The Russian Dancer and other Annoying Stories

I'm pretty focused on doing well in school right now. Almost obsessively so. When I am at class I want to listen, I want to remember everything I learn, I want to dissect, and I want to kick a**. I'm not squeamish and I love the hands on stuff. Seriously. Bring on the cadavers and the sheep brains and the microscope projects. I'm ready for any of it. And I am not interested in working in groups, in helping people (with their mastery of the subject) or in making very many friends. I did that the first time I was in college. I'm there for one thing and that is to learn so I can advance.

In light of all this, here are some interesting scenarios I have encountered over the last couple of weeks.

1) The Group Test
Our third practical was a group test. Let me repeat. A GROUP TEST. I HATE anything where my grade depends on someone else. My partner is a very sweet person, but she does not have the best visual memory. My first plan of attack was to memorize everything for the two of us. More work for me but it ensured us a good grade. But then the prof said that we were each responsible for knowing all of it and that each of us would be tested individually for half of our total possible score. So...I spent a lot of extra hours in the dissection lab going over the muscles again and again. I'd like to say this was because I wanted to help her learn but in all honesty, it was about my grade.

I am a horrible, horrible person.

2) No Complaints from the Curve Breaker
So I did well on the past six tests. People know that I did well. So now, if I am unsure of something or express a concern for something I am not familiar with, I am brushed off by everyone INCLUDING the professor. "Oh, you'll do fine." "You know everything." "You don't have to worry because you did well before." All that is crap. Just cause I did well doesn't mean that: a) I will always do well, b) I know everything, and c) I don't have to worry. Do people not understand how grades work? An 'A' on a test one does not mean an 'A' in the class if the other tests are not A's also.

3) The Russian Dancer
We have a Russian dancer in our class. She's sweet and nice and has as much drive for this as I do. But I still beat her. On Tuesday night I got to class kind of late. They had just handed back all the tests from last week. The minute I was in there, the Russian was all over me trying to find out my score. Seriously, I hadn't even picked up my test and she had asked me how I did. Then I picked it up and she FOLLOWED ME, asking me how I did. Then she loomed over my shoulder as I looked. Eventually, I snapped at her, "I haven't even had a chance to look at my score yet! Give me a minute!" She said okay and stepped back, for like half a second, and then she asked again. Then I repeated what I had said with more snappiness. She got it this time and sat down. But all through the lecture, she kept looking over at me like she was trying to guess what my score was.

Of course, I didn't mind sharing my grade with her when I realized I beat her. Again.

Grab Your Partner, Do-Si-Do*

Aside from moving over the weekend, I also spent a little time at a Country Music festival. Odd you might think, considering I NEVER listen to country music, know nothing about it and don't particularly identify with "wild west/frontier" ideology. And yet there I was surrounded by cowgirls and boys adorned in hats, boots and big, big, buckled belts.

People everywhere were BBQ-ing slabs of meat and guzzling beer as Y and I sauntered in with wide eyes, hat-less heads, veggie burgers, baked lays, whole wheat buns and corona light. At least the Lays were BBQ flavor....It was fun tailgating and getting to know the people we were with. It was also fun experiencing something new. And, while I do adore my new cowboy boots, the whole scene is probably not for me.

Cowgirls, by the way, tend to be a little sl*tty. I guess it gives a whole new meaning to the term "hoedown."

Here are some photos from last week, all taken at the Country Bash.

This is my boot and my beer.

These are the boots from all the girls in our group.













See the throngs of cow-people heading off to the bash?

*This is a command from a square dance. I had to learn how to square dance in elementary school. My favorite is the Texas Star.

There's no Place Like Home

Yesterday we started moving to our new apartment. We've had thirty days to get used to this idea and thirty days to pack and prepare. I know the psychological ramifications of moving, but still, I am struggling with some feelings of disorientation and sadness. I liked my old apartment. Aside from family homes it was the longest I've lived in one place, and it was my first real adult home. Now the viscera of "home" is scattered in boxes throughout a new, foreign and sterile smelling space, while the framework is still in the old hollowed out space we used to live in. It's strange to live half-way between a shell full of memories and a space void of them. It's both good and bad, exciting and sad.

There really is no place like home.

Switching gears a bit...today I had to get ready at the gym because my new place doesn't have a shower curtain yet. Of course, I could have gotten ready at the old place, but somehow packing clothes to take there and shower felt like going backwards. And going to the gym to shower at least forces me to workout. I was about halfway through my half-ass workout when I realized I forgot to pack work-appropriate shoes. I had two options: either try to go back home and get a pair OR try to find a store that sells shoes open before 9am. Due to the fact that I did not have enough time to go home, I had to go with the latter. Which meant only one option: venture into a Wal-Mart. And so today, my feet are clad in $13, pleather, pointy-toed Wal-Mart slides. WHY isn't Target open before 9am????

Pain in the Splenius Capitus

I did it. I survived the last two weeks. I thought at times I might not. And at times I didn't want to.

But now the testing has stopped (for a couple of weeks), the yard sale is done, the move is arranged, the sales meetings/presentations are finished, my interview with the hospital complete, and my newspaper article turned in. And I came away from all of this relatively unscathed.

Aside from being exhausted and mentally worn out, the only physical damage is a huge knot on my neck. But at least I can now say with some authority that this pesky little knot sits upon the superior lateral edge of my right splenius capitus.

He Said, She Said

My brother has been dating this girl, C, since he moved up to Nor Cal. He is my brother and I love him dearly, but he's 24 and at this stage in his life he is the kind of guy any girl who wants a relationship should avoid. But girls find him attractive and he can be a bit charming (and he REALLY likes women) so sometimes he gets into complicated situations.

I think part of the reason he can be charming is that he is not afraid to be sweet. He and I have always been close and he is close with my mother, so he knows the kinds of things that women like. He knows what will make a girl swoon. Here's an example. There was some girl he dated like once and it was near Valentine's day. He liked her a lot during that week, so he made a pan of brownies in a heart shaped pan and wrote "Happy Valentine's Day" on them in pink frosting. See what I mean? This was super sweet and something that would make any girl feel really special. But then, a week later, he was over her (he was 22 at the time).

Well, this week T (my bro) and C had a little DTR. He was shocked about the fact that she was thinking in those terms at all, so the conversation came as a surprise to his 24-year-old-boy brain. The conversation went okay, according to him, and it resulted in an unchanged status for the two of them. Well it turns out her birthday was this week and he was thinking about having flowers sent to her work--right after he told her he didn't want to date her exclusively.

Now in his mind, he thinks that sending flowers to her work seems like a perfect idea. It will make her happy and will let her know he's thinking about her. It's sweet and he's seen all kinds of women melt into sappy little piles of emotion upon receiving a bouquet sent from a sweetheart. So why wouldn't he send a bouquet, right?

Here's what guys do not know: Yes, women like flowers. Yes, women want that sort of attention from guys. But more importantly, women want the guy to understand and believe in the meaning BEHIND such things. Otherwise it just seems disingenuous.

The reason I feel this way can be seen in the following scenario:
Boy and girl are happy in new little relationship.
Boy does something very sweet for girl.
Girl interprets: "Gee, he must really like me."
Later, boy stops calling girl or breaks things off unexpectedly.
Girl thinks, "So I guess he didn't really like me" and calls into question what the whole little relationship/fling was and what his feelings were during all of it.

MORAL: Sweet things given for inappropriate reasons causes confusion.

ADVICE TO MEN: Give the right gifts at the right times. So, learn to read our minds.

Journalism Hobby Advances

I just got invited to my first meeting for the newspaper! I guess this means I'm sort of "in"??

For those of you who don't know, I sucessfully completed one article that the editor really liked. This week, I made a few edits. Not sure what's next but he did ask me if I wanted to do another DJ profile, and now I am going to this meeting. It's all very exciting.

The Truth

I think this is really funny. I saw it on an ad for the new George Carlin book, via an Onion newsletter:
"Here's all you need to know about men and women: women are crazy, men are stupid. And the reason women are crazy is that men are stupid."

Of course, as a politically correct person writing in a semi-public venue, it would be wrong if I were to agree with this statement in regards to what it says about men. And as a feminist, it is wrong for me to agree with this statement in regards to what it says about us.
BUT, that doesn't take away from the fact this is funny and sometimes true.

Friends for Some Seasons

I read an article recently about how every girl needs several different types of friends. I can't remember all the different types but one was the friend you call when you're crying, another the friend you shop with, the friend who will give you the truth no matter what, etc.

I think this is true and good, and I think everyone does have different types of friends for different types of occasions. Sometimes the types overlap and sometimes they do not. But the thing I am struggling with today is how sad it can be when friendships fade.

I am someone who really values my friends, and despite being very busy lately and overwhelemed with some of the things going on, I try my hardest to stay in contact with them and see them when I can. But sometimes maybe that just isn't enough.

Our Yard Sale (POTW 10/14)

On Saturday we sold 2.5 years of memories worth too much to throw out, but too little to keep. Here are some images:

Celebrating the Rain

Today I am studying muscles for my three tests next week. I had planned on possibly walking to my new fav local coffee shop (hot java), which I love dearly and frequent often, to study. They have big plush armchairs and I envisioned myself sitting upon them, frowning studiously, and memorizing latin anatomical terms while sipping some of their fantastic Fog Lifter blend. But then it started to rain. And rain here is still such a special occasion that I decided to change my plans and stay at home so that I can properly enjoy it.

But, I still needed my coffee. So clad in yoga pants, wearing my glasses, donning unbrushed hair and makeup smeared eyes leftover from last night, I ventured out into the storm to get my fix. And oh yeah, I was wearing my reefs. Because if it's a weekend and I'm not out doing something official, I can't wear anything but them. Even if it's raining.

So I drove the TWO WHOLE BLOCKS to the coffee shop, to buy a cup of coffee even though I could make some at home, so that I can sit on my couch, drinking the coffee, pretending to study as I watch silly MTV shows, all so that I can enjoy this brief and mild episode of So Cal rain.

In a Chandler-esque tone, could I be any more LA??

Crash Into Me

Last night while I was getting ready for bed, I heard the sounds of screeching tires, then metal crunching, then more screeching and more metal crunching. We hear accidents at the intersection near out apartment from time to time, but this one sounded bad. It was enough noise to lure me out of my bedroom, to throw on some more clothes and look out on the street. I was amazed to find TONS of people who had already done the same thing. It happened at 11:32 p.m. and I guess it was loud enough to either wake up everyone or lure them away from whatever they were doing on a Thursday night. The funny thing is that there was only one car involved in the accident. No one was seriously hurt. The worst damage was to a street sign pole, which had suffered a serious break and was lying on the lawn of the house across the street from us.

And even after people saw that no one was really hurt, everyone still lingered. People asked the crowd at large if 911 had been called. Others answered it had been called. Someone shouted that no one was hurt. A cop car came with loud sirens. People started chatting amongst themselves about what had happened, asking details about what caused the accident. But, the fact is, no one really knew.

After awhile people started going back inside. Back to their separate lives. And I went back to mine. This accident was the first time I have seen so many of my neighbors. And even after having lived here for 2.5 years, I realized how odd and sad it is that I hardly even recognized any of them. But what might be more sad is the fact that it took a screeching, crashing accident to bring us all out onto the street that night.

Human behavior can be very odd. There's that whole idea (from some older movie) that people are at their best when they're at their worst, meaning we reach out and help others more when faced with or in the aftermath of diaster, but yet, during times of normalcy we fight over parking spots and yell at people who cut us off on the freeway. And this teeny little accident where no one was hurt reminds me a little bit of all that. It also reminds me of that movie, Crash, from over the summer. The movie opened with the quote below.

"It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something."

Sometimes, on certain levels, this concept can be very, very relevant and very, very human: sad and hopeful at the same time.

Please Approve this New Life

I wanted to be a doctor all my life. Then I got to college and at some point decided that marketing would be a more easy, more fun, more exciting, lucrative-enough field. I think this decision started happening at the end of my first quarter when I was trying to teach myself Calculus 32B because my horrible, non-English-speaking prof was interested only in the research possibilities of a UCLA position and not at all keen on helping me figure out the theory behind why the function of x approaches infinity. And there was also that cool, poorly timed Real World: Miami marathon on MTV....I really didn't want to miss that. And so I reacted in the way that any wide-eyed 18 year old recovering from a Phi Psi frat party would...I changed my career path.

And here I am today. Trying to change it back.

I am exhausted and overwhelmed at the moment with the implications of trying to make the switch. And all I want right now is for someone to just tell me I'm making the right decision.

Here's the evidence you could give me as to WHY I'm making the right decision, if you so choose to help comfort me in my time of angst:

• I've always wanted to work in medicine.
• I like helping people.
• I am tired of working in a field where I give nothing back to society.
• Money is great, but it's not everything. Day to day happiness is more important.
• Money will be tight and times will be stressful while I'm going to school, but it will be all worth it in the end.
• I can deal with a smaller salary while working my way up to becoming a Nurse Practitioner.

You may be wondering why I need someone to tell me I'm making the right decision when I (a) obviously already have a list of reasons and (b) don't usually care about and/or need other people's approval for such things. But today, because of everything else going on, I need approval.

On another note, my food obsession du jour is the egg salad sandwich. I don't like eggs that much (I only buy them if I'm making brownies), but I can't get enough of these bad boys. In fact I am having one for breakfast as I type. They are really high in fat but that is okay because I've got a lot of sh*t going on. Can anyone say "emotional eating?"

REAL photo(s) of the week

Since yesterday's POTW was not really a POTW, here are some I took today while I started packing up my apartment. There are just some of my favorite things in the apartment.

This is one of the pillows on my bed.



















This is my favorite candle holder.



















And here are some of my votives in the living room.



















Even plain old glass and cotton can be pretty in the right light.

Photo of the Week (10/7)

Here's the photo of the week. I'm cheating though...this photo was actually taken during a trip to SF in August. But I made up this photo of the week idea, so I can change the rules when I want to.

This is the building where my brother works. He is an architect. It feels strange to say (write) that--it sounds so grown up. But regardless of how he appears on the surface, he's always my baby brother.

The Orchid Killer

I've had a subtle, long-term fascination with orchids. Actually, not so much with the plant themselves but more with the art of trying to get them to RE-bloom. I do think they're lovely--in a very elegant and graceful way--but really, the obsession comes from trying to get those elegant, graceful blooms to grow again. During the past five years of having orchids, I've become really good at keeping them alive. Which is a big step for me. And within the last year, I've managed to actually see some real growth (by way of new leaves and stalks) in my three plants.

But the other day I noticed one of my orchid plants was starting to die. In an effort to stop whatever the cause of death may have been, I tried watering it more. And when that didn't work, I tried watering less. If the plant wasn't really dying, then the pattern of flooding it followed by draught definitely solidified its end. And as I wistfully tossed it into the garbage, I reflected on why I had this plant.

I bought this particular orchid when my dumb ex broke up with me. It was sort of a "you-were-just-dumped-but-you-will-survive-and-this-lovely-plant-will-help-symbolize-that" kind of purchase. It was all covered with small multicolored burgundy flowers, and like most store bought orchids it was beautiful for the first couple of months. And then the flowers fell. But I kept it and hoped that it would bloom again. Because, you know the plant was a symbol of me.

Then last week it died. As I took the plant out of it's terra cotta pot and wistfully tossed it into the garbage the other night, I rationalized its death by thinking, "hey, one less thing to bring with me to the new apartment." But then because I like to find meaning in all things, I took my thinking one step further. The plant died right before I move to a NEW apartment. This new apartment has no memory tied to it of my dumb ex or any other mistakes (the people kind or the standard kind). It is a clean slate, all shiny and new and ready for me to fill it with new ones. And in that respect, it is good the orchid died.

Do the Fandango

Since July, I have fruitlessly sought the MP3 for DJ Quik's "Fandango." (I'm very white, but I like my rap, especially when it's fun to dance to).

I could buy the whole album, but I really only like the song a single MP3's worth. (I guess I learned my lesson after purchasing Daddy Yankee's Gasolina CD. There's enough reggatone on that bad boy to last me a lifetime.)

Tonight, I decided it was time to get serious. I was going to find this damn song if it meant--well, I guess the only thing it could interefere with is finishing my anatomy homework. And so I did what all people do when they really want a song that they cannot purchase legally. Thankfully, Russia has no qualms with this sort of thing.

And now I'm happily bobbing my head to the rhapsodic lyrics of Mr. DJ Quik. Words like "feel free to lose your mind let your brain go, f*ck the tango do the fandango" spill out of my iTunes on repeat, and I feel complete once again.

What I Know

Here are some things I have learned during the last 24 hours:

1) The more coffee you drink, the more likely it is that you will spill it on yourself while driving to work.

2) If I wake up at the same time each morning and I am consistently about 10 minutes late, I will probably continue to be late each day unless I wake up earlier.

3) I shouldn't use my favorite, fluffy, pure white 100% Egyptian cotton towels within a week of dying my hair.

4) Death Cab for Cutie is fantastic. Here is one of the best parts of their song, "Marching Bands of Manhattan"

Sorrow drips into your heart through a pin hole
just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound
and while you debate half empty or half full
it slowly rises, your love is gonna drown.

Good stuff. Sad, but good. Fortunately, the music sounds a bit more upbeat than the words.

5) (anatomy stuff) The muscle system is easy to learn if you've got your skeletal system well memorized. Which I do. I will crush my classmates during the next round of tests. Again.

6) MSN Horoscopes can be really, oddly accurate sometimes. Here's mine for the day:

The good news is this: It can only get better. For today, however, there may be some trying times in store, ML. You may feel pressure from all sides. Not even your love life is immune from the feelings of doubt that seem to hover over your head. No form of compromise is possible for you, dear Virgo. Just sit tight and know that calmer days are coming...

And they called me "dear Virgo". That's sort of sweet.

I sound really whinny in that last post.

But now that I've wallowed in self-pity and melodrama for a few minutes, I feel better.

Take the last post with a grain of salt.

Imagine me doing a happy dance now to make you all feel better about having read this silly blog today.

The Overwhelmed and the Weary

Last night my contact ripped in half as I was removing it from my eye. It was my last contact. This morning, I forgot about a long-planned doctor appointment (and I don't forget things). This all amidst the back-drop of doing two people's jobs and learning a new computer system at work, Also, I have three tests in Anatomy over the next two weeks, a presentation to create and then give at a large quarterly sales meeting, a yard sale to prepare for and an apartment to move. Several of my friends are going through some hard things right now. My grandmother is sick. My parents want to see more of me. I'm trying to find time and energy to work out, finish my book club book, write that article for the local paper, AND sleep enough.

Needless to say, my addiction to caffeine is now carrying over into a need for an afternoon fix.

And here's the kicker. Today I had lunch with my boss and another co-worker. Mid-meal the topic turned to my singleness (oh the joy). My gut tightened and I prepared a witty segue into another topic, but not before my favorite question was asked: why aren't you dating anyone right now?

It has been several months since the last time this was up for discussion. I guess it was time to re-hash it.

And as usual, my boss (the ex Therapist) tells me the following--perhaps to make it easier to "deal" with my singleness: "It's easier to find someone when you aren't looking." That's the worse advice in the history of mankind. And, it's just mean to point out my singleness, make me feel like I'm failing in life somehow because of it, then point out how one can make it happen by not wanting it to happen.

Fortunately EVERY OTHER AREA IN MY LIFE has made dating the last thing on my mind today. I am too busy trying not to forget about doctor appointments. But of course, now having said this Mr. Maybe will surely come walking through the door any minute, right?

A Redder Shade of Brown

Since going from blonde to brown hair, I’ve been “refreshing” my brown tresses with a semi-permanent wash in color thing that makes my hair darker (and hence, more dramatic). I can’t remember the brand I use, but the shade is “medium brown” and it lasts for a month or two before my hair fades back to a lighter brown color.

The other day, in light of all the changes going on, I thought it might be nice to try a more red-brown shade. So I bought the next shade up, called Cinnaberry, and used it on Saturday. It’s really just the same brown but with a slightly more reddish hue so I didn’t expect to get a lot of comments regarding the new shade. I honestly don’t think of it as that different. Here are some of the reactions I received last night:

Mother: After a few minutes of chatting, she says, “You’re hair is redder.” I nod my agreement. Then she says: “That’s okay…it won’t last too long.” I guess she doesn’t like it.

Friends: KA noticed about 10 minutes into meeting up and seemed to like it. BD didn’t notice at all, but then, we met in dark bar. So I didn’t expect a comment.

Random Guys from the BBQ I went to a few weeks ago: Every single of one of them said within minutes of saying hello, “You’re hair is darker!”

Funny thing is, we were in a dark bar. At night. I could barely tell a difference with my hair. Some of the guys didn’t even recognize me until one of their friends said, “her hair is darker.”

Very, very odd. But good I guess. I think it means that maybe sometimes guys do pay attention to little changes.

Photo of the Week (9/30)

Who says traffic can't be beautiful? This is the view of the sunset from the 91 Freeway on Friday night. Let me just say it was really challenging taking these pictures during stop and go traffic. I almost hit like 3 cars. But I got the shot and that's what counts.
















And here's one without those meddlesome freeway signs blocking the view.

EXCLUSIVE! Ben's Photo Spread only here on the Frog

Famous Phat cat Ben gives an exclusive photo shoot to Follow the Frog. See highlights below.

Baby got Back: Ben enjoys lounging upon the back of this couch. Here we get a view of his better side--all 25 pounds of him!




















This is Ben, looking to the kitchen beyond.















And here he is giving us his best focused pose. Gosh, he's fierce!















"Come on ML, I'm tired of posing for photos!"

It's hard being such a fat and famous cat.














Special thanks to BD for approving the photo shoot.