This is why I'm hot

(If you missed the reference, click here, and if you're under 35 and missed it, consider yourself a big loser).

(No, it's not a particularly good song, I know that. But it's a cultural iconicissm these days, and besides, the kid's a Cub fan.)

Anyway. This is why *I'm* hot.

Wait. It gets better.


The real reason I'm so hot is because the damn resister in my ventilation fan died in my car, so I'd only have air conditioning when I was moving. This is the second time this has happened, but the last time it would only blow on high, this time the blower just died altogether (honestly? It's an early model Liberty and it's got almost 99K miles on it. I'm very, very pleased that this is the worst thing that's happened. Ask Katie about having to pick me up on the shoulder of I-55 in my pajama pants because the old Jeep randomly died. And don't even get me started about why the extended warranty was such a good idea on my Aztek) (Yes. I used to own an Aztek. Don't judge. I strayed, I'm better now). And yeah, this happened about a week and a half ago. But it was tolerable when the weather was cooler and I didn't bake at stoplights because I was driving a mobile smelting furnace that only cooled off when it moved at a speed greater than 60mph.

Seriously. Where did the cool air go when I stopped? Just because it stopped blowing doesn't mean it shouldn't be there. It defies the laws of physics. So when Dr. Chevy threw me out before noon today (he's so getting a fruit basket), I went over to the dealer and got it fixed. And waited. And waited. And waited. And wasted two hours of valuable napping packing time. But now I don't melt every time I have to slow down to avoid hitting a slow-moving tractor.

Mags is keeping her cool, though.


She always does.

Meanwhile....you know how things happen and you're just like, hmm, God/Allah/Buddha/the Goddess/Yahweh/FSM has been nudging me in the ribs here and thinks s/he's funny.

I get home, and I'm all ready to settle in for my nap (so I can pack. Post-post-call, remember? And didn't nap, and went to bed at 11 last night) and I get this Facebook message in my Inbox telling me that despite my previous attempts to find her, my best friend from college - whom I don't think I've seen since - has, in fact, found me.

I know this will shock you, particularly those of you who know my best friend from High School, Katie, and my first roommate in medical school, Katie, but, her name is Kate. And she has a blog.
Now, here's why the timing of this is funny.

The other Dr. Kate and I were both chem majors in college (she's still a chemist). My very favorite Kate quote is from when I was running for president of Chem Club (shut up, it was very cool) but was home sick having just had my gallbladder taken out. So I wrote a speech, and Kate read it at the elections. She prefaced this by saying, "now, pretend I'm Kate."

We were together a lot, both by necessity and choice. We are, in point of fact, brothers, actually - Kate and I both belong to the national Chemistry fraternity (shut up, it was sort of cool. Or at least moderately fun). So, this became problematic when someone would say "Kate!" Because I'd usually be the first one to turn around and say, "what?" But if they weren't talking to me, they'd usually say, "No, Other Kate."

Thus, we became Kate and Other Kate. And at some point someone came up to the two of us and some little freshman we were talking to and addressed her directly as "Other Kate." Which I then explained, and said, "you know, like, the other white meat."

Which is precisely the moment we became Chicken and Pork.

Now, Kate had issues with having to be the one named Pork, because of its, ahem, somewhat unsavory slang meaning, so we tried out a couple other alternatives. Calling her Little Kate (which she is) was undesirable in that it made me Big Kate (which I am, but, still). We ultimately settled on Chicken and, of course, the most common substitute for pork....Turkey Bacon (in time this got shortened to Turkey, and the explanation we'd have to give to new people only lengthened). But when it comes right down to it, she'll always be Pork to me.

No, I'm getting to why the timing is funny.

So earlier this week, Mike sends out an email inviting us all to his place for PorkFest, which is apparently a take on some South Georgia tradition called a Pig Jig, asking everyone to bring a pork-themed dish and threatening us with things like desserts that contain pork. And there was some line in there about preparing Boston butts in the North Carolina tradition for this Georgian festival (if someone would just hit a moose on the way over, we'd have the entire Eastern Seaborg covered). So anyway, PorkFest. And I get this email, and I laugh really hard because the first thing I think of is, "Ha! I should bring Kate!" No, not that it would be funny to anyone but me. But anyway, then I spent a good long while reminiscing about college and how sad I was that I didn't know where Kate was or what she was doing anymore.

And then there she was.

So having spaghetti for dinner tonight.