fear factor

I started this post earlier today, and it had a very lighthearted and optimistic tone. I wanted to tell you about how I was in an anomalistic good mood this weekend and decided to do something productive, rather than spend another weekend afternoon watching television and feeling my butt get bigger. (Ever notice that it's when you are sitting and eating junk food that you become acutely aware of the gelatinous regions of your body?) Anyway. I decided I wanted to bake cookies. Not exactly helpful in thwarting the hind region expansion, but it was definitely something very much outside of my character.

I wanted to make nankhatai, or Indian butter cookies (flavored with cardammom, yum!). And bake them I did. Not to toot my own horn, but they turned out to be edible! The texture and thickness were way off - they are supposed to be thick and crumble in your mouth. Mine were on the thinner side and were pretty crunchy. But the taste? Spot on. A bit too greasy. But mmm good. I did something remotely womanly. Unbelievable. Maybe I'll make them again one day. And grow petunias. Ha.

That was pretty much the highlight of the weekend. That, and catching an episode of the Golden Girls I had never seen. Never seen! I was more than shocked. I thought I had seen every single episode at least 100 times, but I guess I was wrong. There was one out there that was being saved to surprise me all along. How fun!

But after I began writing, my mood changed. I started to think a lot about my cousin, an amazing wonder woman who is my sheer opposite yet mirror image. She works for the UN and is based in Kabul. Where there was an explosion yesterday. She is OK, thankfully. But still. I know she reads this sometimes so I'm stepping out of character and addressing a person directly. BE SAFE. WE MISS YOU. COME HOME SOON. We were, and are still, shaken up. Her parents were here with my family yesterday and it made me very sad to see that the best thing they had to eat when hearing the news about the explosion was my halfhearted attempt at nankhatai.

Today I spent the entire day in my dad's office. Again. Of course I will work whenever my parents need help. But today I admit I was feeling frustrated. Is it specific to families, Asian families, Indian families, or just my family in general ... the idea of misery loves company? The notion of hiring temporary help is heretic. If I weren't free, I have a good feeling my mom probably would've had to have taken vacation from her job to go work at his office. Ironic, huh? OK, I'll stop being a brat.

Wait just give me one more minute of venting. I'm seriously warning anyone who is faint of heart or stomach to stop reading right here. (I know it's mean of me to say that because you won't, even if you have a weak stomach, you curious sadists you. So I apologize in advance. But for real. Don't read anymore if you don't like a bit of graphic detail about bugs).

There was some trash behind his office that we had to move. We being my mom and I - she came to help me after she finished work; I wasn't joking about what I said before. This stuff reeked worse than Arthur Kill during a heat wave. Jesus. I think it had just been neglected in the back of the house (perhaps by the secretary I discussed before. I am purposely not writing about her because I like to refrain from cursing in this blog. And it would be virtually impossible to write without injecting a swear word in every single line). Bottom line: nasty, nasty, NASTY garbage. Reeking garbage. Garbage, I realized while heaving it, that had decomposed and had some maggots in it.

I am still wretching. I cannot handle that. I am a bug baby. Hate 'em. Scared to kill 'em. Am convinced they will morph into gigantic mutants and eat my head off. I am convinced there is a bug somewhere on my body right now. It's like an acid trip without the fun part. I have lost my appetite for the foreseeable future (which sucks because there is a Burger King next door to the office). I am a morning shower person but I am going to shower in scalding water before bed tonight. And spray myself with Lysol.

Whimper. Hold me.

working the 9 to 5

I miscalculated when I thought I would have a few weeks off in between classes. My father gave his secretary vacation this week because he knew I'd be able to fill in. I didn't know about this, of course, until the other day. Ah the joys of family. And free labor.

It's not too bad; I should probably take this more seriously now that I really do want to be a doctor (as opposed to playing one on TV). Not that I'm sticking patients with needles or yelling things like STAT! CODE BLUE! MARCO! ....... POLO!

I'm answering phones and the like. Now, in order to continue with my diatribe, I need to give you a little bit of background. The normal secretary? V. nice, but missing a few tools in the toolbox. She had never used the internet until my father had it installed in the office about a year ago. She didn't leave any of the necessary papers or even the appointment book so that I could pick up where she left off. Needless to say, we were all a bit aggravated.

So the first thing I noticed when I got here was that the fonts on the computer were all sorts of screwed up. Huge fonts. Black background, white text for everything. I tried to fix it, but everytime we restarted the computer it reverted to the old style. And some webpages would look normal, while others were really messed up.

I am certainly no computer geek, but I did have the sense to think "I bet this computer has lots of viruses on it." So I started to hunt around and perform some of the standard cleanup techniques: clear internet files, cookies, etc. There were 10,000 temporary internet files. That's a lot. The computer crashed a few times while I was trying to delete them. And then I ran a program to delete the spyware. Whoa! This computer was a haven for lots of programs. What kind of stuff was being downloaded?

As the de-bugging software was running, some of the files I saw flash on the screen included "TeenSexXXX" and "SexXXSex." Hmm. Interesting. The plot thickens. Encylopedia Brown to the case! (because I'm brown ... get it ... insert collective groan here.) I opened up the web browser. The "favorite" websites were all displayed in a column. The second folder said "ErotikAB." It almost looks technical enough to bypass without realizing what it really says. Upon expansion, I discovered links to: Teen Sex XXX, Gay Porn Chat, CollegeGrls, etc. Whoa! What was this old secretary doing? I deleted all these things as well as whatever the debugger removed.

Now, I wondered whether to tell my Dad that his secretary is a perv. But then I noticed some of the previous websites visited. "Olsen Twins." "Christina Aguilera" etc. And I thought ... oh ... OK. The secretary has a young daughter. They don't have internet at home. And she's not that well versed in internet seediness. I realized she had probably gone to these sites and all the extra dirty stuff probably got put on inadvertently. Because seriously, you gotta be pretty oblivious to leave ErotikAB as one of the first links you can click on when you open up the Internet Browser.

So yes, mystery solved. No sneaky porn in the doctor's office, just really careless use of the computer.

And then today I spilled coffee all over the desk. Patient charts, the TV remote, the phone ... everything got soaked. Oops. Let me at them needles!

bratty mcbrat

This afternoon on the radio, I heard the new Ashlee Simpson song "Shadow." I found the tune pretty catchy, but as I listened to the words, I got increasingly aggravated to the point where I decided if I ever meet Ashlee Simpson, I will smack her.

Basically, the song is about how she was always in the shadow of her older sister, the omnipresent Jessica Simpson. Boo-hoo, how sad. Your older sister got famous and your life sucked. Right. Your whole family got rich, you inherited a hot brother-in-law, and you rode her coattails to fame. I feel so bad for you. Here are some snippets from her song that particularly irked me:

"Somebody listen to me please, it used to be so hard being me."

"I was stuck inside someone else's life. And always second best. Oh I love you now. Cause now I realize that it's safe outside. To come alive."

"Mother, sister, father, sister, mother. Everything's cool now. Oh my life is good. I got more than anyone should. Oh my life is good. And the past is in the past."

Now, I'm really not a music aficionado. I hardly buy CDs, and I'm pretty content with whatever Top 40 is currently on the radio (or listening to my ABBA cd. If you don't love ABBA and have not seen Mamma Mia! yet then I think we might have to reevaluate bringing our friendship to the next level.) The point is I don't react as emotionally to music as I wish I could. So this afternoon's reaction was rare (but I thought nah forget, yo homes Bel Air!)

I don't like this Ashlee Simpson. Teeny bopper girls are buying her CDs by the thousands - she's been #1 on the music album sales for the last few weeks. It bothers me to think that the people buying her stuff actually relate (or at least, wish they could relate) to her problems. I remember being 13. Not a fun year, no siree (actually I think that could apply to any time between the ages of 8 to about 16). Young teenagers have a lot of issues, but somehow I think the burden of being the younger sibling of a pop star doesn't exactly serve as fair comparison. Of course they might relate to being in the shadow of an older sibling, but man. I'd trade in an inferiority complex to have that ridiculous lifestyle any day (or not, but you get my point).

So yes, stop this melodramatic nonsense all you teenage pop star mental vacuums. Except Avril Lavigne. I like her. Her songs have reasonable points - i.e., get off my bed, I'm not that kinda girl, etc.

In the same vein, here are some other song lyrics that annoy the living daylights out of me:

Destiny's Child - Bills, bills, bills. The line that says "Can you pay my automo-bills." Automo-bills? Automo-bills?! I get the rhyme, but whoa. I go postal every time I hear it.

The Lady Marmalade song from Moulin Rouge. Part of the chorus says "Mocha - choco - latta -dada." Don't even get me started.

On the flip side, some song lyrics crack me up. My favorite song lyrics ever are from the Mr. Vegas song Heads High. It's raunchy. And dirty. And straight-up old school dancehall reggae. If you're interested, here are the lyrics. They're a little hard to read, but if you get the jist of what the song is about, it'll crack you up. You will never be able to bump and grind to it again with a straight face.

bumper fright

The last few days have been so uneventful that I actively sat and thought about anything interesting that has happened to me during the course of my entire life. In order to have something to write here. Not for any particular reason, but I do fear that this free blog experience could have some fine print somewhere that says "inactivity will automatically cause the deletion of your blog." I also worry that one day they will say "You've run out of available space. Now you have to pay $19.99 a month to continue!" Sort of the way Hotmail says "We just deleted the 20 messages you got today because you were within 50% of our storage limit. But click here to buy more!" I can't wait until google mail hits the mainstream and all free e-mail will be forced to up their limits to around 1 gig.

That was neither here nor there. (I actually just wrote that last sentence because I like that phrase. Doesn't mean much when you really think about it though. The logical next question would be, 'well then where was it?'). Two absolutely miniscule and completely inconsequential things happened today. They are so stupid and have no bearing on anything. Except for the fact that they were really eerie.

Eerie thing #1:
I was in the car with my mom. A van passed us on the highway and the bumper sticker said "Driver carries no cash. He's married." I thought it was silly but funny, so I lauged and pointed it out to my mom. I had never seen that bumper sticker before, not that I keep a detailed log of every bumper sticker I've seen. About 10 minutes later, we went to fill gas (full service, bien sur. Besides being incapable of cooking, I am also incapable of driving well and/or filling gas. Confession: I've never pumped my own gas. Another chip to toss into the pile regarding my complete incapacity to handle normal life.) Anyway, as we were pulling out of the station, this little old sedan was turning in. And can you imagine what bumper sticker the car was sporting? That's right. Driver carries no cash.

OK, I know. Just a random coincidence, right. But still, it was so weird! I get the heebie-jeebies when stuff like that happens. As if I have a futile sixth sense. Not convinced? Please be patient, and I assure you that you may or may not believe me. Let's see what's behind door #2 ...

Eerie thing #2:
When we got home, I turned on television in the kitchen and we were watching Everybody Loves Raymond (a show I didn't really care for originally, but now can't live without.) During a commercial, we decided to go watch it upstairs instead. We sit on the bed in her room, and I turn on the television.

The television was on a channel showing Full House. At the exact moment that Stephanie Tanner got up to spell the word "mnemonic." I swear. I had a silent, completely internalized freak-out. I excused myself to check e-mail, when really I came to write this post. (N.B. please see the post 'frenemy bee' to see the connection if you didn't get it.)

I mean, I don't think I've watched Full House in years. The reason I referenced the mnemonic episode in one of my posts from last week was really because it was tucked away in my subconscious and resurfaced when I was writing (and because it gave a nice segue to having watched Spellbound.)

Why did I turn on the TV at that precise moment? Did the TV puppetmasters know I was just thinking of that episode? That very scene in that very episode? Are they reading my blog?!!

Do you see now why I'm so freaked out? Or are you thinking "This girl needs professional help?" Either way. Something supernatural is going on here. The ghost of screwing with Sophia's head sure earned his paycheck today, hoo-wee.

I've said on occasion that I think my life may be a reality TV show for aliens. So many random, irrelevant experiences happen to me. It makes me very self-conscious: "Am I being watched? Am I a chosen one? A prophet to my generation? Someone to spread stories that bear no moral principals? To convert my fellow brethren to the religion of inconsequence and melodrama?

I feel very special. Very special indeed. I know you are thinking it as well, "Damn straight Soph. You sure are, uh, special." Thanks guys. Thanks.

phase 1: complete

I'm done with organic chemistry! Yay! Want to know a totally lame fact? I kinda miss it, and I'm excited to go back to take more courses this year. I didn't fully appreciate this all those years ago, but school, and especially science, definitely has its merits. Such as the fact that it's very linear - there are rules, and you apply those rules to come up with an answer. And you can support your conclusions with proven facts!

I am so literal minded; give me the box and I will be more than happy to think inside of it, thank you very much. One of the many reasons I finally realized I am not very well suited for the Business World. That and the whole wearing suits thing (get it? 'well suited' ... aha. Oh whaddya know you bunch of ...) I'm 5'2". I had to shop in the petite department for suits. With shoulder pads. During my tenure as a corporate bidness-womyn I resembled the shortest, grandmotherly-esque football player ever.

But back to life, back to reality. The final was more difficult than I anticipated. And they pulled the sneakiest trick out of the book. They asked a question on literally was what we learned the last day of class. There were really no homework problems on it, and none of the old practice exams ever referenced this material, so I made a deliberate choice not to study it while preparing. I should've known. Oh well. I was tempted to write "you got me sucka's!" on my exam paper but refrained. Although, I'm sure they would've enjoyed that.

I had one other mini-meltdown. One question totally stumped me. The actual exam didn't offer much room to scribble, so I used a scratch sheet of paper to work on. I copied the problem down and worked for a good 15 or 20 minutes before giving up and moving on. After about an hour I returned to the problem, and it seemed a bit more clear. I double checked. And nearly slapped myself I felt so stupid. I copied it down wrong the first time around. I shifted a few bonds to the wrong places and attempted to do a question that was totally made up. Whoops. Luckily it worked out, but still, I felt pretty dumb.

After class I booked it home, packed and cleaned up the apartment before heading home. Even though my brother had visited me last week and taken most of my stuff back with him, there was quite a lot remaining. Why is it that even if you think you don't have much stuff, once you start to pack it you stand back and wonder "how the heck did this crap become SO MUCH CRAP?" It also happened that I was able to squeeze everything I had into my three bags such that the zippers were almost bursting on each bag.

In retrospect I should have indulged and taken a cab to the airport and flown home. But no, the $10 was calling my name (guju ... what's my mother-f*ckin name, guju). So yes, I hauled butt to the train station and then to the Chinatown bus.

What did I realize halfway through my walk to the train station? Damn this crap is way too heavy for me to hold. Seriously. My backpack was so stuffed I was leaned over at a good 45 degree angle, Quasimodo style. My bags were so heavy on my shoulders that I actually chafed them and they are red (not the wisest idea to wear a tank-top; hindsight is indeed 20/20).

But somehow I made it. I'm paying the price today (which I can do, since I only spent $10!). But I'm in pain. These will be the stories I tell my kids one day. Akin to the "I only had one shoe and had to walk 3 miles in mosquito infested waters to school everyday" stories of my parents. My story will be "I carried my backpack on my own back every day. It was heavy and gave me back pain."

Because our kids will either a) have robots to carry everything for them; b) have no need for books because they can have chips implanted in their brains so that they can reference material at their command or c) use those damn roller backpack things. I hate those things. Suitcases I understand. But backpacks? Give me a break.

technical support

I don't particularly like the way that the "About Me" section and the links to my previous posts show up all the way at the bottom of the screen. Normally it should show up on the top right, but I think there is a bug or something. Since I have no previous experience with HTML, I decided to e-mail the support staff at Blogger, the host of this absolutely free, no payments till 2008 blog.

I just got their response this morning:

On occasion, the side-bar will shift when the content contained within the side-menu or a post extends the column beyond its designated width. We recommend reviewing the content in both columns to identify items that may be causing column expansion. In most cases, long links and wide images are the cause of the problem.

Hmm. I would have much preferred the trimmed down and honest answer: "We think your problem is dumb and don't want to waste our time on it. Go learn HTML and stop bothering us with your moronic questions."

I had a similar customer service issue recently. I didn't get my August issue of Self magazine. I had gone on the website a while ago and changed my address once I moved out of my apartment. But no magazine. I e-mailed the customer support and said I didn't want to be charged for an issue I didn't receive. Their response was as follows:

Our records indicate your change of address was processed on June 28, 2004. Due to the prelabeling of your issues, the change will be effective with the August 2004 issue. Please be sure to leave your forwarding address with your local post office as they will only forward for 60 days. We request that you please allow additional delivery time for issues forwarded by the post office.

What? Did I misunderstand or did they just tell me that I was supposed to get my August issue? How will I know what lettuce is recommended for my salad this month, and how many M&Ms I can get away with before busting the budgeted "indulgence" calorie limit (answer: about five. Five. You show me a person who can eat five M&Ms and be satisfied and I'll give them a free subscription to the cursed aforementioned magazine).

So yes, I'm not a huge fan of customer service. Although I must admit I do get such a kick out of it when I call the airlines and end up talking to someone from India. It's quite fascinating actually; there is a whole subculture in call centers where the employees "adopt" American personalities - with fake life stories and everything. Here is an article about it. I know the whole debate on US jobs vs. outsourcing, but I firmly believe that outsourcing is good and creates value in the long run. Banning outsourcing is the equivalent of a tarriff, resulting in deadweight loss and all that other theoretical economic mumbo jumbo we learned at some point in college. And is it wrong to say that I do like the fact that wait times have been cut down and that I can call Delta at 4:00 am and someone actually answers the phone? And can get the spelling of my name right the very first time I tell it to them?

It's interesting what I have and have not retained from my college education. I took a Computer Science programming class, but I never really applied it after that, so I may as well have never taken the class. It's now the case that the extent of my computer savviness is pretty much really, really hoping that the anti-virus stuff on my computer works.

Some of you might not even know this, but I even took organic chemistry as a freshman. People kept telling me (and to be honest, I assumed) that coming back to orgo 7 years later wouldn't be tough. I thought this stuff would come back to me.

Lo and behold, it didn't. Most of the stuff I learned, it was as if I were seeing it for the first time. Really. And then I think about how much money was spent on that education - and for what? I bet I only remember 10% of the actual academic material from college. I guess if you don't really use the knowledge, it's easy to forget it. I do remember quite a bit of economics / finance since I was doing it for so long. But still, it's kinda sad to think that everything I've learned isn't tucked away in a secret part of my brain. It actually fell out somewhere along they way. Most likely my first year in NYC, when partying on Monday nights until 5:00 AM and loving me some Alka-Seltzer were the norm. Ahh, the days of yore.

of mice and weird men

Hmm ... Monday. This is the first Monday in 6 weeks that I haven't had an exam, so that was nice. Friday was our last day of class, and they had a "talent" show where several people sang, rapped and read poetry about chemistry. Yes I'm serious. Our professor played the guitar. Another professor sang the periodic table to the tune of "I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General." They also performed some geeky but fun experiments, like making bottle rockets and instant ice cream by using liquid nitrogen. Old school nerd-type fun. We laughed, we cried, and then we laughed again. Good times. It's sad to admit but I did really enjoy the whole spectacle.

Another bright spot this weekend was that three good friends of mine were in Boston! Woohoo! Friends! For me! And it's not even my birthday (but it did qualify as my unbirthday. Oddly enough, my professor was obsessed with Alice in Wonderland. Every day he'd start lecture with a quote from the book.) Anyway, but yes. Friends. Good friends. Old is gold type friends. People who have seen you through every phase in your life and still voluntarily choose to hang out with you. Because you pay them too. Haha.

Saturday night my friend and I went out to a club in Boston. Quite the international crowd. And by international I mean Indian. We were standing by the bar when we were both approached by different guys. Her guy introduced himself, asked her name, and then just stood there. Silence.

I would have much preferred to have had her guy. My stupidly drunk guy leans over and says "Hey, where do you go to school?" Already turned off by him, I decided to pull out the very powerful H-bomb (works wonders for guys, disastrous for women.) I looked him straight in his bloodshot eyes and said "Harvard. You?"

"MIT. I'm a neurobiologist." Oh boy. He could not say the word neurobiologist without getting spittle all over the place. He asked what I was doing so I said "I'm doing post-bac work so I can apply to med school."

"Are you going to be a cardio-thoracic surgeon? Because I need an operation on my heart." (Holds hand to chest in exaggerated fashion). Haha, so funny. I shrug and start to move away. He leans closer. Then he says:

"Do you like to cut up mice?"

WHAT? No really, that's what I said to him. I was totally bewildered and said "what?"

"Mice, you like to cut up mice?"

Umm, I gotta go. My friend was in a predicament also so I looked at her and we tacitly agreed to make a run for it. N.B.: Guys, if you are hitting on a lady, please don't ask if she likes to cut up animals. It's not exactly stellar cocktail conversation.

Other than that, it was quite a pleasant weekend. I got to have brunch on both Saturday and Sunday. Brunch is the bestest meal ever. Brunch should be every day (though why isn't there any lupper, or linner?) Corned beef hash and eggs on Saturday - too damn good. Cornmeal french toast on Sunday. Cornmeal french toast! Why have I never seen this utterly brilliant combination before? Wow. I'm still reeling from the too-goodness of it all.

My final is on Thursday. It's difficult to motivate to study for it. I've been in class every single day for the last 7 weeks, so this feels like a little break. So I want to enjoy it. But I can't; it's a mirage ... I just keep having to repeat, make it to Thursday, make it to Thursday ...

mix with rice

My brother left this morning; it was really nice to see him, especially since he's leaving for law school later this week and I may not see him for quite a long time! Since he drove up, my mom gave him some home-cooked food for me. She is fully aware of my bizarre eating habits so took full advantage of this opportunity to pamper with me with needed nutrients.

It was so nice to eat some good food. However, there was a slight problem. I think my mom thinks I am retarded*.

She sent 3 tupperware bins of Indian curries. One bin of rice. And one of homemade yogurt. Each one was labeled with a post-it note. The three curries said "eat with rice." The rice said "heat in microwave." Only the yogurt was left unlabeled, for me to have my way with.

I love my mother. She is the bestest ever. But, uh, mom? I've been eating Indian food my entire life. I don't know what she thought I was going to do with it. Put all the curries together and do a rain dance then lap it up in a bowl like a dog? Then make sculptures out of the rice to display to my imaginary friends?

She's hilarious. Though I suppose she does know me well enough to know that I am an absolute imbecile when it comes to food. I'm probably going to give you all a little TMI, but I can't cook. Period. I tried to make pasta when I first came up here and I burned it. I burned pasta. How do you do that? I eat out all the time. If a meal isn't ready to eat, I will skip it. I won't make it myself. If I'm home and tired, and there is no dinner, I will skip the meal and buy some granola bars and donuts for breakfast. If food is ready in the refrigerator, there is a good chance that I won't even heat it up.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. How will this girl ever get married? The game plan is to marry a chef. Seriously. Do you know any?

Also, it's not just me. My Dad is the same way. Last year, my mom and brother had gone to India, and I was working in NYC. My mom had prepared all this food for my Dad and left it in (pre-labeled) tupperware bins in the refrigerator. He never opened the fridge for the week they were gone. He would just eat at work or pick up fast food.

It's not like I haven't tried to learn. Our senior year in college they had something like a crash course in kitchen knowledge or something like that. I signed up for it, but only went to one class out of five. I just couldn't deal. Though I did get an apron. Good stuff. I can wear it for Halloween.

______
*Pardon the analogy; I tried to think of a more PC word but sometimes you have to just go for the tried and true.

juxtapositions

Hello boys and girls. Ah, Tuesday. The odd-child out of the week. Not exactly Wednesday, which is smack-dab in the middle. Or Thursday which is so close to Friday that people give it pre-emptive weekend love. This weekend was really great - I went to the wedding of a friend from college. Hoo-wee, what a mind trip. Actually, this was the first wedding of a college friend I've attended, so all the requisite neurotic thoughts surfaced:

Will I ever get married? I bought them a saucepan as a gift? If I ever get married I'm registering for a lifetime supply of Snickers Bars. I don't even have a boyfriend. Or a saucepan. Man I gotta get me some kids. I can't figure out my own life. Or even my laundry situation. Boy the bride looks pretty. How are they so calm? They just got married!! EEE!

But a lovely, lovely affair. I really adore the couple and they are going to be living in Boston next year, so they can officially be my first real married friends that are my age.

I returned back on Sunday and cracked open my notes to take a first peek at the information I was going to be tested on Monday morning. Last minute cramming, nothing like it. We are allowed to drop one of our exams so I assumed this would be the exam I would drop, since I was not prepared at all. But I stayed up into the wee hours studying anyway and left it to fate.

The result: my highest exam score yet. Wha-wha? I love and hate it when that happens. Loved the pleasant surprise and ego boost. Hate the devil on my shoulder saying "See, this is the way to do it. Don't study that much, just cram a little bit and you'll ace the class." Because that is b-a-d. Really bad because my final is next week, and no matter which way I cut it, cramming for a final the day before is not a good idea. Luck is a huge factor - several answers were guesses, and I lucked out that I was right.

This afternoon I was sitting outside the Science Center (for those of you who know it). There is a fountain surrounded by large rocks where people often sit in the area outside the building. It is especially crowded in the summertime. So today, as I sat soaking in some sunlight in the afternoon, I observed what I thought to be a truly interesting scene:

There was a conservative Muslim family. The woman was wearing a hijab, and her husband and toddler were by her side. They were speaking either Turkish or Farsi. Not even five feet away, was a young lesbian couple. Making out. I mean, making out. Not pecks or cuddling. Full blown going at it. Which was a little strange - not because they were lesbians, but because that kind of making out hasn't been seen on a Harvard campus since ... well, ever.

The most fascinating thing was watching the Muslim woman watch the lesbians. I wish you could have seen her face. It was captivated disgust. Her eyes were wide and her head was shaking side to side; she muttered what I can only imagine as words of utter vexation to her husband and shielded her baby from the sight. And the girls kept making out. (And guys, I hate to burst any sort of fantasy bubbles - but this was no porn-star convention. It was more the granola / I heart Sylvia Plath convention.)

I found the juxtaposition of the two to be thoroughly intriguing. Only in America folks. All things to all people. Especially new immigrants and what my educated guess says was two high school girls here for summer classes exploring their sexuality. Because only people in the infant stages of a relationship and necessarily under the age of 21 could ever indulge in such an extended PDA.

On a slight tangent, a few weeks ago a good friend and I had gone out to dinner in NYC. Rue des Crepes, quite good actually. Anyway, both my friend and I forgot that the restaurant was smack dab in the middle of Chelsea when deciding on our venue. It was only when I saw that I was the only female in the restaurant that I became aware of our surrounding neighborhood. Chelsea is great - it's a very gay neighborhood and all couples - gay, straight, whatever, walk hand in hand. Later that night I was telling my mom about the restaurant and the neighborhood. She's the cutest. She said "Really? I don't believe it. Take me there someday, I really want to see it." Jeez mom, it's not like Disneyworld! Though I have to think from her perspective, she really has never seen anything like that, you know? Somethings that I take for granted are so dependent on culture and generation.

Mi hermano is in town for the day, which is fun. We had a very lazy day that included going to the post office, the book store and of course, Dunkin Donuts (though I was disappointed by their "New Lattes!" I still like Starbucks.) Perhaps we will go to the movies tonight. Perhaps not.

frenemy-bee

I like the word frenemy. I can't remember where I heard it first; my educated guess is a Sex in the City episode. It's relatively self-explanatory if you haven't heard it before; simply someone who is half friend, half enemy (60/40, but I would make the absolute cutoff 70/30, with 30% being enemy). You might be "friends" with this person for a number of reasons. You were stranded on a desert island together ... you shared a house, a job, a pizza, a last name. A first name.

I ran into someone I could classify into that bucket recently. It consisted mostly of small talk, but post-conversation, I wondered "why do I feel vaguely annoyed?" Nothing happened, but there is always a strange, almost sinister tone to the interaction. Remarks such as "Oh, I was at this party and ran into Bob. He's such a funny guy." When both of you know full well that Bob is someone best left unmentioned.

Warning: Stream of Consciousness disaster ahead.

There is no Bob, I'm just trying to explain is all. Now in my head I'm imaging who Bob is. Tall dark and handsome? Bob doesn't really cut it. Curtis maybe? My brain is jumbled. Today in class we learned the Curtis reaction. But it's spelled curt-i-us. And I thought "Well Curtis sure is courteous!" Niftly little mnemonic, huh? Though I didn't really need to remember the name of the reaction, just the reaction itself.

Mnemonic was the word that Stephanie Tanner got wrong in the Spelling Bee episode of Full House. Did I tell you I watched Spellbound last week? Wow. What a fantastic film! Go watch it right now, especially if you are a) a geek or b) Indian. Though as we all know, those are not mutually exclusive. It's really fascinating actually ... and it made me flash back to my overly precocious childhood and various math/science/nerd competitions. Watching these kids deal with the intense pressure - both parental and self-inflicted, really makes you wonder. Discipline is good, but so is a childhood.

That being said, the movie is so funny! Watch it!

OK, I'm going to go attempt to reclaim a bit of sanity. Strange morning. I had weird dreams, but I couldn't remember what they were about. I just felt very discombobulated when I woke up, and it has extended to the afternoon. Speaking of discombobulated, remember Bob?

can i call you back in a minute?

After class today I went to the restroom in the building. It's a pretty busy restroom, as far as they go. Typical public utilitarian type thing. So, as I'm in the stall, the cell phone of the person in the stall next to me goes off. I'm always surprised when people answer their phones when they are really in inconvenient places. Needless to say, she answered her phone.

"Hello? Oh yes, how are you? (in very professional voice. obviously this was not a friend) Can I call you back in two minutes? I'm just parking my car."

Parking your car? Interesting excuse. You are parking your car in the bathroom. What if the person on the other end heard one of the twenty toilets flush? Would you tell him your car was actually an RV? Or that you just drove by a port-o-potty?

My question is why did she answer in the first place? Rule numero uno of cell phones, or any phone call for that matter. If you can't answer, let them leave a message! I love voicemail; it should be up there as one of top 10 (20, 100?) inventions of the last century. I am sure I'm guilty of doing it sometime - answering the phone when I know I can't talk and asking the person on the other end if I can call back. But more often than not, I don't answer when I can't talk. It's efficient. I'm all about cutting out the middleman, or the non-conversation as it would be in this case.

So that is all that was really interesting today, which is not saying much. I had lab again which just ended. We finished in a reasonable amount of time, so my partner and I were both happy. As we were packing up, she said "I'm so excited we finished early, now I can go home and sleep!" She kind of raised her hand in what I thought was a high five gesture. So I went to give her a high-five. But I missed the boat on that one; she was just kind of doing a weird-one-handed-celebration wave. Has that ever happened to you? Misjudging a potential high-five? It's pretty humiliating. Few things can make a brown person go red; but that sure is one of 'em.

Question of the moment: Go home or go to the library for an hour? It's 10:00 PM (do you know where your children are?) Hmm. I really should go study; I have had no idea what the heck has been going on in class for the last 3 days.

this keyboard sucks

Have you ever had to type on a computer with a keyboard that doesn't work very well? It's really quite aggravating. A few keys are stuck so you have to press extra-hard, which itself unleashes anger. It's a slipperly slope I tell ya. On this one, the "t" key (that took some effort) is not working. The is coming out as he. And the return and space bar are stuck too, which is like salt on a wound. Now I look like some crazy stressed out student pounding away at the keyboard. Or is that what I have become - crazy and using the keyboard as a scapegoat? I'll let you decide.

I have two very girly and totally superficial issues to deal with. First, my nails have grown nice and pretty. But long nails are really annoying. It's so hard to type! But they look so purty. For all the ladies in the house (who got real hair, real fingernails ... heehee) - you know the drill. Manicures require upkeep. And I ain't got that kinda money or time. But last week I had a french manicure and I was in love with my hands. I kept staring at them. And I seriously OD'd on hand gestures while speaking to people. But now, no manicure, and I'm jonesing ... what to do? Fish or cut bait (or nails in this case?). I think I will go for the tried and true method - if any of my nails break soon I will cut them. But if they stay intact until Thursday, I will get a manicure.

Similarly, my hair is long. It took me a heck of a long time to get it this long. But if you think nails are a hassle, don't even get me started on hair. Why does my hair require the better part of the morning to dry? Even if I've spent most of my morning blow-drying? The back is still wet. And all messed up frizzy wavy probably has some twigs and bird eggs in there .... Hmph. And I look at all the cute short haircuts all these teeny-weeny college aged girls are sporting. How Cosmo! And I could use hair-wax and be trendy. (Though I did buy some hair wax at one point and try to use it. All it did was make it look like I dipped my head in margarine).

So should I cut my hair? If I do I'll cut it short because I am all about the shock factor. But then I will have to deal with the haircut paradox: your hair will only look good for two days post your new haircut. Then you will wish that you never cut it in the first place.

Am I really this vain? (Don't answer that). I am thinking about it a bit more than usual because I'm going to a wedding this weekend and want to make sure I look presentable. As I previously discussed, being back in school has made even color coordination an option, not a necessity.

I'm going to kill this keyboard. tttttttttttttttttttttttttttTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTttttttttttttt. There.

ps: Now to all the brotha's in the place, that don't give a damn about what them ladies talking about, cuz you just trying to get chummy ... Make some noise!

insomnia

I am so tired! I didn't sleep a wink last night; the classic example of insomnia ... trying to sleep. Then opening your eyes and looking at the clock. What! It's 2:00 AM! OK, I'm really going to sleep now. 20 minutes later. "I really should be asleep by 3:00 AM." "How is it 4:00 AM?"

The funny part is my friend J who was visiting from NY couldn't sleep either! I don't know if we caused each other's sleeplessness, but at around 3:30 I called her on her not being asleep and then we got up and accepted our fate.

So yes, another Monday morning exam, but this time under the haze of sleep deprivation. Hmm. And lack of sleep usually makes my stomach really upset, so there you go.

Other than that it's your usual morning. I flew back to Boston last night and took the T back to Harvard. When I had to switch from the Green Line to the Red Line, I heard the train approaching and booked it. But alas, I watched as the train pulled out of the station, and shared the "Well that sucks!" look with my fellow sprinters.

A man who was about 50, slightly pudgy with graying hair said to me "How did you know to run for the train? I saw you running and thought you must have ESP." What? I told him I heard the train so that's how I knew (I was absent the day ESP about trains was being doled out). Anyway, so I thought that was that. Sometimes you just don't want people bugging you, especially when you are tired and in no position to make small talk.

I pulled out my notebook on the platform and started reviewing. He came closer, leaned over and said "That looks like Biochemistry 110." I smiled and said "Oh, haha, no it's Organic Chemistry." He said "Chem 20?" Oh boy, he's some sort of Harvard affiliate. I responded, "No, it's the summer course, s-20." "Right, right, s-20. So, what does that say in your notes over there - no O-L?"

What? He's reading my notes and asking stuff? I said, "Oh, that just says no -OH, alcohol."

"Right right."

I asked if he was a professor. Negatory. A scientist? Nope. He didn't offer anything, so I stopped asking. Then, he points across the platform at a girl in a Harvard tee-shirt and says "I hate it when just any person wears a Harvard tee-shirt. They sell them at every nickel-and-dime store around."

WHAT? Not only is this man socially awkward, he's a total snob.

I kindly nodded. He gestured toward his bag and said "I've got my 25th reunion tee-shirt in here" -- with a look suggesting that he and I were co-conspirators in some odd mystery. Whatever buddy. Luckily the train arrived and I hopped on away from him.

Is it me? Do I have some kind of look that says "Please come by and start awkward conversations, I'm always game!"? I don't know. Maybe I should stop smiling so much at people.