Is this fair?

From: Safety and Security
To: caffeinegirl
Subject: Call mom

Caffeinegirl,

Your Mother called and said that she has been unable to reach you on your cell phone. It is not an emergency but she would like you to call her at 203-253-2044.

Thank you
Officer Converse



NO! THIS IS NOT FAIR!!! Can they even DO that?

Apparently they can. And, if you aren't answering your cell phone, because you neglected to realize that the battery is dead, AND if you are currently loaning your computer to a friend because his hard drive committed suicide last night and you're a nice person like that...you don't get the email right away.

SO THEY COME LOOKING FOR YOU.

And of course when they come looking for you and FIND you, in your room of all places, doing suspicious activities like CHEMISTRY HOMEWORK, you are wearing....your Hello Kitty pajamas.

Nice.

So I was in a hurry this morning

And as I exited the room in a frantic rush to the shower, I tripped over a bottle of Febreeze. As I replaced the bottle on the shelf from which it had fallen, it occurred to me how much faster it would be if I could just Febreeze myself.

Now I didn't do it. But I was thiiiiiiiiiiiis close.

Just, like, fyi.

So I had an exam today

Which we aren't going to talk about, thank you VERY much.

But we are going to talk about what I have eaten today:

Uncrustable, grape and peanut butter, 1
Veggie sushi rolls, avacado, 8
Mini-Oreos, 4
Rice Krispie treat,
Odwalla Bar, 1
Lattes, 2
Cans Tab Energy, 1
Cans Red Bull, 4

So let's see if I can argue that this is a balanced diet. Ok.

Let's start with the Uncrustable. Hey, we have bread (type stuff) which is practically GRAINS. And grape jelly, which, if you subtract the sugar, is almost even a fruit! Plus peanut butter, which is, like protein. (Oh alright, and saturated fat. FINE.) Anyway, grains, fruit, and legumes!

Then we have the sushi, which is mostly rice, which like, 50% of the world SUSTAINS ITSELF ON! It's a staple! And some seaweed, which is kind of like a vegetable, PLUS the avacado, which is LEGITIMATELY a fruit. (Except it might be the kind of fruit that SOMEHOW, contains mono-saturated fat. ALWAYS WITH THE SATURATED FAT.) So, (more) grains, fruits, and veggies!

And onto the mini-Oreos. Ok. I am almost positive that somewhere, the cookie part contains flour. (It's a cookie, right? Which is a baked good. And baked goods contain flour! Which, I would like to remind you, is a GRAIN.) So, we have grains, and....the creme part. Screw it, I'm not even going to try. Grains and a delicious paste of sugar-lard. (And ok, I GUESS that means saturated fat. What is WITH you people? You're like, fixated.)

Which were followed closely by the Rice Krispie treat, and that has cereal, y'all people! And you know what that means?

Ow.

Don't hit me. Listen, GRAINS ARE IMPORTANT. They're at the bottom of the food pyramid, which means that you EAT A LOT OF THEM. And we are really just going to overlook the fact that said grains are being held together by a mixture of marshmallow goop and butter. (La la la! I can't HEAR you!!)

Ok, we're coming up to the Odwalla bar, and this, THIS is where I am going to win. Have you heard of Odwalla? Check it out, because that is some concentrated organic, all-natural granola-ness, people. I mean, I'll even show you the ingredients and nutrition facts! Organic rolled oats (I won't say it...grains!!!!) folic acid, Vitamin E, and...

That's it. I quit.

AND SATURATED FAT. (Peanuts. Forgot about the damn peanuts.) FINE! IT'S A NUTRITION BAR THAT HAPPENS TO CONTAIN LIPIDS. Which, BY THE WAY, are ESSENTIAL for normal cell function. ESSENTIAL.

And, wrapping it up, we have a latte, which has MILK, which is practically nectar from the freaking fountain of youth, containing not just protein BUT ALSO calcium, and some sugar, which is a carbohydrate, which happens to be what makes up gr---

I TOLD you not to hit me! And yes, the latte has caffeine, but we will be addressing that in the next section.

In which we discuss the energy drinks. I'm not even counting the Tab Energy, because it only lasts for like, five minutes. LAME! So that leaves us with the Red Bull, which, because it's diet, has nothing. Really. Not even grains! I swear.

Red Bull contains, in addition to all of the preservatives and scary things that I can't spell, B vitamins. And copious amounts of caffeine, coming in at 80mg a can. Times four. Which is not that much. Really. Ok, so it's enough to stun a horse, the stuff is terrible for me, and I will die.

But.

NO SATURATED FAT.

Ha.

Annoying mySELF

Sometimes, I am seriously frustrating. (Yes, I KNOW you all already know that.)

But seriously? An excerpt from my notes:

"Waves are subject to constructive interference (maxima aligns with maxima, additive, BUT matter can--"

And then there's nothing else written on the page.

Well?

Matter can WHAT????

Quote of the day

"Pink? PINK camouflage? Where are you planning to hide---in a flock of flamingos?"

~My chem prof

I salute you

I am a tour guide. This means that twice a week, I haul nervous prospective students, their bored younger siblings, and their oft-agressive parents around the campus. Now, this is allegedly something I like to do. I actually had to go through a three-stage application process, despite the fact that we don't exactly get paid. Well, we get a captive audience for 75 minutes, which uses up about, oh, a fortieth of my desire to blabber for a given day. Also, we get to wear very official-like engraved name tags. I like to think that this makes me important. Or it makes me look like I frequently forget my own name.


Before I go any farther, I would like to state that 90% of the prospective students and their parents that I personally deal with are very nice people. They're generally a little wide-eyed with a kind of lost look, but I can't hold that against them. If they're on the dreaded "college tour circuit," they just saw 5 schools in the last 4 days and all of the peopel they encountered gave basically the same generically postiive presentation. "At [X] university, we really feel that there's a strong a sense of community. Basically, they are attempting to survive the hellish process that is undergraduate applications. I sympathize with them and that's why I became a tour guide in the first place

Then there's the psychos. You know them. They bought The Princeton Review's Guide to America's Top 361 Colleges when their kid was a fetus and put him in SAT classes before he got out of diapers. They fretted over pre-school admissions because THAT MATTERS. YOU HAVE TO START EARLY. Obviously, if your child is not enrolled in French enrichment, jazz tap class, sousaphone lessons, karate, lacrosse camp, and/or extreme roller derby by the time she's three...SHE WILL NEVER GET INTO COLLEGE, SHE WILL LIVE IN A BOX ON THE STREET, AND SHE WILL DIE.

(Of course, even if you do this, there's still a nice chance that she will strangle herself with the ribbons from her ballet slippers, but that's another post.)

Now, I could rant about these people for oh....two and a half years? (Just ask the Awesomely Earplugged Roommate), but I have a specific person in mind. He was actually the parent of an admitted student who was touring schools again in preparation for making a final choice. Said admitted student had a hell of a choice, because he was choosing between three Ivies.

I know this, of course, because his father told me. Loudly. I stiffled my initial urge to punch him and was able to offer a cheery "Congratulations! I hope you choose Dartmouth!"

I won't know, of course, but I am nearly sure that he will not. Not that it wouldn't be a loss of a qualified student. He was very poised. He made eye contact. He took discreet notes. He asked intelligent questions and he smiled at my pitiful jokes.

At the end of the tour, he asked me several rapid-fire questions, all concerning statistics. They centered around the pre-med program and our acceptence rates to top med schools. (It's quite good, 96%. And we don't screen).

He also asked me if the Trips that I talked about were mandatory.

Dartmouth freshemen go on Trips. Basically, you throw 12 kids into the woods with hiking boots that are giving them blisters and a frame pack that's too heavy to carry. You leave them in the care of a highly qualified group of future CEOs, I-bankers, lawyers, doctors, etc, who are currently dressed in various animal-print spandex and sequined clothing and have decided to dye their hair six flourescent colors. Nobody sleeps for five days, you eat unidentifiable food covered with yogurt, and you are required to dance to both techno music and 50s jazz standards. It's fantastic.

It is not something that is relevant on your application to med school and it obviously did not interest this student. And this is the real reason that his father deserved...something. Not an act of violence. Maybe an act of loud yelling.

YES, YOU WIN. YOU PRODUCED AN IVY LEAGUE STUDENT. HE WILL STUDY HARD AND HE WILL GO TO MEDICAL SCHOOL. A "GOOD" MEDICAL SCHOOL. HE WILL MARRY A WOMAN WITH A GOOD LAST NAME AND THEY WILL HAVE 2.5 BLONDE CHILDREN. HE WILL BE A DOCTOR, WHICH IS CAREER THAT NO ONE CAN ARGUE WITH, AND HE WILL LIVE IN A NICE SUBURBAN HOUSE WITH A MANICURED LAWN. AND HE'S VERY GOOD. COMES OFF LIKE A REAL ADULT. OBVIOUSLY SMART, BUT DOESN'T ACT STUCK UP. LIKEABLE. CLEARLY FOCUESED. CLEARLY SERIOUS.

DRIVEN.

So will you accept my congratulations, stick the goddamn bumper sticker on your car and MOVE ON? YOU WIN AT LIFE! YOU ARE VALIDATED. THIS IS YOUR GODDAMN PURPOSE. YOUR CHILD IS A HUGE-ASS MOTHERFUCKING SUCCESS.

Except that he's clearly had the life sucked out of him. Descriptions of crazy college hijinks bore him. Got to stay on track! Eyes on the prize. There's always tomorrow to celebrate. Such fine, fine, values you've instilled in him.

So please, send him to a different Ivy. If he got into that one that starts with an H and is in Cambridge, by all means GO THERE. He'll be very happy. They don't dye their hair green.

But please, before you leave our little college on a hill, look at some of the students here. Yes, this too is an Ivy, and yes, we all had the insane application, and many of us will go on to perhaps a better med school. And some of us are named Preston Welligsworth Thronton, THE FOURTH and also need to be punched in the face. But there are enough of us who dye our hair and dance the Salty Dog Rag.

So look at us. And look at this child that you have created. And be proud of yourself. You have created, and again I say it, a SUCCESS. He will never be distracted. And he isn't interested in WASTING HIS TIME camping in the woods. Perfection. Humor is irrelevant.

Congratulations.

YOU WIN.

But where's the scoreboard?

To: That Girl in Front of Me in Line at Collis

Burberry bag.

Burberry scarf.

Burberry rainboots.

Black raincoat with juuuuuuuust a hint of the Burberry plaid lining.


WE GET IT.

Preventative measures

So, there's this Ben & Jerry's flavor, and it's called VERMONTY PYTHON.

Seriously.

IT HAS THE CATAPULTED COW ON THE LABEL!!! And little fudge cows inside!!!! And I can't link directly to it on benjerry.com because of their sucky flash interface, but go check it out. Because seriously? In addition to all the cow-ness? IT'S COFFEE LIQUEUR FLAVORED.

With chocolate.

So, as this is obviously the perfect ice cream flavor and as our fridge obviously isn't safe, I took...appropriate measures.





Behold the power of duct tape!!!

So the good news is that no one has eaten my ice cream.

The bad news is that that includes me.

Because I can't get the duct tape off.

I really truly hate people

So it was The Sexy Redhead's birthday, which means that I was societally obligated to make brownies. Which is not an activity I really mind, honestly. It's very relaxing, actually, because it's just mindlessly following a recipe. Plus, I have very high standards of quality, so I personally taste-test the batter at every stage. The sacrifices I make for my baking.

Now, somewhat counter-intuitively, the most important piece of equipment for making the brownies is a freezer. (I'd tell you more, but it's a closely guarded secret. The mother has probably telepathically sensed me typing and is ordering an air assault at THIS VERY MOMENT) Basically, what you need to know is that at one point, there is a bowl of batter in the freezer. It remains in the freezer for....shall we say an unspecified, yet somewhat lengthy period of time

Let's recall that I live in a dorm. As the freezer compartment in our mini-fridge is the exact right size for a bag of Starbucks coffee, I put the batter in the freezer in the communal kitchen. I covered the bowl with a dish towel, secured the towel with a giant rubber band, and set an alarm to make sure I would wake up (a certain number of unspecified hours later) to take it out.

BUT.

At some point in that period of undesignated length, SOMEBODY ATE IT.

Practically half of it.

AND THEY LEFT THE DAMN SPOON THEY USED IN THE BOWL.

And I, in my usual dignified fashion, dealt with this by screaming "FUCK!" rather loudly, and leaving a bitchy note on the fridge.





Transcribed due to my flawless penmanship:

To the person or persons who ATE MY BROWNIE BATTER:

If you begin showing signs of salmonella poisoning, it's because you ATE RAW EGGS! Lesson: do not eat stuff that's not yours BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS! What if that were some really gross science experiment, hmmm? Did you think of that? No, because you were too busy EATING practically half the batter! Now I have to make more! I really kind of hate you.

~Signed,
The maker of the batter who, by the way, knows karate


(Yes, I made more. Yes, they were unquantifiably delicious. DUH.)

Overheard

"So, what did you do today?"

"Oh, nothing much. You know, went to dinner, sat around with my Ivy-league-educated friends and tried to throw yogurt-covered raisins down each other's cleavage."

"Really. Anyone make it?"

"Just The Awesome Roommate. But, you know, she plays softball."

"Of course."

"Naturally."

Nature's Cruel Joke

If you are friends with a gay man, such as the aforementioned Everyone's All-Purpose Gay Boyfriends, he will introduce you to his friends. Who are, for the most part, charming, funny, well-groomed, semi-outrageous, sensitive, extremely attractive, fun-to-be-around people.

But they are also charming, funny, well-groomed, semi-outrageous, sensitive, extremely attractive, fun-to-be-around MEN who are simply NEVER going to be interested in YOU.

Stupid biology.

Prof: 1, Student: 0

I was attempting to avoid posting this as I am not particularly fond of this professor BUT. It was a perfect moment.

So she's boring. Most of us don't listen. Yes, we realize that if you divide the total tuition by the number of hours of class we are supposed to attend it works out to more than $200 an hour to tune out a highly respected, Ivy-league-tenured intellectual. We're college students. Most people sleep. I daydream. The daring few slip in an iPod earbud. As far as we can tell, she is generally under the impression that her audience is paying attention.

It's Monday and it's nine in the morning. Maybe fifty percent of the class is conscious. I'm half-listening to her lecture, and there are a few Spanish words interspersed with the doodles in my notebook. Not bad, considering that I pulled an all-nighter and she's lecturing in a language that I don't really speak.

She paces baaaaaack and forth as she's lecturing. I get sick of tracking her across the room and use my position in the last row to check out the rest of the class. That Guy Who Always Wears Pajama Pants is, fittingly, actually asleep. Gorgeous and Mysterious International Student is surreptitiously completing an Econ problem set. Hasn't Figured Out That High School Teacher's Pet Does Not Equal Professor's Pet is diligently taking color-coded notes. Guy Who Would Like to Think That He is a Legit Skater Dude has carefully snaked an iPod earbud up his sleeve. That, um, Girl, Who's, Like, You Know, Kinda From California? is also, mercifully, asleep.

And the professor is completely oblivious. I focus to try and get some idea of what she's talking about. Baaaaaaaaaaaack and forth. Baaaaaaaaack and forth. Kind of in a monotone. Soothing.

Until, on the trip baaaaaaaaack, she reaches out and smoothly YANKS on Skater Dude's earbud.

He flinches backwards, almost falling out of his chair. The clatter of the earbud as it hits the desk seems to reverberate a thousand times in the lecture hall.

And she just keeps going. Lecturing. Pacing. No comment to Skater Dude, but she allows herself a slight smile. A slight buzz spreads through the room but quickly disappates.

Well played, Señora. Well played.

I'll be doing my daydreaming in a different class now.

Whiny emo post

Warning: the following post is, in the great tradition of blogging, an indulgent rant. Read at your own risk. Side effects may include excessive eyeliner use, an inexplicable urge to listen to Evanescence, and the strong desire to punch the blogger in the face.


Ok, seriously? Seriously. ONE DAY I will learn not to call my parents. ONE DAY.

Apparently, that day? Not today.

I'm sick. Really fucking sick, actually, thanks for asking. Don't mind the pieces of lung. This does not, however, make me unique around here. The collective phlegm production of the campus here--let's put it this way, if you could sell it by the ton, we'd all drop out and make a fortune. Those of you who were eating, you're welcome.

So, I called my mom.

*Beep boop boop beep-boop boop beep*

*ring*

"Hi Mom!"
Look, it's my "I'm sick" voice. Mommy, come make me better, poooor me who has to take final exams. Sniffle

"Areyousick?Whatareyoudoingaboutthat?Whatareyoutaking?Youaren'tsleeping areyou?Thisisn'tgoingtohelpyoustudy!Youhaveexamsinafewdays!"
Oho, so you called looking for sympathy. Think again, sister. WRONG. FUCKING. NUMBER.

Wrong fucking number indeed.

Oh well.

At least the guy who hacks up wads of snot into the sink seems to have switched to tissues.

I'm studying for finals and this seems like such a good plan

Which was of course, followed swiftly by the lowlight of the day

So, I just crashed headlong into John Rassias.

Seriously? the first result on Google without quotes, but he's even first result for himself on Google Image Search.

Google is one thing, but Google Image Search? That's some serious importance right there, people.

I CANNOT BE IN A COLLEGE FULL OF IMPORTANT PEOPLE. I'm me. I WILL inadvetently tackle someone at least bi-weekly. Someone kill me before I do it myself and take a Nobel Laureate with me?

Highlight of the day

My aforementioned biology professor went on one of his many tangents within-a-tangent which today concerned cosmetic surgery. This is a transcript:

"Personally, I find the entire practice of cosmetic surgery to be an abomination of the once-respected medical art of reconstructive surgery. But what do I know? If you look at me, obviously not a lot about plastic surgery. But hey, who cares? LET'S CHOP OFF YOUR NOSE!!!! It didn't evolve that way for a REASON or anything! And let's use the wonderful principles of economics to make plastics a highly desireable field for aspiring medical students. They could be upholding the Hippocratic oath and saving the lives of innocent starving children, but oh no! Pamela Anderson's breasts are deflating! EMERGENCY!!!!"

I swear, sometimes I'm not actually focusing in class. I"m just watching, like it's on Comedy Central.

And when we get to the tests? That's when I changed the channel to UPN and scarred myself for life with a rerun of Chaotic.

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.