All ears - GEMS

Here, there and everywhere....some favorite OVERHEARDS:

Grabbing breakfast at LaMadeline:
Little Boy: Mom, what's an open house?
MOM: It's a time when people who might want to buy your house come to see if they will like your house.
Little Boy: Then why do we have to leave? I like our house already.

At the airport - group of girls:
Girl 1: OK, now remember what happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas.
Girl 2: No. STDs and Babies go home with you. They do not stay in Vegas so no nasty girl shennanigans.


At the resort pool - group of kids playing volleyball:
Young Girl Running Back into the Game: "Coming Back Fresh!"
(we have adopted this as our own mantra on many occasions)

OK - this is a seen and not a heard but seen on a T-shirt:
You had me at Hell No.

As usual, keeping my ears open for more shareable gems...seen here with my partner in crime Kathy.... SHAKE AND BAKE! I'm sure people hear some of the stupid stuff we say (especially after a few glasses of wine) and have some good laughs too.

Scenes from the Sammons Cancer Center

I'll never forget the first time I walked through the doors of the Sammons Cancer Center to have a "screening mammogram" and meet my new on again/off again boyfriend, Dr. Michael Grant (although I have shared him with others, I know that he loves my boobies best! And you would think that since he uttered those three little words to me 8 years ago "you have cancer" that I would be so over him but I'm not! He is easy on the eye and a great bedside manner). The first time I walked through those doors and saw all the cancer patients I thought "this is so NOT ME." I am healthy. Young. Fit. Charming. Witty. Bright. With a full mane of curly hair. NOT A CANCER PATIENT.

Eight years later, an upgraded screening facility and a brand spanking new office bring back the same old memories. But I'm an old hand now. I know this IS ME. Although I could be on the once a year plan, I go every 6 months. Mostly to assure myself that I'm the One That Dr. Grant Wants and partially JUST TO BE SURE! As the years since diagnosis get further and further apart, I find myself listening more to the women around me. Watching closely for the signs that someone might need reassurance that Dr. Grant is the best and yes, I'm willing to share him with you. Or the ones who need to know that no hair days really do turn into bad hair days faster than you thought.

The Mammogram staging area is quite the interesting place. It's divided by the haves and the have nots. Those that have/had breast cancer go to the express lane. It's a new system designed to qive you, the frequent visitor, quick results so you're not fretting in the waiting room wondering if the initial nightmare of a bad mammo is happening AGAIN. Heard this time by a fellow fast laner: Something was wrong with the films and I have to do it all over again. Translation: Something might be wrong with me. I have to do it all over again. The look of panic overtakes the words. We strike up a conversation because I know the conversation in her head.

After the mammo is CLEAR - YAY ME - with their eyes the fast laners congratulate me and I then get ushered over for the highlight of the day: Feel up time by Dr. Grant with a Grey's Anatomy-like too young to be a doctor Intern (usually female ) watching (talk about a killjoy!). Dr. Grant is the best. He can make a surgical incision that will leave your real boyfriend searching for days to find it. His office has a clear separation of newbies and been there done thats. You can see it in their eyes. You can tell by the entourage that they have or do not have with them. You can tell by their whispered voices and worried looks or big old smiles.

Overheard by his office personnel about a new patient "She is really freaking out and is insisting to see the doctor now." NO SHIT. Let her take my appointment...because hearing those three words "YOU HAVE CANCER," even by a McSteamy, McDreamy, Worldclass breast surgeon is not what you EVER WANT TO HEAR.

Pictured here with me, my friend G who I let BORROW DR. GRANT....listening to the sweet sound of survivors at Komen Dallas Race for the Cure last year.

Sister Mary-Don't-Waddle-Down-the Aisle-Or-else...

I never quite understood why my parents insisted on us going to the Catholic church after their own near misses - Mom, who learned to be ambidextrious because the nuns at Catholic school hit her on the knuckles with a ruler for being left handed (which later proved to be a good thing in sports she excelled in such as golf, tennis and bowling)or Dad, who narrowly escaped becoming a priest or actually living after having to drive the priests around when he could barely see over the dashboard.

But off to CCD (Catholic Christian Doctrine?) and public school we went (a concession I'm sure)...where we dutifully did the sacraments. The CCD halls were a pretty interesting place to hear but not be heard, because that was back in the day where they believed that children should be seen but not heard. At the ripe old age of 8, I prepared to make my first holy communion. This came with really cool accessories plus a dress and veil that made you feel like you were getting married. And presents like little patent leather purses, and rosaries to assist you with your Neco Wafer Communion playdates. It also came with the first experience with the really scarey nuns. I remember bounding up 3000 steps and whipping that door open to make it to my class on time, only to be held back by a slow nun behind me who expected me to open the door and wait for her to go through first. Even though I was late. I think I have suffered from whiplash ever since.

Those of us who did the Catholic thing back in the day surely remember preparing for first holy communion as it was right up there as it was a prequel to wedding planning that should be happening about 9 years later because the Church did not believe in birth control. I remember this preparation being full of veiled threats: you MUST NOT bite the wafer - it had to dissolve even though it would stick to the roof of your mouth for like 3 hours; you MUST CROSS YOUR THUMBS in the sign of the cross when you clasped your hands together in prayer; and WHATEVER YOU DO - DO NOT WADDLE DOWN THE AISLE. WADDLING DOWN THE AISLE WILL RESULT ON YOU BEING YANKED OUT OF FIRST HOLY COMMUNION LINE in front of God and your parents.

For the life of me, at 8, I had no idea what waddling was and I was too afraid to ask. I just prayed with my clasped hands and crossed thumbs that Sister Anti-Waddle would not pull me out of the line. I must confess these early days at CCD were the beginnings of listening intently - too afraid of what might happen if I didn't.

But we'll save confession for another post!