 'blogishness' Category

Only because “phone a friend” wasn’t an option

So in an effort to get this here blog back up and running, I’ve got a few blog posts simmering on various back burners.  A 2009 wrap up, for instance.  That one’s bound to be a goodie seeing as how I just ADORED 2009.  (And by adored I mean, absafuckinglutely hated.  I didn’t care for it, is what I’m saying.  Just to be clear.)  Then there’s the blog post about the 3 week Argentina/Antarctica trip that The Brit and I got back from last week.  That one’ll be great too because it involves steak dinners, tango, hookers, a true Scottsman, penguins, a Ukrainian with a satellite phone, and a pirate.  Maybe there weren’t hookers.  And perhaps there wasn’t a pirate.  But I guess we’ll just have to see how that one turns out.

There are a few other blog posts in their nascency but let’s not get any big ideas.

I’d have churned out some solid writing by now if I hadn’t spent my whole last week studying for my last ABSITE ever.  (There goes my career getting in the way of my blogging again.  The nerve.)   American Board of Surgery In-Training Examination, for those of you not tormented by it annually.  It’s a 5-hour, 220 question multiple choice exam that every surgical resident in the US has to take the last Saturday of every January.  And the questions are not unlike the example question I’ve cut and pasted below (straight out of one of my review books, like verbatim):

A 25 year old woman presents to the emergency room with a dubiously vague set of physical complaints and all you have at your disposal are a dull meat cleaver, some Novocain (that’s expired), and an old boom box playing Journey’s Greatest Hits album on repeat.  Oh, and you haven’t slept in roughly 30 hours.  What is the next best step in the management of this patient?

a)      Call the OR and have them prep the patient for an emergent craniotomy

b)      Start an IV with an old pen (that you dug out of your lab coat pocket) and some tap water

c)       Attach the defibrillator, yell “CLEAR!!” and then give her a good 400 joules  (because you suspect that’s what they’d do on  Grey’s Anatomy)

d)      Administer the Novocain rectally as it will be rapidly absorbed by the rectal mucosa (keep in mind you will have to do this without lube, for there isn’t any)

e)      Run screaming from the hospital

Clearly, one needs to prepare for an exam like this.  And prepare I did.  Aside from the fact that my upstairs neighbor (who’s normally a keep to himself, quiet kind of guy) picked this last week to invite a whole gaggle of children over (true) and conduct a long, and painfully taxing series of tap dancing lessons on his surprisingly acoustic hard wood floors (partly true, the acoustic hard wood floors part), it was a nice solid week of uninterrupted studying.  I’m sure I totally nailed the exam.  I picked answer choice “e” a lot.


knock, knock?

I just dusted the cobwebs off of my wordpress account and am comforted to see that, despite the fact that I haven’t written in a billion years, I still have a healthy following.  This is entirely due to the fact that google searches for savory topics like “boobies” and “gouda” still lead people here, but hey, who’s judging?  Hello, Readers To Whom This Applies! Welcome.

If any of you others are still out there, I know I’ve said I was going to start writing again, and I don’t mean to be a blog-tease, but I’ll say it again.  Really going to try this time as it makes me happy and I miss doing it.  Good luck to me!  Will start with a Birthday post to my dear Brit.

Hope y’all’s new year is off to a good start!

I draw the line at Nipple Mutilation though!

I logged on to WordPress today after a couple weeks of flagrant blogligence1 and realized, much to my surprise that, despite my absence, No Method, Just Madness has not been suffering from a lack of readership!  I thought I’d find my blog pulseless and apneic, but hey!  We’re still goin’ strong over here!  Forget the fact that nearly 100% of my visitors of late have either arrived here by a slip of the mouse or in search of unsavory things like pictures of “perianal abscesses” or “nipple mutilation.”2  I’ll take what I can get!  (Welcome Perverts and Scumbags!  Step right in!)

Seriously.  It’s been a while, I know.  It’s tough…because it seems like JUST when all of these interesting and highly entertaining things are happening to me, I have the least amount of time to write about them! Which is a bummer because there are stories that very much deserve to be told!  Like the one about the “chastising belt!”3 Or the one about my dream/nightmare involving Chris Farley as an undercover gangster.  Or the one about the Great Honeymoon Registry Debacle in which The Brit got so upset that he asked to speak to the manager so he could, and I quote, express some “extremely negative comments.”4  Or the one about going down to Palm Springs for a friend’s bachelorette party only to realize that it was smack dab in the middle of one of the biggest annual lesbian convention weekends.  You can’t make this shit up, people!  And yet…sadly, NO TIME!  

I shall make more of a concerted effort.  And if I fail, in the very least, I’ll post an effin’ picture of a perianal abscess so that at least SOME of you who visit here get what you came for!

  1. blog + negligence = blogligence.   
  2. Both are actual google searches that have led people to this site.   Clues as to the quality of my content.  (Why I have not won a Pulitzer, I will NEVER know!)
  3. Like a Chastity Belt only MORE condescending and derogatory!
  4. Yet another testament to the fact that The Brit is entirely too reasonable.  All I have to say is, if you want to do a honeymoon registry, don’t go with…they tell you there are no hidden fees, but guess what!?  There are fees!  And they are quite hidden!  LIARS!!! 
  5. Suffice it to say, the lesbians did not take too kindly to the anatomically correct, one-testicle-hanging-lower-than-the-other, penis straws sticking out of our poolside cocktails! 

March has good blarma, right?

HA HA!  Get it?  Blogging + Karma = Blarma?  I should stop this, shouldn’t I?  Yeah.  Ok. 

Ok, so maybe February wasn’t a better month for blogging.  I thought it would be.  But alas!  Hark!  It has not been.  Boo, I know.  But here’s the thing…I’ve been faced with so many decisions to make lately that the decision to blog has been, of late, made for me.   And, lo, how I have missed it…and you!  You dear, sweet, solitary reader that keeps coming back only to be rewarded with the same, stale, old post.  Yeah, that one…the one with the mold growing on it.  I wouldn’t eat that if I were you.    

Just so you know that I’m not making all this busy-ness business up, here are some of the decisions I’ve been grappling with lately:

-Should I drive or fly down to Huntington Beach for the surgery conference I need to go to?  (Conference was last week.  I drove.  What can I say, I LIVE for that Eau d’Bovine smell on Interstate 5.  Mmmmmm.)

-Should I throw a funny into my breast cancer presentation at said conference?  Or should I recognize that the collective sense of humor in a room full of academic surgeons is roughly equivalent to that of a wedgie at a funeral. (I went with the latter.  It proved to be a wise move.)

– Should The Brit and I really consider buying a house the same year we plan on throwing the biggest party of our lives?  (For the record, it’s his idea…one that I think makes about as much sense as it would make for me to cram my ass into a pair of white Capri pants.  Before OR after labor day…it’s always a bad idea.)

– Should I order wedding invitations in chili, pomegranate, candy apple, or wine?  Because they are TOTALLY DIFFERENT REDS, in case you didn’t know.  (Though, ask me if I care!)  (I don’t.)  (But I do.)  (But I don’t, really.) 

– Should I do another set of lunges as commanded by my boot camp leader or should I feign a torn anterior cruciate ligament?   I could fall to the ground, grip my right knee, writhe in pain, and whimper like this.  It could be very theatrical.  (Invariably, I always just do the friggin’ lunges.)

– Should I tell that guy in the supermarket that I, too, dig the curvy Gap jean in the size 6 Petite?  Or do I just tell him discretely that he left the big, long, size sticker on the back of his pant leg?  Or do I not tell him at all?  Or do I laugh and point?  SO MANY CHOICES!

So, see?  February’s been busy.  Maybe March will be better?

It’s more of a Bliz (blog + quiz = bliz) than a Meme, actually

So…like MONTHS ago, I was tagged by two lovely blamigos (blog + amigos = blamigos),1 Claudia and Catherine, to do two different memes. One was The Five Random Things About You meme and the other was The Seven Random Things About You meme. Because I’m extremely tardy at getting ‘round to doing this and because I’m simply not interesting enough to come up with TWELVE random things about myself…I’ve decided to do The-Sum-Of-The-Two-Memes-Divided-By-Two Number Of Random Things About You Meme. If you’re wondering why you haven’t heard of this meme in the same way that you hear about all the others that circulate through the blogosphere like a bad case of The Clap, it’s because (shh) I just made it up. Because I’m ALL MATHEMATICAL LIKE THAT. And also because I could only come up with six things anyway. Oh, and one of them is a little white lie. Be the first one to tell me which one you think it is and perchance there will be a prize in it for you…

  • I recently burned my left hand trying to open the fireplace vent AFTER lighting a nice, robust fire (note to self: next time open the vent before lighting the friggin’ fire). Now I have a lovely, gnarly, scabby wound on the dorsum of my hand and I can’t tell if it’s the garnet in my ring that brings out the red in my wound or the red in my wound that brings out my garnet. Either way…totally hot.
  • I very nearly crapped myself when I learned how much wedding gowns were these days. (It’s a dress, People! Not an ancient artifact from the Han Dynasty! Sweet JESUS!) So I made it my mission to find a dress for under $1000. Not only did I succeed, but I succeeded on my first day of dress shopping. Hooray!
  • When I was getting measured form my wedding gown, both the tailor and I discovered that the circumference of my ass is a full 12 inches larger than the circumference of my waist. That unnecessary tidbit of information ALMOST made me swear off cheese forever. (Almost.)
  • Rather than giving up cheese I decided to join a boot camp fitness training program. Which basically means that now I pay a dude in bright orange sneakers (Fashion no-no? Or Fashion yes-yes? Hard to say…he does kind of work them.) to torture me two times a week with lunges and hill sprints and lunges and squats and lunges and sit-ups and lunges and bicep curls. And lunges…did I mention the lunges? Good times.
  • In the interest of FINALLY finishing up my SCUBA diving open water certification, I went and had my ENT doctor friend check out my right tympanic membrane (as a follow up to his last exam) to make sure that it had sealed back up. (You recall The Great Perforation of 2007, don’t you?) I was disappointed to learn that it has healed but is not completely closed! There will be no diving in my future, which is a great disappointment to me. When The Brit and I are in Bora Bora on our honeymoon and he is out diving, I will just have to drown my sorrows in Polynesian cocktails. Boo friggin’ hoo.
  • I really, really dislike voice mail. Anyone who knows me knows to either text message me or call back later. Leaving a voice message is futile. It’ll only serve as a placeholder in my mailbox. Until, that is, my mailbox fills up…then it’ll stay in there until I muster up the energy to delete it along with all the others in one fell swoop. It’s oddly liberating to delete 36 voicemails in one go. Kinda like going commando but with less chafing.

May the best blontestant win!

1. Don’t mind this new blanguage (blog + language = blanguage) that I seem to be amusing myself with these days. Surely, it too shall pass.  I hope.

Rattie was the first to guess and the first to guess correctly! My right TM has healed up just fine, and I look forward to popping the left one when I try for my open water cert again in March! (I kid…I’d rather not pop the left one! Enough with the perforations!) This, of course, means that yes, I DID burn my hand, I DID INDEED find a wedding gown for under $1000 on the first day of dress shopping, my ass IS 12” bigger than my waist, I AM doing boot camp (seriously…TWELVE INCHES???), and I absolutely ABHOR voice mail. So call me some time! 🙂 Rattie, you’ll get your prize soon. (And by soon, I mean, quite possibly for Christmas.)

I just woke up from my post-January nap

Please excuse the prolonged absence from my usual blogishness. It’s just that January is always the sort of month in which there really is mostly madness and very little method to speak of. I try to take preemptive measures like making lists, labeling my calendar, setting alarms, and just generally running around in a constant low-grade panic level (beats the episodic, high-grade panic level)…all in the hopes of ensuring that the madness at least unfurls in some sort of organized fashion. But it never really works. Besides, I’ve decided that KNOWING about the madness, the precise moment that it will transpire, before it actually happens?? Yeah…that’s totally overrated. It just causes you to clench your jaw unknowingly. And then, let’s be honest, it’s all just a great big slippery slope from there…with daily tension headaches at the top, the consumption of inordinate amounts of cheese and/or pickles somewhere in the middle there1, and the inevitable decompensation into a near vegetative state at the bottom. My roommates and The Brit watched last month as I became a permanent fixture on the living room couch, surrounded only by my matrix of surgical text books and test prep booklets…and about a dozen mostly-empty tea mugs. “Cubana Gringa?” they’d say as they’d apprehensively check my carotid pulse. Somewhat heart-warmed by their concern for my wellbeing, I’d bestow upon them a pearl of surgical knowledge that they probably could’ve done without…like: “Oh hey! Be glad you don’t have an acute diverticular bleed with bright red blood per rectum2 because then you might need a hemicolectomy and a colostomy and NOBODY LIKES TO CRAP OUT OF A HOLE IN THEIR ABDOMEN!!!” Needless to say, there were a lot of unnecessary public health announcements in our household during the month of January. Some of which were at rather ungodly hours of the morning. You’re welcome, dear roommates. You’re welcome!

The other additional stressor last month was that, on top of studying for a surgical exam and eating pickles full time, a certain someone had a 30th birthday extravaganza that wasn’t going to plan itself.3 The Brit had done such a good job pulling off my 30th birthday seven months ago…and then don’t EVEN get me started on that marriage proposal…so I figured he deserved a great big birthday “do”…even if his “do” did quite inconveniently fall on the same exact day as my surgical exam.4 (I wish that was a joke. But seriously…The Same Day! I’ve been meaning to have a word with his Mum on this matter.) Luckily, I started planning The Brit’s birthday a couple months ahead. Emails were sent. Video footage was obtained from many of The Brit’s friends and family from around the world. Photos from ancient albums were scanned in. A friend with professional-grade film editing skills and a clear (and probably crack-induced) ignorance of the colossal undertaking was commissioned with little more than a polite request on my part (I didn’t even have to show a little leg! Ha! What a sucker!). A private theater space was rented. The older brother was flown in on frequent flyer miles. Some study time was compromised for the purposes of cooking insane amounts of food. And the end result was a ridiculous surprise party and an amazing, funny, tear jerker of a 30th Birthday movie mockumentary about The Brit. I think it’s safe to say he enjoyed his birthday. How we managed to pull it all off, I will never know…nor do I care to. In fact, we shall never speak of The Great Insanity of January 2008 ever again. (Though, apparently, we WILL watch the birthday movie over and over…The Brit’s watched it 6 times since the “premiere.”)

The Brit and I have since created a pact: The Let’s Lay Off the Frickin’ Ridiculous Surprises of 2008 Act. Next year, I’ll throw this year’s leftover candles in his general direction, buy him a beer, and call it a day. Hooray!

But, so ANYWAY! January is over and I’m ready to turn this mother out, yo! It’s 2008 right? Check. Ok…so thanks to the two of you (three of you, if we count Mamacusa) who cared enough to ask if I’d given up the blogging gig. Whether the prospect of it inspired feigned or legitimate disappointment, you put to rest my fears that this had permanently become the sort of blog that only a mother could love…which it kinda is, I gotta be honest with you, but alas! We shall avert our gaze and pretend we do not know this! And with that…the usual obnoxiousness resumes here and now. Well…not NOW now, but soon. (Which is like now, but just a little later.)

Now go vote in the polls! (NOW now.) And a Happy Super Tuesday to you…

  1. Purely hypothetical, of course.
  2. Known in the industry as BRBPR…we’re ALL UP in those acronyms, yo.
  3. Which is not to say I didn’t try to convince it to.
  4. It’s not a party…it’s a “do,” in case you didn’t know. Other things I’ve learned since dating a Brit? A bachelor party is a “Stag Do.” And a bachelorette party? A “Hens Do.” I think I shall be a great disappointment to my future British in-laws when I call my bachelorette party “Ma Bitches and Ho’s Night…Awwww YEAH.”

It’s our Blogiversary!!!

Actually, our one year blogiversary was a couple days ago. But it’s been a rather crazy brand of busy ‘round these parts lately. First there was the weekend before this one just past…with it’s Halloweeniness. Last Friday night our house was filled to the brim with people with nothing better to do than insert themselves into a cardboard box, throw a lampshade on their head, glue a bra and a condom wrapper to themselves and declare themselves a One Night Stand…or something equally as ridiculous (and, incidentally, equally as friggin’ funny). Lo, there was much hilarity. The Brit and I rented Superman and Wonder Woman costumes. Admittedly, this was a bit cliché but pretty fun considering my costume came complete with indestructible bracelets,1 an invisible jet,2 and a good excuse to wave my arms around in a circular pattern and pretend to jump impossibly long distances. Turns out Lynda Carter’s job wasn’t so hard after all…especially if she had vodka on-hand, as I did that night. That same weekend on Saturday there was a 30th birthday celebration for my friend Little B…this involved what any proper 30th birthday celebration should involve: rooftop cocktails with a cityscape view, an excellent Thai dinner, and a trip to one of our trusty local strip clubs. It’s safe to say that there was a certain degree of hilarity to that evening as well. Sunday there was another birthday celebration which, twist my arm, involved the consumption of still more cocktails. (Oh, but it was tough!) And a week ago Monday, The Brit and I celebrated our three year anniversary with a lovely quiet dinner out…which, in light of the fact that he kinda flew me out to Hawaii and dropped some bling bling on me the weekend prior, I went ahead and took care of it.

Really, that whole weekend was just a haze of liquor and beer…I’m still living off the empty calories from those four days. And it’s a good thing I had those calories to sustain me, for this past week was spent preparing for and helping put on a fundraiser for a nonprofit of which I’m a board member. The event was this past weekend and, sadly, there were no cocktails. But there were funds! And raised they were! Hark!

So yeah, we missed our blogiversary…and though I was truly busy, I wonder how much of the reason for that is attributable to the fact that I don’t really feel like I got my bloggy groove on til maybe January or so. Honestly, the first few months of No Method, Just Madness’ existence are highly forgettable and should, in general, be avoided at all costs. Seriously. With a few exceptions, my older posts are, by and large, mediocre at best…I don’t care what my mom says. (Though I suspect that it’s the sort of dribble that even Mamacusa would be like, “Yeah, that was lovely dear…YAWN!”) Yep…I regard my earlier posts much in the same way I do all of those high school pictures which feature my eyebrows during the abomination that was the pre-Tweezer era…I disdainfully wish I could go back, pluck, and reshape them (both the images of my eyebrows AND my old posts). Which, I suppose I could. And maybe someday I will. (Like when some eccentric genius figures out how to create a crack in the time-space continuum (‘shrooms don’t count, by the way!) and suddenly I have time to RE-write all that crap WHILE I’m writing THIS CRAP!) But for now I’ll leave those old posts as relics of the prepubescence of my blogging experience. Trust me, [whispered:] let them rest in peace…

And allow me, instead, to dazzle you [JAZZ HANDS!!] with a One Year Blogiversary Edition of “La Cubana Gringa Attracts Some Strange Mother Effin’ Googlers!!” It’s been a while since we reviewed the google search record around here, so lets do. Seriously, check out some of the google searches that have led to this blog in the last few months, in no particular order:

Search term: crapping and spotting

I advise that this person seek medical attention. And promptly.

Search term: pushing sex toys into the sigmoid colon
Search term: what nasty things can I do with a tube
Search term: how do I find the nerve in my ass

Darn it! TRY as I might to delete that tutorial on anorectal stimulation that I wrote last year3….I STILL can’t kick that trail of breadcrumbs that leads back to me. I guess it’s true, afterall, that nothing every REALLY gets deleted from the intertubes.

Search term: naked Hungarians
Search term: men in leather chaps

Methinks these two searchers might just get along swimmingly.

Search term: nipple mutilation
Search term: girls crapping on other girls (honestly?)
Search term: flatulence from vagina

It boggles my mind and yet, simultaneously, intrigues me that these searchers were directed here even though I gave up these three particular practices long ago.4

Search term: my butt sticks out

All I can say is: Dude. I TOTALLY hear you, man.

  1. Made of curiously comfortable spandex material…I’m not so confident I could have deflected bullets with those.
  2. I tricked the costume rental place when I went back to return the costumes…I told the guy in the shop that I’d parked the invisible jet right out front when I’d really left it parked out in front of my house. Dude totally fell for it, and now I have a free invisible jet!! Sucker!
  3. Sorry to disappoint the few of you who arrived here in search of such a tutorial…I lied. I’ve never written anything of the sort. Though, if you know me and didn’t put it past me, I’m not surprised.
  4. Considering I took them up as hobbies, oh, about…NEVER number of years ago.


The madness featured here is mine and mine alone. It does not, in any way, reflect the madness of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family, or my colorful friends. The privacy of my employers, colleagues, patients, nutty family and colorful friends is sacred & deeply respected, so no names. All words Copyright © la cubana gringa, no method, just madness 2006-2010. All comments © their authors. Don't steal; it's not nice. (And my Grandfather knows people.)

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