Obligatory Complaint About the Weather

I know it's boring blogging about the weather, but Christ on a Bike I am so effing tired of this heat. It's the fucking end of September -- yesterday was the first day of Fall, for fucksakes -- and tomorrow is going to be almost 100 degrees? Fuck you. This was perhaps the worst summer of my life, and it won't ever end.

Why I Hate DC: Reason #101

[This was me Saturday morning, minus the track part.]

Saturday morning I went out for my usual run through DuPont Circle and Columbia Heights. On my way back, approaching the busy intersection of 16th St./U St./Rhode Island Ave. (ed note: it was really New Hampshire Ave. - thanks U St. Citizen), I tripped into a small pothole and took a major spill - we're talking an almost-face plant - onto the street.

There were easily a dozen people around/near me who witnessed my fall. For about 15 seconds, I was on all fours because I could feel a strong pain in my right ankle and could not put any pressure on it to get up. Once I did get up, I spent another 30 seconds hopping on one foot to get to the sidewalk to assess the damage. I was bleeding from the scrape on my left knee. My right ankle was already beginning to swell. I was in pain, fighting an urge to start crying.

Not a single person - either walking by, standing at the bus stop, or enjoying their coffee at the Starbucks right in front of me (of course this kind of thing would happen to me there) - asked me if I was OK or if I needed help.

In fact, a woman with her dog walked around me while I was on all fours in the crosswalk, completely ignoring me.

"I'm fine, by the way, thanks for asking," I said to her as she went past but of course she ignored me.

This kind of thing would never happen in Chicago or Portland. And yet I'm stuck here, surrounded by these kind of people, for the next 3.5 years.

24 Hours...

As of 1 pm today, I've been on campus for 24 hours straight. As in, I arrived on campus yesterday afternoon and haven't left yet. I studied at the library until about 2 am, headed over to Dahlgren and went to bed on a couch there.

I didn't really feel like cycling home in the cold over the snow and iced streets, only to turn back around and head back four hours later.

There's a first for everything, I suppose. On the plus side, I got an A in my exam this morning, but in general I am getting my ass handed to me in a soup bowl this semester.

The Icing on the SnOwMG Cake...

The school has taken away our scheduled three-day holiday weekend. We no longer have President's Day off and are expected to come in tomorrow like it is a regular Monday.

If my spirit wasn't already broken from Noro-geddon, the subsequent quarantine, the snow, and Friday's soul-crushing Med-Surg exam, I'd prolly be quite upset. But no: at this point, I'm officially beaten into submission.

Waaah-waaah.

Quarantined!

So due to SnOwMG, school has been canceled for the last two days. Which is good considering I've been sick and unable to study for Med-Surg or do any other kind of homework. But some of my professors seem to be going ape-shit because if this. Seems our semester is so tightly scheduled that to miss even one day (let alone 2 or 3 - - my prediction: no school for the entire week) throws everything off-kilter.

Regardless, I've been informed that due to the weekend's norovirus, I am to stay indoors through tomorrow. Quarantined to my man-cave apartment. At some point I need to get out for some supplies, maybe a little Chipotle action, maybe a salty-sweet cookie from Sticky Fingers (if they're open) but I need to be stealth about it and not breathe on anyone.

The thing is: I prolly would have stayed in and laid around anyway, but once you're told that you have to stay in, that's when I start to lose my shit.

This Is Why I Hate Being Single II (Or: Noro-Geddon)

I'm gonna spare everyone most of the details, but while the rest of DC was out playing in the snow Friday night and Saturday, I found myself spending that time alternately doubled over the toilet vomiting and shitting my innards out, or curled into the fetal position, shivering and sweating, praying to God for a quick and merciful death.

I caught a Norovirus (see image above) from working at the hospital Thursday, and I was its little bitch for about 24 hours this weekend. At first I thought it was food poisoning, but after some emails and phone calls I discovered on Saturday that it was a nasty acquired virus.

The worst part: by about 2 am Saturday morning, after a few hours of dry-heaves and delirium, I began to feel like I was going to die. Alone. Even my landlords, who were in Colorado on vacation, were not around to rescue me if I needed them. I began thinking that I was somehow going to die in my bed that night, and it would be a week - at least - until anyone found my dead, dehydrated carcass.

It was enough to make a guy start to weep. Which I'm fairly certain I did. Although I can't be 100% confident since I also seem to recall having a deep and insightful conversation with my ceiling fan and barking like a dog before finally succumbing to fever-induced sleep sometime around 3 am.

Moral of the story: Find a boyfriend or girlfriend. That way, if you contract a norovirus someone will know if you die from it.

Yeah, My Life is Awesome

I can add this to my list of Really Awesome Experiences – running into someone you’ve slept with, only to have the person not remember who you are. Seriously, like I need this in my life.

So today I get on the Brown Line at Diversey. There’s hardly anyone in the car. I sit down and look around and immediately see this guy I know named C, who is halfway down the car, looking at me. Fuuuck, I’m thinking -- he’s pretty much the last person in Chicago I want to run into and here’s why.

I met C. about two years ago in a coffee shop. He was handsome, intelligent and interesting. We exchanged numbers and went out on a few dates over the course of about 2 weeks. We even slept together once. I broke it off early because he was just a little weird. For starters, after our 3^rd date we were making out on his bed when his dog jumped onto the bed and C didn’t shoo him off. Seriously – he let the dog lay there on the bed while we’re going at it. Awkard.

Another weird thing was that C. would break into this bizarre, cutesy, baby-talk thing while we were making out. Like full-on baby cutesy-wootsey talk. There he is, kissing my torso, biting my nipples and all of a sudden he’d let out this “oooh you have such a cute widdle belly button” – like he’s talking to an infant. “Umm, why are you talking like that?” I asked him and he just shrugged it off.

On our fourth and final date – the night we slept together – he told me he could only come if I licked him armpit. So there we are, going at it, and I’m now required to start rolling my tongue all in and around his pits. Christ, the things I do just to get laid, I remember thinking.

I should have called it off after the first warning sign – the dog on the bed – or probably should have gone running in the other direction during the baby-talk episode. But the truth is he was the first guy I dated after my big break up with Richard and I guess I just really wanted to get laid. After date #4 and the armpit incident, I told him I just didn’t think it was going to work out. I got a few texts from him in the weeks following but soon after I never heard from him again and, mercifully, I never ran into him.

Until today. So he’s looking at me across the car and I’m looking at him and I’m thinking this is ridiculous to try and ignore him and not say hello – we slept with each other, for fucks sake – so I get up form my seat and move to the one next to him.

He’s still staring at me, so I start:

Me: “Uh, Hi C.”
C.: “Hi?”
Me: “It’s (me).”
C: : “Uhh….” [Note: He’s looking at me like he seriously doesn’t know who I am.]
Me: “Remember me? Umm, we dated for a few weeks about 2 years ago.”
C.: “Oh. Yeah, right. I was trying to figure out why you looked familiar…”
Me (thinking: Why I looked familiar? Are you fucking kidding me?): “Yeah. So I just wanted to say hi…”
C. (still looking like maybe he doesn’t fully remember who I am): “Right. How are you? You look different. Is your hair different? Shorter?” [Note: My hair is no different now than it was when we dated two years ago. I pretty much look exactly the same as I did back in 2008.]
Me: “Uhh, no, not really. Anyway, I just wanted to say hi.”
C.: “Right. Wait, you’re studying to be a nurse, right?”
Me: “Yep, that’s right. Anyway, this is my stop so see you. Take care.”

Ugh. So to summarize: I met this guy two years ago. We dated for 2 weeks. We fucked. I run into him today and he doesn’t remember who I am. My life is awesome.

FML

State of emergency?? Are you kidding me?
Apparently there's a "historic" snowstorm heading this way, about to dump 12-18 inches overnight.
Please please God, no.
Because this is really the last thing I need; the last straw. If I cannot finish my final exams tomorrow; if either of them gets postponed or messes with my plans to enjoy my last few days in DC; or if I can't fly out of National come Monday (although that's very unlikely), I will go Apeshit.

This Has Been My Week In a Nutshell

This week I had several exams in one of my nursing classes - 4 in one class alone - and all of them have been stressful. Easily the most difficult week of the semester thus far.

Here's the scene: A group of us are down in the lab, waiting for our instructor to arrive so that we can begin our exam. Our instructor arrives and the following conversation ensues...

Instructor: "Good morning. Does anyone have any questions I can answer before we begin?"
Student: "Yes, I do. I'm confused about the correct order to do (a certain procedure) because there's a discrepancy in the notes. Can you clarify?"
Instructor: "No, I can't answer that. You should know it."
Student: "But you just asked us if we had any questions you could answer before the exam starts."
Instructor: "Sorry. I can't answer that."
Student: "..."

Sigh. It will be a miracle if I make it out of here alive. I'm heading out to Marvin's tonight for a drink.

This Is How Pathetic My Life Has Become...

I was shopping at the Giant the other day when I spotted frickin' Pepsi ONE in the cola isle and practically shat my pants.

I thought the Pepsi gods had discontinued my favorite aspartame-flavored cola a few years ago. Suddenly it was gone, replaced by that awful Pepsi Max. That shit is the worst, man. But alas, it seems somebody's been reading my e-mails because it the P.O. is back in da house!

Swear to God, folks, this discovery pretty much made my week. I've now resorted to drinking about 2 liters of the P.O. a day, just to make up for the lost time.

Sorry Cherry Coke Zero - you've been a worthy substitute. But daddy craves the real thing.

(Yeah, this is an actual entry about how happy I am that a soft drink is back on the shelves. And yes, I used the term "da house." My life is pretty much very sucky right now.)

Things Are Out of Whack (Or: Tears on the Metro Pt. II)

Life is out of whack right now. No joke. School's fer real now. I feel like I'm about a week behind in my coursework and studies. It might have something to do with the 8 hours I've spent in the last three days transcribing a Patho lecture (it was my turn). Not to put too fine a point on it, but those 8 hours could have been used for so many other more important things.

I'm not sleeping well, and my sleep pattern is all wonkee. Last week I had a dream everyone in my cohort was pissed at me. Last night I had that prototypical dream where I was nearly naked in my Research class. Why? Because I was hot and needed to cool off, as I told my professor. I'm falling asleep at 7 pm (Monday night I fell asleep while eating dinner for fuck sake), only to wake up around 9pm and do schoolwork until about midnight, just to wake back up at 4 am to start it all over again.

This morning I took the Metro to school because it was raining and I - wait for it - can't find my rain pants. They're nowhere to be found. How, I ask you, can I lose pants??

Anyway, I'm standing on the platform at Gallery Place waiting for the Red Line and I started feeling all anxious and sad, and started thinking about all the things I'm not getting done. And not just school work - stuff beyond that -- things like: I have friends who have recently had babies and I'm not even in contact with them and all these friends and people I have in my life and it is all just slipping by. I'm missing the birthdays and anniversaries of my friends. I haven't talked to my brother in weeks.

So what starts happening? Yep, I start crying just a little bit. It sucks. But hey, it isn't like this is the first time I've cried in public. Or heck, even the first time at the Metro.

As I type this I am cracking open a can of something I never ever thought I'd drink again (at least not without vodka) to stay awake - a fucking Red Bull. Christ. Just get me to Thanksgiving, where I have almost 6 days off to catch up on schoolwork. And sleep. And wine drinking.

Sounds Like A Subdural Hematoma To Me

I have been getting the Shit kicked out of me at school this and last week. Things are rough because it is mid-terms so I'm Living the Dream.

I mentioned in my last post that I've realized I've become a B student (cue the violins). I'm having a harder time accepting this than I originally thought. Yeah, I know I need to just get over it. I think I'm just not used to spending so much time studying and in return getting less-than-stellar results. Yesterday's Assessment mid-term yielded me a C - a Fucking C! - and I should have scored in the high B range. I mean, I know the material.*

And last week I had a take-home test and scored an 88%, even though I actually spent the time to look up every answer. How the hell do I get an 88 when I looked up every answer? How much of a retard am I? FML.

OK, I am done being a whiny bitch.

My friend Mimi sent this to me last week and it cracks me up so I'm posting it here. Of course, it likely isn't funny to most people. I hope that in a year or so I'll still be laughing. After all, it's not my job to diagnose.



* Obviously not.

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.

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...

Last Saturday of Freedom

I spent my last Saturday of Freedom running around doing errands, in an attempt to get my apartment in order before school begins on Monday. I'm in need of a microwave oven, a TV, and DVD player so I scoured Craigslist and responded to many ads. Only 1 - the microwave - responded. Made a second trip out to IKEA to pick up a garment rack, which is serving as my wardrobe (as I don't technically have a closet), because the first one I bought fucking collapsed on me. 

I also had to drive to Gin & Tonic to see if anyone had found a camera and turned it in (ha - fat chance). The losing my camera-thing has me really bummed out. If I replace it, it will be the 3rd camera I've purchased in a year, and another $250 that I had not budgeted to spend. Plus, there were some great photos from my first Cohort Happy Hour.

[I've been spending waaay too much money; money that I really don't have, which is another stressor for me. I turned in the rental truck a few hours late and therefore was billed another day's worth. I pleaded with them to let it slide but they weren't having it. So when they asked for a signature for the bill, I signed "Eat Shit" instead of my name -- take that, Budget Rental Car Corporation! And then on Friday when I got my DC driver's license, I also had to pay a $100 parking ticket left over from my first life in DC. A ticket that I'd contested in writing several times that I thought had gone away (ha - fat chance). ]

I was going to bake a pizza for dinner, but realized that my stove doesn't actually work. Hmm.

So: Let's sum up these first few days in DC, shall we? I've paid for parking tickets I didn't know I needed to; been charged an extra $100 for the already over-the-top expensive moving van; lost my precious camera; needed to replace furniture; and ordered out for pizza because my oven doesn't work. This is Aces.

I was in bed by 10 p.m. On my first real Saturday night in DC, which is simultaneously my last Saturday night of freedom before school starts. Fuck my life.

I Hate Dulles

Seriously. 

I took the Orange Line out to Vienna/Fairfax thinking I could save some money on a taxi. Still cost me forty fucking dollars, plus the $2.50 for the Metro.

And for all the security lines in all the airports I've ever been to in my life, the one at Dulles is always the longest. Always. And why o why in this day/age must an airport charge for wi-fi?

Because of bad weather and delays leaving Dulles, I missed my connection in Atlanta and spent the night on the airport floor. Fuck my life again. 

Bad Omen

I had an appointment at Georgetown this afternoon, so I hopped on Wendell and off I went. First, I took a wrong turn somewhere just west of DuPont Circle. Ended up heading towards the Naval Observatory on Mass Ave.

Then, got onto Rock Creek Parkway, hit a bad pothole and blew my rear tire. Fuuuuck. I had to then walk with my bike along Rock Creek, up P St., then all the way down to a bike shop on M St. and 33rd. In the sticky heat. Fuck my life.

If I were a superstitious lad, I might think this is some sort of bad omen for my academic career at Georgetown; that maybe I should just quit while I'm ahead...

Lucky that I'm not a superstitious lad, I guess.