Ghostbusters

I'm studying for my giant test on Monday (which is on GI and female reproduction), and a classmate sends out an email advertising The Vagina Monologues. And well, this cartoon entitled "When men take messages," pretty much made my night. Possibly my weekend, but I'll let you know on Monday.

Oh, the blog post title? That's because I've had the Ghostbusters' theme song stuck in my head for the past 24 hours, ever since I told the Boy that no matter how hard I tried, I could not associate Call-Exner bodies with granulosa cell tumors. To which he replied, "Who you gonna Call? Gran-nu-LO-SA!"

And now I'll never forget it.

Childhood dreams

My parents had an architectural design dinner thing to go to that night. And I was not pleased.

"But I have art class!! And today is important! I finally get to use paint!!!" It was my fifth class of the semester at the local community center, and my fruit bowl was finally going to come to life with bright reds and greens and yellows, and now my mom was telling me that I would have to skip today.

"We could drop you off, but how would you get home?"

"This is SO unfair! Tiffany never has to miss her ballet classes!" Rule #5438 for all middle children: always allude to Middle Child Syndrome when possible.

"Well Tiffany doesn't have ballet on nights when Mom and Dad have to go out."

I stomped off at that point to go fume and vent to my stuffed animals in my room.

Five minutes later, my mom knocked on my door and told me to get dressed. "You can go to art class."

"REALLY?!"

"Yes."

"Seriously?!"

"Are you going to get dressed?"

"Yay!!!!"

And with that, I bounced off my bed and started changing out of my pajamas and into something more paint-splatter friendly.

It turns out that my grandpa had been listening to my mom and me "discuss" art class. After I left, he suggested that he could go with me, so that he could walk me home.

It was a two hour art class. And my grandpa sat there with me, offering tips on paint colors and nodding off at times. And then when it was all over, we walked home, hand in paint-splattered hand. It took us three hours to get there, but it was worth it. Because I got to paint and get all messy, and my grandpa was now the proud owner of my masterpiece "Two apples and a purple pear for grandpa by michelle."

"I don't know why all the trees change in the fall
but I know you're not scared of anything at all.
Don't know if Snow White's house is near or far away,
but I know I had the best day with you today."
The Best Day - Taylor Swift

Dream a little dream of me

So my boyfriend and I have been dating for more than nine months now and have been best friends for much much longer. As a result, we spend pretty much every waking moment together. Heck, non-waking moments as well.

But ever since he's become a hot shot third year medical student, responsible for patients and saving lives, he's had to "take call." Which means that he has to be at the hospital. Overnight. At least once a week. Sometimes twice a week. Just in case something happens.

Which means that on those days, I have to crank up the temperature on my heater, because I don't have a personal furnace to cuddle up to for warmth.

Martin, being the sweet and considerate boyfriend that he is, tried to remedy the problem. And so I now have Teddy on loan. Yes, the teddy bear that he's never named, but has had since he was five, when his mom picked it up for him at a flea market.

It's not quite the same thing, but Teddy comes close.

Dorky? Yes. Sweet? Of course.

I might not give Teddy back, but don't tell Martin that.

Work it out

So I went to the gym today.

[I will pause here for effect.]

Yeah, I know I tried to say it all nonchalantly and stuff, but holy cow dude! I went to the gym! I never go to the gym. But today! Today, I got off my obese-inside butt, and went to the gym.

So yay me!

Anyways, so I'm down at the gym, and I start with the elliptical (and end there too, but really, that's not a key point in this story). 20 minute program, Fat Burner workout, level 1. I'm not reaching for the stars, but that's because I know my limitations. And yes, I'm very limited.

At about five minutes in, I'm sweating up a storm, and an older man comes over and starts to say something to me. In my sweat-induced haze, I can't quite hear him, so I slow down, convinced that I'm using the machine wrong or something. Maybe I accidentally stole it from him while he was on a bathroom break.

No, no, don't stop. I'm a trainer. I was just saying it looks like you worked up quite a sweat pretty quickly.

Um, yeah. And even though he told me to keep running, I didn't start running again, mainly because my calves were killing me after just five minutes. Like, seriously burning.

Well, keep going. Keep it up.

Okay, thanks.

I was unsure why he was giving me free trainer tips, and my legs were begging for me to stop, but for some odd reason, I started back up again. Each step more agonizing than the last.

Then ten minutes later, he came by again. This time, I was convinced I was going to get yelled at for doing something wrong, and stopped right away.

So that book that you're reading...

It was BRS Pathology.

Yes?

So is that for when you get terribly lost, and you need to find a path?

It's a review book.

He just stared at me for a little. Yeah, I know. That was just my pathetic attempt at a joke... And then he walked back over to his trainee, who was grunting and about to bust a blood vessel in his head as he bench pressed way more than he was probably supposed to. Speaking of bench pressing, isn't the trainer supposed to be there and spot you? Anyways, I'm totally going off point.

So here's the thing. After he walked away, I totally got the joke. But seriously, in the moment, as I was breathing heavily and about to collapse, I thought he was talking about getting lost in notes and notes of lectures and powerpoints, and well, yes, I was using BRS to help me "find the way." In fact, I was amazed that he knew what I was feeling! Maybe I misheard him when he said he was a trainer. Maybe he had actually said that he was from Northwestern.

But no, he's a trainer. And he probably thinks I'm terribly rude and unfriendly.

Smile

Sorry for the lack of posts recently. Nothing all that exciting has been happening. Besides studying. Constant studying. Nothing but books and notes and syllabi and a little bit of Wikipedia, and then even more books (and yet, I still feel like I might fail). Speaking of which, while I was attempting to do that whole book-learning thing, I did accidentally wander into the "cool kids" section of the library yesterday (how do I know? Because I felt decidedly uncool. Good job Michelle, you fail!) But anyways, that is neither a story for here or there. It's actually not a story to be told at all, since well, I just told you the beginning, middle, and end.

Anyways. While it might look like I'm studiously studying, really it's more like 80% goofing off online, and 20% highlighting every single word in my notes.

How can I spend so much time just wasting it? Easy. I troll the internet for fun and giggles, and here are some hilarious things that I've seen in just the last 24 hours.

1. OBAMA and Single Ladies

So yeah, this is awesome. Single ladies (my current favorite get-out-of-your-chair-and-just-DANCE boogie), and OBAMA (albeit a fake Obama, but still). And how good is this fake Obama? SNL needs to hire him, stat, because Fred Armisen just doesn't do it for my Obama-lovin' heart.

2. The He's Just Not That Into You boys tell the male population why they should watch the movie (and no, the answer is not Scarlet Johanson nekkid in a pool.)

ICYMI - 10 Chick Flick Cliches That Are Not In "He's Just Not That Into You" @ Yahoo! Video

3. In Vivo. Our med school had a comedy/variety show this weekend. And there is one skit "PUNK'D" (yes, modeled off of that show of Ashton Kutcher fame) - where a second year med student pretends to be the PBL moderator for a bunch of first years. It's pretty hilarious. And I can't believe it actually happened! "So what do you think is the importance of the big baby eating jello?" "Um, maybe we should make jello metabolism a learning issue?" Seriously, my ticket was worth the price of admission for that video alone! Anyways, if you're from Northwestern, go see tonight's show. It's awesome. And for the rest of you, I will post the video as soon as it shows up on youtube.

Have a great weekend y'all. Keep smiling.

At last

So sweet. So beautiful. So touching. So much love.



At last, indeed. God bless America.

Come on over

Smiles every time.

Dangerous and sweet

So the Boy got me a present for our monthiversary. And it's sitting in my living room right now, covered by a French Connection shopping bag. And I'm going mad out of mind trying to figure out what it could possibly be, because I hate not knowing things.

Here's a true story, but promise me you won't judge. Okay, when I was little, I used to unwrap some of my Christmas presents before actual Christmas present-opening, because otherwise I would go crazy with all the shaking and trying to Spidey sense what was inside. So, I would just unwrap one of the side flaps of the present, because that's all you need to see what toy it is (along with the warnings about parts that could be ingested by children 4 and under). Then you take a piece of tape, exactly the same size as the original, place it over the original tape, refold in the same creases, and voila - no one has to know. Amazing, right? If it weren't for the fact that I'm so amazingly clumsy and I do not have the muscle necessary to kick some Russian mob butt, I bet I would make a pretty good spy. I also just watched five episodes of Chuck (which is a pretty great show, by the way), so that might have something to do with that last statement.

Anyways, I think I wanted a dollhouse one year, and using my awesome FOE (find-out-early) method, I found out that my parents had gotten me a microscope instead. And, really, it was necessary that I find out in advance, so that I could muster up fake excitement and joy at being able to magnify things like lint and hair and ants.

I know I sound like a giant brat, but really, I just like knowing. I can't explain why. I hate surprises. I just want to know. It's like torture to me to not know. You know, once I found out I got that microscope, I started thinking of all the things I could do with it. So I did end up liking my present a whole lot. Probably only 15% of my excitement was fake that Christmas morning! I just like knowing. Cause I like planning. And in order to plan, you need to know. This is all very circular, and it's very late at night, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So why am I up so late?

Because I promised I would wait. So here I am. Waiting for the moment I can finally actually open my monthiversary present. And I'm having problems sleeping, because I know that I get to open it in the morning. I finally get to KNOW in less than twelve hours. But what an agonizing twelve hours it'll be...

The Boy did give me a couple of hints (after I begged and pleaded, of course). 1. It's from the gift shop of the children's hospital, and 2. he saw it and decided that I had to have it - because once he saw it, he couldn't imagine me without it.

So what could it be?

It's probably a stuffed animal, considering that it's from the children's hospital. But I already have twelve to fifteen stuffed animals (depending on which ones you count as mine and which ones I've stolen from others). It's also probably pink, being that pink is my color of choice for joy and happiness and all wintertime accessories. And it's definitely not anything breathing or edible. Or at least it isn't now. Now that it's been sitting, suffocating in a plastic bag for the past two days.

Anyone been to the children's hospital recently? Who might know what it is? Because the suspense is really and truly killing me. Slowly, but surely. And I really need to get some sleep. And if the Boy is reading this, you should really put me out of my misery and just let me open it already. Please?

Red letter day

I read this and was awestruck by how much love and heart went into this letter. It might be addressed to Malia and Sasha, but I do believe it is a letter to the nation, as we are all children of America. Sure, he's written lots of great speeches - the "Yes we can" one comes readily to mind - but this one just resonated so much with me. And so, I'm copying it here, because I want you all to read it too. Because it made me smile and it made me hope.

The inauguration is just a couple of days away, and I'm excited for where President Obama will be taking us. America is on a new path - one that is filled with love - and that's how I know it's leading us to a better place, to the change that was mentioned so often on the campaign trail.

Here's the letter, published originally in PARADE Magazine.


Dear Malia and Sasha,

I know that you've both had a lot of fun these last two years on the campaign trail, going to picnics and parades and state fairs, eating all sorts of junk food your mother and I probably shouldn't have let you have. But I also know that it hasn't always been easy for you and Mom, and that as excited as you both are about that new puppy, it doesn't make up for all the time we've been apart. I know how much I've missed these past two years, and today I want to tell you a little more about why I decided to take our family on this journey.

When I was a young man, I thought life was all about me-about how I'd make my way in the world, become successful, and get the things I want. But then the two of you came into my world with all your curiosity and mischief and those smiles that never fail to fill my heart and light up my day. And suddenly, all my big plans for myself didn't seem so important anymore. I soon found that the greatest joy in my life was the joy I saw in yours. And I realized that my own life wouldn't count for much unless I was able to ensure that you had every opportunity for happiness and fulfillment in yours. In the end, girls, that's why I ran for President: because of what I want for you and for every child in this nation.

I want all our children to go to schools worthy of their potential-schools that challenge them, inspire them, and instill in them a sense of wonder about the world around them. I want them to have the chance to go to college-even if their parents aren't rich. And I want them to get good jobs: jobs that pay well and give them benefits like health care, jobs that let them spend time with their own kids and retire with dignity.

I want us to push the boundaries of discovery so that you'll live to see new technologies and inventions that improve our lives and make our planet cleaner and safer. And I want us to push our own human boundaries to reach beyond the divides of race and region, gender and religion that keep us from seeing the best in each other.

Sometimes we have to send our young men and women into war and other dangerous situations to protect our country-but when we do, I want to make sure that it is only for a very good reason, that we try our best to settle our differences with others peacefully, and that we do everything possible to keep our servicemen and women safe. And I want every child to understand that the blessings these brave Americans fight for are not free-that with the great privilege of being a citizen of this nation comes great responsibility.

Sasha (l) and Malia Obama at play in New Hampshire in 2007.

Bumper cars at the Iowa State Fair in August 2007.

That was the lesson your grandmother tried to teach me when I was your age, reading me the opening lines of the Declaration of Independence and telling me about the men and women who marched for equality because they believed those words put to paper two centuries ago should mean something.

She helped me understand that America is great not because it is perfect but because it can always be made better-and that the unfinished work of perfecting our union falls to each of us. It's a charge we pass on to our children, coming closer with each new generation to what we know America should be.

I hope both of you will take up that work, righting the wrongs that you see and working to give others the chances you've had. Not just because you have an obligation to give something back to this country that has given our family so much-although you do have that obligation. But because you have an obligation to yourself. Because it is only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you will realize your true potential.

These are the things I want for you-to grow up in a world with no limits on your dreams and no achievements beyond your reach, and to grow into compassionate, committed women who will help build that world. And I want every child to have the same chances to learn and dream and grow and thrive that you girls have. That's why I've taken our family on this great adventure.

I am so proud of both of you. I love you more than you can ever know. And I am grateful every day for your patience, poise, grace, and humor as we prepare to start our new life together in the White House.


Love, Dad

Knock, knock

The other day I had my physical examination class on the female breast and pelvic exam (you know, the one for Pap smears).

Yeah, it was not the most comfortable thing to do, but surprisingly, that was not the most awkward thing that happened to me that day.

See, our college got split up into two groups - the second group consisting of only 4 girls. Seeing as to how we had to wait an extra hour before we could go in and work with the standardized patients, we each got to go in separately so that we could perform the entire exam by ourselves. It was our reward for having to wait, they told us. Really, I wouldn't have minded having a partner, or joining a different two-some in the earlier group, but this really isn't part of the story.

After I finished, around 6:15 or so, I went back into our original classroom to pick up my laptop and messenger bag and go home. There was another class in there, and the door was locked, so I was forced to knock.

A student let me in, and the teacher turned to me and barked, "What do you want?"

"I'm so sorry, I was in the earlier class and I left my bag in here," I apologized as I made my way to my seat.

But once I got there (I sit in the very back, because I'm a slacker student like that), my bag wasn't there. Puzzled, I hesitated, and the teacher pounced. "You are disrupting my class," she said angrily - for no good reason, in my humble opinion - but before I could apologize again, she continued, "Are you the pink girl?" The students in the class tittered, and it was clear she had made some disparaging remarks before I even came into the classroom. "Um, yes, I suppose so," I replied, thinking that pink earmuffs and a scarf probably did make me A Pink Girl. "Well then, they moved your stuff into the hallway." "Oh, okay. Thank you, and I'm sorry again," I replied, and starting making my way back to the front. All eyes were on me, and I blushed red with embarrassment as I edged towards the door. I thought that was the end of it, but just as I was about to leave, she turned to me and spat, "How can anyone take you seriously as a med student with all that pink?!"

The class laughed openly.

I hesitated, confused as to why I was being so openly attacked. I had never seen this instructor before in my life. I've never hurt her or kicked her dog or keyed her car or given her any reason to hate me. That day, I was wearing all black under my white coat. There was actually no evidence that I would be a girl who wore pink. And it's not like I wear earmuffs along with my gloves and scarves when I go see actual patients - if that were the case, then I would completely understand why she would be skeptical of my patient-physician abilities, but as it is, she was totally out of line. Yet, in the moment, I didn't think of any of this. I think I muttered something like, "Um, they just do" or something to that effect, and it wasn't until I walked out the door that my face stopped burning from embarrassment and started tooting red from the ears with indignation.

Seriously, why are there so many angry people in the world? I have no idea who she is - I don't believe she was teaching a medical class, and the students ranged from late twenties to early sixties, so I have no idea what class it was. But if I ever see her again, I really do think I'll give her a piece of my mind. Because her anger towards me was completely uncalled for.

There's no punch line to this story, sorry. I just wanted to vent and let it out. So there it is. And now I'm moving on. Unless I happen to see her again, of course.

Good vibrations

Apparently, if you ask, you shall receive.

Today, I found out that I got a scholarship that I applied for. It's not for much, but hey, in these times, every little bit counts, and I was ecstatic. Over the moon, in fact. I think the powers-to-be just felt sorry for me, considering that I alluded to the fact that my laundry desperately needed to be done. And how.

Then, I went to school, and found out I had died and gone to PBL heaven. Ladies and gentlemen, we have the most awesome PBL room ever. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the lake and Navy Pier. The nicest receptionist and secretary ever, whom promptly showed us where the juice and soda and tea and coffee were located. This is prime PBL real estate!

And to cap it all off, after getting some good studying in - enough to feel good about myself - my phone rang. It was my doorman, telling me to come home.

"Good afternoon, Miss Michelle. This is Ray the doorman. I just wanted to let you know that you received some flowers today, and I can't think of anyone else in the building more deserving of them."

Yeah, they really do call me Miss Michelle. It's quite sweet and old-fashioned, and I like it a lot. But I like secret surprise flower deliveries even more.

So, anyways today was a good day. Today was lucky.

See, today is my little sister's birthday. And she was born on a Friday, to top it off. And even though my three-year old self had begged my mother for a little sister, once she actually came, I wanted to get rid of her. True story, I put her in the recycling bin. See, even then I was quite the environmentalist. But I digress.

Anyways, what I'm trying to say is, today was a good day. And it's characteristically always been a good day. Thirteen is lucky. Too bad it wasn't an actual Friday though! I might have won the lottery or something.

Touch me, tease me

Oh the things I learn in school. Today, our 11am lecture was about female sexual dysfunction. And our professor was this very sweet, mellow, slightly older woman. She does couples counseling and so, throughout the presentation on dyspareunia and hypoactive sexual disorder, she would tell little vignettes about her patients.

This story, though, brought the house down with laughter. Women really are complicated creatures, and sometimes, men just don't understand.

Doctor
So what brings you in today?

Woman
Well, sex is painful for me.

Man
...And I don't understand why.

Doctor
Well, tell me - what is your process?

Woman
[clearly a little embarrassed]
Well we kiss. And then we touch. And then that sets him off, so we go at it.

Doctor
And what's the timeline on this? How long does that take?

Woman
Maybe five, ten minutes?

Doctor
Well, even though that might be enough time for him, you might need a little more time to get aroused and allow for sufficient lubrication to occur...which may be why you're experiencing some pain.

Man
Oh she's aroused! How can she not? See, I do everything this book says to do. [He pulls out the aforementioned book, to the amazement of our lecturer, who claims that it had various post-it tags marking certain sections.] For instance, it says to touch her here, and I do.

Woman
[timidly]
...but I don't like it.

Man
So clearly, there must be something wrong with her, right? Can you help us, Doctor?

Ah, a perfect example of why going by the book isn't always the best option. Figuratively and literally.

But perhaps the funniest thing was after class, as we were putting away our books and walking out - to the library, to lunch, to wherever it is med students disappear to - I overheard one of my classmates asking a friend, "Hey, do you think it'd be weird for me to ask our lecturer what book it was that patient was reading?"

Grillz

Martin
[writing an email to Omar]
Yo man, sorry to be all up in your grille yesterday --

Michelle
[email-eavesdroppin']
Um...do you mean grill? G-R-I-L-L?

Martin
[speaking in patronizing manner]
No, a grill is what you cook on. A grille - with an e - is the front-end of the car, and so when you put grilles in your mouth, it's like the front-end of your face. That's all up in your grille.

Michelle
Dude! How about The Capital Grille then huh? That's spelled with an E. It's a restaurant.

Martin
Maybe it's for cars.

Michelle
A restaurant for CARS?!

Martin
Look at the definition for grille from Merriam-Webster!

Michelle
When you Google "up in your grille" - they ASK if you mean "up in your grill." OOOOH, who's right now!!!

Martin
But a grill is like a barbecue grill. How does that make any sense?!

Michelle
Because it's like you're cooking at the barbecue, and someone comes over and tries to tell you how to cook the steak, and you're like, DUDE - stop getting all up in my grill! Why don't you go cook over there?!

Martin
What?!?!

Michelle
Yeah! Who's right now?!?!! OOOOOOOH.

--
According to Nelly, the correct spelling for those diamond teeth appendages/retainers is grillz. I'm still convinced its "up in your grill." Martin, of course, being a man, refuses to believe that he is wrong and thinks it's "up in your grille" when really, that's way too sophisticated of a spelling to be used as a retort.

One step at a time

It's almost 2am, and I'm wide awake.

Mind you, thanks to my jet lag or mono or anemia, I've fallen asleep at 9pm for the past week, and now here I am tonight. Wide awake. My pulse is racing, my brain's on overdrive, and I'm lying here, silently freaking out.

Tonight, I scheduled my testing date for the United States Medical Licensing Exam STEP 1.

See? Even the name sounds intimidating.

Forget anatomy and sensitive physical exam skills. Forget the pomp and circumstance of the white coat ceremony. THIS is the initiation into medicine.

This one exam will determine where I end up for residency. My specialty. This one exam is going to make or break me.

And I can't fall asleep because I'm so worried it's gonna be the latter.

June 23rd is looming. Eight hours. One test. And the rest of my life.

With arms wide open*

I apparently just can't catch a flight to save my life.

Two weeks ago, as I frantically threw clothes into my luggage, hoping that somewhere in the mess I had remembered to pack my glasses and toothbrush and enough underwear to get me through the break, I shook the Boy awake and asked him to do me a favor.

Or maybe ten favors.

Since I was bound to miss my flight if I didn't leave at that exact moment, I begged the Boy to clean out the fridge for me and take out the trash. Sleepily, he agreed, probably unaware of the nastiness and green-molded over rice that was waiting for him.

I came back to Chicago a couple of days ago, to find my bed made and my room sparkling clean. And there, on my bed, were all of my stuffed animals, waiting for me.

That boy sure knows how to throw a welcome home reception like nobody's business. Even if the only people present are me and twelve stuffed animals.

*Say what you want about Creed, but in high school, this song was on everyone's playlist, and sure, maybe I sung along to all the soaring choruses and this might be one of those instances where I'm talking and revealing way too many embarrassing details about myself again so I should stop. But in defense of my musical preferences, they did win a Grammy for this song back then, so if I have bad taste, so do all the Grammy voters. Yet, I do find it extremely amusing that if you Google "worst band in the world," Google shows results for this very band. Poor Creed, but still, I laugh.

Unfold

Given last year's New Year's Eve festivities (fireworks! marinas! sushi! apple cider with strawberries! falling stars!), this was not at all how I expected 2009 to start.

Last year, I wore my sparkliest top and splashy 2008 eyewear for a night out on the town. This year, I wore a hospital surgical mask, and spent my night at home, hacking up my lungs.

Granted, 2008 was the longest and the hands-down winner for worst year of my life. Sure, there were some good moments, but the bad far outweighed the good. And seeing how 2008 started off so promising, only to crash and burn and then burn some more, maybe it's a good thing that I'm starting 2009 this way. After all, the only direction from here is up!

Here's to a year full of joy and laughter. May our lives be lifted up with hope and the promise of change, and may all our hard work be rewarded with goodness.

My resolutions this year? Laugh more, worry less, and work damn hard.

Happy New Year everyone. 2009, don't let me down.