Since mid-August I have spent every Monday and Wednesday evening in Anatomy & Physiology II and every Tuesday & Thursday in Microbiology.  This is completely useless to all of you but I am merely setting the stage for my Finals Preparation: FAIL story.

Last week I was feeling like real poo about my finals and was totally overwhelmed with it all.  (Shocking to feel overwhelmed in December, I know.)  But as this weekend approached, I thought, “Meh, we’ll see how it goes.”  I had a fabulously productive weekend (read: sleeping at MPs all weekend and made Spanakopita) AND did plenty of studying.

I feel fairly confident about my Micro final and my A&P II final is open book.  Sounds do-able, right?  Right.

So I spent my entire day today at an AMAZING conference for work which necessitated my getting up at 5am.  Um, yeah.  That’s like 4 hours earlier than I usually get up.  This is a sin against G-O-D.  So I got up, walked in the rain, took the train and a bus and a hot air balloon and a donkey to this conference.  Much to my delight the free coffee and snacks were YUM!  Then I got to listen to all these public health gurus talk about saving the world and I just wanted to light a candle and pass it around and hug my neighbor.  Then the greatest thing of all time happened.  I actually read the 400 page program they gave us and read that MAYA ANGELOU was speaking!!  Holy shitballs exciting, right?  (She’s the most amazing writer on the planet and I just used the word ’shitballs’.  I disgust myself).  So Ms. Angelou is so fabulous there are not words to describe the fabulousness of that woman.  This is the second time I have heard her speak AND I saw her at a restaurant in DC last year and almost poo’d in my pants right there.  Ok, I love this woman, it’s clear!

So I conferenced all day.  Got all up in my public health bidness.  Was feeling all invigorated and passionate and yada, yada, yada.  THEN I had a 2 hour mtg AFTER the already-insanely-long day, came home, fixed Indian food for dinner and quickly fell in to a catatonic state.  I must study for my finals.  I must.  Simply.  Must.

So I devised a plan:  Tomorrow is Wednesday.  I have my Micro final (*please reference aforementioned schedule).  As I was brushing my teeth I made a plan.  I’m too much of a zombie to study now, I thought.  I will head to the conference tomorrow for part of the day and cram before the test.  Micro is no big deal.  I should be ok. Brusha brush brusha my teeth.  Tomorrow is Wednesday.  WAIT.A.MINUTE!  Wait a GAWD DAMN MINUTE!  Tomorrow is Wednesday.  I have ANATOMY TOMORROW!! NOT MICRO!!

IDIOT.  SUCH an idiot.  This Finals Preparation: FAIL story is only a minor fail.  It would have been an all-out assault on my intelligence if I had actually gone to my OPEN BOOK ANATOMY FINAL, with my Microbiology notes in hand.  Talk about utter stupidity.  I guess I should feel relieved that I actually remembered this while brusha brusha brushing my teeth.  *phew*

Crisis averted

~~~~~

Phenomenal woman
That’s me

Some weeks ago I was chatting with a friend about the horrific economy.  He lives in San Francisco and unlike most gay men does not have one domestic bone in his body.  He eats out every day and doesn’t believe in cleaning.  Well, like ever.  We were on the phone and he said, “I just got back from Trader Joe’s.  I know I know … I went grocery shopping!”  To which I replied, “Whhuuuuutt?”  He said, “Yeah, I’m worried about The Depression.”  I said, “Seasonal Affective Disorder sinking in already?  Gloomy skies in San Francisco makes you want to grocery shop for the first time in 10 years?  I’m not following.”  He explained, “No. The Depression.  You know, the economy.  I’m trying to watch my spending.”

It is not as though I don’t realize the horrible state of affairs here in America.  Even if I didn’t witness poverty every day living in a city riddled with those without, the news is quick to point out how shitty things are.  He asked, “Do you think it’s affecting you?”  I had to sit back and think about this for a minute.

Living alone on a salary that is not as large as my looming school debt means I am well-aware of every cent I spend.  I live in a SFAH for pete’s sake.  I only buy enough groceries that I can carry at a time and choose very wisely between fruits and veggies, proteins and very, very few snacks (those Trader Joe’s Peppermint Jo Joes were an exception, obvi).  During these abysmal times, I am deeply grateful for my job and my health insurance.  I am grateful to have my bus pass paid for and my utilities included in my amazing $600 rent.  But when a girl wants to add pita chips to her Thanksgiving salad and sees they cost $5/bag (WTF?), I can’t help but notice that things are bleak.

For years I have watched those around me live well beyond their means.  The use of the word “need” surrounding the description of a new pair of shoes or the latest MAC eye shadow or even a new car is not something I have ever understood.  I have never been a frivolous spender.  In my working days in San Francisco, well before the reality of living on loans in grad school kicked in, I certainly went shopping on my lunch hour more than any girl needed to.  But now … I don’t know if my spending habits are a product of my poverty, or a product of reality.  As trivial as it sounds, living with so little in New Orleans and being surrounded by those with NOTHING (forget ‘living with less’ … those people have NOTHING) provided me a deep sense of understanding and appreciation for the word ‘need’.  Now I go to work and see patients suffering from grave illness due to poor health choices, not disconnected from their economic state of affairs.  I understand living without.  For years as I saw my friends buying homes with u-shaped driveways and living in a constant state of ‘keeping up with the Joneses’, I never, ever understood it.

My sister’s constant spending is a very glaring need to fill the emotional vacancies in her life.  I, thankfully, find ‘emotional deposits’ in relationships, time spent with friends, introspection and personal growth.  “Things” have never ever satiated my internal needs and for that, I am truly grateful.  I am not an emotional shoppper, and thankfully not an emotional eater.

Of the million things I am grateful for this harvest season, I am deeply thankful to have a good head on my shoulders.  A fairly adjusted sense of self.  A whole sense of being that transcends my spending, my grocery bill and thankfully my waistline.  Sure, the economy is in the crapper.  But each one of us chooses how we spend, on what.  How we teach our children to seek approval and desires through toys that last a season.  Through a trendy pair of jeans that won’t fit in a year.

I have all I need.  Sometimes a sparse fridge with tortillas and peperjack cheese.  A dwindling shoe collection that this recovering Imelda Marcos-in training never, ever thought she’d see.  Maybe all of us can use these times to reflect on how we spend our money and why.  Look within my dear friends.  Instead of feeding the instant need for now, the right-this-minute craving for the new Wii game, get your ass out and volunteer for people really living without.  I promise you that that investment will last for years to come.  Beyond the next style season.

The people that live in the house above the SFAH are in Peru for the week.  When they handed me the keys to keep an eye on things, my ears rang with “SVU! SVU! SVU!”  I have been in a LTR with Law & Order for quite some time now.  And all the full episodes online are some bootsy ass pirated shakey-camera business with Chinese subtitles.  I mean, how can I check out Stabler’s ass with some Mandarin caricatures on the screen, right?  Can I get a witness sistergirlfriend?

So when I came home from work tonight (at 9pm uughh) I came straight up here and flicked on the boob tube.  OMG television on a screen larger than my computer monitor is exactly what I need right now.

Me and the tele are back together again.

P.S. And on that note … Psst, X, Venus, any chance either of you watched the last bachelorette?  Um Deanna and Jesse broke up!

DeAnna Pappas commented on the break up, saying, “I really felt like I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I thought he was my fairy-tale ending. But after the show was over and we settled in to our normal lives, I slowly came to realize that we are two totally different people and it wasn’t going to work out.

No fucking shit Sherlock!

And cute-as-a-fucking button Jason from Seattle is the new Bachelor.  Woohooo!  (Awful show but a train wreck that I can’t turn away from!)  Don’t judge.

P.P.S. Dudes!  Life without this talking box is keeping me as clueless as a commune-bound polygamy wife.  I just saw an ad for “Untamed Uncut” on the Animal Planet.  Um … is this like Boys Gone Wild for the uncircumcised?  Yes, this is how my mind thinks.

When you’re a starving grad student, the last thing on your long to-do list is to get your teeth cleaned.  Because my mother worked in a dentist office for almost 20 years and I was raised to be very teeth-concious, it wasn’t really far from my mind … I simply didn’t have insurance, nor the time to bother.  So I did what any over-compensating person would do and I bought a Sonicare.  I mean, obvi.  When you can’t have your teeth professionally scraped with that god-awful metal thingy, g’head and buy the Sonicare.  That feet of battery operated magic (he! Not the first time I have uttered that phrase) … is life saving I tell you!

Well now that I have been gainfully employed with kickass insurance for 6 months or so, it was high time I took my fuzzy-mouthed ass to the dentista.  After years of living on coffee and falling asleep too many times with my face in the books (ha! Or in a beer mug) without brushing, on Tuesday I made that fateful call.  They scheduled me in today and holy shit was I nervous!  I am absolutely paralyzed with the thought of having a root canal and to me, there is no gray area in the dental world.  You either have perfect teeth or you neglect them, get your shit pulled without  anesthesia (a la James Frey) and then look like you been chewin’ on rocks.  Yeah, totally logical thought process, I get that.

I mean, I cherish my pearly whites and I knew I was guilty as charged for abusing them over the years.  And this morning when I waltzed in there, all jittery and shakey I confessed like a man in a confessional in front of the god damn Spanish Inquisition.  “Hi.  Hi.  Um yeah … hi.  It’s been a really long time and I’m really upset about this and they mean a lot to me and god I am convinced he’s going to pull out my entire mouth and just have to start over.  So um yeah.”

“Baby, I just need your insurance card.  Save all that for the doctor.”  Clearly the receptionist does NOT need to hear my enamel-related bidness.

I am so nervous I’m just talking incessantly.  Like a kid who’s guilty of something and is trying to keep your mind occupied with a long-winded story.  Or a really antsy crack head who needs a hit and is just gonna talk her John into turning another trick for another piece of smack.  Endless gibberish in a gratuitous manner is annoying if you’re a GFYO, a crackhead or a nervous dental patient at 9am.  God, I wanted to stuff some of those instruments in my own mouth just so I’d shut up.  But seriously … dental guilt, who’da a thought?

I filled out the necessary paperwork (Sidenote: um …. one of the questions read “Do you use alcohol or cocaine?” check Y or N.  Uuugh … YES I ‘use’ alcohol, no I do NOT use cocaine.  How the hell do you answer a question coupled like that?  WTF?)  I met the dental hygienist and calmly explained that the checked ‘Y’ was in relation to the booze, not the blow.  *phew* Glad that’s all cleared up!

Got the x-rays did.  Had the hygienist lady scrape with that GOD.AWFUL.TOOL.  Polished.  Swallowed.  Spit (hehe, that’s what she said!).  And in came the dentist.  Despite that whole unpleasant teeth scraping thing going fairly pleasantly, in he walked and out came the detritus from my mouth, “Hi.  Um yeah … hi.  It’s been a really long time and I’m really upset about this and they mean a lot to me and god I am convinced you’re going to pull out my entire mouth and just have to start over.  So um yeah.  I have a retainer at night that I haven’t worn since um … since a long time and I’m really sorry.  And like 2 months ago MP chipped my tooth but I think it’s ok cause you won’t notice and it’s not affecting my chewing.  And I think I am grinding my teeth at night cause they’re sore and sensitive to cold and WHATDOIDO?”

Jesus

Mary

and

Joseph!!!

SHUT UP!!

It’s moments like these when I want to wrap my own hands around my neck and squeeze ever so tightly.

The dentist was lovely and nice and said nothing about my poor dental hygiene and just wanted me to get back on track now that I’m not living on Smart Food and 7-11 coffee (grad school is WRONG on one’s body, folks).  So as he was ushering me out with my SHOCKINGLY perfect dental bill of health, he suggested I invest in a $650 night guard for the grinding.  To which I said, “Ya know … because I do that whole public health prevention thing, shouldn’t you be referring me to an acupuncturist with a discount for a massage or something?  I mean, grinding is a sign of stress.  Let’s tackle the root of the problem, right?”

To which he laughed and quietly handed me a prescription for Quaaludes.  (Ok, I made that last part up).

*zing*  Me and my teeth are alright afterall!

Today is the first post in a week that isn’t about religion! I transitioned from the election to all kindsa religulous. I’m sorry I really am.

So back to the election …

Picture it: Washington, DC November 4th, 3am (er, I guess that makes it November 5th). I had had WAY too much to drink (shocking, I know), had danced the electric slide in the street, hugged and kissed strangers, took plenty of photos and maybe cried a little. I left the party in the streets and made about 17 phone calls. I, ugh … have no idea who I called. Oh right! I called my sister (also called Sass) in California. While on the phone en route to the SFAH I saw at the end of a dark street, just like the commercial says, the friggin golden arches. Like any drunk frat boy, I really like bad food when I’m drunk (shocking, I know). Don’t judge! I am all excited and told Sass, “I gotta bounce. I’m bouts to get a double cheese no onion. Peace.”

So I walked into McD’s, “half-cocked” as MP says, and this place is a hot mess. This particular McDs is in THE.HOOD and should really only be visited during the daylight hours but c’mon, I was half-cocked, gimme a break. And there were no less than 14 cop cars out front which meant I was totals safe (riiiight). And uh, Barack just won so no one was gonna get all gun violence on a night like this.

So I was in line with a watering mouth and I started chatting with the lovely men behind me (shocking, I know). We’re talkin’ election yadda yadda. As the line moved forward and I turned around, one of the guys said, “Haha, I voted for McCain.” I whip my head around and scream, “WHAT?” *silence* (I think they were both shocked at my quick, rage-filled response.) To which I said even louder, “I will cut you!” The man to whom I threatened with a knifing was SHOCKED into silence yet again. The other started laughing. I look at him again, lift his chin up with my right hand and with my left swipe under his chin - you know, in a beheading fashion - and repeat, “No. I’ll fuckin’ cut you!”

Thankfully I have a mouth full of pearly whites and flashed them quickly. They both started laughing and the one (to whom I threatened) was all, “Daaaaaaaamn. You were bouts to cut me!” (Riiiiight, with the butter knife I use for hummus in my bag). “But c’mon I’m a black man. You KNOW I didn’t vote McCain. That’d be worth cutting if I did.”

I’m glad we all had a laugh about it but … um … did I just threaten to CUT.A.MAN 4 times my size, while intoxicated at a McDonald’s in the hood?

Yes I did, girl. Yes I did!

The first time my sister and I were asked if we were members of The Tribe we thought it was totally random and brushed it off. The next time we laughed it off. By the 427th time I had to say, “I AM NOT A JEW!” Not that there is anything wrong with that. (*Ahem* that whole BRCA2 thing sure as shit didn’t help the presumptuous Jewish comments.)

Growing up in an all-Catholic world meant I knew NOTHING of this Jew business until I moved to Chicago at the ripe ‘ol age of 20. And HOLY.SHIT did I show up at the Western Wall or what? …. the black coats and the furry hats and the white strings on their waist and what the HELL were those ringlet curly cues in their hair? In complete and utter fascination I stared out the bus window like a kid on Rumspringa. And then came the Jews for Jesus in San Francisco. Uuuugh, a Jew for Jesus? That makes you a Christian right? … which kinda negates that whole Jew thing. I still don’t get those people. Anywhoodle …

Being mistaken for a Jew means that all Jews instantly like me. I mean, what’s not to like? They are not only successful, hard working and funny, they are also good judges of character. It also means that I have kinda become obsessed with all things Jew. I’ve done my homework and know how to make a chicken kosher, have read all about the outbreaks of genital herpes in newborn Jewish babies following circumcision (fascinating!), and I read Heeb magazine. It’s kinda gotten out of control.

However, this weekend I am finally being indoctrinated into The Tribe. No, I am not singing from the Torah and being bat mitzvah’d, I am attending my first Jewish wedding! Tonight I will be attending Shabbat dinner with the family of the bride and the rest of the out-of-town guests. I am friends with the groom and he loves his blushing bride so much he converted for her. Yup, he had his prick PRICKED! Ya see, conversion is kinda like a baptism/circumcision/bar mitzvah all rolled into one and because he was already circumcised THEY PRICKED HIS PRICK so as to keep up with the rules in the Old Testament. I could die! Could you die?? Following said pricking my religiously-sensitive ass called him right away and screeched, “HOW’D IT GO”? “It was no big deal” he said. YEAH RIGHT! Can any of my male readers attest … would getting your prick pricked be ‘no big deal’? I thought not!

So I am heading to New York to be surrounded by my people and I could not be more elated! In fact, the bride’s family are actually Brazilian Jews (who knew, right?) And what makes this even more interesting is that my father’s people are from the Azores and a bunch of Jewish peeps moved there after the war and pretended to be Catholic. So maybe I am a Jew after all. Her parents are either going to speak Yiddish or Portuguese to me and I am going to reply, “Soy una Shiksa y solamente hablo espanol. Donde esta el bano?”