Procrastination Station

A Haiku for today:

Two weeks of finals
Cabin fever setting in
Better hide yo' kids

A Haiku for hump day:

Mind has turned to mush
Reminds me of rice pudding
Bust out the cool whip

A Haiku for later:

Friday draws nearer
Back seat or front seat open
Which seat do I take?

Hard or soft cover?

Meeting new people is like reading books.

I don't often get to read books anymore (I'm being literal here (har har), I'm not referring to meeting people). I have a very long, expansive reading list for the summer that includes "Water for Elephants" and a bunch of inspirational running books, the True Blood, Walking Dead and Dexter series, etc. It'll be a welcome break from scientific papers and lecture notes and powerpoints.

Anyway, meeting new people is like reading books.

Whenever I get a new book, I love to smell the pages and crack the spine (don't think dirty, this is about real books now). There are certain types of paper that smell reallllly good, and other kinds that are kind of dusty and dry smelling. Usually the books with shiny/glossy paper that makes a sound when you flip it with your fingers smells particularly good. Sometimes I'll just flip through the pages from front to back and inhale the smell that wafts out.

I'm in a weird mood.

Whenever I start a book, it's always difficult to get into it unless it starts with something truly eye-catching, like describing a murder scene or a sexual encounter. Certain people are like that- they open up with a phrase completely out of the blue that catches you off guard. I prefer that kind of introduction. It keeps things interesting.

Other books start slow, and ease you into the storyline with a description of the main character. The "Golden Compass" started that way for me. I ended up putting it down about a 1/4 of the way through.

Whenever I start a book, no matter which one, I don't feel the immediate need to pick it up again. I could leave it for a few days, face down on my desk, open to the last page I looked at. The action hasn't really picked up. People are like that. At first, you could take them or leave them. They're intriguing, but your life hasn't changed. They haven't left their mark yet.

But then comes the middle of the book.

Once you've passed that awkward stage of new reading, you start to really open up. The pages fly by. The story line unfolds and the character is familiar. You want to keep reading, and it takes such little effort. It's not just "the book I just picked up" anymore. Now it's something that you take with you to the gym, or in your car, to a doctor's appointment, or wherever you think you might be bored for a little bit. You'll shoot a random (possibly drunk) text. You'll notice things while you're walking around that remind you of the story.

Sometimes the story is a novella. Sometimes its "The Once and Future King."

And then you get towards the end. You can sense things changing, you can feel the decreasing number of pages in your right hand. Things are winding up.

And on the final page, the ending is either completely satisfactory, leaves much to be desired, or leaves you wanting more. Those storylines are the ones that really leave their mark.

Sometimes the author decides to write another one (Harry Potter is the world's longest on and off again relationship).

Sometimes you decide never to read that genre again.

Whatever the case, you'll eventually go to pick up the next book. You'll strut into Barnes and Noble with the giftcard your friend gave you and look for the shiniest cover.

And it starts all over.

Fail

Bought the most amazing looking 1/2 lb of coffee at Meijer only to discover when I returned home...

...that it was decaf.

That's about as useful as non-alcoholic beer.

Dodgeball is the devil

Sooooo apparently America has decided that what it really needs is more sissies.

Talking on the phone with my Momsie tonight, I learned about the goings-on in the world outside of the black hole that is vet school. (Seriously, I didn't know about the tsunami in Japan until a day later)

It was recently announced by some overarching, summer-camp-hating government bigwigs that dodgeball should be placed on a special list of "nonpassive recreational activities with significant risk of injury," and that camps that allowed it to be played needed to have some sort of "medical team" on site.

Not only does this make me want to gag, it makes me fear for the future lives of the generations below me. I thought it was bad when my grandmother told me about having to scrape pennies out of the ice during the Depression; now I have to tell my grandkids that in MY DAY, I had to ice my face nightly due to the horrific bruises I attained playing dodgeball. THE HORROR. WE HAD IT SO BAD!!!

Is this really what America has come to? Have we solved all of our major problems, and now its time to start micromanaging summer camps and children's games? Wait...isn't there still poverty and crime and CANCER TO CURE!? WHO THE $83@($ CARES ABOUT DODGEBALL!?

You know what's dangerous? Cholera. And Typhoid Fever. And AIDS. And the reemergence of Ebola virus. And zombies (although maybe not if you have a shotgun and run to an oil rig). NOT EFFING DODGEBALL. Let's get real people.

And, annnnnnnd at UMASS Amherst, my alma mater...they plan on banning all tobacco products, period. You can't have them in dorms, outside, in your car with the windows rolled up...not ANYWHERE. Because, you know, universities are completely outside of the law and can just decide to make a legal item illegal.

Or how about the fact that trans fats are banned for use in restaurants in some states? Or perfumes banned in universities because some people have allergies?

I HAVE AN IDEA...how about the one person with the perfume allergy takes a Benadryl??? And hey, barring serious mental illness, if someone just doesn't have the mental willpower to stop themselves from consuming massive amounts of trans fats...well eventually they'll probably be bed ridden with a horrific case of atherosclerosis. And that certainly takes them out of the gene pool, now doesn't it? Natural selection.

I'm probably going to hell for saying these things. But seriously...

Is this real life?

It won't be a bomb that kills us all...it'll be political correctness.

Lingerie

Lingerie is a term for fashionable and possibly alluring undergarments. (Wikipedia)

Lingerie is today's topic. I recently discovered (after cleaning out my closet and other compartments in my room) that more than half of my clothes are outdated, come from undergraduate clubs, or feature clip art of goats on the back (from said undergraduate clubs). As such, I decided to revamp my wardrobe and have been slowly adding item after new item.

First thing on the agenda was to try and sell the majority of my semi-fashionable, not-terribly-worn-out clothes to Plato's Closet for cash. For those of you who aren't familiar, Plato's Closet is a buy-and-sell store which will offer you 1/3rd of the money that they plan to make off of buying your gently worn items and selling them back to the general population. Since most of the items that you can buy cost between $5 and $30, that usually means you make somewhere between $1.50 and $10 for every item you sell. So in the long run...it ain't much...but if you measure it in Dunkin Donuts iced coffees, it equal something beautiful.

The unfortunate thing is that they're really REALLY picky about what they'll take from you. This ain't the Salvation Army. This ain't Goodwill. This is goddamn PLATO'S CLOSET. This is the cream o' the crop for used clothing. I've seen ladies toting Coach purses get their Uggs rejected for being a bit too weatherstained.

BUT...if you bring your clothes in one week, get rejected and then wait til' the next one to show another employee...you may just luck out. What's fashionable is clearly subjective even at Plato's Closet...some of the girls might just like your outdated Sketchers, where the week before another employee turned their nose up.

I've done this many times. "Playing the system."

So after successfully selling some of my oldies (and squandering the money on coffee), I decided it was time to go out and make some purchases. It was time to try and define "fashionable" for a "future professional" while still showing my age. And of course, I actually had to fit into the clothes. This statement may make me seem old, but I feel like half of the items for sale in stores today have some sort of gaudy giant design on them or are ridiculously expensive or made of material about the width of an atom. Shopping wasn't this hard in college, was it? Looking back at pictures from my undergrad on facebook, I marvel at my giant thick eyebrows and expansive collection of sweatshirts and tshirts and stained pants (I worked in a barn) and wonder if I did indeed ever shop. Yes, shopping probably was this hard. But I just never gave a shite. Animal science majors aren't known for their classy good looks and trendsetting abilities, and I was certainly no exception.

Indecisiveness is another unfortunate trait of mine which makes it extremely difficult to shop. I always end up going back and forth on items and eventually buy them, only to keep the tags on and prance around the house in them for a few days before deciding that no, they don't make my butt look good. And then I'll sheepishly return them, and no, I wouldn't like to exchange for something else...and it's okay, you don't have to wish me a good day since you just had to put that money back onto my credit card...

In fact, the only thing that I find easy to buy is underwear. It's just there, in four simple sizes, in a multitude of colors and fabrics...the possibilities are endless. My friend and I had a long conversation the other day about buying underwear. Strangely enough, there are few things that make you feel nicer than knowing that the bra and underwear that you're wearing MATCH. I think we girls appreciate cute underclothes more than men ever could. And honestly, how often does good lingerie get appreciated? Chances are, if you match your underoutfit before going to the bar, if anyone "sees" it, it will be quickly removed and tossed aside in a drunken flourish. It's dark, and blue looks like black (and maybe he's colorblind? you don't know) or you're both a bit fuzzy, and "ouch ouch you're on my hair" annnnddddd things just get thrown and then it's a fun little game to find everything in the morning. And if you've been married for awhile, you've replaced those cute things with a big ole' t-shirt. So really, the only time that I could conceivably see lingerie getting appreciated is if you've finally got over that awkward initial part of dating or you're going on your honeymoon or trying to win somebody back. Maybe I'm wrong and this is just the animal science major in me talking, but I think that most lingerie is just plain ol' under utilized and under appreciated.

And also...just WHO is Victoria, and what is her secret?

That's all.

Thoughts During 5Ks

Today I attended the Susan G. Komen run for Breast Cancer and figured that instead of my typical random ranting, I'd just write a little blip about some of my thoughts during the race.

I always go to races feeling 100% excited, but today I just wasn't having it. First off, MOTHER NATURE, KNOCK OFF THE COLD!! It's already mid-April here in wonderful Michigan and yet the weather is still fluctuating between 30 and 80 degrees. Today it was 35ish but felt like 25 with killer wind. Being from New England, I thought that I had seen the wackiest of weather, but Michigan is surely giving NE a run for its money. I guess this is the notorious "Lake Effect" that many of the Michiganders talk about. I'm still working on fully immersing myself in the culture...haven't yet gotten to the level of replacing "soda" with "pop" but I'm sure some day I'll slip up. For now, soda is soda, they're rotaries, not round-abouts, carriages are shopping carts and bubblers are much cooler than water fountains.

Anyway...

The race went pretty well considering the fact that I may or may not have some sort of head cold. I usually try to deny the presence of head colds for as long as possible. As soon as you acknowledge their presence, they magically come on full force like there's some little head-cold sentry in your lymph system sitting and waiting for the word to invade. So it was only after the race was over that I admitted that I do indeed feel "under the weather."

During the race, I went from feeling strong to cold to tired to strong again and made it my personal mission to stay ahead of as many guys as possible. It's always a mark of pride for me to beat guys who look like they're semi-in-shape since I know that biologically, men have the advantage when it comes to athletics (unless you consider birthing babies to be a sport). It's just a silly thing to keep me going during races. I finished with a time that was very close to my PR (personal record), but the wind just wasn't gonna let me have those last few seconds.

After snarfing up all of the free swag that the big 5Ks always offer, I headed back to the warmth of my car and shlepped to the gym to finish the day's requirements. In the end, I'm always running and working out to keep my past fat kid at bay. Although running has become one of my favorite things, it certainly serves a greater purpose. One of the saddest moments of my life was when I learned that you can never destroy fat cells, but can only shrink them. And conveniently, you can add more. It's just not right...

I also love the competition and comradery that 5Ks offer. There's something about running in a group that's just so...natural. As strange as it sounds, sometimes during races when I'm running amongst the mass of panting, sweating people, I imagine that I'm careening through a jungle, hunting wild animals. Like cavemen. Afterall, humans are supposed to be some of the world's greatest long distance runners. I often wonder, how would I fare back in the old days of mammoths and hunting and gathering? Besides the raging disease and inequality, raping and pillaging and whatnot...wouldn't it be cool just to go back to the past for a little bit and ride a horse around the countryside? In the book/movie Fight Club, Palahniuk toys with the idea of destroying the world's credit card companies and bringing about a new era of chaos. One of my favorite quotes comes from that movie...it paints such an eerie but tantalizing picture:

"In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway."

I often think of this quote when it snows and all of the streets are covered in a thick, white blanket. During storms, I like to trek outside at night before anyone has plowed and just walk on the street. All of the roadways look identical to the surroundings, and you can't tell that they're there at all unless you happen to look up at the stoplights. Everything is strangely muted and its just really peaceful. I always imagine that that's what it might have been like back in the days before roads and cities. It's wonderful being able to walk right in the middle of the road without any fear of cars coming and knowing that the entire area is fair game for my footprints. There are no more crosswalks in sight...the entire suburb is my playground.

During the Martian half marathon, they closed down more than 7 miles of highway to allow the thousands of runners to have a clear, wide open trail. Running on that empty highway was exhilarating. The mass of people moving along the tar was like something out of a zombie flick. Everyone just free-for-alling, moving under giant green exit signs with no cars in sight. Creepy, but awesome.

I hope some day, someone really does invent a time machine. How amazing would it be to see the U.S. before all this civilization?

Screaming Infants in Denny's

There are too many screaming infants in Denny's. It is 9:11 pm, and there are at least 2 or 3 screaming infants. Shouldn't they be asleep? Shouldn't they be anywhere but here? My non-patience for children grows...

Did you know that according to insurance companies and other institutions, pregnancy is a mild systemic disease?

Time has been going by really fast today. Sometimes I can't believe that I'm 23. Certain days, I get extremely nostalgic and all of these memories of the "old days" come flooding back and I feel like I should have a rocking chair and a pair of knitting needles. I remember back to 16, when I first drank, and my friend ate lots of blue and vanilla cake and then proceeded to vomit blue vomitus into the sink. They had to use a cup to scoop it out since it wasn't draining. I remember my first kiss and my first day of college in the dorms and my last day of college in the stadium sweating and waiting for my diploma. A lot of these memories are tagged on facebook now...I just really hope the server never crashes because it seems like no one prints out real photos anymore (unless its for wall collages). I have books and books of photo albums from my grandparents and parents but I'll have nothing to contribute to my future doggies and kitties except a facebook link. If I had to pick one thing that has revolutionized my generation, it would have to be facebook. Mark Zuckerberg has changed everything. I consider it a mark of pride that Zuckerberg is from Harvard, so close to my home. Like I birthed him or something. "Mark Zuckerberg came from Massachusetts." Helll yeah.

Anyway, nostalgia. Maybe I'll go to Cracker Barrel one of these days and pirate a rocking chair. I wish I could just dig my heels in and slow it all down. When I turn 25, I'm bound to have a quarter life crisis. It's just going to happen. And 30...let's not even go there. Did you know Rihanna just turned 23? That's how old I am, and she's a millionaire...

The worst part about it all, is that older people just LOVE to tell you how terrible it is to age. "My joints always hurt now." "Myyy psoriasssisss." "I can't sleep." "Just you wait til your metabolism slows down. You won't be able to eat anything." Or today, in surgery lab..."to keep the leg in the normal flexed position, put their foot against your belly while you bandange. That part gets easier and easier as you get older, har har har." Great. Thanks for the reminder that sooner or later I'm going to become flabby, slow and sad. Misery loves company.

I apologize, this post is pretty much a hodge podge of babble.

Last realization for the night...

They say that as medical and veterinary students go through schooling, they experience a "compassion drain." They slowly go from caring to not caring over the 4 years that they spend in school. The theory is that its hard to care for other creatures when you're struggling to make it through. You subconsciously blame your patients, the focus of your work, for your current lack-o-life. For a while, I felt like I was experiencing this, and it may partly be to blame for my blooming interest in pathology (the study of disease, and dead things). It doesn't seem so bad to never deal with live animals anymore. But then today, in surgery lab, they brought in live dogs that had just been spayed for us to practice bandaging on. The dog was lying there, doped out of its mind while the tech restrained it and the instructor demonstrated the technique. I felt an overwhelming urge to touch and pet it. It's like when you walk through the mall and see clothing that you want to try on and you just can't LOOK at it. You have to feel it before you decide whether or not you want to buy it. It was just a magnetic draw. I really really really wanted to pat the dog. It was so reassuring. For a moment I remembered exactly what I was there for and the whole future came shooting into view. I am going to be a vet.

I can't wait.

Even if time is going fast and I want to dig my heels in, at least I know where its leading. Thank goodness for animals.

Pet Peeve

When browsing FB status updates during the entirety of my 8am class (whoops), I often come across posts which really bother me a bit more than they should.

We have the poster who apparently deserves a Gold Star for completing an "awesome workout!" or who "just got home from lifting/running ___ miles/spending forever at the gym." Dear poster, if you are indeed a regular gym goer, this is something which you do nearly every day NO MATTER WHAT, like sleeping or eating or showering. Do you see me posting every time I shower? No (although I'm sure some people do). And if you are a regular gym goer reading said status, I'm not going to congratulate you, but meet you with a..."and...?" GOLD STAR.

These posts are undoubtedly posted to get a reaction from non/rare gym-goers, who are just going to feel jealous or lazy after reading it (unless you truly are a good soul who is happy for everyone). So really, what's the point of posting that at all? Just be happy internally that you went...your efforts will show if you really stick with it. Now, if you end up doing something really freakin' awesome and out of the ordinary, like finishing the Tough Mudder (which seems like straight-up suicide), by all means tell me. You are just the balls.

Another posting pet peeve is when people write their entire schedules. Dear poster, facebook is not a place to keep track of your life/to do list. Are you trying to make it easy for stalkers?

I know facebook is a place for personal expression and free speech blah blah, but does it have to be so...boring?

At least give me a funny movie quote or a silly youtube video or a quirky comment about something that happened ("someone didn't hold the door for me, I hope he craps his pants, jerk").

Last pet peeve, then I'm done my bitchin'...

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not the biggest fan of human kids. Goat kids, yes, humans...no. Sometimes I'll admit that they're cute, and I don't mind the calm and quiet ones, but I usually don't really care to hear about every single detail of their upbringing. All of the posts about bringing sick children to the doctor, or how they pooped their pants in Walmart, or how they just threw a spoon full of pudding at the wall just makes me happy that I never got preggo (knock on wood). Thank you for the reminder.

Alright, I'm done being cynical. I really do love FB...it's a constant source of entertainment. The number of times I click "refresh" on the recent updates newsfeed should be a crime. I just happen to be a FB status snob, and I'm okay with it.

Oven Virgin

I used my oven for the first time EVER tonight and just had to post my baked stuffed pepper. It made me really excited. Totally beats the typical Progresso soup a'la carte. Even Sparta wanted some.

That's all for now...

Funny Things

Boston commuter rail.

Funny how things turn out. So much can change in the matter of a week or the matter of a day. Playing flag football yesterday, I was reminded just how fragile we humans are. I collided at full speed with a fellow teammate and my left side felt extremely strange after. The hypochondriac medical student in me immediately jumped to the conclusion of POSSIBLE RUPTURED SPLEEN! and I continuously palpated myself and poked and prodded for the entirety of the afternoon. As soon as you know the possibilities, the things to be worried about are endless...

What if in a friendly game of flag football I just so happened to twist my leg in the mud and blow my cruciate, rendering me unable to run or walk or ever be at the same level of physical activity ever again? There go all the future half marathons...sacrificed for easy treadmill runs so I don't retear it. 1 second, that'd be all it would require for my tibia to rotate and break one of the few things holding my entire joint together. 1 second would be all it takes to set me back for the rest of my life. Makes you not want to ever agree to a friendly game of flag football...but then...where's the fun in life?

I often think to myself, "Self, if you were really interested in self preservation, you should probably just become a shut in." The amount of ways that we humans can die is innumerable. We have no protection like horns or a tough hide or sharp claws or super speed. We have a brain which is often muddled and stressed or a little bit buzzed and behind the wheel. We err often, and we err badly. How is it that more people don't die behind the wheel every day, driving around big chunks of metal at 70mph?

How is it that I let myself trust completely in the pilot who is steering my gigantic steel plane at ___,000 feet? He's a pilot, he's got a license. He's been trained. He's got a shiny golden set of wings on his lapel. What if he didn't have his Wheaties this morning, and he just wasn't flying at 100%? These are our lives on the line, and yet we trust them to other humans on a daily basis.

The scariest of scenarios involve those people who date someone for years and years only to find out that their husband or wife is a serial killer or rapist or any manner of badness. How does one ever trust again?

This weekend has been full of deep thought. I've driven around just for the drive, listening to quiet, droning music and sipping at Jim Hortons. Things have changed so dramatically in the past month that I'm almost glad to sit and study Transmissible Gastroenteritis for an hour. It's straight forward, and right in front of me, and I'm comfortable and safe in my desk chair. There's no mud to slip in, no cars to collide with, no plane at ___,000 feet. Complete safety. But then again, there's always the chance that I contracted Eastern Equine Encepalitis from a mosquito drawn out in this 80 degree freak of a day in Michigan and I'm ticking down the day until I lose brain function.

You'll have to excuse the morbidity, ignorance truly is bliss. Tomorrow's post will be different.

100% emotional drain.

Cats Underfoot

Why is it that no matter where you go, cats are somehow always underfoot?

My two cats, Sparta and Dexter (seen high-fiving at left) have made it their personal goal to continuously try and trip me wherever I walk in the house.

Okay, that was really just an excuse to put up a picture of the little devils. I'm really a proud mom, even if they do eat me out of house and home and never give me a moment's peace. It's just further confirmation for me that kids are probably not something I should consider for a while since I get annoyed quickly with the cats. And cats don't scream and soil diapers.

Today's topic is going to have to be about awkwardness. There are just some people in the world born awkward, and I am one of them. I continuously second guess everything I say and do, and will think about a seemingly innocuous conversation up to hours later.

It shouldn't be so hard to say "hi" to people at a desk on the way into the gym, should it? For me, for some reason, I freak myself out thinking about things like that. How long do I hold eye contact for? Do I wave? Do I stop and chat for a bit? These things make it so that on my most awkward days, I'd almost rather avoid it all together and go running outside.

It's usually nothing that the other person is doing that makes me feel this way. Granted, some people can make anyone feel awkward...say, if they stare or just sorta nod and glaze over or don't respond quickly enough, but most people are okay. I'm a raging extrovert, and as such, when I don't get any sort of conversation go-ahead (smiling, body posture, etc etc) I internally freak out and feel like I'm saying something wrong. In response, I talk more, which is probably completely overwhelming for introverts and seems crazy to everyone else. I'm also from Boston, which complicates things...occasionally I'll throw a "wicked" in there and talk way too quickly. There have been a few instances in Michigan where I'll have to repeat myself two or three times before someone catches what I'm saying.

And yet, when I ask close friends (who know my strange social anxieties very well) whether or not they thought a conversation I had with someone in front of them was awkward, they say no. Or, they'll say "we know YOU felt awkward, but it didn't seem that way." Well thank god for that. And stranger yet, other people who I hardly know will tell me I'm "good at breaking the ice." Really? Cause unless breaking the ice means me falling through a gaping crack into icy water and floundering around until a rescuer comes, I don't see it.

However, one thing I always try to remind myself of is that there are always two sides to the story. If you pass someone in the hall, and you make that second of awkward eye contact and start into a half-wave which turns into you fixing your hair, just remember...they did the same thing. They could have said "hi," they could have smiled, and they didn't. So you aren't the only awkward guilty party.

Oh, oh...and the worst is when you say "hi" to someone in passing, or try to talk to them ("Hey, Wanda!" or whathaveyou) and it turns out its NOT Wanda or they never catch it and just keep walking....oooooh those are bad days. Those make me feel like melting into the floor.

The only cure for my awkwardness (even if it is only me FEELING less awkward, not necessarily BEING less awkward), which I feel like isn't much of a cure at all, is a bit of liquid courage. The amount of times that I wish I had had a glass of wine before a certain interaction is uncountable. It's a bad habit, no doubt.

So...there's a bit of self-critique. I don't know where this odd trait came from... I never noticed it in myself when I was younger, but it has sprouted and grown and taken over the garden since I've grown up.

Maybe if you met me in person, you'd disagree. Maybe I seem completely normal. I'll never know. Just don't tell me that I'm acting awkward, because it'll only make it worse.

Beetle in my water

I had the unfortunate experience of nearly swallowing a beetle today. For some reason, the landlords of my complex like to redo the paneling on only one side of the unit (guess which one? could it be the one facing the street that everyone sees? nooo...I'm not bitter) and because of the very old wood, tons and tons of these little black and red beetles have invaded and made my home their home.

Now just because I'm nearly a 1/2 vet doesn't mean that I have to love these beetles or serve them tea or set them up in the guest room. I try my best not to kill them (there's no humane beetle euthanasia), but its definitely a little bit gross to see them climbing all over my desk and trying out mating rituals on each other. And it's even more gross when you take a swig of your seemingly innocent water and feel an ominous "something" inside your mouth.

Nothing gives me the heeby jeebies more than having bugs anywhere near any orifice. Ever since my younger years when my dad freaked me out with stories of earwigs crawling through your ear and into your brain, I just can't handle this kind of stuff. Ask me to put my arm you-know-where in a cow or get cozy with a thermometer and the back end of a dog and it's a piece of cake, but bugs in the mouth...NOT okay. I'm tempted to pull a Godfather-esque prank on the landlord and dump a whole ton of these beetles in their bed in an attempt to get them to fix my paneling.

In other less disturbing news, Jesus has been resurrected and he comes to my gym. AND... he really likes talking on the cellphone and walking at an extremely slow pace for about 2 hours while everyone else around him sweats. His hair is perfect...he wears it down every day. It's got just the right amount of waviness and its sort of glow-y and blondish brown, and he has a very angelic face. He probably uses no product whatsoever and just jumps right out of shower looking like he just came from a salon. Jerk. Being the lord's son has its perks. I have no idea what he talks about on the phone for so long, or why he bothers coming to the gym when he never actually DOES anything, but its amusing to watch him nonetheless.

There's another beetle crawling across my screen right now and its extremely distracting. With that, its time to get back to studying. Good night fellow bloggers...

Back in the saddle again

Alright. I've got my Pandora on and a comfy sweatshirt and an iced coffee. It's time to start blogging again and reawaken the right side of my brain which has been put on the back burner for a looooong while now.

I'm going to bar trivia tonight, which is always a very interesting experience for me. The shear amount of information I have NO CLUE about is pretty depressing. Don't even get me started on history and sports. I had to confirm the picture identity of Kennedy the other day with a classmate...apparently he had Addison's disease (hypoadrenocorticism) and I just wasn't positive if it was him or not. Doesn't matter that he may have one of the most recognizable faces in American history. I'm clueless when it comes to that kind of stuff. Truth is, vet school has turned me into a big science nerd that has lost a lot of the well-roundedness that I used to possess. I really really like science and medicine, don't get me wrong. But I've been progressively feeling a bigger and bigger disconnect with the non-science public. It's strange to have to try and think of a way to put something so that everyone will understand what you're talking about. For instance...when I'm talking about the orientation of things, in my head it always comes out in medspeak. That guy's tattoo is lateral to his sternum. It's no longer "to the right." The plantar side of my foot really hurts. It's not the bottom. It's like speaking a foreign language that isn't romantic or easy on the ears, and makes you sound pretentious. When I came back from summer break and saw my vetfriends again, it was definitely a relief to unfasten the belt that held in all my geeky knowledge and let it all nerd out.

On the flipside, I've recently made some new friends that aren't related to vet med at all, and it is quite refreshing to hear people talk about things that don't have to do with the prison that is G-150 (our giant classroom). For a while, I can almost forget that vet med is all I breath and drink, besides my running obsession.

Anyway...

The good thing about bar trivia is the people watching. People get so ridiculously competitive at bar trivia that its almost comical. They glance around with narrowed eyes looking for cellphones and any kind of sneaky cheating. They contest answers. And you can always tell the seriousness of the teams by their names. People who rarely ever do bar trivia have names like "Winning Like Charlie Sheen" or "I Wish This Mic Was a Dick" etc. People who always do bar trivia (and usually come in the top 3) have much less profane and way more "cool" names. There's undoubtedly gonna be some guy with glasses who looks like your typical hipster and some girl who is kind of loud and has an annoying laugh. I almost always wish I could be on their team, and I'm always a little bit jealous. Way too competitive for my own good.

Do you ever look around Facebook or social networking sites and just see people you wish you could walk up to and say, "lets be friends?" It's happening more and more lately. I just want to meet more like minded, interesting people who really love to talk. Silence is golden, sometimes. But usually it's boring.

That's all I can think of for now. Probably gonna go switch out my laundry. Just an FYI, if you ever stick a Canadian quarter into a laundry machine coin loader thing, even if you have all regular quarters next to it, the thing won't close. It somehow knows that you're trying to trick it with a non-American quarter.