You're invited!

TO A PITY PARTY!!!!!

Yes folks its that time of year already!! Where did the time go!? - the annual fall melee of fuck my immune system is here, only place to go where the gamut of illness runs from cotton balls in my nose to gravel and glass shards in my intestine, and I'm pretty sure someone put a few bricks in my sinus cavities last night. If you lost your chain saw/blender blades/nails/or otherwise obtrusive sharp objects - look no farther because I think I may have accidentally housed them in my throat and bronchial tubes.

To overload you on the fabulous and fantastic fun that I am currently sitting here not experiencing, I get to present my research tomorrow at 9am. Have I started on my presentation yet?? would this really be a proper pity party if I had? But no worries, because its not like I really sleep anymore anyway. I'll type and fret away into the wee hours of the morning whilst trying to keep most of my internal organs from crawling out of my esophagus.

RSVP by midnight. Bring your own orange juice, tissues are provided, hugs should be distributed cautiously.

oh grad school. oh you.

I have leftover pizza in the fridge for dinner tonight [yay] , I slept a full 8 hours last night thanks to Tylenol PM [bows] , I will be attending an all day music fest tomorrow [fantastic] , I parked on campus for my 4th time in the past two weeks with no ticket [I am a god] , and I just received my take home test from advanced molecular bio [shit] . I'm thoroughly amused with the piquant directions, even though the questions are nothing short of a blood bath.

[This exam may contain trick questions designed specifically to lower the Gaussian curve. Read the question two times and then read it again to your cat to be certain that you (and your cat) understand what is asked for. Each year about 15% of the answers score zero because the person has re-interpreted the question and answered a different question than the one asked for. Remember--your TAs have been specifically trained to detect such deception.]

lets break this down:

This exam may contain trick questions designed specifically to lower the Gaussian curve.

Awesome. Thanks. Big relief, because I was pretty worried about breezing right through this test. I mean, its not like I can barely interpret your questions or anything. I'm sure your gratuitous riddles will be just like doing a sudoku to pass the time.

or, you know, how about *not* trying to fail us?

Read the question two times and then read it again to your cat to be certain that you (and your cat) understand what is asked for.

what will the people with no cat do!? WHAT WILL THEY DO!?!? lower the Gaussian curve is what they will do. Thank god I have a fantastically intelligent cat.

Each year about 15% of the answers score zero because the person has re-interpreted the question and answered a different question than the one asked for.

15% of your previous test takers were, apparently, not cat owners.

Remember--your TAs have been specifically trained to detect such deception.

What? wow, did you train them with little treats and a bell? Do they have cats? Are they trained too? Did you also train them to give me a dirty look that would kill the young and innocent when I come to your class late? (and aren't they used to this by now?) Isn't this turning into a lot of work JUST to make sure some people fail your test?

This is all, just mildly appreciated, sir. And furthermore, if it wasn't for your cheeky directions, I'd probably have already started on the test and not be blogging.

Reason 468 why Becky is fantastic.

The past two weeks have left me high and dry on the whole - getting 8 hours of sleep per night suggestion. Ive been averaging maybe 2-3 non-consecutive hours a night. In lieu of my new found insomnia, I have resorted to drinking caffeine all. day. long. to overcome the brutal exhaustion that surreptitiously creeps into my brain after 2-3 hours post coffee/tea/diet pepsi max.

So after a long weekend of homework, take home tests, an absurd amount of drinking, and an even more absurd amount of not sleeping, I took melatonin and crawled in bed at 8pm for what was sure to be the answer to all of my life's problems. I could barely make it through a chapter of my John Grisham book I was so exhausted. I turned out the lights and laid awake until, oh, 5am. While being completely and totally exhausted. and *not* sleeping.

Since this wasn't fucking maddening enough--upon waking this morning I dragged myself out of bed, only to have a completely unfamiliar brand of shitty slam me in the face.

I called out to Becky to alert her of only what I could presently figure out - which was that I was really sick, possibly dying, and maybe I needed her help. Appropriately, the world then went silent and black and I woke up in front of my bathroom vanity after a very refreshing and very unplanned nap.

I called out to Becky again and instructed her that she probably needed to call an ambulance, a doctor, my mom, maybe the pope. As Becky comes to my door, I realize that I'm not only lying on my floor, but I'm lying on my floor mostly naked with no means of covering myself since I am completely immobile. So, laying there, and SURE of the fact that I was dying, was washed over with a wave of sudden extreme modesty, and told her she was NOT allowed to come in, but if she could please bring me some water that would be fantastic.

Becky returns with water and attempts to hand it to me with one arm through a tiny crack of my open door. I have no means of reaching said water because I'm still laying on the fucking floor and moving was not an option yet seeing as the world was still mostly black/spinning/silent. So now I'm like, Becky, wtf are you doing, I can't move, come in, jesus christ I'm dying lady. So Becky comes in, comments on the fact that I'm really white, my lips are white, brings me clothes, runs back downstairs and fetches the Brita, comes back, and settles in beside me to finish her homework to make sure I don't, in fact, die. A good 30 min of laying on the floor, watching the kitten fucking drink my water, but was nice enough to take turns with me, and not even caring that he had his entire fucking head in my glass, re-hydrated and moved on with my life.

So the good news is, its 12 pm, I'm alive, on my third cup of coffee, 6th glass of water, and I will make it to my confocal microscopy appointment on time.

Three cheers for Becky who undoubtedly saved my life this morning.

This is not you, This is not me. But just looking at her makes me feel better.

I have nothing to write, really, I just need to share this picture from last night. Take away what you will, enjoy.

just sayin'

*Acknowledgments:

Chris - I am sorry you have to put up with me in your cubicle. Thank you for letting me poke fun of your really expensive Prada glasses. Thanks for not being upset over my sloppy guffawing when I told you they look just like Zelda Rubenstein's glasses. I could tell you weren't the slightest bit amused, although your polite chuckle was appreciated.

Zelda Rubinstein: I didn't have cable as a child and so I religiously watched Poltergeist and Dirty Dancing EVERYDAY growing up, and sometimes a bad japanese cartoon version of Gulliver's Travels. You were someone I admired and feared for years.

Vacuum cleaner, sponge, Clorox: I spent my morning not studying, but scrubbing and vacuuming. This house is clean I tell you! (see what I did there? - lets try and get on the ball with these obscure movie references please.)

A pleonastic tribute to my friend and yours, Djarum.

Even better than coffee, in my room, on a dark rainy day, in my pjs, with sirius 17 playing me sweet sweet tunes, even better then my free breakfast this morning, and having slept in until 7:15...these things, all of these things have just been overridden, surmounted, TOPPED WITH ICING AND CONFETTI AND BELLS AND WHILSTES,

because
I
just
gave
in.

My will power crashed and burned. My self control plummeted to zero. I just enjoyed my first clove from my first pack of Djarum Blacks as a grad student, while sipping a delicious dark roasted coffee from Panera Bread, while sitting in my dark room in my pjs, while listening to the mellifluous tones of The Heavy Pets.

Oh god its so good to give in. Thank you tobacco store. Thank you Clove. Thank you Panera. Thank you weak will power. I can now commence studying for hours in the etheral calm that only Djarum can bring me.

Smack Talk

This is a few months worth of some wall posts exchanged (the private messages we send each other tend to be much worse) between myself and my internet friend Matt, I have never met said friend, and yes, we met through the mecca of all that is awesome-- facebook--. Our entire relationship is based on verbally assaulting one another - for really no other reason then I can consistently beat the shit out of Matt in Scramble (unless he cheats). A little background, I think Matt is like, pushing 40 - is a lobbyist, and and knows how to play maybe three chords on a guitar. Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 1:56pm on July 6th, 2008 I'm beginning to understand why you don't have a boyfriend. *ouch

Lisa McCoig wrote
at 2:23pm on July 6th, 2008

woah - you're reaching. and - you just aren't reaching far enough.

no - didn't cut me deep on that one im afraid.

shouldn't you be expending that little bean of yours' energy on scramble.? i know that dig took a lot of effort. don't tax yourself now. pacing is key.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote
at 12:41am on July 19th, 2008

I'm sorry, Lisa. I seem to be beating your ass in Scramble. I let my subscription to SA expire because the new editors turned it into a commie pinko rag.

Lisa McCoig wrote
at 10:22am on July 19th, 2008

So, I am sitting here on my couch wistfully reflecting on memories of old, memories of new. Whilst staring off into space with a dreamy gleam in my eye, I recalled this foggy memory of the time you wrote on my wall bragging about - I think you were beating me in scramble? or something, but you totally were throwing down mad smack talk. I guess you thought you were going to win. yeah, it was definately scramble.

and then. I won.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 3:22pm on July 19th, 2008 You got lucky! You beat my ass on only one round! But soon...soon... oh, victory will taste so sweet!

Lisa McCoig wrote
at 10:10am on July 23rd, 2008

you would be so lucky to a) be cool enough to rock out my glasses and b) understand how to embrace things of an awesome nature such as large unsightly cranial accessories.

your skills are clearly lacking in more then just scramble and perhaps two or three missing fingers.

just sayin' ;)

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote
at 6:27pm on July 23rd, 2008

I BEAT YOU!!!!!

GO BACK TO WHORE ISLAND!!!!!!!!!!

Lisa McCoig wrote at 10:32pm on July 23rd, 2008 I give you my most sincere congratulations for beating me after 100's of rounds. The statistics have treated you well.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 10:50pm on July 23rd, 2008 Ahhh, rationalize it however you wish, but the fact remains that my skill grows like a mighty oak, as yours diminishes like a bush that has been urinated on too much. (I've actually seen that happen.

Lisa McCoig wrote
at 2:34pm on July 24th, 2008

I'm sorry to hear your bush died b/c you lack indoor plumbing.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote
at 4:30pm on July 24th, 2008

Funny how you immediately assumed it was due to a lack of indoor plumbing... must be a cultural thing.

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT BUMPER STICKER?!?!?!?!?!???

Lisa McCoig wrote
at 12:25pm on August 10th, 2008

dear matt,

my condolences for your grief on my latest internet disappearance. do not fear, i will be back to kick your ass in scramble. i hope your wet tear stained pillow doesn't keep you up at night.

love and kisses,

lisa

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 10:51am on August 20th, 2008 It's "ensuring," moron

-

Lisa McCoig wrote at 12:29pm on August 20th, 2008 thanks douchey.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 10:53pm on August 25th, 2008 You're forgetting the rope!!! You need a ROPE, silly!!!

-

Lisa McCoig wrote at 7:01am on August 26th, 2008 uuhh. what do i need a rope for?

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote
at 8:03am on August 26th, 2008

Oh, never mind. Your profile pic shows you standing on the stool, and I just assumed you were in despair about losing to be twice in Scramble. I decided to cheat just to irritate you.

Lisa McCoig wrote at 11:26am on August 26th, 2008 wow. you would cheat b/c you obviously don't have enough manhood to handle my consistent winning streak. ahhhh one day maybe your testes will drop or something.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote
at 5:33pm on August 26th, 2008

My testes did drop. I'll never forget that day, in fact. They hit the floor so hard they broke my foot and my parents had to call a contractor to fix the basement ceiling.

Lisa McCoig wrote at 7:48am on August 27th, 2008 http://www.fraxa.org/?gclid=CLyn88n5rZUCFRghnAodqiE9kg

Lisa McCoig wrote at 7:48am on August 27th, 2008 shit matt, big nuts are a sure sign of Fragile X...which explains a lot seeing as FraX sufferers are often retarded. Thank god for my Adv Molecular course - just learned alllllllll about you. You might want to get your chromosomes analyzed before you reproduce...you know, this shit is genetic and your kids will have it worse then you. damn it feels good to be the jesus of all that is bio.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 11:20pm on September 8th, 2008 McCoig, you so suck.

-

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 11:31pm on September 8th, 2008 Speaking of nightime accoutrements, you left your vibrator next to my bed again.

Lisa McCoig wrote at 7:15am on September 9th, 2008 it can stay there, I don't need my vibrator when I'm with anyone else.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 9:08pm on September 9th, 2008 Yeah, but it's your vibrator that's 6 inches wide with the 12-volt rechargable battery, and it's really taking up a lot of space.

-

Lisa McCoig wrote
at 9:53pm on September 9th, 2008

so you are waiting for me to give you permission to house it in your anus. oh. i see. I don't know how I didn't read between the lines earlier. Well, Matt - by all me

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote
at 10:46pm on September 9th, 2008

Well, no, actually. I'm just saying that if you can pick it up, along with the camper battery adapter and your value-sized tub of Valtrex, I might be able to put a few of my books down on my nightstand. Thanks!

Lisa McCoig wrote
at 5:09pm on September 10th, 2008

Matt, number one, your reading is limited to menu's with pictures, number two, try not to act like I'm paying you some disservice when we both know you are feeling extra manly with my vibrator so proudly displayed on your nightstand, number three, my vag can not accommodate 6 inch wide anythings unless its squishy like a baby, number four, we went in on the extra big valtrex together- so why don't you scoop out your half and I'll think about removing the container to my own home - although i really only remember to take it when you're around. goodness gracious.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 7:49pm on September 10th, 2008 Lisa, you're obviously still incensed over the time you caught me knocking up your mother. Don't be mad at me! She's the one who gave you the thumbs up sign in the middle of it, not me. I only told you to close the door because you were letting in a draft. I wasn't trying to be rude.

-

Lisa McCoig wrote
at 10:40am yesterday

didn't want a draft eh? understandable, you might need all the um *ahem* non cold and drafty conditions you can get.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 9:58pm yesterday Certainly so. Your mom's vag is like a sloppy piece of roast beef on a good day, and when it gets cold it's like banging a snowman. Chilly!

-

Lisa McCoig wrote at 4:27am Matt, let's not act like roast beef isn't the better alternative to the microwaved watermelon you're used to.

Matt McBride (Baltimore, MD) wrote at 9:52am Microwaved watermelon? Must be a Southern thing.

-

Three caffeine induced life truths.

Upon waking yesterday morning from four hours of sleep to a really not so surprising wine hangover - I decided caffeine-- superfluous* amounts of caffeine that is, would be my answer to not only make it through my morning alive, but to also fuel what would be an otherwise miserable bike ride. <div><div> </div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BX5XZE96eqJPvv-gb65Cx30P7YIdVj8TqTqop-vpfBlxA6TXHUmBVqKuHFSAGJSchaFVflJiPA8wj0q_5DTYxtRAiFEbVDcRZNYUMZVTUSUpxRvpVM6qkg_BnhRe0aCmDyb5P8lFw34/s1600-h/n6204132_38339980_6157.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 344px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BX5XZE96eqJPvv-gb65Cx30P7YIdVj8TqTqop-vpfBlxA6TXHUmBVqKuHFSAGJSchaFVflJiPA8wj0q_5DTYxtRAiFEbVDcRZNYUMZVTUSUpxRvpVM6qkg_BnhRe0aCmDyb5P8lFw34/s400/n6204132_38339980_6157.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245330243771896114" border="0" /></a>* Main Entry: superfluous Part of Speech: adj Definition 1: more than enough; overabundant; extra </div><div>Definition 2: one cup of coffee brewed from espresso beans, one sugar-free red bull, one Centrum weight smart with Caffeine and Guarana </div><div><div style="text-align: left;">I began my ride as per normal, perusing through my mp3 player, and for the first time in years, not skipping over Jane's Addiction. One JA song led to another, and led me to another, until I was solely listening to the entire Kettle Whistle album - which leads me to <strong>truth number 1</strong>, Jane's addiction is totally worth revisiting, Jane and I have come full circle, furious grunge rock found its way back into my now rapidly beating little hamster heart. </div> </div><div>As I fiercely forwarded from one song to the next- caffeine was subsequently taking over my bike ride/heart/life/soul. Now, in an insane pedaling frenzy, frustrated that suddenly this whole, axle/chain system was making my ride way too easy, and contemplating perhaps running, whilst carrying my bike, and maybe a few average sized men on my back --to adequately consume this insurmountable level of energy surging through my soul, I transpired into my very own living breathing quintessential Brawndo commercial. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tbxq0IDqD04">www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tbxq0IDqD04</a> (and can also apparently, render the wolrd's longest and most impressive run on sentences) <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Byw4Al8J2I1B_sAXdd52X0J6fDxcFuUFxu2VKiR-Bx6_rWohZkY6gH2pu34li4NMMDRGfLG0vodgV4f6my-YNYksD8u0uX2NEqUxAOii0XvNRg5n4QVfl-OyUpawte70YpVOdHHXlNY/s1600-h/Bike8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Byw4Al8J2I1B_sAXdd52X0J6fDxcFuUFxu2VKiR-Bx6_rWohZkY6gH2pu34li4NMMDRGfLG0vodgV4f6my-YNYksD8u0uX2NEqUxAOii0XvNRg5n4QVfl-OyUpawte70YpVOdHHXlNY/s400/Bike8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245328110612826658" border="0" /></a> </div><div>Riding, at perhaps 300 rpm, maybe averaging 50 mph, head-bopping and arm waving to Jane's addiction, I arrive at a stoplight and realize I am in fact, surrounded by morning traffic and perhaps I might look slightly foolish in my cycling/dancing endeavors. In my peripheral vision, I see a flurry - of something, something rapidly moving - furiously - scaring me that I am now starting to hallucinate on what can only be an overdose of caffeine. Upon further inspection, the flurry is a lady, and her arms are moving insanely fast. Her arm storm was inclusive of ripinng motions to her head, specifically her ears. I thought maybe we were on some caffeine induced ethereal page together. The terribly unexciting truth was, she just wanted me to remove my headphones to scold me, leaving JA to blare loud enough for at least three cars back to enjoy. (free beats!) </div> <div>"I can't believe you ride with your headphones on!! Is it really necessary for you to listen to music while you ride? Don't you know the dangers of riding and not being able to hear traffic?? You need to be careful young lady, I am just trying to look out for you, you should take those things off!!" </div><div>Hey lady, maybe the next time you go on a bike ride, and judging from your sheer size would be never, but if you do, and also you get lost - and you are now 40 miles into your ride and you blew through all of your electrolytes hours ago, and also your are trying to peddle up a hill - which if it was any steeper cars would fall off the face of the earth - and your thigh cramps, but you can't stop because there isn't enough time to unclip your fucking shoe without falling over because you are moving up said hill so slowly...and the ONLY thing you have to rely on, your only fucking thigh cramp emollient, is the strong beat of Particle --And the only alternative to Particle is to kill yourself, because the pain is ungodly intense, THEN YES I DO NEED TO WEAR HEADPHONES WHEN I RIDE. (<strong>Truth #2)</strong> And if you are so inclined to be such the altruist, then maybe you can go clean up the vomit I laid down on 751 north, exorcist style. </div><div></div> <div>Which leads me to <strong>Truth #3</strong>, when your eggs expired two months ago, don't eat that shit.</div></div>Upon waking yesterday morning from four hours of sleep to a really not so surprising wine hangover - I decided caffeine-- superfluous* amounts of caffeine that is, would be my answer to not only make it through my morning alive, but to also fuel what would be an otherwise miserable bike ride.

*
Main Entry: superfluous
Part of Speech: adj
Definition 1: more than enough; overabundant; extra

Definition 2: one cup of coffee brewed from espresso beans, one sugar-free red bull, one Centrum weight smart with Caffeine and Guarana

I began my ride as per normal, perusing through my mp3 player, and for the first time in years, not skipping over Jane's Addiction. One JA song led to another, and led me to another, until I was solely listening to the entire Kettle Whistle album - which leads me to truth number 1, Jane's addiction is totally worth revisiting, Jane and I have come full circle, furious grunge rock found its way back into my now rapidly beating little hamster heart.

As I fiercely forwarded from one song to the next- caffeine was subsequently taking over my bike ride/heart/life/soul. Now, in an insane pedaling frenzy, frustrated that suddenly this whole, axle/chain system was making my ride way too easy, and contemplating perhaps running, whilst carrying my bike, and maybe a few average sized men on my back --to adequately consume this insurmountable level of energy surging through my soul, I transpired into my very own living breathing quintessential Brawndo commercial. www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tbxq0IDqD04 (and can also apparently, render the wolrd's longest and most impressive run on sentences)

Riding, at perhaps 300 rpm, maybe averaging 50 mph, head-bopping and arm waving to Jane's addiction, I arrive at a stoplight and realize I am in fact, surrounded by morning traffic and perhaps I might look slightly foolish in my cycling/dancing endeavors. In my peripheral vision, I see a flurry - of something, something rapidly moving - furiously - scaring me that I am now starting to hallucinate on what can only be an overdose of caffeine. Upon further inspection, the flurry is a lady, and her arms are moving insanely fast. Her arm storm was inclusive of ripinng motions to her head, specifically her ears. I thought maybe we were on some caffeine induced ethereal page together. The terribly unexciting truth was, she just wanted me to remove my headphones to scold me, leaving JA to blare loud enough for at least three cars back to enjoy. (free beats!)

"I can't believe you ride with your headphones on!! Is it really necessary for you to listen to music while you ride? Don't you know the dangers of riding and not being able to hear traffic?? You need to be careful young lady, I am just trying to look out for you, you should take those things off!!"

Hey lady, maybe the next time you go on a bike ride, and judging from your sheer size would be never, but if you do, and also you get lost - and you are now 40 miles into your ride and you blew through all of your electrolytes hours ago, and also your are trying to peddle up a hill - which if it was any steeper cars would fall off the face of the earth - and your thigh cramps, but you can't stop because there isn't enough time to unclip your fucking shoe without falling over because you are moving up said hill so slowly...and the ONLY thing you have to rely on, your only fucking thigh cramp emollient, is the strong beat of Particle --And the only alternative to Particle is to kill yourself, because the pain is ungodly intense, THEN YES I DO NEED TO WEAR HEADPHONES WHEN I RIDE. (Truth #2) And if you are so inclined to be such the altruist, then maybe you can go clean up the vomit I laid down on 751 north, exorcist style.

Which leads me to Truth #3, when your eggs expired two months ago, don't eat that shit.

Olfactory Hues

A few things this morning -

a) I have been up since 6am, which is not impressive, except that I slept about 4 hours last night (curses red wine and tobacco)
b)I am about to take my requisite 30 mile ride, as this afternoon is filled with lab, play dates, BELA EFFING FLECK (this is where you should get rather envious)
c) I am really fucking tired.
d) fucking being the operative word in the previous point.
e) red bull is not saving my life
f) I had a dream that I died last night, I literally died in my dream, and then thought in MY DREAM MIND YOU (I am god awful impressive I say) - I dreamt I died so take that everyone who says you can't do that shit. I was also killed in school while my roommate cried b/c she is fantastic. (reiterated)
g) Speaking of Becky, not only did she know I was about to burp Saturday night, but she also started wafting the air in anticipation of the pizza olfactory hues that were too follow.
h) and the most important bulletin on this gray drizzly cold morning that I'm about to spend some quality time with:

i) people actually read the banal shit I post in this blog, and as such, I am sorry for the offenses I caused as of late, my sincerest apologies! I retract any and all whiny sentiments.




IM SORRY








the end.

Backseat drivers.

Last night as I was grabbing groceries out of the backseat of my car, I was slammed in the face with a memory that I have not recalled in years. This is a shame, because it is in fact, one of my favorite memories of all time.

I was nineteen years old and had parked my car in the depths of my backyard ( a five minute drive), to camp on the river that runs through our property. My friend and I became a certain brand of un-sober that I am not inclined to disclose on a public blog.

As the day faded into dark, my anxiety level went through the roof, and I needed to go home and not be out in the cold dark night. As such, my car would need to be relocated to my driveway. However, neither of us were in a state to drive. My friend absolutely INSISTED and forthright DEMANDED to drive my car. After what may or may not have been a 10 minute-2 hour long argument I conceded and handed over my keys. My friend got in my car.

On the passenger side.

In the back seat.

and then was confused as to the now elusive location of the steering wheel.

that shit was fantastic. I can't recall to many other laughing fits that can surmount the hilarity that ensued.

It eventually was agreed that walking back to the house was totally feasible and why we were hell bent on driving through a forest in the dark was beyond comprehension - and our night continued on a path of excellence.

I was a hardcore scientific P mother effing hD grad student today.

Good evening ladies and gentleman,

Today I witnessed eight, yes, eight, soft furry happy little mice, get mercilessly slaughtered. The post-doc who was by my side did not euthanize them with CO2 as per normal, no, she pulled on their heads and asses simultaneously until you heard all the bones break in their neck - effectively called, cervical dislocation.

She then made the smallest incision on their back. Innocent and harmless enough, I was like, "oh gee this isn't really so bad. There isn't even any blood."

Then, as if opening a bag of frito fucking lays, (I kid you not) placed her fingers on either side of the hole, and ripped its skin off its body.

Holy christ, this now very dead mouse with a very broken neck is laying in front of me with no skin, its like, this sack of organs with feet. Some other MD in the lab came over and was like, oh um, can I have your intestine?

So now instead of contained body parts, its messy body parts. But even better, these messy organs are still all attached, like those Christmas rings we made out of construction paper as kids, except you know, MADE OUT OF GUTS, WARM GUTS THAT ARE STILL TWITCHING - all because this guy came and helped himself to our entrails and made our neat packaged skinless mice turn into what could be passed off as meat lasagna.

So now when Bo, the post doc, picks up the mouse its literally inside out with all of its organs just a'flappin in the breeze-- its head is dangling and it's tongue is hanging out of its mouth, from the cervical dislocation of course. Ugh, blood all over the paper towels, all over her gloves. ugh. ugh. ugh. and its still twitching.

Oh shit then she ripped its legs off, explaining it was too slow to use scissors. She put the legs in a petri dish and slid them towards me bar style. She instructed me to remove all the tissue and clean the bone so I could then, naturally, cut the bones up and blow out their bone marrow. But I shouldn't forget to cut the feet off first.

Yeah of course I don't mind cutting off their feet because I'm really not about to vomit everywhere.

Yeah, 8 fucking mice equals way too many legs and way too many little furry mice feet that I snipped off today. Oh shit. And DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THAT BONE MARROW !?!?!? Yeah, went in the autoclave trash, because you know, today was just for practice.

(She did need to harvest spleens, it wasn't all waste).

The best part wasn't the crunching of the breaking neck, or the peritoneal cavity being harvested for fall fixings, it was the grad students who were in and out of our room laughing at my green face and teary eyes, giving me the ol' punch on the shoulder because before no time that will be me... me who will be ripping mice apart without compunction, and simultaneously contemplating hamburgers for dinner.


My second day in lab was a little overwhelming to say the least. On my way out I stopped for a quick 45 min chat with my PI who advised me mice were easier to kill the C. elegans because they were bigger, and if I was having that much trouble then I could look at the mice under the microscope whilst killing ensued - for more familiar killing grounds of course. Ha. Ha. Ha.

phone follies and fun fixin's

My roommate recently got a new cell phone and also, got a new cell phone number. It took approximately 3.5 hours, 10 text messages, and 4 phone calls later for us to figure out that her number was previously occupied by one that goes by the name Laquisha.

After a week of Becky having to pay 15 cents every time someone wanted to know, what Laquisha be up to, is she straight chillin’ or rollin’ or some otherwise banal horseshit colloquialism, I convinced Becky to allow me to take matters into my own hands.

A few of my favorite responses were, “my anus is bleeding,” “it’s 6:30pm, do you know where your hymen is?” and other such nonsense straight cut those trippin’ foo’s off and now Becky’s phone remains ghetto free.

When I’m not raising the roof, I’m pretty useful I tell you.

bubonic plauge or hangover, i can't decide.

I could be doing work, I certainly have no shortage of work. I mean I literally have like piles of papers and notebooks I should be paying attention too. In fact they are surrounding me as I speak, looming over me, whispering words of insurmountable stress in my ear. Truth be told, I'm not even really sure I can get this mound, this mound that is the size of effing croatia, this mound that is my work, finished before tomorrow.

So instead of you know, being productive or something, I am sitting here trying to peg down what exactly this taste is in my mouth. god knows what I did last night that left god only knows what kind of funk coating on my tongue. maybe it was that 3 a.m. square biscuit or maybe it was the hangover cat. What is the hangover cat you ask? Its the cat that shits in your mouth while you sleep and only visits when you have had too much to drink. Kind of like the toothfairy for adults and about 100 orders of magnitude less fun.

Maybe ill get around to brushing my teeth or something. or maybe ill look at face book 23 more times. I might even make the heroic effort of moving the three feet that is required for me to drop like a sack of dead cows on my bed and read john grisham. Who knows, maybe I'll learn something about topoisomerases.


p.s. so this taste in my mouth - its like maybe I ate a jolly rancher an hour ago and also I had some apples fermenting in my cheeks and throw in the acrid taste of a bitter hangover and that is what is coating my tounge like death. A nap is in order.