GuestMap has been added. Go on over there to your right ... now down a bit ... a bit lower ... that's it. Now sign in. Make me jealous by telling me what exotic location you're living in (which would be anywhere but here).
Now, when you come visit, it's de rigeur to bring me a bottle of wine to fill the new wine refrigerator I just installed in my bar tonight. Merlot/cabernet/bordeaux/syrah/chianti -- anything's fine really, as long as it's red, red, RED. I've got the caviar chilling on ice right now...
Why I love the rain
It’s the best excuse to not get out of bed … ok, the second best.
No flying insects to be seen.
Nice, soothing background noise, whether I’m in bed or not.
I don’t feel like I am missing something, like I should be outside doing something outdoorsy and athletic.
Perfect excuse to stay in and a read a book or watch an old movie.
Wiping Cody’s paws and back when she comes in from doing her business.
Gradually beginning to not fear bad thunderstorms.
My garden desperately needed it.
Why I hate the rain
My car tires are bald, and I have no traction.
Wiping Cody’s muddy paw prints off the floor.
I-95 traffic is unbearable on the sunniest of days… but today … here, have a
looksee for yourself.
No stars to view.
Small craft advisories means no sailing tonight. And it's the last race, too.
Today my lawn is beige. Tomorrow, my lawn will be 9 feet high.
Motorcycle must remain in the shed, sleeping under its covers.
This is what lead some whack jobs to my site via Google this evening:
"anna nicole smith stuffing" "take off my shoe in class" "rush of blood on the head" "photo of my wife fucking the neighbor."
Some people can be so classy...
Since my summer vacation is winding down, I figured I'd treat myself and the wife to a nice dinner and a movie. But first, we went to buy her a new cell phone. Then, off to the Oyster Bar for fried oysters and a beer. On the way home I decided to forego a stop in Borders Books (I *just* cleaned out the office) and decided to rent Amelie (or Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain), which I've been putting off seeing until I was finished with class. Since it was subtitled (it's in French), Deb decided to stay upstairs and play with her phone. So Cody and I watched it together.
It's a nice story about a young woman in Paris who plays matchmaker, and has an interesting way of courting a young man. Roger Ebert sums it up best with: "Jean-Pierre Jeunet's "Amelie" is a delicious pastry of a movie, a lighthearted fantasy in which a winsome heroine overcomes a sad childhood and grows up to bring cheer to the needful and joy to herself."
If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it.
And today's Jackass of the Day Award goes to ...
(Blue Hill, Maine) -- It was a shocking sight, to be sure.
A homeowner in Blue Hill, Maine came home to find someone asleep in his
bed -- disturbing enough -- but also wearing just his daughter's pink
underwear.
And it wasn't Goldilocks.
The sheriff's department says the unidentified homeowner determined that
someone had used his shower and then found Matthew Williams unconscious in
his bed.
After being awakened, Williams ran from the house into the nearby woods
-- clad in nothing except the ill-fitting underwear.
Deputies later found Williams hiding in the bushes. They say he was drunk
-- and also wanted for failure to appear in court.
Meanwhile ... back at the plant..
CLERMONT, Ky. (AP) -- Employees at the Jim Beam bourbon
distillery are getting sour over restrictions on bathroom breaks.
Workers on the bottling line are fuming about being limited to
four breaks per 8 1/2 hour shift, only one of which can be
unscheduled. Extra trips to the bathroom can result in reprimands.
Workers with six violations can be fired.
The United Food and Commercial Workers local said some of the
100 affected employees have urinated on themselves because they
were afraid to leave the line. Some wear protective undergarments
and others have feigned illnesses to go home and avoid getting
violations, said Jo Anne Kelley, president of the union local.
Think twice about what may be in that bottle the next time you go to pour yourself a glass of bourbon...
My bottle of PowerAde. I could not screw on the cap during the game last night. No, it was not game jitters. Just FFFS. (Fred Flintstone Finger Syndrome)
My Fish. We had one escape attempt. As we were draining the 40-gallon tank, my shark leapt out of the bucket and onto my *new* (an hour old) rug. (Yes, I decided to empty the fish tank AFTER putting down the new rug. Yes, "duh" is a word in my vocabulary. Yes, I am aware that Mensa may have made a HUGE mistake by letting me in.) I tried to grab him as he was flipping all over the rug. He was more slippery than a bar of soap. Actually, like a bar of soap dipped in K-Y jelly. As soon as I got a hold of him, he slithered his way out of my fat fingers and slammed against my filing cabinet.
He lived. He swims backwards now and is missing a few scales, but other than that, he's doing fine.
My Memory. I had to send Deb back home not once, but twice yesterday before the game because I forgot first my glasses and second the card we were giving to our Manager, Cheryl.
If you're beginning to wonder how she puts up with me, I'm way ahead of you... I'd like to know that myself. She said last night that I'm on my own in organic chem -- she' never taken it before. I have news for her: she will also be attending medical school. Whether or not she decides to become a licensed MD is irrelevant.
I can see it now: "HONEY!!!! Can you come over here and remove this big, ugly tumor from my patient's head? My fat fingers keep getting in the way!"
Sigh.
OK, I have witnesses that the evil forces are fucking with me. Not five minutes after we got to the bar to celebrate the end of the softball season, Deb turned to me and said "Missy's here."
"WHAT? Are you serious? This is sick. SICK. I don't see her for 15 years and now twice in a week?? What the hell is she doing here???"
After some contemplation (and 2 1/2 Sam Adams) I realized that, when I bumped into her last week I had said I was going to be at Archie's last night. Soooo...one can only jump to the conclusion that she is following me. It must be the charm that oozes from my pores. (Shut up, Robyn. You, too Jule. :)
In my life, there is no such thing as coincidence. Everything is deliberate. Just ask Deb. Everyone is stalking me. And it probably has some sinister connection to the low-flying helicopters and planes that buzz my house every weekend.
Thanks to everyone who came out and supported us at our championship game last night. Although we lost, we played two of the most intense and challenging games we've ever faced. I should correct that to say, we didn't lose, the other team won. They were a hair better than us last night, and deserved the title.
Our team can not hang our heads - we played our hearts out and played the best game we could. The bats just weren't there. (Game 1: 1-0; Game 2: 6-4)
We had a 5-year dynasty as the reigning champs. Now we've got something really tangible to chase after next year...
Congrats on a great season, Ladies!
Now please, for the love of god, stop banging on those tables!!!
... say, did anyone save a chicken wing for Miele?
Enjoy the abbreviated version!
Or the whole damn song!
Also... I think we may have found the absolute worst dyke song ever recorded... It's called the Lesbian Song. It's ... all kinds of wrong.
Finally... here's why I hate the South...
One of my favorite columnists (if only for her thought-provoking verse; I don't always agree with her philosophically) has been partaking in a Q&A on AndrewSullican.com. Her latest discussion on the Israel-Palestinian is worth a read ...
Andrew also has an interesting viewpoint on why Europe should "grow up" about the possibility of war with Iraq. I don't necessarily concur with him either, and I have trouble regarding his prose as legitimate when his own personal crusade against the New York Times is evident in almost all of his columns. Nevertheless, I fully believe in examining both sides of such important issues such as the current war and the US foreign policy. I read both sides, digest it all, and come up with my own thoughts and opinions on current affairs. Therefore, I'd recommend reading what he has to say ... regardless of whether or not I agree.
More compelling commentary can be found at the Guardian's Iraq Crisis Special Report.
I do think that US foreign policy is one of those areas that Americans can't afford to ignore or turn a blind eye toward.
George Bernard Shaw once said that the word "fish" could be spelled "ghoti." (gh as in rough, o as in women, and ti as in nation) Can you come up with the longest way of spelling "sigh" following the same idea?
5 weeks of busting my ass has paid off! I got my grades a little while ago, and got an A- in Chem!!! I was hoping for a B or better, so I am quite pleased with the result. Chemistry has not been my favorite subject, and I had been dreading part II, "the pre-med weed-out class," for 3 years. The 5-week intensive class seemed at the time to last for eternity. Now it seems as if it flew by...
I'm going home now, grabbing a beer, and relaxing for the rest of the weekend ... In a mere 10 days, I'll have yet another big fish to fry.
I give up. Surrender. I'm throwing in the proverbial towel. Even I, with my phony red cape, can only take so much. If you've been playing along at home this week, you don't need to tune into the re-runs to understand that it's been a not-so-glamorous week for yours truly. Matter of fact, in a rare, "I surrender" mood, I've decided, for this week, I'm benching myself from life. In a nutshell, I suck. At what? Oh, everything. I lose. God wins. Yes, Him. He wins.
Yesterday I finished a 5-week intensive Chemistry class. Happy that I accomplished a long-overdue requirement in my quest for med school, I mistakenly assumed that all was right with the world and started to oh-so-slightly let my guard down. I had no idea how off-balance it really was...
I had to stop by the university tonight to drop off my final homework assignment, which I inadvertently forgot to hand in on Monday night. While I was there, I figured I could also pay my tuition and register for the Fall semester – my supposed last as a postbacc pre-med. After forking over a fat $1,400.00, I sauntered over to the Registrar, dreaming of my forthcoming, celebratory hot cherry pepper pizza and pitcher of ice cold beer that I would soon be devouring at Colony Pizza with Jack and Miki…. And then the Evil Forces got wind of my elated mood.
“Sorry, that class is closed.”
“What! Are you FUCKING kidding me? I just called the other day, and the woman I spoke with said there was plenty of room!”
“Sorry, the class is full. You need to speak with the chair of the chemistry department to see if he can make any exceptions.”
Anxious and with a racing pulse, I ran through the science wing, in a mad search for the supposedly elusive department chair. The evil forces must have been on a coffee break because within 5 minutes (at 5:30pm during the summer) I was able to track down the little old gentleman who was the chair, and convince him to let me into the morning class. (Not the evening class, which was apparently overbooked.) Somewhat relieved, I asked about the Lab. No luck. I am on a waiting list, while he sees “what he can do to assist me.”
In other words, I need to find yet another university offering this class this semester with enough room for me or I am screwed. Fucking screwed.
After a happening-during-the-wee-hours, hour-long chat with my wife last night about my persistent cranky mood, I was determined to not let this get to me. It will all work itself out I mused. It always does.
Slightly aggravated, but trying to stay positive, I went home, picked up The Wife, and drove to Stamford to meet up with Jack and Miki so we could hop on over to my favorite pizza and beer joint, Colony Pizza. A little dive in the city of Stamford, Colony has that thin crust pizza that rivals the best of New Haven – a city known for pizza par excellence - except without the crowds. It’s my favorite casual place to dine, especially on the down side of a bad week.
We get there, found a parking spot immediately (very rare) and Colony’s famous Fitzy brings us a pitcher of beer. Things were looking up already... Miki poured a round, and just as I could feel the tension draining out my toes ... in she walks.
Of all the pizza joints, in all the cities, in all the world, she has to walk into mine. No, not Ingrid Bergman (I wish, however, I believe she’s still dead), but Missy. Missy, as in my very first girlfriend/lover, Missy. Recently divorced Missy, Still living in the same town as me, but we do our best to avoid each other, Missy.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE DOING HERE?!?!?”
Deb could only shake her head, helplessly.
Of course, the Evil Forces had been plotting their revenge for weeks, so this was an ice-cold dish of sweet revenge. Not enough that she was in MY pizza joint -- Missy was there with a friend of Jack and Miki’s. Matter of fact, the sister-in-law of one of their closest friends. An unavoidable confrontation.
Ooooookayyy. I knew CT was a small state, but this was fucking ridiculous. At that moment I don’t think I even needed to remind Deb that she needed to step up her job search in California…
Throughout dinner, I did my damned best to ignore her, although she was sitting in the booth right across the aisle from us. An hour later, it was time for us to leave, and Jack and Miki went to bid adieu to their friend. Damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t (I don’t handle confrontations well), I was forced to say the obligatory “hello” to my ex – our first words in 15 years.
While I have been happily married for the past 13 years, Missy has just ended a terrible 5+ year marriage to some asshole with a Y chromosome. While I have been working my ass off to improve my life, she has spent the last decade doing not much more than hard drinking. Reminiscent of my old catholic guilt, I started to feel sorry for the old girl. I figured, I have the upper hand here, the better life, so why not just let bygones be bygones. I decided to be … pleasant. So, we chatted.
Missy managed an upbeat mood and engaged in a 3-minute faux pleasant conversation with me. At 3 minutes, my internal egg timer went off, and my subconscious realized that I have had more than my fair share of uncomfortable meetings this past summer. Instantaneously, I had an overwhelming the urge to get the hell out of there as fast as I could.
Me. Anxious to leave Colony Pizza in a hurry. It was … a sin.
The only saving grace was that the mutual friend of Jack and Miki and Missy’s mentioned that Missy was a Colony Pizza virgin. Hopefully, it won’t become her favorite haunt, as well. As Deb and I left Jack and Miki’s house later tonight, I turned and looked at her and said “This is EXACTLY what I fucking mean. Forget what I said about there being no God. There is a God, and he is realllllllly fucking pissed off at me for something. And he plays dirty pool.”
“Honey … sigh.”
Even Deb was rendered speechless.
God, Mothra, those annoying, tiny chanting Japanese twin women, and the Evil Forces: 1x1025, Laura: sub-fucking-zero.
.
Saddle bags came today ... and of course, the fucking screw that holds the seat on my motorcycle won't come off. Now it's stripped, so Deb's on the phone with Jack trying to figure out a way to get theseat off. I'm hearing words like drill, and impact wrench... grrreat.
The only saving grace is that I am going to Colony Pizza... tom-
sniff.. sniff. What IS that fucking smell?? Wait a minute..
DAMN IT!! That's what I get for working in the yard int he dark. Dog shit on my shoe!!!
Motherf*cking, c*cksucking son of a bitch.
Anything else!?!?!?!
(I just ripped both sneakers off and flung them into the backyard.. I'm done. DONE.)
I'm done!!!!!! Damn it, that was a long final exam. Almost three hours of chemistry problem solving. My eyes were throbbing when I walked out of there. Headed right to my company's annual summer picnic, which was being held all afternoon. I was greeted by some colleagues handing me a much-needed beer. Illegal contraband at corporate functions are always a welcome surprise. (The beer was not part of the official picnic.)
Now I'm home, chilling, and my new saddlebags have arrived, so I've got more toys to play with for the next few weeks until the insanity begins anew.
... It feels like a summer Friday for me... I hope the rest of the week is as pleasant as this moment.
Guess how many cans of VC I've consumed in the past 3 days? Go on, guess!
I'm mortified. I bought a 12-pack (found cans instead of 20 oz bottles!!) on Friday night, and I just checked my stash and I've got 4 left. 8 cans in 2 days. I am becoming my mother -- she who consumes Diet Coke by the gallon.
I am powerless over Vanilla Coke. Damn, I can't wait until October when Diet VC hits the market...
... this is not normal...
Taking a small break from .. what else. The "C" word. I must say, though, that after 3.5 days of this, I am not as cranky as expected. Since I've had the AC on all weekend, and my mood is level, I am not turning it on today. My electric bill is going to be astronomical as it is. Another bonus of east coast living. That, and this haze that settles in the sky for the entire month of August. Stargazers be damned.
I'm playing in my first softball game in over a month tonight, and I'll be damned if I can remember how to swing a bat. I played basketball on Saturday morning and "girl throws" were in abundance. If we win tonight, we head to the championship game next week. We're shooting for 6 in a row. I'm allowing myself to play because it could be the last game of the season for us. And who's to say what will be on tap next summer... with the wife job hunting and me filling out school apps.
Oh my! A breeze! I must go take advantage of it and get in the shower with the windows open.
What part of "I'm an atheist" do people not understand? It seems recently that the more I protest hearing about this god and that church and this priest and that pastor, the more people feel the need to discuss spirituality with me. I'm fine with it, in theory. Just not in practice. Kind of like heterosexuality. Hey, if it works for you ... But preaching to people who don't want to hear it needs to stop. Double for the pseudo-religions.
If it's not my in-laws, it's my own family. Every Sunday morning my mother comes by after church to visit her granddog. And for the past 5 weeks, my mother has launched into a diatribe about the new pastor, the fired choir director (who she pointed out was "an old fairy" -- so much for her political correctness) and the church's upcoming health screening. (No, I am not helping with the blood pressure screening again this year. Old women tend to wear pungent perfume that seems to linger in my nostrils for days.) For 45 minutes this morning she talked about the "new guy" and how he's changing everything for the worse, and how no one likes him, and how she misses the old pastor. I finally said to her "Mom, stop. I am interested in your life, but I am NOT interested in the catholic church. I don't understand your recent obsession with it. Nor do I want to."
For years she was as anti-church as I was. But I've been noticing her aging more so, these days. I can't help but wonder if that's part of it. Hearing loss and holy rollerness go hand in hand, I guess. Nevertheless, I don't need to be reminded of whatever feast day it is today, tomorrow, or next Thursday.
I guess it doesn't occur to people that, just as it may be insulting/horrific/mind-boggling to hear that someone doesn't believe in a supreme being, it's just as off-putting and insulting to be preached to/at.
I have enough explaining to do as it is about being gay, or why I am applying to med school later in life. I don't think I need to explain my beliefs, or lack thereof, on a daily basis, too.
Like the new digs? The Wife switched me over to MovableType this weekend. I love it - the only unfortuante part is that I lost the old comments (which may not be such a bad thing...). We're going to work on a logo for the site, as well. In due time ... more pressing matters are at hand. Namely, my final exam on Tuesday morning. For all of you tired of hearing about it, in 48 hours it will all be over with. You'll have a 2-week reprieve before I start ranting about the horrors of organic chemistry and the MCATs.
Now to get her to hook up my AutoStar controller on the telescope -- No Rest for the Weary!!
First person to bring me a Vanilla Coke (Diet or not, I'm having a weak moment) gets free medical care for life.
Want to know why it's about to rain? Because I LOOKED at my motorcycle and pondered taking it out for a spin. I haven't ridden it in a few weeks, and we've had nothing but hot, dry weather. But as soon as I contemplate taking it out for a quick ride, the thunder rolls in.
And, as a break tonight, I was going to take my telescope down to the beach, since I haven't had much of a chance to really use that either.
I smell a conspiracy.
Vanilla Coke is 5 points according to the calculations I did on weightwatchers.com. I am soooo screwed. Fatty can only find it in the 20 oz bottles, and not the cans. Actually, if those bastards at Coca Cola would just come out with Vanilla Diet Coke, I'd be all set. But nooooo, they have to tease me with the high caloric elixir.
And I can't go back to drinking Bud Light in a can at work, either now that Robyn is on to me ...
OK, the nominations are in, and voting has begun!! Head on over to The Bloggys and vote for Head Rush as Most Humorous and Blog of the Month and my cohort smackTHEweasel for Blog of the Month and Best New Blog.
Do it now. Damn it. And spread the word...
Identifying as Bi
Interesting discussion has started on the dykewrite blog about bisexuality.
From VASpider:
We'll start off with an essay question: Many (thought certainly not all) lesbians seem to go through a stage where they identify as bisexual before they come out completely (either to themselves or just in general). Did you go through this as a stage in your self-assessment, and if you did, do you still identify yourself as bisexual?
If you don't, what let you know that this was not the correct identification for yourself? How did you go through the process of self-identifying? If you've always known, how do you deal with someone who's coming out of that stage -- whether they come to identify themselves as straight or lesbian in the end?
If you still identify yourself as bisexual: how do you deal with people who tell you "It's just a phase?" Do you find yourself encountering that more often from the queer community, from straights, or haven't you noticed a difference?
I dated both men and women through college, but I never identified as Bi. So, I never went through a stage declaring myself as Bi then gay. At the time, I was thinking "I am not quite sure what I am, " but I knew the Bi label wasn't a correct identification for me. I just was not that into guys. Oddly, as a small tangent, I've always seemed to get along better with my male friends than female friends. Not that I don't love my female friends.. I do. But I've never had the problem of falling for a guy friend and vice versa. Well, except for one, but when he told me he was interested in a relationship, I told him I was a lesbian, and his response was "Oh, so the rumors are true." "Rumor? No no. Not a rumor. And which one of my sleazy exes told you? Bitches."
Being close with other lesbians can be tricky. Not always - but sometimes. There's always the "potential" looming in the background, and small, sincere gestures can be misinterpreted and lead to irreversible consequences. So can innocent flirting. Which I've learned long ago to not do with certain people ... lest they take it the wrong way. But back to being Bi ...
I have a few exes who identify as Bi. Two have even married men, but both are divorced now, so go figure. I also have a few friends who indentify as Bi. I don't give it too much thought -- I've always assumed that eventually, when you settle in with someone for the long haul, you have to make a .. for lack of a better word decision (albeit a "temporary" one) unless you have the luxury of having a husband and a wife simultaneously. In which case, I'd love to hear about that ... at the cost of $150 per hour, when I have my MD. Right now, that's just way too much drama, honey. Seriously, though, I do know people who have ended a long-term relationship with a man and began a new one with a woman (or the other way around), and it's worked out fine. It's just not an option for me.
I wouldn't call identifying as Bi a phase, as VA Spider asks. Some people are quite comfortable with both sexes and can be emotionally and sexually fulfilled by both. To think that's not possible, in my opinion, is naive. Love knows no boundaries. I firmly believe you can't control who you fall in love with. Nor can you control who falls in love with you. You can only act responsibly with people's feelings, respect them, and be patient.
My wife is the best! She just ordered me leather studded saddle bags (one fat joke about "saddle bags" and you die) and sissy bar bags (ditto) for my motorcycle!
I'm very excited ... I was tired of wearing a geeky knapsack whenever I drove the bike to work, school, or any other time I needed to carry more than my wallet and sunglasses.
Presents for me.... yay.
Shocking. It's another hot, humid, sticky, disgusting day here in hazy Connecticut. I loathe the weather in this part of the country this time of year. It's just as bad as the sub-zero days in January (you remember, those cold days that fall between the 65 degree anomalies we've been having lately) when you stick your face out the door and your nostril hairs freeze instantaneously. But of course, there's no snow, so you can't even ski and snowboard at a winter playground. No. You have to be content to be miserable. There are maybe 5 days a year that I can tolerate in the northeast. The usually fall in April or May.
It's days like today, when I have a brand spanking new migraine brewing thanks to the humidity, that I like to remind my wife that it's 70 degrees and sunny in San Francisco right now, and will be for the next 10 days ....
Take 2 Aspirin and Call Me When I Have My MD
For 15 minutes today, I sincerely thought I had a brain tumor. (Well, it would certainly explain a lot if I did have one ... Tumors of the medial prefrontal area of the brain can impair intellect, attention, problem solving and judgment...but I digress.) I had such a bad migraine this afternoon that 2 Excedrin and 6 Advil in a 5 hour time span did nothing for me. Usually I have a modicum of relief from ibuprofen, but today, nothing was working. A while ago I gave up on the vasoconstricting pharmaceuticals for migraines such as Imitrex and Zomig, as they both made me loopy. I tried my usual caffeine/ibu cocktail, and succeeded in only making myself nauseous. When that didn't work, I left work early, came home and crashed for an hour. Ordinarily I don't give my headaches a second thought, but the past few weeks they have been consistent and unending. If I didn't feel better after sleep, I thought, then there was something really wrong. After an hour-long nap, I awoke, realized I was pain-free, and relieved. So I went to my last chem class even more determined to succeed... neuroscience is more than a passion. It's something that must be better understood. And better managed. And not just for my own personal relief.
I'm not exactly a neurological hypochondriac -- I'm not one to cry wolf with every ache and pain. I've had a family history of neurological disorders and diseases that have always given me pause. My grandfather died at 52 of a brain tumor. My mother had a severe stroke at 32 leaving her partially blind. Personally, I've had a history of tumors, epilepsy, severe head trauma, and migraines. So, I think I was somewhat justified in being nervous this afternoon, as I haven't been feeling well for a few weeks.
Yeah, these are only some of the reasons for my wanting to focus on neuroscience as a med student. That ... and I want to rewire everyone's brain so they obey my every command.
Diabolical scheming is NOT a symptom of a brain tumor ... is it?
Well, I'm done. Had the test, the lab, the lab final. Only one more lecture and my final exam next week.
And I don't even want a beer. It must be getting nipply somewhere in Hell...
Skinny Legs and All
As said to my wife, by my grandmother this weekend: "Laura's legs look skinny! It's about time. She used to have fat legs."
Oh.
As if I didn't already have a complex about my Fred Flintstone fingers... Well, I guess the gym/Weight Watchers combo is paying off. Back I go to both before the ol' legs balloon up again ...
It is so very, very strange that I dream of redox reactions, heat of fusion equations, equilibrium constants, and acid-base reactions. In my head during the night I am calculating the amount of energy to convert my dog into salt...
I have my last regular exam today, lab final exam tonight, and last class tomorrow. I'd have to say that the next 36 hours can't pass fast enough. While not the hardest thing I've ever done, this has certainly been one of most painful classes. Not painful as in hard - painful as in I've had a headache for 5 weeks. Too much reading and problem solving packed into a short time-frame. I'm looking forward to a relaxing 2 weeks until I begin again.
And, no, I don't regret a single moment of it.
Back from the races, and not a thing to show for it. I did not come home a winner this year. I had more fun watching actually, than really gambling. I was also studying throughout the day, so my head wasn't really into it (gambling).
Now I'm back home, studying away... only a few more days of school left for me - last class in Wednesday! Woohoo! Final exam is a week away... that should be fun.
OK, 5 minute break is over - back to studying - I'm sure I'll have something more profound to say in the morning.
Jackisms
Whenever we have dinner together (Deb, Jack, Miki and myself), my buddy Jack has a knack for uttering the most crass thing imaginable whenever a waitress is about to place something on our table. He doesn't always do it intentionally--most of the time it's just a result of unfortunate (for the waitress) timing. Take tonight, for example. I can't remember what he was referring to (I laughed so hard, I forgot 4 weeks worth of chemistry, not to mention whatever the hell he was talking about), but just as the cute, young waitress in the Mexican restaurant we were dining in was bending over him, placing a pitcher of Sangria on the table, this spewed forth from Jack's lips "...Yeah, well it's like eating pussy. One slip of the tongue and you're deep in shit."
Even in the dim candle light, I could see the poor thing turn 27 shades of crimson before she ran off, giggling hysterically. We didn't see her for the rest of the night, but as we were paying the check we were informed that Jack's dessert was "on the house."
15 more minutes and I'm outta here for a long weekend. Heading up to Saratoga to play the ponies and lose some money. But first to lab, then dinner and drinks with friends (damn I can use a margarita) and some last minute chores. Like cutting this mop on my head off. Fucking Shaun Cassidy called me. He wants his hair back.
Pharmaceutical Tip of the Day:
Weasels should avoid Valium.
I got my telescope!! And it works!! And we went to the beach tonight to try it out! And I saw cool stars!! And I got an A on my chem quiz/exam!! And my wife took me out for ice cream!!
And... And ... All this excitement has made me really tired, so I am going to bed.
Days of Yore...
Nothing like going to school with 18 year olds to make me feel really ancient. Yesterday afternoon, I arrived at school and happened upon two of my classmates involved in a very animated discussion. As I walked up to join them, I heard the young woman giggle and ask the young gentleman “So, you like Bush?” His reply “Yeah, I guess. Pretty cool.” Impressed with their interest in current events and politics (at 18, I was decidedly uninterested in just about everything) I was about to open my mouth and start offering my two cents on the state of foreign affairs when the young woman replied “I saw them live once – they are an awesome band.”
Oh.
That Bush. I joined my classmates and chuckled as I explained to them that I thought they were talking about our President and how that was really revealing of my old age. They laughed and said “Oh come on. You’re not that old. What, 30-something?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Hey, can you buy us beer?” the guy laughed, jokingly.
Twenty minutes later, as our professor was gathering up the acids and bases for our lab experiment, several more of my classmates started talking about going out drinking. At first I thought, “Well, that would be nice. Everyone going out for a beer to commiserate when this is over…” And as soon as that thought entered my head, they all started whipping out fake IDs to compare, like a teen version of Show and Tell.
“Dude, that sooo does not even look like you.”
“Yeah, but it works. I never get stopped or questioned.”
“Is that a real New York license?”
“Yeah, It’s my friend’s. It’s a dup.”
“I am using my sister’s old license. We kind of look alike, don’t you think?”
“I can’t wait until I am 21 so I can stop worrying about getting busted for having this. I got pulled over last week by a cop for speeding and almost gave him the wrong license.”
“Asshole, just tell the cop you’re holding it for a friend. That’s what I did. They can’t do anything to you. Can’t touch you. Say your friend left it at your house, and you’re holding it for him.”
“Cool.”
One of my classmates saw me laughing and asked me “Did you ever have a fake ID?”
I replied “No, they didn’t have ID’s way back when I grew up.”
“No, seriously. Did you?”
“I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
“Ha! I bet you did.”
So I offered “I haven’t had a fake ID in … [counting in my head] 16 years. That was in 1986.”
“DUDE, I was 2 when you were my age!! Cool!”
And then it hit me. If I could scurry away some of the hydrochloric acid that was just placed in front of me by my absent-minded professor, I could disfigure this kid’s face so badly that no ID in the world could help identify him.
Little bastards.
Days of Yore
Nothing like going to school with 18 year olds to make me feel really ancient. Yesterday afternoon, I arrived at school and happened upon two of my classmates involved in a very animated discussion. As I walked up to join them, I heard the young woman giggle and ask the young gentleman “So, you like Bush?” His reply “Yeah, I guess. Pretty cool.” Impressed with their interest in current events and politics (at 18, I was decidedly uninterested in just about everything) I was about to open my mouth and start offering my two cents on the state of foreign affairs when the young woman replied “I saw them live once – they are an awesome band.”
Oh.
That Posted by LA at 10:23 AM
I'm not one for conspiracy theories. Really. Unless, of course, they involve me and a goverment agency, financial institution, or a delivery service. So far this year, I have fought off the IRS, my bank, and I'm currently at war with my 401k people, but my finances are a forbidden topic on this site, so I'll move on. Currently, I am convinced that delivery service companies are out to screw me.
Today's bitch and moan is about FedEx and UPS. (I already covered the USPS in an earlier post. Bastards.) I'm starting to think that someone doesn't want me to see something in the night sky and they are in cahoots with FedUP. Weather balloons, UFOs, spy planes, whatever. I couldn't care less. I want to see big red/orange nebulas. I want to see distant galaxies. I want to see cool stuff. So, someone please tell me why it's taking a goddamn month for me to get a telescope???? And why these delivery services feel the need to dick around all weekend instead of bringing me my stuff?
It's Tuesday night and my motherf*cking telescope that was suppoed to be here FRIDAY because it was shipped 3-day express, is still NOT here. And, like the geniuses at UPS, it sat at the FedEx hub, 30 minutes from my house, for 3 days before they tried to deliver it. Of course, they tried today while I was at work, but leaving it my enclosed porch which is guarded by a pitbull was apparently not secure enough. (It was for UPS.)
Ordinarily I'd give these guys the benefit of the doubt. I know many of them are hard workers. However, my office just happens to look out onto the parking lot and front door of another office building. So, each day I see several UPS and FedEx trucks coming to drop off packages. Everyday I see just how well each service handles the delivery of delicate objects. Each morning I watch who my co-workers have affectionately dubbed The Angry UPS Man hurl boxes off the back of his truck. Not gently placing down that big cowhide, Gateway PC-containing cardboard crate ... it gets THROWN. Thrown with enough force to sending it tumbling a good 15 feet fom the truck. Lighter packages make great frisbees, by the way. So, I wasn't too surprised when my first telescope arrived via UPS "damaged." (Highly delicate optical equipment really should not be handled in this manner, but hey, I bet it's a real knee-slapper for the boys (and girls) in brown.) The best part is, some of my co-workers actually filmed this box-tossing routine and it's up on our corporate Intranet for posterity. So, there's proof of my accusation.
The FedEx delivery people are much better about handling packages, but can be equally "aggressive." One of the guys who delivers to our building has a habit of ringing the doorbell 27 times in a row, irking the shit out of our receptionist, who has to get up to let him in.
So, here I sit, still waiting for those lazy, box-tossing bastards to bring me my new toy. Unless, of course, there really is something in the night sky more fascinating than this week's Persieds that I could "accidentally" glimpse ...
Back from my quiz... Nothing like trying to do chemistry problems when you're high on Sudafed. But I think I did alright - we'll see. If my brain responded correctly to the drugs, then I will, in fact, be doing good chemistry. Ba-dum dum.
ATTENTION ANNOYING DRIVERS
So, I need to ask this: What the fuck do you people do while sitting at a red light that you NEVER see it turn green? EVERY TIME I am at a light, and I mean, EVERY DAMN TIME, the first car at the light is always sitting there a good 10-15 seconds after it turns green. Are you waiting for a particular shade of green? Are you color blind? If that's the case, when the TOP light is lit, GO, goddamn it.
If I am the first car, I am diligently watching the light so I can GO when it turns. I don't feel the need to hang out a bit longer in that spot. I don't understand what could be so distracting. For crissakes, I have ADD, and I can manage to hit the gas pedal nanoseconds after the light turns. I can also change radio stations, swap CDs, pick up my coffee for a sip, bite my bagel and scratch myself and NOT TAKE MY EYES OFF THE LIGHT. This is not difficult multi-tasking, people. Don't be gazing off at the jackass in the car next to you picking his nose, or at the pretty birds flying over head. Do that when you're driving. (Just not when I am near you, especially when I am on my motorcycle.)
That's another thing: People driving cars who are motorcycle blind. How the fuck does that happen? How do you not see a big shiny object with a bright headlight driving towards you? Give motorcycles some room when you're behind them. Don't drive up their ass -- if you just tap the tire, you will send the rider over the handlebars. Don't make quick turns in front of them, either. A fender bender for you means possible death for me or some other rider. (Or a big-ASS lawsuit for you if I survive ... and I'm really adept at getting license plate numbers while airborne.)
If you can't drive, WALK. Just not in NYC where you most likely will walk too damn slow and annoy everyone.
Better yet, just stay the hell home and watch Anna Nicole Smith and Jeopardy re-runs.
Hangover from Hell
I really think I overdid it this weekend. I "imbibed" way too much. And I'm paying for it this morning. For those of you anticipating a good drinking story, you will surely be disappointed. My aches and pains and headache is from ... chemistry. Yes, I've got the worst homework hangover this morning. Let's see: 2.5 hours Friday night, 9 hours on Saturday, and a whopping 13 hours yesterday of doing problems. My payback for all that hard work: Waking at 6:45am this morning with the worst goddamn headache. The fact that I am fighting a cold doesn't help matters, either. So, yes, I'm feeling quite lousy this morning. The quiz is tomorrow, so I've still got to do a light review of everything tonight. Yes, all that for a quiz. (The quizzes are harder than the exams, and just as long. The difference: 2 quizzes each count for 12.5% of total grade and 2 tests count for 17.5% each.) Thankfully, I've only got another 2 weeks left of this insanity.
Friday 5 on Saturday
1. What is your lineage? Where are your ancestors from?
Italian, Irish and German. Italy, Ireland and Germany. Duh.
2. Of those countries, which would you most like to visit?
Germany. I've already been to the other 2.
3. Which would you least like to visit? Why?
None. I'd like to see them all again.
4. Do you do anything during the year to celebrate or recognize your heritage?
Nah. A few beers on St. Patty's but that's it. I do eat a LOT of Italian food, but I'm a big gavone, so that's no big deal. :)
5. Who were the first ancestors to move to your present country (parents, grandparents, etc)?
Great grandparents. The story goes, back in the 1800s, my early ancestors were swinging by their tails in the trees in southern Italy, fell, and accidentally landed on the ship leaving for New York Harbor. The family evolved slightly since (lost the tails, learned to walk upright.. well, some of them) but they're all still pretty much entrenched in NYC.
10 Things I Won't Write About on This Site
I get asked some pretty bizzare questions and requests to write about certain topics. While I have no problem offering my opinion on just about anything from abortion to zionism, and critiquing of other's stupidity, as well as my own, the following will NOT be discussed here.
Not in any particular order:
1. My job. Ever. I don't mix business with pleasure.
2. My dreams. Oh, sure, my goals, but not the odd things that happen in my brain during the sleeping hours. I can't think of anything more boring to share with the mass public. Unless, of course, it's another plane crash dream, which freaks me out.
3. My finances. With that, my salary. From my experience, people who discuss their salary are usually lying about it. Period.
4. My fears. No need to give anyone ammo.
5. My opinion on world politics and religion. (Just seeing if you're paying attention)
6. My sordid past.
7. What med schools I will be applying to (let's just say all of them ... ). I will say where I was accepted.
8. My MCAT scores, unless they are over 44 (the scale only goes to 45 ..)
9. My IQ (it is only a hair bigger than my shoe size for those of you wondering...)
10. My sex life.
Bite Me
Somebody needs a new hobby. Apparently some crazy kid near London wanted to be a vampire so he killed an old lady, cut out her heart and drank her blood. If that's not odd enough, the actual name of the town where it took place is the village of Llanfairpwll PG, best known for having the longest place name in Britain. Its 56-letter full name -- Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwll-llantysiliogogogoch.
Seems like vampires are the least of this town's problems.
Victory, Sweet Victory ... She Is Mine!
Evil forces can lick me. Not only did I do well on my exam this week (Evil Forces 0, Laura 1), I did well on the quizzes I didn't think I did well on (EF 0, Laura 2). And a new improved telescope will be here tomorrow, just in time for the weekend (EF 0, Laura 3). And my wife is now DONE with school (EF 0, Laura 4). And, most importantly I have beaten that crapping-in-my-vegetable-garden feline from hell!! Yes, after finally spreading another five 40-lb bags of rocks on what was formerly my nice, sandy pathways through the garden, the cat finally stopped crapping in it! As a bonus, this morning, as I was watering the garden, I saw the culprit under my neighbor's car in the driveway alongside my garden. He looked at me. I looked at him. He glanced at my hands. I looked down to see what caused the look of fear in his eyes, and suddenly realized I had access to a loaded weapon... I could not resist.
There's only one kind of wet pussy I like, and that, dear readers, was not it. (Come on .. you know I can't resist a good vagina joke at least once a week.) He he. But my furry foe got his just desserts. My cats this evening are eyeing me suspisciously. My dog is in awe and bows down before me.
Final tally for the week thus far: (Evil Forces 0, Laura 5).
Well, back to being studious and proper.
I'm sure the Evil Forces are plotting their retaliation as I write this... Oh wait... wait. Stop. My mother is on her way home from a 2-week jaunt to Australia.
(EF 1, Laura 5).
Bastards...
"You're confusing sex with titillation."
Whee! My favorite quote of the week, as uttered by Dr. Jeffrey Arenswald to Clark County (Las Vegas) Commissioner Yvonne Atkinson Gates, who just banned exotic dancers and customers from touching each other's buttocks, genitals or breasts during lap dances or stuffing bills in G-strings at clubs outside Sin City.
Come on. I mean, who really gives a shit if someone shoves a 5-spot in someone else's crotch? I think lap dances are like abortions (here we go) If you don't like 'em, don't have one. People need to STOP worrying about what other people do in the bedrooms, or in the privacy of a sleazy, sticky-floored dark room in a strip club. It's their business. As long as it doesn't involve children or against anyone's will, MIND YOUR OWN GODDAMN BUSINESS.
Honestly, for a country whose prurient interest rises faster than a flood in Texas, we've certainly got our fair share of prudes.
