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Crofton, MD, 21114

A long-running personal blog shared by two authors with completely different approaches to life. And a lot of large, beautiful photographs of dogs and nature and places we've traveled to. Rich in commentary and irreverant in style. 


We started blogging a long time ago. Our work hours never aligned with recommended psychotherapists and we needed to get our thoughts out. We are great friends, total opposites and long-time housemates. This was a way to communicate. With each other. With strangers. With consumer marketers. With sub-par meteorologists. With distant friends who wanted to see pictures of stuff we were up to.

This is the place. Our bucket of thoughts to share. You are welcome. 
(We realize that most of you are here for the dog pictures.)

My Back Hurts


So I went and saw Dr. Lo last week. I was so excited to see him first thing Friday morning.
I was there before he was there. His new assistant – who was very nice (I say that because she was kind to me and had a framed photo of herself hugging her dog at her desk). She did not work there when last I was a patient. So we had a delightful new relationship – unsoured by my previous mishaps.

She took all my vitals, etc and then put me in the chair outside his office. They call this chair “The Hotseat”. It seems a tad overdramatic for an old office chair facing the closed door to the exam room – but I love theater. So Dr. Lo arrived and I watched as he ignored me – not even knowing it was me yet – reading his files and going into his office to put his briefcase down and then put on the white doctors jacket that proclaimed him a professional in all it’s embroidered greatness. He walked back out into the hall with my file – yet unopened – and looked up to see me in the Hotseat. I smiled giddily like a retarded kid trying on clothes.

“Oh. It is you. …..I see.” At which point he pretended to be very interested in my chart and retreated back into the exam room. I translated this to mean “Good morning friend. How are you? You look well. I see you’ve done something new with your hair. Please follow me into my exam room where I will make eye contact with you and hope to learn more about what has brought you here today.”

The appointment went about as well as that. It was 45 minutes of “move lef ahm up abuv head –now down. I say down. Put ahm down. Put right ahm up. Put abuv head. Abuv. Like dis. Put ahm here (sigh). Now down. Put face on tabul. I say roll ovuh. Rolllll oooovuh…(sigh).” I had that familiar feeling that I was not his soul mate. And it was more than the language barrier dividing us. He hated me. At how slow I was in following his direction. And it made me giggle. Which helped nothing to be quite honest. It just made me look sarcastic and more like a jerk.

But he fixed me.

I wasn’t sure if the appointment was over – I was standing there making big eyes at my shoes like “Should I put these on? Am I leaving? Are we done? What just happened here?” And he mumbled that I had 10 ribs out of place.

“Ten Ribs!” and then I said something really dumb – but in my defense I was just trying to make small talk to boost the mood.

“I didn’t even know I had that many ribs! How could they all be out of place?” He just looked at me and then I knew that the appointment was over.

Later – at home – (with REAL friends) I was to learn that the human body has like 24 ribs, plus some other related set of vertebrae, blah blah. Why then did I have this mental image of an anatomy graphic with only like three on each side? I blame the graphics people for misrepresenting the anatomy so they could show what was underneath instead of making two damn drawings. This cost savings is ruining education in every possible way!

So I felt better (physically) for about 24 hours before I started feeling worse. But I noticed that I started feeling worse after multiple tries to do layouts on a floating trampoline raft on Pitt’s Pond. I am actually not kidding. And I do feel a bit stupid for thinking that that activity would not re-injure my alignment, as it were. But I’m in too much pain to let these insecure thoughts proliferate within. Instead I find solace in blaming my boyfriend for daring me to do it in the first place. That bastard.