Why did the pre-med chicken cross the road?

Because he heard it was REQUIRED!!!!LOL!!!ELEVENTY!!one

Not my lame-ness--originally told by the prof who is the head of the pre-med society in our illustrious college on a hill.

So, he's attempting to mock the over-anxious pre-med students who are terrified of missing something that's "required" for admission to med school. (Personally, I think if you're using chickens to describe pre-meds, you should head more in the running-around-like-a-headless-chicken direction, but that's just me.) The pre-med society is constantly attempting to convince us of three things:

1. You will get into med school.
*Gigantic SNORT OF SCORN*
Like I didn't use up all my karma getting in HERE in the first place.

2. There are no "requirements."
*Pissed-off eyebrow raise of bitch, please*
Because THERE ARE REQUIREMENTS. They won't TELL you what they are, but if you spend fifty bucks on the AMC handbook YOU WILL FIND THEM. Assholes.

3. You don't have to decide right now if you're going to be pre-med. *FRIGHTENING MANIACAL LAUGHING FIT*
*falls backwards off of chair*
*hits head, spends rest of life in oddly pleasing coma*

Ok, see, the fact of the matter is? YOU HAVE TO DECIDE IF YOU ARE PRE-MED, LIKE, BEFORE YOU ARE BORN. This is why all doctors are children of doctors. THEY BREED, PEOPLE.

Here's how it is. IF you go to med school directly after graduation, are accepted immediately into an internship program, and concentrate on something "soft," you will be 29 by the time you are actually PRACTICING SOME FREAKING MEDICINE slash making enough money to dig yourself out of the gigantic hole of debt you've gotten yourself into.

If you decide to specialize in something interesting, i.e., surgery (always do the version of the job they show on TV, people, it's the cool one) your residency could be something "lite" like, say, five years, OR it could be an extended NINE YEAR FUNFEST. And you are 35 years old. Note that this assumes that you a.) took no years off for mental health reasons and b.) have not died somewhere along the line due to lack of sleep.

Honestly, though? Those final numbers aren't the ones that scare me. What really terrifies me, keeps me up at night, pacing and blogging despite the fact that I HAVE A FREAKING TEST IN A PRE-MED CLASS TOMORROW, AND AM KILLING MY SCIENCE GPA, what scares me more than clowns or spiders, or the fact that George Dubya Bush has control of our nuclear weapons, what REALLY FREAKS ME OUT, is:

That you could, theoretically do well in your pre-med college classes.

And you could go to med school.

And maybe even pass your classes.

And the medical boards.

And get accepted into an internship program.

And then, after all that, after eight years of training and praying and not sleeping and having your success measured by memorization and tests...your twenty-six year old self has to pick up a scalpel and actually cut open a living, breathing person.

AND YOU COULD BE LOUSY AT IT.

SERIOUSLY! WHAT IF YOU HAVE KLUTZY FINGERS? Or you drop slippery things like duodenums? Or you just AREN'T GOOD AT THE PHYSICAL PROCESS OF CUTTING PEOPLE OPEN AND SCREWING AROUND WITH THE GOOKY STUFF INSIDE THEM?

This is one of the many aspects of medicine not addressed by Grey's Anatomy. Of course, those doctors are too busy having sex with each other to actually, like, perform surgery or anything, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

I also shouldn't be surprised when I fail the biology test that I have in, oh, five hours.

Maybe if I cut mySELF open, I'll find out if I'm good at it!

Alumni

"You're happy? You're happy now? The Meredith I knew was a force of nature. Passionate. Focused. A fighter. What happened to you? You've gone soft! Stammering about a boyfriend and saying you're waiting to be inspired? You're waiting for inspiration, are you kidding me? I have a disease for which there is no cure; I think that would be inspiration enou--"

"Mommy--"

"Listen to me, Meredith. Anyone can fall in love and be blindly happy,but not everyone can pick up a scalpel and save a life. I raised you to be an extraordinary human being. So imagine my disappointment when I wake up after five years and discover that you're no more than ordinary. What happened to you?"

No. More. Than. Ordinary.

"You want to know what happened to me? You happened to me."

Mommy.


Shonda Rhimes, I fucking hate you.

Although I mostly hate you because you ended the damn episode with a cliffhanger and I have to wait until Thursday.

*Sad*

Do you know what sad is?

Sad is when your younger sister has a boyfriend or when there were flowers outside your door this morning because someone delivered them to the wrong room.

I win!

Current state of mind

And I've studied so much biology that I've finally flipped. For reals.

An excerpt from the current notes:

STEM CELLS!!!!OMG!!ELEVEN
-Cells that divide to give rise to more cells or cells that can adopt specialized jobs or cells that can sing opera while snowboarding
-Stem cells are basically the shit, despite what George Bush thinks
-They can replace damaged/cells/organisms
-Help us research diseases/make interns lose it
-Supply and source for TONS 'O' ORGAN TRANSPLANTS!!!! (2nd transplant of equal or lesser value FREE WITH PURCHASE!!!!!)

I think this is the point where you're supposed to start breathing into a paper bag.

WTF?

If your version of the blog is legible, please comment.

If it's illegible, grab a torch and prepare to join me on the siege of the Blogger headquarters, because I have been messing with CSS sheets for the past hour and it STILL DOESN'T WORK.

UPDATE: It seems to have magically fixed itself. Ten to one says I just jinxed it.

Because you care

Left side of the fridge:
six protein shakes
three kinds of vitamins
Four protein bars
Carrot juice

Right side of the fridge
nine cans of Red Bull
five Doubleshots
three packs of caffeine gum
CHOCOLATE

So, guess who's the athlete and who's the stress case.

Maybe that's what they have against it

What is it that is illegal?

Is it the actual consumption of the shot-masked-with-blue-gatorade?

Or is it that said shot lets you dance for real under a black light and not care?





Now, of course, I'm willing to concede that they have a point, but that's probably because it's the next morning.

And this computer screen is rather bright.

Never let your schooling interfere with your education

So, how do I describe my biology professor? Let's put it this way: you know Albert Einstein's hair? He is TOTALLY rocking the Einstein hair. Enough said.

Unfortunately, this means that instead of studying, I have been busy picking out choice phrases from his lecture notes.

A sampling:

These elements can be referred to by their chemical symbols. If we do this, we spell the English word CHNOPS, which, loosely defined, means "you have to memorize the chemical abbreviations for all the atoms. " Note especially how CHNOPS rolls right off your tongue.

This, of course, does not follow logically from the data, but you're going to have to trust me. Why? Because I have lots of letters after my name, that's why.

Atoms with empty orbitals are sad. But atoms that have their outermost orbitals filled are experiencing very happy and content circumstances.

Hydrogen bonds account for the unusual characteristics of water, which we will not discuss in in detail in lecture, except, obviously, to explain how water spiders work.

Regardless of what I said above, I well, kind of simplified things a bit. Ok, I outright lied. Sue me.

The pH scale goes from 0 to 14 for largely arbitrary reasons that I find too painful to discuss.

The pH of your blood is kept constant by the use of buffers, which are molecules that have the ability to take up and release protons, depending on certain characteristics into which we will not go. (Never end a sentence--or a lecture outline--with a preposition. Emoticons are perfectly ok :D )

I suppose it's kind of weird that I am obsessing over my science professor's use of language, but I suppose this is an indication that I am a gigantic biology nerd and should go be with my own kind.

I tried...

...I really did.

I was going to watch the State of the Union from a mature, objective perspective. I did not join in on the drinking game (2 shots if he says trrrurist!) down the hall.I suffered through the nucular's and the references to 9/11 and endured his notions that somehow, Iraq is now better off.

When he informed us that we would be paying income on our payroll taxes, however...

...yeah, ok, there were some explitives.

And some threats of burying him in lime jello.

And yeah, there's pieces of PopTart on the TV screen, but I totally didn't start it.

Fun with public computers

Ok, I swear I'm doing work, but:

I'm on a public computer in the library. The desktop is, naturally, full of several days worth of accumulated saved attatchments.

A sampling of file names:

hatemath.doc
eqoiwpruasfd.doc
screwthis.ppt
mathsux.txt
blahblah.doc
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.ppt
FUCKYOUCOHENANDFUCKYOURMOTHERFUCKING
LAMEASSPRINCIPLESOFGOVERNMENT.doc

Methinks we may have just a few stressed students, eh?

Indications that the temperature may be sliiightly sub-optimal

1. The insides of your nostrils freeze two seconds after you walk outside.

2. You study the campus map to take advantage of large buildings that you can walk through instead of actually going outside.
2a. You see your professor doing the same thing.
2b. You're both late.-

3. You know how when you were little, your mom ALWAYS insisted that you zip your coat ALL THE WAY UP? Past the point of regular dorkiness, to the neck, but all the way into supreme nerdhood by actually zipping it up the collar that goes past your nose?

Yeah.

While this is about as far from "socially acceptable" as Kraft E-Z Cheez Food Product is from a wheel of cheddar, the plus side is that no one can actually identify you.

I simply refuse

Ooooooooooooh it's snowing. Legit snowing. This morning there were these wimpy little flakes approximately every five minutes, the kind of "snow" that elicits more discussion about the state of its existence than accumulation, but that has built up into BIG FAT WHITE FLAKES!

So I'm all SNOOOOOOOOOW WOOOOO PAR-TAY, and The Awesome Roomate is all shaking her head and mouthing "she's five" and my completely childish excitement is building when I realized...WE DON'T HAVE SNOW DAYS.

And a little part of me died right there. Or grew up, which is worse. So much of the childish excitement exists because snow makes things DIFFERENT. Snow is a change in the daily routine. Snow gets in our faces and says I'm here and I will FORCE you to take time off and appreciate how cool I look on the trees.

Apparently, the real world would rather slog through the snow and pretend that it's business as usual.

However, I simply refuse to grow up, so I am planning to, in the event of Extremely Legit Snow, declare a personal snow day.

I'm positive that my professors will be impressed.

Jaw. Stuck. Open.

Dear. God.

Yes, this is an appropriate reaction.

Now, this Holy Grail of Technology is, of course, approximately eleventy billion dollars, so get out of my way before I mug you.

Things I just know

Times tables.
Geeky Star Trek facts.
If your hair is natural or bleached.

The number of calories in any given food.

The Awesome Roommate? DOESN'T KNOW THAT. Seriously. It came up while we were buying groceries and I started quizzing her. She has NO IDEA.

"Hey, Awesome Roommate? How many calories in a Pop-Tart?"

"Oh I don't know. Thirty?" She was serious.

"Hon, it's WAY higher than thirty. WAY."

"Oh. Six hundred?"

GOOD GOD. (The answer, by the way, is 200 if it's chocolatey flavored, 210 if it's fruit. See? Chocolate is good for you!)

But how do you have NO SENSE OF THAT? A can of regular soda is 140. A candy bar is between 210 and 280, M&Ms lowest, Twix highest. Oreo-sized cookies are 50 or 60. Chips are 140 an ounce. A roll is 100, enough bread for a sandwich is 220. Cereal is 110--140 for a serving. Skim milk is 90 a cup. Low-fat ice cream is 150 for a half-cup. Haagen Dazs is 270. The whole pint is 1100. Coffee is 5 a cup, but Frappachinos are 260. 140 if they're light.

Now, this list does not make me look like the sane one, but let me assure you--she's nuts.

Or she works out all the time and eats when she's hungry, but seriously? That's weird.

Someone is writing my life

Seriously. It sometimes reads like a fucking movie script.

So, I need to buy snow boots. Yes, NEED. It is snowy and then melty and muddy and my LAST boot purchase (Uggs, consumer whore, shame, etc.) is just not cutting it. Also, I'm not broke enough.

Now, I began looking for a pair of boots online without any assistence from my roommates, and I THOUGHT that I had found a perfectly cute pair. However, if it were not for the interventin of said roommates, I would go out every day in neon green gaucho overalls with plaid-and-striped taffeta trim, so I decided to show them the boots before I actually spent money on them. The Awesome Roommate wasn't around at the time, but fortunately Everyone's All-Purpose Gay Boyfriend was. And he informed me that the waterproof-but-still-cute boots were "ghetto."

Now, I'm working from a limited perspecitive here, but these boots? Not ghetto. No excessive fur trim, heel height, or bling of any kind. (Yes, I'm white and I said bling. RELAX.)

Everyone's All-Purpose Gay Boyfriend listened to me, but then he explained patiently that the boots were made by Timberland, and thus automatically unacceptable.

I, in my infinite experience, had never heard of Timberland, and since I have this slight tendency to argue, I scoffed at him. I did get him to admit that there was nothing intrinsically wrong with the boots except for the fact that they said Timberland on the side, but apparently, that was enough.

At this point, The Awesome Roommate entered. She was, incidentally, drunk off her ass, because she is talented at every sport except for pong. Unfortuantely for my arguement, when Gay Boyfriend asked her to confirm that Timberland = ghetto, her zealousness in affirming that point made her momentarily coherent. Dammit.

So I'm losing. Timberland, is, apparently, ghetto. I, having latent feminazi/weirdly liberal tendencies, start to go on a rant about the fashion industry, slavery to designer recognition, death of society, etc. I was mercifully interrupted by the Extremely Chill Guy walking in.

I pounced. He's very laid back and very typically masculinely clueless about fashion. Surely, I thought, surely I could score a point in the discussion here by proving that not EVERYONE has the same negative connotations regarding Timberland.

"Extremely Chill Guy," I asked sweetly, "Is Timberland ghetto?"

There was tragically instant recognition in his eyes. "Oh yeah," he responded enthusiastically, "it's pretty ghetto." He paused.

"Especially if you get the boots."

I appreciate that it was a perfect way for me to just get completely OWNED, but seriously. Scriptwriters? If you sell this thing, I want a share fo the profits.

My status

"Caffeinegirl is understanding Jack Sparrow's appreciation of rum in a way that is purely academic and not at all derived from her personal experience."

Oh yeah.

Such is my life

Those of you long-time readers (yes, both of you) may recall some of my...interesting interactions with one of my professors. Yes, like when I launched a pen cap at him. Shut up.

Anyway, things came full circle at in a disturbingly symbolic, English-class type way at the end of last term. I had to write a final paper. Because I wrote the paper, yes, it was crap, and I finished it approximately thirty seconds before it was due.

At which point I ran out of ink.

Naturally, by then I was in a full-on all nighter/caffeine-induced panic, so I did what seemed logical at the time: I printed the paper out in purple ink. (The so-launched pen? Purple. COWER at the force of the metaphor-wrapped-in-an-allegory-ness.)

Now, I admit that my actions weren't that illogical. I just wish that I'd chosen, say, a sedate navy. And that I hadn't handed in a (crap) paper to THE LEADING FAUST SCHOLAR IN THE WORLD printed in PURPLE INK.

But life goes on.

And life goes on to the point where you return to college, clean out your desk, and discover that you had an extra black ink cartridge the entire time.

GOD. DAMMIT.

Lies I have told recently

MUST. KEEP. PEACE. WITH. EXTENDED. FAMILY.

It's not lying if you only leave out...details.

A sample: (Details are in italics)

I go to Young Republican meetings to steal their pizza--Young Democrats spent all their money on campaign signs.

The boys' rooms are VERY FAR from the girls' rooms--I'm lazy and three feet is far.

I have never been inside a fraternity when I was sober.

I have never tasted vodka because we mix it with Red Bull.

There's nowhere close by to buy alcohol anyway so we pay the seniors who have cars to do it for us.

Most people go to bed around midnight because they're so drunk they've passed out.

We do homework on Saturdays--because it was due on Friday and the professor is taking off points for each hour that it's late.

I'm thinking of joining a sorority because I've recently become a masochist.

I have never missed a class, in fact, I never miss them at all.

I've never met "one of those goddamned homosexuals," just the regular, non-goddamned kind, thanks.

The professors are conservative--JESUS CHRIST, ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH ACADEMIA??????

Yeah, I snapped on that one. Whoopsy.

I think I was already out of that will though, so it's all good.

So, which is worse? Going to church, or enduring the backlash for NOT going to church?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

I went, if you're curious. Which keeps the peace, but is doubly annoying, because then they're all happy because you've "outgrown your sophomoric tendencies."

*gag*

What they didn't notice was that I wore my pirate earrings. OMG skull-and-crossbones earrings IN CHURCH I am TEH REBELZ!!!!!!eleven!!

So, yeah, that was my little "protest." And yes, THANK YOU, it was "sophomoric."

But I'm only a freshman! So do you know what me being sophomoric means?

It means that I'm fucking precocious, bitch.

Quote of the Day

"I'm not anorexic! I just hate eating!"

This, people, THIS is what I deal with.

I think I'll go eat an entire wheel of cheese.