Procrastination at its best

Dinner

2012-02-06T21:55:00.004-05:00

Technically, this is me making dinner. I would have taken a picture of the finished product, but about 2 minutes prior to this picture being taken, the smoke alarm was going off, the cat was bolting, the green beans and tomatoes were about to boil over, and the browning of the gnocchi (on high heat as directed by the recipe) was not going well at all. Frankly, after all of that, I just wanted to take the simplest picture possible.

10:00 am

2012-02-05T10:28:00.002-05:00

Someone doesn't want to get out of bed and join mom in the living room because she knows that mom will just be sitting at the computer doing that boring studying thing. Someone also knows that once we get out of bed in the morning, we are not allowed back on it until mom is in bed first. So someone is pretending that she is invisible.

Stranger(s) Two-fer

2012-02-04T18:16:00.005-05:00

Today's topic is 'a stranger.' I wasn't sure how to interpret this, and then I realized that I got to do something new today. I got to milk a cow. I've never met the cow before, so technically, the cow was a stranger.

Although I'm pretty sure, now that I've touched her udders, we are no longer strangers.

Not satisfied with just one picture? Me neither. After milking the momma cow, I got to bottle feed the calf. So technically, he was a stranger too.

He is so cute!!! Today was a fun photo op. Though I'm pretty sure that tomorrow's pictures won't be nearly as interesting...

Hands

2012-02-03T16:04:00.004-05:00

Yes, I realize that the subject for today is 'hands' plural. However, I wanted to take a picture of this specific subject matter, and it turned out that I needed one hand to hold the camera.*

We had an anatomy lab exam this morning (as part of our three exam day referenced earlier.) In an anatomy lab exam, the lab is set up with 50 stations. You get a piece of paper with 50 blanks to fill in and 30 seconds at each station. The station could be a bone with a chalk marked protrusion that you must name, a radiograph where you must identify the joint, species, and which side is medial/lateral, or it could be a cadaver with a string tied around an artery/vein/nerve/muscle and a note that says, "Name this structure." We are allowed a pencil to write our answers and a probe to be able to separate the cadaver structures from surrounding tissues. We also wear gloves because, you know, dead things.

Fun peek into vet school, yes?

*I originally wanted several vet students to contribute their hands to this picture, but we ran out of time. Maybe next time.

Words

2012-02-02T15:59:00.001-05:00

Note: I'm sorry this is going up late. We had three exams today, so I didn't do anything last night but study.

A couple of statements about this picture.

First: This is how dark it is when I get to school in the mornings. I could probably take a similar picture when I leave.

Second: We recently changed our name from 'Purdue University School of Veterinary Medicine' to 'Purdue University College of Veterinary Medicine.' This was to eliminate any confusion as we have always been a stand-alone entity, but under the previous name it was easy to think that we fell under another college (such as the College of Agriculture.)

This name change occurred in December. Since then, I've been wondering when they were going to update this sign. It wasn't until this morning, when I took this picture, that I realized that the sign lights up. I now realize the delay. This is going to be an expensive endeavor. My immediate thought is, "Please don't raise my tuition."

My View Today

2012-02-01T18:28:00.003-05:00

This is what I see three times a week in Histology. My professor doesn't use Power Point presentations or any sort of formal notes. He just lectures and draws on the board with colored chalk. Old school.

Since I apparently don't have time to blog...

2012-01-30T20:42:00.004-05:00

...maybe I'll be able to do this? It would most definitely center around my life, and since my life these days is school, maybe it would be an interesting look into the daily grind of vet school. Hmmm. I make no promises, but I'll do my best.

Also? I am not a photographer. All pictures will be taken with my cell phone, so don't judge.

The Itsy Bitsy Spider Becomes a Huge Scary Monster Who Will Suck Your Brains Out Through Your Ear

2011-10-26T20:02:00.007-04:00

I have a spider problem.

Which is fitting, I suppose, seeing as how it's almost Halloween.

But, see, it didn't start as a spider problem. It started as a tiny spider.

A tiny spider with a dream.

About a week or so ago, I noticed a web when I came returned to my house from school. The web was out of my way, so I didn't really think anything of it except to scan the immediate vicinity for spiders. Which I hate. Because I'm convinced that they will somehow kill me and eat my brains. True story.

When I spotted the spider, I affectionately named it the "Itsy Bitsy Spider." It was so tiny. And it had such a huge web. But still, the web WAS strategically placed (right in front of my porch light where insects are attracted at night) and who am I to crush a spider's dreams? You go, spider. Besides, the cold weather was coming soon, so the spider wasn't going to last much longer. And I have a "live and let live" policy with any sort of being that has more than 4 legs. If you enter my house, I will not kill you if you don't bother me. Besides, I have a bad-ass cat that will take care of you for me. I'll just have to keep an eye out for your carcass in my shoes sometime in the near future.* But outside? You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours.

And so it went. Each time I came home or left to walk the dog, I would take a quick look to ensure that Itsy Bitsy was nowhere near me, and hurry along on my way. The spider didn't bother me, so I didn't bother it.

But I did notice that it was growing. At an alarming rate. Maybe because of the GIGANTIC moths it was catching in the remarkably warm weather we had instead of the cold that had been predicted. It got to the point where I was having conversations with Itsy Bitsy about how she** needed to stop growing because I was getting a bit uncomfortable with her at my door.

She didn't listen.

Eventually I decided that if she was going to keep growing, at least it was Halloween. She could scare the kids who came to trick-or-treat.***

But now? Well... Here's a side view of Itsy Bitsy this morning. I know there's nothing really there for size perspective, so let me tell you this. There was no way I was getting within at least five feet of her. And I only used about 1/8th of the zoom capability on my phone. As a courtesy, I left the picture full size so that you can click on it and make it the size of your screen.

You're welcome.

It's gotten to the point where I'm going to need Itsy Bitsy to weave messages into her web, a la Charlotte, to tell me that basically she comes in peace. Any message like, "Not interested in brains" or "Won't eat you" or even "Thanks for not killing me when you had the chance because we both know there's no way you can do it now" would do.

Wait, what's that you say? You want to see another view? Okay. Zoom settings unchanged to protect the terrified. Seriously. The spider. It is huge.

And I don't know what to do. This is stretching the boundaries of my "live and let live" policy. But on the other hand, would YOU want to try and kill that thing? And while she's expanded her web away from my door, she's not come any closer to me. So technically, nothing's changed.

Well, nothing except the fact that she's going to be the size of Rhode Island soon if something isn't done.

This morning I started going through my option list. It is woefully short.

- Enlist the boy to kill the spider when he comes to visit on Friday. (Won't work. Boy shares my "live and let live" philosophy and while he'll kill spiders for me, he's actually not a huge fan of them either.)

- Call my friend Ann and have her send over her husband to commit arachnocide.****

And that's it. Those are my options.

I was kind of hoping that Mother Nature would take care of the situation for me. But no amount of wind will shake Itsy Bitsy. And she's strategically placed under the eve of my roof, so the rain is pretty much deflected from where she is.

I told you she was smart. One might say diabolically smart if, you know, one were paranoid that Itsy Bitsy has a master plan.

So if anyone has any fool-proof spider killing techniques, please pass them along. And no, none of them may contain throwing or spraying anything from any distance away. Because, seriously, if I miss? And she gets angry? I may have to move. And leave all of my stuff behind.

Bonus picture: This is with no zoom. On the sidewalk in front of my house. For perspective. I'm alarmed that you can still actually see her.

*Which is totally a sign of love, and not a threatening gesture. FYI.
**Given her insect catching success, I figured it was only appropriate to call her a "she" at this point.
***That I won't be able to give candy to because I'll be at a Husbandry exam. From 7:00pm to 9:00pm. Tell me THAT doesn't suck.
****I totally just made that word up.

Week 9

2011-10-17T15:53:00.005-04:00

Week nine of vet school began today. There was no fanfare. I'm still waiting to see my histology grade for a test I took two weeks ago. I'm dreading my physiology exam tomorrow. I get to work with cows today.

You know. The usual.

After the horror that was working with sheep, I'm not exactly excited to work with the cows, but I will admit that I do love the cows more. At least there's no danger of me riding them.

The routine here is so... I don't want to say normal... but the amount of stress there doesn't vary. So while it feels like this is a terrible thing I got myself into and I miss my "old life." The days doing this are generally all the same with occasional bright spots like working with cows. Or finding out that our dissection dog had heart worms. (Seriously very cool, but probably pretty gross to non-vet students, yes?) Sometimes I just want a nap.

It's getting cooler here, and I know that I've been here 8 weeks. But I was walking the dog this morning and realized that Orion was directly in front of me and to my right instead of to the left like it had been at the beginning of the semester. That was sort of a wake up call that yes, time is passing, seasons are changing, and there is life outside of vet school.

I'm glad I keep finding things to remind me of this.

I had some friends join me this past weekend to watch a Purdue Women's Volleyball game, and one of them asked me how much "downtime" I get to just relax in any given day. My answer was immediate. None. I mean, I get an hour lunch, but even then we're usually studying or discussing a particularly difficult issue we were just given in lecture. My downtime is when I walk my dog and eat dinner in the evenings. It's sandwiched between finishing classes and studying for the evening. So it's gotten to the point that when people ask how I'm doing, I don't even try to sugarcoat with "Fine." I answer "It's hard."

That's not to say I'm not enjoying this. I love love LOVE anatomy. Seriously. This comes as a huge surprise. The class that requires the most memorization? I love that class the most? Why yes. Yes I do. I find it endlessly fascinating. And my Applications and Integrations class where we're given actual cases that have been in the veterinary teaching hospital? (names and identifying details changed to protect the innocent, of course) That class is equally as interesting. It's all problem based learning, and while my peers had some difficulty adjusting to a style of learning that isn't all lecture/regurgitation, I found that after years out in the "real world" that's how I learn best. Radiographs to interpret? Yes please. Blood work to analyze? Sweet. I even asked a friend to send me some bloodwork she had been given last year so that I could review it again with all my new found knowledge. That was pretty darn cool.

Also? Cats are the exception to everything. Also? What happens when you look at a horse sideways? Colic.

We have a cat lab tomorrow where we were originally told to "bring our own cats." I am the only one who lives with a cat in my group, so that means Laney would have been the cat to practice our physical examinations and restraint on. Since I haven't heard the final word on whether or not we need our own cats, I think Laney will be staying at home. She's relieved. She had no interest in seeing the place where I live these days. And although my group members don't know it, they're relieved also.

I sort of wish I would have pictures of me with the cows to show you, but then again, the coveralls are NOT flattering in the least, so maybe we're all better off this way...

The Case of the Mysterious Spot

2011-09-27T21:57:00.006-04:00

Day 1

WHAT I HEARD FROM MY MOTHER:

M: Blue peed in the house last night.

E: WHAT?!

M: I don't know. But he peed in the house. Does this mean he'll always pee in the house? Will we have to get rid of him?

E: Hold on a moment. Blue peed in the house? But he's housebroken? He wouldn't have peed in the house unless he really really really had to go! Did you let him out before you went to bed?

M: I did. And usually when he has to pee, I'll hear 'click click click click click' as he paces on the floors. But he didn't wake me up last night. I must have slept through it. Will he always pee in the house now?

E: Well... he doesn't WANT to pee in the house. He only does that if he has no other choice. Because he's housebroken. Since he's housebroken, he pees outside. Because he's, you know... housebroken. But I guess... if he's in the position again where he really has to go pee... and he can't get outside... now that he's peed there once, that will be "his spot." But it won't MAKE him pee inside. (pause) Are you SURE he peed inside?

M: Oh yes. I woke up and there was pee on the floor of the living room. I cleaned it up really well, but that's all I can do, right? It couldn't have been the cat. It was definitely Blue.

E: Okay. Well, I guess it's possible he's getting too old to hold it for the 18 hours you guys sleep per night...

M: That's your father!

E: ...so if worse comes to worst and it happens again, I guess you can always crate him through the night. I just can't believe he peed in the house.

M: If it were the cat, it would smell of ammonia. Right? Cat pee smells like ammonia.

E: Oh yes. Cat pee is unmistakable.

M: I knew it wasn't the cat. We'll see what happens.

WHAT I HEARD FROM MY FATHER:

Absolutely nothing on the subject.

Day 3

WHAT I HEARD FROM MY MOTHER:

M: Blue peed in the house again!

E: What? I can't believe this!

M: Yes. Blue peed in the house. I don't know what to do. I let him out before I go to bed, and he still pees in the house. Stupid dog. I will just have to crate him overnight now.

E: Bummer. Poor Blue.

WHAT I HEARD FROM MY FATHER:

Absolutely nothing on the subject.

Day 5

WHAT I HEARD FROM MY MOTHER:

Absolutely nothing on the subject

WHAT I HEARD FROM MY FATHER:

D: Oh! Did your mother tell you about Blue peeing?

E: Yes. She told me that Blue was peeing in the house.

D: Yeah. Yeah. She really blamed Blue for peeing in the house. So I went out and bought a baby gate* and put it up in the doorway. And in the morning, there was pee again. So I asked her, 'Do you really think Blue jumped over that baby gate? Do you really?'**

E: Oh yeah?

D: Poor Blue. He was the target of all those mean thoughts for some time. And it was the cat. The cat the whole time.

E: I'm glad you got it figured out. Did you give Blue treats to make up for it?

D: Did I give him...? Of course I gave him treats! He gets more treats than... well, than most dogs I would guess. He's a good boy. If he's got to go outside at night, he comes over and wakes me up to take him out.*** He's just a great dog. Look, he's coming over now. Aren't you Blue? You're a good boy. Good boy Blue.

_____________________________________________________

More than anything about this story, I love the subtext. I never got to hear it, but I can imagine the silent (or not so silent - Who knows?) difference of opinion that was occurring with my mother immediately blaming Blue and my father immediately siding with Blue. I love that I got the entire story completely one sided from my mom until the resolution, which came from my father.

I also love that my father has learned not to argue. He probably said something once about how it may have been the cat, and then just let my mother disagree. But I'm certain he purchased the first cheap baby gate he saw. He may have even made a special trip. And now that he's right? I'm also sure he won't say anything about it to my mom.

Unless there's alcohol involved.

Alcohol and perhaps a daughter to stir the pot.

Good thing I get to visit in about 10 days, huh?

*I'm not gonna lie. The thought that flashed through my brain here was that he had purchased a nanny cam to catch the perpetrator in the act. Seriously. When my dad does something, he doesn't go halfway. I'm glad I was wrong. The baby gate makes much more sense. I forgot that my dad is sensible. Unlike me, apparently.

**Answer: No. Blue couldn't have jumped over the baby gate even if he had a trampoline and both cats helping him.

***This totally made me wonder if Blue is running some sort of scam where he wakes up both of them at different times in the night so that he can go out more than once? Maybe Blue is smarter than I give him credit for?

Bussin'

2011-09-22T08:33:00.002-04:00

I don't mind riding the bus. I really really don't. It takes me approximately 30 minutes to get to campus as opposed to the 10 minutes that it would take me driving, but it's 30 minutes of not having to worry about anything, 30 minutes to study some flashcards or (in one case) finish up a homework assignment that I had spaced on the night before or 30 minutes to just space out and listen to an audiobook before my day begins in earnest. The ride culminates in me getting off the bus and walking about a quarter mile to my building to begin my classes. No hunting for a parking space.

To be honest, that makes the whole process worthwhile. The walk is refreshing (check back with me in the winter) and, to me, hunting for a parking space is akin to pulling out my teeth one by one.

I'll admit, there have been a lot of changes in the last 6 weeks that have required quite a bit of adjustment for me. Riding the bus is, thankfully, not one of them. My only wish is that there was a Starbucks SOMEWHERE on my daily commute.

I have one day a week when classes begin at 8:30am. Which means I'm on the bus that arrives on campus at 8:00am. Every other day of the week requires an earlier ETA than that - sometimes MUCH earlier than that. So I'm usually on a bus that is not filled to capacity. The 8:00am bus is different. EVERYONE is trying to get on campus by 8:00am. I hate that bus ride. For the crowds. I hate the crowds in the morning. And the morning people. The morning people all chatting to each other about the day that is about to begin. The regulars that are all exchanging friendly hellos.

I am NOT a morning person, and, although a regular, I'm lucky if I can manage a wave to the people who are now familiar by sight.

My general rule of thumb is that I sit in a row that has two adjacent seats, and I sit on the seat that is closest to the row. This leaves the window seat empty for my book bag. As long as I can see at least two other open seats on the bus, I do not move over and open up the seat next to me. My rationale is this, A) There are other seats that are open and B) I'm not a morning person.*

Apparently other bus-riders do not appreciate this rationale.

On NUMEROUS occasions, there will be MULTIPLE open seats, and I'll have someone come up next to me and say "Excuse me, please?" The first time it happened, I was so shocked that I just moved over and put my book bag (my HEAVY book bag) on my lap. I spent the rest of the ride in stunned silence. There were SEVERAL other open seats. Why did this person sit next to me? I pondered it until I got off the bus and chalked it up to a fluke.

Until it happened again.

And again.

I'd say that at least three times a week, on a sparsely filled bus, people are asking me to move over so that they can sit next to me. All varieties of people. Young women, young men, older men, older women. It doesn't matter. It happens so often now that I've gotten borderline rude. When someone asks me to move over, I'll make eye contact with them, deliberately look at all the other open seats THAT DON'T REQUIRE ANYONE TO MOVE, then look back at the person before moving over and letting them sit next to me.

My friend Cory says it's because I have a "good energy." I don't see how this is possible first thing in the morning before I've had coffee. My friend Jessica suggested that next time someone says, "Excuse me, please?" I should say, "Yes? Did you need something?"

I am not pleasant in the mornings. This might happen. I'm about one more early morning away from telling someone "No. Sit somewhere else."

I'm just not sure I want to be "that girl." Thoughts?

*On the 8:00am bus, all bets are off. I'm usually wedged up against the window while a 500lb person squeezes into the seat adjacent to me, a mother with a screaming child sits immediately in front of me, and a toddler is behind me kicking my seat. I hate the 8:00am bus. Have I mentioned that?

Vet School Observations

2011-09-15T10:19:00.003-04:00

I have SO MUCH to talk about and SO LITTLE time to do it. I'm so sorry to my two loyal fans who routinely harass me to post new blogs. It just occurred to me that during a boring lecture, it looks like I'm taking notes while I post a blog, so I should be able to post more often.

Just kidding. I think.

So here's a list of snippets that have occurred to me in the last 4 weeks (GOOD GOD! I've been a vet student for four weeks?!) and made me think, "I should put that in my blog." Sorry for the brevity.

- When you're walking your dog in the morning, and can look up and see the stars, it's a definite reality check.

- There is a WORLD of difference between undergrad and grad school. I was informed of this several different times in several different ways as I prepared to enter vet school. They definitely do their best to prepare you. But I'm not sure there's anything in the world to prepare you for 18 hours of advanced science credits. All new study habits are necessary. I'm still catching up.

- There aren't enough hours in the day for everything I need to do. Currently my laundry and house cleaning are suffering. (Of course, this isn't much different than when I was working, so maybe I just don't like to do those things.)

- I used to get up at 7:00am every day and get home by 5:30pm. Now I get up at 5:30am every day (on average) and am home by 5:30pm (on average.) Some days are longer and some are marginally shorter. I was looking forward to being a full time student with nothing but school to worry about. For some reason I thought this would be easier than working 40 hours/week and completing pre-requisites. This was an error in my thinking.

- The thought sometimes occurs to me that I can not believe the complete 180 my life has taken in the last 30 days. I wonder if new moms feel this way? Obviously the situations are different, but in one way they are similar. You KNEW this change was coming, but you didn't really KNOW how different it would be.

- I love my classmates. I really do. Some more than others, obviously, but everyone is really friendly. Still... I ache for my friends. A lot. I miss them every day when I need a pick-me-up or a weekly get together (like volleyball) to look forward to. It kills me that I have to limit myself to one social outing per month with Indy friends because I can't combine all of my friends into one big group to see everyone at once.

- I was considering going the "mixed" vet track (a little of small animal and a large animal) because I thought it would help future job opportunities. Then I had my first husbandry lab where I got to work with sheep. I was not at all intimidated by the sheep, but sheep are BIG. It may have hurt that I accidentally got stuck with the biggest sheep in the flock. After the difficulty I had restraining the sheep (um, I ended up riding the sheep at one point) and I realized that sheep are probably the smallest of large animals, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be a strictly small-animal vet. I'm willing to accept my limitations.

- I'm still stubborn as hell, so I did go back and work with the sheep again. I did succeed in restraining and examining the sheep. It's all about picking a size-appropriate sheep.

- So maybe I'm not good with accepting limitations after all.

- The boy seems to miss me. He couldn't be more attentive and helpful lately. I miss him too, but a part of me is glad we have this long distance arrangement. It's hard enough to get 2-3 hours of study time in before bed while living alone. I have to physically remove myself from the vicinity of the laptop in most cases. If the boy were here, I'm afraid my productivity would drop to zero during the week, and there just aren't enough hours on the weekend alone to keep up. This way I can study study study when he's not here and then spend time with him when he is.

- I was so proud of myself for weaning myself almost completely off of caffeine. Except for a random Starbucks run when I overslept, I was drinking only water or non-caffeinated drinks. Now? I may as well have an IV caffeine drip. I think this goes hand-in-hand with lowering my average sleeping time from 7 hours per night to 5.5 hours of sleep per night.

- I have a husbandry dog that I (and a group of 3 other classmates) am responsible for training and walking each day. He's a very handsome 90lb Labrador Retriever (in the AKC sporting group, btw) who is working on "sit" and "down." He's gigantic. So of course, when the boy met him, he fell in love with him. He will be up for adoption in April after we finish our course. I'm trying to explain to the boy that having two big dogs is much different than having one, but I'm not sure what success I'm having. I'll keep you updated. (On the up side, at least the boy would have ONE non-crazy dog.)

- We have a "Stool Evaluation" chart that we have to follow to record our husbandry dog's bathroom habits. It's a range from 1-6. The boy saw this and will now randomly text me a number telling me how his bowel movements are going. I guess it's the little things that come out of vet school, right?

- I have attempted to claim a seat in our main classroom. Apparently, I chose a plot in prime real estate because I have to battle daily to keep "my seat." I must be slipping because it seems that I have not yet put the fear of God into these young vet classmates. I need to get on that.

- I wear jeans and tennis shoes daily. This seemed like the best! thing! ever! when I was working. Now? I miss cute shoes. It's hard to wear cute shoes and a cute outfit when you're either working with large animals or going to anatomy lab at some point during the day. (Such a hardship, right?)

I'm sure I will have more to tell you later, and I really REALLY wish I could videotape or take pictures of my interactions with the large animals (for the first time ever) but unfortunately that's against the rules. Bummer because seriously. I rode a sheep guys. By accident. Horror!!

Will Clean for WiFi

2011-08-12T15:21:00.003-04:00

Other than not having access to the internet at my new home (sniff) I'm all settled in. I mean, sure, there are still pictures (and a wine rack) to hang, and I have to do a good pass through with the vacuum, but otherwise, all moved in. And everything is roses.

A couple of things to mention.

Apparently Indianapolis is a big city. A big city that has its own channels. Like an ABC affiliate, and NBC affiliate, etc. So if a girl doesn't have cable, but has an antenna, she can still see the shows that she loves on network TV. But, um, in Lafayette Indiana, there is no such luxury. Which means that if a girl doesn't want to pay for cable, she's gonna be watching a lot of TV online (and a lot of DVDs during the summer.)

Can you imagine me with no internet and no TV? Also, seriously, if I'm your friend on Facebook and you post TV show spoilers, I will unfriend you. Immediately. No questions asked. You have been warned.

I'm currently camped out in the living room of my good friend Ann. She is generously sharing her WiFi with me. So I can get my fill of Facebook, blogs, online celebrity gossip. You know, the important stuff in life.

And some schoolwork.

Casey is sick and tired of new people and new places. She would like it very much if we could return to Indianapolis, please. We visited last night, and when she got out of the car in her old front yard, she didn't even try to run in the door. She just stood in the front yard with her tail wagging slowly from side to side. It broke my heart. She's just now gotten to the point where she will kennel in the new house without complaint and without freaking out a la Tyson. I think she's been the most difficult part of this move. It's like an unfiltered physical manifestation of all of my sadness and anxiety about leaving the city I've called home for the last 15 years.

I just hope she adjusts soon.

The boy is having similar adjustment issues. I think we've spoken on the phone more since I left town (four days ago) than we have during the entire time we've been dating. Of course, I would be lying if I didn't say that I missed him too. A lot.

I miss everything in Indianapolis. I think I need classes to start to keep me busy.

The cat is having no such issues. Laney loves the new house. She loves the windows and the sunshine, and the new rooms and closets to explore. She's gotten into the habit of pawing (clawing) open my closet door in the mornings to wake me up and make me feed her. Yesterday I closed the closet door after my breakfast and later on that evening I heard a very polite pawing sound coming from somewhere. I opened the closet and Laney walked out and thanked me for letting her out, oh and could she have some food now please? Today I found out that she has chosen inside my closet on top of my plastic drawers and just under the clothes as her place of choice to nap. Great. I'll never be without cat hair on my clothes now.

At least I'll spend all of my time around people who will probably understand.

Feeling Loved

2011-08-01T10:25:00.007-04:00

Five more days in Indianapolis. Holy freaking cow. Seriously. Rationally, I know that I move on Saturday, but emotionally I can't believe that I'm leaving Indy. And my friends. Let's not forget that I'm leaving (most of) my friends.

This past Saturday night some of my favorite women got together for a Girls Night Out in downtown Indianapolis. One of them, a Purdue grad herself, really enjoys my impending Boilermaker status - a little TOO much, I think. We had a great evening of pedicures, shopping, a ride in an Escalade to dinner, fantastic guacamole, dancing at a club, and finally embarrassing the future vet on stage at a local piano bar. All in all too much alcohol was consumed and a fantastic evening was had by all.

I want to note that none of the above are things that I would usually spend money on. (well, except for the fantastic guacamole - we all know where MY priorities lie!) But the evening was so great that I'm left with the nagging feeling that I want to recapture part or all of it on a daily/weekly/monthly basis. I know that's not possible because the best part of the evening was the company - but I have that feeling nonetheless. I couldn't have asked for a better last Saturday night in the city I've called home for 15 years.

And, lest you think I'm getting too sentimental, I'm including a picture of me drinking my very first Boilermaker. (My advice? Don't drink one of these.)

Last week, the boy had to work really REALLY early in the morning. So when I woke up for work as usual, there was no one else in the house. Just me and the dogs. And... you guys... I sorta missed him. And by "sorta" I mean, I was all mopey as I went about the normal morning routine that I've enjoyed for the past three years. Alone. With no boy. I've GOT to shake that off, I know. I'm moving to Lafayette (ALONE!) and things will return to normal. And "normal" can not mean "lonely." But I thought I would mention this, if only to give my friend Jaclyn something to be happy about. (Don't think I don't know you're lurking out there, Jac.)

I get my keys tomorrow night, so the first carload of boxes will make their way up with me tomorrow. I still have a few things to pack, and two large things to get rid of (desktop computer and dining room table) but I think that once those two things are taken care of, I'll feel better about the move. After all, the kitchen is all packed, the living room is all packed, and I'm not packing my clothes. I'm hoping to just transport them on hangers. My friend zlionsfan offered to help drive up a carload of stuff. I was hesitant at first, thinking about his tiny hybrid and his ability to put much stuff in there. But then I realized that his tiny hybrid has the advantage of being entirely dog hair free, so he is now my official clothing mover. Despite the boy's profession of doom and gloom, I think I have this move pretty much under control. Not as under control as my cousin when SHE moved, but as close as a habitual procrastinator can possibly be.

Also? Tyson is still a terrible dog. Only now he's a stoned, senile, and stinky-breath terrible dog. Not going to miss him. Maybe miss the boy, but not his dog. So all is still right with the world.

A Whole New Dog

2011-07-29T10:07:00.003-04:00

You guys, I am a TERRIBLE dog mom. Seriously. Awful. And it's all because I'm stubborn. And, you know... always have to be right.

But in this case, I can admit it. I was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

See, Casey has allergies. I've fought with these allergies ever since she was over 2 years old. Summertime comes and she gets all red and itchy. And it's been getting progressively worse, as allergies tend to do. The first year it was just itchy paws and red eyes. The second year it was more itchy, chewed upon paws, and some red splotches on her stomach. The THIRD year, it was all of that PLUS hives that then caused her to lose hair in patches all over her body.

I would like to say that I didn't let it get to the point where I called Casey "leprosy dog" but I would be lying. The thing is, the cheapest and fastest remedy for an allergic reaction is a cortisone shot. And when Casey gets a cortisone shot, she turns into MONSTER DOG. I do not like monster dog. I do not like her at all. So last year, I tried a WHOLE SLEW of at-home remedies. I tried Benedryl. (fail) I tried fish oil pills. (somewhat fail, somewhat success) I tried bathing Casey every other day. (fail.) I tried a new shampoo and bathing every day (more fail.) The one thing I DID NOT DO that was suggested to me over and over was changing her food. I stubbornly would not change Casey's diet. Why, I reasoned, would that make a difference when Casey eats the same food all year round, but only has allergies in the spring/summer? I mean, I know my dog, and she definitely is not allergic to her food.

Finally, at my wits end, I took her to another veterinarian with a different perspective on antihistamines. Namely, this take was that the antihistamines (paired with an antibiotic to heal the already apparent hives all over my dog) would help. This vet said that they had taken a skin scraping and found that my dog was "yeasty" and had also found staph. (Which is always present, but apparently her "lowered immune system" due to allergies was causing the staph to make the hives infected. Hence leprosy dog.)

And lo, all was well.

As an added bonus, I got ZOMBIE DOG instead of MONSTER DOG. A trade I was more than willing to make.

So this year, we started the antihistamines early. Like, April 1st early. And there's been more success in staving off the allergies this year than at any time in the past. However, as the summer progressed, the hives did appear on Casey's stomach even if they didn't appear all over her body. And her nose, paws and eyes were pretty red from being scratched/chewed/rubbed from the itching.

I still counted this as a success. Seriously. If you had seen leprosy dog, you would understand.

But last spring, I took a course in microbiology. And this summer? A course in animal nutrition. And then came a suggestion from a friend whose dog has similar skin problems to Casey. And it seemed that everything at once clicked. Like, my dog is yeasty. And what does yeast eat? Sugar. And what is the second ingredient in most dog foods? Potatoes or Corn. Which are starch. And what is starch made of? Sugar.

Hmmmm.

Of course, this food that Casey has been eating for the first six years of her life is either free (yay!) or very very low cost. So it's the best food I could get for the lowest price. Which is, of course, why she's been on it for so long. And why I was so reluctant to change it. But I love my dog. And she's allergic. And, well, why not try this change?

So a friend recommended a dog food to me that had tapioca instead of a starch as the second ingredient. A dog food that is $41.99 for a 25lb bag. O-U-C-H.

But four days on this food, and Casey looks like an entirely new dog. More pink, less red. Sores disappearing. Overall just... healthier.

And BOY does she love this food. If Tyson even gets NEAR it, she gets ANGRY.

But still. $41.99/bag. Sigh. And me entering vet school where they give you dog food for free each month. Double sigh. Something tells me that they food they'll be giving me won't have tapioca in it.

I swear. This dog.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!

2011-07-07T15:02:00.002-04:00

The boy and his dog moved in on July 1st. Not-so-coincidentally, I left on July 1st for a long weekend with an old high school friend. I had a ball and came back on the 4th relaxed and refreshed. I came back to a house full of three dogs and a boy and boxes everywhere. But in the spirit of "it's only for a month" I decided to just accept the situation for what it is, and relax. The boy, apparently, didn't get that memo.

And part of me doesn't blame him. Even though it's "our" house for now, it really is "his" house moving forward. He's excited to move his stuff in and make it "homey." No matter how many times I tell him there is no way for this tiny house to look neat and tidy with two people's-worth of stuff in it, he keeps "tidying." And so I sigh, box up another area of my stuff and lug it downstairs.

It's only for a month.

The dogs have adjusted admirably. It helps that after years of resisting* Tyson is now on doggie prozac. Whole. New. Dog. We can leave and he just curls up and sleeps until we get home. No freaking out, no whining... I tell you, it's a miracle. We haven't tried crating him, but without the cat around (who's living the life of luxury in my office right now) there really is no need. He's almost the perfect dog.** Casey is obviously the top of the hierarchy, and the only problem that Blue and Tyson have is that Blue doesn't realize he's temporary and thus isn't really second on the list of command (even though he's lived there longer than Tyson.) So Blue tends to get snippy when Tyson takes the place that he usually lies. It's a fleeting disagreement, but still a sign that for everyone's sanity, I must purge a dog from my house soon. Also a sign? Fitting two pit bulls and the boy in bed with me is just short of comfortable. Especially since Blue will just jump on the bed and literally sleep wherever he lands. No matter what is beneath him. Yay.

Speaking of Blue, he's absolutely shredded the mattress he had in his crate. I think he's protesting the loss of his home where he was free to roam all day long and go outside whenever he pleased. I've told him he's going home soon, but bless his vacant brown eyes, I'm not sure he understands.

Blue goes home July 15th.

My parents seem anxious to be reunited with their dog, even though they're sad to be losing their free, built-in babysitter. When I begin school, it just won't be feasible to pick up Blue and keep him for long periods of time. So in preparation for that, my parents have been doing research on kennels in the city where they live.

They've visited five so far.

And they must visit in person. My mother (who is not a dog person, let us all remember this) wants to see the places herself to deem them worthy of keeping her dog for extended periods of time. One was rejected because it didn't have air conditioning. One is a concern because they have a doggie day care during the day (my mother is concerned that Blue will be picked on because he's so "mild-mannered.) My mom jokes that she and my dad didn't even put this much legwork into selecting colleges for my brother and I. She's not kidding. And even though I'm amused, I'm glad Blue is so loved. What a match made in heaven.

*"Society is over-medicated, Emily," "I am not medicating my dog, Emily," "He doesn't need medication, he's fine."

**It did hurt me to type that. Indeed it did.

Listening Skillz

2011-06-15T15:40:00.004-04:00

I have to move again. I would say I'm not looking forward to it because I don't like change, but I'm actually split right down the middle. This move is symbolic of SO MANY life changes coming up that I am equally terrified and elated to make this move. If you add in that the new house is just like the one I'm in now - shabby chic - without the "shabby" and maybe it's 51% elated and 49% terrified.

There are some hurdles to get through first, though. Some readers of this blog have been around since the boy and I lived together so they remember the days when this blog was funny. HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR THEM!

When I found my tiny house in my new city, I had the following telephone conversation with the boy on May 2nd:

E: Guess what?
B: What?
E: I found a house in Lafayette!
B: Really? That's great news!
E: I know, right? I haven't seen it yet. I'll go see it on May 14th. If it looks as good as the pictures and the neighborhood is nice, I'll definitely snatch it up. The rent is only $5 more per month than what I'm paying now, can you believe it?
B: Awesome.

In retrospect, I'm pretty sure the boy stopped listening after I said "I found a house in Lafayette." Because he put in his two month notice at his apartment complex that day. Which means he has to be out of his apartment on July 1st.

Did I mention that the boy is taking over the lease for my current house? Ah. Well, he is. Which is helpful because I can leave some stuff in the basement, or move it slowly over the course of three months instead of worrying about moving everything in one day. Nice, right?

Oh, and when I went to see the house on May 14th (it was indeed as adorable as the pictures) I found out that it wasn't availabe until August 1st. Which is perfect for my school schedule. So I agreed to this move in date, signed necessary papers, and put down my deposit.

Because I didn't know that the boy had put in his two months notice on May 2nd.

That tidbit of information was shared with me on the ride back to Lafayette.

Oh yes. The boy was present for me signing all the papers and agreeing to a move in date of August 1st. All the while knowing that he didn't have anywhere to live after July 1st unless it was the house that I'm currently in. The "shabby-chic" house that is no more than 750 square feet. The house that I would not be vacating until August 1st as it turns out.

As you can imagine, I was thrilled to get this news. Live with Tyson again? Sure! Why not? It wasn't that traumatic the first time. It wasn't like that devil dog was one of the reasons why I moved out or anything. Psh. This will be fine.

Even with Blue back until July 15th.

So, just to recap, the boy, Casey, Tyson, Blue and I will all be living in a 750 square foot house. Together. At the same time. All of us.

Laney will be on her own with a very generous friend of mine. Because when I found out this totally awesome information about cohabitation round 2, my only rule was that Tyson and Laney would not live together again. We can not crate Tyson, and there are no extra rooms ~~for him to tear up beyond recognition~~ to keep him in, so I was not about to leave both Tyson and Laney roming free without supervision. No way. So the boy was charged with finding a temporary home for Laney. Which, to his credit, he did.

So mark your calendars. July 1st. Plenty of amusing blogs coming your way, I'm sure. After all, what could possibly go wrong with making three pit bulls and two humans live together in 750 square feet? Nothing, right? Awesome. I should contact Fox. Surely this deserves its own reality TV show.

Rankings

2011-06-09T11:01:00.003-04:00

I went home to visit the 'rents last weekend. It was a fantastic weekend. I took my mother on a "surprise" outing that included dancing and discussion of that thing you do in the kitchen... I believe it's called cooking? Anyway, she had a ball. I was glad I was able to do that. The timing worked out perfectly.

I also picked up Blue for the next six weeks. I'm still in the honeymoon phase with this dog who adores me so much, but rest assured... I'll be wanting to get back down to a one-dog household asap come mid-July.

So since it was a mom-dominated weekend, I didn't get to see my dad much. We chatted every now and then, but my dad is pretty much a solitary silent figure during the day. He enjoys his books. He enjoys his cigars. But conversation? You have to make an effort to interrupt him to make him talk. Which he does good-naturedly for sure... but when there's swing dancing and roller derby and all sorts of cable channels (Animal Planet FTW!!) to compete with my attention... Well, my dad gets his peace and quiet.

One thing my dad ritualistically does when I come home is send home a care package with me. It's usually filled with some alcoholic beverage, sometimes a snack that I particularly enjoy, one time there was a cool shower curtain that he found, etc. Stuff like that. My dad's love language is acts of service. Gifting me with what I need (and sometimes what he knows I want but do not buy for myself) is what he does.

I'm not going to lie. I love those care packages. Love them.

So when I got home on Sunday and immediately became irritated with the state in which my house was left by the boy (ahem, how hard is it to do ALL the dishes and not just the ones you used?) I dug into the care package eagerly to see what fun things came home with me this time.

In the bag, I found not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR different types of dog treats. And that was all. Four kinds. Dog treats. As in, things I can not use. Gifts for the dog. Not just a dog, apparently... the grandchild that has taken over all tokens of affection.

It's just such a rough life, competing with pit bulls for affection all the time. Or maybe just Blue. Because since he's been back, I've had a person come out of her house and shout to get my attention over the iPod I was listening to - just to tell me Blue is gorgeous. I had some people driving by stop and put their car in reverse to pull up next to me and say the same thing. I have numerous other dog walkers stop to pay Blue homage while ignoring Casey.* It's a rough life, man.

*Although, to be fair, maybe that's the growling.

And They Said it Couldn't be Done.

2011-05-31T23:41:00.009-04:00

So Memorial Day weekend was fun. After taking the appropriate time to think about the reason for the extra day off work and thank our troops for protecting us, Casey, Tyson, the boy and I went on several adventures. Adventures that left my dog like this 24 hours after the long weekend ended.

We started by going to visit the boy's parents. Where we had beer. Quite a bit of beer, come to think of it. Which is probably where this whole idea was born. You see, I spent the week before Memorial Day weekend referring to our trip to visit the boy's parents as the weekend of "six dogs, five people."

Six dog, five people, you ask? You mean the dogs outnumbered the people?! INSANITY!

I know, right?

Since I have become a pit bull advocate, I have adopted out six pit bulls - seven if you count my own. That's not a huge number by any means, but it's a number that I'm proud of because the now pit bull owners either did not previously have dogs, or hadn't ever considered owning one of this much maligned breed. And now? Some of them own two. Which is how we ended up in the weekend of "six dogs, five people" where all the dogs were pit bulls. And since all of the dogs (that outnumbered the people) were getting along famously, and since they were all pit bulls, I got the crazy idea that we should line the dogs up according to size, make them all sit, and then take a picture.

To which the boy's dad said, "That will never work."

Now, let me give you a quick lesson in Emily-Psychology 101, dear internet readers. If you want to absolutely ensure that Emily does something, make sure to say something to the effect of, "You can't do that," or "You'll never do that," or "That's impossible." Pretty much all I hear when you say that is "Challenge Extended*" If you want to make sure I'll die trying to prove you wrong, make sure there's plenty of beer involved.

And so, I set about to make my dream a reality. I had some help, as you can see. And, as you can see from the "setup"** the dogs did not originally begin in the correct order. Since we needed one photographer, we only had four people to prep six dogs. Everyone was a good sport about saying "sit" and "stay" over and over and over in increasingly stern voices. (Commands that I'm not entirely convinced that every dog understood, but since everyone else was sitting, the rest probably figured, "Meh. Why not.") In the end, as I held my peanut butter-covered hands out in front of me and backed away slowly, we got the picture below. No Photoshop needed. Absolute Perfection.

Behold, "Obedience." In order from left to right we have Izzie, Fatty, Lilly, Casey, Tyson and Odie. We had some difficulty deciding if Fatty was bigger than Izzie. I think we decided that he's bigger, although maybe not taller? And Odie is MUCH bigger than Tyson, but unfortunately his hip dysplasia makes him sit on his haunches, which makes him look not only shorter, but like we beat him into submission to get him in the picture. (We didn't.) My dog is the only one with her tongue out. (there's a joke in there somewhere, yes?)

Oh, and I was also proven right. Again.

Seriously, can you believe they're all looking at the camera? Seriously? Click on the picture and zoom in on it. It's ridiculous how cute they all are.***

*Why yes, I watch How I Met Your Mother. Barney Stinson is my hero. High Five!

**As much as I would like to say that I am not the gigantic butt in the middle of the picture, we all know that would be a lie. Le Sigh.

***But do NOT click on the picture with my gigantic butt in it. No one needs to see that.

The (Embarrassing) Future

2011-05-18T10:26:00.006-04:00

This is going to sound lame, but when the idea of embarking on this vet school journey first occurred to me, I pondered it for a long long time. A long time. I don't take big decisions lightly because (you may have gotten this from reading this blog) quitting and/or failure are akin to a death by fire for me. In the end, what ultimately made my decision for me was something intangible. Something tiny. Vet school is a lot of debt and a lot of hard work, and did I really want to do this? I mean, I SAW the animals who needed help and I KNEW I had all the tools to accomplish my goals, but this was a pretty big mountain... and not all of it was within my control (obviously.) Was I willing to deal with all of that? The more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. I tossed it out to a couple of people whose opinions I trusted, and instead of mercilessly making fun of me, they seemed supportive. Like maybe I COULD do it?

What tipped the scales for me was an image. A sort of picture of what I wanted for the future. (To recap, a large part of this decision was based on a fantasy. Argh. There goes the whole "logical" thing I try to stick to.) There's not a whole story entwined in this image, it's just a clear picture of a moment in time, and it hasn't changed in almost four years. (Even with my aging and failing memory.)

As someone who never really had career goals... who wanted nothing more than to be "happy," I didn't really take this image seriously at first. I mean, it doesn't encompass ALL of the reasons why I want to do this, does it? And even when I wanted to start this road, it was huge and daunting and scary and all sorts of unknown. I cried about it (surprise!) to a friend who told me to just make a list and get started. So I did. And this image... it sort of faded in the daily grind of ochem and applications and interviews and certainty that I was never going to get accepted.

But now?

In this image, it's almost like I'm watching TV where I'm the main character. I'm wearing scrubs. My hair is long and tied back in a ponytail. (It also has some curl to it, which is completely unrealistic and I attribute that to complete dreaming.) I have a stethoscope around my neck and a white doctor's coat on, so I know I'm a vet. I'm talking to a patient. My scrubs are a bright blue and they're a size small. I'm not smiling, but I just know I'm happy. I look happy. And fulfilled. Is that possible? The most embarrassing part? I'm wearing a ridiculously sparkly diamond on my left hand.

(Who knew I really did want to get married?)

It's probably a ridiculously idealized image of my future. I'm under no illusions that being a veterinarian will be easy, or that I'll be happy all of the time. But this snapshot... it just stays in my mind.

Soooo... let's recap. To accomplish this I need to:

-Get in to vet school (check!)
-Actually GRADUATE from vet school
-Fit into scrubs that are a size small
-NOT cut my hair
-Find a job after graduating from vet school that allows me to work with clients
-Help underprivileged animals (I'm assuming this will take care of the "fulfilled" part, right?)

Seems manageable enough. (Gulp.)

(I didn't put 'get married' on there because I can buy my own sparkly diamond if need be. So there.)

In like Flynn

2011-04-18T10:57:00.003-04:00

I got the call on Saturday morning at approximately 10:56am. I'm in. Class of 2015. Holy crap! I'm going to be a veterinarian!

The first person to find out? The checkout woman at Target who kept telling me to "let it all out" because I deserved it. (I had to tell her because I'm pretty sure she thought I was having a heart attack.)

The most fun phone call to make? To one of my oldest friends Rindee. She squealed much like zlionsfan said I squealed when I was notified of my interview. I couldn't understand a word of what she was saying, but boy was she excited for me.

The funniest reaction? When I called my cousin on her moving day. I knew she'd be super busy. She answered, "Did someone die? Someone had better have died." When I said no and told her the reason for calling, she said, "This is much better than if someone had died!" I had to laugh at that. Indeed it was.

The most surprising phone call? To my friend Craig who shows almost no emotion on a daily basis. The force and inflection of his "YES!" was awesome to hear.

What I enjoyed most? Well, telling everyone. But second to that? All the love on Facebook. I think that's why Facebook was invented. To spread good news. Because man do I feel loved right now.

The most touching moment? When my dad told me that he had just gotten to the point where he can say that I'm going to be a veterinarian without getting choked up. I had no idea he felt that strongly about what I was doing.

New thing I've learned? Champagne that costs more than $10 is so SMOOTH! Yumm-o.

The most overwhelming moment? When I realized that in less than 5 months I will have to quit my job, move and start almost a whole new life. Woah. Luckily I have friends who live in my future city. (Friends who should start increasing their food budget slightly because, um, they're going to be feeding me at least once a week or so :-)

Holy crap.

I'm going to be a veterinarian.

Role Reversal

2011-04-13T16:14:00.004-04:00

The boy and I attended our second of three weddings this year. We were both just attendees, and since I got to pick my outfit, I went with this dress. The wedding was in my hometown, which is quite a bit farther south than Indy, so even though it was overcast and cloudy here, the weather turned into a balmy 75 degrees that day, so the dress was perfect.

Wow did I love this dress. It's made of a jersey material and it's empire waisted, so it was as comfortable as a t-shirt. I paired it with some silver heels, a silver wrap and purse, and I was good to go. Loved loved loved this dress.

As I was ~~admiring myself in the mirror~~ getting ready to leave for the wedding, I heard an "Oh no!" exclamation from my bedroom. I went back in to find the boy standing in the middle of the room with panic in his eyes. Apparently his pants (the only dress pants he had brought with him) would not button.

Let me give you some background info on the boy and I. While I have a love/hate relationship with food and it's resulting effect on my body, the boy has no such issues. Dare I say, the boy can eat what he wants and never gain weight. In fact, during several discussions about how much I hate how I look, the boy has had the audacity to say, "Why don't you just lose the weight?" like it's that easy. Which it is. For him. Notsomuch for me.

And whereas I have to work for weeks to be able to run 5 miles, the boy can get up off the couch and run 5 miles without so much as a warm-up.

At least... he could.

Ever since the big 3-0 hit for him (the milestone that we're not allowed to talk about) the boy has been struggling in that silent man way that boys tend to struggle. Suddenly he can't just up and run five miles. And suddenly he can't complete a bike ride when Emily can.* And SUDDENLY, it appears that perhaps the metabolism has slowed some?

I still can't talk about the big 3-0 to the boy, but as an older male mutual friend of ours said, "It only gets worse, I'm afraid."

So the pants. They would not button. And I would be lying if I said that I didn't smirk. But we figured out some workarounds that I have up my sleeve (this is not my first rodeo) and the boy was set.

For the entire car ride to the wedding, I had to remind myself that this was his first experience with clothes that used to fit, and then mysteriously shrunk at the dry cleaners. I had to endure comments like, "I'm not eating dinner tonight. I just won't eat dinner. Or breakfast. Or lunch tomorrow," and "I need to start working out. Like tonight. When we get home I'm going for a run."

I showed admirable restraint, believe it or not.

I explained that I knew (intimately) the panic that he was feeling, but that an over-reaction would not solve this issue. No use in burning himself out by throwing himself into workouts while starving himself. That's just a recipe for disaster. Better to eat sensibly at dinner that night and then make a workout schedule for the upcoming week(s.)

He still ate two pieces of friend chicken. And mashed potatoes and gravy. Apparently the panic passes quickly for males. But boy was he uncomfortable after dinner.

After the bulk of the reception and our required one slow dance, the boy urgently told me that we had to leave. We had to leave the reception right now! Why? Because someone had to use the restroom to go #2 and apparently this is not done in public by decent menfolk.

So the whole way home was an URGENT URGENT drive. Until we got home. And the boy was able to take off his pants. Then? The urge wasn't quite so pressing. In fact, he was just fine.

Amateur.

*Granted, Emily TRAINED FOR THE BIKE RIDE ALL SUMMER and the boy did NOT, but that didn't seem to matter. Ahem.

Waiting

2011-04-11T01:48:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time, this happened. And then, within hours of posting the blog, it was resolved.

And then this happened. And again, shortly after posting the blog, it was resolved.

Oh wait... did I not post about that resolution? Hmmm.

I was wait-listed. As in, placed on a list of alternates. To wait. To see if a spot opened up for me.

Which is all fine and dandy. I mean, at least there's no more clinging-to-the-edge-of-my-sanity waiting going on. The letter was sort of a relief. At least I had some news. I could now move on with my life. Which I have. Moved on, that is. Because, see, it sort of feels like this:

Scene: A smoky club with a throbbing techno beat.*

Emily looks across the room to spot a hot boy. She approaches him to engage in witty banter that will make him realize just how intelligent and irresistible she really is. He does indeed seem to notice her finer attributes, so she asks him out to dinner, the subtext of which is that if all goes well they will spend the rest of their lives together in bliss.

He hesitates, then says, "You know, I would love to go out with you. I really and truly would. But there's this hot cheerleader type woman - you know the type... blond, 5'7", 110 lbs, your basic nightmare - that I've also been talking to, and I would like to ask her out first... but if she says no, I'm all yours."

That's how this situation feels. And it's frustrating because if the scene above occurred in real life, I would totally tell that guy where to shove it, and walk away. This girl, she doesn't play second fiddle to anyone.

But when I explained this to z, he responded with, "Yes, but this isn't like it's just any guy. This is like you're talking to Joshua Jackson."

Ah yes, Josh. Can I call you Josh? You've been my longtime love. I know you're rocking Fringe right now, but you will always be the Pacey Witter of my heart.

But see, here's what I think. I think I would still walk away. Even from Joshua Jackson. Because (and ladies, take note here) you just can't set that sort of precedent in any relationship you're in. I know a lot of people (women) do things they normally wouldn't do in the beginning of a relationship to "reel him in" and then think that they're going to get the relationship the way they want it later. I'm here to tell you that is NOT the way to go. I mean, for things like putting his dirty laundry on the floor? Sure. Things like asking another woman out first? Notsomuch. Because once that precedent is set, it's really REALLY hard to undo. I mean, what, he's going to spend the rest of his life making you forget that you were his second choice? No.

(It's all talk, Josh. Call me. Seriously. I'll be your second fiddle. Or third. Or doormat. Whatevs.)

For all of that digressing, it doesn't help me in my current situation. One that I literally can not (or won't?) walk away from. One in which I have no control, no pride, and no idea what the future holds.

All of that sounds like a perfect recipe for a situation Emily would be great at handling, no? At least I'm growing as a person?

(Personally, I think this is why fate made me meet and date the boy. Because woo wee, if there's ever been an exercise in not getting what I want when I want it, it's been dating this boy. So maybe it's all been preparation for applying to vet school, I just didn't know it.)

So good thoughts, keep your fingers crossed and all of that. I don't consider this fight over until the end of April. May 1st I'll start thinking about updating my application and sending out to more schools next year.

*Note: I'm not sure WHY I always picture a club scene like this. It's not like I've ever BEEN to a club like this, nor that I would ever want to. Maybe it's because I picture myself looking all hot in this imaginary scenario. But then, that could just as well be at a wedding... or at Subway. I mean, sometimes it's difficult to contain my inherent hotness on any given day. So really, this could take place anywhere. Keep that in mind.

Powers of Observation

2011-04-08T01:40:00.003-04:00

I went to lunch today, parked at a parking meter for all of 15 minutes, and someone hit my car. And then they drove off. Again.

The way that this information came to be grasped by yours truly, however, is a story in and of itself.

So I went to lunch, as mentioned, to one of my favorite restaurants that I generally tend to avoid like the plague during lunchtime because of the tiny TINY parking lot. (the lot, it is tiny.) And after I got my lunch and went back to my office to eat it, I noticed that my driver's side door made a sound when I opened it to get in. However, seeing as how I was parked on a semi busy and very crowded road, I thought "What NOW?!" fully expecting that my car needed oil somewhere, and promised myself that I would check it out in the safety of my garage at work that was merely a mile away.

In the course of driving that mile, I, of course, completely forgot about the noise. Luckily, when I got out of my car the door made the same obnoxious noise. So I looked at what was going on, and I saw this. And by "this" I mean the fact that the door was no longer aligned with the front quarter panel of my car. Ugh. I mean, U-G-H. The conclusion that I leapt to was that someone had hit my car whilst it slept on the street outside of my house. After all, that's what had happened before. Why would this be any different? Also, the damage had only knocked the door askew from the front quarter panel, so it's not like the car was traveling with any velocity when it hit my car. Of COURSE it happened outside of my house last night. Especially when one's house is two doors down from a neighbor who can't drive a car to save his life. Not that I'm insinuating anything, neighbor who constantly has major body work done to his POS car that keeps getting banged up in totally noticeable ways that are sometimes eerily similar to the damage one would see on a car that had hit the rear driver's side quarter panel of a neighbor's car. A blue Honda CR-V perhaps? I'm not insinuating anything at all.*

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. My car and the door. So I got all upset and marched into work where I proceeded to tell my boss (using many colorful expletives and angry words) about how someone hit my car. After listening to my rant, my boss's first question was why I didn't notice the noise my door made this morning when I drove to work. I dismissed this as me being unobservant. But then I started to wonder. The noise is loud. I mean, I noticed it right away. There is no way, no matter how much I hate mornings, that I wouldn't have noticed this problem when I drove to work. None. So what happened?

The next logical conclusion** that I jumped to was that the ding had happened in the garage while I was parked there. The landlord was around doing yardwork. I park next to the mower. It seemed reasonable to me that he had accidentally clipped my car when pulling out the mower. So I went to ask him if this was, in fact, what had happened. (He's a great guy, btw. I have no other explanation why he was so patient with me while I was pretty much telling him that he had dented my car.) After telling me that he had not been in the garage all day, he wanted to see what had happened to my car. So we went out to the garage together. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the first time that I noticed this:

I wish I were kidding.

There is no bending of the truth there, kids. None. The sideswipe runs the LENGTH OF MY CAR and I didn't see it. All I noticed was that my door made a noise when I opened it.

My powers of observation, they are fearsome.

After noticing the sideswipe, it took very little brain power to figure out the rest of what had happened. And after waiting over two hours for a policeman to come so that I could file a report (it was not a good day to be a non-emergency in Indianapolis) I found out that A) there were no security cameras that caught the action and B) there's pretty much nothing I can do but, um, accept what happened.*** I got home around 5:45pm. A little later than usual, but nothing that would generally matter. Except...

The main thing on my mind was the impending rain we were expecting in Indy. See, I have a new toy that I wanted to play with**** and all I wanted to do was get my workout clothes on, get the dog, and get outside for our walk. Single-minded with this purpose, I entered the house, let the dog out of her crate, and went to my bedroom to change. Suddenly, a tiny but persistent thought jumped out at me.

The cat wasn't in the bathroom begging for water.

I brushed it aside. Meh. So what if she always drinks out of the sink? So what if she CONSTANTLY hounds me when I'm in the bathroom to turn on the water? She's probably just not thirsty right now. I have got THINGS TO DO! The cat is probably asleep.

As I exited the bathroom and headed to my bedroom, I spared a glance at the cat's food dish.

The cat wasn't sitting next to her food dish, begging for food.

Now THIS was major. The cat has been on a diet for the last three years or so and, as she would have you believe, has been hungry for every single day of the last three years.

I hesitated, torn. Still, I had THINGS TO DO, so I continued changing and put on my tennis shoes. As I headed back into the living room to leave, I casually opened a few closets, and then casually checked the place where the cat usually sleeps. Nothing. A total of five minutes had elapsed from the time I got home and every minute brought the rain closer. Since my walk with the dog takes an hour, I had to get out the door. The cat was probably, um.... somewhere. I would find her when I got home.

As I was putting on my windbreaker to head outside and could think of NO OTHER OPTIONS for where the cat could be, responsibility won out. I sighed, opened the door to the backyard, and called my cat's name. Immediately I heard an urgent "meow" in return. I called her name again, trying to locate the source of the meow, and heard three more urgent cries, each louder than the last. Then Laney herself came into view, covered in dried grass. I have no idea if she ran out the door when I left for work in the morning or ran out the door five minutes prior when I got home. At that point, I figured I would take a good look at her later, but I had to GET OUT THE DOOR!

I picked her up (she seemed grateful) and brought her back inside. I then fed her and FINALLY got on my way.

So, just to recap. Something majorly terrible happened to my car... the most expensive thing that I own... and I didn't notice it. At all. In fact, if my door hadn't been knocked out of line, there's a good chance that I would STILL have no idea that anything was wrong with my car. I would notice it three days (or weeks) from now, and be all angry that someone had hit me. However, five minutes home with something else being the entire, intense focus of my brain, and I notice that my cat is MIA. My FREE cat that I adopted for FREE when she was a kitten. The cat with no value. The cat who loves me, but who everyone else agrees is pretty much Satan incarnate.

Sigh. I would feel like my values are screwed up except that... Well, it's 1:23am and I'm blogging because I can't sleep. There are four souls in my house tonight. Two asleep, and the other two.. Well...
Sure she's not on my lap, but she's totally purring.

*Note: I'M TOTALLY INSINUATING THAT YOU HIT MY CAR, YOU LOSER! NEXT TIME, LEAVE A DAMN NOTE!

**It wasn't logical in the slightest. FYI.

***This would be one of the places where I would use a more colorful euphemism... but this is a family blog and one never really DOES know who's reading it. Ahem.

****It's the subject of another blog coming soon. Promise.

Ann would be so proud...

2011-03-29T19:12:00.005-04:00

I have driven a lot in the last three weeks. A lot. And one of my favorite things to do in the car is listen to audiobooks and podcasts. Once I had finished the book I was working on, I moved on to my favorite podcast. One which I am woefully behind on keeping up on... so much so that I basically my pick of dozens of podcasts to listen to.

Of course, once I start listening to SYSK, I remember exactly how much I love Chuck and Josh, and I just can't stop. So today, even though my road trips are over for a couple of weeks, I was listening to a few more podcasts while I ran my errands. The one that I chose today was on circumcision. Specifically, the podcast released on 11/30/10.

I finished my errands and ran through the McDonald's drive through to pick up one of their large Diet Cokes (that are the best I've ever tasted. Seriously.) When I pulled up to the window to pay, the woman opened the window and looked at me with a somewhat startled expression on her face. My immediate thought was that she recognized me and I began to search my memory for what on earth her name was. I came up blank, but in the meantime, I found that I only had a $10 bill to pay for a Diet Coke that was $1.09. Drat. I handed over the $10, the lady shut the window and I went back to listening intently to my podcast. When the window was again opened (which, in retrospect, maybe took a little bit longer than anticipated, even though a $10 had to be broken...) there were two ladies on the other side. Both seemed to have an amused expression on their face. I didn't think anything of it, just took my change and then proceeded to pull forward and put my wallet back in my purse. When I got to the window to get my drink, there were three women there. One lady handed me my drink, and two other ladies studiously ignored me but seemed to be listening intently as I said "Thank you" and "Have a nice day." As I pulled away, I caught the beginning of laughter as the window closed.

What the...?

Then I realized that the podcast that I was listening to used the word "penis" liberally. Not to mention several other terms that, while not vulgar, are probably not words one expects to hear coming from a car's speakers.

I immediately went red. How embarrassing! I'm never going to be able to go to that McDonald's again! I mean, I used to work fast food. I know what sorts of nicknames we had for regular customers. I can only imagine what this podcast did for me. I'm pretty sure that the last thing I need is to be labeled the "Penis lady."

At least this will help my diet? The avoiding McDonald's I mean. Not the circumcision podcast.

(For those of you who don't know, my friend Ann is a very vocal "intactivist." Her blogs are private, so you'll have to take my word for it when I say that they're very interesting and informative. I have no official stance on the subject since I do not have a son, but it's a topic that I never would have thought to read up on before, and I have to thank Ann for getting me interested enough to at least want to know all the facts.)

Favorites

2011-03-24T12:38:00.003-04:00

This post is causing quite the buzz on the internet. I wrote about similar feelings here.

I wonder why I didn't get all the hullabaloo?

Traitorous

2011-03-07T15:27:00.003-05:00

On Friday night I was out with a longtime girlfriend and we had a margarita (or two.) By the time the boy checked in on my whereabouts, I was at the tail end of my second margarita (I won't go into details about how large it was) and feeling that all was right with the world. So when the boy suggested that he would drive me home, I did not argue.

When we got to my house, I invited the boy in for a "cup of tea." He accepted, but told me, "Baby, I can't stay. I have to work tomorrow."

"Oh no! That sucks!" (inside I was gleefully rejoicing. We'll get to why later.) "I miss you when you're not around," I pouted.

When it came time for the boy to leave I emerged from the bathroom with teeth brushed, face cream on, and in warm fuzzy pajamas - fully intending to give the boy a good night/good bye kiss. Instead I found him lying on my bed under the covers.

"What are you doing?!" I exclaimed.

"What? I'm tired and don't want to go home. I thought we could snuggle." The boy said this with what would, under normal circumstances, have been an adorable smile.

"You said you weren't staying! You can't stay! What are you doing?!"

The boy, thoroughly confused at this point, sat up and asked, "But you were upset that I was leaving?"

"I was being nice! What girlfriend is HAPPY when her boyfriend doesn't stay at her place? It wouldn't have been politically correct to say, 'Oh good. I don't want you to stay because I have an early morning and I don't sleep well when you're in the bed with me and two 50lb pitbulls*.' I was trying to be a good girlfriend!!"

(All of this was said in a very loud and panicked voice, I might add.)

"So put the dogs in their crates for the night."

"In their crates?!" I was horrified. "Um, they LIVE here. You do not. I will not displace them for a visitor."

"And you see nothing wrong with that logic?"

"No." I considered briefly through my margarita haze. (The "all is right with the world" feeling was long gone.) "Fine. Stay. I won't sleep and I'll hate you. Whatever." I dramatically threw myself into the bed and promptly "fell asleep."

At 2:00am, curled into a tiny ball in the only free space available on the bed, I awoke, already angry. I tossed and turned for a while, shoved some dogs onto the boy who snored briefly before turning over, and then said loudly, "Fine! I'm going to the couch! I KNEW this would happen!!"

The boy mumbled something incoherently.

Furiously, I stalked to the couch with a blanket and my pillow. Once I made myself comfortable and started drifting off to sleep, the feelings of self pity came.

"Here I am. All by myself. Nobody loves me. Nobody cares that I'm out here all alone. I hate everyone. I can't believe no one cares about me."

In the midst of the self pity, I heard a soft padding that I first thought was imagined. Then Laney jumped on the top of the couch near my head and began purring.

"Yes! Laney loves me! Laney who is so low maintenance that she often takes a back set to the needy dogs in the house! I love Laney! Laney is the only one who truly cares about me. I will have to make it a point to give her some good scratches at least once a day from now on. She's such a good cat. She's always hated the boy. She's so smart."

Contented, I began to fall asleep in earnest. I awoke to a thud followed by the unmistakable sound of claws clicking on hardwood floor. A few seconds later, Blue's cold nose was on the side of my neck. A few seconds after that, a large blue body landed square on my stomach, forcing all of the air out of my lungs.

"Oof," I grunted, and turned on my side in the fetal position. Blue took the opportunity to curl up between my knees and stomach and to put his head on my waist. When I caught my breath, I was enamored with how cute he was. See! Blue loved me!! All was not lost! Blue AND Laney loved me. The boy could go ahead and sleep alone. I was loved. I cared not.

A second thud sounded and more claws clicked on the hardwood floor. Casey's nose nuzzled my head for a second. I braced myself for the second dog on my body.

A few seconds passed.

More seconds passed.

Then the claws clicked away back to the bedroom, and jumped back on the bed.

I was furious. "TRAITOR!! Blue isn't even my dog anymore, and HE'S here with me. Laney takes a backseat to the dogs, and SHE'S here. Casey is MY DOG!!! What the heck?"

I fell asleep angry.

The next morning I awoke to my alarm and began preparations to leave the house. I took no care to be quiet, but when I entered my bedroom, I found the boy and Casey curled together in a similar position to what I had just abandoned with Blue. Normally the cuteness would have made me smile, but in this instance, they may has well have both had "Traitor" branded on their foreheads.

"FOR SHAME!" I hissed.

The boy, having no idea of the drama that had occurred in the night, awoke confused. "Wha?"

"You don't love me! I hate you." I said to him. "And YOU!" I shifted my accusing finger to Casey, "YOU are going back to the Humane Society."

"You didn't adopt her from the Humane Society."

"WHATEVER!"

Blue padded into the bedroom sleepily and jumped back on the bed to sleep a bit more. The boy surmised what had happened and looked amused.

"Does your dog love me more than you?"

"Whatever. You're both dead to me."

As I was leaving, the boy asked if he was ever allowed to sleep over again. I gave him a list of things he could do before he left my house in order to regain favor and explained that he was on probation until Blue left. Then we could re-negotiate. He saluted. "Aye aye, Captain."

It was at this exact moment, as I was walking out the door, that Blue farted.

And all was, once again, right with the world.

Maybe my parents won't notice if I switch dogs?

*Yes, Blue has been with me for five weeks and won't go home for another two.

Thanks - Sincerely

2011-02-21T10:06:00.004-05:00

I was thinking about the number of times I've been asked "Have you heard anything yet" in the last three weeks. The number is too high to count. But do you know what it made me remember?

The day of my interview, I had to shut off my phone. Not so that it didn't make any noise during my interview and not because I didn't want to receive any calls, but because I got SO MANY text messages wishing me good luck or telling me that I would do awesome that it made me cry. Seriously there were upwards of 50 messages that one day. It even topped my birthday.

And since I'm a crier, albeit a logical one, I shut off my phone because I wasn't about to ruin my make-up on interview day :-)

It got me thinking about how lucky I am. About how many people are supporting me through this and how many people are wishing me well. I doubt there are many others who had more support (from such a variety of people) than I do.

So I wanted to say thanks. I just wanted to put that out there. Because while I'm quietly going crazy through the admissions process (no I don't know anything yet) it's the thought of all that support that keeps me sane. I figure that because of you guys, I'll be alright either way. I appreciate that. A lot.

Suspense

2011-02-08T10:36:00.003-05:00

I hate suspense. I have never ever been able to handle it. This is one of those things that I've just accepted and informed my friends about so they would understand the multiple "Does he/she die/get shot/get eaten/fall off the cliff?!" questions about the book/movie/commercial that they have read/seen and I have not. (Heck - I ask those questions even if you haven't read/seen the book/movie/commercial either. I just need to know.)

Thus there are no coping mechanisms in my repertoire for suspense.

This is something I sorely regret at this point in my life.

Also? I tend to over-think things.

Luckily, I HAVE been through heartache. So I DO know how to keep my mind occupied and off of whatever topic seems to be driving me insane. Books were my primary distraction the first time around and video games the second. (What, you haven't had your heart broken more than once? Lucky you.)

This time I have turned to the gym for distraction.

It's a great tool and it's been working well so far. All nervous energy burned off and no choice but to sleep at night after working out for over an hour. Add a good audio book to the workout (or those nifty "cardio-theatres" on the stationary bikes that get a better picture quality than the TV in my house) and so far this is an effective tool to keep my anxiety about...oh....everything pertaining to my future in check.

This tool is especially necessary when I hear more rumors about when, exactly, I'm going to find out whether or not my quest to be a veterinarian will be successful this go-round. And, silly me, I keep checking those rumors. Rumors like, I should have a letter in my mailbox by the end of the week. And those rumors, they tend to drive me batty.

(And, srsly? Snail mail? For this kind of news? What is this, 1990?)

You would think I would avoid the rumors. But, alas, the flesh is weak. So I keep working out.

What I am slowly realizing is that my distraction techniques don't fit in very well with real life.

This makes sense, sort of. For the first heartbreak I was living at home with the folks. What responsibility is there at home except for personal cleanliness and getting to work on time? Reading during all downtime never really affected my "normal" routine. Second heartbreak occurred right out of college during my first job. Again, get to work on time and spend all downtime as you wish. MarioKart for 14 hours at a time? Done!

Now? Apparently, despite my best efforts to avoid this "grown up" phase of my life, I have accumulated various responsibilities that are being neglected with the hours of working out. (I know, right?!) Responsibilities like dog walking... bill paying... snow shoveling... laundry folding...

I am crushed to find out that my coping strategy isn't foolproof.

So tonight I'm dedicating to being a grownup. I'm going to walk the dogs like a good dog owner. I'm going to pay my bills like a responsible adult. I'm going to fold and put away my laundry like someone who's out of college. And I'm going to keep my mind busy doing these tasks so that I don't think about how the latest rumors said that the admissions committee is meeting TOMORROW to seal my fate. (or doom. Whatever.)

I can be an adult! I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

Prayer

2011-01-30T16:41:00.004-05:00

I prayed on Friday night. Not on my knees or anything, but I literally closed my eyes in the middle of dinner and said a prayer.

Granted, my prayers began like this, "Hello God. You may not know me, but I'm pretty sure you're well acquainted with my mother. Oh, and that lady sitting there on your left? That's my grandmother," but I don't think that diminishes the fact that I did, in fact, pray.

(I can't even be 100% serious in my prayers. I think part of me was trying to make God laugh so he would take pity on me and listen to what I was saying.)

Because I can't remember wanting something as much as I want to get into vet school. It's an all encompassing want. From the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes.

Right now it's a waiting game. The interview is done and we should hear back before March. There will either be an ecstatic post on here about how excited I am about my future, or a bunch of depressing blogs about how life is terrible and no mention of my future whatsoever. In the event it's the latter, just don't ask. Send ice cream or warm baked goods instead.

In the meantime, if you could see inside my brain, it goes something like this: "ohpleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease." So cross your fingers for me.

Transparent

2010-12-30T14:28:00.006-05:00

I'm reading a really good book right now. I know I'm late to the party with this one, but it really is a very good, engrossing book with several discussion points. And I'm not even through the entire trilogy yet. By the end, my book club is going to be BEGGING me to shut up, but it's totally their fault that I'm reading these books in the first place.

The Golden Compass has several areas that I would love to discuss in detail, but the one that strikes me the most is the idea of 'daemons.'

I'm torn on how to say the word to myself. Is it "daymon" or "deemon?" Since the idea isn't an evil one, I usually settle on "daymon."

In the book, everyone has a daemon. In a nutshell, daemons are an animal form that is sort of a physical manifestation of a person's soul. I would compare them to a witch's familiar, but that's not quite right. The way the link between the human and their daemon is described is deeper than that. It's described in such a way that the two can not live (sort of) if separated. The animal form that your daemon takes is a reflection of the sort of person you are. You feel each other's feelings and hear each other's thoughts.

I am fascinated by this idea. Fascinated. Think about how much easier life would be if there was no need to pretend? If who you are and, to some extent, how you feel were on display all the time? zlionsfan is much more cynical than I am and says that the world wouldn't change much if daemons really existed. People would still try to pretend to be something they're not. I choose to believe otherwise. Because so many people behave in a certain manner based on their insecurities. (I'm not excluding myself here.) And all that energy is just...wasted. There's a passage in the book between the main character and an advisor where main character asks what happens if a person doesn't like the shape their daemon takes. The response is:

"Well, then, you're discontented, en't you? There's plenty of folk as'd like to have a lion as a daemon and they end up with a poodle. And 'till they learn to be satisfied with what they are, they're going to be fretful about it. Waste of feeling, that is."

I LOVE this. I think it would be so much easier to accept who you are and how people see you if there was a physical manifestation that couldn't be hidden. Because you can always tell when someone is acting out of insecurity. When they're so sensitive to criticism or attention because they're so afraid of being seen as something other than what they want. And that makes me sad every time. It takes a long time to learn to love yourself. I know I'm still working on it. It would be so much easier with a daemon.

I mean, it would suck if your daemon were a... shrew, for instance. And you thought that you were a... Persian cat, maybe. But still, there are good points to being a shrew. I can't think of any right now, but EMBRACE your shrew-ness. It will make you happier in the long run*.

But enough of the serious stuff. The point here is that Candy, zlionsfan and I spent a better portion of Christmas return trip home discussing what our daemons would be. It was fun, and I won't reveal theirs, but I will say that I didn't get far from the bulldog that the boy already said I was. I was upgraded slightly to a pit bull, and I think I'm okay with that. I mean, can I choose which pit bull? Because Casey and Blue are like night and day. And realistically, I'm pretty sure my characteristics would mirror Casey, but boy, is Blue pretty.

Slightly related - the boy and I did our annual Christmas letters again this year, and in his letter, he rescinded the bulldog analogy and upgraded (??) me to a pit bull as well. And this was without knowing the conversation that had occurred on the drive home from Christmas.

Well, at least I don't have to worry about having an underbite anymore.

I'm curious to know what you would think YOUR daemon would be? I don't usually solicit comments, but if you read this and you know, tell me. I would love to hear.

*For any shrews who may be reading this and don't know me personally, this paragraph was written completely in jest. I am well aware that there are good characteristics to shrews and I mean no offense.

Wordless Wednesday - Always a Lady

2010-12-22T16:48:00.001-05:00

Freakout

2010-12-21T11:23:00.001-05:00

So I'm still alive. And as predicted, the entire situation resolved itself approximately four hours after the blog was posted.

My boss had left for the day, and it was only my co-worker and I wrapping up the remaining business issues for a Friday. Since I had no plans for the evening, I was taking my time in getting stuff done, and stalking my new favorite website.

Backstory - a friend of mine applied to veterinary schools last cycle. There's a website that is a forum of pre-med students of all types, with forums dedicated specifically to each different profession. Pre-vet students will go to the veterinary forum and share hopes, fears, and, more importantly, rejection/admission/interview invitation information. My friend told me about this website last year, and she would come to class with stories like, "this person got an interview to Tufts! I didn't get one yet. That's not good news." I distinctly remember admonishing her, "You can NOT check that website over and over! You'll drive yourself crazy."

Flash forward to this year when I'M applying to vet schools. Do you think I can take my own advice? Negative Houston. I was perpetually checking that site, hitting refresh, and reading every thread in case someone posted information in the wrong place. I dutifully posted my first (expected) rejection when it came through, and I was sad when invitations to that school came through a few days later.

So on Friday, I was refreshing my favorite website, and I noticed that the thread for my in-state vet school option showed up with a new post. Sure enough, someone had posted that they had gotten an email with an interview invitation.

The words that came out of my mouth were not pretty. I copied the post and went to my email account to send it to my two therapists during this difficult time.

There was a new email waiting, and it was an interview invite.

I flipped out. Literally flipped out. When I called my mother, she didn't initially know who it was. Z also admitted later that he understood the word "interview" but not much else. My cousin was the one who finally helped calm me down with the words, "Honey, I can't understand you when you're sobbing like that," and she got to talk to me AFTER the screaming had subsided.

Holy-freaking-crap.

The biggest thing that I feel is a sense of relief. Even if I don't get in, I got an interview. I'm not crazy and vet schools might actually be interested in letting me become a vet. Because for all this time, the nagging thought in my back of my mind has been that I'm wasting all of this time and money on something that's never going to happen. This invitation? Helps. A lot. It brings back all of that clueless optimism I felt about this journey before things like organic chemistry happened.

So to anyone who's considering this sort of life change? I suggest you not give up. You never know what will happen, and I would HATE to have anyone sitting at home saying "What if?"

So now I'm off to prepare for the first interview I've had in about six years (and probably the most important interview I'll ever have.) Oh, and to buy a suit. Because, you know, I KEPT my suits from job interviews, but, um, they seem to have shrunk. Hmmm.

Did you get in?

2010-12-17T09:24:00.005-05:00

It feels like my entire life right now revolves around that one question.

Did I get in?

(For the record, I don't know yet.)

Last week I called my mom and dad to tell them about the fantastic company Christmas dinner I had just gone to. I started the conversation with, "Oh my gosh, mom, I have GOT to tell you something!" It wasn't until I heard her intake of breath and the pause after my statement that I realized my mistake. "Oh, sorry. No, not THAT yet. I still don't have any news on THAT."

This morning, after an evening filled with fantastic conversations with two of my favorite people, I called my boss on the way in to work and said, "Good morning! I was just heading to Subway for a breakfast sandwich and I wanted to know if my FAVORITE boss wanted one too?"

His response was "You're in a good mood! Did you get in or something?"

It took me a moment to understand. Get in? Like, to work? I mean, the roads aren't THAT snow covered. And I have 4WD. Of course I would get in.

And then I understood. "Oooh. No. I don't know anything yet."

Waterboarding has nothing on this kind of psychological torture.

Rumor has it that acceptance/rejection letters were coming out this week. I woke up on Monday just KNOWING that I didn't get in. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I would take my last final on Thursday, and then drive home to a rejection letter in my mailbox that afternoon. I was so certain that when I saw the letter in my mailbox from a credit card company, my brain was CONVINCED that the return address read "Purdue University."

The relief that I felt when I realized it was a Chase logo literally made me weak in the knees.

Originally I thought that this weekend would be a weekend of drinking. Regardless of the outcome of my veterinary school application, I would be drinking to celebrate the end of the semester, and to drown my sorrows/celebrate my acceptance. Now? I've decided that this isn't an alcohol-inducing situation. It's more along the lines of a Ben & Jerry inducing situation. When I told my boss this with an air of acceptance, my boss likened my changing emotions to the stages of grief.

You know what? He's kind of right. You know...minus the whole death thing.

1. Denial – "I feel fine."; "This can't be happening, not to me."
Denial is usually only a temporary defense for the individual. This feeling is generally replaced with heightened awareness of positions and individuals that will be left behind after death.

Whatever. This isn't happening. What application? Am I waiting on something? I am not avoiding my email. I just don't check it very often during the day.

2. Anger – "Why me? It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"; "Who is to blame?"
Once in the second stage, the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue. Because of anger, the person is very difficult to care for due to misplaced feelings of rage and envy. Any individual that symbolizes life or energy is subject to projected resentment and jealousy.

WTF?! WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE ARE THEY TO SEND REJECTION LETTERS THE FRIGGING WEEK OF CHRISTMAS?! WHAT THE HELL MAN? WHAT. THE. HELL! WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM?! A POX ON ALL OF THEIR FAMILIES. WHO DOES THIS?!

3. Bargaining – "Just let me live to see my children graduate."; "I'll do anything for a few more years."; "I will give my life savings if..."
The third stage involves the hope that the individual can somehow postpone or delay death. Usually, the negotiation for an extended life is made with a higher power in exchange for a reformed lifestyle. Psychologically, the individual is saying, "I understand I will die, but if I could just have more time..."

If they let me in, I'll go to church in thanks every Sunday for a whole year! I'll be the best vet ever! I'll save all KINDS of homeless animals!

4. Depression – "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die... What's the point?"; "I miss my loved one, why go on?"
During the fourth stage, the dying person begins to understand the certainty of death. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect oneself from things of love and affection. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer up an individual who is in this stage. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed.

There's no point. I'm never going to get in. They're just going to reject me. My hopes and dreams will be crushed. My GPA/GRE score/personal statement/qualifications isn't/aren't good enough. I was stupid to even think of trying this. My life sucks.

5. Acceptance – "It's going to be okay."; "I can't fight it, I may as well prepare for it."
In this last stage, the individual begins to come to terms with his mortality or that of his loved one.

Whatever, dude. I'm totally going to Sicily if I don't get in. And I'm stocking the freezer with Ben and Jerry's for the inevitable crushing blow. Do your worst, admissions people! I am ready! I am prepared! You don't run my life! It's all going to be okay!! (just please let me in, okay?)

The hardest part for me (for reals, yo. This is like real emotion-type stuff right here) will be having to tell people that I didn't get in if that is, in fact, what happens. I know that pride goeth before the fall...yada yada yada. But if I could TELL the pride to go away, I would. What it does right now is make it very very difficult to admit weaknesses. It's not that I want to appear perfect. It's just that I don't like to fail. So generally, if I want something a whole whole lot, I make DAMN sure I get it. (If there was a dislike button on failure, I would click it over and over.)

My other coping mechanism? If I want something I can't control, I don't talk about it to many people. Because if I don't get it? Meh. I only have to deal with the crushing blow myself.

But this? This wasn't something that I could really keep to myself. I mean, people were going to ask why I went back to school. People have asked how I'm doing. Friends have kept close tabs on where I am in my journey, and right now I'm at the point where the situation is literally out of my control.

It's awful.

If I don't get in, I'm not sure how people can react that wouldn't be terrible. The pity? The awkward, "sorry I asked, here are some token words to make it better?" The hug? (FYI - that one will make me cry. Don't do it unless you want your shirt wet.)

And what can I say? "Oh well. There's always next time. I knew this would happen. No big deal?"

Problem is, everyone KNOWS it's a big deal. Including me. And honestly, I'm terrified right now. Ugh.

(I am fully aware that by writing this blog, the universe will make sure the situation is resolved in one way or another within 24 hours so then I have either post a retraction of all this freaking out, or a depressing "my life is over" blog. Be prepared.)

Stories

2010-12-01T10:36:00.004-05:00

I'm a storyteller, have no doubt. Nothing makes me happier than when something ironic or hilarious happens to me, and I get to tell the story to my friends complete with hand waving, dramatic pauses and maybe some exaggeration - all for comedic effect. I love to make my friends laugh and to achieve this, nothing about my life is sacred.

But I'm stumped when it comes to getting others to talk.

Not about the weather or about day-to-day life. No, nothing like that. When put in a situation where I feel someone may be uncomfortable or left out, I am compelled to engage almost anyone in a conversation that will make them feel more comfortable and involved. I can almost always find a common thread with someone if not with myself, then with one of my very diverse and extraordinary friends.

I mean getting someone to tell the stories that everyone has to tell.

During the Thanksgiving weekend, my father talked about his past in a greater detail than I had ever heard. It was awesome, eye-opening, hilarious, and so so interesting. I wish I knew what perfect storm of conditions occurred to prompt this storytelling because I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. Was it because I had friends there? Friends who could keep their heads about them and ask questions that I surely wouldn't have thought of? (And assuredly would have KICKED myself for not asking once the moment had passed?*) Was it because of the martini he had to drink? Was it because of the late hour of the night? Was it because we had all just shared such a spectacular time together? I don't know that I'll ever figure it out, but I'm so glad I was there.

And yet, I keep coming back to the question of how to get that to happen? How do I go about following the recipe for that perfect storm of conditions? I mean, my father discussed events that I had no idea had ever occurred, so it's not like I could have asked specific questions about a time in his life that I didn't know anything about. Maybe I just need to ask questions like, "What was high school like for you?" more often. Because seriously? Fascinating.

And by the way - did you know that parents had these whole other lives before their children were born? True story. I've examined and enjoyed this new dynamic of interacting with parents as an adult before, but I'm not sure I'm completely over the fascination of it. Maybe because it has happened so suddenly and maybe because it has nothing to do with me having children. (Isn't that usually the rite of passage that changes things between the new parents and the previous generation? Or is it marriage?) More often than not when I ventured back into the land of my childhood, I found myself frustrated and upset by falling back into the role of teenage-Emily. Lately, I've made more of an effort to express myself more clearly and remain the "adult" I know I am when living on my own - and to interact with my parents as that person. I think having my friends around (who never knew teenage Emily) helped make that change permanent.

Totally worth losing 3-5 mpg taking that gigantic suitcase to Southern Indiana, btw.

Also, this post by Candy made me really appreciate having my parents and enjoying every second I have with them. I did, in fact, take pictures of us playing Mexican Train dominoes. Unfortunately, being Emily, I left the pictures on my dad's camera to be retrieved on a subsequent visit.

So do yourself a favor and call your parents soon, if you can. Have a drink with them and just talk - as a friend, not as a parent. How often does that happen? If it feels different, just ignore it and push through. The rewards are so so worth it.

* Shout out to Candy for her fantastically detailed questions!

Best. Thanksgiving. Ever.

2010-11-29T10:09:00.002-05:00

Blessed.

I don't use that word much. But this year? I felt truly blessed. I mean, it could have been the gallon of sangria that I drank over the four days that I was at my parents' house, but I think the feeling of loving the whole world was present before the sangria. The sangria just helped me express it. (Over and over and over.)

I'm not exaggerating about the sangria.

In a fit of insanity on their parts, two friends agreed to accompany me to the parental homestead for the Thanksgiving feast. We all fit into one car (with the dog) despite the best efforts of one of us (who shall remain nameless) who brought a suitcase the size of Rhode Island.) We played Rock Band. And ate pie. One of us shot a crossbow. One of us made fudge. One of us made a perfect apple pie. We helped with Christmas decorations. We played Mexican train dominoes. And we laughed. And laughed. And then laughed some more.

The toast that I gave on Thanksgiving went something like, "To good friends and loving family who, in the best of both worlds, are one and the same."

I am so lucky to be surrounded by so many people that I love and who love me in return. It made for a perfect weekend.

I will do my best to post more details in the upcoming days. Don't think that the Rhode Island-sized suitcase is getting off THAT easily.

Radio Silence

2010-11-03T08:01:00.002-04:00

I keep putting off posting a new blog. Not that there's nothing to talk about, just that I can't seem to find anything around which I would like to build a blog. (I really like the phrase "build a blog" btw. I keep saying it over and over.)

Anyhow, in light of this reluctance to blog, I have decided that I will post random snippets to help out any blog readers I have left (hello? are you out there?) who happen to be bored and searching for entertainment. (oh, and also? My most vocal blog prodder just had twins - one of which is named Emily, ahem - so that's why she hasn't been prodding me much lately.)

* Fall has cometh and with it I have a healthy dog again. Woot! Her coat is beautiful, her eyes are no longer red rimmed, AND she's losing weight. What. A. Relief. I know this happens every year, so it's no surprise, but it is always a relief. The summer months must be terrible for her, and, like any good mother, I hate to see that. Luckily, we seem to have stumbled upon a drug regimen that might help stave off her symptoms next year even while keeping her in a zombie-like state. Still, zombie dog > monster dog. Keep your fingers crossed.

* With the onset of cold weather, Casey has started this new behavior that is disturbing only because it shows how smart she is. I like to keep my house cold at night and Casey sleeps in the bed with me. During the night we move apart because we both need our own space, but as soon as she hears my alarm go off in the morning, she get up, stretches, then cuddles up right next to my stomach. It's like the worst snooze button in the world. Seriously. I haven't been on time once since the cold set in.

* I know that news about vet school admission won't come until December, but I can't help but tense up each time I check the mail these days. Just reject me and get it over with already! I'm resigned to the fact that I'll have to try again. I promise. It's the waiting that I can not bear.

* Remember when I got my ears pierced? Yeah. It turns out that it takes less time to heal from a tattoo than it does for me to heal from these stinking piercings. There is one in particular that seems to be testing me in a battle of wills, and it's not the "weird" one. I got my tragus pierced, as well as three more lobe piercings. So in total, I have three piercings in each ear - two in my left lobe + the tragus, and three in my right ear. The third one in my right ear just does NOT want to heal. It's like my ear is saying, "Look, bitch - we lived just fine with one piercing in this ear for thirty-two years, and now you want three? We'll just see about that." ARGH. I think I knew I would have trouble with this coming into it given that my ears seem sensitive to anything other than 24-carat gold. But five months later?! Argh, I tell you. Argh.

* This semester of school is my first one without organic chemistry since this time last year. This is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because I can actually succeed in these classes. Curse because I find myself thinking, "Study? I don't need to study. I am too smart for these classes." Yeah. After my first round of tests I went through the whole "Thank you, Lord, for teaching me humility" ritual.

* Do you know what you should never do? Look up your boyfriend's ex-girlfriend on Facebook. It doesn't matter how secure you feel about your life and relationship - nothing good can come of this.

* I did not do anything for Halloween this year save ogle my friend's children in their adorable costumes. It was a pretty relaxing holiday. I fear this is the onset of old age.

* I completed my last bike ride of the season on October 30th. The wind was just as terrible as another ride I did. Still, I got a free beer at the end of the ride to celebrate, so that took some of the sting off. And that ride brought my mileage total for the summer to 1353 - way beyond the goal I set. That was a nice achievement. Now to move on to the next one.

* Right. We had our second annual reunion for those who studied abroad in Costa Rica this past month. It was fantastic and I could blog about it forever. Seriously. These people astound me, and the fact that they are my friends is continually amazing. And so it was the perfect storm when we stumbled upon this relay race, and they all immediately wanted to put a team together. Nevermind that I dislike running. Nevermind that I haven't run a mile in over three years. I respect these folks and they threw down a challenge. "Challenge Extended" to quote Barney Stinson. I have no choice but to accept. So if you weren't ready for this blog to become a bunch of complaining about the horrors of running, prepare yourself now.

* I've never mentioned this before, but the one thing that I will always have from the boy (should this relationship end) is an outstanding collection of outerwear. Seriously. For the last few Christmases and Birthdays (beginning with the trek to Peru, come to think of it) the boy has gifted me with more coats and jackets than I thought were available for purchase. This one for cold weather above 40 degrees Fahrenheit. This one for cold weather below 40 degrees. This one for cold weather with precipitation. This one for warmer weather with precipitation. This one for riding my bike in the rain. It's ridiculous. I had to put a stop to it after the last one because, really, do I seem like a girl who would ride her bike in the rain? Still, I guess I am completely covered for any sort of weather patterns I should ever face. Ever.

* Next semester I will only have one final class to complete, and it's only two credit hours. That's the fewest credit hours I've taken since I started this endeavor in fall of 2007. Holy Cow. That's both terrifying and exciting. Exciting because, woo hoo I'm almost done! Terrifying because I've reached the end of things that I can control in my quest to be a vet. Now we just cross our fingers and wait, yes? Please think good thoughts...

Wind Blows

2010-10-06T10:11:00.007-04:00

I've been biking this summer. I think I may have written about it a time or two. The official goal of the summer was to ride 1000 miles. I accomplished that early and easily. The unofficial goal of the summer was to complete the 100 Km course of the Great Pumpkin Metric.

I did not discuss this unofficial goal for a couple of reasons. First, I wasn't sure I would accomplish it. Stubborn or not, there comes a point where you can't pedal anymore. I almost hit that point when we did a 50-mile ride, so I was dubious about completing a 62-mile ride in Southern Indiana. With hills. Second, the Great Pumpkin Metric is held in my hometown. I was equal parts excited and stressed-as-hell about bringing my Indianapolis family down to meet my Evansville family. I didn't really want to explore the source of the stress or the possibilities of the nuclear explosions that could have occurred had my worst fears played out.

Instead it was fantastically awesome.

I mean, not all of it was fantastically awesome of course. Riding 65 plus miles into a wind that seemed to be a headwind in all directions was pretty sucky. Riding that ride in 41 degree weather that only warmed up to 61 degrees was also not fun. In fact, I wasn't entirely convinced that we weren't going to ride the 50 Km route until we actually passed the spot where the two routes diverged. (I don't have a picture of that spot, so you'll have to make do with this one that I stole.) Luckily zlionsfan was unshakable in his belief that we were going to ride 100 Km, so when the time came to make the fateful turn, I didn't even have time to get off my bike and take a picture to document the occasion. I just had to pedal faster to catch up to him and ask him if he was sure? I mean, we could always do the 50 Km, and if we have enough energy, do the 50 Km route again.

Nope. We were doing the 100 Km route.

At first it wasn't terrible. Then, somewhere around 35 miles I found out that singing was the best defense I had against the ache in my legs. I went to my happy place and, as I later told my father, apparently my happy place is filled with John Denver. Or maybe those are most of the songs that I know the words to, given that my father has been singing them to me since birth. Regardless, I was singing to distract myself from the discomfort. That continued until the end of the route, though at the end I was singing mostly to myself since I couldn't find the energy to sing out loud.

I do like to pretend that I can sing.

So that part was not so fun. I mean, the feeling of accomplishment was awesome, and the scenery was gorgeous. It was just that pesky wind. I even penned a letter to the wind while we were riding.

Dear Wind,
This ride is difficult enough without you in my face. Go blow yourself.
Sincerely,
me

I still think we'll do it again next year.

Other than that, my parents seemed to enjoy the company of my Indianapolis family. And why not? They are intelligent, funny, nice, silly people who are fully capable of laughing at themselves. Those are all qualities that are highly valued in my family. And my Indianapolis family? Well, they seemed to have fun as well. Although I'm sure the dominoes, bbq, and Fall Festival food did not hurt. Me? I drowned my stress in sangria. It seemed to work out alright. We might even do it again sometime.

Okay. I downplay. It was a great weekend for me. I could have stayed forever. I mean, what was there not to love? There was no stress. This, in and of itself would have been a great respite following my vet school application submission, but in addition to that, save the absence of the boy (who had to work,) I was surrounded by all the people that I love and they were all getting along. Everyone who knows every little dark corner of me (in Indiana*) was in one room and not only were we all laughing, I beat them all in dominoes. Whilst drinking copious amounts of sangria. What more could I have asked for? It was like the best possible meeting of two worlds. I think both sides learned interesting things that they can use for blackmail later. (but they won't, cuz they loooooooooove me. :-)

As a result, coming back to the real world was a bit of a letdown. Strike that. Coming back to WORK was a bit of a letdown. So now we start crossing our fingers for that vet school application thing. Good thoughts are appreciated. I promise to keep you updated one way or another.

And I would say that the bike is being put away until next year, but I found out that there's this other ride. And it involves beer. That can't possibly end badly, can it?

*There are others, but they're scattered across the US. I figure I won't get the entire group together until something truly important happens. Like, say, a vet school graduation?

Poop and relationships

2010-09-29T09:03:00.005-04:00

One of the things I must do on my application for vet school is to write a personal statement. This statement must be no more than 5000 characters in length and should explain the journey that I've taken in my decision to become a veterinarian, and what experiences and circumstances make me unique.

You guys, I thought I would rock this. Seriously. I mean, I write a blog. I write about myself all. the. time.

Um, you may or may not have noticed, but my style of writing is....wordy. As in, I like to use a lot of words. You know, for emphasis. I like to go over and over a point to make sure everyone understands it with the depth of passion that I do. This particular trait does not marry well with a character limit of 5000 (with spaces!)

So I just wrote my story and then edited. Or, more specifically, zlionsfan helped me edit. Then I redid some of his edits and made my statement too long again. Then I re-edited MY edits, and, well... now I have a statement that I feel is choppy and sounds like a toilet being flushed.

Still, I've emailed it to a couple of people whose opinions I trust (never fear, cousin, I'm coming after you next) and as I anxiously await their feedback (they are not early morning people) I am mildly freaking out about my personal statement, my future and of course, my life in general.

I never said melodrama didn't have a place in my life.

So, a few days ago I was having a mini-pre-writing-my-personal-statement breakdown. I had this particular breakdown in the car with the boy. After venting all of my fears and frustrations, the boy sat silently. I turned to him and said, "Now is the point in the conversation where you say pretty words to make me feel better. Sort of like zlionsfan does."

He thought for a second and said, "You shouldn't freak out."

He said no more. No matter how much I harassed him (which was plenty) no more comfort was forthcoming. He is not zlionsfan, he said. And apparently I didn't really need comfort for my theatrics. He felt no need to coddle me.

(Don't worry - this is all related.)

Last night the boy stopped by after work to check in on my personal statement. I was in the midst of erasing my fifteenth draft, and I won't lie - I wasn't in a good place. I mean, it wasn't the depths of despair that organic chemistry brought to me, but it wasn't happy-go-lucky either. The boy sat silently, read what I had written, gave me feedback and then left.

But then this morning? We had the following text exchange. (And I swear to you, I haven't altered a single word.)

E: It is written and it is crap. I may as well poop on a piece of paper and submit that instead.

B: poop WOULD be an attention grabber

E: Hmmm. Maybe I dismissed that option too quickly...

B: there you go... I mean... nothin' says "Look at MY application" like a big pile of shit.

E: Soft smeary shit, or hard little turds? Ooooh, what about corn poopies? It shows that I eat my veggies...

B: it shouldn't be your shit... it should be some kind of exotic animal shit to show how much you care about animals... the more exotic the shit, the more you care.

E: Tasmanian Devil?

B: black mamba... invokes a little fear into the panel

E: Black Mamba like Kobe Bryant, or like the snake? Honestly, I can't decide which is scarier...

And just like that, I was laughing. Not brooding and sulking, but actually laughing. And now I can re-read what I've written for the gazillionth time with an editing eye, instead of despair and hopelessness. Because maybe sometimes? I want to be coddled, but what I need is to be reminded that life is not so serious. That perhaps I may be overreacting. And that while I'm allowed some of that, I need to snap out of it and get shit done. And sometimes you get what you need instead of what you want. (Wouldn't that be a great song?)

Why I have difficulty believing that a visit to the Dr. is nothing more than a waste of time

2010-09-27T10:07:00.004-04:00

I guess I should qualify that. Kids get sick and should see the doctor. The doctor can generally make them better. Bones get broken and the doctor fixes them. People are in terrible accidents and doctors can sometimes perform miracles. Brain tumors and cancers? Ditto. Doctors are fantastically skilled miracle-workers, have no doubt.

So when I woke up on Thursday with incredible dizziness that I had never experienced before, I wasn't quite sure how to handle it. Stuffy nose? Familiar territory. Headache? Psh. Achy body? Fever? Chills? Who hasn't been through that. But dizziness? With no alcoholic consumption involved? I was rattled.

The dizziness continued throughout the day until a wonderful suggestion by someone with chronic ear infections. Sudafed. Apparently this would help drain my Eustachian tubes and stave off the symptoms until I could see a doctor. As an ear infection novice, I learned that inner ear infections are terrible terrible beasts that don't hurt until they HURT. So my advisor recommended that I still see the doctor. Which I did. I actually looked up a GP, made an appointment and everything. Look at me grow!

Uncontrollable dizziness is not something you mess with in my world. We like control in my world. And if I can't stop the dizziness, not even by concentrating and forcing myself to walk in a straight line? Rattled.

The Sudafed worked miracles. By the time my doctor's appointment rolled around on Friday, I was just starting to feel the deep down cottony effects of the Sudafed wearing off. Thankfully, the dizziness had not returned. I got to my appointment on time, got a thorough check-out by the doctor, and voiced my concerns and what drove me to visit. My blood pressure was checked, checked again, and checked again in a variety of positions. Perfect.* My ears were checked. And checked again. My breathing was listened to. Finally it was determined that I had a minor ear infection, but nothing that would seem to cause dizziness. Diagnosis = uncertain. I was given antibiotics, had blood drawn (over STRENUOUS objections. I had just had blood drawn by another doctor three months prior!) and told to visit again in a week.

It took me about 24 hours to fill my prescription, but fill it I did. (The pharmacy on a Saturday afternoon is a WHOLE 'NOTHER blog.) I even remembered to take my gigantic pink horse pills as prescribed.

So then why on EARTH did I wake up this morning feeling like I got hit by a truck filled with snot? Seriously, it's like the antibiotics only made the snot monster in my head ANGRY and he is now exacting his revenge on my sinuses. I feel WORSE now (albeit, sans dizziness) than before I went to the doctor.

At least this stuffy head/headache/raspy throat/no voice thing is familiar territory? Bright side? Maybe?

I'm still disturbed by the memory of the dizzy. And I guess I would feel better if an actual cause for the dizziness was given. Or if I didn't feel like a Mack truck ran me over last night. I've heard arguments that a visit to the doctor is about confirming peace of mind. That at least it's nothing serious. But I got an uncertain diagnosis, so....

Sigh. Just consider this my yearly I-am-sick-so-I-shall-whine post. Only this time I spent money to go to the doctor first. At least the blog when I get my bill should be fun, yes? I already feel sorry for the doctor that I will see again on Friday. Pity him, my friends.

*Take THAT all of you "you shouldn't eat so much salt, Emily" people!

Imagined Conversations

2010-09-07T15:28:00.006-04:00

Casey: (sigh) So glad you're back, Blue. It's always a joy. So tell me again, when are you going home? Erm, I mean, how long are you staying?

Blue: OMG! I am so happy to be here! It's so good to see Original Mom again!! And you Casey!!! I've missed you too! The only bummer is this crate thing during the day.

Casey: Yeah, I've missed... Wait, what do you mean, "this crate thing?" This is what dogs do! We wait until our parents come home at the end of the day. Mom just likes us to wait in our crates so that we don't torment the cat. And you know we would if we could...

Blue: Nuh uh!! There's this place called "Heavensville" and if you live there, you are never in your crate. And you live with TWO cats.

Casey: Never?

Blue: Never ever. And your parents are always home. And you get to sleep on the couch. Or in the bedroom. Or wherever you want! And your dad? He gives you treats at least once a day. Sometimes more!

Casey: (wonderingly) Once a day... Amazing.

Blue: And when the parents are done with dinner, dad cuts up all the leftovers and mixes them with your food! New Mom yells at him not to do that, but he does it anyway. He's awesome.

Casey: Really? Isn't dad that big guy who yelled at me when I came in the door?

Blue: Um, you broke through the screen.

Casey: Who makes a door out of screen? I mean, it's so fragile! You can barely see it. I didn't even notice it was there.

Blue: What about the plexi-glass that was behind the screen? You know, the one that dad put there after you used that excuse last time?

Casey: ...

Blue: That's why Original Mom doesn't like bringing you to "Heavensville" you know.

Casey: Whatever. Mom takes me with her every time she goes.

Blue: Oh yeah? What about those weekends where you get to spend "quality time" with the boy? Where do you think Original Mom goes then?

Casey: ...

Blue: Anyway, this place is fine. I love seeing you guys, and Original Mom gives us that yummy peanut butter. It's even better than the treats in "Heavensville." Too bad we don't get it very often.

Casey: Mom says it will make us fat.

Blue: Speaking of that... You're looking... healthy.

Casey: What are you saying?

Blue: Oh, nothing. I just heard New Mom asking Original Mom what had happened to you. That you used to be so slim.

Casey: IT IS NOT MY FAULT I HAVE ALLERGIES! THE STEROIDS MAKE YOU GAIN WEIGHT! Anyway, mom says I'm just "curvy."

Blue: (snort)

Casey: What the..? It's not like you're really that fit yourself, you know. I don't know what you're doing when you're not in your crate, but it's certainly not running. Don't think I didn't see you collapse on the grass after our 50 yard sprint on Sunday.

Blue: You mean that sprint where original mom managed to run faster than either of us?

Casey: I know, right? Shameful. We're not puppies anymore...

Blue: Anyway, to answer your original question, I'm here until October 1st.

Casey: SERIOUSLY?!

Blue: Yeah. Why?

Casey: Oh... um... no reason... It's just... Um... Laney will be upset that there are two dogs in the house for that long.

Blue: What are you talking about? Laney LOVES me. I never chase her. I learned how to treat cats from living in "Heavensville."

Casey: Quit bragging about "Heavensville," jerk! Living here is awesome.

Blue: Sure... awesome. Wait until you try the new treats that dad sent home with Original Mom. You will freak out. That is... if she ever gives them to us.

Casey: She will. Especially if she's going to go biking while you're here. Here's what you do... when she moves that giant thing on two wheels out of the living room, jump on the couch, flatten yourself as far down as you can, and look at her with "puppy dog eyes."

Blue: What will that do?

Casey: You'll see. We'll get ALL KINDS of goodies when she leaves.

Blue: Sweet.

Casey: Stick with me, kid. I'll teach you the ropes. Mom's a pushover if you know the right buttons. Crate or no crate, living here isn't so bad.

Blue: It's no "Heavensville" though.

Casey: Will you shut up?!

Pop Quiz

2010-08-20T08:35:00.007-04:00

Tell me, dear internets, what is this:

Plus this:

Minus this?:

That's right. Last night I surpassed 1000 miles on my bike for the summer. I'm pretty excited about it, and even more excited that it happened so far ahead of schedule. I was allowing myself until October to complete this goal. Woo to the Hoo!!

I mean, the OCD in me is still sort of twitchy because it's captured on two odometers instead of one, but that doesn't diminish the 1000 miles that I've ridden. In fact, last night I started toying with the idea of getting my new odometer (second picture) up to 1000 miles all by itself.

I know. I'm certifiable. But that's not a real goal yet, so don't hold me to it.

What I enjoy almost more than completing this goal is seeing how far I've come. Conquering Riley was a huge day, but since then I've found an even more hilly and difficult route and pretty much confirmed that I can complete it every time - with a faster pace each time. And surprisingly, in the midst of all this riding, a new goal of completing a ride of 100km (62 miles) in the rolling hills of my hometown has emerged. I'm not sure why - maybe because of the date of this ride, and maybe because of the difficulty of it - but I sort of feel like that ride will be both the peak of my bike riding season, and the last ride I do before winter. Right now I'm not only focused on completing that ride, but doing it in a reasonable amount of time. (My parents? They think I'm insane. I'm pretty sure they're going to have an ambulance on standby during that entire ride.)

It's terrifying, honestly. The hilliest ride I've found in Indy was difficult enough - I couldn't even complete it the first time. My hometown in southern Indiana has many more menacing hills. Eeeek!

Still, all I can do is try. And bolstered by my past successes, I would say "Outlook good." Cross your fingers for me!

Why I'm Going to Church on Sunday

2010-08-18T16:19:00.010-04:00

I was sitting at my desk at work around 2:00pm today, wasting time on Facebook. My boss was in a meeting in the back with my coworker. It was a typically calm afternoon with nothing much to do. I was trying to figure out how to make the afternoon go by faster when the neighbor who lives next door to my office came to the front door.

"You've got a fire back there."

I blinked. "What?"

"The fence caught fire back there. It's right next to the garage."

Being the employee with the most seniority, I park my car in the garage.

I was already running.

I streaked back to the meeting room where I'm shocked that my boss understood anything I said. "Donthere'safirehurryyouhavetomoveyourbike!"

He jumped up like, well...like he was on fire. I streaked back to my desk and grabbed my keys. By the time I got my keys and ran back to where the garage was, my boss had already pressed the button to lift the garage door.

The garage was indeed on fire.

The garage door actually ended up getting stuck about halfway up when the power failed. My boss ducked under the door and went to open the door manually. Unfortunately, with all the adrenaline, he ended up breaking the cord that controls the manual mechanism.

The door started to fall closed.

I wish I could say I was of some help here. But I wasn't. I stood and watched like I was made of wood.

From inside the garage, my boss slid under the door, caught it, and heaved it upwards.

The fire was eating through the wall to my right, and there was a thick layer of smoke along the ceiling.

My boss's Harley was closest to the flames. I motioned for him to go first. We could hear the fire truck sirens at this point. He walked his bike out and parked in the parking lot next to the garage.

Oh HELL no! Has he SEEN any movies? When I got my car out, trying to ignore the fire eating through the wall of the garage, I parked three doors down just to be safe. By the time I got back, the garage was engulfed in smoke and flames, and the firemen were hosing it down. I had been gone maybe 90 seconds.

The scene that I returned to looked like this:

THAT WAS WHERE MY CAR WAS!!!

All I can think about is that I never would have known until it was too late. My car is okay because of our neighbor. Our rock star neighbor. I shook his hand and thanked him profusely. He shrugged it off like he was just driving by and anyone would do it. Dude! You saved my car! I've already been through trauma with my car. I know how it feels. You're awesome! I feel like I should buy him a horse. Or a kingdom. With a castle. And THEN a horse.

I took more pictures as the fire died down. The Indianapolis Fire Department did an awesome job and showed up super quickly. More pictures below, the last one of what the garage ended up looking like in the end. We're not yet sure how the fire started. Just that no one was hurt, and everyone's vehicles were safe.

The wall that's missing? That's my boss's side of the garage. The side that today housed his beloved Harley. We were both so lucky. I have to go to church on Sunday because, well, I believe in thanking the people responsible when you're lucky. Either that or buying them a kingdom with a castle.

Key Privileges = Revoked

2010-08-11T16:47:00.004-04:00

I've been cooking more lately. And honestly, I don't think the cooking can be categorized as either successes or failures. Sometimes everything tastes great, but I have TONS of leftover ingredients that will be left to languish in my refrigerator until they sprout legs of their own and walk themselves to the garbage can. Sometimes all ingredients are used and something is just barely undercooked. Or overcooked. Or basically inedible. I don't think I'm meant to be a homemaker.

I am, however, an expert at ordering take-out. I know THAT'S sexy.

You know what else I have trouble with when cooking? Trips to the grocery store. I mean seriously, if I ever remember to get everything that I need in one trip it will be the type of miracle only equaled by the creation of DOTS. And yes, I make lists. Unfortunately, my lists are faulty. If I manage to get everything needed for one meal, I forget the day-to-day items that I need. If I remember the day-to-day items, I inevitably forget an (important) ingredient. Or two.

Like now? I'm out of Liquid Plumr. Seriously. How does THAT happen? I can clog a shower drain faster than you can say erm...Drano. And toilet paper. I realized I was on my last roll on Saturday. Do you think I remembered to put it on my list when I went to the grocery store on Monday? Of course not. As of last night, I'm officially out. I thought I was going to be stuck going to the store for just toilet paper. A wasted trip. I guess I should be glad I ran out of Liquid Plumr this morning. Now the trip is a bit more justifiable. Does this happen to anyone else?

The boy, who never goes to the grocery store himself unless it's to visit the frozen meals section, thinks this is hilarious. He also has no problems reminding me "gently" when I'm out of something. "Sweetie, you need paper towels," and then "Why don't you have paper towels yet? It's been like a week since I mentioned it to you." Right, and I noticed that I was out a week before that. Thanks though. Hardy har har har. Wait, remember that time you had to "borrow" dog food from me because you didn't have any? Right.

I do like the way Karma works, though. Because today? I got a phone call. My fourth phone call of the day from the boy, actually. Which is rare. So I answered, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Apparently the boy had stopped by my house between jobs today because he had to use the restroom. And it wasn't to go number one.

My first thought was "EW!" combined with a feeling of complete violation. He had stopped by my house to take a dump?! What the hell? He's got his OWN place for that. Or he could wait until he got to work. I'm pretty sure that pooping at your girlfriend's place when she's not there is unacceptable, no matter how long you've been dating. (over six years, btw. eeeeek!) If you don't live there, I'm pretty sure unsupervised visits are only acceptable if you're leaving pretty flowers or doing the dishes or something of that nature. Unsupervised stops involving fecal matter are strictly prohibited.

Fortunately, the angry tirade was thwarted by my second thought which was, "I'm out of toilet paper."

So I didn't get to say anything in response. I was laughing too hard.

I think the lesson we all need to take away from this is that you should poop in your own home. Or at least in the home of someone more responsible.

When I was done laughing, I called the boy back. I told him that this would be a blog because, seriously, it's too funny not to be. He resignedly agreed. And by "resignedly" I mean I refused to bring him a roll of toilet paper until I got my way.

I can't make this stuff up, folks.

Life Lessons

2010-08-05T12:54:00.005-04:00

Here's the thing. I'm a bit competitive. I think I may have blogged about it a time or two. In fact, this is the main motivator in my life. No joke. You see me dragging my feet over something I don't want to do? Make it into a competition. Done. It's just that simple.

Well, not really. Because I'm on to you. So it has to be made into a competition in a way that doesn't feel like you're manipulating me. The best way to get around this is to make it a competition with someone I dislike. Then, even if I feel you're manipulating me, I can't resist. I'm dead serious here. It's very sad. I can hear my cousin and z snickering about it right now.

But last year, my dear friend Candy taught me an important lesson about competition.

As part of her wellness team at work, Candy put together a team to walk in the Jingle Bell Run/Walk. I had run this 5K before and thought it was great fun, so I agreed to participate on her team.

The morning of the 5K dawned sunny, but cold. I was wearing at least three layers under my team shirt and a sock hat in an effort to stay warm. Still, the mood was festive as we looked at the colorful costumes around us. There were running reindeer, Christmas trees, and even a family that was dressed as a string of lights, each a different color and connected by a cord. They were pulling a wagon in which sat a child with a radio blaring Christmas music.

The trouble began when I found out that one of the teammates was planning on running the 5K. No big deal, right? Except that ANOTHER teammate wanted to be at the starting line to take his picture. And then wanted to come back and join the rest of the team to walk. The solution to this? He would wait at the start/finish line until the runners began, and then come back to where our team was huddled. We would wait for him to return before beginning the walk.

I was uneasy with this from the start. First, we were already huddled near the rear of the crowd of people participating. Second, once the starting bell rang, the entire mass of people surged forward... around us as we stayed frozen waiting for our teammate.

I tried to inch forward with the crowd, certain that our lost teammate would eventually find us, but Candy was oblivious to my pain, and insistent on staying right where we were. I took deep breaths as more and more people passed us on their way to the starting line.

"It's okay Emily. This is not a race. You are not in this to win. You don't have to be competitive all the time."

Finally, our teammate showed up. We were free to walk. WHEEE!

I'll admit, Candy was not happy with the pace that I set. We were already far enough back that I was uncomfortable, so I wanted to make up some ground. Our team stretched out as we each settled into our pace. When we came to a portion of the route that doubled back on ourselves, I was at once both dismayed at how far back we were, and relieved at the "safe" number of people behind us. At least we wouldn't be last.

As we finished the double back, Candy mentioned that she wanted to stop and get a picture of the rest of the team coming up behind us.

STOP?! I won't lie. I had to bite my tongue. Hard. Eeek!! Still, it wasn't my event, so stop we did. To take pictures. To POSE FOR PICTURES. It was the worst form of torture because Candy didn't even know what was happening.

More and more people passed us. The string of lights family? Yep. Passed us. Pulling a wagon. The end of the line drew near.

Oh HELL no. This was not going to happen. I set a quicker pace after the picture stop. Eventually Candy mentioned that we were walking a bit faster than she preferred and I was forced to confess what I was going through. She laughed at me. Thinking she was not competitive, she thought I was being ridiculous and slowed down. She had conversations with teammates and others around us. She was outgoing and friendly as is her nature. She was also completely unconcerned with the people passing us.

Meanwhile, I watched in despair as the radio playing Christmas music got further and further ahead. "This is not a race. It's okay to not be competitive." I chanted this internally as I walked.

In the end, we finished with only two people behind us. Third and fourth from LAST. OMG. It hurts to even type that now, almost eight months later. One lady behind us was telling us how much it meant to her to be able to walk in the arthritis walk since arthritis had been such a crippling disease in her life.

I felt for her. I really really did. But that was outweighed by the fear that she was going to pass us, so I avoided eye contact and kept walking.

When the results came in (that I'm not going to link to) and Candy sent them to me, I was relieved by two things. 1) I wasn't last, and 2) I came in ahead of Candy.

That's right. I said it. I was glad I beat my friend. The "non competitive one" who later recanted and expressed a desire to never finish that far down in the standings again. Uh huh. Who's competitive now??

Being last sucks. Being competitive is better. Lesson learned.

Surprisingly Team Jen

2010-07-21T08:52:00.004-04:00

I don't know if it's because my parents are retired, or because I'm getting older and we talk about different things now, but I love that during this period I'm getting to see so much more of my parents' personalities. What I remember from growing up is probably typical of a parent/child relationship. My mother and I fought, and my dad - he was the silent enforcer of rules. As I got older, my father was the one whose standards I strove to live up to and my mother was the one who drove me crazy.

You know, typical teenage stuff.

Now I'm seeing new things and I can't decide if they've always been there and children/work/life got in the way of showing it as clearly, or if I was just too young to pay attention.

Like, my mom? She's got this volunteer/give back to the community streak that I can see in myself 100%. Looking back it's always been there, and I can now see it was in the twice annual purging of my closet for Goodwill event. But now? She's volunteering in several different places and for a variety of reasons. Sometimes because she has a particular skill set (Spanish-speaking) and sometimes because she enjoys the perks (ushering at auditoriums and being able to see plays/musicals for free.) I always knew we were alike, she and I, and I suspected that this was why we clashed so violently and so frequently, but it's nice to see that the softer sides of our personalities match up just as much as the harder sides. Who knew?

My dad is the more surprising personality that I'm learning about. He's always been quiet (and because of this, many boyfriends found him extremely intimidating.) He came home from work and didn't talk about his day or his achievements. He had his books and movies and he had his time to relax. He didn't talk much unless he had something important to say. Unfortunately for me, the important things that he had to say to me had to do with decisions I made that he didn't approve of. This is not to say that he didn't say nice things too (like, say, simultaneously embarrass the hell out of me/delight me by singing "Daddy's Little Girl" to me in the middle of a crowd of people) but the personality that I felt was more of an authoritarian parent than a "real" person. Now? Well, he's always been extremely generous and loyal to his loved ones, but he is done working. Done done. As well he should be, given he started working at the age of 12 or something ridiculous like that. He is not interested in volunteering, and after years of the rigid rules of the business world, he is now not interested in participating in events that he doesn't enjoy. I love that, because I can totally relate. He's also really bitingly funny and delights in making me uncomfortable. (Seriously? Dirty jokes from your dad?) He especially enjoys my surprise when he says or does something that I deem "out of character" for him. He acts all innocent like, "What, you didn't know this about me?" when we both know I didn't. Because really, do I know his character? To me he's always been a conservative business executive. But was this just his job, or is that his personality too?

This is a question I was faced with after a recent visit home and the following exchange:

Emily: (upon seeing Angelina Jolie on the cover of some magazine promoting 'Salt') "I can not believe how beautiful she is. I hate to say that, because it's so unoriginal, but I saw her on 'Inside the Actor's Studio' once, and she's every bit as gorgeous as this photo. And she wasn't even unintelligent. I mean, come on!"

Dad: "Yeah, but she treats Brad really badly. I think they should break up. Brad should get back together with that other girl, Jennifer."

Emily: (gets really quiet and studies her father intently) "Dad, um, how did you learn to say those words?"

Dad: (looks up in surprise) "What? I read things. I think that Jennifer Aniston was better for him. That Angelina girl is crazy."

Emily: (laughing out loud at this point) "Wonders never cease. Should I get you a 'Team Jen' tshirt?"

Shortly after this, he was musing how it's "not fair" that I don't plan on having children because I should have to go through what he went through/is going through. Which of course sparked a hilarious exchange between my parents when my mother piped in "What do you mean, what YOU went through?"

I have no idea what they're talking about, though. I was a perfect angel.

Wherein I'm not as young as I think I am

2010-07-20T10:05:00.005-04:00

I went home to visit my mother for her 66th birthday last week.

She's adorable, btw. I would post a picture, but in the spirit of semi-anonymity for her, I shall refrain. You'll just have to take my word on it. God willing I am that adorable when I am her age.

Anyhow - since it was her birthday, and my visit was my gift, I had zero plans. I would do whatever my mother wished. We would spend time together and have fun. This is mother/daughter bonding at its finest. And on Fridays my mother's schedule dictates that she goes to "water aerobics" with her friend DiDi.

When she asked me if I wanted to go with her, I didn't hesitate. Sure! I mean, I'm riding my bike 30 miles plus at a time and I can't take my bike with me when visiting, so this will be some exercise. Easy to handle exercise, but still. It will make me feel better about the pounds and pounds of home-cooked food that I was going to consume.

When we got to the class and I was introduced to the instructor, I mentioned that I was looking forward to the class, having never done water aerobics before. The instructor was quick to correct me. "Oh, this isn't water aerobics. It's the arthritis class."

Oh I've SO got this.

The class was easy and relaxing. A lot of gentle movements in the water, and a lot of random gossip flowing around the way little old ladies tend to do. I still had plenty of energy at the end of the class and decided to swim to the end of the pool and back. Breast stroke the way down, freestyle the way back. I got out of the pool relaxed and happy.

And all at once I was RAVENOUS. We got home and I told my mom that if we didn't eat soon, I was going to chew off my hand. She threw a snack sized bag of Doritos at me while we fixed lunch. It kept me from eating my own extremities. Barely.

After lunch, I retreated to my room to shower and dress for the day. I happened to catch the boy via text message and proceeded to exchange a couple of messages before I passed out cold. mid message. Mid. Text. Message.

For an hour and a half.

Like passed out. With my hair soaking wet and still in the cover-up dress that I had worn to "water aerobics." I woke up dazed and confused. Where was I? Wait, WHY was I so tired?

And then I realized that the only possible reason was the class we had taken that morning.

Which lead me to realize that little old lady water aerobics had kicked my ass.

Embarrassing.

My mother was thrilled to hear it. My father laughed out loud. Right. I don't see HIM doing the class. Hmph. I think I want a rematch. Without swimming that one lap, I'm pretty sure I would have been able to take the little old ladies...

Success

2010-07-19T21:53:00.010-04:00

This is the grave of poet James Whitcomb Riley.It is the highest point in Indianapolis. This hill is located in Crown Hill Cemetery. And it's located about a mile from my house.

Even though it's the highest point in Indy, it's difficult to grasp the magnitude of the hill it sits upon. The hill has many twists and turns. When you're standing at the bottom (which is still up a slight incline) you see this:And then, when you trudge up to the second left, you see this:And then, when you think you're in the home stretch, after you trudge even more slowly to the first right, you see this: (which is the steepest incline of the entire hill)But when you make it to the top, it's all worth it when you look down and see that you've conquered this:And it's even sweeter when you see this:But do you know when it's the sweetest?

After you've just ridden your bike all the way to the top for the very first time.

All the way to the top.

Without stopping.

On your bike.

Especially if, say, you've tried and failed several times in the past to ride your bike up the hill, and it's gotten to the point where the hill has become sort of a nemesis for you.

A nemesis that you've just made your bitch.

Today was a good day.

Riding Your Bike is not for Losing Weight

2010-07-01T08:22:00.004-04:00

I heard a lady say this at the SAG stop on the very first organized bike ride that I participated in. She said it because the options for snacks at the pit stop were tiny bananas, tiny peanut butter sandwiches, tiny brownies and tiny cupcakes. Immediately after she said it, she popped a bite sized brownie in her mouth.

I was beginning to agree with her.

If I've learned one thing in the years of losing (and then finding) the same ~~ten~~ ~~fifteen~~ twenty pounds over and over again, losing weight is all about what you eat. I mean, sure, exercise is important, but you can exercise until the cows come home* and you won't lose nearly as much weight as if you alter your diet.

So with all this bike riding, I was not expecting to lose weight.

I have not been disappointed.

Though I have to say that things are.... different.

So the other day, when walking my dog, I passed my neighbor and waved hello.

I should take a break here to explain that I LOVE my neighborhood. Love it. Sure, it's on the edge of ghetto, but I was having this discussion the other day and someone described living in the city as "organic." That's a good word. It's organic. While I could do without the "Daaaaa-YUM!!!"s that come from the younger men in my neighborhood (seriously dudes, not the way to approach a woman with any sort of success) I do so love the elderly men. I have a sneaking suspicion that they call each other when I'm walking my dog because if I see the first guy on my route sitting on his porch, then I see each and every one of them. If I don't see the first guy, I rarely see any of them. (This tickles me to death.)

We have a casual friendship. I wave and say hello, we chit chat about the weather, about the regularity of my dog walking (they know I'm in school) etc etc. Sometimes I get introduced to family members.

Confession: I don't know any of their names. They call me "lady." It's that sort of "friendship."

So when I saw my neighbor the other day and waved, he responded with "It's just melting off!"

I was confused, "I'm sorry?"

"It's melting off!"

Here is where I started to laugh. "What is?"

"That extra weight!"

(Side note: Where else in the world could a man say that to a woman with no fear of getting his eyes scratched out? I'm not even sure I would take that very well from the boy.)

I'm full out laughing at this point. "But I haven't lost a pound!!!"

"Well then it's redistributing or something... you look great!"

I kept walking, and laughing, all the while composing the blog post in my head. That exchange made my day. Seriously. I could count on two hands the women I know who would have been highly offended by that conversation. (most of them not Emily favorites) But I enjoyed the straight forward manner of the entire exchange. High comedy.

Too bad I'm not sure I believe him. No joke that I haven't lost a pound, but exercise makes you feel better, and I have been wearing clothing that is a little more form fitting than usual. Plus it's summer and my arms have a killer tan from all the riding. (There is a definite link between level of tan and how thin you look. It's true. It's been scientifically proven.)

Speaking of which, here's an update. As of yesterday, I have ridden 481 miles. I'm a bit ahead of schedule, which is good. But that's the last picture of this odometer that you'll see because I kind of had to upgrade. Which means that I'll have to add totals from two odometers together to meet my goal which sort of bothers me (Helllloooooo type A!!!) but que sera. More on that tomorrow. Promise.

*See what I did there? That's from living in Indiana my entire life. UPenn, if someone from your prestigious university is reading this, that's enough reason right there to accept me into your program...

Nine-to-Five

2010-06-29T11:42:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, I hate my job. I'm not going to lie. There are times that I talk about the redundancy of my job, and how a chimpanzee could probably be trained to do what I do. I complain about my boss, I complain about the pay...hell, some days there is nothing that could go right between the hours of 8:00am and 5:00pm.

But sometimes I need to stop and remember the perks of working for a small company. Perks like today. Because that picture? That picture is of my boss's desk. My boss is not AT his desk because he went home sick. And as employees of the company, well, we decided that we would use his monitor to stream the World Cup matches for the day. So, you know, there are no company resources going under-utilized. Because we wouldn't want the company resources to not be used to their maximum capabilities.

And things like that? Not to mention "two hour lunches" that may or may not have been taken to watch the USA games? I need to stop taking them for granted. Because on days like today, in weeks leading up to long holiday weekends, when the windows are open and soccer is on in the background? There's not much that could be better.

(Well, you know, I could be making more money....but who couldn't?)

Twice! In Two days!

2010-06-25T16:44:00.004-04:00

I had my annual appointment with my doctor today.

I would go into all the reasons why I *heart* my doctor (who's technically my girly doctor, but has taken on the role of general practitioner... I'm not sure why ...) but I'll just get to the stinking point.

For what seems like the 10th year in a row, he asked me if I have any questions or complaints and I responded with the only one I ever have. I am So. Frigging. Tired.

All the time. Tired.

Now, I realize that my schedule is insane. I realize that I pack a lot into my day. I realize that I accomplish a lot. And maybe this is normal? Maybe I just need to take a weekend to do nothing.

But see, I feel like I HAVE taken weekends to do nothing. And I do not feel refreshed when I go back to the routine on Monday. I still feel tired. I mean, could sleep until noon every day if you let me. (and if you removed the guilt about things that need to get done that aren't being done...)

So my doctor decided to run some tests to see if we can figure out what's up. Maybe nothing. Maybe I just need some iron supplements. But let's just be sure.

So he drew blood.

Let me just say that again.

He had a technician stick a needle in the same arm that was violated yesterday, and drew a vial of blood. (They were successful this time)

That's twice in two days. I think I'm done with the needles for a while, thank you very much.

Oh, for the love...

2010-06-24T11:08:00.004-04:00

My father always tells me, "You can't save them all, Emily." I tend to disbelieve him. It's not that I want to save everyone or every animal. It's that I want to know that I'm doing all I can to save everyone and every animal.

This is the root of my love/hate relationship with donating blood.

(Side note: Do you donate blood? If not, you should. Don't you want to be certain that should YOU ever need blood there is a ready supply? Go help out. They give you cookies.)

I am notsomuch a fan of needles. One might say that I'm afraid of them. Actually, I take that back. This is not like, say, my fear of cockroaches. It's not a completely debilitating fear. It's more of an intense dislike. I intensely dislike needles when they are being stuck into me.

But it's precisely because of this dislike, and because of the benefits of donating blood to society, that I feel more pressure to actually DO IT. That which does not kill us makes us stronger, right? When you face your fears, or face new challenges, you grow as a person. It's like a logic puzzle. This costs me little or nothing, and the benefits are great. Why NOT do it? I should do this because I can, and because the benefits outweigh some irrational dislike that I may have.

Unfortunately (or fortunately if you look at it as a 'sign from God') I'm slightly anemic. The last three times I've attempted to donate blood, my iron was too low. Oh, darn. I mean, I TRIED, right?

Then again, you don't see me doing anything about the low iron.

So today I decided to attempt the donation again. I figured that if I was turned down AGAIN, I would actually drive myself directly to CVS and purchase an iron supplement, if not a multivitamin that I would actually take daily.

I'm not going to lie. I was nervous. Butterflies-in-stomach, tight-grip-on-my-purse, laugh-too-loud nervous. When they went to prick my finger for the blood sample, I had to take a brief break to giggle for about 45 seconds before I gave her my finger.

The minimum hemoglobin that they accept is 12.5. I came in at 12.6. I was cleared to donate blood.

Swell.

So I go back to the area with comfy chairs and lots of plastic bags. I was still giggling. When I sat down and the tourniquet was put on, I concentrated on breathing. Just breathing. In. Out. I could do this. In. Out. It's all mind over matter.

Then the person searching for a vein in my left arm called over another technician to assist. They discussed my veins and I heard words like, "Well, that one is okay, I guess." I made a joke about how I was being difficult and my mother would not be surprised. (Surprise! I crack jokes when I'm nervous.) They laughed and called over another technician while the first technician went ahead and checked my right arm, this time using a blood pressure cuff instead of a tourniquet. She told the others that the vein in the left (deemed "okay, I guess") was better than anything she found in the right arm.

A fourth person was called over. She replaced the tourniquet because she was "old school." She didn't even feel the vein that the first technician had deemed the best available. The second and third technician took turns feeling for the vein for varied amounts of success. Finally the first technician declared, "It's there, it's just deep."

Let's take a moment to think about how this was affecting my anxiety, shall we?

Finally the first technician decided to move forward. This is where I stopped watching. The fourth technician, seeing how nervous I was, decided to stand on my right and distract me with conversation. Which was sweet. But I must admit that I have no idea what she was saying since I closed my eyes and concentrated on how this was not going to hurt. I was a strong woman. This was not going to hurt me and I was most CERTAINLY not going to faint.

And it didn't really. I mean, there was the initial prick that wasn't so much fun... but it was over quickly. It's not like I enjoyed the sensation of a needle in my arm. But it was bearable. What do you know?! I actually COULD do this. This was cake.

Until I heard the words, "I can't hit it."

Oh for the love of...

She couldn't hit it. And mercifully, she didn't try more than a couple/three times before admitting defeat. There was no blood donation for me this Thursday afternoon in June.

As the fourth technician talked over me to the first, I asked, "Can I look now?" She responded, "Oh no, honey. It's not ready yet."

I was grateful.

I was told that I could try again when my arm healed. That I could try drinking more water. That might help. That everyone is different and they're thankful that I tried.

So, to sum up, I gathered my courage, faced my fear, went through the worst of it and it was for nothing. I feel like I failed a test, and I can't help but laugh. I mean, who else does this happen to? I do all this prep work and put all this effort into something so difficult for me, and because of something out of my control, I am unable to reach my goal. (I won't even THINK about how terrifying that is.) I have a badge of honor on my arm that indicates that I donated blood (she's such a good person!) but I did not donate blood. I have to laugh because the irony is too great.

At least I still got cookies.

So I'm waiting a couple of weeks, drinking even MORE water, and will try again. Is anyone willing to come with? It's for a good cause! And besides, you'll get to show me up when YOU get to donate blood and I am a FAILURE. Le sigh.

Worst. Superhero. Ever.

2010-06-05T07:21:00.002-04:00

This morning the boy and I stepped outside early, earlier than I usually set foot in the great outdoors, in order to try and capture the illustrations necessary for an upcoming blog. Alas, we failed. As we turned to re-enter the house, I pulled open the screen door and saw a monster run along the INSIDE of my door.

The closest that I can come to describing it was that it was approximately the size of my head, it had about 75 thousand legs, and it wanted to jump on my ear to suck my brain out. Given that description, the only option that I had was to shriek.

"Oh My God! There's a thing! On the fence! Ew ew ew ew ew!!! And now it's in my house! It ran along the fence and now it's in my house! Killitkillitkillit!!!!"

Note: all of this was said while releasing the door, backing AWAY from the door quickly, and gesturing to it frantically.

The boy LEAPED into superhero mode. "What?"

It was here that my panic took over. "ON THE FENCE! It was huge! And now it's in my house! I can't go back in there!! It was HUGE! OMGOMGOMGOMG!"

"On the fence?" The boy whirled around to look at the fence behind us. "Then how can it be in your house now?"

"ON THE FENCE....ER, screen. I meant screen. It ran along the inside of the screen and now it's in my house." (It was here that my brain kicked back in.)

"WHERE IS IT AND WHAT IS IT?!"

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING NO SENSE! YOU SAID FENCE, SO I'M LOOKING AT THE FENCE, BUT THEN YOU SAID IT WAS IN THE HOUSE!"

"I opened the door and a huge bug ran along the inside of the screen towards the cat. It is now in my house. It was huge."

The boy took a deep breath. "Point to where the bug went."

I timidly stretched out a finger to indicate the inside corner of the screen near the hinges.

"Okay. Good. Let me go take a look."

The boy disappeared in my house, and I walked with the dog for a bit. I heard the muffled sounds thumping, a "JESUS!" and then an aerosol can being sprayed. Finally I heard, "All clear now."

As I re-entered the house I said, "You know, I don't remember the part in the story where the superhero yells at the damsel in distress."

"Well, if the damsel doesn't TELL the superhero where the bad guys went, he can't help her, can he?"

"I still don't think he ever yelled at her. She's panicking. In fact, he should be grateful that she's any help at all. Most damsels are swooning by the time the superhero gets there."

"What is this, a superhero in 1920?"

"If it were, I'll bet he wouldn't yell at the damsel."

"And I'll bet the damsel was able to tell him where the bad guys are."

"Whatever. Panic. It's something that superheros learn to deal with correctly at their superhero workshops."

"Superhero workshops?"

"Yes. Which is how they avoid becoming the worst superhero ever."

"Is that me?"

"Well, it's not me! I'm the swooning damsel."

"That certainly was a lot of shrieking for a swoon."

"Shut it."

To help you get in the World Cup spirit

2010-06-04T16:09:00.003-04:00

Just in case you didn't take my last suggestion to watch the World Cup seriously, here's a primer of sorts.

And just for kicks I'm including the picture of Benny because, um, yum.

And also there's that whole competition thing. And like I've mentioned before, there's nothing like when your team wins....especially if they're the underdog. Which we are, by the way. By quite a bit.

So mark your calendars now - June 12th, USA vs. England.

(Don't worry - another blog post with more substance is brewing. But first I must capture the illustrations...)

The Pants Problem

2010-06-03T13:28:00.003-04:00

Men don't know how easy they have it. Really they don't. One day, early in the relationship, I had to pick up some pants for the boy. He gave me two numbers to look for, and that was that. "How do you know they're gonna fit?" Apparently they just always do. If you're a boy, and you know your two magic numbers, the pants will always fit.

This is so far opposite from my life that I literally couldn't comprehend it. They always fit? Any pants, anywhere, with these two numbers?

The boy laughed at me. But seriously!

I hate shopping for pants. It is the bane of my existence. It's even worse than swimsuit shopping. No lie, ladies. I mean, I'm sure it would be easier if I were, um, a little more on the slender side. And perhaps a little on the taller side. But as it is, I'm a little bottom heavy, with most of my excess weight centered on my ass and thighs. This basically means that even though women only have one number to remember, that number does not necessarily mean that the pants will fit me. In fact, nine times out of ten my size won't fit me, neither will the next size up, or the next size down. All I get out of shopping for pants is a big fat load of frustration.

You wouldn't like me when I'm frustrated. Or maybe you would. I'm funny. Unless I'm frustrated with you, of course. Then I'm frightening.

Anyway. The deal is that my ass/thigh combo seems to require a size that is too large for my waist. Which results in pants that fit semi-comfortably but have HUGE amounts of excess fabric at the waist. (Yes, they can be altered, and yes, this is what I generally tend to do. Find pants that fit mostly okay and pay an additional $20 to have them fit correctly.)

Oh and "low rise?" That was made for people with no junk in their trunk. Or maybe with just a smaller trunk. But apparently everyone on earth has a smaller trunk because low rise seems to be all that's being sold these days. (And don't get me STARTED on skinny jeans. Women are supposed to have curves.) I mean, unless I want to buy grandmother jeans that sit up on my natural waist, which I have done on occasion out of desperation, it seems I have no options. (no offense to any grandmothers reading. Your jeans fit you beautifully.)

But I will never, ever, EVER, buy pants with pleats. (ARE YOU READING THIS MOTHER?) I don't care if "pleated pants fit our figure better" or "they look so flattering" (LIE!) There has GOT to be a better solution than pleats. End of story.

So when I ruined my last pair of khakis by washing them with a pink t-shirt (for the second time) I was in a pickle. Wear ruined khakis? Wear dresses to work every day? Can I plead "wardrobe malfunction" and just wear pajama bottoms to work?

I decided that online shopping would be less painful than actual fitting rooms that are A) in public B) not in my house and not with my mirror and C) not with my clothes so that I can try different tops to see if the pants are actually acceptable. I reasoned that sending pants back was easier than leaving the mall in tears.

And so my search began. I googled every combination of "petite" "Khaki" "wide-leg" "flare" and "pants" that you can think of. Until I remembered this catalog I had received in the mail last winter. The catalog that I had perused and loved and then immediately pitched because the prices were not prices that could be accepted on a full-time-working-student budget. The catalog from Athleta.

Cue glorious background music.

I love their stuff. So I visited online. And found pants that I loved. Pants that I loved that cost more than I was willing to spend on pants. Pants that, I reasoned, there was no drawback in ordering because they probably wouldn't fit anyway and then at least I would KNOW. Specifically, these pants. Seriously? What's the harm? Pants never ever fit me.

OMG, they fit like they were MADE FOR ME. No kidding. It's like the worst practical joke ever. They fit 100 percent. No complaints. Not one. Well, except for the price. Did you see the price? Did you see that I could probably eat lunch for sixteen days at that price?

So, see, my normal behavior would be to buy a pair in every color because, pshaw, they FIT and that never happens. But, um.....expensive.

So basically there's this war going on. They fit! They're expensive! They fit! They're expensive! It's quite the conundrum. And basically, I should have seen it coming. Because, at this point in my life, I've probably tried on all the cheap pants in the world - of course expensive pants are the only option left. The person who hates shopping must now spend more money than she is willing to buy name brand. Oh the irony. Woe is me. Woe woe woe.

And I would feel worse, but they're so pretty. Have I mentioned that? So pretty, in fact, that I would sell myself on the street to get the money to pay for them. They look so good on me that I would actually wear them to sell myself on the street... but you just don't see many prostitutes in khakis these days. I'm not sure why. Maybe I need to work that angle.

My cousin mentioned that I should buy a pair in brown and a pair in black so that I'm completely covered. I was TOTALLY going to follow her advise until I realized that navy blue is on sale.

What the hell shoes do I wear with navy blue pants?

(Navy blue pants that will look FANTASTIC on me, btw.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see exactly how long I'll have to go without eating once I order more pants. (Pants that FIT!!!)

(Author's note - this is my 300th post and it's about clothing. Worse, it's about shopping. A topic that I abhor. But if I wait for a more auspicious topic to come along, you would miss all the mundane trivialities of my life which is what you really tune in for, right? So just have a glass of wine tonight in celebration of my 300th post and pretend that it was about something important and life-altering.)

A pinch of this, a sprinkle of that...

2010-06-02T10:59:00.003-04:00

Biking update - I've been riding to work as much as possible - despite the geese and stupid drivers turning right (look both ways people!!) In the beginning, I was averaging a 20 minute ride, with longer rides in the mornings, because...duh. Now I'm passing boys on the towpath and making it home in 18:43. Gotta love that. Obviously, when I wake up to a monsoon at 6:30am (like today) I go right back to sleep for 45 minutes with zero regrets. This is the fourth week since making the decision to ride 1000 miles, and I'm currently sitting at 417 miles from the starting 228. I only need 11 more miles to keep on track for my 50 miles per week. I think I can get that done, if not riding to work, then this weekend when we have a 24 mile bike ride scheduled.

Casualties from the bike riding? My shoulders which are both currently peeling due to my inability to remember that people with darker skin tones need sunblock too. My wallet from the riding gloves that were recently purchased (and make me look bad ASS even if I do say so myself.) And my water bill as I have to do more laundry to keep up with all the clothes I'm wearing.

I still think I'm coming out ahead.

Casey has been taking fish oil pills since I learned that monster dog is unbearable. So far, her fur is noticeably softer, and she doesn't have the visible bumpy hives on her back and legs. But she still does have splotches on her stomach caused by allergies, and her eyes are still red-rimmed. Overall, I think things are improving, and I'm willing to keep it up for another month to see if things get even better. However, since she can't NOT be sick, she decided to get a bladder infection and scare the bejeezus out of me all other tests came back normal and I thought she had bladder stones that would require surgery. Luckily that is not the case, and the antibiotics that I have to force down her throat twice a day seem to be taking care of all issues just fine. (FYI - forcing open a stubborn pit bull's jaws to force down antibiotics? Not fun. Giving said pit bull Doritos until she is lulled into a false sense of security and then slipping the antibiotic in the Doritos? Much more fun, but results in a Dorito/antibiotic mix of crumbs all over the floor as soon as she tastes the medicine. She's not dumb, that's for sure.)

Body Art update? Piercings - Multiple. The boy is relieved. I am ridiculously thrilled with them, but wish they would hurry up and heal already. FYI - things that are not normally pierced are not normally pierced for a reason. And that reason is because they hurt like a mother... Be ye not so stupid.

Don't worry - they are all visible and not at all kinky. Ew.

I have not yet given up on the tattoo, but have an entirely new idea for one. So I must now mull over it for a while to see if it sticks.

GRE studying begins this month. I have decided that Monday and Thursday evenings, and Sunday afternoons are for studying. (Unless it rains on Tuesdays and then it's Mondays and Tuesdays. I can't miss out on the weekly bike rides :-) I'm starting off slow and just going through practice tests, and I'm amazed at how much I remember. I mean, I've forgotten a lot, but my bruised intelligence ego is getting a lift from these practice exams after getting beaten to within an inch of its life by ochem. Maybe my brain DOES still work. Stay tuned.

The USA World Cup opener is June 12th. I will be visiting my parents in the land of cable, so I'm sure I will get to watch it. Yay! You should too - it's a no brainer. If you bring it up in casual conversation you seem all worldly and smart. (Um, and there are hot soccer players. Yum.) Besides, there should be a rule in your life that something that only happens once every four years is special and important and worthy of your free time. U-S-A!! U-S-A!!

Body Art

2010-05-28T09:46:00.004-04:00

Let me preface this by saying that I am already tattooed. However, being raised by a conservative father and having a bit (a tiny tiny bit) of foresight (since I had no idea what career I wanted,) both tattoos are generally only seen by others if I want them to be.

Getting tattoos is addictive. No doubt. Each time I got one, I wanted another immediately. Unlike the most common argument I have heard against tattoos (I can't decide what I would want on my body forever) I consider my tattoos fond memories of the times that I got them. (Even the cliched rose on my hip that I got when I was eighteen. Sigh. Kids, there's a reason you have to be 18 to get a tattoo...and even then, perhaps you should wait. A rose? On my hip? Really?)

So for the past few years, I've wanted another tattoo. The location is what is holding me back. Because even though I'm decisive and generally don't let the opinions of others hold me back, I tend to poll my loved ones about decisions such as this, and the opinions of said loved ones definitely hold some weight. The more loved you are, the more weight your opinion holds.

Here are the limitations: The tattoo must be somewhere that is not obvious. That can be covered if need be. And I would like to be able to wear a formal dress on occasion without any tattoos showing. Which is why I've waited over four years for this tattoo. Because locations are limited. Shoulder? Too many backless formal dresses. Ankle? I wear flip flops and sandals all the time. Inside wrist? I'm not opposed to this. But front of shoulders and arms are out of the question - I wear way too many tank-top items.

So what I want is to get it on the back of my neck. And, this is the one location that the boy is vehemently opposed to.

He says: white trash. I say: sexy.

Maybe it's trashy-sexy?

He says: unprofessional. I agree. But you can't see it if I wear my hair down.

He says: What if you get your hair cut short. I say: I will never do so again, because I've SEEN pictures of my hair cut short and each time I wonder "WHAT WAS I THINKING?!" I have made a vow to go no shorter than shoulder length for the rest of my natural life.

He says: What if you go to a formal event and want to wear your hair in an updo? I say: Good point. Damn. I hate tattoos that show when formal dresses are worn. (And, if I were the sort of girly girl who would take into consideration one very important formal event that she has yet to go through, she might wonder about what would and would not show on this day - depending entirely on the dress. But on the flip side, she is comfortable thinking that she may never go through that event. Should she take into consideration something that may never happen?)

But, I keep thinking about it. And it's been years. This is generally the measuring stick that I use to determine whether or not I can live without something. Does it stay on my mind even when I'm removed from it? Yes. Yes it does. Well then I must have it.

It wouldn't be anything big - the symbol that I have in mind would be small and unobtrusive. There probably wouldn't be any color involved.

So....opinions? Thoughts? Comments? I welcome all points of view. Because, see, I woke up this morning with an uncontrollable urge to get something tattooed or pierced, and the boy would desperately like someone to talk me into the piercing vs the tattoo...

The way to a man's heart...

2010-05-24T11:22:00.002-04:00

(via text exchange)

I'm trying out a new recipe tonight. You want in on this?

What recipe?

Asparagus soup. Look out Rachel Ray!

and...

Um, bread?

Uh...no meat?

Um, I have leftover chicken?

Oh oh!! Wait! Or bacon! I have BACON!!!

I'll be there at 7:30.

Done. You know you're responsible for making the bacon, right?

Figured.

A Gaggle

2010-05-20T15:08:00.004-04:00

I hate geese. Seriously. Hate them. They're just so....mean. And...bitchy. All that hissing and charging. Ugh. Too bad my favorite bike/walking route between work and home is covered in them. There are dozens. Literally. Which makes sense because I'm, um, riding along a canal.

(If I were less afraid of cars than I am the geese, I would change my route. As it is, I'm terrified of drivers who turn right on red. Seriously. Look both ways people!!)

A few weeks ago, I was walking along the towpath and didn't realize that nesting season had begun for the beasts. Nesting season turns these monsters from mere annoyances to creatures that will actually attack you if you so much as step foot in a 2 yard radius from their nests. That are always very inconveniently located. Like a foot off the towpath.

Anyhow, I was walking Casey and a goose decided that we got too close to his nest. He unfurled his wings and charged at us, hissing. Which caused me to leap out of his way and shriek. Until I realized that he was actually charging at Casey. Who did the doggie equivalent of "Oh HELL no!" and sprinted as far away as the 16-foot retractable leash would allow, yanking her owner's arm roughly in the process. On our return trip, we gave the goose a wide berth, but he still found it necessary to scare the bejeezus out of Casey again.

I hate geese. Have I mentioned that?

So, just as a PSA, I thought I would share some facts. Did you know that sometimes, when you're on a bike ride that lasts longer than expected, a boy who may or may not have been waiting to meet up with you afterward might get annoyed? And he might call to express his annoyance. Which would then make you ride your bike home as quickly as possible.

And, when riding as quickly as possible, if you divert off the path to avoid a gaggle of geese, your tires will make a sound in the long spring grass that is similar to hissing.

Surprisingly, upon hearing this noise that is similar to a threatening noise that geese might make to one another, they react ridiculously quickly for ungainly lumbering ~~birds~~ animals by turning toward the sound and chasing it away.

Also surprising is that riding one's bike through long spring grass causes a decrease in the speed at which the bike is moving. This, of course, makes it easier for the monster geese to catch up. Which might increase the terror of the person riding the bike.

Which might cause the rider to decide to kick at the geese, thus taking her feet off the pedals where they should be if she had any hope of accelerating AWAY from the beasts.

Luckily, she came to her senses before she was consumed by the gang of bullies and was able to ride off safely.

Geese - 1, Emily - 0.

Stupid Geese.

Adventures in Bike Riding Pt. I

2010-05-12T09:15:00.003-04:00

Well, that didn't take long, did it?

Today is Wednesday, which marks the third day of the first week that I've decided to commit to yet another ridiculous goal. It's actually the second day that I've ridden to work because yesterday morning was a bit damp, and I chickened out. (A fact for which I've since overcompensated.) Turns out that was a complete over-reaction because the afternoon turned out to be beautiful, and we were able to go on our somewhat regular group ride.

Which leads me to my first adventure.

We were meeting at a location about 3.5 miles from my house, so I thought to myself, "Self, I'll just ride there to meet everyone since I didn't ride to work today. That will make up my 7 miles for the day."

This turned out to be my first error.

My second error was when I said, "Candy - you're leading."

The ride was enjoyable, as group bike rides often are. We didn't push ourselves too hard, and we went on a path that was pretty uncrowded. The guys let the girls set the pace, and at one point, Candy and I got a bit competitive and sprinted to beat each other.

After that I decided that I would just hang out at the back of the pack. The very back. In fact, one might have said I was "lagging behind" if one wanted to get punched in the knees.

So with Candy in the lead, we just kept riding and riding....and riding....and riding. Until I looked down and the clock said 7:15pm. We had been riding for one hour. One way.

"Um, if it took us an hour to get here, it will take us an hour to get back, and I still have to ride home before dark. Maybe we should turn around?"

I said this tentatively, which was my third mistake. Because apparently Candy really REALLY wanted to get to the end of the trail. Luckily, z was the voice of common sense and simply turned around on the spot.

So the boys were leading the way home. At a pace a bit faster than what the girls had set. After over an hour of riding. And after an ill advised competitive sprint.

I'm not going to lie, I called them some nasty names. Fortunately I was far enough behind that they couldn't hear me. Until I mustered the last of my waning strength, sprinted to catch up to them, and explained what would happen if they didn't slow down.

So slow down they did. And the rest of the ride passed uneventfully until my solo leg home. (but that's another blog for another day.)

I think Candy mentioned in her blog that one of her goals last summer was to ride a marathon (26.2 miles) all in one ride. She worked up to that goal for a few weeks before attempting it and actually ended up riding farther than that on a few occasions - once she had worked up to it.

So you can imagine my surprise last night when I looked down at my odometer and I had ridden a total of 26.8 miles. On my second group ride of the season. After approximately eight months of school that included minimal working out. So there was no "working up to it." I still have noodle legs this morning.*

And that's how I learned that Candy doesn't get to lead group rides anymore.

But at least I'm well on my way to 50 miles this week, right?

*Exacerbated by the fact that I rode in to work today as an overcompensation for yesterday. Why yes, the heavens just opened up and it's pouring down rain. Thank you for asking.

Above all, challenge yourself

2010-05-10T12:06:00.007-04:00

I like to challenge myself. I think it's what leads to growth. I also think that as we age, there fewer and fewer opportunities to practice setting a goal and achieving it. I think that sometimes just getting back to the basics of achieving a difficult goal can do wonders for making everything else in life make sense.

The first time I thought this, I challenged myself to train and finish the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon. Having never fun farther than a 5K before, I thought it was a new, fun, exciting thing to try. And it was. But it was also very very difficult. So difficult, in fact, that when something completely out of my control kept me from finishing my goal (I found out the week before the mini) I never attempted it again.

See, when I commit to something, it's no longer negotiable. It's either succeed, or die trying. (I still drink between 40-60 ounces of water per day and I never officially committed to that...) The first time I trained for the mini, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Now? I know. Oh yes, I know. And I'm not quite sure I want to put myself through that again.

That seems to be a theme in my life, because the Inca Trail? Yeah, I'm never going to do that again either.

I have a feeling that my latest challenge might be a bit like that.

My friend Candy loves biking. So much so that she challenged herself to ride 1000 miles this summer. After much consideration, I think I might join her in her challenge. Not all of it, mind you. There's no way I want to ride more than 50 miles in one day. But 1000 miles by the end of the summer? Sure. I'll try that. After all, last summer I rode 200 miles. This can't be that different.

Um...

My plan of attack is similar to Candy's. I need to hit around 50 miles a week to be successful. And if I ride my bike to work everyday, that's between 30-35 miles per week. If I add in one decent group ride (which we were good about doing last year) then I should be okay.

The plan looks good on paper, right?

Riding to work is proving to be no small feat. It's not the riding, per se. (Although let me tell you - it is now obvious to me that I haven't ridden since last summer. Yikes.) It's the, "What do I wear?" "What do I eat for lunch?" "Do I shower at work or at home?" "What about rain?" It's also the "remembering to check the weather each morning." This is something at which I am woefully inadequate. (But given Indiana's unpredictable weather, something I should work on anyway.)

I rode in this morning and it wasn't terrible. I packed my outfit for the day in a backpack and decided that I would indeed shower at work. Since the shower at work is AWESOME, I think I can get over the weirdness of being naked in my office pretty easily. And now that all the shower necessities are already at the office, my backpack won't be as full in the future. Besides, if I leave my house at 7:00am, I can probably shower before anyone else shows up.

Today I only thought as far as getting dressed. I didn't think about lunch or breakfast. (Or filling up my water bottle for the ride. Suck.) Luckily, my boss brought in some breakfast today. But given how ravenous I was when I got to work this morning, that's something I'm definitely going to have to consider. Maybe oatmeal at the office? I don't know if a power bar will be enough. Suggestions? As for lunch, I can either brown-bag, or there's a Subway within easy walking distance. But brown-bagging it isn't something that I've ever been good at. And walking to Subway? What about the weather? What about the shoes I wore to work that day?

Why not ride my bike to get lunch? That's what I thought. But in reality, if you're in work clothes, how does that work? Do you change back into biking clothes for lunch? After that, do you change back?

I'm not throwing in the towel, but it's a bigger task than I originally thought it would be. Instead of incorporating something new into my life, this is seeming to require many small changes all at once. I'm posting here so I'm accountable because the small changes CAN NOT WIN! I WILL PREVAIL! Besides, short of getting hit by a car whilst on my bike (and really, how much different can that be than getting hit by a car whilst on rollerblades?) I don't really see a downside to taking on this challenge...even if I fail.

So wish me luck! By the end of the summer, that odometer that you see should say at least 1228 miles. (Oh, and cross your fingers that the thunderstorms will hold off until 7:00pm like the weather forecasters said. No one wants to see how angry Emily will be while riding her bike in the rain.)

D-U-N.

2010-05-06T11:28:00.003-04:00

I iz dun.

Well, for the summer at least.

It was another humbling semester, and I see a common thread among humbling semesters. That thread is organic chemistry.

"Perhaps I just can't handle work and school" is what I mused to a friend. Actually, what I mean is, "Perhaps I can't handle organic chemistry and anything else that requires thought."

I am floored (FLOORED) at the amount of studying required for these pre-post grad classes. (read: upper level sciences) It was not uncommon for me to spend 12 hours per weekend studying organic chemistry. I don't remember doing anywhere near this level of studying in college. Of course, I'm comparing these classes to a degree in marketing and, let's be honest here, business classes? Um.... I mean, I remember having to work in Finance and maybe in Accounting... But I also remember falling asleep in accounting, showing up one day when there was a test that was a complete surprise to me, and still passing with a B-.

This feels to me like an entirely different type of hard. I know that business classes can be challenging (maybe just not the ones I took?) but this requires a whole different portion of my brain that I feel hasn't been used in ages. I can't decide if it's that the classes are harder, I'm older and you just can't teach an old dog new tricks, or that this time around I really really really care and really really really want to do well. Maybe it's a combination of all three?

Organic chemistry this semester was a completely different experience than last semester. Last semester was a bleak five months stretching out before me with no hope in sight. Maybe that was the "weeding out" portion that I've heard so much about. This semester the professor was helpful and genuinely wanted people to succeed. His notes were thorough, well organized, and his test questions were based on exactly what he taught. I still struggled, but at least I felt I learned something. And while his final was the hardest test I've ever taken, I didn't come out feeling completely defeated. If I didn't know the answer to a question right away, I could usually reason through it to make a logical conclusion. That is a HUGE change from last semester. I walk away at peace. I did the best I could.

But again, the class that I took concurrently with ochem suffered. If I walked out of the ochem final feeling beaten up but okay, I walked out of my biochem final feeling like a complete failure.

Le Sigh.

This year I apply to vet schools. Which means I have to take the GRE. I'm giving myself one to two weeks off, and then the studying begins for that. It seems surreal that the end of all this hard work is in sight. Sometimes it feels like I've been playing "pretend" and it's all for nothing... that I'll have a job I dislike for the rest of my life. But then there are days like this where the sun is shining, the birds are singing, I have great friends who are great support, and I think that everything will work out the way it's supposed to.

I just hope that "the way it's supposed to" is the same as "the way I want it to."

Fatty Fatty Two by Four

2010-05-05T09:22:00.003-04:00

"Your dog is getting fat."

I swear that if it wasn't my favorite veterinarian who had uttered those words, I would have thrown down right then and there. My dog is not fat. She once ran seven miles with me last summer! She's high energy! We walk all the time! You can see her ribs, for goodness sakes. Right there, see? Oh. Um.... well the last time we walked farther than one mile was... Um... Hey! It's been winter and I'm in school! Don't judge me!! It's not like I'm maintaining my weight either. We're suffering together. Yeah, that's it.

This happened at a vet checkup during which Casey was medicated against the horrible allergies she gets every spring. Dogs show allergic reactions through their skin, and for the last couple of years, come April, Casey has red rimmed eyes (from rubbing her face) red feet (from chewing) and hives absolutely covering her body. In the past, given my reluctance to use medicine, we've tried home remedies to relieve her. These remedies included some Benedryl, washing her feet after every walk (THAT was fun, let me tell you) and repeated dunkings in any body of water that we came across. After spending the last two summers in itchy misery, I decided to break down and medicate her this year.

Do you know how dogs are medicated against allergies? Steroids. Do you know what steroids do? Among other things, they make your dog eat more.

The second comment came from the head of the pit bull rescue that I volunteer for. "Oh my goodness! Casey is getting so big!" And upon seeing my expression, "I mean, she's just always been so thin. She's really filling out."

Whatever.

When I mentioned this to my dog sitter, she said, "I did notice that Casey was a little round."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. ROUND? In no way is my dog round. You can still see her WAIST for goodness sakes. She may not be as thin as she used to be, but she's....curvy. That's it. Curvy. And there is nothing wrong with curvy.

In the meantime, MonsterDog (aka Casey on steroids) is eating me out of house and home. She's almost doubled her food intake per day, and she's demanding about how hungry she is. She's stealing Blue's food. She's stealing the cat's food (never mind the scratches she gets when she does it - Laney does not give up her food easily.) She's digging in the trash. She's eating random things off the road when we walk. She's asking to go out literally every two hours when I'm home. And she's going to the bathroom each and every time. On walks? I now have to carry 4-5 plastic bags to clean up after two dogs. Blue uses one. At least Casey is a good girl and won't go in her crate. But when I get home after work/school, she's literally panting with the effort of not going, and she races out the door to relieve herself.

Well, "races" as fast as a tubby pit bull can run.

I'm doing some research for other remedies that I can try to avoid another steroid shot this year. Because, while they work fine, steroids can become less effective if used repeatedly. Besides, I can't handle anymore MonsterDog, let alone fat MonsterDog.

Blue goes home Friday. Next week? Casey and I begin operation "lose the tubby." I just hope she's not as grumpy as I am when her food intake is cut.

(I would post a picture, but Casey objected. Apparently there's no angle from which she looks thin. I will just say that she's gained 6lbs in the last six to eight months. This is a gain of 13% of her original body weight. And as much as we would both like to believe that it's muscle, it's, um, not.)

Vacation

2010-04-30T09:14:00.003-04:00

Summer break is so close that I can almost taste it. It tastes like freshly cut grass and bike rides and sun and long walks with the dogs. It tastes like filling the hours between 5pm and 10pm with enjoyable activities (like volleyball!!) instead of class. It tastes like normal. And during the school year, I never really contrast my evenings with the evenings of summer, I just do what needs to be done. But man...this close to having a three month break? I am totally drooling over filling my hours with friends and fun instead of schoolwork and stress.

Speaking of which, I had a formal report due in my organic chem lab. And unfortunately, my responsible side fought a losing battle with my procrastinating side. Don't get me wrong... responsibility fought the good fight and made me clean my house and do the dishes, but couldn't QUITE get me to write my paper. Instead procrastination decided that it would be a better use of my time to watch Stephen King's "It." At night. Alone. (Don't ever do this. Trust me.)

The paper was due on Tuesday. I finally made myself sit down and write it on Monday evening. All at once. In about two hours. The formatting of the paper took longer than the actual writing. I think I finished up my edits about 45 minutes before the paper was due. I berated myself extensively and promised to never ever procrastinate again ever.

And then last night my lab TA told me that I got 50/50 points on my paper, and in fact, it's one of the standards against which she graded the rest of the class. Oh and also? She's giving it to the professor who heads up ALL of the sections of ochem lab so that he can use it as a standard as well.

WTF?

This positive reinforcement for procrastination? Not needed in my world. It will just be that much harder to write the next paper in a reasonable timeframe. And at my age? Recovering from the stress of procrastination ain't as easy as it once was. Instead of alcohol, it involves much sleeping and cuddling with dogs and eating of melted cheese.

Mmmmm....melted cheese.

Tonight I am going to fill my hours with ochem homework in an attempt to prepare myself for a final on May 5th. You know you're jealous. Feel free to tell me all about your exciting weekends so that I can live vicariously through you.

Just one more week....

The Bunny!!!

2010-04-28T21:13:00.003-04:00

Fact - Last Thursday, April 22nd, was my last organic chem lab ever. Well, until I get into vet school (note the confidence.)

Fact - Tomorrow night is my first of three finals

Fact - I haven't yet turned to Taco Bell and regular Coke.

Hypothesis - I'm handling things pretty well so far.

Fact - I've gotten word that the final tomorrow is much more difficult than anyone anticipated

Fact - That news almost made me want to get a regular Coke. Unfortunately, zlionsfan has banned me from ever imbibing caffeine and sugar at the same time. However, he didn't outlaw JUST caffeine. Diet Mt. Dew FTW!!!

Fact - I've pretty much decided to live at the home of my chemistry genius friend until our final next Wednesday, May 5th.

Fact - My test scores have increased by 20 percentage points since studying with my chemistry genius friend.

Fact - My chemistry genius friend is the friend who lives with a bunny.

Hypothesis - This makes studying much more enticing.

Fact - last night when I got out of class early, I called the boy and invited him to dinner. He turned me down cold. Instead, I went to study with my genius chemistry friend. Have I mentioned that she's the one with the bunny? Anyhow, when she said I could come over, I asked if she was hungry and offered to bring dinner. She said that they were already making dinner and did I want to join them? They were having steak. Did I like steak?

Fact - while consuming steak and studying, I also managed to get head-butted by an "aggressive bunny."

Fact - I didn't cause it. A cat did. I was just an outlet for outrage.

Fact - it was the most adorable intimidating gesture I've ever seen.

Hypothesis - I'm in love with the bunny. I'm pretty sure you would be too, if you met him. Luckily, I took a picture so that you can judge for yourself. Go ahead and feel free to let me know if my hypothesis is correct.

Fact - I will spend the rest of the evening studying. Feel free to pray for me.

Two's Company...Three makes me Blue

2010-04-23T15:30:00.004-04:00

Blue's back for a brief two week visit while my parents continue their efforts to visit every city in the world. Every time I get to have him home with me, it elicits some sort of response that includes the word, "Bluuuuuuuuuuuuue," or "suchagoodboy."

I don't know how I continue to forget the very distinct differences between Blue and Casey. I think it's perhaps because the cuteness of Blue overshadows everything else about him when, you know, he's not around every day. But now? Man, that dog is clingy. Casey sure does love me, but after our walks, she's off napping on the couch, chasing the cat, checking the perimeters of the house for intruders, etc. Blue would prefer to be right next to me at all times. I'm pretty sure that I'll end up breaking my neck when I step back in my kitchen someday and just fall over the dog lying behind me while I cook. He also fancies himself good at organic chem and insists on helping me with my homework, as illustrated by this horrible cell phone picture.

Ever since my last visit to my parent's house, they've been telling me about a problem they've been having with Blue. Namely that he won't get into his crate to sleep at night. Where he used to just walk right into his kennel with no problems, they now end up either having to literally carry him into his crate (my dad,) or threatening him loudly until he gives in so that the noises stop (my mom.)

I'll be honest. I was over-confident. Suuuuuure they couldn't get the dog into his crate. They're just not dog experts like I am. They are obviously not being calm and assertive. They just don't know how to work with dogs. I mean, Blue may as well be named "Your Highness" at their house with his designated couch spots and routine of going out and coming in with only a single bark as notification that he wants something to change. He rules that place.

And so, the first night visiting my parents, I made a $10 bet with my dad that Blue would go right into his crate with no yelling, no carrying, and no stress.

I won $5. Blue walked right up to his crate and then crouched there, looking at me pitifully as if to say, "If you don't put me in there, I'll love you forever." He required some nudging to take his final grudging steps into his crate.

Still, I was not daunted. "He's just spoiled here," I thought, "We'll get him back to Indy and he'll be just fine."

Um, not so much.

Monday morning was another episode into stopping about a foot outside his crate and cowering like he was going to die. Monday evening before class I almost had him fooled as I raced the dogs down into the basement. Casey rocketed into her crate and stood triumphantly, "WINNER!!" Blue skidded to a stop just outside his crate and stopped. Damn.

Tuesday morning I literally had to carry 50lbs of pit bull down the stairs into my basement and deposit him into his crate. My biceps still haven't forgiven me. Tuesday afternoon I just kept him on his leash and tugged the unwilling dog down the stairs into his crate.

Wednesday morning brought more carrying. Ouch. Wednesday afternoon I knew that my biceps couldn't take another carrying trip, so I walked behind him all the way down to his crate. Each time he tried to turn around, I just body blocked him. Success!

Now? We're back to normal. Blue follows Casey downstairs and into his crate. Sweet sweet success. Because honestly? I couldn't carry him downstairs again. And I know that dogs don't think like this...that they live in the moment...but I can't help but think that Blue didn't really realize how good he had it with my retired parents and his routine of sleeping on the couch all day (not to mention going outside whenever he wanted to.) I can't help but think that he's down in that crate right now cursing to himself, "If ONLY I had behaved better and gone into my crate, they wouldn't have sent me back!"

Don't worry buddy. It's only temporary. You'll be back to being top dog soon. Believe me, Casey's looking forward to it too.

Wherein I am as delighted as a 5-year-old

2010-04-12T10:36:00.005-04:00

I am exhausted today. I feel as though I could sleep for 1000 years if only given a chance.

I'm sure it's no coincidence that I have an organic test tonight.

But I did have a very productive weekend this weekend.

That doesn't mean I spent a lot of time studying...oh no. But I sure did spend a lot of time doing other things that needed to be done. Like sweeping and mopping the entire house. Like quickly cleaning the bathroom. Like walking the dog for hours. Like laundry. Like various female grooming habits that have been ignored as of late.

And THEN, when I couldn't find one more thing that I had on my to-do list before studying, I took a nap.

Believe you me, I needed it. Because then I studied organic chemistry for five hours straight. I discussed it with a friend. I drew mechanisms. I read my notes.

I still don't feel the slightest bit prepared for the test tonight. FYI.

It's okay, though. I feel....at peace. I've done what I can do.

Besides, my friend? The one I studied with for five straight hours? The brilliant friend who got a 91 on the last organic chem test? (Which I didn't even think was possible.) She has a rabbit. Among other animals, because, you know, she wants to be a vet. Like me. Except she has a house. And lots of animals. And....a bunny. And when I went over there on Saturday, there was a bunny just hopping around the living room....interacting with the cats and the people like, "What? It is totally ordinary that I am here."

I was ridiculously geeked about the bunny. I believe my first sentence was "You live with the EASTER BUNNY!!!"

My friend quickly learned that my happiness is on par with a five-year-old when I'm really really excited about something. A fact that the boy reiterated the next day. Because the next day when he came over, I believe the first words out of my mouth were about the bunny and I didn't stop talking about it until he agreed to go over and MEET the bunny.

This song came up a few times.*

Alas, I did not take a picture of the bunny. (Shameful, I know.) But have no doubt that I will. There is still a final to study for. And the bunny? Well he makes the studying all that much more enticing.

Until then, I will just keep repeating, "I do not need a rabbit. I do not need a rabbit. I do not have TIME for a rabbit. I can not have a rabbit." You know, even though my friend keeps informing me that foster homes are always needed. (I could be a foster bunny mom!!)

Oh dear.

*What? I totally watch Veggietales. You have to ask yourself, why don't YOU?

Heartache

2010-04-05T09:13:00.001-04:00

“A Parable of Immortality” by Henry van Dyke.

I am standing by the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch
until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, ‘There she goes!’
Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the places of destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
‘There she goes!’
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
‘Here she comes!’

Unique New York*

2010-03-26T11:41:00.003-04:00

My alma mater won last night. Maybe you heard. If not, feast your eyes on highlights:

And it's sort of a big deal that they won. Sort of a "they've never made it to this level of tournament play before" big deal. But I know that a lot of my friends don't really follow basketball and, you know...to each their own. Whatever. But I do. Specifically, I care about the NCAA tournament, and to be even more specific, I care about Butler in the NCAA tournament. So I was pretty excited about this win.

I didn't get to see one minute of the game, thanks to ochem.

What occurred instead was one of the most unique situations that I've ever been in.

Thinking ahead, I set up z and the boy to send me text updates as the game progressed. I knew I would have zero access to internet or to a TV during my lab, so I thought the text messages would be the best option to keep up on the game. What ensued was hilarious.

The first part of my lab was a lecture. In the basement of the science building. Where cell reception is spotty anyway. And where my lab TA has been known to confiscate cell phones that make noise. (true story.) So I set my phone to silent and took the desk closest to the door of the classroom. I put the phone on my desk and kept surreptitiously checking when a new text would come in. I would carefully type responses so as not to draw too much attention as the lecture progressed. Keep in mind that this was happening in a class of 13 people. THIRTEEN. Looking back, I'm pretty certain the lecturer knew that I was up to something.

As fate would have it, the lecture broke right as we hit halftime, and I got my final update: "35-25 at halftime. Fewest points in 1st half, biggest deficit at halftime for Syracuse." I almost danced up the stairs to the lab where we would begin our experiment, and started plotting ways to keep my phone in my back pocket, but still be able to check messages regularly.

On our way to the lab, I heard the lecturer (who was also leading this lab) ask someone else if they knew the Butler score. I almost tripped up the stairs, when I whirled around to blurt "35-25." He responded, "Syracuse?" to which I answered, "Nope. Butler. Can you believe it?"

What followed was a three minute conversation about Butler's chances, how the first half had gone, and how we couldn't believe they were up 10.

After that conversation, I went ahead and took the liberty of placing my cell phone in the same hood where my partner and I were conducting our experiment. Since the lab leader kept coming by to get the updates that I was getting, I figured I had a bit of license to be somewhat distracted.

Because both z and the boy were sending updates, I was getting different perspectives. When Syracuse pulled ahead, z was careful to never tell me the score...only who had possession and what foul had just been committed. The boy's updates were more irregular and more shorthanded (almost to the point where they could not be understood) but since he was giving me the score as Syracuse first caught up to, and then passed Butler, I could understand his stress.

Then suddenly, for a good five to ten minutes, both boys stopped sending updates. This coincided with a point in my experiment where I was washing my product with reagent and letting it sit for five minutes at a time - three washes. Three intervals of five minutes to obsessively check my phone for updates when, during the last two washes, none were forthcoming. I was fah-reaking out. We've already discussed how I can not handle suspense. And I had nothing. No way to check anything that was going on.

And then there was an explosion.

It seemed that everyone I knew was sending me a message. From "down by 4...they can't buy a basket... 4 min left," to "Woah, your boys r gonna win crazy!" to "holy shit!" to "62-56," "63-56. Syracuse ball," "63-58. 23.6. Foul on Syracuse," "Missed. Foul on Butler. In bounds to Syracuse," "12.7. Shooting foul on Butler. Almost made the shot too," "63-59," "Missed the second! Foul on Syracuse. Two shots. 9.9," "Missed the first," and finally "BUTLER WINS!"

These came in one after another after another. At one point I had 13 messages that I just could not keep up with even though I was reading them as they came in. Usually the first update would come from z (most of the messages above) and would be shortly followed by some variation of the same information from the boy. And then? Then came the Facebook updates after the win where EVERYONE freaked out.

It was unreal.

I know the game was stressful. I've seen the highlights and sorted through the text messages. Watching it would have been awesome. But this was a completely unique experience that was not the completely miserable situation I anticipated. My experience was tension from not knowing. Was jumping up and down while impatiently awaiting the next update and still managing to focus enough to time my reagent washes. My experience was excited chatter with others who didn't really have a stake in the game, but were catching on to my nervous excitement. It was sorting through a plethora of information that came all at once after a long period of knowing nothing at all. And finally it was jubilation that my team had just earned a huge win.

I was supposed to go home and go to sleep after that? No way. I live about five blocks from campus (if that) and if you stepped out on my porch in the rain, you could hear the noise from the students. I couldn't sleep. I watched highlights, I read Facebook posts, and I reveled in the excitement.

And I know that sports don't really matter. I know that I could be posting about any of several other more serious topics in the news lately. But when your team is the David that just beat Goliath? When the underdog gets a chance to say "Nah nah na nah naaaaaah?" It's a unique type of celebratory feeling. One that you want to revel in. To roll around in like a dog in an interesting smell. So that's my PSA for today. Get into sports. It's cheaper than drugs, and the highs are just as high. (just don't ask z about the lows.)

Now cross your fingers for Butler's next game at 4:30pm on Saturday, and if you have a time machine so that I can get study time in (for two tests!!) in ADDITION to watching that game? It would be appreciated.

*bonus points if you can tell me which movie the title came from.

An Open Letter About Karma

2010-03-23T08:16:00.004-04:00

Dear person who hit my parked car and then drove off,

That was rude. I mean, I know there's no way you could have known that I was in a serious car accident a little over a year ago. Or that I had just gotten my beloved Curvy back from the shop where a very scary noise had just been corrected. I know there's no way you could have known that, perhaps as a result of the accident, car stress gets to me in a way that no other stress does. I know.

But you probably did know that my car, being parked in front of the humble abode that it guards every day, is my most expensive possession (and you probably guessed that I don't even really own it yet.) You probably did know, when your car connected with my car's rear left quarter panel and left a visible dent and scratches, that the damage would be expensive and that it was all your fault. That's probably why you drove off in a panic.

You probably had no idea that I had had a conversation about this very situation only a few days prior, and that I totally judged a co-worker when he said that he "wasn't sure" he would leave a note if he accidentally hit someone and there were no witnesses. You had no idea of my level of outrage because in my world? Not leaving a note is not an option. In my world? You own up to your mistakes.

But you know, I can't even be mad anymore. It happened. It's done. There's nothing I can do but suck it up and get my car fixed. There's nothing more I can do but rest assured that Karma is a bitch and I'm sure that what goes around, comes around.

But just in case karma needs some help, I have prepared a list of suggestions for what would befit a person, such as yourself, who would do such an underhanded cowardly thing.

- a pack of wild roaming cats can invade your house, pee on every carpeted surface and piece of furniture, and then disappear without a trace to leave you with the unending smell of ammonia until the day you die.

- your car will suddenly stop functioning on 465 at the point farthest from your home. In the left lane.

- you will be summoned for jury duty twice in 25 months and have to be sequestered both times.

- you will exit your house for a very important occasion (first date? job interview?) and step right into dog poo... the smell of which would follow you throughout the rest of the day/evening.

- Part I: your water-heater will stop working indefinitely, and since you don't have the money for car insurance (why else would you NOT LEAVE A NOTE?!) you will not have the money to be able to get it fixed.

- Part II: you will forget that you don't have hot water every morning until you're already in the shower.

- You will sit in cat puke multiple times in one morning.

- You will be forced to spend family holidays with someone who makes the experience absolutely miserable for you.

- Part I: You will be mistakenly picked up for terrorist activity and as torture, your fingernails will be pulled out one by one.

- Part II: As a result of your captivity, you will contract a nasty case of chicken pox and not be able to scratch.

- Two words: Adult Acne.

- When I leave for school full time, you will apply and be selected to do my job. For the rest of your life.

Any other suggestions befitting such a person? I mean, of course we have no effect on Karma whatsoever, but it sure would make me feel better. The more evil (but not permanent) the damage, the better.

EDIT:
- Ochem. I wish upon you a thousand classes of organic chemistry.

Snippets

2010-03-11T09:38:00.000-05:00

- I am not a veterinary-school-prerequisite-filling dropout. I can't decide if it's because I'm ridiculously stubborn, or if it's because I really want to be a vet and haven't yet given up hope. I'm leaning towards the stubborn.

- I had an ochem test on Monday over the same material that was on the quiz (that I did, actually, get a 50% on.) I actually feel pretty good about it. The test, I mean. Not the quiz. I'm still depressed as hell about the quiz. But the test is worth 100 points, and the quiz was worth 25, so in the grand scheme of things... Anyhow, I'm afraid to spend too much time thinking about my test and how I did lest I jinx myself. I am supposed to get it back today, so if you don't hear from me for the next month or so, just come looking for me in the pit of despair.

- When you're the first person in the office in the mornings, and you happen to be in the bathroom when the second person gets into the office, it's super awkward when they call out "Good Morning" and you answer from the toilet.

- Next week is my SPRING BREAK. I plan to be as lame as ever during that week, but I'm still excited. Getting in to work at 8:00am! Dinner with friends instead of class during the week! NCAA tournament!!!!!!!!

- Yes, I will choose Butler to go all the way. I'm willing to throw away my $5 again.

- My dog is muddy. I would hate on that, but temperatures have been above 50 degrees lately, and I'm so happy I could cry.

- I know I haven't mentioned him recently (mainly because I try not to think about his existence) but I think we may have stumbled upon a new drug regimen for Tyson that just might work and is not out of the boy's budget at $10/90 days. I'll keep you updated on this very exciting news. (Well, in my world. You probably don't care. Unless you live with Cash.)

- My fingers = the same or worse. Thank you for all of the suggestions (I've tried each of them) but I think I'm resigned to have to go see the dermatologist about this. Drat. Maybe I DO have a latex allergy. Does that mean that I would have to quit organic chem lab? Do you think a Dr's note will excuse me? (I know, I know. I'm reaching. But it's nice to dream.)

UPDATE:
The majority of this blog was written yesterday and just not posted. Last night I found out that my professor will not be returning our ochem tests until after Spring Break. So I'm spared a week in the pit of despair. I'll find out on March 22nd. Do you know what happens before then? The NCAA TOURNAMENT BEGINS!!! Woot!! Hopefully I can keep my mind off of the suspense... Go DAWGS!

Drowning

2010-03-04T08:50:00.003-05:00

So I studied all last weekend and then Monday and Tuesday nights for an ochem quiz that I had yesterday. When I got the quiz, everything looked familiar and I was thrilled that it didn't look like Chinese to me. I methodically worked through the problems and felt okay about the quiz...

...until the professor put the answers on the board.

People, I'll be lucky if I got a 50% on that stupid quiz. And I have a test over the same material on Monday.

Tomorrow is the last day to drop out of classes with a W instead of a grade.

All I can think is that I don't want to be in school anymore.

I mean, I know I want to be a vet. I get that. What I'm tired of is feeling dumb. I'm tired of questioning whether or not this whole "I'm an intelligent person" idea that I have is based less on fact and more on self-delusion. I'm tired of not having any free time. I'm tired of putting all of this effort into a class that I won't use ever again EVER and getting such little return. Most of all I'm frustrated. I hate that I can't do this. I hate that I'm drowning under work and school when I'm supposed to be able to handle anything.

I hate that organic chemistry has shattered my confidence.

Because vet school? Very competitive. And my GPA? Can't handle another C in chemistry.

The boy suggested taking a semester off. But if I was going to take a semester off, this should have been it. I mean, summer is coming after this, and that's usually enough of a recharge to get me back on the saddle in August. And if I take the fall semester off this year? Do I really want to delay my application to vet school again? (Answer: no.)

Z asked me if I was willing to do this for five more years. No. No I'm not. But I don't have to. ~~Once~~ If I get into vet school, it would be school full time. OMG I dream about this. It's like my crack. Forty hours more per week with which I could study? Classes that are relevant to what I want to do with my life? Done! Sign me up right now.

Only, I have to get through this part to get to that part. And right now, all I can think is that I don't want to do this anymore.

So I'm sending out an SOS. Help a girl out. Remind me that I can do this. Remind me why I should. Because right now? I can't remember on my own. All I can think is that I don't want to keep getting kicked when I'm down. I don't want to keep putting all this effort into something and barely getting by. Who, in their right mind, would sign up for this torture? All I can think is that I don't want to be in school anymore.

And tomorrow is my last day to make that decision.

Easily Eliminated

2010-02-24T08:54:00.002-05:00

It's wintertime. It's cold. And apparently my low maintenance status-quo is just not cutting it. My body is screaming that I must pay a little more attention to it. I don't know if I'm treating this winter differently than I have previous winters, but I'm dealing with dry skin like you would not believe - even with all the water I've been drinking. Lotion has helped, but in particular, my fingertips are dry, cracked and peeling. Ouch. It's gotten to the point that I notice it all the time - it's pretty annoying.

(Before you ask, no, I'm not touching or using any lotions or creams that are different than my usual routine, and I always wear latex rubber gloves in chemistry lab.)

Of course I made the mistake of mentioning this to my mother and now a healthy dose of motherly guilt is suggesting that I head to the doctor to see if anything is seriously wrong. I don't believe that I have any serious illness but, you know, under the barrage of mother guilt, it's impossible that the door of doubt isn't cracked just a bit. What if I really AM dying? Because it's a little known fact that all serious diseases begin with dry, cracked fingertips, you know.

And so, even though everyone says not to do this, I googled my symptoms this morning. I was totally expecting all signs to lead to cancer, but I was surprised. There were actually some common circumstances/chronic illnesses that were NOT cancer and suggested as possibilities for what I'm experiencing. So I decided to go through them one by one and see if perhaps I did need to go to the doctor after all.

Um, no. Each one that I clicked on had "extreme weight loss" listed as one of the symptoms. That's not happening here... move along. And please pass the hand lotion.

Any suggestions from others?? I would appreciate any help at this point.

Quest for Ice Cream

2010-02-22T11:34:00.003-05:00

(I need to begin this post with an apology to both z and the boy. Because I totally do this to them. And now at least I know where I get it from.)

On Saturday evening, I was heading out the door to meet a high school friend for coffee when my dad stopped me.

"Where are you going again?"

"To Starbucks to meet Kristen, dad. I'll probably be gone about an hour/hour and a half or so."

"Oh. Okay. You want to pick up some ice cream on your way home?"

"Sure. I can do that. What do you want?"

"Do you want ice cream?"

"No thanks."

"Oh, well, then don't worry about it."

I changed my tune. "Sure dad. I would love some ice cream. There is nothing on this earth that I would like more."

He laughed and said, "Forget about it."

"No seriously. I'll pick it up no problem. What do you want? A strawberry blizzard?"

"No. I don't like strawberry."

"Right, right. That's mom. You like peanut butter cup."

"Don't worry about it. Really."

"Oh maybe I'll just pick you up a pint of Ben and Jerry's?" I mused.

My dad immediately perked up and responded, "Do they have pistachio?"

"Pistachio? I'm not sure, but I can look."

"Nah. Don't worry about it."

"Fine."

Now, I don't know if I've ever mentioned how difficult it is to do nice things or buy gifts for my father. He's pretty self sufficient, and when you ask what he wants, you never get a good answer. (When he was working it was always "a new tie" - the man had over 100 ties - and now it's always "a bottle of Beefeater." - there is no shortage of alcohol at my parents house.) My dad is usually all, "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm fine." But this conversation? It was a chink in the armor of self sufficiency. My dad wanted pistachio ice cream. He wanted something. That I could provide! It was now my mission in life to bring home some pistachio ice cream.

I came to find out that this was easier said than done.

I started off by meeting my friend at Starbucks and then hitting four stores on my way home. The first was the grocery store that I had visited earlier that day. Where I struck out. But not after spending about 15 minutes in the surprisingly small ice cream section pouring over every different container. Still, I left optimistic. There were two other grocery stores within five minutes. Surely one of them would have it.

The second place where I stopped closed at 9:00pm. It was 9:10pm when I got there. I was dumbfounded. Seriously? The store closes at 9:00pm on a Saturday? Um, okay. Small(ish) town, I guess.

I tried an ice cream shoppe next. They make their own ice cream, so I was hopeful that maybe they had specialty flavors that no one else carried. Vanilla Bean, they carry. Chocolate, they carry. Pistachio - negative. So much for exotic flavors. However, after three strikes, I decided to ask if anyone knew of anywhere that I COULD find pistachio ice cream. I was directed to the Baskin Robbins on the east side of town. Sweet! That was on the far side of town, but if worse came to worst, at least I had a confirmed supply. I mean, assuming the high school kids behind the counter of a small-town ice cream shoppe were right. Grasping for hope, I chose not to doubt them.

On my way home, I stopped at the final grocery store. They were locking their doors as I arrived, so I just squeezed in under the wire. No pistachio, but they did have spumoni. I vaguely remembered that my father also liked spumoni, and perhaps the green layer in the spumoni was pistachio? (it isn't.) Regardless, I decided not to go home empty handed and bought the spumoni ice cream before heading back to my parent's house.

..where my father verified that the green layer is NOT pistachio, but still shared the ice cream with my mother so I wouldn't feel like a failure. Didn't work.

That night, while out with friends, I was recounting my quest and subsequent failure. I asked if anyone knew where to get pistachio ice cream? I was rewarded with independent verification that Baskin Robbins did indeed carry what I sought. Of course, they were closed by then (well past midnight) but I started plotting as to when I could get some ice cream the next day after church but before I drove the three hours home.

When we left the bar, my friend Jackie suggested that we drive past Baskin Robbins just to make sure. We did, and sure enough, "Pistachio-Almond" ice cream was on the menu. I was giddy. Super-giddy. This is what I blame on why I agreed when Jackie made the following suggestion, "Do you want to just go check Wal-Mart before we head home? It might save you a trip tomorrow."

It was 2:00am. I was tired. The thought of getting up for church was exhausting enough, not to mention the subsequent three-hour drive home. Saving me a trip sounded like bliss. Besides, I figured it was a long shot. I was certain that Wal-Mart wouldn't carry what I needed. No one else in town did. There's no way Wal-Mart would. Psh, Wal-Mart. Like they have anything good on their shelves.

Guess what Jackie found at Wal-Mart?

What a pickle. Seriously. I was torn. Spend money at Wal-Mart? The hated Wal-Mart? A store I wouldn't set foot in even when I couldn't afford real hand soap? The root of all evil? I mean, I sometimes act soulless and unethical, but to actually give my money to a soulless and unethical business??

But... the only pistachio ice cream I had seen in the entire town. (sob.)

I'm a daddy's girl. We all know how this story ends. Tears were shed and tantrums were thrown, but in the end I sold my soul for a pint of pistachio ice cream. I even had to use my damn credit card so there's proof! I feel dirty. Oh so dirty.

Still, the look on my dad's face when he found it the next morning? Priceless.

Not that I was there to see it, mind you. The man gets up at 7:30am. I didn't move until at least ten. But, you know, I can imagine.

An Early Morning Lesson in Small(er) Towns

2010-02-21T23:10:00.005-05:00

This past Friday was my father's sixty-fourth birthday. Since I am the epitome of a daddy's girl, I made the trek back to my hometown for a visit. And since it's scientifically proven to be impossible to buy birthday presents for fathers, I decided to make waffles for breakfast (and do the dishes) on both Saturday and Sunday while I was visiting. Happy Birthday dad!

In preparation, I called my mother to make certain she had most of the perishable ingredients needed to make waffles that would not make the trek with me from Indianapolis. When I found out that she didn't have milk, I offered to stop on my way home, but she repeatedly assured me that she would pick up milk before Friday night...no problem.

Apparently this promise was forgotten. Two glasses of wine into the visit on Friday night (where alcohol seems to be flowing ever copiously,) my mother remembered that she had forgotten to get milk. Damn. No problem...I love my dad...I'll get up on Saturday morning before my dad gets up and buy some milk.

My dad gets up at 7:30am. Everyday.

My hometown is on CST while Indy is on EST.

So not only was I getting up at 7:00am on a Saturday, my body actually felt like it was getting up at 6:00am. I had also had ~~two~~ ~~three~~ a few glasses of wine. You can imagine how happy I was when I went to get milk on Saturday morning.

"I really love my dad," was what I chanted to myself repeatedly when I went to get milk at the crack of dawn. (It was either that or evil thoughts about my mother who had forgotten the milk in the first place. It was with great effort that I focused on the positive. I really really hate mornings.)

When I arrived at the closest grocery store to my parent's house (approximately a three minute drive, I might add) I had progressed from grumpy to crabby to certifiably evil. I headed to the back of the store to get the milk, cursing because I had to walk through the entire store to get to the dairy section, and seriously, what are we really accomplishing by setting up the store like this except making people who only need milk REALLY grumpy because they have to walk five miles farther than necessary in their trek? On my way to check-out, I grabbed a Starbucks frappuccino in an effort to help my mood and keep my familial relations friendly. Then I proceeded to get in the only checkout line open, behind two women approximately 70 years of age and shopping for their grocery needs for the next five months.

I looked around for the U-Scan, and finally sighed in resignation. Stupid small town. Stupid no technology. Stupid wait in line for 10 hours to buy milk and a frappuccino. Stupid waffles. Stupid people who shop for five months at a time. This would be so much easier if I were at home. In Indianapolis. Where there is technology and the world makes sense.

It was at this point in my internal grumbling that the lady in front of me turned around and said, "Honey, why don't you go ahead in front of me? You only have two items."

My early-morning brain literally could not process a response. I stood there in dumbfounded silence, during which the second little old lady turned and made the same offer. "Goodness yes. You only have two items. You go on ahead sweetie."

I should note that I did not know either of these ladies.

I stumbled over a "Thank you" and immediately felt guilty for my evil thoughts of only moments earlier. I shuffled to the front of the line, paid for my two items and got back to my parent's home within 15 minutes.

And it was thus how I was properly chastised by my small(er) hometown. Because you KNOW that for all the technology in the world, there's no way that would have happened in Indianapolis at 7:00am. In fact, the little old ladies up here might have even thrown elbows if I had dared reach around them to get a pack of gum.

Lesson learned. Small town living for the win!

Okay. Maybe not for the win...but not a complete loss. And for me to think that way about my hometown? Progress. Way to go, little old ladies!

I hate everyone. Where's the caffeine?

2010-02-17T08:04:00.005-05:00

So today marks the beginning of Lent.

Obviously, I was raised Catholic.

Being somewhat non-committal on the subject of religion now (I prefer to say that I "make it up as I go") I'm always surprised by the gravity that Lent has for me. By the longevity that it's had in my life. When I was little, it was (duh) because Easter was coming. Easter meant Easter baskets. Easter meant a pretty dress to wear to church. (If I was lucky, there was also a hat.)

These days, though there still are Easter baskets, (that still come from the "Easter Bunny" because my mother rocks) I think I prefer the tradition of the season. (Lord knows it's not the Easter mass that I enjoy... Sorry Lord.) I kind of like the sacrifice. I like the deliberate-ness of taking something small and important out of my life, and every time I turn to do it/eat it/use it out of habit for 40 days, I deliberately think of WHY I am not doing it/eating it/using it.

And why am I giving something up for 40 days and 40 nights? Well, to go into that would be to go into what I personally believe regarding religion and a higher power. And you guys don't want to read that, right? That is not what this blog is here for. Let's face it, you guys want to know what I gave up for Lent.

I don't have any set rules for what I give up each year. I usually just know what it is when I stumble upon it. It has to be difficult enough to be a sacrifice, but it can't be so difficult that I'm miserable for 40 days and 40 nights. In the past (before I had to cut back in order to have the innernetz at my house) I have given up Starbucks. That was difficult enough that I actually did that a couple of years running. Last year I gave up high fructose corn syrup. MAN. That stuff is in EVERYTHING. That was a tough one. When I was in high school I gave up carbonated beverages.

This year, when I solicited suggestions on Facebook, they ranged from the ridiculous (regular Coke - please, people... the goal is not to be miserable) to the non-applicable (American Idol - sorry...I don't partake.) But they led to some considerations. Give up Survivor and my beloved Colby? Somehow I don't think that would be difficult enough. Another friend suggested giving up texting (and blogging) and I was intrigued... until I realized that all that would do is probably raise my phone bill (and, let's be honest, how regular have I been with posting lately??)

As Fat Tuesday wound to a close and I hadn't yet thought of anything to sacrifice for Lent, I started to panic. In the end, instead of just giving in and giving up something reasonable like regular Coke (which would be really tough, but not impossible) I had a complete lapse of sanity and decided to give up the snooze button on my alarm clock. Let me say that again. I gave up the snooze button on my alarm clock. For Lent. For 40 days and 40 nights. No snooze button. I get up when my alarm goes off. Like, I hear my alarm, and then I have to get out of bed.

I can't even blame the boy for this suggestion. I did it all by myself. Madness.

Me. The person who owns several different types of pajamas that all say the same thing, "NOT A MORNING PERSON." Me. The person who my family has learned not to speak to until I've been awake for at least an hour or had Starbucks. Whichever comes first. (My mother gave me a coffee mug for Christmas that says "Crabby." Yep, that about sums it up.) Me. The person who could sleep for 13 hours at a time if you let her. Me. The person who had an organic chemistry lab that lasted until 10:20pm last night and had to be in to work at 7:00am. Me. The person who everyone was afraid to wake from a nap in college (except for one brave soul....) Even today the BOY hates waking me up from a nap. It's not pretty. I do love me some sleep.

The things I'll do in the name of religion....sheesh. I swear. (Wait. No I don't. Swearing is a sin. Oops.)

The first thing this sacrifice did was cause me to re-set my alarm for a reasonable time. No more of this setting-for-5:30am-in-order-to-get-up-at-6:00-or-6:15-stuff. The second thing it did was cause me to practice self restraint when my alarm went off this morning, I couldn't hit snooze, and I had to remember why. The object is not to be bitter when remembering why I'm sacrificing. Yeah. That was a challenge. My entire shower was spent thinking things like, "Not bitter. Doing this for a reason. Deliberately thinking about things that I otherwise might not spend time thinking about. Not bitter. Do not hate the world."

Of course, if my cat hadn't chosen today to poop on my doormat which caused me to realize that no, I hadn't yet gone to the store to replenish my supply of paper towels, I probably would have been a tad more successful.

Anyone else out there give something up? If not, you can still show me some love by giving me your thoughts on how successful I'll be at this undertaking. The boy thinks I'll last a week. He's so supportive.

VD came, and VD went (with a little buyer's remorse)

2010-02-14T16:57:00.010-05:00

It's that time of year again.

I have friends who love love LOVE February 14th, and get flowers and jewelry - the whole nine yards. I celebrate with them. If that makes them happy, then it makes me happy as well. I'm still a girl - I love a good romantic story as much as the next girl. Tell me all about what your husband/boyfriend/significant other did for you. Yay love!

Me? I don't want that. Save your money. Don't buy me flowers - my cat might eat them and they might be poisonous. Do you want to be responsible for killing my cat? Let's buy tickets to go see the Colts play next season. Infinitely more romantic from my perspective. Better yet? Spend Thursdays with me and don't complain when I watch Survivor and root for Colby. Commiserate with me when he's voted off, or celebrate with me when he wins. Even if you don't care. THAT'S what I want.

That doesn't make me bitter or angry or a VD hater. It's just a different perspective. I don't try to get other women to do as I do, I just don't choose to participate in this particular tradition. And that's okay. Personally, after the way I spent this February 14th, I don't think my life is lacking any in people that I love who also love me. There are multiple points of view in the world. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it's good to remember that.

So I say enjoy VD whatever way you do or can. Or not. Whatever. But tell me all about it whether there were flowers, diamonds, or pizza in front of the TV involved. Me? I wore red, ate waffles with two of my favorite people, fruitlessly studied organic chemistry and then squeezed in some quality time with my favorite boy and my favorite dog. No commercialization involved. Just another Sunday.

On a more important topic, I purchased a dress today and am feeling a bit of buyer's remorse. I drove past the dress for over a week before I absolutely had to purchase it lest someone else get to it first. (In case you hadn't noticed, I don't generally react this way to clothing.) The problem is that it was full price. Not too expensive, but still. Emily doesn't like paying full price. So I'm torn. Keep it or return it. So I decided to handle this decision the way I would handle any big decision... I'll let the internets decide.

So, internets... To keep the dress, or not to keep the dress? That is the question. (But don't forget to tell me about your VD too!!)

Never Fear, Casey is here

2010-01-31T13:14:00.000-05:00

For some reason, I've never been scared of coyotes. Wolves, yes. Coyotes? No. I mean, it's not like I would want to come across a rabid coyote while all alone on a pleasant evening walk... and it's not like I've forgotten my first experience with nightswimming where there was very little swimming by Emily and very much twining myself tightly around my companion when random howls began from the nearby vacant country field... but ever since becoming more familiar with dogs, learning their body language and reading about coyotes, I would say I'm more respectful of them than I am scared.

Which is why I didn't have a total panic meltdown last Friday when Casey and I were playing fetch in the woodsy area of Crown Hill near my home and Casey suddenly went tearing off towards the woods. Vaguely confused, I looked at the ball in my hand which had not yet been thrown, then back at the rear end of my rapidly retreating dog. Suddenly my gaze was caught by a flash of movement slightly ahead of Casey. Another couple of seconds identified it as a coyote. A coyote on which Casey was rapidly gaining as she chased it into the woods.

Initially I freaked out and called her name repeatedly. Each time I said her name it was more high pitched and frantic. Casey paid me about as much attention as the boy does when playing Peggle. So I took off in a dead sprint in the direction she was running. Reason (and the fact that I'm out of shape) reasserted itself in about 20 steps, and I stopped and realized that there was absolutely nothing I could do. So I waited and listened for any noise coming from the woods in which Casey had disappeared.

Three minutes later, Casey came bounding out of the woods towards me with a big silly grin on her face and immediately demanded that I throw the ball for her. I checked her over while she wiggled impatiently and tried to snatch the ball out of my pocket (bad dog!) She was fine. Not a scratch on her.

So I was somewhat amused yesterday as Casey and I headed home after another round of fetch and the neighbor across the street came out to warn me away from that particular grassy field.

"You'll wanna be careful, young lady. We've seen a coyote in that field almost every night."

I want to know what went through his mind when I said, "Thanks for telling me. We saw the coyote last week and my dog chased it off, but we'll be careful."

He cast a glance at Casey panting happily beside me and didn't say anything else as he headed back inside.

And I wonder where Casey gets her reputation...

Unique Commodity

2010-01-29T11:07:00.004-05:00

The boy came over one day last week when I was feeling particularly....amorous. I kissed him as he came in the door before he said hello, and he didn't even have a chance to take off his jacket before the kissing turned from playful to serious.

(Don't worry. There's a clear line of things I'll talk about and things I won't. This blog post won't cross it.)

When we finally paused for a moment, the boy took off his jacket (purchased at the outdoor store where he works and probably wishes he could spend all of his time) and tossed it on the chair. My brain to mouth filter was obviously otherwise occupied because I observed and immediately said, "What's that mark on the shoulder of your jacket?"

I immediately cursed myself. Stupid over observant tendency. Stupid off-topic comment. Stupid inability to stop thoughts from becoming words. That totally could have waited.

The boy was immediately distracted from me.

"There's a mark on my jacket? What mark? Where?"

I would have been disappointed at the ease in which he was distracted from me if I hadn't already seen it coming and was prepared. (This whole knowing each other well? It goes both ways.)

"Ahem. Girlfriend trumps jacket?"

"Right, right," The boy turned back to me with a smile and a kiss. "Girlfriend trumps jacket. Jacket is easier to replace."

This time I drew back. "I'm sorry, what was that again? Easier to replace?!"

The boy immediately realized his mistake. "Well... I just mean that you're one of a kind, baby."

"Nice try." (But I won't lie. I was won over.)

The boy sighed. "This is going to be a blog post, isn't it?"

"You betcha."

"Fine. Just be sure to tell them that I said you're one of a kind."

"Sure I will. AFTER you said I was replaceable."

"But you're more difficult to replace than a very expensive North Face jacket!" The boy pointed out helpfully.

"Man. This just keeps getting better and better..."

Can't....Stop....Laughing...

2010-01-25T14:48:00.003-05:00

I apologize in advance if you have a fear of clowns. Or are easily offended. Or have no sense of humor. This won't appeal to you. My sense of humor must not be as refined, because I literally can't stop laughing at this commercial.

Unfortunately, it's an ad for a store I hate. But I literally laugh every time I think about it. The first time I saw it, it literally almost made me pee my pants. Lucky for z, since I was sitting on his drum stool at the time, I was able to control myself.

Still not shopping there. Nope. But I'll sure use this to lift my spirits next time I'm down. Thanks Wal-Mart!!

For Shame! (a roundabout book review)

2010-01-18T09:24:00.003-05:00

I can't handle suspense.

Is this a character flaw? I'm not sure. I just know that I get all stressed and freaked out with suspense and omigod if you've ever watched a movie with me that I have NOT previously seen but you HAVE previously seen? I apologize in advance. In fact, some friends have banned this practice because of my incessant questions. "Does he die?" "What happens next?" "Does she die?" Here's a tip - just answer my questions and I'll shut the hell up.

Although usually? I'll ask the questions even if you haven't seen it either. The boy has resignedly chalked this up to a "cute quirk." The latter usually said between clenched teeth.

When I read a suspenseful book? I read the last page of the book when the suspense gets to be too much to bear. Seriously. Not the entire last chapter, but the last page. I wish I could say it's because I have a dark side like Harry, but really I just want to know if the main character dies.

And while most people judge me for this (You're ruining the story!) in fact, it does not ruin the story for me. It relaxes me so that I can read the story in peace and focus on the details leading up to the ending.

Because, as I recently realized, when I read a suspenseful novel and I get to a suspenseful part, I tend to skim until I get to the resolution. And while most times I'll go back to re-read in detail what I skimmed, sometimes there's something else suspenseful that I just found out about and then....well.... then the book is over too quickly. And I do like to savor my books. Even the suspenseful ones.

With all this stress, one would wonder why Stephen King is my favorite author.

But all of that leads to an explanation for why I got up out of my warm bed last night in the wee hours of morning. I was listening to 'Under the Dome' and since the option of skipping ahead in the book is removed when listening to an audiobook, I was literally to the point where I was going to:
A) Call my cousin and beg her to give me her best friend's (who had already finished the book) phone number so that I could get all my answers
B) drive to the closest store to purchase the hard copy so that I could read the answers for myself or
C) be reduced to begging my dog for answers

Did I mention this happened at one o'clock in the morning?

I was so tired. And I knew that the responsible thing would be to go to sleep, but omigod, is Rusty going to die?! So I got out of my nice warm bed and into my 50 degree house to pull out my laptop and google the book. Casey, who remained under the nice warm covers, thought I was insane. Laney thought I was insane. Heck, I thought I was insane. And yet, there I was. Berating myself while I typed the words into the google toolbar.

For shame. I know. I felt like I was doing something dirty and sneaky. So much so that I left the lights off in my house while I was googling. But what was I going to do?! I had no choice! Seriously! (I knew there was no way my cousin was going to give up D's number once she knew what I wanted it for. And if she did? I had already warned D to stay strong and not give into my begging. I didn't really mean it, D. Always answer my questions. It's for my sanity. Consider it a charitable donation.)

Luckily Wikipedia came through with enough answers so that I could sleep and not enough to ruin the rest of the story arc. And so I was able to sleep. Blessed blessed sleep.

I know. I feel so ashamed. I feel like I should write a letter of apology to Mr. King. But does it count as redemption if I've badgered at least three other people into reading this book just so I have someone (anyone!) to discuss it with? I can't go through this alone anymore.

And so, it was with a heavy heart that this morning I turned off my desktop. And am giving my laptop to the boy. (He's thrilled! All Peggle all the time! Woo Hoo!!!) At least until I'm through this book. Because I obviously can't be trusted. And the desktop is a dinosaur that takes 20 minutes to start up. Twenty minutes in which I will hopefully regain my sanity and step away from the internet.

But seriously. You should SO read this book. Right now. And tell me what happens to Chester's Mill. Because if this is another Needful Things? I need to know now in order to prepare myself.

Random Stuff

2010-01-13T09:10:00.000-05:00

-I think I'm going to love my biochem class this semester.

-I missed work because of illness on Friday. Then I did nothing on Saturday and felt better. Then, when I felt worse on Sunday, the boy suggested that I do nothing again. I literally could not sit still for another 24 hours. Of course, I've felt progressively worse since. Apparently the boy was correct. Just don't tell him.

-In a related note, the little muscle underneath my left eye has been involuntarily twitching for about three days now. You know the one? I'm sure everyone has been through this. You can't do a thing about it. I'm sure it's tied to being sick somehow. I looked in the mirror today and felt sort of sorry for that poor little muscle. Think about how tired it must be! And then I have to stop and wonder if it's burning calories while it's twitching away. 'Cause that would be okay.

-I didn't go to a large public school for my undergrad, and for the first time ever, I was grateful for that fact yesterday. Because if I had to deal with the parking situation I had to deal with yesterday for the entirety of my four years of undergrad study? I would be certifiably insane. In-sane.

-I love my dog. She's awesome.

-I am succeeding in my drinking water goals....just not in my avoiding other forms of liquid part. I'll still drink my eight glasses of water, but I would be lying if I didn't say that more often than not there's also a glass of Coke somewhere during the day. Ugh.

-If I could quit my job, I would. Today. With no notice.

-I paid all my bills the other day, and still had money left over. I was ecstatic until I realized that I hadn't yet paid tuition for the month. Back to reality.

-I messed up and scheduled myself in an organic chem lab where I know no one. Luckily, after I introduced myself as a returning student with a degree taking pre-vet courses (during group intros,) I was approached by another returning student to be their lab partner. Apparently no one over the age of 25 wants to be paired with someone under 21 when a grade is involved. I thought it was just me.

-I hurt for about three days after shoveling my walkway, the sidewalk in front of my house, and my neighbor's walkway free of snow. About halfway through, I knew I would hurt afterwards, but thought that the sense of accomplishment would be worth it. It wasn't.

-I took my dog to play fetch in the snow with two brightly colored tennis balls. I came home with no tennis balls. Apparently I have a dog with a defective nose.

-My cousin gave me Peggle as a gift. Or, more appropriately, she gave the boy Peggle as a gift. Because she's awesome. (Don't know what Peggle is? Go here. You're welcome in advance for the massive amounts of time you will now lose to this game.) Last night I left for my lab at 7:00pm after having dinner with the boy. He said he was going to leave after "a couple more games." When I got home at 8:40pm, he hadn't moved....but he had beaten three more grand master challenges! He ended up going home at 10:15pm. And it wasn't because of me. I could have gotten naked and done a little dance and it still wouldn't have made him put down my laptop.

-I made waffles on Sunday for myself and some friends. And they rocked. I want to make them again, but my recipe makes five and I can only eat one. Anyone want to come over for waffles?

-I have discovered audiobooks and love them. I'm currently in the middle of Stephen King's 'Under the Dome.' But what I've found is that the audiobook stresses me out more than actually reading the book. Apparently (since I can't handle suspense) I tend to skim through the stressful parts of a book when I'm reading to get to the resolution more quickly. With audiobooks this is not possible. My stomach is in knots constantly with this book. I'm not sure it's good for my blood pressure.

-My organic lab this semester meets from 7:30pm to 10:20pm twice a week. But it's only a 2 credit hour course. Can someone explain that to me?

-I turn 2^5 this weekend. I would normally have trumpeted this news long before now, but I feel more mellow about this upcoming anniversary of my birth. Could it be I'm mellowing in my old age?

-The boy, who has been reminded repeatedly of what is coming up this weekend does not think I'm mellowing at all.

Who I Am

2010-01-12T07:32:00.003-05:00

This has got to be the most unprepared that I've ever been for a semester of school since I re-started. I mean, I was heading to campus at 5:15pm for a class at 6:00pm and suddenly realized that I had not purchased an updated parking permit.

Needless to say, I was a bit late getting to class.

Once in class, I was pleasantly surprised by the charisma and outlook of my professor for Organic Chemistry II. If I manage to pull an A in this class, as opposed to the C+ last semester, we'll all know it's completely based on the teacher. (Of course, if I pull another C+ then we'll just forget we ever had this conversation...)

One of the first things my professor handed out was a list of questions and a request that we write a paragraph or two about ourselves. He wants to get to know us. I was thrilled! And completely uncomprehending when I heard the scattered groans from other students around the room.

Let me backtrack a little. Last summer when I started getting together materials for my application to vet school (before I delayed it by a year) I realized that I needed academic letters of recommendation. I knew I would need letters of recommendation from someone I work with (check!) a veterinarian (check!) but I did not realize I would need one from an academic source as well. Bummer. One of the reasons why I chose the smaller school where I completed my undergrad studies was the smaller class size. I knew all of my professors. Of course that was....ahem....over ten years ago. As my mother delicately put it, "You're not even sure if any of them are still alive." This time around, the class sizes are much larger, my schedule doesn't generally allow for me to visit professors during office hours, and I'm pretty self sufficient with any questions I might have anyway (read: I send emails.) So relationships with my professors are scarce. No matter, I just had to make friends with a professor, right?

Here's where the roadblock popped up. Um, I can't. I get ridiculously anxious and freaked out when I have to speak to a professor and either come across as a bumbling idiot, or a complete flake who has to cut the conversation short lest she burst into tears from the stress. Yes, it really is that bad. No melodrama. Ask z who has had to talk me down off of ledges after several such disasters. On second thought, don't. It's incredibly embarrassing.

For the longest time, I couldn't figure out what the problem was. I mean, I'm personable. I'm friendly. People tend to like me. Being a pretty strong extrovert, I have an overflow of personality on most occasions. I can make friends (or at least conversation) with almost anyone. If I like you, I can have a pretty endearing charisma. (If I don't, well, it's...different.) But after thinking about it for a while, I came to two determinations. 1) It's really difficult for me to ask for something (especially something I can't do on my own.) 2) It's really REALLY difficult for me to ask for something that means a lot to me. Therein lies the problem. Becoming a vet means a lot to me.

There's my soul bared for everyone to see.

Still, I'm ~~stubborn~~ persistent. Even though I had a ~~mild~~ massive heart attack every time I did it, I continued to visit my physics professor (by far my favorite professor I've had) over and over until at one point I got enough of my personality through to make him laugh. (During the first visits, I'm pretty sure he thought I was mildly mentally handicapped. But I made a strong finish at the end when I made a quantum physics joke. Sweet.) So all I had to do was ask for the letter.

Yeah, the semester is over and I still haven't asked. Sigh.

So when my ochem II professor asked us to write about ourselves? For a narcissistic blogger like myself? A way to make myself stand out without having to leave my comfort zone?! DONE! Are you sure you want only two paragraphs? Because I can write pages if you want! Pages that will make you laugh, cry, and want to give me an A immediately. After all, answering questions like:

Are you from Indiana?
What are you studying?
What has been your experience with chemistry classes at IUPUI so far?
What are your goals once you complete your degree?

Easy peasy! So why the groans? Especially since the professor seemed pretty easygoing. He said two paragraphs, but he also said that we could just answer the questions with one word if we wanted to (as if!) Or write more if we felt like it. I was so confused. Until I looked over at my neighbor and saw that he was already working on the assignment. Next to the first question, in tiny precise lettering, he had written "yes." And next to the second question, in the same perfect letters, he had written "pre-med."

And it was then that I realized that this personality thing? It might be a rarer commodity than I originally thought. And maybe, just maybe, it will be my saving grace in this quest. At the very least, maybe it will get me the coveted letter of recommendation? Let's all cross our fingers.

My (diabolical) Plan

2010-01-11T11:22:00.004-05:00

I awoke on Sunday morning with aspirations of making breakfast for the boy. Just because. To be nice. 'Cause that's how I roll. Apparently I had forgotten that I don't cook.

I left the boy sleeping peacefully and got into the shower to wake myself up. Once showered and dry I checked back into the bedroom to see the boy still sleeping with Casey curled up next to him. Sweet! My plan was proceeding perfectly.

I went to the kitchen and thought about how to proceed. Normally when we cook together, the boy handles the potatoes and I handle the bacon and eggs. (The eggs are just for me as the boy does not partake.) Since I wasn't feeling particularly hungry, and since I wasn't foolish enough to think I could handle cooking three different things at once, I decided to forgo the eggs. Then, in thinking back to the cooking-together times, I remembered that I am almost always done with the bacon before the boy is done with the potatoes... so I deduced that I should start the potatoes first. Pleased with my logical thinking, I extracted the potatoes from the freezer only to find that they had frozen into one big iceberg of potato in a bag.

No problem. I had faced this issue previously and just went ahead with what one should always do in this situation....which is pound the iceberg of potato on the counter top until it breaks into pieces of potato suitable for frying.

It wasn't until Casey entered the kitchen to see what all the racket was about that I realized that perhaps pounding things on counter tops was not conducive to making someone a surprise breakfast.

I peeked into the bedroom and saw that the boy had rolled over. I couldn't see his face, but he still appeared to be snoozing soundly, so I counted my lucky stars and tiptoed back into the kitchen.

Since I was not as familiar with the cooking of the potatoes, I checked the instructions on the side of the bag to be certain that I didn't screw anything up. The instructions stated that once the oil was heated, the potatoes should be cooked between 4-7 minutes on one side, before flipping the potatoes and cooking another 4-7 minutes on the other side. I split the difference and decided on 5 and a half minutes on each side.

Once the potatoes were safely started and the timer set, I began on the bacon. I figured I had about 10 minutes for six pieces of thick sliced bacon, so I felt pretty confident. Still, I turned the heat up a little higher than usual to ensure that I could cook three strips at a time and still be done within the allotted timeframe.

A little past the halfway point when things were proceeding smoothly, I checked in on the boy (hadn't moved) and decided to check my email. On my way to the living room, I realized that the air was a little hazy and had just enough time to think, "Gee, it's a wonder the smoke alarm hasn't gone off," before the smoke alarm began it's jarring beep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!!!

Casey cowered next to my leg while I froze for a moment before dashing down to the basement to get the step ladder necessary for me to reach the beeping alarm.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!!!

I had no sooner grabbed the step ladder than the smoke alarm stopped. I sheepishly climbed the stairs and was greeted with the sight of the boy standing in the hallway between the kitchen and the bedroom with a thunderous look on his face.

"Morning Honey! I made you breakfast!" I said brightly.

There was incoherent mumbling from the messy haired figure in the hallway. He did not look pleased. It was at this precise moment that the timer beeped signaling that the potatoes were done.

"Here, sit down on the couch and I'll bring you breakfast. Do you want juice?"

The boy shuffled past and tossed the now quiet smoke alarm on the microwave as he passed. I took that to mean that he did, in fact, want juice.

I went to turn the heat off of the potatoes and noticed a familiar smell. The smell of....burning?

I snatched the cover off the skillet to see that the second side of the potatoes were now colored a very dark brown that some might describe as black. Drats. What to do now? In a flash of brilliance, I got some shredded cheese from the fridge and smothered the potatoes. I didn't have enough of any one cheese to do the trick, so what covered the potatoes was an interesting mix of mozzarella, co-jack, and cheddar. I turned off the heat and re-covered the potatoes to let the cheese melt while I poured the juice.

It was at this point that I rescued the bacon that had triggered the smoke alarm. Thankfully, it looked fine.

When I took the boy his breakfast (uncovered with a flourish) I said, "I'm so sorry for the rude awakening. I know that the smoke alarm isn't um, a fun way to wake up. But maybe this breakfast will make up for it? It comes from the heart!" I was hopeful that I would be forgiven. After all, breakfast > rude awakening by smoke alarm, right?

The boy's response was, "Next time you're cooking as a surprise, I suggest breaking the potatoes apart on the front porch." (busted!) And then, "Are the potatoes black?!"

"Only on one side! And I'm not sure why. The bag said 4-7 minutes on each side, and that's what I did."

It was at this point that what was left of the boy's bad mood gave way completely and he said in a bemused tone, "Sweetie, that's only a guideline. You still have to watch them."

"How am I supposed to know that? You always do the potatoes!!" I said a silent prayer of thanks that he doesn't expect much from me in the way of cooking and watched as he ate his "surprise" breakfast. "So? How did I do? I mean, forgetting the pounding and the smoke alarm. Er...on a grading scale? B-? C+??"

Chewing thoughtfully the boy asked for the salt and then said, "I think this is more of a pass/fail. You passed."

"Um, what if we add in the pounding and smoke alarm?"

"Let's not press our luck, shall we?"

It was all eaten and I'm pretty sure I'm forgiven. The next "surprise" breakfast will be waffles which are much quieter. Of course, I'll be sure to take the smoke alarm down first. Just in case.

Gearing up for the year

2010-01-07T11:52:00.003-05:00

I know, I know. I was chastised by JennyG for letting too much time pass between blogs and here I am doing it again. It's not that I haven't had time, I'm just enjoying my between-semester-break too much to actually do anything productive.

Is blogging productive?

What I've learned from this is that I function much better with a schedule. Though mine is admittedly hectic and exhausting, at least things get done. When I have a lot of time on my hands, it's too easy to say, "I'll just do [insert detested chore here] later" instead of having a two hour window when the chore must be done lest I not have time again for a week. Still, I'm not gonna lie... there is some appeal to starting on the dishes, doing about half, and then having the time to finish them up later in the evening or even the next day. (But since I haven't yet tackled the whole 'sweeping of the floor' thing, I still think that Emily-on-a-schedule is the better option.)

This new year's eve passed with less pomp and circumstance than previous years, but it was still a fun time. Looking ahead to everything that's going to happen this year is a bit daunting what with applying to vet school, but when 2011 rolls around I'll know more about my future, for better (Philadelphia) or for worse (Lafayette.)*

Also, since I'm so stupidly stubborn (and apparently I like alliteration) I don't usually like to commit to something unless I'm 100% certain that I will follow through. I have this inability to say "can't" and as such have learned to think long and hard about what I commit myself to. So I don't generally like New Year's Resolutions. A whole year? To do something I'm not already doing? Tell me THAT'S not setting myself up for failure/misery.

So I didn't make any resolutions, per se. I just decided to take action on some areas in my life that I noticed needed some help.

Like getting up in the mornings.

Luckily, the weather cooperated with that. Internets, I have found my threshold for getting up earlier in the mornings, and that threshold is somewhere in the neighborhood of 17 degrees Fahrenheit. Brrrrrr. I can't imagine leaving the house with wet hair in this cold so I have to put some effort into my appearance (i.e. blow dry my hair) as well as get up earlier to do it. I haven't been late to work yet this year....until the snowpocalypse this morning. (On a related note, cuz, if your vehicle currently doesn't have 4WD, or at the least good front wheel drive, I would look into doing something about that before your upcoming move. People are dumb in the snow.)

Another area that needs help? Drinking more water.

I know that I don't drink enough water. And I know that the body could actually use a whole lot more water than most people give it. And this is an easy fix to a lot of problems....so drinking more water it is. I'm not trying to change everything at once, but I am trying to only have one non-water drink every other day while drinking as much water as I can daily. So far so good, and I expect this to hold up until....oh.....finals week. When Coca-Cola is the only thing that gets me through and all bets are off.

So no resolutions, but some minor changes that I'm trying out to see if they stick.

What about you guys? New resolutions/changes? Does 2010 hold anything fun in store for you?

*I'm not even THINKING about the worst worse. I'll cross that bridge (weeping) if I have to.

A Good Guesser

2009-12-30T10:23:00.002-05:00

Due to the tight budget here in my world, the boy's Christmas present was delayed until after Christmas so that I had a bit more time to save up. I did use the extra time wisely, however, and made sure to confirm that what ~~he wanted could be purchased from amazon.com with the gift cards that I have accumulated from the use of my amazon.com visa~~ I was thinking as a gift was something he would need and use.

(We also did the letters that we exchanged last year. Seriously. Love the letters. You should make them part of your Christmas tradition as well.)

A little background info that I haven't mentioned it here because I was originally joking about it and then realized that my jokes were actually hitting home. The boy? He is having a minor crisis about turning 30 in 2010. I'm treading carefully because this is completely unfamiliar territory for me. I celebrated turning 30. The boy? He seems to be having a mild freak-out that is manifesting itself in several ways. So the jokes have stopped, and I'm just watching to see what happens and offering support wherever I can.

The first major change was a workout regimen that started about three weeks ago and is still going strong. So when I heard about the regular running, I suggested an iPod nano ~~to keep him from constantly borrowing mine~~ so he could listen to music to keep him motivated. He seemed excited about this idea, so I hatched a plot to purchase the gift as soon as possible after Christmas.

Yesterday I purchased the nano and at the last minute decided to save my giftcards and just purchase directly from the apple store. The price wasn't different and I can use the giftcards for textbooks. Also (ALSO!) if you order from the apple store, you can get engraving.

So I placed my order, chose an appropriately ~~disgustingly sappy~~ sweet message to engrave, and threw in an armband impulsively at the last minute. I was pretty pleased with myself.

Which means, of course, that I was itching to tell the boy about it. I mean, I'm the person who gives gifts WAAAAAAAY ahead of time if I have them. I can't keep secrets to save my life. (Except your secret. I can totally keep yours.) Luckily, the boy is the same way and humors me when I get excited. Like last night on our way to get pizza.

"I bought your gift today."

"A nano, right? We discussed this. I can't wait. Woo Hoo!"

"Yeah, but there are four surprises about it that you DON'T know. So take that! Ha!!"

"I'll bet I can guess them."

"Whatever. Take your best shot!" I said confidently. "You can even have one extra guess. Five guesses."

"Hmmmm. Okay. You can't buy them pre-loaded with music, right? Soooo.... you got a green one."

(Damn. But that was easy. Green is his favorite color.) "Yes."

"Oh! And you got it engraved."

(Okay, whatever. The only reason he knew that was a possibility is because mine is engraved.) "Yes. And it's incredibly embarrassing. I hope all of your friends see it and make fun of you."

"Whatever. They all know you. And.... you got me an arm band so that I can start using it right away?"

(Double damn!) "Yes," I said grudgingly.

"And new ear buds so that I don't have to use my old headphones?"

"NO! That is incorrect! Ha! You didn't get all of them!!!"

"I have one more guess."

"Oh....right." (Drat that extra guess. Stupid ~~overconfidence~~ generosity.)

"Hmmmm...." The boy considered for a while, then brightened, "I know! You got me the 8GB instead of the 5GB."

I sat in disbelief. I'm not sure why. We've already established that there aren't many secrets surrounding Emily. I am not the enigma I imagine myself to be. The boy cabbage patched in the seat next to me. I sputtered in frustration. If there's a list titled "Things Emily Does Not Like" losing would be in the top five.

If not second.

Or tied with first.

The boy quickly grew serious and said, "I'm already excited. I can't wait. Especially if it has an embarrassing message because it will always make me think of you."

And that made it all better. Because it really is better to give than to receive., and his happiness was the aim all along. But, you know...I couldn't let HIM know that.

"Yeah, and it will remind all of your OTHER girlfriends that I'm still the queen."

Tannenbaum

2009-12-18T20:35:00.005-05:00

Ridiculously enough, I've never had my own Christmas tree before. Never ever. Not because I never thought to purchase one (hello after-Christmas sales. you are my friends.) but because I never found one that called to me. I knew it couldn't be full sized, because Lord knows where I'll be in the upcoming years, and most 4' trees were just...meh. But I also wanted one that required minimal ornamentation because I have a cat, and she likes to play with shiny things.

That all changed at the Lazarus after Christmas sale 2008 where Emily found this awesomeness as the display tree of the Christmas tree area that was the only one left of its kind. If you're wondering whether or not I carried this baby around without a box for 45 minutes while my mother tried to decide whether or not she wanted to purchase any Christmas ornaments and had to fend off questions from three different people who wanted to know where I found it, the answer would be, "You bet your tushie I did!"

I also spent two whole dollars on my four cardinals, and I leave the lights on the tree on in the evenings so that it can be seen through the window while simultaneously running up my electric bill. Funny thing is, I don't regret either action for a second.

'Tis the season!

This Post is About Writing Utensils

2009-12-17T19:25:00.010-05:00

Finals week messes with your head, man. Any, um, peculiarities? Magnified. And I am not without my peculiarities.

I mean, I know I have quirks. But I like to think that I'm a (somewhat) normal person. With a (mostly) logical head on her shoulders. It's not like I believe that there is a huge CIA conspiracy to use mind control on the entire population of America. Or that I believe that if a black cat crosses my path while I'm walking under a ladder I'm screwed. Or that if I break a mirror it's seven years of bad luck. I shrug that stuff off.

Now, SOME people will hasten to mention here that I seem superstitious about things that matter to me. And a bit....obsessive...about the way things are "supposed to be." For example, I really don't like to talk about possible admission into vet school next year for fear I may accidentally jinx myself. And I don't think I'm obsessive (I prefer particular) but I will admit that before going to sleep at night, my bed has to be made "just so." (Seriously, how DOES the boy sleep when there is absolutely no order to the sheets and blankets? I mean, how do his feet not end up hanging out the other end?! And the lumps? I mean, does he just sleep on them without noticing?!)

Okay, so mostly normal. I may have my quirks, but really, who doesn't? But during finals week...man. Finals week does something to your brain. It really really does.

For example. This is my pencil. It wasn't always my pencil. In fact, it wasn't the first pencil that I bought. But since the first pencil that I bought sucked horribly, ever since this pencil swooped in to save the day, it has been my pencil. And since it lives in my backpack, and I always take my backpack to class, I am never without my pencil in class.

My pencil is very important. In fact, since many of the science classes I've taken have been math based, one might say that my pencil is essential. I erase a lot. You might be able to tell this given the lack of eraser on my pencil. Which is why I purchased this eraser to go with my pencil. Only that eraser? Well, considering I've been in school for over two years now, and I've taken 35 hours of classes (all sciences) that eraser was used. It was used a lot. And this year it got used to the point where I had to remove the pretty protective cardboard wrapper that was keeping the eraser all pretty and white (on the parts that weren't being used of course. And let me tell you, this one time I loaned my eraser to this guy and he used the wrong end!! I mean there was very clearly a used end, and a not used end. Why on earth would you mess up the not used end? I lost sleep over this question. If you know the answer, please email me.)

Anyhow. Now that pretty eraser? Well, it looks like this. And though it may look white in the picture, I assure you, it is turning into a dingy grey. And to be quite honest, the dingy grey, no longer sharp angles at the edges thing? It's starting to bug me. It's starting to bug me a lot.

Quirks people! I have quirks!

Besides, having to keep track of both a pencil AND an eraser? Cumbersome. So I decided to get a new pencil. One new pencil. One new very cool pencil that you can not only use by clicking the top, but also by clicking the cool little buttons on the grip portion of the pencil. And it has a new eraser included. Brand new eraser with sharp edges. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Ta Da! Problem solved.

And so I go to my second final last night. And I get out my brand new pencil and begin to fill in the bubbles that spell out my name on the scantron sheet. And something felt... off. It felt... wrong. Like, perhaps I wouldn't pass the final if I didn't stop using that alien pencil immediately.

Seriously folks. I know this blog may not exactly support this claim, but I am logical. I am black and white. There is no grey. I know that my choice of pencil will not affect my mental capabilities enough to cause me to fail my final.

Except... what if it does?

And damned if I didn't open up my backpack, pull out my old eraser-less pencil and dingy eraser and immediately feel much better. One might say I felt like all was right with the world again.

NOTE:
Originally the post ended with that sentence. But I just let the boy pre-read this before posting and he said, "Did you erase what you had already written with the new pencil?"

Immediately worried, I said, "Nooooooo." Internally I was thinking, "SHIT! I hadn't even thought of that!"

The boy responded with a regretful shake of his head and said with complete certainty, "Well then you're fucked."

Is it any wonder I have quirks?

Methinks it may be a tad cold in the mornings...

2009-12-11T11:08:00.004-05:00

Please excuse the terrible picture quality (taken with cell phone) but I could not resist the cuteness that greeted me this morning after I forced myself out of bed and into my cold house to turn up the heat. Apparently Casey saw no pressing reason to get up. She's avoiding eye contact because she thinks that will make it so that I don't get her up, outside into the cold, and ultimately into her kennel for the day. It is Friday, and she looks about how I felt this morning, so I had pity on her and left her alone while I showered. She hadn't moved when I returned. I'm pretty sure that if I could have read her thoughts, they would have been something along the lines of "Nothing to see here. Please move along. Only sheets and bedspread. No dog here. Nope. No dog here."

The Death of Me

2009-12-04T15:36:00.005-05:00

Have I mentioned my brilliant idea for parental holiday gift giving this year? No? Pity. Because now it can't happen, and the universe hates me and organic chemistry is the root of all evil in existence.

Okay, not really.

But sorta.

Finals week is December 14-19. Since I take night classes, my finals fell on the evening of December 15th and the evening of December 16th. On the one hand - suck! Because I have less than two weeks to prepare. On the other hand - wheeeee! I'll be done early and have more time to enjoy the Christmas holiday.

When I was last in my hometown, not visiting my old band instructor, I was discussing the boy and the paradox that is his incredible ability to clean things meticulously coupled with the complete lack of any cleaning in his own apartment. When I was telling my story, my dad laughed and said, "Well, he can come and clean here anytime."

Which got me to thinking...

The boy hasn't seen my parents in a really long time. To be fair, I generally don't insist that he accompany me on trips to my hometown. This is for several reasons. A) His sanity. B) My sanity. C) My hometown isn't all that exciting and there isn't much to do. D) If I'm planning on hanging out with single girlfriends, the boy would be unhappy if I mandated his attendance. E) He uses those weekends to go camping and I'm happy that he doesn't insist that I go with him and F) If he doesn't go, he always has dinner for me when I get back to Indy. But still. I know he likes my parents. I like my parents. I like the boy. The boy likes me. My parents like me. They like the boy. Seems as though we should all get together soon.

Since I skipped out on Thanksgiving, there was no opportunity for the boy to see my family then. And since he has his own family to see, going to my parent's house for Christmas is out of the question as well.

And so I cooked up this plan. Emily + the boy + short on cash = cleaning my parent's house for Christmas as their Christmas gift from "us."

My mother was elated with this plan. She couldn't stop talking about it and asking what, exactly, we would do for her (just leave us a list, mom) and asking if we do woodwork (?!). The boy? For his part, he thought it was a great idea also. We visit for a weekend, spend Saturday cleaning, hang with the parents, eat real stove-cooked food (for a change,) and spread Christmas cheer. Everybody wins. (Plus, I totally downloaded the newest Stephen King book in audio form so even the DRIVE DOWN will be fantastic.)

So we made plans to drive to my hometown the weekend before Christmas. Done and done.

But then I got this email:
__________________________
The exam key has been posted in the Resources folder.
---- The best answer for the box problem reacting 2 equivalents of HBr+peroxide+heat with the cyclohexylacetylene is NOT drawn. The two bromines should be both on the primary carbon (anti-Markovnikov). We have decided to accept both the drawn answer and the best answer. If your paper has an orange correction reducing your score from 3 to 1 for this problem, bring it to me in class or at office hours and I will give you back 2 points.

The final two electronic problem sets were posted yesterday. The first is due Monday (12/7) and the second a week from Monday (12/14).

Finally, and most importantly, the registrar has begun combining both sections to a common C341 Final Exam time this semester. As the registrar has set the time, we must use it. So, the C341 Final will occur in the Lecture Hall on December 19 at 8 am. This time is different than the time for single section classes that was used on the syllabus.

To repeat: the C341 Final Exam will occur in the Lecture Hall on December 19 at 8 am. Please pass the word.
__________________________

I'm sure it's no surprise if I tell you that the email above was sent by my organic chemistry professor.

I'm also sure it will come as no surprise that I was irate. IRATE. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Seriously, do the powers that be WANT me to drop this class? Is this a sign that ochem really is a "weeding out" class and I'm just a weed? Because the urge to go into my professor's office, loudly explain my anger, and then drop the class is almost overwhelming. Is there no end to the misery that this class can bring into my life? Maybe it really will be the death of me?

I knew I had to tell my parents about this immediately as it definitely changes our plans for visiting. However, in order to not shock them out of thinking I am the delicate flower I'm sure they think I am, I called the boy first. And let loose a string of profanity that melted the phone and left the boy frightened for my professor's very soul.

Only then did I call my parents. When my father answered, I told him, "Dad! It's your lucky day!! This is angry-Emily calling and she's a joy to be around. However, I already called the boy and got out all the profanity, so all you get are the tears."

The last phrase trailed off into a wail.

My dad replied calmly, "What's the matter?"

"Myprofessormovedtheorganicchemistryfinalandnowit'sDecember19thateightamwhichmeansIcan'tcomeandclean"

That was said at a decibel that made Casey's ears perk up. My father then did what any loving and supporting father would do.

He started laughing.

I was indignant. "DAD! This is terrible! It isn't funny!!"

He stifled his laughter. "I understand. But if it isn't funny, it's something pretty close to it."

After a day to consider, I have to disagree with him. Still not funny. But at least I gained a tiny bit of perspective. I now have three more days to study so that when I DO take the final (that's worth 38% of my grade) I can kill it. Kill it dead. And then go clean my parents' house like it's never been cleaned before.

Pray for me.

Why I'm not posting today

2009-12-01T08:46:00.007-05:00

I'm not writing a blog post today because it would be all angsty and whiny. All full of things like "organic chemistry sucks" and "My God WHY?!" And when I get angsty and whiny I tend to get all melodramatic and say things like, "You think childbirth is difficult? Try organic chemistry." And, you know, people who have actually HAD children tend to get upset with me.* Even though they probably already know me and know that I don't actually BELIEVE what I said.... I'm just full of "woe is me" and "life, as I know it, is about to end" and "OMG HOW STUPID CAN I BE?!"

This is the stuff that the boy tends to tune out. All the melodrama. You have to sort through all of that to find the root cause of why I'm upset and whether or not it's enough to set off real alarm bells. And if you don't have experience maneuvering this minefield, you might become disoriented by the lamenting and wailing. And the whining and the complaining.

This would be why I'm not posting today.

Because if I WERE posting, I would say things like, "Test scores should not be numbers that can be found on the face of a clock." And things like, "I just don't GET why I'm having so much difficulty with this stupid class [ochem] when I can learn new things about QUANTUM PHYSICS and have no problem comprehending them," or "Perhaps people would have an easier time with this class if it wasn't taught by Satan himself," or "You know, I totally SHOULD take advantage of your office hours, Mr. Professor. Why didn't I think of that myself? What a great suggestion! Tell me, what hours do you have between 5:00 and 9:00pm during the week?? On weekends?"

But I would also offer evidence to the depth of my pain. Like how the boy sent me a text last night that simply said "I love you" and called me this morning at 8:30am. This may not be a big deal to you, but please note that communication initiated by him is generally limited to 1:45pm on Fridays and only because I have programmed a reminder in his cell phone that pops up with "Tell Emily that you love her" each week at that time.**

And since both of those kind gestures from the boy occurred after the sad, sobbing phone call that we had last night wherein I shared my latest o-chem test grade (that actually can be found on the face of a digital clock...and not a number near the turn of the hour, either) they pretty much mean that I'm on the boy's radar under "suicide watch."

But it's not really that bad, right? Because I can see a glimmer of humor in studying for hours and creating your own study guide, only to come out of a test with a grade that's close to your waist size. At least it's the pre-ten pound weight-loss waist size, right?

I mean, really - if it's a choice between laughing and crying? I choose laughing. Like when people tell me motivational stories about how other people passed o-chem with grades that start with an "A" or "B" so I should never settle because it's definitely possible!!! That's motivating, right? Right?! Those stories are particularly uplifting when they come from your mother.

And so, since there are people out there who are actually going through difficult challenges in their life, and people who really do need the help and support of the internet, I'm not posting. Nope.

I'm just going to remind myself that 31-year-old women do not cry over test grades. We save our tears for important things. Like Hallmark movies with names like "A Dog Named Christmas."***

*In my defense, my friend Jess actually had a baby WHILE TAKING organic chemistry. She said it was the most difficult thing ever. That would be why she's in organic chemistry again with me this semester. So see, she succeeded with having the baby, and failed organic chemistry. That should tell you something.

**True story. It works too.

***Sadly, yet another true story.