funny. not funny.

Two months ago I bought this book.

I keep putting off reading it.

HA!

The fact that I find this highly amusing exposes a new level to my nerdyness.

And yes, that is a word.

So, it has been absolutely gorgeous outside this week and then Saturday rolls around and....shitty weather. I am so pissed about this. I told myself that if I don't miss any classes and stay in and study that I'll be able to hang out in the sunshine this weekend. Alas, there is no sunshine to hang out in. I'm stuck in the house, cleaning and studying and wishing desperately that I had gotten outside during the week. On the upside, I'm watching Notting Hill for the nine hundreath time and the "fruitarian" chick cracks me up every time.

Hugh Grant's character: So, um...these carrotts?

Fruitarian: Have been murdered. Yes.

Heeee!!!

Stinkin' Philosophy

I am sick of philosophy.

Like, ready to shut my head in a door, sick. I am beginning to wonder why the hell I chose this schlock as a minor.

I haven't come up with any answers.

In fact, the only thing that I am absolutely certain about (regarding philosophy) is that the freak that sits next to me needs to stop rolling in a mixture of tabacco spit, garbage can water and refuse from the tire plant. Also, take an f'ing shower? Would be awsome. So do it already.

I mean, we get it. You are obviously so concerned with the Gettier Problem that you aren't even thinkin' about scrubbing your stanky body in the shower but PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD put on some deoderant.

That's all.

Dr. Strangelove, Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb

I bought the MCAT study guide the other day.

Damn that thing is thick. Oh, and EIGHTY dollars. Which, um.....kind of a lot of money. SO anyway, I've been working my way through it, trying to dedicate two hours every weekday to studying for the test.

The first twenty or so pages are really just chocked full of tips on how to learn properly, how our brains regurgitate information and what we can do to ensure that we can access the information that we've packed into our heads....its really strange how we remember some things and don't others.

Thursday I sat down with my dad to discuss what course of action I need to take. This was scary because it made it real and I have waited and waited to tell him about my aspiration because of something he said to me when I was in the tenth grade. Some college kid was working in his office to have some clinical experience to put down on his med school application and dad was giving him all sorts of little jobs to do. Drug reps are always bringing by cakes and candy and food in the vain attempt to persuade him to prescribe their medication to his patients,...dad never eats any of it because I think it makes him feel like he is in some way obligated to return the favor and that causes all kinds of ethical dilemmas SO ANYWAY I had come up to the office to partake in whatever feast had been assembled in the lounge. I was sitting in the chair across from my father's massive desk and the college kid came in to ask some question about Mr.So-in-so in room one, Dad answered and the kid walked out. Next, he looked up at me and said "the best advice I can give to anyone who wants to go into medicine is not to".

Looking back, I remember it in the way that one remembers a scene from a movie watched years ago....but it has always stayed with me. Only recently I have decided that it might be a mistake, but if I never try I'll regret it forever and that really isn't an option for me.

So, failure is not an option. Acknowledging that I have always wanted to be a physician has created an eight million pound gorilla that sits in the room, glaring at me, wearing a stethoscope around his neck. Denial is a very effective coping mechanism.

In which I have a dream,....and it is scary.

I hate it when people talk about dreams they've had, mainly it's just that I don't like being told a bad story. So, I try not to tell other people about mine unless they are particularly amusing.

I've just realized that the sentences I've just typed out expose some irritating character flaws.... I need to work on that. Anyway, so yea... dreams, are kind of...freaky? Sometimes. I should probably first say that I've been around guns since I was a little girl, but I've never really been comfortable around them, which is pretty odd because I've been hunting before and like, shot things and it was sort of OK when it was happening but something I don't really like talking about because the pheasants still kind of haunt me. SO, last night I had three dreams in a row about guns. First, the girl from Scrubs was checking my vitals at the hospital from the show and someone came in with a gun, shot someone else and ran away. He left the gun though. In the next dream it was Christmas and I was hanging out with Judy Garland and my family and we found a gun on the floor. The last one was the scariest. I was at a gas station with Caro and we were standing outside when a man with his hand in his coat walked up, pulled out a gun and pointed it across the parking lot. I walked behind him trying to act casually, like I didn't notice (yea, apparently the dream version of me is a dumb ass) and when he pulled the trigger I felt like I had just fired a shotgun....you know, that weird kick back thing? I kept walking and hid behind a van but was horrified to realize that I had totally left Caro out in the middle of the lot! EEEEEEEEE! Luckily, she was safe. ANYWAY, the guy ran away and left the gun and Caro picked it up and was waving it around and then my mom showed up and it was just freakin' weird and not at all fun and I woke up all anxiety ridden and I wanted to call Caro but it was 4 a.m. I totally forgot that she is Miss. Party Woman 2007 and would probably be up and dancing on tables. I looked up "gun" on Dream Dictionary and it said this....


Gun
Violence. Aggression. Threat. Danger ahead.

Grrreeeeeaaaaatttt. Just fabulous.

Because I am sick of looking at the picture of my IV...

I'm just posting a wee tiny placeholder to get it off of the screen. I've been cooking today......the results are interesting to say the least.

Can you hold on a sec? I need to puke....

I had so much work to do this week.... tests and papers and a presentation that all had to be postponed due to my inability to move without puking.

Oh, yes.

The little girl in The Sixth Sense and the chick from The Exorcist don't have shit on me because I HAD THE STOMACH FLU FOR DAYS, PEOPLE. DAYS.

It was horrifying and I will not go into detail except to say that it is not fun to hurl your guts up while your father attempts to shove an icky, icky needle crucial to the administration IV fluids INTO YOUR POOR LITTLE ARM because, Hi! You will DIE from dehydration if he doesn't.

The worst part was that after I'd gone through two liters of fluids I started feeling better so Dad sent me home to rest. Before shoving me into Mother's car, he decided it would be best to hep lock the IV(basically just leave the tube in my arm and tape it down so that if I needed more fluids later he would only have to hook a bag up instead of sticking me again). I must tell you that I abhor needles. The only reason the IV was even put in was because I was too deliriously sick to care if someone was peeling my skin off, much less sticking a tube into my arm. After I began to feel better I was much more concerned with the plastic tubing protruding from my arm.

I had to sleep with it that way.

EEEEEEEEEKKKKK!

I decided the best way to handle the situation was just to not look at my right arm at all and hold it at a constant acute angle. Well, I was spending the night with my parents so that they could take care of me (and it was either that or the Hoppie. When given the option of spending the night in Hospital Hades there is only one appropriate answer: Hell to the no.)

Anyway, when I woke up this morning Daddy was already at work and my Mom was gone and I couldn't find my cell phone and well......I had a melt down when I looked down at my bruised hep locked arm and I decided that the thing??? had to come out. NOW. Not in an hour, not in twenty minutes. RIGHT MUTHAFUCKING NOW.

So....I un-did the tape holding it down and pulled the long plastic tube out of my vein and bent my arm back to stem the flow of the bleeding and then my head exploded because, um? I DO NOT do shit like take out my own IV???????????

Drastic measures were taken. The more time distances me from the event, the more disturbed I get.

Let us never speak of this again.

I suggest wiping down all surfaces in your house with the cleaner of your choice, washing your hands hourly and staying the H away from anyone displaying symptoms of what I lovingly refer to as the dog flu.