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,
Sri

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.

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.

Countdown to the boards...

So, I'm probably not going to post until after my board exams in just under a month. To tide you over until then, here's the "best of" reel.

I went to see the fifth Harry Potter movie - I liked it alright. I'm more excited about the last book coming out next weekend. Saturday is my day for Harry Potter, and I will most likely cry at the end. Everyone who is surprised that I'm such a nerd, raise your hands ... nobody? Very good.

Wistar got a job editing porn erotica. She read me some, and it was pretty terrible. I'd provide quotes, but my mom reads this blog.

Davina told me that she has a pathological fear of doors with push bars, because she often has trouble figuring out which end to push. She worries about this whenever she approaches a door that doesn't have a knob or handle. I laughed right in her face.

My colleague FV returned from her trip, looking quite tan. Tanning and sunburns fascinate me, especially when you can push on someone's skin and it changes colors. You can even use two fingers and the thumb of your opposite hand to make a smiley face!

My mother came to visit me, which was fun. She cleaned my house (against my wishes), which was awesome. She's pretty much the only person who's ever vacuumed in here.

I'm studying like a fiend, and I'm off to do more right now. Keep me in your thoughts, especially on August 15th and 16th! Smooches to Kara, Laura and Emily - godspeed, friends.

I already drink like a fish, so ...

Davina and I have resolved to start swimming at least twice a week. This promises to be highly amusing, as neither of us is a strong swimmer.

Davina: *clutching a pool noodle and kicking desperately* Warn me if I'm going to run into something!
Me: *standing in the thigh-high water next to her* Sure ... except, you're not really moving.

My major advantage over Davina is that fat floats, so I'm never in any real danger. Also, I can touch the bottom of the pool with my toes, even at the deep end. Yeah, I'm basically a giant.

But we always have a good time, so we've decided to name our little club (yes, two people can form a club - shut up). We're calling ourselves: Don't Laugh, You'll Drown. Catchy, eh? Davina even talked me into goggles and nose plugs - we really need to take pictures of that. Neither of us want to hold political office, anyway.

Also, my parents visited me for Independence Day. Here are the highlights:

Dad: How is Jo-jo?
Me: Jojo and her fiance Shawn graduated in May. Shawn was the 500th graduate from BTSR!
Dad: Ooh! Did they brand him?
Me: What?!? No!
Dad: They do it, Amma.
Me: No! No they don't!
Dad: *miming pressing a hot poker to his forehead* Ssssssssssst!

Mom: I love you so much, Amma, I could sit here and look at you all day. *thoughtful pause* Though you might not like it so much.

"Get a bicycle. You will not regret it, if you live." - Mark Twain

Monday was an exhausting day at work (though Head Doc did return from his trip, bearing Toblerones ... joy!). When I got home, I was starving. I started to make jambalaya - and promptly set a pot of oil on fire. Sound familiar?

Did I mention that I almost burned my condo down? Oh, yeah - while making tortillas I somehow managed to catch the pan on fire. Luckily, I had a pretty functional response (cursing and smothering the flames) rather than my usual spaz-out.

I was again able to smother the flames, but the smoke detector was going crazy. So I took the pan outside and removed the lid to let the smoke out. HUGE MISTAKE. Reunited with its long-lost love, oxygen, the fire roared back to life right in my face. I escaped with my eyebrows intact (more's the pity), but badly shaken. I decided to give up on dinner to keep my play date with Wistar.

I unlocked Killer from her cage the shed. That's right. Immediately after my near-death cooking experience, I thought it would be a jolly idea to get on my evil bicycle.

Sometimes, I wonder about myself. I really, really do.

On the bright side, I have come to the point in my life (decades ahead of my peers) that I don't worry about looking like a complete fool. I drove to the park to meet Wistar, and immediately strapped on my bike helmet and gloves. The children playing soccer and the young men with their dogs were highly amused.


My helmet looks like this ... only dorkier.

Wistar: *not amused* What are you wearing?
Me: Now now, Wistar. Safety first.
Wistar: I meant on your feet. Are those flip-flops?
Me: Well, my toesies like to breathe.

My poor footwear choices aside, we had a great lesson. I learned how to turn around! Next time, we may even leave the parking lot.

5 Reasons Why Today Did Not Suck

1. No doctors means no patients means I actually got some work done. I'm no longer two weeks behind on my charts! And I got to wear jeans. Awesome.
2. Belinda and I got lunch from Riverside - tasty food that's incredibly bad for you. Though I do have a theory about seasoning salt preserving your insides, thereby increasing longevity.
3. The cleaning crew came to do the carpets, and not a moment too soon. Apparently, my patients often enjoy frolicking through oil fields before tromping into my office. Disgusting.
4. I was allowed - nay, encouraged! - to leave early. Which got me home in time for Voyager, my favorite Star Trek series.
5. The show that aired? "Blood Fever," aka the Obligatory Pon Farr Episode. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you may be too cool to read this blog.


"Did she just out herself as a Star Trek geek?"
"Awk-ward!"

If you thought clowns were scary before...

I have to tell you all about Shentai, this urban carnival I went to last weekend. My friend Wistar invited me along, since she is friends with many of the performers. So I knew going in that it's a collaborative effort of many of the young actors, dancers, artists and musicians of C'ville. In other words, Indie Strangefest 2007. But I figured (correctly!) that there would be cotton candy, so I agreed.

Sadly, I was still completely unprepared for the level of weirdness I was to encounter. We entered the staging area (a gutted and redecorated warehouse) to the sounds of a local band called Accordion Death Squad playing "An Unwelcome Overture." Then the MC popped out of trunk, looked out on the audience, and screamed in terror.

And it kept. Getting. Weirder.

The tap-dancing vampires got in a fight with the antelopes on stilts and the woman dressed in bubble wrap. Of course, all movement ceased as Queen Dido made her painstakingly slow, eerily silent way through the crowd. This signaled the beginning of the surrealist play about a woman falling in love with a squid ... or possibly suicide, I'm not sure. In another exhibit, I pretended to be a flamingo/whale with great success. Later we went to the peep show, and I saw Sacajawea's bosoms. I don't have the words to describe everything I saw. Oh, but I can sum up the finale in two: Fire Dancing.

It was amazing, and terrifying. Almost everybody in the show was twirling flaming poles about or slinging chains of fire through the air. I just sat there the entire time thinking, "we are all going to die." Luckily we made it out alive, and I staggered away in a shocked haze.

Wistar: What did you think?
Me: I just have one question ... do you think they found tap dancers and turned them into vampires, or taught vampires how to tap dance?
Wistar: Um ...
Me: Never mind, I've clearly gone mad. Please take me home now.

In short - I highly recommend seeing Shentai!

The Future Mr. Sri?

My friend Davina came over for dinner on Friday, so we could catch up after her trip to Europe. I know most people hate looking at travel photos, but I eat that stuff up with a spoon. Anyway, our conversation eventually (inevitably) turns to relationships. Davina is a fellow desi, and as unattached career women we are the bane of our parents' existence. She and I have similar views on the whole on the whole "arranged marriage" business - we're happy to let our parents introduce us to a Nice Indian Boy, but we want to take it from there. Of course, every rule has its exceptions. Mom, this one's for you.

Indian Men I Will Marry, No Questions Asked:

1. Sendhil Ramamurthy

He comes from a family of physicians, and he goes off to become an actor. That takes guts. Also - I love his pretty hair! I'm sure his wife, soap opera star Olga Sosnovska, won't mind sharing.

2. Aasif Mandvi

His desirability is directly proportional to the time he spends split-screen with Jon Stewart. Political satire always gets me hot and bothered. Also, he can play the guitar!

3. Russell Peters

A nice Canadian boy, and a stand-up comedian! And you know I love to laugh. Teensy problem - he's a Catholic Anglo-Indian (that's right, Russell Peters is his real name). As such, he probably won't want to marry a Hindu girl.



4. Kal Penn

*wipes drool* Um, yeah. No caption needed here.




If any of the young men in question would like to make their intentions known, I will accept proposals in the form of sonnets, odes and/or boxes of chocolate.

Lucky Girl

This weekend was something of an adventure. Maggie and I had plans to take Andi out for lunch, in lieu of attending her bridal shower. I figured that if I was going to be down in SWVA anyway, I might as well swing by Castle Sri and pick up my mother's old bicycle (this being an integral part of my Lose 25 By 25 plan).

Let me tell you a little of my cycling history. As a child, I loved my bike. It had a totally 80's color scheme of teal and pink, a tinny, annoying bell and a basket with a unicorn sticker. Not to mention the sparkly white handlebar tassels. In other words, this bike was hot shit. I named her Beulah.

So what if I never quite mastered the art of turning around? So what if I usually forgot all about my brakes and would have to skid to a stop using my feet, Flintstones-style? Beulah and I were learning and growing together.

Then, it happened. During a lesson with my parents, I had a terrible fall into the harsh, unforgiving gravel of a church parking lot. My leg was all torn up and I was completely traumatized. How could Beulah betray me like that? She and I never spoke again, and I didn't get back on a non-stationary bike for 16 years.

Flash forward to yesterday, and my mother's old bike (adjusted for height). Fighting my fear, I got back on and, after a few wobbly starts, seemed to be getting the hang of it. Struggling my way up a hill, I noticed that my gear dials did not match. As I dismounted to point the bike back down the hill, I made my fatal mistake - I turned the gear dials all the way down.

If I had been a movie heroine, the entire audience would have been screaming, "DON'T DO IT!" I know this now. Sadly, my life is not a movie (though if it were, it would certainly be a comedy of errors).

As you can imagine, I began careening down the hill at a slightly scary speed. My dad and Maggie, trying to stay out of my wildly oscillating path of destruction, were calling out "stop, stop!" True to form I panicked, neglected the brakes, and put my feet down.

Too bad I was barefoot at the time.

Leaving a thin layer of skin behind, I came to a stuttering halt. The bike did not stop with me, however. That's right - face plant onto hot asphalt. And I would have laughed, if it all hadn't been so tragically awkward.

Luckily, I was relatively unhurt. After some coddling by my mother (she actually clutched me to her bosom and stroked my hair), I was even able to get right back on. Though my dad made sure I took a helmet, and even offered elbow and knee pads. Probably should have taken him up on that...

By the way, the new bike's name is Killer.

And then on the way to Andi's house, my car (Sheldon) got a flat. We were able to get it replaced with a minimum of fuss and went on to have a delightful lunch, but my mom was rather concerned.

Mom: I worry about you!
Me: I worry about me, too.
Mom: Amma, I think someone has put drishti* on you.
Me: Oh you and your quaint, folksy superstitions ... do you really think so?!?

The problem being, you can't remove drishti from yourself. So please stop hating on me, people ... it's hazardous to my health.


*literally, view/sight ... figuratively, The Evil Eye

"When angry, count to four; when very angry, swear." -- Mark Twain

Today I received a letter in the mail from the Blue Ridge Pregnancy Center (addressed to "Dr. MyNameMisspelled"). At first I laughed - I was going to forward it to my parents, so they'd finally be proud of me. Then I realized ... this was a crisis pregnancy center. And the letter was a bill for $25.

For those of you who aren't familiar with crisis pregnancy centers, they are pro-life organizations who represent themselves as free clinics in order to discourage women from terminating unplanned pregnancies. More information is available in this TIME article, and in this 2006 Congressional report*. In my opinion, they do a disservice to these women by providing incomplete, sometimes inaccurate and often biased information.

As a pro-choice, non-pregnant genetic counselor, I would have no reason to deal with such a group. I found out that FV (my colleague, also a genetic counselor) received a similar bill in the mail. So I called them up - apparently they just had their Love Life Walk fund raiser, and someone had put me down for a pledge. I politely explained to them that (1) I am not a doctor and (2) that is not how you spell my name, so clearly this pledge had been made without my knowledge. They promptly took me and FV off their list.

On the outside, I'm grateful for their appropriate response to my complaint. Inside, I am fuming**. Who would do something like this? Why? I have a hard time believing this was random, since FV and I do counsel our patients about the possibility of termination. Medical termination, after a chromosome condition or severe birth defect has been diagnosed in a woman's planned, wanted pregnancy. You know how hard that is? I'm sure you can guess - extremely hard. But because I give my patients all the facts and try my damnedest to be non-directive, I've been labeled as a Purveyor of Abortions and targeted for this con.

In my perfect world, no women gets an elective termination. In my perfect world, no pregnancy is unplanned or unwanted. But we don't live in my perfect world (Sri-topia), we live in this one. So excuse me for doing my job, and not letting personal beliefs get in the way of helping my patients do what's best for them.

/rant


*Some of these centers receive federal funding. Don't even get me started. But the Blue Ridge Pregnancy Center does not, according to the helpful brochure they also sent.

**To clarify, I don't think this pregnancy center is involved in the fake pledge. They're more a victim of this than me, since they lost $50 of hypothetical money. I disagree with what they're doing, but I don't blame them for this ridiculousness.

Parental Invasion

Mom and Dad came to visit this weekend, and I took them around town. They really enjoy C'ville, especially the Downtown Mall. Though we did have some difficulty negotiating the crosswalks.

Dad: *proudly* I pushed the button.
Me: Good for you.
Dad: Why isn't it changing?
Me: The stoplight is on a timer. The button is just there to give you the illusion of being proactive.
Dad: *pressing it again, clearly not listening* Taxi!

So. Random. I took them to Christian's and The Flat, two of my favorite places ever. Christian's serves some of the best pizza in the world. The Flat little more than a stall that sells stuffed crepes. Hot, fresh crepe with strawberries and nutella = *drool*

When we got home, I made them watch Rent with me. I was already in love with the music, and I quite enjoyed myself. Predictably, Mom fell asleep halfway through. She did wake up at one point to say, "Of all the girls, the prettiest is the one who is a boy." Classic.

For our first anniversary, my job got me a paycheck!

So, I've been at my job for a year now - go me! Back then I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to start my life as a Real Life Genetic Counselor. And I was updating my blog from my colleague's computer, since my office wasn't set up yet and I didn't have internet access in my sublet apartment. Here's what I was saying ....

In all the history of genetic counseling there was never so incompetent a new graduate as me.

Me: Hi, I'm Sri.
Patient & Hubby: Hello.
Me: Today you'll be having a screening test for chromosome conditions. *showing pictures of chromosomes* Does this sound familiar?
Patient: Not rea-
Hubby: Extremely. I'm a physician.
Me: Oh dear god, no.

Look how far I've come!

Patient Today: *surprised* You're not a doctor?
Me: Uh ... no. You really think a doctor would spend 45 minutes just talking to you?
Patient Today: Oh. So I can call you "Sri"?
Me: I also accept "Milady" and "Your Awesomeness."

Baptastic!

Last Saturday I travelled to beautiful Richmond, VA for my friend Jojo's graduation from the Baptist Theological Seminary. I bought shoes for the occasion, which turned out to be a mistake. For while they were cute and cheap, they were incredibly uncomfortable. I looked pretty damn good, though.


These are obviously not my feet (I got this picture off the web).

And the ceremony itself was lovely. Jojo didn't look up at us much, but she probably didn't want to burst out laughing in the middle of a hymn. The graduation was held in First Baptist, which is the OMG BIGGEST CHURCH EVER!


We sat in the balcony, people.


"We" being Jojo's family, roommate Kristin and former freshman hall mates, Erin and me. Shawn, Jojo's fiance, was also graduating so his family was there as well.

Kristin was resplendent with her new bangs, as was Erin in her maternity dress (she's not pregnant, she just likes to pretend). Meanwhile, I tried not to embarrass us all horribly.

Me: Do you have a tissue?
Erin: Sure... *hands over a fancy handkerchief.* I didn't realize you'd get so emotional over the conferring of degrees!
Me: Oh, it's not that. I had chocolates in my purse, and they melted. *displays gooey mess inside handbag*
Erin: Um.
Me: Sorry about your handkerchief. I'll buy you a new one ... where did it come from?
Erin: Japan.
Me: Shit. I'll wash it, then. With my tears of remorse.
Erin: You do that.

The Honorable Reverend Jojo's parents took us all out to lunch afterwards, and then we lazed out the old apartment a bit. It's much cleaner now that I don't live there anymore. I peeled off for a little while to hang with Eric, Doug, and Doug's friend Mikey. Mikey is an extremely interesting person (think mohawk, camo pants and absolutely no thought filter). Though I can't fault his sense of humor.

Me: Look, Doug and Eric are wearing the same outfit! *points to the black t-shirts & khaki shorts*
Mikey: They should be boyfriends.
Me: ... you're kind of awesome.
Mikey: I know.

After I grew sick of the boys, I came back just in time to go out for a late dinner with the girls (and Shawn). I drank a Mountain Dew and struggled to keep my eyes open long enough to drive to C'ville. And then for the rest of the weekend I studied.

Well ... for most of it. Half of it.

I spent at least some of the next two days studying.

... and the rest sleeping and watching TV. There, you happy?

about me

*points to banner*

This is why. If you've ever looked at me and thought, "what the hell?" these three people are the reason. I wish I could carry them around in my pocket, like a note from my doctor excusing me from normal human interaction.

"Oh, I'm sorry I weirded you out just then. This is why."

On the bright side, they're the ones who taught me to not really care what the world at large thinks. They provide the funny, but they also give me strength. A life of cheerful absurdity is my heritage, my biological imperative.

In related news, hello. This is my new blog.