There is no reason to cry, so I will not cry

As you may already know, we have 12864976165398 pieces of stuff in our lives. And I am still cramming it all into brightly colored bins, labeled "kitchen stuff," "living room stuff," "bedroom stuff," and "stuff stuff."

So distract me from all this stuff, I recently decided to move on to the next item of my to do list. Shots. No, not the kind where you get to pour on a little salt and suck on a lime afterwards.

Vaccination shots. The kind where you psyche yourself out before hand because somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you established that you don't like needles, avoid having blood drawn (sorry, Red Cross), and dislike anything related to the formalized care of your well being. You turn into a nervous wreck at the thought of having to organize this tiny detail of your life. Major moves across the ocean you can handle, but needles, no way. Or, maybe that's just me.

However, being the consummate planner that I am, I did a little research to prepare myself for what kinds of shots I need for travel to China. Looks like typhoid, hepatitis A and do I really need to bring malaria pills? Then I got distracted by season 4 of the Wire. Spoiler Alert -- Oh, how I miss Stringer Bell.


OK, 3 hours later (I can never watch just one episode!)...I called the nurse at my health care facility:

Me: I would like to schedule an appointment for, I mean, I am traveling to China in a few weeks, and I...

Nurse: Do you have your immunization records from when you were a child? When was the last time you had a tetanus booster?

Me: Uh. Hmmm. That's an interesting question. You see I moved around a lot...Tetanus?

Nurse: Well, call your pediatrician. You need a tetanus booster every ten years.

I hang up and call my pediatrician's office.

Me: I would like to have a copy of my immunization records sent to me. (Thinking to myself again, tetanus?)

Nurse: Well, you'd have to call your pediatrician's office.

Me: I thought this was my pediatrician.

Nurse: Ma'am, this is internal medicine.

Me: Oh, well, do you have my records?

Nurse: No.

Me: Reciting mantra in my mind.

At this point I channel the great wise words of a three year old I know. One day, on her way to the dentist's office (which, by the way, is another social norm that tests my psyche), this particular three-year-old turned to her mother and unsolicited said, "There is no reason to cry, so I will not cry." After I was told this story I wrote down the words on a post-it note and stuck it to my computer. I am not joking. This is perfect advice for me. True. Straightforward. Sound. Logical advice.

Me: Reciting mantra while thanking the nurse for not being able to help me.

I then proceed to contact my undergrad's health services. Surely I would have had to provide evidence that I wasn't a health threat to 2,000 fellow freshmen. I learn that I graduated so long ago that they keep those files in a warehouse off campus and that it could take weeks for them to find the information.

Alright, well more recently my grad school's health services must have these elusive records.

Me: Hello, I would like to have a copy of my...

Health Services Employee: When did you graduate?

Me: 2004

HSE: Oh. That was the last year we did not require proof of your immunization records. We wouldn't have anything on file for you.

Me: Mantra. Mantra. Mantra...

I call my current health care folks again. We schedule an appointment. Yes, she insists that I get a tetanus shot, and no I don't need to bring malaria pills with me since we won't be skipping around the countryside. And the actual needles don't really hurt because the entire time I am reciting the mantra in my mind. Maybe I let it slip out loud for a moment, and the nurse thinks I am a bit strange. But the truth is, I am.

So when it comes to my health care, I may still possess the anxiety of a three-year-old on her way to the dentist, but I also have the strength of a three-year-old with an uncompromising perspective on life. There is no reason to cry, so I will not cry.

Seven Ways to Entertain your Family and Friends

But wait! There's more!

Have you seen the dress that you can wear seven different ways? One dress. Seven styles. I'm not saying pair it with a jacket and and some flip flops for the casual look and then dress it up with a pair of heels and a silver clutch for that night time flair. I'm saying, wrap here and twist there, and voila! It's a new dress. Tuck there and sinch here, and yet again, a brand new dress!

Well, now I own one. Thanks, Mom. And it's coming to China with me.

But of course, it couldn't leave the States without a live demonstration. And what could be more entertaining to family and friends, some of whom I haven't seen in years, than modeling the several styles of said dress in front of them? Well, nothing, quite frankly.

You have to have the kind of family and friends I have to find this remotely entertaining. You have to understand that when my father shouted out, "Wow, that looks like a completely new outfit. It's amazing," he did so without sarcasm. It was as if he had been hired for the live infomercial that was taking place in my parents' living room on Saturday night. When my parents' neighbors, who are really more family than just neighbors, demanded to see style number five again, but this time with the scoop neck in front, we were squealing with delight. When my 18 year old cousin and his older brother oohed and awwwed along with the crowd, I knew that we crossed the line of just plain amusement into pure silliness. Cool caps were off, and family fun time was on.

These are the kinds of moments I hope we can replicate over the next year. I'm not suggesting that our first week in China I'm going to gather my new Beijing friends into our apartment to make them watch me model my new dress...now that would be embarrassing. Besides, I'll wait at least a few months before we get to that stage in our relationships.

However, any suggestions for seven (or several) new ways to entertain myself while in Beijing would be much appreciated. Let's start a running tally. You tell me where to go, and what to do, and I'll try my best to make it there and make it happen. I'm not shy. Let the ooohs and awwwes begin.

13 hours and 40 minutes

(eh, hem - a haiku)

tickets. are. purchased.

things to do list grows shorter

and shorter and short...