Too Bad I'm Allergic to Apples...

Alright...tonight's topic: things you have to learn how to do when you move far far away from all of your family members and find yourself pitifully alone. Medical edition. Or rather: medical edition complicated by the fact that you have health insurance from a large company that has sectors in many states, but the state you live in differs from the state your insurance is from therefore nobody can figure out how to process you. Groan.

So why am I doing this anyway? Because it's probably a good idea to have a primary care physician BEFORE you need one? Because it's the responsible thing to do? Because I'm BORED (ha fat chance)? No. I am literally scrambling to find a doctor ASAP because I have injured my ankle. You have no idea how many times I wish I'd done this when I actually had the time...like...oh I dunno...when I was completely unemployed?! I am kicking myself (with the 'good' foot, and steering clear of the injured ankle) like crazy right now.

Anyway. I don't even know how to go about doing this 'find a doctor' business. I've got the list of physicians approved by 'my' insurance (in the state I live in...not the state my insurance is issued from...so all of this work may be in vain)...I've used the 'refining tool' to weed out all the men (sorry men, but it's becoming increasingly evident that I generally don't really give a rat's ass what the majority of you have to say...to be discussed in a later post). Now what? Uhhh...I'm looking, I'm looking...through my massive list...

Here's how I've narrowed it down: My first choice has the same name as me, is relatively young and is located near where I live. Oh, and the hospital she's associated with looks legit. And by that, I mean I think I've heard of it. My second choice is the same person as my first choice, just at her other location (is that even allowed as a second choice?). My third choice...doesn't exist.

This is the shoddiest of shoddy doctor hunting. Being an adult is exhausting.

Oh yeah...and major nerd alert on that picture.

Red: The Ice Queen, Intimidator of Homeless Men

"Yo, yo lady....yo RED!"

I hear this a lot. And by a lot I mean multiple times a day. Do all redheads get referred to as 'Red' by strange men on the street? I guess I can't say it's always strange men on the street calling me 'Red'...I had a dear friend in college who called me 'Red' (I called him Nate-Dogg). REGARDLESS. My general rule of thumb when I hear someone yelling after me, calling me 'Red' is to not turn around under ANY circumstances. I am getting really good at it. Until a week or two ago.

I'm on Bleecker around 8:30 am, excitedly hobbling (due to a sprained ankle yuck boo hiss) towards a much anticipated cup of coffee at a new favorite coffee shop (though not the one I work at. Don't tell.) This guy won't stop yelling after me, and I keep hobbling...until I hear:

"Yo Red, you DROPPED something."

Enter slightly frantic train of thought: Uhoh...my just-bought-20-minutes-ago unlimited metrocard was in my back pocket. It actually could have fallen out. This is so not the general rule of thumb. Must turn around and check. Do not want. Do not want. Do not make eye contact...

I stop, I turn, I look...

"ME!!!!" A semi-toothless homeless guy jumps up, arms outstretched, onto the sidewalk. I stare, I start laughing, hysterically. I can't even help it. And now he's laughing with me.

I had to hand it to him, it was clever. He got me. He got me good. If the interaction had ended right there, we would have been totally cool. But it didn't. I got my coffee, I sat down outside (perhaps my second mistake here). Minutes later, my 'buddy' approaches my table and sits across from me. He begins to talk...

Apparently he was dared to talk to me. Apparently his 'crew' loitering on Bleecker found me 'intimidating.' He says I'm beautiful and calls me an Ice Queen (which at this point in life, I agree with). Let me remind you, I'm not responding. My 'buddy' goes on to inform me that he successfully finished four years of highschool (oh boy, I can tell where this is going)...in fact, he also finished two years of Pharm school. He informs me that if I can accept him as he is now, he won't make me sign a pre-nup. I have almost choked on my bagel at this point.

Some more words were spoken (him to me...I literally did not respond, and if you know me, this is QUITE a feat). I ended up leaving right about the time he starting screaming the spelling of 'pharmaceutical' at me.

"P-H-A-pause-R-M..."

Frantic or Efficient?

I currently have 23 minutes until I have to force myself to get in bed. Originally the 'force goal' had been 11 pm. For some reason I've pushed it up...don't know why. Maybe to see how fast I can complete my new set of tasks I also just made up (i.e., write this entry, put new sheets on my bed, get a number out of my old blackberry which is beyond dead and giving me the spinning hourglass of death, prepare room for morning, etc etc).

I used to do this (meaning made up neurotic deadlines) in college too, especially during paper writing. I'd sit down to write a 10, 15, 20 page paper. I'd sit down with a gigantic water bottle. I'd chug water while I wrote. I'd refill and chug more. Side note: My bladder is the size of a dime. Once I was literally busting at the seams because of insane water consumption, I'd tell myself I wasn't allowed to use the restroom until I finished x number of pages. This is bizarre and batshit crazy, I know...but truthfully, my absolute BEST papers were written this way. I work very well under pressure. Surprisingly well. And apparently 'pressure' and 'stress' are two very different things. Thank you New York City for making this embarrassingly and painfully evident. But that is another story entirely.

Regardless of my 'deciding' to run around like a chicken with it's head cutoff, I have to say, today has been a) INCREDIBLE and b) Incredibly efficient. After what I can honestly say was simultaneously one of my worst (for a number of reasons) and best (solely because it kicked my ass into gear) weekends of my life in NY, I have conquered my Monday.

I woke up at 4am. I needed to use the restroom (I'm telling you, I drink a lot of water even when I'm not forcing myself to write a paper at mad speed), and I was thirsty (again with the water). By 4:30am I was still awake. Wide awake. I trolled various news sites in hopes of falling back asleep. No dice. At 4:45 I got out of bed. And got ready to go to the gym. Which for some reason I thought was going to open at 5am, but in actuality wouldn't open until 5:30am. What do I do with this aimless half hour? I run. WHAAAAAT?! Anyone who knows me knows I don't run. You could force me to choose run and live or not run and die, and I'd probably choose option B (over dramatic, yes...but really, I despise running). Anyway. I have half an hour to kill, I want my full hour workout, I have to be back at my apartment to get ready for work at 6:15. I run. Around a few blocks over and over. Lame. I do my little elliptical workout. I complete an hour of nice hard cardio by 6am. I am ready for work by 6:45. I am at work by 7:58.

Friends. It is 8am and I have already kicked life's ass. Dear weekend: anything you wanted to try to tell me about being a bad human being, or not having my life together...I'm going to need you to take those unsavory tidbits and shove them somewhere the sun don't see. Cause this girl is on top of it...and it gets better.

I get off work at 5pm, have made some returns I've been meaning to make for three weeks by 6. I am fed and watered by 6:30. My laundry is taken out. I have sent emails for work, looked for new work and paid my bills. All by 7 pm. I even made time (by 8) to talk to friends. Holy mother of all people, I had voice communication with people I love.

I have completed everything on my notoriously 'uncompleteable' list for the day by 8pm (the changing sheets thing was an afterthought which I will attend to in about thirty seconds). I think I'm back on track. I'm conquering. With a smile on my face. And taking care of myself.