Wednesday, December 28, 2011

when a guy guest blogs.

Indy is in powder blue. I offer no explanation.

What’s up?  I’m Indy.  Courtney pulled me out of the bullpen to write a couple of blog entries for her now that Henry is here.   I am not a blogger or bloggist or whatever the politically correct term is for those unemployed narcissists who regale us with the minutia of their lives on a daily basis.  I think she asked me because she and I have a similar sense of humor - albeit mine is without any sense of decorum.  I figure the best first entry I could write would be how I know Courtney and Brandon and the evolution of our friendship. 

I first started hanging out with those two during Brandon’s and my intern year.   I was their perma-third wheel.  They had been married for probably 5 or 6 years at that point, and they tolerated the seemingly endless line of floozies that I dated that year.*  I was the kind of train-wreck, alpha male moron who had no business raising a fichus all by myself, let alone working as a physician.  My schedule consisted of going to work, working out, and going out.  Gym, tan, anesthesiology if you will - though anyone who knows me understands that the middle word is an utter and baseless lie. 

I looked up to the stability that Court and Brandon had together despite still being “cool” enough to keep up with me when we went out to bars.  Before Harper came along, we went out.  A lot.  My liver still has not forgiven me, but we are back on speaking terms.  C and B were the type of people who could lovingly laugh at my shenanigans with little to no judgment and give me advice only when I asked for it.  I was very much like a new puppy who followed them around.  

Ridiculousness seemed to happen all the time that year, and Courtney has asked me to write about some of those times.  Since that year, I settled down and got married to a girl who is way too good for me and have since learned that when a woman asks you to do something, she is actually telling you to do it.  Guys out there, you might want to write that down.  That pearl of knowledge is the male equivalent of the discovery of penicillin. 

So I’m going to set out at random and unexpected time intervals, recounting the fun and awkward times we had that year.  I will do my best to protect the innocent, which will be easy, since those people were few and far between.  Some upcoming blogs will surely address; the time I got shot by a cab driver, the Halloween party in July, New Years Eve (oh yes, Courtney, I went there), and more.

Occasionally I will write with the kind of stream-of-consciousness ramblings only intelligible to schizophrenics, so if I lose any of you, I will have C attach an addendum explaining what the *&^% I am talking about.  After all, she is the blogette, not me. 

*If you are reading this, and you dated me during my intern year-don’t worry.  I’m not talking about you.  You were the one exception, and I look back at our time together with misty eyes.**

**If you are smart enough to realize that I couldn’t possibly be speaking to any one specific person, then I definitely did not date you during my intern year.


  1. Indy, didn't you get married in that suit?

  2. The time you got shot by the cab driver first, please.

  3. The time you got shot by the cab driver first, please.