Oh Woa Woa, I'm on Fire

This weekend was my swim team (DCAC)'s annual Fall Ball invitational meet, of which I was a volunteer. I decided a while ago that I was not going to compete because I'm nowhere near in the shape that I'd like to be in order to participate; plus, I also don't want the added stress of worrying about competition while I'm school (I'll be lucky to get in more than 2 workouts a week, I figure).

Anyway, it was a good time because I served as runner between the Timers and the Clerk of Course, which basically meant I got to see and talk to a bunch of volunteers and swimmers throughout the day. I flirted with some of them, and amazingly enough got flirted back at also.

Saturday night was the after-meet reception at Halo which was also a good time. I didn't really eat dinner so after a few free drinks (pocket stuffed with free drink coupons - score) I was feeling buzzed and happy. And also, the stars seemed to be aligned in a way they rarely seem to be these days, and I received some attention from a few gentlemen callers, which made me feel even more buzzed and happy. (Although, sadly, not an ounce of attention from Crush #1, who is, 1) mind-numbingly cute and; 2) also [I found out] single, and for these two reasons had guys surrounding him all night like white on rice.)

But I digress.

The night before I'd met a guy (let's call him L) at Vapiano and to make a long story short ended up back at his place, making out on his couch. Yes, I'm a bit lonely; and yes, maybe a bit needy (and yes, more than a bit "anxious" as Beetlejuice would say); and L is a great kisser. We were going at it for a long time, exploring each other's mouths, bodies, etc. It felt really good. Duh.

"Let's go into the bedroom," he said finally. And most of me really wanted to. But then suddenly I had a moment of clarity. There was focus. And this weird little voice inside me. Seemingly before I could stop myself, I was blurting out words:

Me: "Umm, there's something you should know..."

L: "... You're married?"

Me: "Ha! No. I'm... celibate."

L: "Ha, good one!"

Me: "Uh, no. I'm serious..."

L: "Seriously? As in ..?"

Me: "Yep, as in I don't ..."

L: "..."

Me: "Yeah... Sorry."

And I explained all the reasons: Trying to stay focused; not wanting a distraction; wanting a little discipline in my life; and although he was cool about it, I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a freak (and not in a good way, like in a Superfreak kind of way).

Since I'd pretty much killed the mood at that point, the only thing left to do was go home. In the rain. At 3 am. And as much as it kinda sucked excusing myself from such a fun situation, I am glad that I was able to maintain some control.

On the long, rainy walk home I rewarded myself with a Big Mac from the all-night McDonald's on 17th St. Because really, the next best substitute to sex is an order of soggy super-sized fries.

Casualties of My Lifestyle Change (Pt. II)

[Ed. Note: See here for Pt. I]

And yeah, this one stings a little:

8. Flying home to Chicago whenever I want.

Since I arrived last month I set as a goal a non-specific weekend date in October to return back to Chicago to visit friends and family.*

I thought about Columbus Day Weekend, because 1) it is a three day-er for me; and 2) it is the same weekend as the Marathon, for which I could go cheer on a few friends.

Tickets are hovering around $300. I just can't afford it (anymore). And it isn't like I'm waiting until the last minute - prices have been this high for the last 2 weeks.

Ditto for the weekend after that, too. Looks like I may try again for early November.

I was once naive to believe that there might still be hope - via way of one of those "last minute deals" websites - but we all know those don't really exist (seriously, I've never met anyone who has actually scored a last minute deal anytime anywhere).

I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little disappointed. I could really stand a visit back home to see friends and family.*

* Or, as would be more accurate, "Get the fuck out of DC before I kill someone."

So This Is My Life

Sunday afternoon, and after a good day of hanging out with Emily, I need to settle in for the evening to get caught up on studying, and put a dent in the homework that is piling up. So what do I do? Make a schedule, of course.

I actually wrote the below before I jumped into the shower:

5 - 9 pm: Patho studying

9 - 10 pm: Review of Assessment lecture notes (H,S & N, HEENT)

10-11 pm: Review NIH and CDC websites for info on Varicella

How lame and ridiculous is my life that I now have to schedule my evenings to the hour?

... Only 15 more months of school left...

Yes, But Is It RiDONKulous?

Friday night, standing in a long line to order food at Vapiano (don't even get me started), a text message convo with my new friend Emily ensues:

Me: "I am having the most ridiculous evening ever."

Emily: "Yes, but is it ridonk?"

I love my new friend Emily.

New Favorite Phrase in the English Language

"See you next week."

- Uttered by my Philosophy teacher (in his thick German accent) Thursday 11:35 am.

On a day like today -- where summer and its nasty, nasty humidity has reared its ugly head (seriously? it is almost October. wtf.) and allergies are killing the shit out of me (I weeze as I type this) -- there is no greater phrase in the English language.

This has been a Rough. Week. I am grateful that it is almost over.

Dear Rock Creek Parkway

Dear Rock Creek Parkway:

What gives? Yeah, I know you have mysterious ways and all, and that you're one of the city's best kept secrets and all that bullshit, blah blah, blah.

But seriously: is there a secret handshake I need to know about? Some kind of password in order to gain access?

No? Then why the fucking secrecy? Why do you make it so difficult to find/get onto you?

The other night I had to drive from my place in Columbia Heights to National Airport to pick up a friend, and I thought I would take you in order to get there. Considering I live just about a mile from you, I thought this would be easier - and more logical - than driving all the way through the city. I figured, why not take you and get to National in a matter of minutes instead of, say, taking 16th St. all the way down to who-knows-where (Constitution? Independence? I haven't clue.) and then onto 395, etc.? But no.

Imagine me and Edmund, driving down Klingle thinking, "OK, there's going to be a sign somewhere along here directing me to the southbound ramp..." But you know what? That sign never came. Ever.

Here I am, driving parallel to you for a good 15 minutes and no sign ever came. What the fuck is that about?

What could have been a 15-minute easy stroll through the western edge of the city to National on a balmy DC evening instead turned into a name-cursing, gas-guzzling, white-knuckle hell ride through first Mt. Pleasant, then DuPont Circle, then Foggy Bottom (hello Watergate!), then Georgetown (huh?), then - wait for it - fucking Rossyln (for fuck sakes!), before somehow meandering through motherfucking Crystal City before finally getting to the airport.

In what reality would a trip from Columbia Heights to National Airport involve a sidetrip through Rossyln?? Only in your sadistic one, Rock Creek Parkway.

Fine. I know I'm relatively new here (again). And therefore not too familiar with best routes to get through the city, but I also don't consider myself an idiot when it comes to driving and directions.

Would it kill you to have a few directional signs posted that point to your on ramps? Or is "Figuring Out How To Access the Rock Creek Parkway" just another one of those subjects that new DCers must figure out on their own, like, say, "Getting Temporary Tags for Your Car Before It Gets Impounded" or "Finding a Grocery Store with a Decent Produce Selection"?

I thought so. Go fuck yourself, Rock Creek Parkway.

Proof That I Am Not the Typical Georgetown Student

While studying in the SMH lounge this afternoon, I overheard a student talking on her cellphone: "Dad is complaining that I'm spending too much money, but I found out he's joining a country club and going on a Norwegian cruise in November."

More proof that the average student here is different than I.

Adventures in Celibacy! (Pt. I)

Here are the highlights from the party I attended this evening:

• My Crush left without saying goodbye. Or hello, for that matter. Confirming the fact that I suspected all along - he doesn't know I exist.
• My "Plan B" Crush also left without saying goodbye*.

Sadcakes. Major sadcakes. But, there is that box of Parmesan Basil Wheat Thins sitting there on the counter just waiting to be eaten. So, I got that going for me....

* Although at one point during the evening, he did put his hand on my shoulderblade. That counts for something, right?

Oh, It's On...

It is SO ON, Bitches!

I Might Actually Be Happy...

Three weeks into the semester and I think I'm settling into my schedule and a routine. Tuesdays and Thursdays are easier days for me, as I only have one class. Mondays and Wednesdays are tougher, with classes back-to-back all day, but I like the material and my classmates and boring it is not. 

I thought about this as I was walking through campus this morning. It was cloudy and cool, and it seems like the slight chill of Fall is finally here. Trees are dropping their leaves. This is a good thing.

I think I might be happy here.

Butters...

• I wore a tie to school today. I seriously need to do some laundry....
  
• Cookies from Chicago arrived today...
  
• Just when it seemed that Fall was upon us, it up and turned hot & muggy... 
  
• I got an 88% on my first big nursing school exam. Feeling pretty good about it, but prolly need to develop a new studying strategy...
  
• Still haven't read a word for Patho. Maybe tomorrow...
  

Dear Cosi Employees/ Sandwich Makers

Dear Cosi Employees/ Sandwich Makers:

Life is tough, I know. 

What, with the economy and things like having enough spicy mustard, and the difficulty of slicing that already thin bread into two slices. Plus, it is Sunday night and you've probably worked a long day already. I get it. 

But c'mon. When I walked in with my study partners at 6:50 tonight and saw the two of you look at each other, sigh, roll your eyes and let out an audible "fuuuuck" in our general direction, well, I can't lie. I was a little hurt.

For a moment I thought that perhaps you reacted this way because maybe you were closing at 7, and here it was - a group of us walking in at 6:50, ready to hit you with multiple delicious Cosi sandwich orders at the last moment. But no, you don't close until 9. So what gives??

Are you guys seriously expecting that on a nice end-of-summer Sunday evening nobody's going to walk into your store to order some food between 7 pm and close? You guys are in fucking DuPont Circle, for fuck sakes. Surely we aren't going to be the last customers you see tonight.

My advice: Buck the Fuck Up, little campers. 'Cuz someday you're probably going to have worse problems to deal with then making a couple sandwiches a whole 2 hours before closing. Acting like you're doing me a big fucking favor and swearing at me for making you do your job is not the best method for dealing. 

That is all. Now have a good night. 

Friday Nights Are Becoming a Luxury I Can No Longer Afford

Two weeks into the semester and patterns are starting to emerge. I was tired after clinical, and my instinct was to come home and spend the rest of the evening in the apartment, studying (not likely) or watching DVDs (more likely).

Instead, I went to the team Happy Hour at the 18th St. Diner. It was pleasant, but not very crowded (it seems everyone else likes to stay in on Fridays too). Talked with Jonathan for awhile, who asked why I was drinking Miller Lite. I explained to him some of the Casualties of Returning to School, and he told me I needed to milk my student status for all it's worth (literally) by simply walking up to people, introducing myself as a poor college student and asking them to buy me drinks. There might be some merit to this plan.

After two more drinks (neither of which I paid for - thanks Jonathan!), I headed over to the Black Cat to join up with my friend and ex-neighbor Son for a YogaActivist fundraiser party in the Backstage. I arrived about 20 minutes before they did. The party itself started slow, and I wasn't feeling very social but at least now I know another place (besides Wonderland) where the Dirty Hipster boys & girls hang.

Son, her boyfriend Richard and I then headed a block up to Cafe St. Ex. I hadn't really been there since I left and while the upstairs crowd seemed a bit more upscale than I remembered, downstairs was the St. Ex that I remembered and loved. Richard is a rum enthusiast and bought us an expensive round, and by now I was buzzed and feeling happy. It felt great being back in DC, back at St. Ex, and I was feeling optimistic about the program. It had been a good week at school, but I also recognized that things were about to get really hard really fast.

After saying goodbye to Son and Richard, I biked over to Nelly's to try to catch up with some friends. By the time I arrived they'd gone, but I ran into Mackenzy and we talked a bit about school. He was surprised that I hadn't really started studying for Patho yet (groan), and he was disappointed that there were too few social people in the cohort. It was interesting because our perspectives are so different. We have very little in common due in part to the age difference, but I felt bad for him because I could see he's trying to get something social from the experience, more so than I am (not to say that I'm not looking to make friends, but he's looking for people to party with). Oh, to be 21 again.

He asked if I wanted a shot from the flask he'd brought in, and I declined. While getting bounced out of Nelly's would make for a good story, I'm too old for that shit, right?

This morning I woke with the alarm but felt like death (I wolfed down a bag of tortilla chips and some brownies before I went to sleep) so I went back to bed.

Much more sober today. I've got a lot of studying to accomplish this afternoon, and I have got to start eating better than I have been this past week...

IN SUMMARY:

• I don't see myself going out on Fridays for a long time
• free drinks most all night
  
• I need to start studying more, and eating/drinking less

Casualties of My Lifestyle Change (Pt. I)

Now that I am a poor college student with absolutely no income coming in, I've had to learn to give up a few things. Here is a partial list:

1. Weekend brunch.
2. Starbucks coffee.
3. Expensive beer/ beer that isn't "on special."
4. Cheese - you laugh, but it is true - cheese is a luxury.
5. Books that aren't related to my major.
6. Magazines.
7. Feelings of self-worth.

Save Me From Myself

The first week of school is over, and like any undergrad I celebrated by attending a party, thrown by a fellow classmate. Brian, Marshall, Emily and I arrived after 10, sans alcohol (did you know alcohol can't be purchased in this city after 10 pm?? Did I somehow block this out of my memory from the first time I lived here?), which we felt self-conscious about but by then our host was too blitzed to notice.

I played DJ (Adi: "You are the worst DJ. Ever.") for awhile in the dining room, smartly avoiding the living room drinking games (part of my downfall last Friday) and staying pretty much sober the entire time.  My hat got passed around and became the next in what is now becoming a long line of ABSN casualties (along with expensive beers, LaToya #1 and perhaps my dignity). And Adi and I continued work on the Cohort Handshake (still in beta, although John is now involved and is taking it to a new, respectable level). 

And supposedly a Cohort Theme Song is next - I'm going to push for Bluejuice's Vitriol ("Good luck and don't dare give up, Give it a little bit of vitriol! And if it's really gonna cut you up give it a little bit of vitriol - HEY!"). But the truth is nobody would likely get it and I'd just be an idiot. 

There's talk of a cohort field trip to a DC Rollergirls match in about 3 weeks, an Ultimate Frisbee league, a Touch Football game on Thanksgiving morning, and a kayaking trip around Roosevelt Island. Man, we are an optimistic bunch. I say: let's check back in a month to see just ow well that frisbee league is shaping up.

And speaking of Roosevelt, as she was leaving, Dana told me I looked like Teddy Roosevelt.

I'm acutely aware of my age (and now some others are too) and the fact that I'm now choosing beer pong and vodka shots over more age-appropriate things like, well, not playing beer pong and not doing vodka shots. But I went to bed at 10 last Saturday, so that should count for something, right? Oh, and then there's that whole studying thing, which is also a good idea since I did squat of it this week.

But still, once we left the party me, John, Emily and Meredith stood outside on New Hampshire and talked for about an hour under the bright full moon (the weather these last few days has been remarkable), so this can't be all bad. I figure it is probably worth it to invest some time in the cohort. Not everything we should know to survive can be learned in the classroom.

Cohort Concept Map

One of my goals for the week has been to make attempts to get to know as many people in the class as I can. Never know who is going to be the ambitious one (not me), the smart one (not me), the fun one (not me) who might be of great assistance at some point in the future. 

Those attempts so far have been largely successful in that I've engaged most everyone in conversation, and most have been receptive and friendly back to me. Some have not. Maybe they're shy, or maybe they just don't care. But at this point I figure I've put out the good energy towards most everyone and I'm not going to waste any more on trying to win over the ones that haven't been receptive.   

In my own mind, lines are already being drawn, and the personal Concept Map of my Cohort is being drawn. Right or wrong, I've been filing the different people into categories and subcategories, groups and subgroups, clusters and even more clusters, all of which orbit around me, in the center. Which ones of them, if any, will become the inner circle of good friends or confidants? Who will be fun to go to a happy hour with? Which will be the over achievers, and which will ones will I avoid? 

Or how much will it change over the next 16 months...

... And So It Begins...

Since I arrived in town, and for many days before, the weather had been typical DC August - hot and muggy. But like in a movie, today came around and it was cloudy and cool. It was like summer was suddenly over and with the flip of a switch it is now Fall. 

I left my apartment early, dressed in my crisp white shirt and preppy striped tie, and rode my bike under the grey sky down 16th St. and down New Hampshire Ave. through the morning traffic and past the sidewalk pedestrians. I looked like one of those Mormon kids. Coldplay's "Life in Technicolor II" played on my iPod and filled my ears ("Now my feet won't touch the ground...") and I cracked a smile through DuPont Circle feeling good about the weather and the first day of orientation ahead of me.

When I walked into SMH 107 with Meredith, the classroom was already filled. We took a seat towards the back and I looked for faces that I knew, recognizing a few from Friday’s happy hour and also from Facebook. I wonder if and when the rest of these faces will become familiar. How many – if any – would I really get to know? Of the 50 of us in the program, close to 40 are WHC Scholars who, like me, will be living in DC for the next 4.5 years – how many will become friends?

Naturally, over the course of the day and during breaks, I was drawn back to those I already knew – at one point, Meredith, Mackenzie, Adi, Katie, Dana, Wheeler and I got together and talked about the weekend; a bit later Tim and I hung out as part of a group the went over to the Medical Bookstore to get scrubs, then over to the Bookstore for our Health Assessment books.

$400 for scrubs and books. For just one class. FML.

At the end of the day, I hung out with Adi and Erin at the bus circle, while they waited for their bus to Arlington. Adi wanted to know how to tie a tie, so I made a poor attempt to teach her. It looked like a scarf.  To add insult to the $400 textbook injury, I then had to transport these heavy bitches home with me, and as I secured them to the back of the bike, my bungee cord broke, so I had to strap them to my back. I looked ridiculous, and as predicted the climb up Meridian Hill along 16th St. was a dream come true.