I think I'm being punished for past offenses. I was struck down with a nasty bug this afternoon; it started at 2:30 and by 5:00 I was in bed. Drew has been pampering me all evening in the sweetest ways.

I have a chemistry test tomorrow, and absolutely no capacity (or desire) to review acid-base reactions or oxidation-reduction reactions or thermodynamics or calorimetry. I have until 3:30 tomorrow to learn what that last word means.

 

I ran into Katie Wannabe on Friday. (In case you've forgotten, she's the MUSIC MAJOR who's fucking up the curve by acing my BIOLOGY CLASS.) She was driving a big white Mercedes-Benz. It looked like this. Why would a 19 year-old need that car? Why? Just to make me dislike her more?

But then she said "My boyfriend and I are going down to San Diego this weekend to visit his daughter." Whoa. Okay.

Biology -- LeanJoe (B-), Katie Wannabe (A)
Bank Balance -- LeanJoe (Citibank Student Loan's money), Katie Wannabe (parents' money)
Possible number of stepchildren -- LeanJoe (zero), Katie Wannabe (at least one)

Now if she'd just get a C+ on this next test, I could stop wishing bad things for her and start pretending to be her friend.

 

A great illustration of how Republicans are striving to build an Ownership Society. Hehehe. Eat it, Janklow.

Speaking of eating it, did anyone see Drudge's post-papal-traecheotomy headline?

POPE SILENCED

I guess he's saving the siren graphic for POPE FINALLY BREAKS IN HALF!

In general I try to separate my hatred for the Catholic church from my feelings for people who are Catholic. But it's really hard with His Holiness. I just look at him and see evil old cripple.

 

A conversation I overheard today:

Woman: "Well, they stayed married longer than six months. That's a feat for a Hollywood couple."
Man: "Yep. And you know what they say -- men are only as faithful as their options."
Woman: "And Brad has a lot of options."
Man: "I just want to say... I'm kinda embarrassed we're talking about this."

Oh shut up. You're embarrassed to be talking about Brad and Jen with another person who clearly has a point of view about Brad and Jen -- but you're not embarrassed about saying that "men are only as faithful as their options"? And who says that, anyway? Do people really say that? And do the people who hear people say that actually agree?

Surely not.

And honestly, seriously, I don't understand why the man has "a lot of options." At his best he was skinny and acne-scarred. And he's an actor. Eww.

 

First of all, before you read this, I'd like to apologize for this posting. I realize it's been weeks now and I should really be totally over this. I realize that what you're about to read is totally petty and more than a little embarrassing. Drew: stop reading.

One more quick apology. I'm really really sorry. I've tried to avoid talking about this, but I can't help myself. It's on my mind constantly and so I feel I should write about it. Even though I'm super busy with school and lots of personal stuff, nothing can totally eclipse this in my mind.

Drew giggled for a while when I'd say, out of nowhere, "Why can't they work it out?"

"Why can't who work what out?"

"Brad and Jen."

Now, after weeks of hearing me moan, I'm pretty sure he's at the end of his rope. Jana was with me for a while; now she's moved on. She's decided that the marriage hadn't been working for a while.

I, on the other hand, am not so sure. I don't want to hear any of the "evidence" about how the marriage was doomed, because by now the publicists have had far too much time to spin rumors and generate good backstory.

I still think there's one big reason for what happened: infidelity. You'll never convince me that it's any more complicated than that. He fucked up and she had no choice but to dump him. I'll never accept any other version of this story, unless it comes directly from the Aniston herself. (In my fantasy, we're sitting in a dark lounge somewhere and she sets her frozen strawberry daiquiri on the table, motions for me to lean in, puts her hand on my hand and says, "Honestly, it wasn't his fault." But that ain't never gonna happen. Because it is his fault. And I'm absolutely positive that when I lean in while she squeezes my hand, what she'll actually say will be more along the lines of "It's kind of small. And crooked.").

And okay, yeah, I realize their relationship wasn't some perfect fantasy. Every couple has problems and I'm sure theirs were as mundane as anyone else's. And I'm definitely of the American Beauty school of thought when it comes to tabloid stories: no one really knows what goes on in anyone else's personal life (the world is complicated; cue the plastic sack and the wind machines).

But whatever. Blah blah blah. I'm holding onto this: nothing, and I mean nothing, brings all the problems in your marriage into high relief like having your husband put his dick in someone else.

FuckBradFuckAngelinaVivreleJen.

Again. So sorry about this. I couldn't help myself.

 

I have two weeks until my next bio test. I'm sure you really couldn't care less, but I think if I blog about it I'll be more apt to prepare for it. I must get an A on this one.

It's been raining all weekend. This has led to lots of under-the-covers cuddlng and an attempt at breaking a record yesterday (Drew's record is eight in one day; we only got to four. Pathetic.).

I also moved out of my bedroom this weekend. My sister and I had been living together for a year and a half, and I have to admit it was kind of sad seeing my room all empty like that. After my big breakup three years ago, it took months for me to find a place to live. It took so much money, so much time, so many favors from Jana. Looking at that empty bedroom on Saturday, I had a moment of appreciation for how much I'm risking by moving in with Drew.

It was just a momentary hesitation, really. I've been looking forward to living together so much that I haven't taken one second to compare it to the last time I did this. But Drew is different, this relationship is different, and anyway I really have no choice. I love him and I want us to be together. We move into the new place March 1st.

Argghh!! Must. Concentrate. On. Biology.

 

I have no money. I'm living off of student loans. So to help me out, the restaurant my sister manages lets me do catering runs at $75 a pop. It's usually easy money. I deliver the food, set everything up, stand behind a table and say "chicken or fish?", then I break everything down, go back to the restaurant to clean the dishes, and go home. Three hours max. Not bad for $75.

The restaurant caters a lot of tv productions and photo shoots. On Tuesday I went on one of my regular runs for some television series. It's called... Reasonable Doubt? It doesn't seem like a real show to me, but whatever. The crew is really sweet and low-maintenance.

Unless, that is, there are a lot of actors involved. Some days it seems like they operate with about three cast members. If any of them are regulars, I haven't noticed; they seem like new people every time. On Tuesday there were lots of actors. Background players, I think. I'm not sure I'd really consider that "acting", but regardless -- these people were definitely actors. The first person in line was an actress I had observed studying a script earlier, so I assume she had a speaking role. She was sweet as pie: "I'm sooo hungry. This looks delicious!" Then the bit players started filing through: "There's too much dressing on this salad." "Eww, that looks gross." "Can I have more chicken?... No no no, honey. Give me three. And three pieces of steak." Very few thank-you's. Lots of passive-aggressive comments. My favorite was this:

Annoying Actor: "Iskinderdray."
Me: "Excuse me?"
Annoying Actor: "But I know it's not your fault."
Me: "What's not my fault?"
Annoying Actor: "IskinderdraybutIknowit'snotyourfault."
Me: "I'm sorry, what?"
Annoying Actor: "The lasagna. It's dry. But I know it's not your fault, so..."
Then he smiled and WINKED at me. What the fuck? If you know it's not my fault, then WHY ARE YOU COMPLAINING TO ME?!?!?!

C'mon, people. You're not paying for this meal. I'm sorry these acting careers haven't worked out for you yet. I know when you were in high school your friends' parents told you how talented you were and how you should be in movies. But no one knows you here and no one cares and no one's going to coddle you so just grow up and "act" like adults.

Two days later, Drew and I went into a shop owned by a guy who knows my former bosses. I used to work for a Hollywood family that includes two working, successful actors. The store owner guy said, "So is M_____ kind of... difficult?" I laughed and said "Uh... yeah. She is." He didn't elaborate, really. He didn't have to. She's a terror when dealing with valets, store clerks, waiters... she relishes telling people they're stupid. Once when her family doctor got a new receptionist she actually called me up to say, gleefully, "I hear this kid's a real IDIOT." She couldn't wait to put him in his place.

Eww. Actors. Blech.

 

As predicted, Katie Wannabe helped fuck up the curve by getting an A. She got ten more points than I did (I know this because we were standing together when we got our tests back and I sneaked a peek.).

She was being really nice to me at the time, so it made it hard to hate her. I will not become friends with her, though. I can barely handle having one friend who's smarter than me. You can be as smart as me, just not smarter. Luckily, all my friends in bio got B's or C's. Although now that I think about it, maybe I should start studying with the A crowd.

 

Biology was as bad as I thought. I got a B, even with the curve.

Drew and I are shopping for couches for our new apartment today. We move in March 1st. I should really be studying all day today, but I also have a life that needs tending to.

Honestly... a B? I told my sister "I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than get a B." Her response: "I know. B's suck." To make things worse, out of the 574 people in the class, 92 of them got A's. NINETY-TWO. And I wasn't one of them? Clearly these people don't know who I am. I'm an A student.

I was pretty upset after I got the test back yesterday. I went to Drew's apartment to take him to a Valentine's Day lunch and I couldn't stop talking about it. This sparked a pissy little fight, because Drew wanted to talk about how he thinks he's getting fat. And while I can symphathize --

Okay, sorry, but Drew just came in here after taking a shower and said it was "unacceptable" for me to be blogging while his laundry is sitting on the bed unfolded. And now he's staring over my shoulder trying to read what I'm writing, despite the fact that I have instructed him to go make me a cheese omelet and some tea. So this posting is going to have to come to a close.

B. A fucking B. Goddammit.

 

Dinner was horrible and he pretended it wasn't. Isn't that sweet?

I'm drunk on champagne and my favorite show is on in 9 minutes. Yay!!!

No more silly posts tonight. Promise.

 

Minutes after I wrote the previous post I called Drew at work and told him I was making dinner.

Drew: "Yea!! What are you making?"
Me: "Fish."
Drew: "I don't want fish."

Can I pop the champagne without him?

 

I got a 96 on my Chemistry test. Kudos to me for knowing that Sb is antimony and Ge is germanium. The only things I got wrong were simple math fuckups. Addition errors. I tried to double-check everything, but the clock ran out. Wow - that celebration was short-lived. Okay, I'm not going to obsess over those four points one more second. Yea for me!! 96!! Woo-HOOO!!!!

Moving onto biology. No cause for celebration here. My TA said that the highest grade in our section was 126 out of a possible 140, and that a lot of people got around 80. She's posting our scores on the web tonight.

So before I have a chance to get depressed, I'm going to make dinner for Drew and we're gonna pop a bottle of champagne.

 

Drew and I spent three to four hours watching home makeover shows yesterday, and we got so turned on by the sexual tension between the host and the carpenter on this show that we ended up fucking on the couch.

Evan Farmer has GOT to be gay. And he's DEFINITELY a bottom.

 

Leanjoe: "Why isn't this carbon asymmetric?"
Study Buddy #1: "It is."
Study Buddy #2: "No, it's attached to two other carbons."
Study Buddies #1 and #3: "But that doesn't matter, because [I put my finger in my ears so as not to allow a useless debate to infect my already-fragile brain.]"
--------
Leanjoe: "Why isn't this carbon asymmetric?"
Leanjoe's T.A.: "To be honest, I was doing work for a different class when he talked about that in lecture. But I think it's because [I tuned her out for the previously-stated reason.]"
--------
Biology Test Today (a question worth six points): "Is this carbon asymmetric?"
Leanjoe: "Yes. No. Uhm... no, yes. Yes, it is."

Maybe I should have gone to the professor's office hours.

If I didn't get at least a B+, my life is going to get much more difficult. I don't see how I can study much more than I'm studying now. Drew kept trying to calm me down last night. Then I told him "If I don't have a stellar GPA at USC, I'm gonna end up going to med school in Indiana. Do you want to live in Indiana?"

Oh well. Surely the campus can't be as ugly as their website.

 

Apparently my sister is going to be all right. My mom had her adjust her medication and that seems to have helped. We still have to find her a decent doctor; her endocrinologist has made her cry both times she's seen him. Why do some doctors have to be on such a power trip all the time? The girl has a lump on her throat the size of an egg, for christ's sake. Quit acting like she's some kind of hypochondriac.

I guess you get what you (don't) pay for.

 

I have my first exams on Monday and Tuesday. First biology, then chemistry.

It's been five and a half long years since anyone has assigned a letter grade to me, but I've been studying a lot and I've started to feel better about things. But then in my bio lab yesterday there was this girl who made me doubt myself. She reminded me of my best friend from college, Katie. Katie and I took a calculus class together. (Why in the world would I take two semesters of calculus as a film studies major... I know, I know. That was a mistake.) Katie blew me away in that class. She has a natural affinity for the numbers, I guess. I'm sure it didn't hurt that she actually did the homework. But that wasn't all of it. During lectures she'd shout out answers before I could even wrap my mind around the question. The girl in my bio lab was doing that on Friday. And she looked a lot like Katie, too. I was getting really frustrated with her. I bet if I had been eating a plate of tater tots, she would have grabbed one without even asking. Katie used to do that. GET YOUR OWN TOTS, GIRLS!!!

Okay, sorry. But what made it worse was that someone asked this bio lab/Katie wannabe girl "What's your major?"

Katie Wannabe: "Music."

Arggghh!!! Get out of my lab, smart girl! You're gonna fuck up the curve!!

 

It hit me pretty fast. I was trucking along, memorizing the symbols of all 92 elements: radon... xenon... krypton... Whoa. It's time to go to bed. Suddenly my eyes are blurring and my body is quivering. I'm probably overdoing the prep for these first exams, but I just don't know what to expect. Everyone tries to reassure me that I'll do great, but the feeling I get in my bio class is alarmingly similar to the feeling I got in my neuropsychology class freshman year. Exams in that class didn't go so well.

In other news, my sister's goiter is getting worse. I went over there tonight to take a look at it. That thing is disturbing. It's bigger now and her hair is falling out again and her fingernails are chipping and her heart rate is low... all the same signs she had before she got on the medication. She had the goiter biopsied in late November and the results still aren't in. That's what you get when you go to County Hospital without insurance. She's calling her endocrinologist tomorrow. Please jesus fuck don't let it be bad news.

Drew's taking a shower. I should go wash my face, get in bed and read my chemistry lab manual so I can start my prelab. But I'd rather look at this.