Aug 27, 2007

Honestly, I'm being sarcastic.

Bush Doc(a): *sneaks up behind me* No word on your boards?!?
Me: GAH! Stop doing that!
BD: Well?
Me: I told you, I won't hear until November.
BD: Okay, I'll just keep checking back.
Me: Why don't you do that? Why don't you ask me every day until then?
BD: Sure thing! *wanders off*
Me: What? No, that was sarcasm! Damn my earnest mien.

In unrelated news, I had dessert at Wistar's boyfriend's dad's and step-mom's house tonight. I wasn't going to go, but ... rhubarb pie. Speaking of Wistar, I just finished reading her blog. My response:

Dear Wistar,

I read your blog tonight (yes, all of it). It struck me at some points disturbing, at others very disturbing. Did you really blog seven times in one day? And what's with all this stuff about pooping in public pools? More importantly, I did not see my name mentioned once. This shall be our last correspondence. Never contact me again.

No love,

After all I've done for her. Shameful, I call it.

(a) So called because he has a framed picture of Dubya on his wall, along with a letter thanking him for his contributions to the Republican party.

Aug 21, 2007

Look who's back a-gain!

Hello my lovelies, my dearest darling hearts. Did you miss me?

Yes, I have emerged from Genetics Purgatory (aka my board exams) battered, bruised, but unbeaten. At least until scores come out in November. And then the whole hellish process may begin again...

The Whole Hellish Process
1. Denial. The boards are months away, why should I study now when I'll just forget it and have to study again? I think I'll go watch Spongebob Squarepants.
2. Anger. Aw, crap, I only have a month to go. Why did I let myself slack off so much? Stupid Spongebob, how I hate you!
3. Bargaining. Please let me pass this &%#! exam, I promise to ... um, stop swearing.
4. Depression. I'm never going to pass! I'm going to lose my job and have to sell my body on the street! *sob*
5. Acceptance Blind panic. *tugging earlobe* Oh my god, is that a lump? Never mind prostitution, I'm going to die of Ear Cancer!

My passage was much eased by the advent of my mother, who (after a memorable over-the-phone breakdown) moved in with me for a week. Not only did she cook for me, she cleaned my apartment and organized by closet. This, and the whole gestation thing*, means I pretty much owe her forever.

Also, being able to take the exam alongside Kara helped. We set up base camp in a scuzzy little Comfort Inn and crammed like our lives depended on it.

Sri: You know, they say that if we don't know it by now, we never will.
Kara (in a voice full of Grim Determination): I disagree.
Sri: Me, too. Let's talk peroxisomal storage disease.

I'm pretty sure the rules of the test prohibit me from going into detail ... which is a shame, because I have some hilarious commentary on the statistical genetics questions. Needless to say, it was Bad. Not 80's bad, but actually bad Bad. So bad that afterwards, we required alcohol. Molly, Kara's former roomie, happily obliged. She had the remnants of the Old Gang over for delicious food and libations.

Sri: Here, try a mojito! I mixed them myself.
Chris: *eyes watering* It's a bit ... strong.
Sri: Nonsense!
Molly: It might help if you added the soda, limes and mint ... this is nothing but sugar water and rum.
Sri: If you insist. Pansies.

We combined celebrating the Death of the Demon Boards with Kim's graduation (that's Dr. Kim to you) and Chris passing his engineering something-or-other. I need to make less ambitious friends, these guys are making me look bad. Sadly, as we were partying on a Thursday night, no one was willing to get excitingly inebriated. We ended up playing Scattergories and going to bed at 12:30. Ah, well ... we're not as young as we used to be.

*She carried me to term in a womb not really large enough for a child my size. And then delivered by cesarean section. And then, most remarkable of all, did not scream when she first saw me, red-faced hairy sausage that I was. The woman deserves a medal.