Because this is only the second ever post I have written, despite my friend's dismay, I guess it is officially time to join the blog bandwagon, so giddy up!
After my San Francisco adventure visiting the girls, I am trying unsuccessfully to kick jet lag's ass. As someone who loves a nap, it is nearly impossible for me to have a half day (Happy Shemini Atzeret everyone...right, I'm not too sure either), and not canoodle with my couch.
As a young teen, I remember trying to dominate jet lag after a trip to Hawaii, only to watch the sunrise with Al Roker each morning (and this was Al Roker pre-gastric bypass, so he was a little bit less jolly, though still adorabley adorable). This happened for three damn weeks straight. I started to get nervous. My not Jewish but oh so Jewish mother also got worried. So we headed to my pediatrician (think Jesus the Jewish Doctor with long hair and all...too bad is stethescope was not a staff, but I digress), only to find out that good old Dr. Jesus T. Jewish Doctor had hired a new "associate" to share his practice. The wench made my mom leave the room and insisted on asking me THE most intense and perverse questions a fourteen year old still very much in her awkward stage could handle. She then also tried to convince me to that I had Heptatitis (yes the sexually transmitted kind...I know suburban Jewish kids have a reputation for being sex-fiens but really...have you seen the pictures of me).
Also, isn't "no I have not touched male genitalia" enough of an answer that she did not need to ask me if I had ever seen it before. Last time I checked you couldn't catch the Hep from seeing balls. But I guess there is a chance that only taking one science class in college prevented me from ever learning that.
So maybe/hopefully it will be the nightmares of having to face such questions as a gal in her mid-twenties who doesn't hang out with nearly enough men to answer these questions proudly that may let me finally end this death sentence known as the jet.
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