We cannot be responsible for any vertigo sympoms brought on by looking at this photo.

I love medical shows. I am unnaturally attached to medical shows. It’s a sickness, really. I will watch a medical show to the end. Take E.R., for example. Set in Chicago, it was fast-paced, emotional, gruesome at times–and there were some great story lines. I loved it! Even when they jumped the shark, I was TOTALLY IN. Given that I’ve been dealing with the medical community intimately since 2001 it’s like I’m almost a certifiable medical professional, with a degree from Google U.

I’m such a complete and total professional when it comes to medical prime-time dramas, I could speak on this topic.

I’ve known since way back in E.R. times that producers embellish things for the story lines. I’ve even seen my kids’ rare kidney disease represented a couple of times. The current medical show of my obsession is House MD, which I have seen since the beginning and let me tell you, I love it. But I’d like to repudiate the notion that House’s world is anywhere close to reality:

1. The symptoms that patients have always happen when the doctors are in the room. That is contradictory to the ways of the world. Much like with your car and appliances. How many repair people have looked at us blankly when we say, “It goes, klurplunk, then shizzzz, then knock, knock.”? You KNOW I’m right. Rest my case.
2. Doctors routinely go to a patient’s house. Managed care would never allow that. I’m sorry, it would never happen. If it did, my house would be cleaned more regularly.
3. The aforementioned doctors are available all hours of the day and night. HAHAHAHAHAHA.
4. Doctors administer medication. In surgery, yes. In the room? No. Ask any nurse you know.
5. Open spaces. With the exception of an atrium, I know no hospital with the wide hallways, lots of natural light and nearly no privacy curtains on any room (HIPPA, anyone?).
6. All doctors are cute, charming and available. With the exception of the um, (cough, cough) awesome bedside manner of Dr. House himself, all the docs are pretty date-able, even if nerdy on the show. Real life? You tell me.
7. Hospital time flies by. Before you know it, that rash on the patient has cleared up and they are sitting up in the hospital bed talking. In the real world, it’s a well-documented fact that Hospital Time Ratio is 15:1 which means when they tell you “15 minutes” they mean 1 hour.

Because I spend my fair share of time in the emergency room, I can also tell you 23 ways that every TV emergency room set-up is all kinds of whacked.

But then I’d just be bragging.

Sure, you want your child to play with other children.

But there are serious ramifications of your child + someone else’s kid, which is, mainly, the Someone Else part.

If you’ve been to one play date, you’ve been to them all. They’re mad awkward. Like, HEY!, the two of us are breeders. Let’s link fallopian tubes and be besties.

Did you just get the gags? I certainly did.

A few reasons why should avoid play dates:

You Could End Up With a Stalker

I don’t know about you, but the last time I went on a play date, I ended up with a stalker. One that cut and colored her hair like mine and demanded her kids call me auntie. Not-so Husband was convinced he was going to get a stiletto through the eye. While that’s very flattering that someone would like to kill him for me, it’s way more fun when you do it yourself.

I Love My Kid, Not Yours

Especially if you don’t watch yours, or haven’t taught them what “clean up” means or that not getting what they want is a tough shit scenario. Yes, I’m being judgmental, but–and in general–we have only been invited to the House of Horrible Manners for play dates. Which really says the Kid has pretty crappy taste.

1 Mom + 1 Mom = 2 Lesbians

Nothing chaps my ass like the idea that because I had a child and you had a child that we have something else in common other than getting laid. And, since I’m a birth mom, adoption isn’t really an awesome topic for me. So, that brings us back to crazy awkward.

You Could Meet A Pageant Mom

I like to watch Toddlers and Tiaras, not have the shit scared out of me in real life. It’s bad enough I know what a flipper is, let alone if I actually saw one… on a dead squirrel named Angel. Obviously this happened to me. Nothing says get me the hell out of here like glitz and flipper wearing squirrels.

Because There’s Only So Much Bitching One Person Can Take

I get it. The teacher sucks, the school system is more like crowd control and Emily’s mom is wound so tight she could shit a diamond, but I have enough problems. One of them being how to find the nearest exit because you’re huge issue with everything is blocking my view.

At the end of Part 1, I shared with you the notes from my soon-to-be sister-in-law’s “bridesmaid meeting,” which included a reminder to shave our pits and not to show up at the wedding drunk or high. This was going to be a classy affair, you see, and while getting zooted up before the wedding was nixed, silver shoes and silver-tipped toenails were fair game. The hair issue, thankfully, turned out not to be an issue at all; since the bride couldn’t decide on a style, she said that we could each do what we wanted. “And if you get some silver or green weave streaks–the kind of green that matches your dresses–that might be nice.”

Not for me. I did get a weave when I went to get my hair done, but it was more Beyoncé and less Nicki Minaj. A week later, we loaded up the family and made the ten-hour drive to Louisiana. I wondered the whole way if the wedding would be as boughetto as I expected it to be.

It was. Let me count the ways:

1. At the rehearsal, it was unclear whether there would be 13 or 14 groomsmen. One of Frank’s cousins had broken probation, and they weren’t sure if he was going to get out of lockdown before the big day. He didn’t, so the 13th groomsman escorted both me and bridesmaid #14 down the aisle.
2. Some people came to the church dressed like the next stop was the club (or the corner). I’m talkin’ hooker heels and booty shorts.
3. After the vows were exchanged, a cousin was to sing a song. The CD skipped through the first verse. With a harsh slash to her throat, she signaled for the music to be cut off and then went a capella. Midway through, she forgot the words. Homegirl was prepared. She pulled her cell phone out of her skin-tight Applebottoms jeans and scrolled her way through the lyrics as she finished her performance.
4. At the reception hall, the bridesmaids’ places were set with a champagne glass and a bottle of Nuvo. The groomsmen’s places were set with shot glasses and bottles of Hennessy. I told you it was classy. 
5. There was a booty-shakin’ contest. Someone’s grandmother won.

I watched it all with amusement, but I also affirmed a few things:

My husband is sexy,

I am, too,

and when it comes to ghetto weddings, we had Frank’s brother and his bride beat. After all–we had a backyard barbecue wedding. Outside. In the middle of summer. In hot ass Georgia.

Word.

What did you do that made your bridal party want to plan your murder? What absurdities happened at your wedding?

Do tell.

Now, I’ve been going to an all-girls school for just over five years, and the cattiness and aggression that girls tend to display towards each other is something that I have, unfortunately, gotten used to. But I’ve been noticing that girls tend to gripe about other girls not because of something they’ve done, but for other, more superficial reasons. And it seems like, in the eyes of these women, no other female can do anything right. One minute a girl is wearing too much make up and talking to too many boys, and the next minute a girl is dressing too much like a man and isn’t talking to enough boys.

I think that the female population, even the non-catty ones, needs to take a step back and remember what feminism did for us. These women fought for our rights, not only so that we can vote, but also so that we can go out and be free, have high flying jobs, make choices about things such as marriage and children and be more than we ever could before. But now it seems like whatever achievement we get, there is a jealous woman right there waiting to talk about us when our backs are turned. And then when we are down, there is another woman ready to shove their achievements in our faces.

Of course I’m not saying that it’s all girls that do this, but it has set a trend for less complimenting and more backstabbing. How can women expect to maintain equal rights, get equal pay to men every time they enter a job and, to put it nicely, become more than just ‘objects of desire’ to some men if we can’t all band together and go back to the ways of ‘girls stick together’? We can do this by changing attitudes.

The next time you see girls being nasty to another girl, stick up for her. The next time you hear a woman being complained about, say something nice about her. And most importantly, because this can go for anyone and not just females, don’t keep your compliments to yourself. If you see someone with hair you love, even if you don’t know them, tell them! A compliment can make someone’s day, and believe it or not, being nice really is the first step to changing the world.

About the Writer
Unstoppable Nerd (the name kind of explains it all) is a sixteen-year-old school student who spends most of her life on the internet or playing one of her instruments. Most of that time on the internet is spent looking at funny pictures of cats, but she writes on her blog sometimes, too. She also ponders about what food to have next and why Justin Bieber is constantly trending on her twitter page. The most important things to her in life are food, sarcasm, and music, and she would not get through the day with several cups of tea with a lot of sugar in. You do not want to know how much sugar she has in her tea.

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For example, consider the deep messages contained within the dream I had last night:

I am on the highway with one of my friends and she is complaining about my erratic driving. I am driving like Drunk Mario in Mario Kart–sliding all over and whooping’ and hollering’. It turns out that I’m driving like that because I am, in fact, drunk. My friend freaks out and says, “You’re drunk?!” and I say, “I didn’t know I was so it doesn’t count!” She says, “Yes it does!” and I say, “I really can’t get a DUI because it will ruin my perfect driving record and Luisa will kill me!” She grabs the wheel and I giggle uncontrollably and she chastises me and she eventually drops me off at my hotel. I walk into the lobby and another friend, Quinn Fabray from Glee, is waiting for me. She says “Hey” and I say “Hey” and then she says, “You seem kinda drunk” and I say “Apparently I am.” I then realize that I have lost my driver’s license and credit cards. Quinn is a good friend, though, and pays for the hotel. We are about to go to our room (123 in the Pavillion) when I spy with my little eye a cheese buffet! Quinn sits on the couch and reads while I eat cheese with a bunch of sweaty, overweight guys. I keep praising the cheese loudly and one of the guys suggests I also have some salad and I laugh at him. Then, I go to get Quinn and she has a fishing pole and accidentally gets the fish hook and line caught in my hair. We can’t get it out so she says she’s going to cut my hair and pulls a butcher knife out of her stylish bag. Uh, no Quinn. You seem nice and all but no butcher knife to the hair. So, I take off running and I have to hold the fishing pole because it’s still connected to my head. I can’t find room 123, of course, and I’ve lost sight of Quinn and the hotel is crowded and I occasionally get distracted by a cute kitten that I keep passing. I then look down and notice I’m not wearing pants and I wake up.

Things I learned from this dream:

1. Drink responsibly. Don’t drink and drive.

2. I need to stop watching Glee.

3. I should probably become a vegan.

4. I need a haircut.

5. I really  need to do laundry.

Dream Quinn was kinda scary with that butcher knife but she taught me so much.

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I am enough, even though you’d do best not to talk to me first thing in the morning. In spite of the fact that I can be passionate about my opinions at times or that I may forget to send you a birthday card even though I think about you a lot. And aside from the fact that I sometimes (?!) cannot help but offer unsolicited advice.

I am me, and taken all together, the good with bad, the finished with the incomplete, the mature with the child, the unreasonable with the reasonable, the silly with the serious, I am enough.

And if I’m not enough for you that’s pretty much your problem, not mine.

But.

You are enough, too. If you can believe that about yourself you will be eons ahead of the pack in every aspect of your life.

You are enough.

See that badge up there? Double click on it. Print it out, then tape to your bathroom mirror. Look at it as you brush your teeth or put on your makeup. Every morning and every evening say it out loud.

I am enough.

You, with your short legs and long torso. With the big afro and tiny waist. With love handles and a big, warm heart. With dry skin and beautiful eyes. You are you, incredibly, wonderfully, uniquely you.

And you are enough. Always.

There will be points in your life when you feel as if all that you are is lacking. That you should be something else. That you could be better if only. The only way you will be better is if you are a better version of you. There is always room for growth and change, but regardless of if you’re just starting out on a particular journey or if you’ve reached a destination, at any given moment in time, you are enough.

Never let anyone tell you any differently.

The moment you believe that you are less than, the moment you think you don’t deserve your heart’s desire or even a little bit of good news, you will become what you believe. But it only takes a moment to change. Look at that face in the mirror, that one and only you face and say it out loud.

I am enough.

What do you MEAN you don't like dogs??? INCONCEIVABLE!

I loves me a top ten list. Except, I go to eleven, so there are eleven things on my list. Because sometimes you just need that extra push. Eleven is one louder. And I’m loud. BOY AM I LOUD. Like, no volume button really. It’s OFF or ON.

Anywho, I compiled a list of things about me that I know everyone’s just DYING to know.

And if you weren’t, my bad, I’m telling you anyway because I’m awesome like that. You can thank me later.

Without further ado, Eleven Things about me:

1. I’m obsessed with teen dramedy movies. Like, the cutesy high school romance-type, guy-gets-girl or girl-gets-guy movie. One of my faves? 10 Things I Hate About You, otherwise known as Loosely-Based-on-Taming-Of-The-Shrew. Another Fave? Clueless. Also known as Emma for Valley Girls.
2. I am not into modern lit. I basically read classics over and over again. And they get better every time! The recent sparkly-vampire-genre is lost on me. But you knew that. Gimmee Romance England, y’all. The Bennett Sisters KICK ASS.
3. I’ve seen every version of Pride and Prejudice made into a film. Even the Bollywood version, Bride and Prejudice. Even the Mormon Version, Pride and Prejudice, a Latter-Day Comedy. I’m a teensy bit obsessed.
4. Hello, my name is DG and I’m also addicted to home improvement and real estate television shows. Basically, the only thing I watch is HGTV. House Hunters. DAMMIT, THEY SHOULD HAVE PICKED NUMBER TWOOOOOO. Ahem. Unless I’m watching RuPaul’s Drag Race. I KNOW, RIGHT?
5. I like dogs more than I like most people. It may be my stellar human social skills or the fact that dogs don’t talk and if trained properly do everything I say. Hmmm…
6. I relate better to children. This may be why I was an education major. AND–for bonus points!–Special Ed major, which means I like special kids a whole lot. I’m totally going to heaven, yo. WOOO!
7. I never met a potato I didn’t like. People have a hard time understanding my fixation. But I don’t drink, smoke or do drugs so I have to have SOMETHING, right? You know, in addition to my caffeine and carb problem.
8. I’m a geek AND a nerd. I like math a ton and do it for fun, I was in marching band AND orchestra, I am into sci-fi/Star Wars, can quote The Princess Bride AND Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy (book, not dreadful movie) and own all seasons of TBBT. And if you don’t know what that stands for, I weep for you.
9. I have never been out of the country. Except for Canada, which doesn’t count because it’s attached. This has nothing to do with opportunity and everything to do with puking my guts up on planes.
10. I can’t drive at night. I have this night blindness thing. Huh.
11. I’m weird.

Bet you could have guessed number 11 just by reading 1-10, right?

I am not an aggressive driver–in part, I believe it due to my first minor fender bender. I was stopped at a light and frantically reaching for my Men Without Hats cassette tape under the passenger seat. Apparently details like keeping my foot on the brake were overlooked and my car rolled forward. The slight tap jolted me upright. I had hit the fender in front of mine, which wouldn’t have been a huge deal if the fender didn’t belong to a motorcycle ridden by a hardcore biker.

Thankfully he didn’t get hurt, as my little car seemed to gracefully land upon his back fender without even knocking it over. Better yet, he didn’t seem to be interested in filing a police report or even exchanging insurance information. He was perfectly content with public degradation and humiliation. My whole gender took the fall for my inattentiveness, as he would scream to me and any other women unfortunate to be travelling through the intersection at the time.

“Goddamn women drivers! Why do they even give you all licenses?”

Looking back, I am suspicious his license was in good standing, which is probably why he didn’t want the police called. While completely my fault, I suppose this little incident early in my driving career is why I have complete distaste for road rage. I would be eaten alive driving on the East Coast. I don’t even know what my horn sounds like.

When another driver cuts me off, tailgates or engages in unsavory driving behavior I give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe they have a sick child. Even if they’re just being an asshole, I find it calming not take it personally. It is so much nicer to wave back enthusiastically when someone waves to me with one finger.

My driving skills have improved over the years. My passengers rarely kiss the ground when exiting my vehicle anymore. I’m just glad woodland animals can’t actually talk.

Photo Credit: biofriendly via photopin cc