speaking of counting

Since yesterday's post dealt with counting things, I decided to actually start counting how many visits I get to this blog. The application started to keep track of visits as of this morning.

So, I guess not many people are reading this blog. I could lie and say it doesn't matter, but people, why don't you like me?! (I just an eerie flashback to seventh grade when I had braces and rainbow bangs).

Maybe I should reconsider having this website tracker, but perhaps I do need a dose of reality. Does my blog suck? Really, I'm curious. It's not like I'm going to stop writing though. I have nothing better to do at work except surf the web until I get so bored that I decide to vent out my frustrations to my miniscule audience.

That being said, I myself like the blog. Then again, I am the girl who laughs at her own jokes. I also know that there are a handful of loyal readers out there, whom I adore. Thanks guys! I once had a friend who told me he thought my blog was stupid. Note the past tense in the last sentence.


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I'm going to pretend I'm on the therapist's couch right now and divulge a little neurosis. I've been in a funk for a while now. I don't like Boston, I don't like my job. I want to go back to New York but I recognize that is completely an escapist route. If I move back to NY, especially without a job, I will get frustrated and take it out on my parents.

I live here right now because I have a job at a hospital. I don't like this job too much, but I'm very wary of leaving it. First of all, I have health insurance. That's quite important.

Second, my medical school interviews are coming up and I do not want to seem flaky. Since I'm a career switcher, I feel that one of the most important things I need to do is convince the medical schools that I really, truly want to be a doctor. This is not a whim. However, quitting my first medically related job after 8 months is not that best way to convey the sentiment that I am dedicated to becoming a physician. Sigh.

And - I never thought the day would come ... but I am sick of the Chinatown Bus. I can't take it anymore. I did a very depressing calculation the other day. Since moving to Boston, I think I have made at least 15 round trips on the bus. That's 30 trips on the bus. At 4 hours a pop (sometimes more), I've spent 120 hours on the damn bus. That's 5 straight days! 5 whole days! And what do I have to show for it? There are no frequent rider miles. They should upgrade me the next time I take it. Oh I know! They should let me drive the bus!

Oh a lighter note, I am trying to de-funk-defy. I went salsa dancing with a friend yesterday. How fun! I've never really gone salsa dancing; luckily they had some rudimentary lessons. My friend is also a terrific dancer, so all the ingredients were there for an exciting night. We didn't take ourselves too seriously and danced for about 2 hours. However, we were both distracted by a woman at the dance club:

This woman had the most gigantic breasts of any woman I have ever seen in my entire life. They were obviously fake. She was wearing the tiniest halter top as well. Her shirt was truly a miracle of engineering and stretchy fabric. At some point she walked near us, and we both had to duck.

In a previous life, my friend was a computer programmer focusing on missile defense. He lapsed into protocol: "DUCK! TARGETS IDENTIFIED! LAUNCH IMMINENT!" I had nightmares about her boobs. That's how scary they were.