Waxing

I don't know what came over me last night (it seems to be a week of insanity). In a fit of craziness, I called my friends Tasha and Alana to see if they wanted to go see House of Wax on opening night.

I hate scary movies, yet routinely watch them. There's something so thrilling about feeling my blood run cold. Honestly, I view most of the movies through my fingers. There's always a lot of yelling and gasping, too, and I've been known to scream out loud in a movie theater before, so if you don't like the attention, suggest a romantic comedy. After watching The Grudge, it took me a week before I felt comfortable showering alone.

Anyways, I hadn't been out to the movies since Ocean's 12 and, after watching The View interview Paris Hilton, I got it into my head that I HAD to see the movie. I'm strangely fascinated with Paris--I think because I had no idea who she was prior to leaving for Kenya and then when I came back, she was everywhere! And the porn videos. Twice!

And her movie debut wasn't that bad. Well, she can't act worth a crap, but the movie itself wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. It's a much more traditional teen slasher flick. When Paris finally bit the big one, I expected someone in the audience to yell out, "That's Hot!" but to my disappointment, no one did. When I got home from the film, I called the Med Student, woke him up and made him come over to sleep with me. And unfortunately for me, he's in Phoenix tonight, so I'm home alone with no one but my cats (who, if faced with evil twins conjoined at the face, would most likely happily greet them at the door, expecting a treat).

So, now it's 1:09 am West Coast time and I'm anxiously awake and alone, to nervous to sleep...

The Famed Paris Poof

Just in case you were unsure about the Famed Paris Poof...here it is in all its glory. Actually, the more I look at her, the more I think maybe undergrads here at the UofA are really trying to emulate Paris in her entirety.

Paris Poof

Against my better judgement I went out on Weds evening. The next day (Thursday) was "Dead Day"--meaning no classes for the university. I got to the bar at 8, after picking Jim up on the way over. Parking downtown was a bitch, as usual, but we found a metered spot a few blocks from the bar where we were meeting people. I was wearing my usual flip-flops, a pink t-shirt that said Antiqua Funk (and sported a black woman with a huge 'fro) and my fat jeans. Oh yeah, and my library lady glasses.

The night started innocently enough, with a few of us grad students nursing a pitcher of beer, but quickly degenerated into a frantic, pulsating sea of under-dressed bodies and popped collars with Nelly and 50 Cent pounding in the background. Now, maybe it's the East Coast snob rearing it's ugly head in me, but, dude--fashion in the West needs a makeover. I mean, popped collars were in style when I was still in undergrad. Two years ago. Don't times change?

And holy shit. HOLY SHIT. I thought clubbing in Tucson was bad during the winter months. I forgot that summer in the city apparently means going as naked as possible. And I mean that literally. (I've passed girls going to class in their bikinis. Not a joke.) I've never seen such a combination of nude tits, ass, thighs and shoulders. AND, it was like the girls were having an anorexia competition. I swear, this one girl turned to the side and she all but disappeared, leaving the clear plastic beer cup floating in mid-air. Thin doesn't describe it. Neither does emaciated. Half of the girls weren't drinking--presumably too many calories--and had probably snorted their dinner shortly before leaving their apartments in their halter tops and eye shadow.

It's almost like these girls are trying way too hard. Or maybe I've just forgotten what it's like in undergrad. They all looked as if they came from the exact same cookie-cutter--all sporting the extra-black eyeliner and the blond Paris Hilton Poof (you know it). People are fashionable out East, no doubt. I mean, let's just look at New York. But it seems so effortless. When you go out there, it feels like people just look fab without trying. Here, "trying" is an understatement.

Perhaps I'm just bitter, since I was wearing my fat jeans. Or maybe my age is just kicking in. I know that I'm only a few years removed from that mindset, but after the stuff that's happened recently in my life, I feel like I am a world away from that scene.

It's a tough pill to swallow, but I'm not getting any younger.

Or blonder.

Acquired Catholic Guilt

So now I feel bad about my Pope Posting. I woke this morning and on all the morning news shows, the US pundits were weighing in on the new pope.... negatively.

Poor guy. He hasn't really even started his reign (?) and people are certain he'll be bad pope.

I should be nicer.

Pope, Round 1

Okay, it's time to saddle up my high horse and go for a quick canter around the block.

Pope Benedict XVI has been officially elected as the new head of the Catholic Church. A man who used to be a member of the Hitler Youth. One of the most fundamental Catholic Cardinals.

I'm really disappointed in the Church's choice. I would argue that the Catholic Church is the most influential entity in the world and the Cardinals had the chance to move the Church into the 21st Century...And they elected a man who says, homosexuals suffer from "an objective disorder"?? And a man who has alienated even Protestants by signing a document that declares the Catholic Church the only way to salvation?

I understand why the Catholic Church will be against homosexuality, seeing as the issue is directly mentioned in the Bible. I understand their stance on premarital sex--it's mentioned. I even can understand their stance against abortion. However, I cannot understand wallowing in those issues when the Church has the opportunity to enact some social change.

Take contraception. There is nothing explicit in the Bible about using condoms, which are scientifically proven to prevent the spread of sexually transmitted diseases like HIV/AIDS--an epidemic which is ravaging the continent of Africa. Many women in Africa who are contracting HIV are not prostitutes, not having premartial sex, but are contracting the disease from their husbands. Within the sanctity of marriage. Where condoms could prevent them (and their children, because despite their serostatus, they will have children) from contracting a disease which will cause them to die. And why not use contraception as family planning? The close spacing of children is one of the major causes of malnutrion (both of mother and infants) and maternal death. That seems to be more unethical than collecting sperm in a latex baggie....

I'm not asking the Catholic Church to transform its theology--that would be untrue. But maybe instead of focusing on moral issues like homosexuality, the Church could make more of an effort to enact some social change, alleviate poverty, stop HIV/AIDS.

But the election of the one of the most fundamental cardinals to the Papacy? Diplomacy is a necessary component of being the leader of the Catholic Church. I hope "God's Rotweiler" is able to embrace the world.

It's April and 90 Degrees

So it's gotten rather warm here in Tucson. Hot, even. As in 9-0 degrees. And while I love the heat and love Tucson, I do like my car to not be a sauna. The heat's not so bad when I'm inside my apartment--and I don't run my air conditioner. But god, the car is like it's own sauna with the heat just radiating off the dashboard.

Playing Behind the Shed

So, I thought it would be kind of fun to date a third-year med student, mainly to fill my third-grade fantasies of playing doctor behind the shed. Little did I know....

It all started when I threw my shoulder out on Valentines Day at a softball game. It really hurt and I was a little worried that I had ripped a tendon or something. A few days later, when the pain hadn't gone away (actually, it still hasn't gone away), MS and I were chatting on the phone about it. Sort of sexily, I asked him if he wanted to come over and play doctor....

However, he showed up at my door expecting to rotate my shoulder and test flexibility or something....So much for an examination.

Then today, we're chatting online about differential diagnosis and VINDICATES...again, rather sexily (well, as sexy as you can get over AIM), I ask him if he wants to play doctor and diagnose me. He replies, "Sure. What is your problem?"

Oh baby.

Shout Out

I think I recently (in the last month) bitched about the Pepsi "Win a Free Song from iTunes" (where "1 in 3 wins a free song!") promotion and how I buy Diet Pepsi ALL the time in hopes of winning. And how I've bought upwards of like 15 Diet Pepsis and still haven't won a free song. Basically because I am unlucky and suck as a human being. My karma is so bad, I can't even win something worth .99 cents.

Well, MS calls me from the hospital (and can I just say how hot he is in a tie, his glasses and white doctor's coat? DAMN.) to tell me that, yet again, because he is Jewish and he is not me, he won a free song from iTunes from a Pepsi. At first, I was filled with hatred for him--rubbing in my loserness. But then, he gave me the code to redeem it and told me he loved me.

What a man. That my friends, is true love.

Fatties

As part of my morning (?) routine, I've been watching Gilmore Girls reruns on ABC Family. I don't watch it religiously, but I do have a general idea of what's going on.

Anyways, I have a beef with the show--and actually, other shows featuring fat actresses (minus UPN shows that feature big black women). Why is the fat one always pathetic? For example, the fat one on GG is a cook or chef or something in food service, as if to apologize for her fatness--she'd be thin if she didn't love cooking so much....like she needs an excuse for being overweight.

And why can't the fat girls get the hot men? I mean, I verge on being a fat girl and I have had hot boyfriends as well as average ones. I'm just so tired of fat women on TV getting the shaft--especially since 60% of the American population is fat and probably normal!

Maybe I'm not watching enough TV or not watching the right shows...but if a show is going to feature a fat actress, for the love of god, make her just a normal fat girl! Don't patronize fat women around the world by giving the fat actresses fat professions. Fat people work normal jobs, outside of restaurant critics, chefs and caterers.

Let's unite and give fat people what they deserve!!

Moderation

As I sit here eating chocolate-covered strawberries for breakfast, I started reflecting on my inability to live life in moderation. My friends, both from VA and AZ, are always laughing and teasing me about how every meal was "the best meal ever--I'm never going to eat again" or "that was the WORST four hours of my life."

I've always sort of thought of it as a negative quality. Recently, I took an online test about "Which Mental Illness Do You Have" and the only two I scored positively on was "Histrionic" and "Narcissistic." Not surprisingly, histrionic is a disorder which involves a person being overly dramatic. Probably a good fit for me.

Then I woke up this morning. In my inbox was an email from Ex-Beloved. It just might have been the nicest thing I've ever received. The gist of the email consisted of applauding my ability to live life on the fringes because I really do experience life, with all it's glorious ups and downs. I never really thought about it like that. But as my ex-beloved pointed out, despite that this has been a doozy of a year (and every time I tell myself it can't get any worse, it does), I'm still really happy (most of the time).

I guess life is too short for moderation. Live hard? Eventually, just when you think it is lost, life comes back again.

Welcome to the OC, Bitch

So following Sorority Sister Cristin's advice, I have begun the rental of The OC, Season One. I've only gotten through the first four episodes, but the Med Student and I are officially hooked. I watched disc one in less than 24 hours. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for the rest of them to come via Netflix....

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Things have gotten....difficult. But it's starting to look up (sort of) and I promise I'll make more of an effort to write.

Anyways, Starting Over House is on and I need to continue my journey of self-love....

Weighing In

I've been busy and there's a lot going on in my life right now that needs to be sorted out. Thus the lack of posting. Anyways, it's Easter Sunday (btw, thanks for the book, Stickles) and I'm watching the news.

And I'm absolutely annoyed by the public response to Terri Schiavo. People were picketting outside her hospice, blocking the driveway, trying to bring her last communion. These protesters don't know her, have never met her. They are merely using her for political gains. Yelling at the policeman, "Jesus hates you" isn't going to make the courts change its mind.

I'm not going to argue whether her feeding tube should be removed or not. Regardless, the feeding tube was removed. She's dying. Let the woman die with a little dignity. Let her family mourn her passing quietly and with dignity.

The decision has been made, whether you agree with it or not.
The time for politics have passed.

Ahh, the Wisdom

Direct Quotes from My Favorite Show: The Starting Over House

The Path of Self-Love is not an easy path.
It requires practice.
It is steep and winding.

Do you think you are complete with your mourning?

It's a brand new day with Valtrex.

Now it's time to talk about the most crucial part of the self-love journey: choice.

Self-love requires vulnerbility. Living fearlessly.

Do not have fear of one's goals.

Do not beat yourself on the path of self-hatred.

If you have a problem, you must wrap it up, tie it in a bow and give it as a gift and you'll get something out of it.

Wide-Load

Sorry it's been awhile (yes, Stickles, I am alive and breathing--thank you for your concern). Having houseguests means less time to spend idly surfing the internet for hours. Unfortunately, it also means less time for school work and job (which means a lot of catching up).

However, the Barbster and I had a blast. The weather was a little shaky at first, but by Wednesday, it was a balmy 83 degrees. Barb left with a nice pink tinge to her skin and I'm glowing a nice brown. We did some drinking as well, as no visit to Tucson is complete without a trip to the Bay Horse and it's giant chair.

The kitties loved her, of course, since they love anything that pet them. My friends loved her, of course, since they love me. It was nice having someone around, too. Sometimes, I can go a whole day without saying a word to another human being.

Barb also assisted me in getting measured for this summer wedding's bridemaids dress. Now, I wear a size 12. I'm in the middle of the size 12 range. Not too tight, not to loose. Just right. I haven't gained weight. According to Juliette's Bridal by Ivana, I wear a size 18W! 18fuckingW!!!

I know that bridal shit runs small, but that's an enormous difference, especially since I fit into the size 14 dress on the rack (yes, it zipped up all the way). And, since it's a fat girl size, I have to shell out $15 extra. I can just see that I pay the $15, I get the dress, it's a complete bag and they have to tailor it down to a size 14. I am going to be pissed.

Tri-Coloured Condom Part Deux

Here it is in all its glory..... Note its resemblance to the Mexican Flag--but what else do we expect from AZ???

Point of Origin

I walked into Origins the other day and got seduced into purchasing over $100 of facial products. I bought the works---you know, cleanser (NOT soap), toner, moisturizer, anti-oxidant, etc.

And I realized, I have become extremely high maintenance. And snobby. When it comes to makeup, I no longer only shop at Target, but should buy out stock at Sephora. With my purchases alone, I think I'd probably make money instead of just spending it on lip gloss (latest purchase--$41 on lip gloss. LIP GLOSS!). I spent $179 on my dye job and $30 on the shampoo to maintain the rich caramels and dark chocolate streaks. I'm starting to feel guilty.

I don't feel like I NEED the makeup I'm buying. I just like it. I enjoy feeling pretty and sometimes, expensive things make me feel extra pretty.

I need to tone it down though. I don't want to end up being one of those extremely snobby girls that won't do anything because they might break a nail.

Kumquats and Tri-Coloured Condoms

I have discovered a new love and believe I may be rethinking my Top Ten Favorite Things.

Growing up in Northern VA, before the Central American immigration wave in the late 1990s, meant pretty standard fruits and veggies. Apples, oranges, potatoes, carrots, grapefruits...you get it. I remember the first time I had a kewi...that alien-green, mushy, slighty tart inside. It was a big deal. Now the grocery stores in my area are carrying more exotic produce because of the extensive Latino population.

Tuesday, after a very stimulating lecture on iodine deficiency and goiters in my International Nutrition class, Patricia and I got in the hospital elevator to leave. She was carrying a bag of very tiny oranges. I asked her what they were and she looked at my like I was crazy to have never seen the fruit before. "Kumquats" was the answer I got. She offered me one and I took it, unsure of how to eat it. At about two inches long, it seemed too small to peel. She assured me that I could eat the rind and encouraged me to pop it in my mouth whole.

Oh holy jesus. It was quite possibly the most miraculous experience ever (barring the Virgin Birth, of course). I put the kumquat in my mouth, and bit down. It exploded in my mouth, a fresh burst of tart citrus and sweet rind. The experience was almost shocking, but the most utterly amazing sensory experience. The scent of citrus lingered in the elevator after we breezed out. Delicious.

I finally went grocery shopping last night after realizing I had to stop eating out or at MS's house. I dashed to Trader Joe's after I got out of class at 8pm. I always buy the same things--eggs, meat, cheese, tortillas, red peppers and soy milk for my coffee. Lo and behold, as I walked in the store, a display of kumquats greeted me. I almost cried. I bought two boxes. Since buying them approximately 18 hours later, I've eaten one whole box and the citric acid is beginning to eat through my stomach lining, but I can't stop myself. Everytime I bite through the sweet, crunchy rind and the tart pulpy innards, I almost die of happiness.

This is love.

Out of the Loop

I've been reading Stickles' obessive blogging about The OC and I realized I have almost no idea what she is talking about. I know The OC is a TV show about a set of teenagers, but I have no clue what channel, day or time the show comes on.

Now, I realize that I've been home from Africa for well over a year now and at some point it's going to have to stop being my excuse. However, not yet.

I have missed the entertainment boat on several pop culture phenomenons. I missed the Survivor/reality TV craze that swept (is still sweeping?) the nation. Trishelle from the Real World Las Vegas was about as reality as I got. I was in Spain when American Idol first started and when I got back, I never caught on. And now The OC, which began while I was still pissing in a hole and cutting the heads off my dinner.

So please, oh Goddess Cristin. Fill me in with the info for the Blessed OC so I too may partake in at least one pop culture event of my time!

Attitude Adjustment (My Non-Alcoholic Version of AA)

Back When I Was Fun (Three Weeks Ago)

Do you ever wake up, groggily, and seriously wonder how your life got to be the way it was?

Like, I'm sitting here, racking my brain for something interesting I've done in the last two weeks and the only thing I can think of is when over the weekend I told a Maryknoll priest that I wasn't a priest (duh) and probably wasn't planning on becoming a nun and he replied, "I wasn't guessing you were."

My life has become repetetive and boring. I wake up late, panic about going into work, choose not to go, watch late-morning TV, think about going into work in the afternoon, choose not to go, study, panic about amount of work, go to evening class, get home late at night, panic about amount of studying I have to accomplish, realize I'm exhausted from the stress of thinking about work and school and choose to watch TV, clean, talk to MS or go to bed.

This is becoming a frightening pattern that occurs every weekday (on the weekend, I'm just obliterated much like senior year). I need to get get relaxed and adjust my attitude. I need to remember to have fun and chill out and just breathe.

Definitely Sleepless in Seattle Thanks to Beer

This weekend was the Global Health Conference in Seattle. Meigan, Jim, Brian and I were several of the many UofA delegates. Firstly, let me begin by saying the conference was very inspirational for many reasons, the most important being it was just nice to get some fresh blood and new opinions. Sometimes, I get tired of hearing the semesterly international lecture given by Dougie.

That said, it was definitely a bit of a rocking weekend. Two moments stand out.
1. At the end of the evening at an "Irish" pub (where there was no dance floor), Meigan, Jim, Eva, Flora and I huddled in a circle singing (*shouting*) off-key the words to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing."

2. As we're exiting the bar(at 2:00), a missionary man comes up to us. "Do you know Jesus?" Flora jokingly responds, "Yeah, dude, he's my lord and savior!" Jim looks at me, glances at the missionary and shouts, "We're gonna have unprotected SEX tonight!" The missionary grimaces and says, "That's a fire sin!" (If anyone knows what that means, let me know?) Jim responds with, "THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT SOOOOO GOOD!"

So yes, that is what makes it so good. God bless it.