i think i have foot-in-mouth syndrome

It was taco salad day in the cafeteria today. I went down and ate with two med students that I recently met and hit it off with. We were sitting there gorging ourselves, and when I finished the last bite, I leaned back in misery and said "oh my god, I think I have Prader-Willi syndrome--no WAY I should have been able to eat that much." It suddenly got uncomfortably quiet, and one of the girls looked at me with a serious face and said "my husband's niece has Prader-Willi."

WHAT. WHO ACTUALLY HAS PRADER-WILLI SYNDROME? I thought that like 4 people had that. The thing that amazed me the most though, is that this girl was so dramatic about it, when it wasn't even a blood relative. I could understand if it was her daughter, and she was like "I have to live with the horrors of Prader-Willi every single day" or some shiz like that, but come on. Plus, even though the actual disease is probably quite bad, there is no overlooking the comic overtures of a condition where you can't stop eating. I feel like I should be able to say things like that without fear of retribution.

Also, she is a doctor. If a doctor can't find the comedy in an unfortunate situation, who can?

yet another bad idea

So ever since I dropped my IPizzle in a giant vat of dookie the day before yesterday and was unwilling to fish it out (my reluctance to do so came as a surprise to many people, much to my confusion), I have been trying to think of creative ways to work out without dying of boredom and thus negating all the benefits of physical conditioning. Since yesterday was a crisp, clear day and I had the whole day off, I decided to take a run on the beach over on Sullivan's Island. It was so beautiful and inviting and deserted, I couldn't help but silently congratulate myself on my brilliant plan to distract myself from the fact that I was exercising. So I ran at a brisk pace up to the end of the beach, touched the sign that warns all swimmers of instantaneous death-by-riptide and/or $500 fine for entering the water, and turned back. All in all, about a 40 minute run. At the end I felt fantastic--like I was in an Anthropologie magazine or something.

Then I woke up this morning. You might not be able to make out the face, but that is a picture of me walking from my car to work.

Moral of the story: Never run on the beach. Ever.

i love the queen of video exercise

SHE SAID CUNT LIVE ON THE TODAY SHOW!! HAHAHAHAHA I love unscripted awkwardness on live TV--NOTHING beats a major slip that can't be taken back. Remember that time that Kanye West said "George Bush doesn't care about black people" live during that Red Cross fundraiser after Hurricane Katrina? Moments like that are what real life is all about--you know you've said something awesome when Mike Meyers can't even think quickly enough to cover for you.

new leaf

I am using this lenten season as a vehicle to make some improvements in my life that I believe will result in an overall increase in general happiness. Some of the changes are profound, others are kind of stupid, but I think that most things in life are either one or the other anyway, so it works. Here's what's going to happen:

1: No more cursing. At all during lent, and in excess after lent is over. I have noticed that since I quit cursing, I become irate much less easily. I used to think that yelling "HEY, F@$# YOU PAL!" in traffic was an outlet for my frustration, but I think it might actually augment it.

2: No sweets. Once again, at all during lent, and in excess after. Sugar is my Achilles heel, and when I am not bingeing on it I find that I feel much better healthwise.

3: No more casual physical relationships. I don't know what I was thinking, but that is just not my style. I guess it's good that I know that for sure now, though, and at least my friendship with the guy escaped unscathed.

4: More basic wardrobe. Darker colors (black, blue). I've been over this previously, but it just makes me feel confident.

5: Church it up. My spritual life since I got here has suffered majorly, and it needs to be revived. I signed up for the Wednesday night women's Bible study at the church I have recently been attending. This same church also has a bi-monthly seminar called "Talks on Tap" where you come, drink some beer and discuss timely Christian topics. The one coming up is a debate between 2 professors from CofC, one of whom is a Christian Creationist and one of whom is a Christan Darwinist. I think this is a good match.

6: Cell phone = Landline. I am going to leave my cell phone at my house and only check it when I return home, just like people did with their landlines in the old days. There will be exceptions to this rule, but I'm going to try to stick to this one as much as reasonably possible.

So that's the plan. Wish me luck.

i feel like this is becoming a recurring theme in my life

Just in case I wasn't already acutely aware that it is sometimes difficult for people to determine my sexual orientation just by looking at me, there was further confirmation of it last night at my show. First off, the set itself was kind of a catastrophe--there wasn't enough room in the performance space, we had one microphone instead of our usual three, and my instrument kept creating an unstoppable feedback loop that was literally driving people to curl up in their chairs and clutch their bleeding ears.

This doesn't mean that we had a bad time, mind you. There is a really fun aspect of giving an abysmal performance that I can't exactly explain--its kind of like one of those three stooges-esque stunts where the guy slips on a banana peel, skids across the room, crashes into a semi-opened door, and then is doused by the bucket of water that was balanced precariously on the top. Each mistake adds to the hilarity.

Anyhoo, afterwards we were packing up and talking when a cute girl came over and asked me if I wanted to take a shot. I was so flustered to have a fan that I immediately agreed. However, when i got to the bar I realized that I had actually been offered a shot not just by her, but by her girlfriend and three other lesbian pals. One of them had a mohawk and giant gauges in her ears. One of them was wearing a three piece suit. These girls were not messing around.

It doesn't bother me that I'm popular with the ladies--I mean, whatever, it's fun for people to think you're cool for no real reason, no matter who it is. What bothers me is this--do I really come off as THAT big of a dyke? I mean seriously, I wasn't wearing a particularly lesbianish outfit, I wasn't making flirty eye contact with these girls, and I definitely wasn't wearing an "I love lesbians" patch like the one that the girl with the mohawk was wearing. What is going on?

really?

Bush unveiled a 3.1 trillion dollar federal budget today. When you're talking money in trillions of dollars, what does that even mean anymore? That's like me saying "I feel very squeeb today." It's nonsense.

It's dreary out today

I woke up this morning wanting two things. First, I wanted to eat a giant stack of pancakes with thick artery-clogging syrup. And secondly, I wanted to stay in bed the entire day and do nothing but watch Scrubs on dvd.
However, since it is the Monday after the Superbowl and anyone calling in "sick" is likely to be told by their employer to blow it out their tailpipe and get their ass into work, I am now sitting in my desk, still waiting for the day to start. In a way I love this job because it gives me time to do things like update my blog in the middle of the day and go on hour long coffee breaks. In a way I hate my job because I am way too smart for this.
Anyway, I'm going to quit bitching because I've been doing WAY too much of that lately. Instead, I am going to ramble on about vapid things that are interesting only to myself.
First order of business--I think that I am going to convert my wardrobe back into an all-black palette. When I first moved to the chuck I started incorporating more color into my wardrobe just because there is an ocean close to my house and dressing with color seems to be pretty standard on the coast. However, today I dug an old black sweater out of the musty depths of my cold-weather closet and realized something--color is for chumps. I forgot how much I love black. It adds mystery. It amplifies perceived intelligence. It makes you look thin. What's not to love? And I hate to use her as an example, but I must admit that Angelina Jolie's uniform of basic black in almost every circumstance is pretty foolproof.

So I am for sure moving into that house in West Ashley, and to be honest, I can't wait. I don't really mind the house that I'm living in now, but I feel like I am getting a chance to start over fresh. As much as I enjoy living here, to be quite honest when I reflect back on the past year a huge portion of it has centered around angst and drama and stress. Now I get to wipe the slate.
One of the great things about West Ashley is that it is completely removed from the downtown social dynamic. I mean, every now and then it is fun to go balls to the wall when you go out, don't get me wrong. But I am sick to death of the cloud of skank that surrounds most of the bars I have been stuck going to over the past year or so. Most of the downtown bars are frequented by college guys trying to get laid, and college girls trying to validate themselves by getting laid. And you feel the desperation--its so thick in the air it's practically visible. Up until around two weeks ago I thought I was just going to have to forgo the social scene altogether and become an old maid holed up in my apartment just to stay sane. However, my 'friend' Dan recently took me to a bar near his apartment in West Ashley, and I feel like it's the answer to my prayers. This is what its like: You walk in late on a Thursday night. There are maybe 10 people, all in work attire, sitting at the bar chatting it up with the bartender, whose name is Kat. You order a drink and play pool, foozeball, or Connect 4 while listening to streaming top 40 hits from 1996. There are sports playing on mute on the tvs mounted above the bar. No one bothers you, no one tries to run game on you, and Kat checks on you regularly to make sure you're topped off. Maybe I have an old soul, but this is the kind of place I have been looking for since I got here.