Cyclothymia

I Guess The Sunshine Prozac Effect Has Worn Off

LA sent me home this weekend with its usual freeway-traffic slap on the ass. Silly me, only budgeting an hour and a half to drive 30 miles! You can try to lure me in with your fabulous weather, open spaces, and gorgeous beaches all you want, but at the end of the day if you make me long for Boston traffic, you've pretty much put yourself in the same class as Detroit.

Also, Friday night I went out in Santa Monica and had possibly the worst club experience I've ever had. Being constantly groped from all sides and enduring a stench reminiscent of...of...I don't know, a koala orgy? Sooooo much fun! However, I draw the line at people touching my face. At least three people reached up and put their (presumably) cum-covered paws on my cheek, while whispering sweet nothings like "I love you, you're precious." Oh, well then, we clearly have something special. And by the way, ecstacy is so 1999.

That said, I have discovered an overlooked upside to LA - for us northeastern girls anyway. People in LA consistently guess my age to be at least 5 years younger than I actually am. I can only assume it's the complete lack of sunlight we get here (relatively speaking) preserving our skin (again, relatively speaking). Boston girls - we may be pasty, fat, poorly dressed, and perpetually angry, but our skin is positively NUBILE. I'll be clinging to that for a while.

And with that, I'd like to send a big shout out to Boston for welcoming me home by spraying freezing rain in my face. You crazy asshole of a city, it's good to be back.

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Support Inappropriate Groping At Bars
Turning Back Progress One Hand At A Time

Clash Of The Not-So-Titanics

BT and I went to paint some pottery last week, and I suppose I should have known it would turn into a showdown since he's ridiculously competitive. If you think I am kidding, here's a short list of things he has challenged me on so far:

• Better hair? (first date)
• SAT scores? (first date)
• Running speed (ongoing)
• Scrabble abilities (yet he won't play scrabulous...typical)
• Chess (he can SO have this one)
• Risk (he's asian, I went to MIT, who will prevail?!)
• FLOWER ARRANGEMENT SKILLZ (no comment)
• Relative levels of gangster-ness. Yo.

The conversation went something like this:

BT: You are so going to regret suggesting this place when I make your work look like "Baby's First Painting"

Me: Have you recently developed some sort of palsy? I'm not judging, I'm just scrambling for some explanation for your total lack of motor skills.

BT: You are so posting this on your blog and taking a poll as to who has the better piece after we get them back.

Me: I'm so not. Facebook, maybe.

BT: Fine, but you know I won't be able to see the results then.

Me: Gosh, hadn't thought about that.

BT: You have to be honest about the results even if you don't get a single vote.

Me: Maybe.

BT: I will not join facebook just to see the results.

Me: *manical cackle*

We noticed at some point that all of the other couples were working cooperatively on a single, shared piece, which made us feel a little guilty for about 30 seconds, until BT was smart enough to point out that while those shmucks were working together to make cheesy pottery, we were working together to make each other laugh. And isn't that just so special?

Projectile Relief

This morning I met with my pre-med advisor* to discuss the Complete Compendium Of the Life and Times Of This Individual I recently submitted. He said lots of supportive things, but I pretty much zoned out after "you will be competitive anywhere you choose to apply" and "you don't have to re-take the MCAT". I have to assume that the immediate wave of nausea and urgent need to pee were due to the insane amount of endorphins my body released in response to the MCAT news. Everybody else who is hit with endorphins gets happy and relaxed. Me? I wet myself and throw up. Which should add some charm to my wedding day.

That means that I really need to seriously figure out where I will be applying. The Boy Toy and I discussed things last night, and he has pretty much exactly the same thoughts I do: west coast great, warmth of the south great, Boston...well, it's home, so we could both live with it. I am always amazed at how compatible we are, but maybe I just had ridiculously low standards.

* Whenever I utter that phrase it makes me feel like I should go buy some ramen noodles and put on my favorite "I'm a slutty whore, but I embrace it, so I must be enlightened!" shirt. Not that, uh, that's who I was at 18. Noooooooooo.

Just Add It To The List

Reason #582983 I'm going to hell: I was reading this story about the horrible crane collapse in NYC that crushed an apartment building and killed at least 2 people. My first thought upon reading this quote?

It's a horrible situation, very gory. There's blood in the street," said Lt. Gov. David Paterson, who takes over as governor for disgraced Eliot Spitzer on Monday.

How would he know? Mr. Paterson may make a fabulous new governor, but as an eyewitness he's rather questionable.

Yeah, that's what sprang to mind first. I know.

Can't Talk No More

I realize that posting has been rather, ah, sparse of late. I'm not dead, dying, or living with both hands in casts, it's simply personal inventory time, also known as "only the beginning of the endless stream of essays you will be asked to spit out as a medical school applicant." I have been doing nothing with my free time lately except writing about my life, and what a special fucking little snowflake I am. Earnestly, honestly, and ever so poignantly of course. I've finished the first twelve essays, and I have nothing more to say. Unfortunately, I have two essays left to write: describe the people who have been significant to me, and describe a challenging ethical situation I've encountered.

The first will be about my physician father who passed away while tending to a malaria-stricken village in sub-saharan Africa. Some of my fondest memories are of kneeling beside him in the battlefield while suturing the wounds of child-soldiers fighting for freedom from whatever repressive regime was in power at the time. I would tell you which regime it was, except that I don't clearly remember. I was only five, and my free time was spent studying mandarin, not local politics. My only regret is that in my grief I forgot to write down the cure for HIV we had discovered together. I plan to spend my summer finding it again, I know it's around somewhere.

The second essay will be about the ethical challenges I've faced while cheating on my taxes. I've struggled with this issue because I care so deeply about honesty, but I also enjoy keeping my money, and in the end I feel lying is for the greater good. After all, Mr. Bush wants me, the Consumer, to spend, spend, spend! I can't do that if I'm giving my money to the government, right? In fact, at the end of the day telling the truth every April would be tantamount to treason, and I hate terrorists.

The end.