Take a Look at My Girlfriend...

I have an announcement.

A lot of people know already because it's not intended to be a secret. Those of you who have not yet been informed, don't take it personally, I just haven't seen you or had the opportunity to tell you yet. As you can imagine, it's kind of really awkward to be having a perfectly normal conversation with someone and suddenly interject with "By the way, I now have a girlfriend. Surprise! Now what were you saying about the tyrosine residue on that receptor?"

Right? Awkward. 

Anyways, I can practically hear people thinking "Wait, what? Oh my God, what happened to you? I never saw this coming!" and to be honest, I didn't either but I guess this is as close to "coming out" as I'll ever get. My sexuality is no one's business but my own. I'm not attracted to women. I'm attracted to Woman. I'm still inclined to ogle the mangoods, but less so now because I am distracted by finer things...or thing as it were (OK it is very uncomplimentary to call her a thing, but y'all know what I mean). I also understand that this is not news that all will accept with open arms and am fully prepared to be shunned, but on the bright side, I have found that this is a quick and easy way to separate the friends worth having from those who are simply convenient or circumstantial. I know that many of you will have questions and I am happy to field them all, just give me a call/text/FB message. I won't be offended...unless they are truly ignorant or subtly accusatory questions. Then I may flip a shit. This is not something I am ashamed about, in fact, if the whole world felt the emotions this relationship gives me, musicals may begin to happen in real life. Musicals of obnoxious Legally Blonde proportions. 

But I digress, this post isn't supposed to be about me. Let me lay down a bit of background first. There are a few people in my life, namely my family, that I was reluctant to tell. "It's different when it's family." I was afraid about how our relationship would change, how they would worry about my future, and I confess, there was even a sliver of fear that I might be disowned. Long story short, for the most part, my family took it well. I wouldn't say they were enthused or supportive of my new relationship, but my Dad stated the bottom line the best: "No matter what, you are my daughter, and I love you." That, of course, made me bawl, but again, story for another time. In terms of what I was expecting, it was the best case scenario. However, in terms of what I was hoping for, I will admit that I was a little disappointed. I love my family and I'm crazy about this girl who is now a big part of my life. Naturally, I want nothing more than to be able to tell my family all about her -- why she's amazing, why I am the luckiest, and why they should be happy for me. Still, baby steps I suppose. So, I guess this post is going to be about all the things I want to tell my family that they're not ready to hear yet. Readers beware, beyond lies diabetes-inducing sappiness...

I've liked this girl for an entire semester. An entire semester wasted agonizing over my sexuality, her sexuality--is she or isn't she...more importantly, am I? When I finally worked up the balls  vagina to tell her, I had three weeks left before Christmas break. This was my plan: 1.) Tell her I liked her. 2.) Apologize profusely. 3.) Ask to still be friends. 4.) Run.

In the end, I only managed to accomplish one of those steps. I told her over text. Then I ran.

She chased me down like I was a gimpy gazelle. We talked. And in the end, she likes me too. Three months. Wasted. I took my sweet time figuring things out and dragging my feet, and now we only had three weeks to figure out what we wanted. That was also the day she asked me to be her girlfriend.

Even though I had one last round of midterms then finals and she had work, we managed to steal time away to see each other every day during those three weeks. Some days, she literally had to set a timer for ten minutes because we would never get any work done otherwise. For our first "real" date (I still say Chipotle was our first date), we went to the aquarium where she proceeded to try to touch every fish in an open tank (I was mortified) while we plotted to kidnap a turtle. Other nights, we would watch American Horror Story together. I would watch, terrified, peeking out from behind her shoulder while she would cackle with glee every time something particularly gory happened on screen...that is if she wasn't dozing off, leaving me alone to deal with the horror of Bloody Face.

When I'm not with her, I'm inevitably thinking about her. I realized how much of a problem this is during Finals week when everyone else around me was studying while I laid on the couch moping in her absence. I'm ridiculous, I know, but I couldn't really bring myself to give a flying fuck. I had three measly weeks with her, and I didn't want to lose any of those precious moments to studying. She is clearly the more rational one in this relationship. She cut me off until I gave in and studied. CURSE YOU, BIOCHEM. I didn't want to study enzyme kinetics or memorize the symptoms of multiple sclerosis, I would have much rather devoted my time to memorizing every nuance about her. I joke that she has completely destroyed my previously uncanny ability to multitask. Whenever I'm with her, I tend to fall stupidly silent, just staring in awe at her face when I think she's not looking. Of course, this makes for very awkward moments when I get caught and try to pretend that I am not a creep. I don't even know why I bother, I'm 99% sure she already knows and it almost concerns me how OK she is with it. She might even think it's cute. Strange.

I have lists in my head of things she likes and dislikes, and I add things to them everyday.

She likes ice cream (Ben and Jerry's Half-Baked but Caramel Sutra is an acceptable substitute) for breakfast. She loves chocolate and would eat an entire bag of Snickers if she didn't have a terrifying sense of self-control. She likes Ke$ha and Cher Lloyd, and though it shames me to admit it, her influence is causing me to find them increasingly more tolerable. She reads the Savage Love column and our horoscopes with me every week. Gorey horror movies are her favorite and her idea of a quality movie involves an old gypsy woman getting stapled in the eye while she toothlessly gnaws on some poor girl's face. She likes to crunch on ice cubes (ice chips ideally for optimum consumption) and has mastered the art of cramming an entire ice tray into a single water bottle. She likes honey and likes stealing/recruiting people to appropriate them from the FFC even more. She can eat a shitload of pineapple. She can eat almost an entire Ledo's cheese pizza but her favorite is still Hop Deli. Mr. Preston will always hold a special place in her heart. I could go on, but I'll spare you....and her. ;}

She drives with one hand so I can hold the other one.

She hates her hair but she'll occasionally let it down because she knows I love it.

She'll drive all the way to my place after working a 15-hour shift just so we can spend 10 minutes together.

She offered to watch The Hobbit with me even though Lord of the Rings puts her to sleep...or makes her walk out of the theatres. This still pains me to talk about.

She "pretends" to be ticklish because she knows it amuses me.

I'll never be able to watch Dirty Dancing again without grinning like an idiot. I can never say "salmon" again without laughing hysterically.

When my cell phone gives off the text alert, I immediately dive over any obstacles in my haste to get it. If it's not her, I brood and glare at the phone until I am appeased. 4600 texts since September, redonk.


If possible, I have a bigger announcement: I am dating a vegetarian. And ask me how many fucks I give? None! That's how crazy I am about her. I like her more than MEAT. (le gasp!)


But seriously, guys? I am the luckiest.

She knows that I can't read time, that I can't do math, that I can't drive, that I'm scared of Santas, that I'd rather watch TV/play Tetris than study, that I have had a torrid love affair with romance novels, that I have a tendency to trip down the stairs or off the sidewalk, and she still accepts me for who I am. This is still mind-blowing to me. When I woke up that first morning after That Night, I giggled to myself for an entire minute because I couldn't believe that this was real life. It was very unattractive.


It's 2 AM and I'm still awake gushing about her. She tends to have this effect on me.


I've had Billy Joel's "For the Longest Time" stuck in my head ALL day.


So as you can see, clearly I am ecstatic. I am thankful. I am blessed. And now I am sleepy.



I hope you all can be happy for me. And if not...just don't tell me. I promise I won't mind. :) Good night!

Without You

Death is easy. Dying is hard. But watching and waiting is the hardest. People who claim that saying goodbye is easier when you've had time to come to terms with it are so full of shit. Three days of texts warning me to prepare myself. Three days of guilt for not being at home to shoulder some of the heartbreak. Then suddenly, I find out through Facebook that you're gone. Fucking. Facebook.

I am trying very hard to be OK. When I talked to Amy this morning, I sobbed like an idiot in the silence of the work study office. I can't accept that just two days ago, I was talking with you over GChat. You were sentient. You were sassy. You were you. And now you're past-tense.

Life without you is looking to be one of intermittent episodes of spontaneous weeping. It is very unattractive. You should see the mountain of toilet paper wads in my trash can, girl. I killed a small tree in your honor. I remember thinking about the possibility of this day when I was in high school, and I could not fathom then how I would feel, how devastated I would be. Now that this day has come, I still can't comprehend my own feelings. So I'm ignoring them. I've spent my day surrounded by people. And when I finally found myself alone, I wept for Amy, I wept for Dad, I wept for Mom, and I wept for you. My entire face hurts from all this weeping. And I feel silly and selfish for it. You were clearly uncomfortable in your last days, girl, and it was selfish of me to hope that you would hold out until I came home.

I can't believe I didn't make it. I can't believe I wasn't there. But I'm thankful you weren't alone when you drew your last breath.

Amy told me that Dad cried when he took you to the hospital this morning. Correction, he cried when he left you at the hospital this morning. This may have triggered my fourth bout of weeping, I don't know, I've lost count now.  I think back to Sebastian and Spencer, but this is different. You were you, you were the Queen of the Wang household. You've left behind this power vacuum and I don't think anyone has what it takes to replace you. Certainly not Abby, she hasn't the balls. And Amy simply couldn't give a damn.

I remember when we brought you home in that box in the back of the Previa, when Dad tore off his Hawaiian shirt Baywatch style to fish you out of the swimming pool, when I had to crawl into the bushes to extract the six beautiful bundles of  life that you brought into this world independently, when you used to rest your head on my knee to shamelessly beg for scraps, when we climbed Mission Peak and you decided halfway down that you weren't having it and we had to carry you the rest of the way, when Dad had you shaved and you gave us the cold shoulder for a week and I cried because all your beautiful fur was gone and you looked like a dingo with a Lassie head photoshopped onto its body...

I used to complain about your bad breath, but now I miss the feeling of your rough nose forcing its way under my arm so I'd scratch your ears.

I'm sorry for all the times I called you Quasimodo. I'm sorry for making fun of your fatty tumor. I'm sorry for that one time I fed you a Jalapeno and also for the Listerine strip.

It's sad, I can't remember what it was like when you could still hear. I vaguely remember that your favorite phrases were "吃飯了!" and "餵狗!" and that you used to hasten into the kitchen whenever Mom made her signature sound of dismay when she dropped something.

Anyone who came to our house instantly recognized your supreme position in our household. In fact, they were probably more excited to see you than any of us. I don't know what I'm going to say when people ask me how you're doing, or tell me that they're soooo excited to see you over the break. I don't think it would be socially acceptable to tell them to go fuck themselves then run into a dark corner to cry.

Dad says he cried, not because he was hurting, but because he was thankful. I'm not so sure I can say the same. I don't like losing, girl. And you were certainly God's greatest gift to us for all these years. Thanks for the best sixteen years of my life. You taught me how to love. Growing up with you, it just came naturally. You showed me unconditional love, despite all the times where I'd make you wait just because I didn't want to get out of bed or pause my TV show. I guess in the end, it really is all about the regrets. I hope you left this world knowing that you were loved, and my only regret is that I wish I could have loved you more. There are only three people I have ever loved more than you baby, and now that you're gone, the number of things I care about in this world has shrunk to three.

I wish I could have scratched your ears one last time and given you a final kiss and hug. I don't think I could have ever brought myself to say goodbye. When I think about going home and not having to check behind the front door to see if you're lying there, I die a little bit inside. I also know I'm probably going to instinctively do it anyways, and then I'll remember, and it'll be like finding out all over again.

I can't bring myself to announce this to the world, so I guess this is one way of doing it indirectly.

I still can't believe you're gone.

I am the shit.

Woke up this morning and it seems the worst is over. The winds have died down and it's not even raining anymore. I took a cursory glance outside my window, and from the tiny block of N. Charles Street I can see, it doesn't seem that Hurricane Sandy has wrought much damage on this part of Baltimore. (Now I am picturing walking outside to find Charmar completely submerged and being like, well shit.)

When I was little, I hated the rain because it always seemed to come at the most inopportune moments -- outdoor birthday parties, trips to Marine World or Great America, etc. It meant I would have to carry an umbrella, which in and of itself I don't mind, but then I would inevitably lose the umbrella and dread coming home the entire day because I didn't want to have to tell my parents. Not that my parents ever really punished me for it. I'd get a disappointed look that would stab straight through my little adolescent heart and an exasperated, "Better find it."

I used to express these complaints about unhappy weather phenomena to my Dad. He used to point outside the glass door and say, "Rain and storms are God's way of changing the seasons. Look at how it makes the leaves fall from the trees." (It sounds way more poetic in Chinese.) I don't know why this anecdote suddenly came to mind, but I have surmised that being cooped up all day under potentially apocalyptic conditions has made me miss home. Sigh. I miss my Daddy and his little unsolicited philosophical insights...(that feeling will fade abruptly once I'm reintroduced to them this Thanksgiving, I'm sure.)

 Anyways, two days off from school, two postponed tests, a four-fold happy circumstance which had me simultaneously over the  moon and overcome with worry that exams will be moved into the four extra days that I will be skipping school after Thanksgiving. Then, while I was still praising Hurricane Sandy for precipitating this exquisite agony, my friend brings me back to Earth -- "56 people have died." (This was yesterday, the death toll has since risen to about 65 in the Caribbean and 10+ in the US)

My initial thought -- "That escalated quickly."

Then I just felt like a giant turd.

Here I am, notes forgotten somewhere after I had flung them across the room, thinking that hurricanes are fantastic and that they should happen all the time just so I can shirk my responsibilities as a student while somewhere in the Caribbean (Haiti), people are drowning, people have lost their homes, BANANA CROPS HAVE DIED. (Sorry, humor is my coping mechanism.) Meanwhile, I haven't even lost power! The second worst part is (the first being the death and devastation), I would have remained blissfully ignorant about the fatal implications of this hurricane had not this obviously more socially conscious friend struck me in the face with this bitter dose of reality.


Again, what shit I am.


This revelation made me ponder further. How ironic is it, that we attend university and seek higher education in order to become more informed, and yet we find ourselves focused so much on the outcomes of schoolwork and exams that it becomes easy to turn a blind eye on the things that are happening in the real world around us. In fact, our perception of the real world becomes limited to what side of the bell curve we fall on. These become the things that matter while all else is put on hold until we have time to worry about them. I know I don't speak for all college students, in fact, I may be only speaking for myself (in which case, allow me to combust with shame).

This Hurricane Sandy, now Superstorm Sandy, business made me think back to Saturday, when I still thought I had two exams this week and was cramming for Diseases and Disorders. I was on a time crunch, but I knew I had to do my daily check-ins with my clients from the Charm City Clinic. Most of the calls went down without a hitch, just the usual, how are you doing? what can I do for you? have a good week, i'll call back same time next week. Then, I called a particular client that had just come back from the hospital. The moment he picked up the phone, I got an inkling from his tone that this wasn't going to be a routine phone call. His medical condition had left him incontinent and his fiance was left with the responsibility of cleaning and caring for him despite not having any medical supplies such as a bedpan or adult diapers. They asked me if I could procure some for them.

I am ashamed to admit that my first thought was along the lines of "Balls, I need to study!!!!" But two hours and six phone calls later, they were en route to receiving the materials they had requested. My first meaningful contribution to a client's quality of life was marred by my own selfish desires and insecurities.

While perched on the toilet this morning (where let me assure you, all my deepest thoughts happen), I reflected on these things and the light they shed (or rather, the shadow they cast) on my character. Do I really place my academic success over the comfort and dignity of any individual? Are my grades more important than the lives of others? Because if that's the case, I should pack up my pre-med dreams and go home right now. With that kind of thinking, I would be better suited to be a businessman or a researcher. (Jokes.) You know in movies when the priest says "Think upon your sins." Yeah, I have a lot of that to do.

Sigh, introspection is the worst.

I miss the sun. I miss home. Two more weeks!

I have four drafts sitting on my dashboard. Gathered over the last few weeks, they are a cyber representation of just how out of my depth I feel lately. Despite school having started a good month ago and despite being three midterms in, I often forget that summer is over. I'm still not accustomed to having to actually think about things, both academically and emotionally speaking. I can't even begin to pinpoint what I'm struggling with exactly. Maybe it's the sad music I'm currently listening to, but I feel a vague sense of despondency, an uncertainty that any effort is worth making.

I don't even know.

Pre-College Memories (f'real this time)

It is 10:50 AM on a Saturday morning and I have already squandered an hour of precious weekend time on Biochem Lab and spent another 30 minutes fretting over my study strategy for the two midterms (Biochem/Diseases and Disorders) I have this week.  Yep, the school year has officially started.

The last few weeks have still not registered completely in my mind. I can't believe we've been in school for three weeks already. With the MCAT and being in Baltimore during the summer for the first time, it kind of feels like I've been here forever. In a good way. Which is weird. What I mean to say is, I'm starting to grow accustomed to Baltimore and may not hate it with the same magnitude and fervor as I have in years past. Miracles do happen.

I think a large part of this gradual change in heart can be attributed to the great friends I've made this summer. (Not to piss on my old/current friends or anything, you guys have helped me survive JHU thus far and I am disgustingly grateful for that.) I mentioned earlier that I would talk about my pre-college experience and I guess this is the blog post where I will (kind of) deliver..

Pre-college was, in one word, amazing. It was different. Maybe even life-changing. I haven't felt this way about something since ADVENT...which some of you may know led to my baptism, which is a whole 'nother can of worms that I will delve into at a later date. (I really need to stop saying that.) I may have lucked out because I had the sweetest kids in the history of ever (7 bEAST! but seriously, what bad things could be said about a job where I am literally paid to bring on the fun. THE FUN WAS BROUGHT. >:]

Our floor theme was Harry Potter. I had forgotten how much of a Potter geek I was in my youth until I spent 45 minutes on FB chat with Lien (despite only being in the next room), punctuating each new idea with an effusive "OH MY GOD. YES." With all the jumping around we did, I'm glad we moved in early so no neighbors could misconstrue our ruckus as enthusiastic, Potter-themed, kinky, acrobatic sex. ("Hey baby, why don't you grab my wand and we can try to make something levitate. I can teach you how to make the 'gar' nice and long." Oh man, that just happened.)

A lot of people talked about how exhausting pre-college would be/is/was, but I found it to be relaxing and therapeutic. I guess I'm just wired a little bit differently. When I'm with a group of people, I'm always wondering "Is everyone having fun? Is this awkward? How can I make this better?" I feel like it's my personal responsibility to make sure everyone is entertained or engaged. To be honest, it's exhausting, especially when you are dealing with uncooperative assholes.  More on that later. (Goddamnit, no. Nothing on that later!) But with the pre-college RAs, maybe it was the right setting or just the right combination of people, but I felt like I could just sit back and be a part of everything, without constantly worrying about the inevitable awkward silences. In fact, I may have spent the entire five weeks shamelessly basking in the peaceful atmosphere of the Wolman office. Compared to the hectic conditions of summers past, this was therapy. Pure unadulterated therapy. I would wake up, grab a cup of coffee, and just park myself in the office. Occasionally, I would offer to help out in order to defuse any suspicions as to why I was there just...chilling, but I'm pretty confident that I spied a few other RAs with similar motivations just chilling alongside me. No shame.

If I were to go into all the details of why I love pre-college, I may end up writing a 10-page essay and I have neither the time nor the writing skills necessary to do so. But here are some of my personal highlights of this summer:

1.) Meals together at the FFC: We had some of the strangest conversations...We discussed the merits of having a tail as an extra appendage, post-shower toweling routines, and even planned weddings. I was a passive observer of more heated debates over the American prison system and the most epic, Sam-Bill-Jack controversy. Never a dull moment in that FFC.

2.) Driving in the SAC vans: One of my favorite memories of the SAC vans is sitting in the back, windows open, blasting Titanium, and just letting the wind wreak havoc on my hair on our way back from the mini-golf course (AKA failed bowling trip). I think the Pre-College program single-handedly enriched my knowledge pop music and iPod. (I downloaded like 30 songs this summer.) Also, I think I listened/sang along to Call Me Maybe about...200 times this summer?
       a.) Driving to the airport with Jimmy and Chibby. Not being able to find the airport. Ending up in the boonies and having to pull a U-ey. Not being able to find the parking garage. All the struggles.
       b.) Almost daily trips to Rita's with Sam. I spent over $20 at Rita's this summer. My life is full of regrets, but this is not one of them. ahaha

3.) RA Sweatshops! Making dorm decorations, dance decorations, and monthdisks. The Marauder Map locator boards and the Weasley Clock Duty Board? BRILLIANT. Rolling up hundreds of dance invitations.

Best conversation:
Jen: "AHAHA. Work, my slaves!"
Chibby: "I do not appreciate being called as such."
Jen: "...OH MY GOD. I'M SO SORRY!!!!"

I may have laughed until I cried.

Monthdisks. Labeling 400 disks. Making DVD covers. Burning disks. Playing "Would you rather?" at the DMC and STILL not being able to stay out past curfew. ( "I would take a nipple on my penis over everything." Oh, Manchi.) Special brand of hell but I guess I have a little bit of masochist in me because I loved every moment.

4.) KMF. Enough said.

5.) Friendship bracelets. I still have callouses on my fingers.

6.) Writing CRs. Omg, my one kid who almost had a fit after being given reduced curfew. Time of my life.

Ok I got to stop. Memory overload. Still pretty sad I missed out on "The floor is LAVA!" and the Nicole is in jail moments. ): But I did enjoy scaring the shit out of Nicole from under the table. (Still chortle thinking about that.) Also miss giving massages to an overworked Carolyn. And Awkward One-on-Ones with Tiffany. (Trust me, the capitalization is warranted.) Guitar Hero nights with Buddy. Sigh. Profound sadness. Almost makes me want to find another table to crawl under.

Oh man, this was supposed to be a quick blog. I knew this was going to happen! Whatever. I'm sure I haven't done this justice because there is so much more I want to chronicle before I forget, but I have to go to the Indian buffet.

I'm thankful for all of my new friends. I'm thankful for these great memories and experiences. And I'm thankful for all the memories yet to be made (like the 11 cups of chai tea I'm about to have with y'all.) I honestly love you guys. :) 

So It Begins

I have grown resigned to the fact that school starts tomorrow. Perhaps it's for the better, as I have discovered that I don't deal very well with free time. Finished a full-length test then proceeded to reward myself with two hours of Tetris and Minesweeper. I would have watched some White Collar except my computer won't let me connect to Hopkins and JHUGuestnet won't let me use pirated sites. #firstworldproblems

I don't feel like someone who's about to take the MCAT in less than a week. But then again, what is that supposed to feel like anyways? Should I be breaking into a cold sweat? Stress eating? Unable to sustain normal bowel function? This ain't Orgo! I'm just looking forward to getting it over and done with so I can move on with my life....and by that I mean start studying for my normal classes. My life is rife with misery.

In addition to leveling up in Tetris (which is getting damn hard,  STOP IT WITH THE T-SPINS.), I also sent about 600 texts today. Apparently, the key to a successful lockdown is separating me from my phone. Best get the surgical tools ready.

I love texting. You know those people who say technology is ruining personal interactions? That's bullshit. Technology just enables us to keep better touch with the people we WANT to socialize with. Bridging state lines at the speed of light, yo. I am Scrambling with friends in Canada. How's that for international relations? Except he's kicking my ass so...WWIII, bring it on. Which leads me to medical students...why are you so good at Scramble With Friends? Shouldn't you be doing something medical instead of finding the words "toluene" and "serine" in every other round? This is getting pretty ridiculous.

 I'm sad to see summer go.Debating whether I should watch some Lion King right now instead of going to sleep so I can have a good cry and get it all out. "NO. WHY DIDN'T YOU MU FASAAAA?"

Discoveries

Yesterday, Mymy and I made a potentially life-altering discovery. One of those discoveries that make you go, "Oh shit, put that back in the box1 Can't be having that around these parts."

The day started out promising. On my way to work, my iPod starts playing some ABBA ("Take a Chance"...best song ever.) and I started the day in an insanely good mood. The optimist in me thought this mood would carry me through the entire day...the realist should have realized that it meant things could only go downhill from there. It wasn't exactly a bad day at work, just business as usual. Long. Repetitive. Brainless work. My favorite. But at exactly 11:30 AM, disaster struck. I made the gruesome discovery (not the life-altering one) that I had forgotten my lunch on the kitchen counter. My painstakingly prepared lunch where I had lovingly spread just the right amount of fake Nutella on one slice of bread and raspberry jam on the other and brought them together in a sacred union of gastronomic bliss. Son of a bitch. Good day dead.

Got back home tired and hangry. Was NOT in the mood to take the full-length and I managed to talk myself into taking a break for a day. Ended up playing Tetris in the library and distracting Mymy from her LSAT studies. Mymy, being the good friend with overbearing maternal instincts that she is, persuaded me to go over to her place instead of marinating in melancholy by my onesies. I brought dinner...she brought hard apple cider.

Thus A DISCOVERY WAS BORN. (duuuun dun dundundun duuuun dun)   Did anyone get Powerpuff girls from that? No? Damn.

Alcohol is an instant pick-me-up. Apparently I don't respond to apple pie or ice cream, but alcohol makes me (reluctantly) joyous. This soon snowballed into a "Hey, let's drink tonight!" and we ended up roping a bunch of friends into a night of debauchery and drunken revelry. OK not so much. We sipped daintily on wine coolers, played King's Cup, and exchanged clothing. Yeah...we're those people.

Twas' a fun night. Wish y'all could have been there.

Online Shopping and CCC

Recently discovered online shopping and made the mistake of signing up for a bazillion mailing lists. Now my email is being bombarded by all these sales that looks amazing. ): Today, I am decked out in my new Hollister shirt (so middle/high school, I know, I'm always a full four years behind). I realized how Californian I look in my flip flops, but I'm embracing it because I am crazy homesick right now. I've had dreams about being back home or being with my parents for the past three nights now. I think my subconscious is telling me that staying in Baltimore all summer was a bad idea. Still, no regrets. I've had a great summer and I know that I've grown and learned a lot in different ways than summers past. Change is always good, right?

Currently chilling in Starbucks and trying to delay the inevitable -- Full Length Round 6. ):  I'm liking the Summer Abby, I feel pretty laid back about everything, no stress on the horizon. Hope this attitude lasts. That's my goal for the rest of my life: don't let immediate situations impact my overall perspective on life. No single event is going to make or break me. Unless we're talking about my death. Or my full body paralysis. Goddamnit, just undermined my entire philosophy.

Also, my attempts to better educate myself on the world are failing miserably. Research articles are SO BORING. Where are the flashy six-packs positioned strategically to capture my attention? Instead, I am presented with colored blobs or diagrams that I can't make heads or asses of. Clearly, I am not PhD material.


Ooh, made my first client calls last night. It was heady; I am a case manager! :D I mentioned earlier that I've just started volunteering at the Charm City Clinic. It's a completely student-run operation where we reach out to the un(der)insured in the surrounding community and try to educate them about and connect them to available healthcare options. As a volunteer, I am assigned clients, most of whom are uninsured but qualify for the Primary Adult Care (PAC) Program in Maryland which gives them access to primary care. Even though there is this great resource available, most of the uninsured population remains unaware of its existence. My job is to help my clients fill out an application, walk them through their options, and make sure they get the healthcare they need and deserve. Very different from what I do at Shepherd's Clinic, and it really has given me a different perspective on the Johns Hopkins Hospital, and on a larger scale, the American healthcare/welfare system in general.

 It's sobering to learn, through extended interaction with my clients, how dependent they are on us for this information. Getting healthcare should not be this lengthy, esoteric process! Many programs offer great benefits, but fail to advertise adequately amongst their target population. Intentional? Maybe. Even things that are taken for granted by many of us, for example, being put on hold, can prove to be barriers to people who have limited access to phones or have few minutes to spare on their sparse monthly plans. Sometimes, my clients ask my questions that make me pause and think, "Say what now?" and I begin to realize how alien what I view as common knowledge because I had the privilege of growing up with healthcare (Kaiser baby, born and raised!) can seem to those who haven't had the same experience.

Just the other day, we had a client who thought the $20 co-pay was the price of medical services rendered. Imagine her surprise when she receives a $300 bill in the mail. Now imagine that again, from her perspective, as someone on a fixed income, paying rent, and supporting a family. The misunderstanding makes her wary of going in for medical care and fosters suspicion of medical institutions in general. Luckily for her, there is a financial assistance program at most hospitals where, if you make under a certain percentage of the federal poverty line, you can apply and have your medical bill waived. That's where we at the Charm City Clinic come in. 

I have learned more from two training sessions/ one day in the clinic than I have in a year of public health classes at Hopkins. Then again, I did spend that year playing Tetris and on Tumblr sooooo.... teehee.

Anyways, here's to doing my small part to making a difference in someone's quality of life!

Braaaains

Got to stand in on my first brain cutting today. It was actually really anti-climactic because the doctor didn't really bother to explain anything and just started slicing away at the brain like it was a loaf of bread. She's all like "Oh, well obvious degeneration in the hypothalamus there." and I'm like "WHERE. THIS WHITE BLOB OR THAT ONE OVER THERE?" Internally, of course. Externally, I am all calm and composed and "Mmhmm"-ing like a boss. (Literally. That's what my boss was doing.)

Still, pretty awesome to see a brain for the first time. Can't wait for Neuro Lab. It was hard to comprehend that I was staring at something that was inside someone's head and functioning just two weeks ago, that the matted net of blood vessels that the MD was yanking away from the cortex once fed thoughts, emotions, and philosophical tangents. Crazy. Definitely not the same emotional/psychological impact as seeing someone's head splayed open on the table, or even an arm or leg being clinically dissected on the slab. It looked like...foie gras, especially when she was laying into it with that large knife. Whooo-ee.

Anyways, that was fun. Then, because we had to wear lab coats to the cutting, my boss was like "Hey, we should get you one!" and I was like "That would be splendid." while I did internal cartwheels of joy. Ordered one with my name on it and everything. :D SO MUCH HAPPINESS. I feel like I finally get to play doctor for real now. Simple pleasures in life, sigh.

THEN, my boss is like, "Today is Tuesday right? JALAPENO POPPERS." I was like "What sorcery is this?" and she takes me to the food truck, Grr Che, outside of the book store. No lie, that was an amazing grilled cheese sandwich. Jalapeno peppers, cream cheese, pepper jack, and bacon grilled between sourdough. Mmmm. The hint of spice was just what I needed to clear up my sinuses. Yeah, it was $7.50, but once a week...I think my pocket...and my waistline can handle that.

Just went to the gym. Spent a good two minutes debating what to do once I got there. Man, I be out of shape! Time to get on that!

Diseased

I am bed-ridden with disease. Except not really. Because I only get free WiFi (hijacked from the Public Health house next door) in certain parts of the room, I am strategically lying on the floor.  Anyways, I've completely failed at being a committed blogger. I really tried. The first night, I had a monstrous migraine. It was so bad, I couldn't focus on the last 15 minutes of my Korean drama. When a migraine messes with my bad romcom fix?...it's bad. The second day, I spent the entire afternoon at Charm City Clinic (which is awesome! More on that later...), went to dinner with friends, and spent the evening with Chumin strategizing for our next FULL day of shopping. I still can't believe the Towson mall only opens from 12-6PM on Sunday. Probably better that way, because I would be a lot more than $100 poorer right now. Tax free week, yo!

Another large part of why I probably would suck at blogging every day....not much happens to me. Certainly not enough to blog about: "Today I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Except I used mocha hazelnut spread instead of peanut butter. Ho ho, I am so whimsical! It was much more delicious than yesterday's sandwich. I think I will make my sandwiches this way in the future." 

...Really. Who wants to read that? Not me two years from now, wondering what I was like in my youth/pre-Med school. I still remember opening the time capsule that our third grade teacher Ms. Jones sent us when we graduated from high school. Third-grade Abby had written, "You were cool once, Abby. Remember that." Hurtful words, third-grade Abby. Hurtful words.

Just woke up from a five-hour nap and have resigned myself to being severely jet-lagged in the morning.Then I thought, hey, my best essays have been written in the wee hours of the morning, I should blog now while my creative juices are...fermenting. How does that expression go?

So yes, I have been contemplating on different topics to write about. I need to practice expressing and defending my opinions on a variety of topics to get in shape for the MCAT Writing Sample. While ruminating over this in the shower, the realization struck me. I have no opinions. I feel apathetic, or at most, ambivalent, about most issues. I've been marinating in a culture of tolerance for so long, it takes a lot to stir me to scream RIGHT or WRONG. I mean, I used to feel strongly about people who smoked. Then a bunch of my friends took up smoking (or revealed that they, in fact, have been smoking all along), and I discovered it wasn't the end of the world. I still love my friends and far be it from me to make them feel uncomfortable doing something that, to them, is part of a daily ritual. At the same time, my friends respect me and, even though they don't have to, go out of their way to make sure I'm not exposed to any second-hand smoke inhalation. Drugs? Well, pick your poison.  Alcohol? Yes, please. You see, I'm just too emotionally unattached to express disapproval or preach about any of these issues. I believe that each individual should be able to make their own choices and not have to take other people's preferences into consideration, especially if the aforementioned others won't even be impacted by these life decisions.

Still, I don't think "I politely decline to take sides on this issue" is going to fly on my MCAT.

I've been brushing up, trying to read some Op/Ed articles, research journals, ethical debates, etc., not just for the MCAT, but so that in the future I'll have more to contribute in a conversation with my superiors than "Awesome." "That's cool!" Or the worst offender, "Niiiiice." Yeah, it's pretty bad.

Ok. I should probably try to get some more sleep. Work tomorrow. :\ I literally got paid $9 this morning for standing around and having an hour-long conversation about irrational parental worries with my  boss and the psychiatrist on staff.  Best job ever.

Continuity

You know that feeling when you're absolutely convinced that something monumental has just happened, that your life will never be the same, that surely tomorrow morning when you wake up, things will be so fundamentally different that you won't even remember what life used to be like before the Big Change? Then life kind of just moves on, the endorphins wear off, and every great thing just  fades into shades of nostalgia and memory. Life's funny like that.

I feel like a momentous chapter of my life has just ended. If my life were one of those Pick-Your-Own-Ending books, I'd be standing at a crossroad debating between "If you'd like to move on with your life, keep reading. If you think it's time to start making crazy life decisions in your emotionally compromised state, throw the book on the ground!" The past six weeks of my life have been some of the most fulfilling and peaceful I have known in a long time. I know most of the other Pre-College RA's would beg to differ, but I am so accustomed to summers being packed with drama, disease, and discomfort (I literally just sat here for three minutes trying to come up with the third alliterative adjective), that this was the first actual summer vacation I've had in over a decade. AND I got paid for it.  I'm not saying that experience has changed my perspective of ADVENT, but it's definitely something I didn't know I needed to prepare me both emotionally and mentally for the impending MCAT lockdown.

I'll eventually write more about the Pre-College experience, but I wanted to preface the upcoming posts with a bit of a warning:

I am writing under duress.

While taking the practice full-length MCAT, I was horrified by the discovery of a Writing Sample section. What. the. Fuck. I literally flinched away from the computer screen at the mere thought of answering the hated prompt. (I didn't. Skipped that section like a boss.) This was then coupled with a reading passage about how the current generation is no longer capable of thinking for itself. That our thoughts are unoriginal and learned. I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE. So yeah, I'm writing these posts to force myself to remember what it's like to form thoughts and put them down in (semi)coherent sentences. Practice makes perfect. Sigh.

So yeah. For the last three days, my world has been work, MCAT, ramen, Korean dramas, empty apartment. If I die young, don't bury me in satin. In fact, don't bury me at all, I'd like to be composted. And if there are roses anywhere NEAR my casket, I will come back and haunt you all. 

Yeah, this is going to be harrowing butt fun.

Nightmare

I must have had a nightmare. When I woke up this morning, my skin felt sticky and my hair tacky with dried sweat. Made me wonder what my subconscious agonizes over that I don't already beat to death under the sun, when my eyes are open,  and even when my eyes are closed but my thoughts whirr onward, refusing to retreat into the refuge of a temporary death.

Well, I guess it's true what they say: No rest for the wicked.

Slitherer Outer

" Of course you hate getting angry! You don’t like anything unpleasant, do you? You’re a slitherer-outer, that’s what you are! You slither away from anything you don’t like!"  

- Sophie (Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones)

I like to think of myself as a slitherer outer by choice. I know the limits of my own short temper; I am familiar with the not-so-passive aggression that seeps out when my tenuous grip on its reigns starts to slip. I know myself enough to know that the essence of my personality boils down to fickleness; I am eternally at some stage in the progression of failing relationships as obsession cools into interest, fades into apathy, lapses into annoyance, and eventually terminates in abhorrence. That's where the slithering comes in. Onto my lengthy list of character flaws, you can also add "selfish". I would rather avoid a problem, -- excise it like a malignant tumor greedily consuming my time, attention, and stunted emotions -- than confront it. Actually, I would say it's one of my Principles of life. (Yes, it deserves to be capitalized.) Is not avoidance just another method of dealing with a problem? If I had a festering wound, I wouldn't poke at it in an attempt to make it go away. I'd let it be and try to keep the pain far from my mind until I am pleasantly surprised by the shiny pink scar tissue that emerges and will serve as a reminder to avoid the provocation of said festering wound in the future. I mean, that's still normal, healthy thinking. I am more concerned by my tendency to wait until the wound is inflamed and weeping pus then declare, "Well, fuck it, I don't need this arm anyways!" before lopping the offending limb off and throwing it away. These are the kinds of thoughts I dwell upon on Easter Sunday.

I am having a crisis of spirituality. Not a crisis of faith. I've been through enough to never doubt that there is one true God who sent his only Son, who died in order to pay the price for my iniquities, and the Holy Spirit, who I invited into my heart when I was young, doubting, and alone. The problem lies in my lack of relationship with God, or more specifically, my lack of motivation in seeking a relationship with Him. If my curiosity were a penis, I'd have sown acres-worth of wild oats. Quite the philandering pee-pee, I'd say. Embracing a relationship with The Highest Authority would mean guilt, and horror-of-horrors, most likely giving up these behaviors entirely. I'm not ready to want that. In fact, I am at a place in my life where I vehemently do NOT want that. My parents have always warned me, "There are some things out there that you just never want to try.". My brain grasps the concept of self-destructive decisions and indelible consequences, but the demands of my insatiable dopamine receptors drown out any rational opposition to these behaviors. (And with that, I have fulfilled my Neuroscience reference quota of the day.) That's how it's supposed to be, living young and wild and free.

 I've grown used to answering only to myself. When I was younger, my parents were The Authorities. Teachers could scold me and send me to the principal's office, but the real guilt and self-castigation could only be evoked by that look of mute disappointment I would get from my parents. Now that I'm older and my parents are satisfied with the conditioning of my guilt response, they are content to settle in their roles as co-consiglieres. One of the biggest chips on my shoulder, of which there are many, is an inability to accept advice/criticism from the Church. I don't like being told to do my QTs. I don't like being asked to pray. Sometimes I feel like a Republican in a sea of loving hippies. I choose the Republican analogy deliberately to convey the degree of self-disgust I feel at my inability to embrace the peace, love, and general all-around well-being. My heart is saying "Let's go!", my pride is saying "No." (Ok, I'll stop with the obscure references.)

Anyways, I've never been a big believer in talking about feelings. I mean, anyone who ever told you that talking about your feelings was "healthy"was a big fat liar. It's just the oldest excuse to pry and satisfy the basic human need to slurp up the juicy details and get in on the down-low. This may be one of the many reasons I'm going to die alone, but I digress.

One of the easiest ways to perturb a Christian is to feign nonchalance. "Yeah, I'm going straight to hell, so I got this one life to make sure I deserve it." This will get you the Face of Disapproval. Some will get angry,  dismiss you, and walk away. Others will attempt to engage you and divert you from this perverted philosophy of paganism (I get my shits and giggles from alliteration), but further flippant remarks will have them excusing themselves to pray for your immortal soul. The smart ones can tell you're just trying to get a rise out of them. They may attempt to put on a neutral face, but the disapproval and concern is betrayed by the slight furrow of the brow and the faint twist of the lips. They may become genuinely concerned. Those are the ones that piss me off the most. Apparently, I don't respond well to other people's emotions either.

So yeah, back to talking about feelings. I don't talk about them because I am selfish and I don't want to deal with, nor do I actually care about, other people's emotions about my emotions. So this is what I do. Write about it. What started out as a quick study break just became an epic rant. I blame Liz Lemon and her decision to finally confront her feelings and tell James Marsden that she loves him. (Yeah, that's how behind I am. Still on the St. Patrick's day episode.) Also Easter Sunday with its holiness and bring-all-the-guilty-people-to-church and redemption themes and promised chocolate that is nowhere to be found....

I know people are reading this (conceited of me, yes) and going, "Wow, what a bad message to send to non-believers." and I say -- well, I say some rude things that would really be a bad message to send to non-believers. If I want to acknowledge that I am flawed, broken, and  at times a totally unloveable or even unlikeable person, I will. Christians are people too. I've always instinctively referred to Christians as "them", partly because I take it as a personal insult every time someone says something like "Christians hate homosexuals" or "Christians support Republicans", or even worse, "Wow, Abby, I thought you were a good Christian girl." It's like getting grief from both sides and there are times I just want to give up and say "Well, can't satisfy everyone, so I might as well just satisfy myself." But again, that's the selfishness speaking.

This is what my sister would call  an "emo post", but whatever, they make me feel better. You know that feeling right after you take a dump that you've been holding for hours because you went to class before you realized you need to go and then had to run and catch a shuttle and start work and just never got the chance for some APT (Ample Poop Time, courtesy of Tatiana)? In one word -- glorious. In fact, I encourage everyone to write their deepest, darkest, not fit for genteel society thoughts down more often. If not to make you feel better, to keep me entertained.

Anyone ever feel this way?

Indecent Glory

There is a certain hour in the night where everything is indecent and thus, glorious. I don't know anyone who would advocate drunk texting, let alone blogging, but hey, GLORIOUS, I SAY.

It was my friend's 20th birthday a few days ago and he's decided to start his twenties off with a bang....or a bang...wah wah waaaaah. Anyways, needless to say, I will most likely be a loyal patron of Pub Med from the very first day it opens its shady doors.

When did your heart go missing?

I've lived the entirety of my conscious life under a penumbra of guilt and I refuse to entertain that silly notion anymore. I will do what I want. You don't know me. I will live limitless. Watch me soar and crash and burn. Honeybadger don't care. Whee!

I'm not going to humor you anymore. Not unless it suits my flights of fancy. You unearth the ugly inside of me and encourage the darkness I've stowed away. My faith is riddled with apathy,  my belief weakened by vice.

I'd rather spend a day worshiping at the altars of consumerism than even an hour pretending to be something I am not.

Divorce is something adults do, so let's take a break instead. I need my space. When I'm distant, what I'm really trying to say is "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT". But politely. So more like, "Shoo, if it's not too much of a bother". Your presence chafes. Your probing questions are poorly masked demands.

My candor is temporary, my feelings inconstant, but one thing will always remain. Don't tell me what to do. Because I will do the opposite just to spite you.

Spring Break

Nothing like eating at your desk, realizing you need a napkin, and finding one lying on the table. It's like a Christmas day miracle. But I digress...

Woken up by my allergies this morning at six. Stuffy nose and sneezing up the wazoo. Instead of getting up and doing something like a productive person, I tossed and turned in misery before picking up my kindle...which only compounded my misery. Several days ago, I was perusing the NY Times Bestselling list and found some kinky romance novel that sounded promising --- Fifty Shades of Grey. Garbage. Utter garbage. I've read better fanfiction. Which is pretty much what this is. Cross out the name Christian Grey every time you encounter it and pen in "Edward" and you have some pretty inspiring Twilight porn...except without quite as much blood fixation. As atrocious as it is, I can't stop reading and unfortunately for me, it's a trilogy. The author's favorite word is apparently "convulsions", and for the life of me, I cannot fathom how that can ever be...pleasant...let alone desirable. Anyways, I spent my morning reading about epileptic sex.

I have a Korean oral exam in a little more than an hour, but really, how do you study for an oral exam? My listening skills are awful. I can't understand what most people are saying even when they're speaking English. BUT, apparently, I have the verbal fluency skills of an ADHD kid on crack. I passed the Stroop test with flying colors when I was getting screened for dementia. Can I get a "woot woot"? Just got an email from my supervisor giving me the day off. DOUBLE WOOT WOOT.

Spring break pretty much started on Wednesday for me, after my Nervous System midterm, my pre-college RA interview, and my Korean written midterm. By the grace of God, my Orgo midterm was moved to the Thursday after break. Phew. So, I decided to double up on clinics Wednesday evening. I went to Shepherd's then after that, tried out the Baltimore Rescue Mission Clinic with WPHLS. I'd always wanted to go but never got the chance. I've heard conflicting viewpoints about it, some people telling me it was the best experience of their lives while others told me they were exposed to TB and were going to die within a week. Needless to say, I was intrigued.

We get to the clinic downtown and park shady-like by the side of the road. The clinic is on the third-floor...I think, and we pass through what looks like a dining hall and cabin bedrooms of a run-down summer camp. Apparently, the clinic is in something like a homeless shelter. When we finally make it upstairs, there are already several people there. Some are obviously Hopkins students, but there are a few people milling about in white doctor's coats who have the bright-eyed, self-assured look of medical students. The one doctor in the room quickly calls everyone to attention.

"Any newbies here?"

Uhhh...I get pushed out into the spotlight. Along with another girl, I'm sequestered off to the side and given a quick three-part crash course in medicine.

1.) SOAP:

Subjective: The patient's chief complaint. This made me very glad I took HERU courses. Gotta bust out my OPQRST and...other stuff I've since forgotten.
Objective: Vitals, etc. Hard facts and numbers
Assessment: This was the best part! After we interview the patient and gleaned all the relevant information we could, we get to present the cases to Dr. Dalton.
Plan/prescription: Dr Dalton then precribes treatment accordingly.

2.) This is where the drugs are. This is where the gloves are. This is where the goggles are. That's the bathroom.

3.) This is how you get HIV. Don't get HIV.

I'm like "Uhh...are we going to be actually interacting with patients by ourselves?"

"Oh, you'll be in groups." Titi reassures me.

Great.

We are ushered back into the group just as they were leaving to enter the waiting room. Dr. Dalton is the nicest man I have seen in a long time. He asks us to each introduce ourselves to the patients and leads us in a quick prayer before clinic begins. "Things always go better when we start with prayer."

Then patients are assigned. Well, not so much assigned as...start walking and wait for two/three students to attach themselves. There was an awkward moment where two people tagged onto a man and I wasn't sure if I was to follow so I stood around helplessly until a seasoned worker caught my eye, gestured at the side room with her arm, and firmly said: "GO."

Yes'm!

I've never had the opportunity to actually interact with a patient before. It was amazing. I don't know how much I'm allowed to say (Who really remembers all that HIPAA stuff?) but I'll err on the side of caution and focus more on what I observed from a social perspective. The patient was very respectful even though it was obvious that he was faced by four inexperienced college students. We had a small netbook for writing down relevant information. From the beginning, we were plagued with technical difficulties. While two students figured out the computer, Jess and I talked to the patient. He looked tense, twitchy almost, and it turned out that he had a history of anxiety which led to a mild case of claustrophobia in the crowded room. I guess what really bothered me was that the two students on the computer kind of acted as if the patient was not there. No small talk, no eye contact, just pointed questions followed by furious typing on the computer, then murmured comments to themselves, to the other students, but never the patient. RUDE.

The worst part came later when our patient had already been assessed by Dr. Dalton. We realized that in our noobness, we had not taken the patient's vitals. The patient was showing signs of agitation and he was clearly not feeling well. He started complaining about how the clinc/shelter was infested with bedbugs and promptly took off his shirt and plucked one off for us to see. The student who was on the computer recoiled in horror. I'm like "Calm yo titties." He then runs off to grab a sandwich bag to get a sample and show the doctor. When he returns, the patient is worse. The student then informs the patient that we need to take his vitals. The patient is irritated and demands to know why we didn't do it earlier. The student, who's been at the clinic before, hands me a stethoscope. I'm like "Whuh." Hello, first time at clinic and I'm clearly incompetent. I don't even know what a full vitals work-up entails.

The student: "You've never taken blood pressure before right?"
Me: "Um, nope. "
He hands me the stethoscope.
Him: "Now you can learn."
He leaves.

What the fuck.

We've already established that the patient has a fever. He's not feeling well, he's agitated, he's claustrophobic and stuck in a small space. People keep on crowding into the exam room to talk to him and he is now visibly upset. Now is not the time for you to give me that shit-eating, smug-ass grin of yours and tell me to bumble-fuck my way through an examination on a distressed patient. As I hesitate, a medical student senses my unease and comes over.

"What's wrong?"
"I've never done this before."

Med student is calm.

"Don't worry, I'll walk you through it."

He introduces himself to the patient. He brings me over. However, after introductions are made, he also senses that the patient is somewhat less then pleased. I quickly explain the bedbug situation and the claustrophobia. At this point, the patient is loudly exclaiming: "FILTHY. This place is FILTHY." The med student, all casual-like, gives me a reassuring nod and gestures me out. He takes care of the problem.

Now I will be the first to admit that I have no balls. None. Not even a travel-size. Still, I'm always open to get my hands dirty (unless it involves spiders) and learn. However, I do believe there's a time and place for everything. We're at a clinic. The patients have come to get treatment. The priority is the patient's comfort, not my own learning. This asshole student with an inflated sense of self-importance acts like the clinic is a classroom where his amount of "experience" (namely, more than mine) entitles him to act like a pretentious prick and grants him the ability to graciously bestow learning opportunities on the peons around him. That is unacceptable. I may have been overly sensitive because as the patient got more and more worked up, my nerves were getting increasingly stretched out. I'm like "Aaaaah, he's not happy. Why don't you guys care that he's not happy, let's make him happy, I must do somethinggggg." When other people are not happy, I feel like I've failed the world in some way. But that's just my own neuroses speaking.

My own biases aside, the Baltimore Rescue Mission Clinic was one of...medical experiences I've ever had. Being the noob, I was assigned to present the case to Dr. Dalton. I know I'm just stringing words together and I'm practically gushing in my own excitement, but there's just something about attempting to speak doctor talk that makes you want to thump your chest and say, "Yeah. That's right. I'm the shit." And the assessment of the patient is interactive. Dr. Dalton asks us what we think the important facts are -- the "hints". Then he asks us how we would treat these causes and symptoms. Actually, he doesn't just ask. He points at you and demands to know the answer. This is particularly unfortunately when you've spaced out because you were too busy eying the cookies on the desk with ardent longing. (But I got the answer right. Find it before the arthritis sets in! I've now much more knowledgeable about Lyme disease.) After you've presented your case, he asks you to respectfully listen and weigh in on other cases as well. My goblet of glee runneth over.

In the end, we did get to help my patient. We got him new clothes, bed bug killing shampoo, and the prescriptions he needed. I talked to him before he left, just to apologize again for the frenetic atmosphere and my own lack of experience. He was very understanding and even apologized to me. For what, I don't know, but when he thanked me for my time, it felt good. Fulfilling. Almost as fulfilling as getting on my knees and scraping the adhesive off that hardwood floor at Remington Outreach. But very near to that feeling of ecstasy and satisfaction.


It's experiences like these that make me question then reaffirm why I want to be a doctor. I'm still thinking, more details on that later. But for now, I'm thankful for these opportunities and hope to keep them coming.

Okay, off to class. Need to start packing/cleaning soon. -___-. Boston, Philly, NYC with my sister in less then 24 hours! Watch out food of the world. Soon you will GET IN MY BELLY.

Best Text Convo I've Ever Had

I'm at work right now, but this was brilliant so I had to post it before I accidentally deleted the text. I'm scanning teleforms when I get a text from a number I don't recognize:

Her: Baby? Are you up?
Me: who is this?
Her: What? Are you with your wife?
Her: Marissa of course baby.
Me: Get thee behind me, Satan!
Her: Huh?
Her: Oh this must be her. Tell my man I said to call me.
Me: YOUR MAN?? Bitch, I will cut you.
Her: Sorry I think I texted the wrong number I was looking for 5515 not 5155 I really apologize...Hungover
Me: Aww, it was fun while it lasted. Have a happy adulterous life! :)


No joke. That is the exact conversation transcribed word for word. Made my day. I think I'm going to make it a habit to text random numbers now and start drama.

"WHO IS SHE. I THOUGHT WE HAD SOMETHING SPECIAL"

Ok, back to work...

UPDATE: Her: "Haha! You so funny!!"


UPDATE 2: So, I was talking to Clinton who says " I suppose now you know the number she was going for...you can warn him". And this gets me thinking of all the ways we can mess with Marissa's poor unsuspecting lover.

Should I text him and say "I know your secret?"

How about "I want a divorce." ?

My personal favorite, coordinate a group a people to text him, one letter at a time, "A-D-U-L-T-E-R-E-R". 

BRILLIANT.

Any suggestions?

Trauma in the Lab

I'm supposed to be taking notes on the Orgo reading right now (I even have the book open to the right page in front of me, honest) but I still can't get over the trauma I just experienced. Allow me to provide a little background:

I used to work in the Yantis Lab so I'm pretty familiar with behavioral experiments. I have a friend who works in this particular lab so sometimes I agree to be a subject over ere too. Two weeks ago, I sign up for a "Learning & Memory Research Study". Sounds innocuous enough. $10 for thirty minutes? Sweet, I'm in.

Fast forward to today, when I go in to actually do the task. I'm told it's an "emotional study" and instructed to rate a series of images on an emotional scale of 1-9. A "1" would denote a very negative emotion, while a "9" would indicate a very positive emotion. Ok, cool, I got this, easiest $10 ever made.

The pictures start off simple enough -- food, scenery, animals. I give these 5-7s, I love my food, and I love my animals...sometimes at the same time. Then, they start presenting pictures of mummies, guns, and crime scenes. I'm like "YAY, CSI" so I give these 6-7s. Suddenly, out pops a picture of a GINORMOUS black widow. It's not exactly a secret that I am scared of spiders. People are just unaware how bad the phobia is. To my credit, I hardly flinch, and I press "1". I start giving myself a pep talk: "OK, got the spider over and done with. No more spiders. You can do this." Then, I notice some of the pictures are repeating. At this point, I get the sinking feeling in my stomach and I'm growing more and more resigned to -- "OH FUCK". Second giant picture of a black widow. I furiously mash on the "1" key. I know there are going to be more, but I reassure myself that I can handle a few pictures of black widows. I keep on going. About thirty pictures later, I'm still going strong, mentally steeling myself for the next picture of a black widow. I'm feeling confident and proud of myself for persevering.

 BOOM. GIANT PICTURE OF A TARANTULA.

I scream.

In my haste to get it off the screen, I may have pressed the "5" key. I do a few more pictures, but I can hardly look at the screen because I just KNOW there's going to be more. My hands are kind of shaking when I push open the door.

"Excuse me?"

Nice lady from the lab comes out.

"I'm kind of deathly afraid of spiders. Do you know how many more picture there are of them?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. There should be about three pictures. Yeah, we probably should have asked about phobias beforehand."
"I might have seen them all then. So two black widows and a tarantula?"
"Umm...well, three of each."

FUCK THIS SHIT.

"I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can do this."

While I apologize profusely, she reaches behind me to close the task, which is still running pictures every 2.5 seconds. She gives me a voucher for $10, which I try to refuse because I didn't finish the task. She insists. Apparently, finishing the task is not a requisite for being paid. Personally, I think she just felt sorry for me because I was visibly shaken. By the time I peaced out, I'm a twitchy, paranoid mess.

This is just the latest episode in a long saga of spider-related traumatic events. I've been afraid of spiders for as long as I can remember. When I see them around the house, I am paralyzed with fear and scream for help until my parents come rescue me. I've been known to run out of the shower dripping and naked. You have no idea how much scarier spiders are when they are only blurry black blobs moving on the wall. And I'm not just afraid of the real deal, I can't even look at pictures of them.

When I was in grade school, I told some asshole boys I was scared of spiders. They thought it would be hilarious to stick the Giant Illustrated Book of Spiders in my cubby. When it came time to go home, I needed to grab my homework from my cubby but couldn't get close enough to take the papers out. I cried. Boys got 45 minute detention. Ha.

In fourth grade, we had to read a story in the textbook called "Fear Factor". There was a giant picture of a tarantula on the cover page. Dale, the nicest boy with the largest hands, covered the picture for me until we turned the page. I've always liked Dale.

Middle school, boys (what's with boys and being douchenozzles) flashed pictures of a spider at me from across the classroom until I cried.

When my cousin came over to visit, my Dad took us to go see a vintage car exhibit. The adjacent exhibit was a Spider Exhibit. My Dad has always believed that I needed to try to get over my fear so he insisted that we go in. I'm tense as hell and keep my eyes fixated on the floor. All of a sudden, I hear my Dad say, "Catch!" and see a glimpse of something flying at me. Without thinking, I scream, bat it out of the way, run outside, and cry my little eyes out until my Mom came to collect me. I think my Dad got the dog house for that one. I recently brought this up when, on a road trip, my Dad tricked me into looking at a giant Black Widow replica someone had stuck to their car door. He says, "I don't remember that." ASSHOLE. My mom was like "Nope, that definitely happened." My sister says, "Oh yeah, that was hilarious."

Also, there was the time I was teaching in Taidong, Taiwan when I suddenly saw a tarantula nonchalantly creeping across the classroom in the back.  "FUUUUHH. WHAT IS THAT." One boy casually reaches out and smacks the tarantula with his slipper. I'm close enough to see its legs go flying. I thought the situation had been defused, then one boy decides it would be funny to scoop up the remains into a dustpan and chase girls around with it. As the authority figure in the room, I should have stopped it, but technically, I had already hied the hell out of there. My TA, who was a native Taiwanese man, was like "Stop running, it'll encourage them".  To which I replied, " I CAN'T. TARANTULA." To my credit, I did not cry.

There was a period in my life where I was not as scared of spiders. I was gradually desensitized by overexposure in Thailand and Taiwan. But I think having gone two years without seeing one in person in Baltimore has brought me right back where I started. Why can't I go to Australia? LOOK UP THE AUSTRALIAN SPIDER. Just thinking about it almost caused a mental breakdown.

Anyways, for those of you who think it would be funny to try to scare me with a spider...don't. I'm serious. I will scream, cry, curse you out, beat you to the ground, unfriend you on Facebook, and never speak to you again. In that order.

God, I'm still seeing spiders everywhere. (shudder) OK. Back to Orgo.

There and Back Again in 20 Hours

Headed down to So-Cal yesterday morning It was a trip that was conceived of months ago, cancelled recently, and miraculously brought back to life again in the final hour. I was supposed to drive down with Vicky to see Priscilla's Young Guild Artist Recital, but we cancelled at the last moment because of a failure to plan until the last second. I had just come to terms with not heading down when my Dad suggests that we go down as a family. I'm like "That's crazy. Where are we going to stay?" But my Dad was undeterred. "If you want to go that badly, Daddy will find a way." OK, I'm fictionalizing a bit here. The real conversation went a little more like this:

Me: "SCREW THIS. I'm just not going to go. Rawr."
Dad: "We could drive down together. It would be great family time."
Me: (glare) "You're an idiot. Where would we stay."
Dad: "We could get a hotel."
Me: "WE PO. NO."
Dad: "...I'll make a few phone calls."

So Dad makes a few phone calls to some church friends who moved to Irvine a few years ago. Unfortunately, both families had just come up to NorCal for a wedding. So the plan to go down south was cancelled yet again. But, since they were both up in the saner part of California, of course we would have to meet -- so dictated by the Asian Code under paragraph 10, section 3, under the heading "20 Years of Friendship". We invite them over for lunch, my mom cooks up a storm (of which I had little to no part because they started cooking at 10 AM. Such an ungodly hour).A good meal merits good conversation and lunch soon became dinner. Grandma Zhu insisted that we let her treat. Now, I like these families (which is not usually the case with my Dad's church friends), and these families like me (which I find absolutely terrifying) so I didn't mind spending the whole day with them. At Ma Jia Guan (a restaurant with amazing knife-cut noodles and giant sesame cakes...OK, too many parentheticals? I'll stop.), conversation veers again towards So-Cal. All of a sudden, LK Aiyi turns to her husband and says: "Give them the key." Her husband doesn't even blink and gives us the key to his house. HIS HOUSE. And after that, it was pretty much settled. We were going to So-Cal.

The trip down was great. My Dad had stayed up until 3AM keeping track of the Taiwan presidential elections. Dr. Ma was re-elected, thank GOD. We started off the trip on a good note. Anyways, I drive the first one-third of the way, which was disturbingly enjoyable. I mean, driving an average of 80 mph and weaving around trucks and slower vehicles? BOMB. I think I hit 95 mph at one point. Yeah, I know. Some of y'all assholes out there are going "Pfffft. 95? Small potatoes." Well shaddup, this is MY moment.

We get into Irvine at around 4:30PM. By this point, my Dad needs to poo something fierce and I also have a somewhat urgent need for the bathroom. We pull up to LK Aiyi's house and I hear my Dad exclaim "HALLELUJAHHH!" as we all race to her front door. Things were gloriously slow-motion-esque as my Dad puts in the key...turns the...can't turn the...Oh hell no. She gave us the WRONG key. My Dad calls her to explain the situation, she is mortified and tells us to go around, check all the windows, try climbing through the back...all of which we do to no avail. My Dad, who is quickly reaching the breaking...bursting...point, piles us all into the car and makes his way towards the closest shopping center. He drove like a maniac under the control of terrorist bowel movements.His savior came in the form of Kohl's. While he's finding sweet release over a porcelain nirvana, my Mom immediately starts shopping. -__-

I call up the Changs, who are the family we actually came down to see and ask them to Google hotels in the area for us. Nehemiah promptly invites us to stay at their house. Now this is the BUSIEST family in the world. They have church duties, people milling in and out of their house like they own the place, and on top of all that, after her performance, Priscilla is leaving for Baltimore the next morning. We protest but really, at the moment, we see now other choice (besides a shit-expensive hotel). Now, as also dictated by the Asian Code, we go to Ranch 99 to buy a box of pears....and an orchid. My Dad's a fruit.

We get to their house and it is apparent from the moment we enter that chaos is afoot. We decide that we most DEFINITELY cannot stay and cause more trouble. Coincidentally, we run into Cynthia Aiyi, who is another friend from church. She invites us to stay at her place, which is (also coincidentally), a house she is renting from ANOTHER church friend. Once all that was settled, we set off for dinner.

Dinner was Bruxie's, some place I found on yelp that serves waffle sandwiches. Amy would be so proud. When we got there, we ran into some people from the Chang church. Turns out, the recital hall is right across the street. The food was delicious, I'll get the pictures from my Dad later. But mm, chicken and waffles, pulled BBQ pork, Irish nachos...good respite from the craziness of two hours ago.

Priscilla's performance was amazing. I stayed awake through the entire performance...which is a huge compliment. It was a group recital with another boy...something de Fazio, which I remember because it's a freaking cool last name...who played the cello. Anyways, amongst all that class, the Wangs were finding it hard to fit in. My mom made me giggle when during the cello performance, the piano accompaniment hit a very obvious sour note. She made such a face of mortification. Then it was giggle loop time. My Dad start pantomiming his interpretation of each song...which always involved a cat, a mouse, and divine intervention. Oh man, class was abundant.

After the performance, I had a splitting headache. Ok, less splitting, more slow, spinning nausea merry-go-round of DOOM. After stopping off at the Changs to drop off the pictures from the performance, we head over to Cynthia's place. When we're almost there, she says, "Man, I hope they have extra blankets." At this point, I'm curled up into a fetal position of misery. My Dad's like, "If there are not blankets, let's just drive home." We get there, there are blankets, but NO WHERE TO PARK. Guh. Apparently, the apartments are close to UC Irvine and they prohibit parking to prevent a massive take-over by college students. Next thing I know, we're heading back up I-5.

Yeah, I'm majorly devastated that we didn't get to ride the hot air balloon, didn't get to experience the much-extolled virtues of Newport Beach, didn't get to gorge ourselves at Gen, but I'm still thankful for the great time I had with our parents. We were trapped into a little careening vehicle of death for twelve or so hours with no internet to cockblock us from real conversation. Yes, three of those hours were dedicated to politics, but still...family bonding time. Bottom line: I had a blast catching up with the family after a semester apart, I got to support a good friend...and see a show that will probably cost me a LOT more in the future teehee, and I stumbled upon great news. >:]

No regrets. Plus, my parents promised to take me to Point Lobos because they know I LOVE the beach. Mmm...ocean, shores, sand. Nothing like that harbor shit. Baltimore is ass.

Republican Debate

I'm not the most politically conscious person, but hanging out with Kimberly for the past three consecutive days made me pause when I came across the debate while channel-surfing. Call it morbid curiosity, if you will. I mean, if I'm going to disagree with Republicans, I should at least know what it is exactly I'm disagreeing with...

First of all, I love the standing arrangement. Romney in the middle, flanked by Santorum and Ron Paul. Gringrich is a bit further off center. Then waaaaay off to the side, you got Rick pArry and Jon Huntsman. SAD! But hilarious.

Anyways, if I were to play the average citizen and evaluate the candidates by appearances alone, I must concede that Romney does look the most "presidential" out of the bunch. Santorum lacks a chin, Ron Paul looks like a cross between Gandalf and Master Oogway, and Gingrich looks like a squib. I think Rick Perry  would come in second-place for the most presidential-looking candidate cuz DAMN he wears nice suits, except he's got that dumbass look so reminiscent of George W. Bush. Poor Jon Huntsman just looked so eager to please--"Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! Pan the camera over here!"

Look at all 'em candidates with their patriotic pins. BUT WHAT'S THIS? WHERE'S RON PAUL'S?? He clearly hates America.

So I'm watching the debate and I didn't even realize that I was commenting out loud until my mom goes, "If it makes you so angry, why are you still watching?" BECAUSE I MUST MOTHER. If America falls into the hands of one these...lovely people, God forbid, I would like to be able to predict how our nation as we know it will go to shit...well, faster than it is now, anyways.

The one thing that irked me was how little respect the candidates showed our current president. Anything is always "better than what we have now". Why can't we politely disagree? Why does everything have to be " I disagree with you so I'm going to completely ignore anything you've accomplished." So frustrating.

Speaking of respect, Huntsman breaks out in Chinese! Mad props. Apparently, he's the former ambassador to China and he called out Mitt Romney in Chinese saying he knows nothing about the economic situation with China. I laughed out loud.

I'm not going to go into my own opinions, but let's just say I had a GRAND time listening to the debate over gay marriage, hypothetical bans on contraception, and military spending.

Come Monday, my registration for an absentee ballot is going out in the mail. MONDAY...because today is SATURDAY and mail is not MAILED until MONDAY. D:

God, with Taiwan and American politics going down simultaneously, I have such low esteem for mankind.