I am so hip

free advice on how to take a sick day

2009-12-02T23:35:00.003-05:00

1) Blowing your nose with paper towels leaves rug burn on your face. Yes Virginia, that is unfortunate.

2) It is preferable to clean up the 976 discarded tissues and paper towels off the coffee table before your roommate gets home. Especially clear the apartment of all evidence you ate the last of her good (slightly old) Halloween candy.

3) Remember you have to write a paper and it is due at 5 pm. Remember all day on a regular basis but don’t start it. It’s more important that you explore the depths of stumbleupon.com. Subsequently make banana bread from scratch (please take all proper precautions from the almost certain amalgamation of snot and batter).

4) Wonder how it’s possible you have generated so much mucous in such a short time and survived. No, really.

5) Talk to two friends via gmail chat and one via text message while making banana bread and keeping your hands clean.

6) Are you properly stressed over not writing your assignment? Good, because it’s almost 5pm.

7) Remember you stayed home today because you are sick, lick the batter bowl, and lay your aching feverish body back on the couch. Contemplate whose suave idea it was to make banana bread in the first place when you’re fairly sure eating is going to be futile.

8) Whine and moan for the benefit of the cats that might be questioning your permanent residence on the couch. Push them off if they try to join you. God, annoying. No one can pet two cats and fret over finding the end of the internet.

9) It’s 7 pm, have a cup of coffee while the morning’s dose of prednisone starts to really kick in, find the energy to get on your bike trainer for 45 minutes and completely overdo it.

10) Quit talking to your neighbor about nothing and *get in the shower*.

11) Somehow become so engrossed in lolling around that 10pm just blindsided you, your paper is five hours late. Commence paper writing.

12) Realize Nyquil makes writing in your native tongue virtually impossible.

13) Realize you have rugburn on your face. Let this provide fodder for imminent blog posting. No, it’s cool, paper is like – 2/3rds finished.

generalities need emphasis sometimes too

2009-11-14T16:15:00.002-05:00

I wanted to put STUFF on my rear window, because it's really what I'm into these days - but now I'll just look like a copycat.

I should probably go excersize to burn off this negative energy (updated)

2009-11-04T15:01:00.015-05:00

Dear Everyone,

Facebook is not going to make a dislike button. Please stop inundating my news feed with posts about how you want a dislike button, you joined a fan page supporting the creation of a dislike button, you find it ironic that you dislike the idea of a dislike button, you've invited me to like the dislike button option, you'd sell your soul or at least engage in highly immoral activities to pretty please install a dislike button. In my recent turn of events, that I may or may not digress at a later time point, my facebook activity is at an all time high and a little variety would take the most minor bit of edge off.

Five buttons I would support, and thusly take over your news feed in support of:

1) Shut the eff up
2) No one cares
3) I feel bad for your significant other
4) O_o
5) You have a cold, not the bubonic plague

Perusing my news feed this morning, eating wheat chex, watching Robin Meade, and pushing the cat off my shit, it dawned on me why my FB annoyance peaks on Mondays.

number six, which is really an elaboration of buttons one and two. In fact this button is too verbose and detailed to really be a button, but I feel like I would probably be at risk for carpal tunnel if it existed. Besides, there are no rules or limitations on hypothetical situations. That's the beauty of them being hypothetical. So there.

6) You are not kooky or original when you bitch about Monday. Stop it.

Yours Truly,

Lisa

Lisa McCoig likes this

there is nothing passive about my aggresion.

2009-10-01T08:40:00.007-04:00

The last week of the month """last week of the month""" is usually kind of rough for me, probably rougher for Chad because he has to deal with essentially a mentally unstable female. This past 48 hours though have been ridiculous.

I will now elaborate.

I applied for North Carolina residency, this involves a long winded complicated form as to which they want to know some inane shit like, hey how many times have you been on vacation since you have lived in North Carolina? what did you do on vacation? why did you go on vacation? how much of your money is in what bank and for how long and why? What did you do the last Thursday of June in 1996 and was it in North Carolina? Were you thinking about North Carolina that day? Do you secretly wish you could shape your head into the state of North Carolina? Isn't North Carlina the COOLEST STATE YOU HAVE EVER EVEN HEARD OF!? Also, please submit your tax return. Hey its cool though because I was all frustrated as shit while I was in North Carolina. Also, while I was in North Carolina yesterday I received an e-mail from Julie who is reviewing my application. She informed me that I, *I*, I submitted someone else's tax return with my application, someone by the name of Pergolotti, and if I could please resubmit *my* tax form, thanks kindly. I had to walk away from my desk as to not return Julie's email with the bad news that I was going to inform her halfway home that she is using again. Hey Julie, I understand sometimes stapling documents together is complicated, but I'm kind of impressed with your gall to blame it on me.

So I went to resubmit my tax return, and the application is set up as such that you have to

fill
out
the
whole
thing
again

and now to trump assholitis story #1 we will proceed to assholitis story #2:

this morning on my bike ride I was hit by a car. no wait. one more time for emphasis. this morning on my bike ride I was hit by a car. That's right, a car slammed into my left arm so hard their passenger side mirror broke. The car thusly gunned it and sped off.

The car behind them pulled over to make sure I was okay, and I watched this nice lady's face turn from a look of concern and worry to a look of worry and horror as the most delightful combination of explicatives were stitched together in a way that would have made George Carlin blush. The lady slowly drove off after I assured her I was more pissed than hurt, but still in the midst of my detailed explanation as to what would happen after I hunted this man down, and did she get a make on the car?

More importantly, this confirms what I already know:

I have arms of steel.

Silvia.....Yes Mickey?...How do you call your loverboy?....Come 'ere loverboy!!....And if he doesnt answer?.....Ohh loverboy!...

2009-09-14T20:21:00.010-04:00

...And if he STILL doesnt answer? I simply say Baby, Oohh baby...My sweet baby...You're the one!

So maybe, but maybe not - you are aware of my childhood Patrick Swazye/Dirty Dancing obsession. It's true, I watched this movie everyday, everyday, as a kid (and Poltergeist). At the age of 7 I mastered the heart stopping dance finale, inclusive of the lift - carried out on the end of my four-poster bed.

Swazye, DD and the DD soundtrack have echoed through the years with stronger nostalgic ties to my childhood than any other element that I have carried with me. Patrick Swayze's death feels akin to that horrid day in third grade when my best friend informed me Santa wasn't real. Or when Chad tried to inform me that the kooky relics at Cracker Barrel are all fake and the Cracker Barrel magic is just a farce. Or like the time I found out how hard it is to trudge through a phd when everyday is a failure. Okay, wait, no, back up, its really only like the huge disappointment of Santa being fake, but only just kind of. I spent my formative years sitting indian style on the floor, three feet from the television, eating pb&j, and watching, wishing, and idolizing every frame of Dirty Dancing - and Swayze was nothing short of my first love.

Another magical childhood hero laid to rest.

Rest in Peace Patrick Swayze

materialism is kind of fun

2009-08-08T18:20:00.003-04:00

not to blow against the wind or whatever - but don't ever let anyone tell you money doesn't buy happiness. Because - I'm pretty sure the foosball table my friend and I just bought for $50, and my new rifle bb gun for $20 , and this pretty kick ass little yamaha I just got off craigslist - are kind of making me really supremely happy. I'd like to elaborate, but I'm off to go try out my new helmet that doesn't look too far from an optimus prime mask (read: awesome).

Happy one year chapel hill

2009-07-27T21:17:00.006-04:00

Anniversaries rarely pass without some means of reflection - ironically, the more elusive and meaningless the event - the more prone I am to remembering it. Often these anniversaries are notched into my timeline via something appropriately inane - like, oh man, the day time awards are on tonight?? wow, this time last year I totally put a new crank arm on my bike - I can't believe its already been a year, jeez - totally still shifts like a dream - and every subsequent year I'll think about this crank arm when I hear about the daytime awards. The reflections become more intense in a directly proportional manner to time passed - several years and my crank arm will serve as a springboard for, woah I can totally ride X distance X amount faster - and all the other new equipment I have invested in, the jobs Ive been through and stressed over while riding, all the states I rode in, etc etc...

Besides real holidays and birthdays, its dawned on me that this weekend marked possibly my first worthwhile anniversary. The infamous, most fantastic of all music fests, Gathering of the Vibes - went down in Bridgeport, CT...(and I am very *very* sad to say I missed it).

Last year, The Vibes served as my last days as a New Englander, it subsequently served as the simultaneous best and worst days of my life. I distinctly remember delivering my last hug in a hotel parking lot, clinging, and crying way harder than anything a 13 year old girl could produce, and having no idea how I was going to get in my car, drive away, and permanently seal off this chapter of my life. The 14 hour drive south sucked. a lot. I cried. a lot. I couldn't began to fathom what in the hell was next, grad school remained a phantom intangible concept - I had yet to even meet my roommate, see my condo etc. Uprooting and starting from scratch, and having 14 hours in a stuffy car with a litter box in the backseat, to think of nothing else but this mystery future sitting in front of you, your best friends and familiar life behind you, with your drugged cat meowing like its dying beside you, is quite honestly - *unpleasant and unrecommended*

Since Vibes of '08, I learned the ropes of my first year, successfully made it through my classes, joined a lab, bought a scooter, selling the scooter, bought a motorcycle, lost two feet of small bowel, spent five months in the hospital, revisited Massachusetts, NY, Virginia, Bermuda and soon I'll be in Montana. Ive taken the hardest tests of my life, completed homework that would make grown men weep, and two months of intense labor produced a paper that nearly killed me. I gotta say, this was one of the more lively years of my life. And I hope next year, I'll be celebrating two years of grad school under my belt, back at the Vibes, with the friends from Massachusetts that I'm still torn up over having left.

how to procrastinate. free expert advice. (now updated!)

2009-06-14T18:18:00.005-04:00

Maybe you've been writing a paper for a month, and maybe for the past two weeks you have only had to finish the very last section that would take a day's worth of concentrated hard writing.

So its Sunday, your PI returns on Thursday, and you know she is expecting this review you started writing from what feels like birth. (How surprised the doctors were as you exited your mothers uterus with a mini type writer just a tappin' away about DAMPs and fibrosis.)

Your week is looking really busy, so Sunday is kind of the last day to really have giant swaths of time to do nothing but focus solely on writing. So here is how I recommend preparing for a day of intense uninterrupted writing:

First, sleep in until noon. No way to mentally kick off your day like dragging yourself out of bed in the afternoon feeling like you've been hit by a bus. This should be followed by strawberry waffles and an episode of little house on the prairie. On every commercial break, explain to your boyfriend that you absolutely must leave. like. this is it. you really gotta go. But oh.my.god. I think Laura's brother in law is dying. Sad shit.

(interesting tidbit, Shannon Doherty played a little girl on that show - your bf will probably try and argue with you and tell you that it is so not her -but don't worry, after checking on IMDB, you are right as usual)

So when little house on the prairie is over (a whole hour for these episodes too, really) - somehow time has slipped into 2pm. and then Gladiator actually has the gall to come on. So as you are saying goodbye - slowly, find yourself sinking back into the couch, eyes glazed, mouth slack... Gladiator is a stronger timesuck than little house on the prairie, imagine.

2:45 pm - yes. You are now off the couch, but you should probably smoke a clove before you actually hit the road.

3:05pm - Finally, you get the eff out of there to go write this paper. you are READY TO WRITE LIKE A CHAMP.

3:10 pm - oh shit. Wendy's sells strawberry milkshakes. de-licious.

3:40 - get home. god who made such a freaking mess in your room?! Blame your roommate. You certainly can't write with all this ridiculous clutter.

While cleaning, you may as well get all those bills written out that have been sitting on your desk for who knows how long, because you accidentally found them when you moved your old dead laptop, package up some mail you've been meaning to send out, and hell, when *is* the last time you swept the kitchen floor? While your sweeping, marvel over the amount of cat hair you sweep up, contemplate saving it to impress your roommate.

About this time you will remember your friend's baby shower gift that needs to be wrapped, its been sitting in the corner of your room so long its started to double as furniture, search for wrapping paper - no time like the present! (hah, see what I did there, present? yup. incredible)

Okay, this is when you need to get serious. Quit goofing the eff off. Sit on your bed. Open your laptop. And remember you haven't downloaded off of emusic in awhile. Try to very quickly make good on the 50 tracks you pay for monthly in one foul swoop, and maybe spend fifteen minutes trying to find Kangaroo by Big Wu, because this 4 minute song kind of rocks your world the two times you've heard it on Sirius. oh wait, speaking of creating queues, this will remind you, you had some very important things that needed to be added to netflix.

I wisely suggest you appear to be very startled when you realize its 5:30. you *really* need to start writing. But you promised you would get cat food today, and you certainly don't want that hanging over your head while trying to write....better run out and grab a few things - oh, and that pet hair brush you have been meaning to get for months? They sell them beside the cat food.

So now the cat is thoroughly brushed, the brush is thoroughly cleaned. What can you really do now except blog about procrastinating while continuing to carry out the said subject manner? Because now its 6:27 and you just yawned 143 times in a row. You'll probably be in bed before too long. This now leaves you maybe a couple of hours of writing. Don't forget, you still have to eat dinner and shower too.

Way to go you slacker. You just wasted your entire day. Hope your proud of yourself.

I am not a zoo animal.

2009-06-03T20:15:00.005-04:00

I have been asked literally, super seriously, and no exaggeration here, at least 10 times, how old I am, over the past month. I get this once in awhile sure - but 10 times in a month is ridiculously excessive.

I don't know if its the fact that I'm a waif with a giant head from the prednisone, or that I look young and then confuse people when I speak the language of genius, or its all a giant coincidence (banking on the genius hypothesis)..but let me tell you how simply shocked each and every one of them was to discover I am 25.

Their ballpark?

14-16. Never older than 16. A whole decade off? honestly? I mean, its one thing if someone guesses 80, and your 70, and maybe you also smoked your whole life, lived on the streets, abused meth, and never wore sunblock....but come on - 15 and 25 is really mistakable? This is not a one time occurrence either. I have a pretty significant quota of inquirers here.

For example - Monday, registering for my umpteenth CT scan of the year (im having a litter of mutant aliens for children at this point), the guy behind the counter kept like - *looking at me* - like maybe that pizza I just scarfed made it into my hair/eyebrows/etc (this is unfortunately, not uncommon - and guess how pleased the CT people were that I ate, when somehow I forgot after my last 100 scans, that you aren't supposed to)...so anyway... this guy returns my insurance card and barks out at me. 'So how old are you anyway'

'25'

guy flips, '25? NOOooooo. no. no way. (chuckles, shakes his head, looks around in disbelief -anyone else catching this freak show?- looks back at me.) Really!? But you're so little! I thought you were 14... 25!?'

sigh. monotone. 'yeah. crazy. i get this all the time.'

guy engages ALL 5 employees behind the counter --'GUYS, guys, hey...guys, how old do you think this girl is!? (no time for their response) this girl is 25.....*twenty five*.....She's so little I never would have guessed!!

(mass hub bub behind the counter as they all strain in their chairs to take in this sideshow, who is either a lying sack of crap or a pure genetic anomoly, apparently I fall into some extreme category to warrant this reaction over and over - they are now just as shocked, talking amongst themselves about me, in front of me ---hey guys maybe you could be a little more rude? I don't feel awkward at all.)

...I thought she was 14! I thought my daughter was older than her! She is in 9th grade!'

so then, inevitably, this is always followed by the 'you'll appreciate it when you're older' speech.

'thanks. I'm sure I'll really like it' (not if I have to listen to this BS for the rest of my life)

So I turn around to take my seat in this gigantic ass waiting room to find, everyone, in the gigantic ass waiting room, is also looking at me. All that was missing was the requisite cricket soundtrack. Had I the balls, the right mood, the right amount of alcohol, this would have been the perfect time to break out an MC Hammer dance, the Meatstick dance, a little Michigan J Frog. But, I was pissy after spending my day getting various intravenous transfusions for hours on end. Or. maybe. I was in a great mood before the counter scene come to think of it. But at this point I kind of wanted everyone in sight to contract syphillis. in their mouth.

(but what makes these people ask in the first place if they are always so certain I am in fact, 14? Obviously you aren't certain, b/c these conversations always have the same pattern, I get a shocked look, a few comments of a disbelieving nature, followed by a little arguing b/c I might be lying and/or dumb, finally they concede the truth, all the while shaking their head)

I think my own return questions need to be prepared.

Yeah, I'm really 25. and how much do you weigh. Only 240? Crazy. Here I was thinking you were at least 290, I mean at the very very least. Hey. GUYS! (I will not restrain from pointing wildly) Guess how much this chick weighs. Didn't you think she was way fatter. Isn't SO. WEIRD. You'll probably never appreciate being fat like I'll appreciate my youthful glow when I'm 63, but maybe you shouldn't wear horizontal stripes, like, ever again.

The age question often doesn't get under my skin to this extent. The radiology experience however, was beyond called for, and its been festering in the back of my head. In case you know, that wasn't noticeable. Maybe when I manage to push beyond this plateau of 93 lbs that Ive hit, and cannot get past, regardless of how much I stuff my face, people will not feel the need to ostracize me. (granted, unintentionally)

Until then, be prepared to be called out on your own freak show.

sophistication

2009-05-19T18:10:00.008-04:00

So I'm sitting outside watching my little sister, she doesn't know I can see her, or that I am even out here. She is twelve, fully going on 16. Heavy eyeliner, trendy hair, decked out in hollister, boyfriends, constant cell phone, etc etc. It is a rare moment when we get a glimpse of cute little Emma, the one that carried around her little yellow crusty bacteria laden blanket everywhere and said adorable things, mouth stuffed with blanket, like "I can't bweve" when the car got too stuffy.

So I'm watching her play alone on this bench we have in our yard, I think she has constructed a worm family and is thusly making them play house, judging by the wafts of little emma voice that make its way over here from time to time. (god these poor worms). Yes, one of them is late for school.

Okay, the really cute part is when she started getting kind of upset, then really upset, and apologizing profusely. This apologizing is loud and clear. And now she is digging a hole in the ground. She is um, def crying. I think she killed a worm and is burying it. After the remains have I suppose, been appropriately dealt with by Emma's standards, little Emma promptly returned to le sigh Emma. Stood up, dusted off her pants, flipped her hair seventeen different ways, fixed her eyeliner, pulled out her cell phone and is walking towards me. All flippant and slightly annoyed to even have to ask, she inquires if caterpillars are one of those things that can like, you know, do that regeneration thing if like maybe it like, gets cut in half by accident. No, Emma, you are a worm murderer. But, the worm sacrifice was totally worth this last fifteen minutes - not that I'll ever let her know this. poor worm.

(if you squint, that's emma, remembering for a brief moment, that she is in fact only 12)

almost human

2009-05-16T09:23:00.006-04:00

push play or else.

so - in addition to actually making it over my first mountain on my bike yesterday, and yes it was only a 12 mile ride, and yes I spent most of the time not trying to swallow my tongue/vomit trying to breathe, and yes I could have done it 4 times over not too long ago and it been a whim, and no I still don't even remotely fill out my bike shorts, but I did that shit, and it was harder than crap. Yeah, so in addition to THAT. allow me to say I ate three whole meals yesterday, inclusive of toaster strudels, pb&j and chips, and ginger snaps and whipped cream (among other delightful concoctions) - and house was on for four hours last night...and I started my writing assignment for lab. (if you aren't weeping tears of overwhelming joy for me at this point, congratulations, you have no soul)....in addition to all of this

I AM NOW DRAINLESS.

My dad came at me with gauze and a pair of scissors this morning and said.
It is time.

okay, i couldn't not post this

2009-05-05T19:29:00.011-04:00

From: my aunt
To: my mom
Sent: 5/5/2009 7:24:39 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time
Subj: lisa

I heard Lisa came home....Elizabeth and I just sent her some stuff to NC....smack her while she is there for not listening to her mother. Pinch her and pull her hair....that will teach her!! Take good care of her and tell her we are thinking about her. smack her!

**in ref to the fact that mom tried to save me from my past five months of hell by doing everything she could to make me go to UVA to my old docs. she is convinced I would be in a better brighter place. (of course, like always, im sure she was right)

that is all.

home.

2009-05-05T17:22:00.012-04:00

So I think somewhere between my last blog post and now - its honestly been a gigantic haze, I went back in the hospital, twice? Then I crawled my way out more mentally broken than I really thought was feasible. So, naturally, I called mom and after a long blubbering conversation - decided I needed to go home to Virginia to wait out the last of this no eating/being hooked up to parental nutrition/having too many tubes to count hanging out of my body draining scary horrid things/ part of the illness.

The good news is I feel like a normal person again. I'm still tube laden, but I had one egg today, and mom made me pretend chicken soup, and it was better than 99% of the past month of my life. Eating *is* amazing, even if I'm not really supposed to yet.

Mom and I skipped all of our work today (I have two papers yet to write for school) and pulled out all of her old pictures from her childhood up through mine, the ones hidden away in a closet having not been touched in maybe a decade or two. So the day has really been kind of wonderful. Hours of sitting on the cold floor, freezing, ass hurting, spine hurting, starving - the most fantastic minutes of my life since being able to eat an egg this morning.

Favorites:
my older sister and me

the rare pictures a of me as a baby when I didn't look asian/laden with brain tumor/like the gerber baby

my older sister begged my mom to make a snowman when 1/2 an inch of snow fell. So they made a tiny snowman, adorned him in doll clothes, and saved him in the freezer forever.
older sister again, and not much has changed.

I reiterate.

my mom was a babe.

I am *so* happy to be home. I don't know if I have enjoyed/appreciated it to this extent - maybe ever. I think this needed to happen for more reasons than I will ever be able to surmise.

Mom is angry with me because I am blogging and not working on my paper, I can't handle one more dirty look and big sigh.

She did after all, let me eat an egg.

Back to the land of pubmed scouring and sentence rewriting.

day one

2009-04-16T13:52:00.003-04:00

Its my first full day out of the hospital. They really truly released me yesterday. So far my day has been spent entirely the same way it has been spent over the past three weeks. Sitting in a bed with my laptop, intermittently dozing, feeling guilty about not starting on my school work, wishing with every last ounce of wishing power that I could eat just half of a pb&j sandwich, except all this without the convenience of being heavily medicated with narcotic drugs. Which I probably miss way more than I should.

Where are the cats and why aren't they keeping me company.

I haven't been a total schelp, I did my laundry yesterday when I got home, and cleaned my room, and showered. so - yeah, taking it easy today.....nice, and ---ZzzZZzz....

sike

2009-04-14T08:35:00.002-04:00

So, literally on my way out of the hospital yesterday - finally on my way home, my biggest dream of all dreams as of late, adorned with bags and bags of miscellaneous crap one collects over a 3 week stay in the hospital, in my chair ready to be rolled to freedom, I notice heeeyyy---this stuff coming out of my drain looks like, well, uh....poop. man, must be one nasty abscess I'm draining. By the time I get home and *heroically* begin to unpack, after, of course, a 15 min love fest with the cats who don't rememeber me, there is def lots of suspicious gunk reeaaalllyy flowing out of my drain.

Chad comes over, and with little debate , I'm of course thrown back in the car, and of course whisked back to the effing ER, and of course we sat there for hours waiting for assesment. And of course, my suspicions are confirmed, yes, your intestine have now managaed *Brace Yourselves!* to tunnel a hole into your abscess and I am now draining intestinal contents into my abdominal cavity! God. I'm good. honestly. On the day of departure and everything! Treatment for said diagnosis? No eating (like literally none, I'll be getting IV nutrition) and I have to adorn an unhideable drain. Thats draining crap. Not too bad maybe? Maybe not, except that it takes at least a month to clear up - upwards of six months. Sooooooooo, yeah. fuck my life right now. I'm typing this from a new hospital bed, where I have a roommate, and they like to talk to me.

titleschmitle

2009-04-11T09:20:00.004-04:00

When did this blog take some pathetic turn for the worse, when did it succumb to some maudlin whiney bullshit one tracked theme of hospital perils. I can't seem to break out of it though. But you know, its so weird, when your only external stimulus is SITTING IN A HOSPITAL WITH NOTHING ELSE TO THINK ABOUT except that I'm still sitting in this effing hospital and I'm not at home, and um, I'm also in the hospital and miserable about the fact!? Then yeah, I guess thats all you get to read about until I leave. And speaking of leaving, right now I really feel the need to inform you that I sat and cried like a little baby in front of 5 doctors yesterday who told me my now new soonest release date is Monday. But that is if I can meet a lot of extraneous medical hoopla and criteria over the course of the next 48 hours. So, in Doctor speak, Monday means 2017. and I cried in front of all of them. and they barely batted an eyelash. In fact, I think I heard cash wagers and congrats of my imminent breakdown being divvied up outside my door as they left.

On the bright side, after searching in vain for the bariatric unit, the place where they keep all the new babies behind a glass window, and the psych ward (where we also hoped they would be displayed behind some nose/finger smudged glass display), my sister and I had profound luck stumbling into the PT gymnasium. It seemed as if maybe it wasn't where we were quite supposed to be, but seeing as they left some lights on, and the doors were unlocked, and most of the equipment was still conviently plugged in and on.....gosh how *couldn't* we have helped ourselves.

Today my adventures will take me outside. I plan on dragging my IV pole around campus. Keep an eye out for me. In fact, put a present or two in your pockets just in case you run into me, because material goods are just the thing I need to keep my morale slightly above the level of death.

FRIDAY

2009-04-09T17:13:00.014-04:00

okay, so they are super seriously promising me I get to go home tomorrow, Friday April 10th.

I have been in here since March 25th. That is a 16 day grand total of eating hospital food, sleeping in a hospital bed, showering in a hospital shower that doesn't get hot, fretting and stressing over the blatant lack of even maintaining a baseline of health, 16 frustrating days of watching two teams of doctors play I know whats best for her so butt out - entertaining, but um - not very conducive to me getting the crap out of this place, and 16 days worth of tests, most of them odd, invasive, sometimes painful, but I now know my basal metabolic rate while lying in bed watching parent trap starring pre-whore lindsey lohan (?). So yeah, quick 16 day recap

March 25, went for a small bowel study, this was the last morning I left my house.

One of two blood transfusions, pre and post op.
After gratituious vomiting (guess how great if feels to vomit only days after major abdominal surgery) one unfateful evening, they shoved an NG tube down my nose and into my belly - so all my stomach/upper GI contents are promptly resucked back out and displayed in my proud see through vaccutanier. This is what a swiss roll cake looks like enroute from packaging, my mouth, my esophogeous, and back up the roller coaster ride of NG vaccusuck.

The vaccusuck --(proudly now) - I filled about one of those a day without even eating, its a little known fact my body is comprised entirely of pond sludge.

//kkuucchhhhaaaaa Luke I am your father kkkkkuuucchhaaa// or. you know. Caliormetry testing - so they can install a more or less permanent IV in my arm that travels directly to my heart feeding me TPN - i.e. liquid food, also good for narcotic drugs - tends to deliver a little more of a punch when administered through those lines I tell you what.

new portal of life.

and then last but not least, after 16 days of some really swell gumshoe efforts, it was determined the 105 fevers, massive cramping, obstructions, were all lo and behold the culprit of a large pocket of potentially infectious fluid hanging out in my abdomen. So this morning I went in to have them suck it out, leaving me with my final consolation prize of a JP tube that will continuously drain the contents of my interabdominal space a few mLs an hour. Also, I get to cleverly try and (its absolutely impossible) hide underneath my clothes.

Great. So they are letting me go home tomorrow. I have so much schoolwork to catch up on, a paper that will literally probably take me 30 hours to write, two paper presentations I have to put together, a take home test, all the class material that I have been missing must be caught up on, and oh - then of course trying to do what I'm really here for, and that's figure out my project so I can actually start working on something relative that might get me a PhD. While administering my TPN, emptying my drain, trying to figure out how to walk for longer then 5 min without needing to sit...etc..etc..

On the bright side, my older sister is flying in from San Fran to stay till Wednesday to help me out, hope she has a lot of quarters - I'll draw her a map to the laundry room.

pee award

2009-04-05T22:03:00.005-04:00

At approximately 4am last night I received 10 mg of lasix, the doctors were worried because I literally peed twice yesterday and started just blowing up with fluid, my arms, legs, face - turned into gigantic basketballs.

From the lowest dose of lasix possible to administer, that is supposed to be effective a mere few hours, I have now urinated 8,800 mLs in the past 24 hours and I'm still going strong. Honestly honestly not exageratting these numbers, the nurses and I just stood around and marvelled over them with me.

thats almost *TEN* liters of water I was holding onto and its not even the end.

p.s. now i do really hope I'm going home. didn't make it today =(

only read while listening to soft piano. also read outloud. with the lights dimmed.

2009-04-03T04:16:00.000-04:00

I really hoped that last visit was it, the visit where the doctors couldn't really put their finger on what was wrong with me after a week of unnecessary tests, several days on the 'no eating' diet, a melee of doctors that communicated solely with rocks and birds, certainly not their colleagues or me - and so they just kind of threw out some educated guesses as to why my belly has become a constant source of brutal misery and sent me home. And things kind of just slowly festered, until I found myself slithering through lab on my belly, pulling myself hand over hand to whatever destination because walking really hurt that much, assuring my labmates that no - ive gotten quite used to being in this much pain so its kind of just normal now, thanks for the concern though, try not to step on me as you guys just ""walk around."" I'm just going to roll my way to the microscope room now where I have to sit unfathomably upright for hours and count intestinal tumors.

I've been on this mission to not let whatever these doctor inspired 'educated guesses' that are attempting to take over my life, not take over my life. I'm really working hard to ignore the fact that I'm actually really effing sick, instead I am marching full speed on with my life in this senseless stubborn brattiness refusing to succumb to the absolutely immense weight of how sick I really feel. Thinking if I give in just a little, I might never again be able to get back up. And not being tough is just not an option ever really. Secretly, all I really want to do is take turns lying either curled up on my couch or in my bed, with my macbook, and the cats, softly whimpering, just enough so that I still look pretty and huggable while im crying and not a big mucus sobbing snot affair, and maybe I could say something heartbreaking and kind that would cause whomever was watching to tear up a little also, and for a moment they would really understand the injustice that comprises the brutal senseless shit that really great and A+ people like me have to endure.

This secret fantasy decidedly does not involve straining at a microscope, attempting to walk, attempting to joke around, attempting to feel bad for someone who thinks their cold is killing them, attempting to care about anything really at all, and constantly telling everyone that I am perfectly capable to be carrying out the way that I am. I am so done with this facade of oh guys im not really that sick routine, sure I'll run here and there and take care of all your trivial needs.

So this morning, I was almost relieved to wake up with a bowel obstruction knowing that it would land me back in the hospital where I can finally take a few days off to rest and be the recipient of sweet sweet dilaudid - the wonder drug that cures all my mental and physical ailments in convenient 2mg 2 hour installments. Especially convenient this morning was the small bowel study I had scheduled for 9am which would certainly hasten the process of being admitted. Arriving in the basement of the women's hospital sufficiently comforted by maybe too many percocets, I eagerly told the technician that I was suffering from certain bowel obstruction - as to which he looked at me, practically skipping down the hallway with glee, with complete skepticism. Four very lousy hours of laying on a metal board later, percocets long worn off, I was finally declared blocked!! I was thusly whisked upstairs to the GI clinic where I was further whisked into the supreme comfort that only dilaudid can so whiskingly whisk into one's veins in a very mere and modest 2 mLs. I was so relieved I would finally have time to get some R&R at the excuse of being bed ridden in a hospital, where I pictured myself thumbing through magazines, leisurely watching daytime tv, chatting with the nurses, sun shining through my windows, god reaching down and pushing my dilaudid button for me....yes it would be *gloroious* -a real break where I could be sick in peace and whimper pitifully (but keeping it delicate and poetic).

so. yeah. I sure as hell got the eff what I wanted. This was last Wednesday. (I am typing on Friday, like 10 days later Friday, like, two episodes of lost later, like, 10 GIGANTICALLY LONG ARDOUS MIND KILLING DAYS). The doctors decided I needed more surgery (kind of saw this coming) - buuuttt, its mostly a minor two hour affair they promised, we'll just tidy up a few problem adhesions while we share warm stories of past xmas parties over my comatose body kind of blase run of the mill procedure.

Six hours later I wake up in some ungoldy agonzing pain where my surgeon declared my abdomen an absolute brutal battlefield and it was unheard of that anyone could possibly form that many adhesions post operativley in just two months. Well. I am a fucking miracle guess what. They were really impressed with the complete and utter mess of networked tissues that I had formed. So being a long and complicated surgery, I have been in here for a long and complicated post op stay - and I really just don't even know how I make it through each minute anymore.

The complications range from persistent fevers topping out consistently at 104- 105, profuse vomiting, where they eventually shoved an NG tube down my throat to cease said incessant vomitfest (Read:lubed a honking peice of gigantic pipe, shoved it down my nose , threaded it through to my belly, and have been sucking out my stomach contents that don't look so very unlike what one would find in clogged gutter detritus- cockroaches, wet leaves, dead spiders, that frisbee I lost when I was 9, etc - fascinating to watch though) ANYWAY. I would now like to continue on complaining on the subject at hand. The pain is monstrous, the back pain from laying in this bed is unbearable, I have swollen body parts that are hideous enough to make children cry, I had an internal catheter installed in my arm that travels to my heart yesterday, a sort of - permanent IV so they can feed me food via TPN b/c I haven't eaten a non vomited up food substance in over a week, two blood transfusions, and a ppaarrttrriiddge in a peeaarrr treeeeee.

The doctors still don't really have any consensus as to why I'm having all of these complications. They have a lot of ideas, but I have yet to see where they are logical, effective, and most of them don't even get acted on - I mostly think they are amused watching me rot here in this bed (they make their rounds at 6am to boot).

So, instead of having my hoped for little teary eyed sessions of 'man guys this is kind of the pits' cutesy cries, I have been having heaving pillow soaking gallon snot producing attacks....usually these are followed by my jamming on my dilaudid button waiting to become mentally comatose again. I have flipped through no magazines. I'm cranky to the nurses. The TV blows. I still can barely walk. My belly still fucking hurts, my head is positioned by a gigantic fucking window so I can remind myself daily that I'm in prison. My IV pole grows larger everyday, no literally they put a new piece of equipment on it like everytime I turn around- reverse nurse Jenga, honest to god. and having to unplug three different pumps, my ng tube, wrap 6 wires and my pain pump, everytime I want to walk 6 feet to the bathroom is RIDICULOUS. Then haul all that shit over to the sink. Pick at some new pimple. Get all the way back to bed, hook everything back up. Climb in. And then realize. in horror. that I forgot to wash my hands. I may or may not rengage in a crying jagg that my neighbors can hear. But I think tears are good for sterilizing or something?

Now I fantasize about being back in lab and having a grad student gracefully float into my bay with a box of Dunkies and saying Lisa I picked out your favorite, and also, I have just a few samples of intestine if you wanted to count them? and her eyes would twinkle. and my eyes would twinkle. and we would share a doughnut moment while gazing at one another, endulging in silly light hearted tales that would cause the people overhearing to smile and shake their heads. and I would tell her I would be delighted to count tumors as I loving licked the chocolate icing from each of my nonswollen, non bruised, unfinger pricked, unscathed, hand washed fingers. And I would walk down to the scope room, with a little whimpering cry, and it would look pretty, and genuine, and the sun would reflect just right off my face - and the tears would be for happiness this time, because I just ate a fucking doughnut and its not causing me to double over and writhe around in agonzing pain, because IM LIVING LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING DOES EVERYDAY. except I won't be taking it for granted. suckers.

I.can't.take.this.anymore.

Some jobs are harder than others.

2009-03-11T16:06:00.011-04:00

For example, I would rather put knitting needles through my eyeballs before working one shift of a: wal-mart greeter, bikini waxer, high school guidance counselor, rent-a-cop, lunch lady, drug runner, podiatrist (god, gross), dmv employee...

but above all -- my limbs, sight, and sense of hearing would have to be on the line before I would even remotely consider driving one Chapel Hill bus route. The local friendly UNC bus transit drivers surpass all the patience, zen, and kindness of monks, buddha, the entire hare krishna movement, and jesus, combined, multiplied by 100.

Their job entails dealing with the precedents of some of my most unfounded nightmares, for the entire duration of their shift. Nightmare #1: everyone from the town crazies, professors, undergrads, grads, blue/white collar workers - the social demographic gamut, standing behind your chair and making inane conversation with you whether you want it or not. I mean, not only do you have to possess the uncanny ability to converse to all levels of life at a smooth, flowing, non-awkward pace, but be a willing conversant - which not only can these drivers pull off, but they always seems so pleased and engaged to participate in these trite rider-self serving conversations. Especially impressive is when you get the urine crusted unwashed maybe homeless guy conversations rolling, these guys tend to yell - senseless things, and when they sputter and scream in the ears of these drivers, the driver responds with a good natured laugh and then says something nicer that I couldn't have mustered up if I was given years - "oh George, will I be letting you off at Timberlyne today or are you going to ride with me for awhile?" these bus drivers, saints! Honestly, I get insanely bent out of shape just having to share my seat with someone when the bus gets packed, forced conversation to boot would have me shelling out the $6 parking fee daily.

Whilst making meaningless banter with anyone who so chooses to chew your ear off (kill me), UNC bus drivers are also miraculously capable of simultaneously driving through campus. Nightmare #2. I drive through campus in an otherwise small vehicle, by myself, terrified to change lanes, and still have a hard time not clipping 6 pairs of heels, 3 cars, a dog or two, and more often than not, my patience wears thin about 1.5 min (200 ft) into my campus traverse and I find myself gunning the engine when someone looks like they are even kind of contemplating the crosswalk, don't even think about it, I'm obviously not slowing down for you. Add one passenger to my car, a good song on sirius, a thought in my head, its honestly a miracle if I make it to my destination leaving the living and unliving unscathed. Oh and - to make the commute extra fun, lets not forget the ongoing construction that has left the 2-lane roads just wide enough for a bike and pile on lots of orange vested men standing around and contemplating where the next really inconvenient orange plastic fence will be located in their plot to ultimately construct the road obstacle course from hell.

Now. Man that shit in a vehicle bigger than the road, with no stopping, going, or turning power, packed to the gills with people (nightmare #3, being packed into an enclosed area with other people who breathe and cough and make weird throat noises with no means of escape), who insist on continuously talking (screaming dumb shit) over each other (nightmare #4), pressed up against each other and still moving around (nightmare #5), talking to you (nightmare #6), demanding to get off, demanding to get on, 5:00 traffic that starts at 3 and ends at 7 (nightmare #7), pedestrians amuck in the road (nightmare #8), orange vested men (nightmare #9), orange plastic fences (nightmare #10), orange vested men with walkies and a stop sign (nightmare #11), and the frenzy of stoplights every 50 ft that are somehow, always red (nightmare #12). Oh right, and you are kind of on a strict time schedule.

and to manage all of this *and still not loose patience. or lives. or your job. or your sanity. all day long -- maneuvering in and out, chatting, whistling, smiling, greeting, laughing, waving at your fellow en route bus drivers, no one, really, can humanly maintain this disposition under these circumstances.....*

this is going to hurt tomorrow.

2009-03-08T17:23:00.004-04:00

After spending infinitesimally more cumulative time in the hospital over the past three months than either the gym or my bike combined, and after dropping almost 10% of my body weight, and after surgery, and after 100's of needle sticks, and IVs, and ER visits, and too many melt downs--and being so supremely out of shape that walking 30 min yesterday made my calves ungodly sore today -- dude, I just got on my bike for the first time in months and dragged my skeletal ass up and down 20 miles worth of man eating hills.

yeah. it was kind of that victorious.

and my skeletal ass, oh god, I may not be able to sit for a week.

the perils of slowly losing it.

2009-03-04T18:01:00.006-05:00

If everyone wanted to just come stand around my hospital bed and look as morose as humanly possible while I played this on loop, it would kind of make my day. I mean, it wouldn't because I think I have successfully managed to go off the deep end this time, but the amusement potential would be greater than my joy of being able to surpass my previous pee hat volume record. I told my nurse about how fulfilling I find it to make it past the 650 cc mark on my urine hat, inclined to believe that if she couldn't relate, she could at least appear supportive. I was sadly disappointed when I only got a nervously confused chuckle in response as she flushed my big achievement of the day down the pipes. I took it as a sign she didn't want to know that was the most I had managed to pee all at once since I arrived Saturday, effectively beating my other urine output highscores, or how I had been holding it in all day until the cusp of imminent bladder explosion, so it was a hard worked for - and therefore well earned victory. HUMOR ME LADY. god. some nurse.

Well, I have a potential record beating amount of liquids just waiting to be ingested - I'm going for 700 cc - wish me luck, better yet, wish for my release before I end up in the psych ward.

p.s. this is really neither here nor there, I just wanted you to feel sorry for me over the fact that in the past four days I have been here, they have tried to insert an I.V. in me 11, yes that's right, eleven, ELEVEN, different times. Guess how great that felt. it didn't.

I would like to take a brief reprieve from marathon hw to whine.

2009-02-24T15:36:00.005-05:00

In the past five days I have had to:

1) take a test covering most of endocrine physiology (fri)
2) write a 6 page report detailing the ins and out of NSAIDs and their effects on gi and cardio health (mon)
3) put together a 20 minute presentation on NSAIDs and their chemotherapuetic properties (mon)
4) write another 6 page report detailing the ins and outs of pre/probiotics and their effects on gi health (wed)
5) put together another 20 minute presentation on pre/probiotics and their chemotherapuetic properties (wed)
6) lab (all week)
7) redo my entire physiology test (in a timely fashion) , because I did just that bad on it the first time around. But apparently the whole class was given their test to correct and turn back in, so , on the bright side, it was kind of okay I failed the crap out of it.

I have a vague recollection of sleeping at some point last week. I think I ate a bowl of cereal or something yesterday. Ive adjusted to the permanent burn of exhaustion that has manifested itself in my eyeballs. Honestly, this was all for one class too. ONE CLASS. All three professors for ONE class decided to put this all on us due in the course of ONE WEEK.

That's all I really have to say. I have a quota of bitching that must be met every hour concerning my work load, and I thusly decided for the 15th hour of feb 24 I would whine via blog post. The last of my work is due tomorrow morning at 9am. 17 more hours left of the most schoolwork intensive week I have ever experienced. or anyone has really. I feel confident enough to go out on a limb and say no one ever, except the other 5 members of my physiology class, ever experienced this intense of a work load. If you think you have. you are wrong. My undereye circles will beat you into submission if you refuse to concede this truth.

I would like to borrow a hat please.

2009-02-06T20:55:00.007-05:00

Why I have a lot of pimples on my forehead where there are usually none:

-Ive narrowed down my headaches to Ambien use. Rubbing my head while its hurting does nothing to alleviate the pain but it feels useful.

-Self diagnosing persistent fevers by touching my forehead with the palm of my hand, the back of my hand, my wrist, if someone is near I ask for their second opinion with their hands - - not that my forehead ever feels hot to me, but it seems like a necessary prerequisite to taking my temperature and eating motrin like m&m's.

-Sitting on my ass for the past two weeks waiting to miraculously look and feel like a normal person - and fretting/stressing/whining that I still look and feel like a 1 week post mortem starvation victim. This causes a lot of stress induced forehead rubbing.

-Having my bf repeatedly ask me if I was recently in a knife fight, how I made out in my recent fist fight, and maybe I should stay out of dark dangerous alleys - due to illustrious pimple holes on my forehead that, apparently, resemble gigantic, violent, fight induced wounds. I then naturally feel the need to self consciously touch all of my pimples, because finger probing is an appropriate measure of pimple severity, even though I just looked in the mirror 5 min prior to assess said damage. Then I stress out and rub my forehead because not only am I really pale with gigantic undereye circles, but I also look like a leper. A starving one.

-I honestly really hate this 25 notes b.s. circulating on fb because I'm incapable of not reading everyone's kooky narcissistic self-commentary b/c IM BORED OUT OF MY MIND. (Certainly not a parallel to my blog here at all). I read them immediately upon their arrival on my newsfeed. I rub my forehead out of sheer stress that I just subjected myself to another 3 minutes of lifewaste.

-I haven't done my laundry in over two weeks and am wearing the last of the last. Stressful headrubbing ensues after every shower, as I stare into my dresser drawers, wondering how the cats are going to treat me if I pair nine year old plaid pj pants with a tie dye shirt and striped rainbow socks.

Okay, I can drag this list out forever, seeing as I have mammoth swaths of time on my hands, but I need to check facebook to see if anyone else posted 25 notes. I MUST KNOW HOW MANY PETS YOU HAD AS A CHILD. and I need to stare at the wall some more. and wait around for this day to be over so maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and look and feel a little more normal. I'm also horribly nauseous, that is to say I can literally feel my stomach throwing grappling hooks into my esophagus as a means to escape out of my mouth - so I need to lay down to thwart operation gut escape, and I can't really type from that angle.

I rubbed my head 11 different times during the writing of this post alone. I need to find a different means of physically expressing my stress. Like eating more than a meal a day regardless of how violently queasy it makes me, because dropping all this weight in the course of two weeks is terrifying, and naturally, it makes me rub my head.

ive arrived

2009-01-28T13:33:00.006-05:00

I report to you from the official scene of yuppie.

In a coffeeshop, in a corner - judging all other fellow coffee shop inhabitants, in a fucking pullover and yoga pants, drinking fiji water and sipping kenya aa coffee, with my macbook, blogging, while attempting to read my physiology textbook, listening to some yuppie indie shit on itunes, making plans to buy camp bisco tickets.

god im not even embarrassed.

I am however, a little embarrassed (maybe mortified) for this girls skirt/boots combo standing in front of me.

he giveth and taketh away, or something. or i just ate like 927 mgs of oxycodone.

2009-01-25T01:14:00.008-05:00

losses:

1) insomnia
2) half of my medical bills (tthhaaannkks mom)
3) my crappy ass half working laptop
4) 1 foot of small bowel
5) a terrifying old abdominal incision

gains:

1) a prescription for ambien (zing!)
2) a $1600 charge to my credit card bill (see 3)
3) A 250 GIG HARDRIVE MACBOOK 2.4 GHZ WITH 2 GIGS OF MEMORY. (and some free printer/copier/scanner - something - its downstairs so fuzzy details)
4) a new lease on life
5) a really small neat abdominal incision that you can't fit 16 pencils, 5 pens, and 3 hot dogs in

reward: missing balls - made of steel

2009-01-16T06:49:00.007-05:00

I'm terrified of the fact that its only going to be a high of 26 today. I am huddled in a ball wearing most of my pajama collection to stave off imminent hypothermia, sipping hot coffee, and close to tears at the thought of catching the 7:55 bus.

The punchline being that I just endured three winters in Massachusetts - where a high of 26 was considered warm - warm enough for me not to park illegally in front of the school that is. (Nothing was worse than traversing that mammoth parking lot with subzero temps.) I seem to have some vague recollection of biking as long as it was 30 out - and nonchalantly bitching about finding my scarf if it was going to be below the teens. And honestly, in Massachusetts - it stays this cold for a good 10 months out of the year or something ridiculous.

I guess I won't be wearing my standard of flip flops/tank top/ light hoodie today. I guess I'll have to rummage around to actually find something long sleeved, preferably with wool/thinsulate/goose down/maybe both cats - and accessorize by pasting those self heating hot hands all over my torso. I must have left my sack of steel up north when I moved - I am now. officially. lame. And also, I super love this otherwise warm NC weather.

free advice part 6 (i think)

2009-01-11T22:38:00.006-05:00

If you received a sonicare toothbrush for christmas from your parents, and the following conditions hold true:

a) you don't like to clean your bathroom mirror on a daily basis
b) you find toothpaste spit in your hair unbecoming
c) you find toothpaste spit in your eyes to be even less appealing
d) brushing your teeth with more skill then a five year old is a barometer of your integrity

Then - I would suggest not turning the device on until it is planted safely inside your mouth, with your lips firmly closing your around the neck of the toothbrush, with all your might (white bloodless lips are almost essential at this point) and maintaining this stance for the duration of brushing, at all times. no kidding, all times. I mean - if you even think of parting your lips for the briefest of moments - prepare to splatter your bathroom vanity, mirror, yourself, the cat that terminally lives in your sink, your neighbor will wonder why snow is falling by their windows, and yes - it gets in your eyes. Also, your roommate will inevitably choose that time to walk by and witness your whirlwind toothpaste cat 5 hurricane, and might attempt to treat what she believes to be - an epileptic fit.

Only when your sonicare toothbrush has finished its 2 minute brushathon and has ceased its vibrating mayhem of savagery - should you very, very, carefully - remove this very phenomenal cleaning device from your mouth - rinse it lovingly - retire it to it's charging haven - fall to your knees - and pay homage to the most powerful piece of vibrating equipment you will ever own, that didn't come from a shop with barred windows.

p.s. I <3 my new sonicare.

posterpalooza

2009-01-11T22:23:00.011-05:00

I could consider that whole, resolution business - but that would be admitting I don't love this lifestyle.

2009-01-05T00:09:00.007-05:00

the new year thus far:

-left essential medication at home. begged mom to overnight it on tuesday, the 30th. it won't be here til tomorrow at the earliest, Monday, the 5th.

-procured a hangover worthy of matching my Halloween hangover. That is to say I spent most of the first day this year whining about being on the cusp of passing out/vomiting/mind blowing headache/dehydration/imminent death. Also, NYE was a blast and the hangover was totally worth it.

-thusly detagged about 173 pictures on facebook.

- after removing approximately 97 lbs. of trash from my car (consisting mostly of empty red bulls, v8 cans, diet pepsi max bottles) I found someone's car keys, still unclaimed (GM car keys anyone?). My car still looks and smells like an alley from a bad part of NYC.

-ate more cookies then I probably have in all of 2008 put together. I am really not being sarcastic on this one. dead serious.

-realized I scheduled a lab meeting for my previous rotation (that I failed to give during my rotation) on top of the first class on the first day of the semester, I am befuddled at my lack of blatant organizational skills. no, wait, I'm totally not.

- broke my bike. like, have to take it to the shop for repairs kind of broke my bike. After my big christmas present this year was my dad totally revamping and repairing my bike with all new parts.

- thought I killed my roommate's cat.

- reset my internal clock by going to bed after 3 am every single night/morning. Certainly this won't exacerbate already persistent insomnia.

-subsequently, I woke up at 1 pm today - drank a red bull at 3pm in preparation for a 2 hour bike ride (and of course made it 7 miles before I broke my pedal). Oh weird, I'm blogging at midnight and feel capable of running back to back marathons.

-So, yes, blogging. Instead of my original intention of reading papers for my rotation that starts tomorrow.

-that I said I would arrive for at 9am.

-but won't go until 10am because my P.I. said she wasn't getting in until 10:30 am.

-sigh.

-2009: perpetuation of picking up very avoidable messes, piecemeal, organization is for the birds.

-happy new year.

free advice like you've never seen before. (i.e. wipe the saliva puddle off your chin, honestly)

2008-12-26T19:36:00.007-05:00

If you go to christmas dinner, and seven people are attending said dinner, and the spread on the table includes filet mignon, turkey, ham, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, green beans, cranberries, homemade rolls, triple chocolate cupcakes, homemade blueberry cheesecake, homemade apple pie and ice cream, 6 different assortments of cookies, crackers and cheese, fruit, vegetables and dip, five pounds of shrimp and cocktail sauce....

For the love of god...one bite of everything honestly. Because, really, there is no way in hell you can cram in the necessary four pounds of sweet potato casserole with all that other noise distracting your belly from the annual requisite sweet potato casserole stuff fest. It is absolutely acceptable to fork-stab incoming hands for the casserole dish you have annexed. If necessary, retire to your bedroom with the casserole dish and serving spoon, sit on your bedroom floor indian style - and bonus points if you can fit the entire serving spoon in your mouth. its christmas. you deserve it.

free advice part 4

2008-12-24T23:37:00.003-05:00

how to enjoy christmas eve in two easy steps.

1) eat a xanax
2) slouch on the sofa and stare at the most beautiful christmas tree you have ever laid your eyes on. This would be whilst simultaneously shrugging away any minor worry that tries to soil the most phenonmonally blase experience you have ever been so intensly blase excited to be blase.
optional 3) dab the drool that pools at the corners of your mouth.

c&h

2008-12-09T11:03:00.001-05:00

bob

2008-12-08T21:02:00.020-05:00

Pulling marathon shifts at the scope does less then wonders for my already delirious mind state induced by marathon sleepless nights. However, sitting in a dark, smelly, cramped, cold room has its advantageous, because the core facility is run by the one and only, Bob the superhero. Don't believe he is a superhero? Tough. You know why he is a superhero? Because he makes fresh bread daily in the lab, and then, he not only allows, but encourages me, to sit at his cozy table and chat whilst eating a meager 57 slices of his delicious, buttery, soft, warm, fresh baked creation. Today Bob the superhero also had a mocha cheesecake. What is even more delicious then fresh baked bread? Eating it while you work, beats the eff out of that whole whistle nonsense. That's right, Bob the superhero lets me eat at the scope.

Bob the superhero also has a nice microscope collection. That is to say, these microscopes are probably worth more combined then the entire population of the eastern coast of the united states of america. Adjusting the stage, focus, and imaging 13 slices of my cells with only a few clicks of my mouse while shining no less then 100 different wavelengths of light on my sample at my pleasure is almost more sweetness then I can handle. The only thing this scope is not capable of, is marriage, otherwise, I would be in Vegas instead of blogging.

So, while eating bread, and scoping, and eating bread.

I determined why exactly they have two monitors to display the contents of one scope. Hah! This is why I am a grad student. Take notes people.

Thank god I can simultaneously read post secret, the superficial, peruse craigslist, keep tabs on my mail AND facebook while scoring endless macrophages. Bob the superhero is the coolest core facility manager ever. honestly. Thank you super hero Bob, for turning what would have been a mundane crappy day into a carb filled entertaining delight!

-fin-

2008-12-07T19:51:00.012-05:00

I am freezing, exhausted, and starving. I have not eaten since breakfast (it is 8pm), I am wearing flip flops (it is in the 30's), and I did not sleep last night (nor did I two nights ago - cumulative muck effect). I am also sitting in a lab with nothing to entertain me but a computer - and as it turns out you schleps are dead on facebook right now which means I have almost no entertainment at all.

But, despite falling apart at the seams, I am overly elated because I have just completed my *last* take home of the semester.

That's right. My take home final rests in completion beside me, all warm and toasty from being freshly printed, and ready to turn in tomorrow at 10 a.m.

I just wanted you to know that, even though it may look like I have bags the size of Croatia under my eyes, and my hair is unwashed, and I am more slouched in my chair then is humanily possible, and my eyes are glazed over, and my mouth is agape, you should and may consider being extraordinarily jealous. Because I am finished. and it was hard. and I almost died approximately 42 times this semester to get here. and I climbed over the metaphorical equivalent of 238 mountains to be at this point. right now. about to pick up a subsidiary dinner from the Teeter, where I will walk amongst the regular folk, who will have no idea how exactly special, this fucking moment is.

free advice part two

2008-12-01T23:14:00.008-05:00

If you want to pour grape nuts into your uneaten yogurt, only seven will fit into the container, and approximately 926 will fit on your counter.

So, before just pouring away to your hearts content minding little else then the cats at your ankle, do yourself a giant favor and eat a bite of yogurt first, or get a bowl - if you're the type that keeps clean bowls around. Then find me and thank me, I will be in the kitchen looking at Becky and shrugging innocently at the elusive grape nut mountain. That is all.

phlebotomy gone bad

2008-11-20T17:10:00.005-05:00

This looked way more impressive yesterday, however, I wasn't struggling to finish a take home yesterday, therefore no procrastination was necessary.

Thanks lady, for practicing your cross-stitching skills in my veins.

sabrina <3

2008-11-10T18:11:00.004-05:00

"it's been an interesting few weeks. how's shit by you? tell me all about why you hate everyone and i will agree that they are all wrong and you're infallible. then i will describe in great detail how i might tie down their moms with barbed wire and piss on them, and then light them on fire. would that help? rest assured, i will find their moms. nobody's safe from my yellow stream of justice.

xoxo
sabs"

CRAP sabrina, you should move to NC. now i said. =(

faux eclecticism

2008-11-05T10:26:00.006-05:00

At the end of yesterday I was impressed with the social gamut I managed to cover in a mere 12 hours- but then, as my hand was in the process of reaching for my back in pursuit of a firm well-deserved pat - I put my feet back on the ground and realized this spectrum of avocations I felt so inclined to be proud of, were meagerly deserved at best.

pothead: went to a head shop - spent an hour in a heady discussion with the store clerk on the pros and cons of bubblers, bowls, vaporizers and the different strata of pothead that utilizes such paraphernalia. Then purchased a bubbler for a friend's birthday.

meathead: proceeded to GNC - spent some time talking with the store clerk on the pros and cons of various protein and energy supplements, talked extensively about cycling and lifting. Then I purchased a protein blend I'm just okay on, since my standard was not in stock.

political enthusiast: voted - spoke to no one, purchased nothing, received a coupon for a free coffee at my local bakery. felt particularly empowered and proud for being a good American. went to a party celebrating the election.

altruist to the homeless: while passing a gaunt aged man on the street, huddled in an alcove, was asked for any spare change. I paused to give him every last coin I could procure out of my purse (a 3 minute search at best) - and also I gave him a clove for good measure.

scientist: went to lab - Discussed at length the pros and cons of various substrates employed im my (desperate) desire to make things work. Purchased HPTS (8-hydroxypyrene-1,3,6-trisulfonic acid), a pH dependent flourophore for my very own pet project that I am building from the ground up.

The punch line:

pothead: I don't smoke pot, haven't purchased a piece in ages, tried my best to regurgitate phrases I haven't used in years.

meathead: I know a limited amount of anything dealing with supplements, but this guy seemed impressed I was aware of the basics so our conversation was mostly over my head. I tried my best to regurgitate phrases I may or may not have heard other exercise savvy friends toss about.

political enthusiast: I voted. the end. I normally hate politics and avoid them thusly, this year was an obvious exception. after 3 hours of sleep that coffee saved my life.

altruist to the homeless:I never give bums money, donating to shelters maybe, rarely will I give hobos a sideways glance. But, seeing as I veritably lied my ass off to some kind old attendant when parking in a lot - where UNC affiliates are absolutely not allowed to park - I needed karma on my side. I left the lot ticket free.

scientist: who has two thumbs and knows her lab shit? this girl right here.

advisement

2008-11-03T17:54:00.009-05:00

If you happen to accidentally scare the everloving piss out of me - and subsequently you decide its a good idea to laugh at me, and hard I might add - because I did a little dance in place, and maybe I screamed, just a little bit....

well, you should probably consider running, at full speed, in the opposite direction

because that shit was decidedly the most un-funny thing that has ever happened to me in my life.

seperation anxiety

2008-11-01T18:26:00.019-04:00

It was any other glorious day with my phone, running through fields of daffodils, constructing decoupage photo albums as we waited for our bunt cake to finish, and then retiring to the porch to share lemonade and tales of our childhood. While perusing facebook snuggled up in our favorite rocker, our most cherished pastime I might add, my little phone,

my
dear
poor
little
phone
passed away
in my hands

clutching my hair in my fists and screaming enraged to the heavens - I demanded God to tell me why he would take my phone at such a young and tender age. Why now!? WHY HALLOWEEN NIGHT OF ALL TIMES GOD. I worked hard to resuscitate my little love, but there was no hope, all I really had left to do was call T-mobile to handle the remains and begin the process of moving on. So many times between the passing away of my phone and now I have gone to snap an impromptu picture, jot a quick text, check facebook - all which unmercifully rips the scab off of my battered and broken heart upon recalling there *is* no phone to speak of, anymore.

I stopped at the T-mobile store today to purchase the cheapest replacement phone to tide me over until a proper replica of my old phone was delivered to me. My replacement and thank god temporary new phone will never ever fill the shoes of that which was all dear and sacred to me.

The customer service department at T-mobile handled my delicate situation with the utmost gentle and respectful nature. I was told I would have a new phone free of charge shipped to me in the next seven business days (7 days way to fucking long with the aforementioned replacement phone from hell). I was instructed to gut the contents of my phone in preparation for returning its now silent and still body to phone heaven, where it will undoubtedly rest in peace forever.

The gutting however, lead to the pleasing discovery of the cutest little 1 gig card ever!

There is only one thing really I can do now, (who can possibly complete a take home test in stressful times like these I ask?) is put on Sarah Mclaughlin and reflect on our fulfilling and harmonious relationship. Recalling the euphonious chortling of incoming texts, the patience of learning T9 together, my phone was the best little mp3 player ever, and I'll never forget our sneaky voyeuristic endeavors with my favorite little camera. Yes, my phone did it all. I will be preparing a eulogy and candle lit services for later. If you can't make it, at the least, please send me your phone number - as my phone took these memories to the beyond.

I willlll remember yoooouu

*tear

[(in)sanity disclaimer - I was on hold with t-mobile for the majority of this post - hence my paper craft and photography exposition]

illustrious demands

2008-10-30T08:58:00.006-04:00

25 years ago today I was expelled from my mother's uterus.

therefore, in celebration of my existance on this earth, (and thank your lucky stars, your life) this is what I want for my birthday:

1) biscuits and jelly
2) apple pie and ice cream
3) a maid
4) a frodo costume for halloween
5) the answers to Dale Ramsden's take home test
6) the answers to all my questions actually
7) a personal assistant (Erin, really, your name is written all over this one, I suggest you put your bid in early before someone else takes it)
8) new bike wheels
9) someone to image my slides so I don't have to go into lab today
10) an updated sirius radio
11) oh shit the sirius stiletto
12) sirius to be wired into my actual stereo and not transmitted through shitty fm
13) PBS and RPMI waiting for me in the cold room
14) a gym membership at the Y
15) recognition from all the people that I deem relevant in my life, that you are in fact, pleased to have me around, I would like this to be expressed in a monetary or material nature, I could settle for a hug, but a pair of sweet Bose headphones would really drive the message home.

Alright guys, there you have it, you have til midnight, i'd suggest you get cracking, esp for number 5 and 6, could be tricky.

I also recommend you talk amongst yourselves as to who is getting what so I'm not stuck returning double presents.

the seventh circle

2008-10-29T21:51:00.006-04:00

How come, on a mental vacation to the seventh circle of hell, it feels like everyone around you is aware that you are failing miserably at life. Everywhere you walk, sit, eat, meander about, minding your own business, the mundane and ordinary crap happening around you is somehow now, a direct attack at you being a bad person who could have made better choices. Your professor that may have looked at you for a brief second? Totally the stink eye because he knows you aren't paying attention. Didn't get waved at by a friend who is two miles away and on their cell phone? Certainly its nothing rational like they didn't see you, because they secretly have been hating your guts and are choosing this moment to let you know, by ignoring your wave. feel like a friendless loser yet? no? great! the surface has just been scratched.

While mentally traversing the sub-strata of hell, don't forget to take a pit stop on the tier where people are secretly grimacing at you in complete disgust as they smile and nod their head at some vacuous blase conversation the two of you have somehow had the misfortune of falling into - because really they are thinking who let this girl into grad school, why do her pants have a hole in the leg-- WHY DOES SHE KEEP DIGGING IN THE HOLE, a pity how she forgot to filter her secondary antibody, whole weeks worth of experiments down the tubes, god this girl is basket case, the circles under her eyes are terrifying.

All the while, I'm not only tapped into possibly the most poorly timed conversation of my life, reading between the lines of said conversation, but understanding that everyone in a 40 foot radius is aware that I am currently the mecca of all that is execrable. Being such, these people are finely tuned into the fact that I'm not enjoying this conversation, I'm faking my chipper disposition, know that I am now one less friend, and think its also atrocious that I won't stop digging at the hole in my jeans.

I think I really arrive at sheer inner pandemonium when I speak with my PI about my progress in lab (this is the true test of keeping calm on the surface as my insides feel like they could quite possibly succeed in pushing their way through the finer pores in my skin). I could fill entire books on what I perceive to be happening in his head, every blink, breath, throat clearing, 'umm' and 'err' is cataloged to be a secret sign as to how he really feels about my lab work. My streaming thoughts follow a repeating pattern of, 'oh shit does this man even like me? will there be slander on my rotation assesment, Balfour!? WILL THERE?!' Multi-tasking however, like I'm really good at, in that I actually suck at it, I'm also carrying out a scientific, knowledgeable, controlled, and intelligent conversation about the direction of my project. I place more meaningful context with this man's basic bodily functions then I think I ever did in the combined last three years that I was in a relationship. (mis)construing the spectrum of my PI's physical and verbal cues, add up to at best, please strongly consider a job in the secretarial world, preferably that of a lowly run legal office. And, lest it not be forgotten, that this takes place while I mentally fan myself from a lawn chair, sipping warm shit through a straw, in the seventh circle of hell.

What has catapulted me into this mood that would permanently scar small children? Well, nothing really, I was just you know, in a mood for like - oh 4 days. Yesterday however, in the words of the great sabominator, I changed my tampon and got over it.

addendum to previous post.

2008-10-27T18:10:00.004-04:00

to attest to my current state of non-sleeping, non-eating, non-functioning affairs, several mistakes from previous posts have been accumulating either in my inbox or comment thread. I don't care to go back and fix said mistakes. But, for someone who is apparently, loosely here people, a scientist, I will note that kelvin is inaccurate. my point was its hot. the end. if you don't know what im talking about then please move on. if you do, and you noticed Ifucked up and didn't care to tell me, well whatever. hope you got a good chuckle.

get your free advice here!!!!!

2008-10-23T13:49:00.010-04:00

unless you are so inclined to stay awake for most of the night due to superfluous vomiting, do not, under any circumstance, ever, eat, a semi-raw sweet potato.

and if you choose to do so, do not under any circumstance, underestimate the ability of your body to procure weeks worth of food to disgorge in a fashion that would make the writer's of exorcist jealous.

3/4 finished with a test=new post!

2008-10-22T07:13:00.006-04:00

So, I am desperately trying to finish up yet another brutal take home exam, and in doing so I manage to find myself analyzing every aspect of all that is everything with a magnifying glass that decidedly has nothing to do with Dr. Maile's question, which, is a direct descendant of some altered distopian cess pool universe from hell. (For the love of God, its open ended nature is a direct parallel as to if I was asked, 'hey - what did you do that time you were 10?')

As such, it has occurred to me that upon arriving to Chapel Hill, I have somehow let maintaining standard aspects of well being fall to the way side. For example, my diet has been whittled down to sweet potatoes and frosted mini wheats with the occasional apple. Every now and then I will splurge on tomatoes and mozzarella. Running constantly from point A to point L and then back to point C, and if there is time maybe point B - food is on the same order of silly notions as sleep and making friends with my neighbors 200 lb. Rottweiler.

I am happy to report however, I stay consistently showered (mostly) and I manage to make my bed every morning. And also, I even found time for a hair cut yesterday -which, the lady at Great Clips, where hair cuts cost $13, was horrified by the state of disrepair and pronounced dead end dissemination of what was once a nice hair cut (last year's?). Great clips people, the lady at great clips was disgusted with my hair.

I am also happy to report, that my brand new scooter - where I was asked to sign a waiver promising to bring my bike in at 200 miles, and no more then 200 miles for proper calibration post breaking in -is going in on Thursday morning pushing 600 miles.

I have yet to still find time for glasses, which is rapidly making its way to the top of my to-do list. I really hate sitting at the front of every class, its especially rough now that its getting cold and I wear my heavy ski coat in every morning because my scooter ride is on an order of fucking frigid that would cause trepidation among Russians and eskimos. So, arriving to class, more often then not late, which is to say a standard ten minutes late every class, I have to loudly swish my way to the front, swish my way into a seat, swishing while I unzip my back pack to pull out the requisite binder, pen, water bottle, and the inevitable tissue search, all, whilst swish swish swishing away in my ski coat. And, it is WAY to effing cold to remove my coat until hours after I have disembarked from my morning scooter commute. This, as you can imagine, causes quite the disturbance at the front of the lecture hall, causing my professor to stumble and loose his place, as it takes me five minutes to settle in, sounding like my own advanced acrobatic team dressed in full out nylon sumo suits. Yes, glasses are in order very soon. Honestly, carrying out such nonsense is a back of the classroom activity.

On and on I could go - however, now the sun is up which means I have to relocate to campus, and instead of posting, its more important that I try and find a brush to untangle my freshly butchered hair and scavenge my closet for something slightly clean before making my way to class, which I will be late too, because I will be looking for clean(er) clothes, a brush, packing my lunch of a sweet potato, forgetting 12 things as I walk out the door, returning for 6 of them, leaving, getting to my bike, cursing, returning for the other 6 things, and thusly managing to arrive on campus sans sweet potato, tired, hungry, and waiting to buy my next cup of coffee.

2008-10-21T21:44:00.004-04:00

ppppppppsssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh *pop

o_O

today's onomatopoeia is brought to you by the letter death and number oh fuck.

old habits die hard

2008-10-06T21:55:00.029-04:00

Out of sheer lack of motivation to crack into my latest series of papers I should read, before tomorrow, and allow me to re-emphasize the plurality of said papers - I am finding myself perusing the oldest of archived photo collections on my computer. I have thus come to several conclusions, many of these which I have previously thrown around lightly before in post-college haze memorandum style -- these conclusions often allude to a vague picture of me kind of being a hippie in college.

Now, in stark contrast to my current life, my retired hippie days have been etched, in marble, in a time capsule, in the safe hands of NASA. I am happy to leave them there, perma-sealed in with my old birkenstocks.

I bring to you the life and times of the ostensible college hippie:

:

really dirty table, beer shelf, hookah, shot glasses, old beer bottles, some - hugging hippie statue - now so cleverly turned upside down and balanced on aluminum foil and photographed. Really? I'm sure no one did that stoned, and it probably didn't blow their mind either.

Yes, my roommates constructed a solar oven. Yes, we used it, a lot. Yes, there are pictures of breasts on gandalf and frodo in the backround - and yes, that is a little tube of incense below the breast montage.

vegan burrito anyone?

Free hippie beats!

please. for the love of god. keep your pupils to yourself. thanks.

yes. awesome. lets camp and get dirtier together. it could be fucking harmonious.

dirty hippie feet. dirty hookah. dirty beer wall. the ever present dirty aluminum foil. hah! we weren't dirty crackheads.

yup.

check.

one tricked out hemp beaded necklace and one quintessential striped poncho

Thats almost definitely not me, I wouldn't be caught dead in a tie dye dress, hula hooping is for potheads, and this certainly did not take place two months ago.

i <3 today, in pictoral format, for your viewing pleasure

2008-10-01T16:48:00.006-04:00

PLUS

EQUALS

You're invited!

2008-09-29T18:20:00.006-04:00

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.

2008-09-26T10:35:00.007-04:00

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.

2008-09-22T11:05:00.004-04:00

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.

2008-09-20T11:59:00.007-04:00

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

just sayin'

2008-09-18T10:48:00.006-04:00

*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.

2008-09-16T11:49:00.008-04:00

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

2008-09-14T11:25:00.006-04:00

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.
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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!
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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.
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Three caffeine induced life truths.

2008-09-12T10:09:00.012-04:00

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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jZP_e-bvRCc/SMsoENWjETI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/A1B8ox_6V8M/s1600-h/n6204132_38339980_6157.jpg"></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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jZP_e-bvRCc/SMsmICtyyiI/AAAAAAAAAHI/g8ePahffBcA/s1600-h/Bike8.jpg"></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>

*
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

2008-09-11T07:06:00.000-04:00

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.

2008-09-07T21:52:00.000-04:00

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.

2008-09-03T21:10:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-01T12:51:00.000-04:00

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.

2008-09-01T11:41:00.000-04:00

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.

the summer of loving ladies

2008-07-02T22:46:00.000-04:00

Through a series of misfortunes, my hair fell out. And even more unfortunate then those misfortunes, was me looking like I loved the ladies for a whole summer. These pictures just resurfaced on my computer and I felt compelled to share.

p.s. I have nothing against lesbians. I would just prefer to never again in my life have unnecessarily really short effing hair.

Pictures which can only be articulately described as egad:

apparently

2007-09-20T22:51:00.000-04:00

I have a blogging site -

I found this because I was reading a great blog by pinkbutton - I went to post a comment and lo and behold, I set up a blog at some point?

well. this looks fun! im narcissistic enough to believe that people will want to read about my life.