And They Said it Couldn't be Done.

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Freakout

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?

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

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.

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

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

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?