The Canadian had a meltdown this week. He called me Thursday morning to ask if my sister was still looking for a roommate. Drew and I had sent an email to everyone we know a few weeks back in a (so far failed) attempt to find someone to take my room so that he and I could move in together.

The Canadian and my sister got along really well when he and I lived together, so for a few hours I was hopeful that this could work out. Drew wasn't so excited. Jana was 100% anti-. My sister was excited at first, but then became worried after The Canadian came to take a look at the apartment Thursday afternoon. She said he seemed desperate and anxious, and she was worried about how this would effect my relationship with Drew.

The Canadian called that evening to ask what was going to happen. I tried to avoid telling him no, because I know he's going through a difficult time right now. But when I said that it was a complicated situation he immediately got defensive and angry. He hung up on me. He left me a strange voicemail message. He wrote an aggressive email with the subject line "questions for drew" in which he asked "when did you start believing you had any say in other people's lives?"

Wow. Jesus.

I replied that it wasn't Drew's decision to say no, which was true. Drew hadn't made up his mind how he felt about it. And I had never even said no definitively! I had just said that I didn't think it was a good permanent solution.

What's the guy's plan, anyway? He doesn't have a job. He doesn't have a visa anymore. Why doesn't he just go back to Montreal? When I asked him on the phone what he thought he was going to do, he said he was was going to get married. To whom, he has no clue. He said he's going to get a job. Doing what, he's not sure.

He replied to my email. He said he was never talking to me again, and that he felt that he could kill someone or kill himself. Drew, being a sweet person, actually felt bad for him. Jana's head almost exploded: "I really resent him putting you in this position!" That's true... it was really unfair. It brought back all these feelings -- none of them good. The Canadian can be so cold. How could he not realize that having my ex-boyfriend live with my sister could be a problem for me? Because he's heartless and selfish, that's why. "Your sister needs a roommate and I need a room. What's the problem?"

He was right about one thing in his email, though. He said 'it's too hard to be friends with exes. Even with you." And that's definitely true. He's no friend of mine.

p.s. The next morning this happened, and Drew asked, "Does [The Canadian] drive an SUV?"

 

The answer to Sunday's chemistry problem: 1.00 carat x 0.200gC/carat x 1molC/12.01gC x Avogadro's Number of atomsC/molC = 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 atoms C.

 

Yesterday as I was washing dishes I started answering an advice column in my head. One of my imaginary advice-seekers was asking how he could quit bickering with his boyfriend so much. My wise response was this: when your boyfriend says something that makes you want to screech, stop yourself and take a minute to ask "Am I mad because he's really being a prick or am I mad because I think what he's saying is true and it's burning me up?"

Tonight at a birthday party, Drew jokingly referred to my "fat ass." He had had two beers and was trying to squeeze into the chair I was using so we could sit together. He was totally joking, but I had had two Diet Dr. Peppers (wink) and didn't take it very well.

I shouldn't let it bother me, because I'm really not overweight. Okay, I've put on 5-10 pounds since Drew and I started dating. But I spend far too much time thinking and talking about that.

I'm hoping this entry purges (wink wink) my totally boring, totally cliche obsession so that I quit wasting time and energy on it. And so that I don't pick a fight with Drew when he comes home from the party. (I had to leave early to finish up my chemistry homework.)

Even if he wasn't joking, I know that the only reason I got so pissed about it was because I think it's true. I know this because I had this exact same fight with the Canadian. We were at a party together when he patted my gut and made a joke about how there was "more of me to love." No. Scratch that. The Canadian was just being an asshole.

Anyway, I'm not straight fat. I'm gay fat.

Ugh. Regardless of how fat I am, I still have twelve chemistry problems to work out tonight.

C'mon... learn with me: "Diamond is a natural form of pure carbon. How many atoms of carbon are in a 1.00-carat diamond (1.00 carat - 0.200g)?" (The answer will be on the next posting).

 

The subject of yesterday's chemistry lecture: stoichiometry.

The subject of yesterday's biology lecture: I have no fucking clue.

I don't remember ever being that confused. As we walked out of class, the 22 year-old Princeton grad in our program said "I guess I'm gonna have to do some reading." Hopefully that means that it's not just me. I was starting to feel lonely in my ignorance. That's probably because during lecture I was sitting next to a 34 year-old JPL engineer; he bought his bio textbook six weeks ago and has already read half of it.

Before classes started, I mistakenly thought bio was going to be easier than chemistry. Isn't bio supposed to be about bunny rabbits and photosynthesis? Apparently cellular biology is about glucose and all the ten thousand different bonds it can make. At least I think he was talking about glucose.

It's 8:00am. Drew got up at 7:00 to go have a family photo taken. I guess I should put on some clothes and go out to my car to get my textbook, but why ruin a beautiful Saturday morning with all the ego-crushing I'm-not-smart-enough feelings that come with chapters four and five?

And what the fuck am I going to do when I'm taking orgo?!?!

 

I'm guessing that the perpetually cranky woman who wrote my bio lab reader did not minor in English.

"There are many scientific instruments in [sic] which we can use to obtain data or information about a subject or topic [either one] we are studying."

"It is ASSUMED that you understand the metric system at this point in your educational career. If you find this is a deficiency in your knowledge-base [I don't think so, honey], it is your responsibility to seek our [sic] you [sic] TA or resources on the internet and fill in the gaps."

"Be sure your eye level is at the level of the meniscus, as [sic] if it is not, you will get and [sic] error in your reading."

She told us to email her when we find mistakes. I'm on page two, so I really don't think it'll do much good. This woman is a lost cause.

 

Meet Nico. She's an Australian kelpie that belongs to Drew's roommate, Glen.

Now say good-bye to Nico. Last week Glen decided to move out and find his own place. Which means no more days starting with Nico nosing her way into Drew's bedroom, jumping into bed with us, and giving us kisses. Which is just too depressing to think about.

P.S. The most common type-one cations with a charge of 2+ are Ba, Sr, Ca, Cd, Mg and Zn. I remember that by thinking of a Bass RCA CD magazine. I was incredibly pleased with myself after I came up with that one.

 

A couple of years ago, my friend Jana and I were at the cast & crew screening of a movie we worked on when we ran into our former boss. She was prepping Fat Albert at the time, and when Jana asked how it was going she sighed and said, "It's a struggle."

After we walked out of the theater I couldn't stop complaining about that phrase. A struggle? Isn't that a bit of an overstatement? It's just a job. A job for which you're being very well compensated. I definitely understand that preproduction can be stressful, but if you think long hours and bureaucratic snafus = a struggle, you're just begging the universe to throw you into a wheelchair or something. That way you can live off of government assistance and not be able to get through the turnstile at Pavilions to use your foodstamps to buy day-old bread.

Can you tell I'm a little frustrated with my classes? Ugh. So much studying to do. So much to memorize so quickly. But I'm trying to keep the whining to a minimum. I'm lucky to be able to take these classes and I'm just going to do my best. I got an email yesterday from my cousin Gary who's a physician in Florida. He said "Please keep it all in perspective.   Useless information, but important to getting through the process.   Make the most of being a college boy again!" So I'm doing my best to think that way.

 

Classes have been good so far. Not quite as scary as I feared, although I started reading ahead yesterday and realized the brick wall of ignorance is fast-approaching.

But on the whole I feel really good about my choice to go back to school. I love being back on a campus again. Everyone seems so full of promise and so blissfully ignorant of the soul-crushing 9-to-5 grind. I did have one panicky what-am-I-doing moment. Tuesday night I made dinner for Drew at my apartment and we watched Terms of Endearment. Drew had never seen it before. I'm a sucker for weepy movies. And, for that matter, weepy Dolly Parton songs. And weepy local news stories.

When her doctor gives Emma the bad news, I honestly (swear to God) thought to myself "I can't be a doctor." I can't spend my days in dreary cinderblock buildings with bad lighting and I look godawful terrible dressed in white. I'm just too pale. And what do you say to Debra Winger when she says "I understand what you're tellin' me. I need to think about what to do with my kids."

Clearly James L. Brooks wasn't crafting those scenes to pump up med school enrollment. I got over it pretty fast, though. Just because modern medicine failed Emma Horton doesn't mean I can't do some good as a doctor, right? Ugh. They really should have killed off Aurora and given Emma the sequel. But Debra Winger dies so well and Shirley MacLaine's stroke scene in Evenings Star is high fucking comedy. So maybe it all worked out for the best.

 

i just got home from my last analysis appointment. my (former) analyst always corrects me when i say that: "it's not technically analysis since i am not yet a certified analyst." but her phrasing ("treatment"/"in treatment"/"being treated") sounds less highfalutin and more ominous.

it wasn't the easiest breakup ever. lots of staring at the floor and "tell-me-what-you're-thinking"s. but unlike my last boyfriend, she accepted my excuse ("i don't have time for you anymore") fairly well.

today was my first day of school. it went surprisingly well. i'm excited about both of my classes and the other people in my postbacc program seem pretty damn friendly and approachable. i only had one slightly embarrassing moment. i was in line at the bookstore carrying what turned out to be $399 worth of textbooks when i turned my head to the right and promptly smacked my forehead on the corner of a bookshelf. i jerked back so fast and made what i'm sure was an awfully sour face... and then i just kind of stood there and tried to act like it hadn't happened. i was wet from the rain and not feeling cute and now i had confirmed to myself and everyone around me that i'm clumsy and awkward.

and i thought to myself "you're a premed student." grace and beauty not required.

it's nice to be back in geekville. my classes were full of them. there were two cute girls in my chemistry class, and i immediately (and perhaps unfairly) pegged them as droppers. really pretty people just can't cut it in these classes. you can be attractive, but you can't be well-coiffed, groomed and dressed. you just don't have time.