On To The Next One

Week Two is in the books and what an eventful one it was.  Again, it has been another week where the pendulum moves from the crushing stress of new classes to amazingly distasteful jokes in anatomy lab.  I feel like the clock has been tightly wound and, as a result, is flying by now only to slow down at the end of the semester.

My Bamba Surfs Internet Porn In My Dream

Earlier this week, I had a dream that I walked in on my grandmother surfing porn on the internet.  As would be the case with most grandparents, she got a little flustered when she couldn’t close the browser.  In fact, it took her a ridiculously long time to close it down.  All the while, she’s saying stereotypical grandmotherly things like “Oh Dear” or “My Goodness” or “I Was Just Looking for Recipes,” simultaneously fumbling with the mouse, and clicking errantly all over the screen before becoming hysterical with laughter at herself.  After looking away for as long as I could and trying to maintain the illusion of normalcy, I spent about ten minutes teaching her how to quickly close windows on her computer by simultaneously pressing the Alt and F4 keys.  She was grateful.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me that my dear Bamba is surfing porn in my dreams instead of me?

Dissecting the Va-Jay-Jay Is Tougher Than You Might Think

For this section of Gross Anatomy, I'm paired with a few of my good female friends. Needless to say, they make ridiculously inappropriate comments that have me swallowing my laughter and trying as hard as I can to keep it together.  This week, we had the pleasures of dissecting the Urogential Triangle on our female cadaver.  Being the only male in the dissecting team, they tried to make me blush a few times.  At one point during the dissection, they called one professor over to help identify a landmark on the external genitalia.  When he took a moment, one of the gals, J, says to him in a complete deadpan, "I thought you were pretty familiar with the vagina."  He waited a beat and came back with, "I usually have the lights off."

The next challenge came when we attempted to identify the crus of the clitoris, a tissue synonymous with the corpora cavernosa - an erectile tissue.  As the name might imply, there is a relationship with the clitoris.

 

To locate this tissue, one can use the clitoris as a landmark and, then, dissect laterally from it to locate the crus.  After some confusion on locating the "big C," I told the team how great it was that it wasn't only men who had a tough time finding it.  Apparently, the gauntlet was thrown because they challenged me to find it really quickly.  Without missing a beat, I told them to give me some room because I was going to have to climb on the table and get my face down there.  Our laughter prompted the professor to return and ask us what was going on.  Just being inappropriate and trying to earn low marks on respectfulness, I assured him.  Sometimes, dark humor is just what you need to get you through a situation.

Immunization Certification:  Epic Fail

This morning, I attempted to get a certification for giving immunizations.  The course was mandatory for second-year students and optional for us lowly first years.  Although I didn't really expect to pass the damned thing, I thought of it as a free play:  throw it up in the end-zone and maybe someone would come down with it.  After all, it had a lot of material from a class that I've not even taken at this point.

Let's just say that I'm pretty sure that I can deliver an IM or SQ injection but, obviously, have not memorized the vaccination schedule as required to successfully pass the test.  Luckily, I only spent a couple of hours studying for it.  Out of the approximately 90 people who showed up to take the exam, only a handful of people passed the exam and advanced to the practical side of giving injections.  Evidently, at this point, if a 13-year-old walked in a provided a list of the vaccines that she'd received at 6 months, 12 months, and 6 years old, I would be unable to determine from memory what vaccines to give her.  Although I failed the exam, I scored as well as many of the second year students (and better than a few).  That being said, if the pass rate for an exam is ridiculously low, maybe all of the blame doesn't belong on the students.  Just a thought.

Proof

Last night, I dreamed that Dr. James Three Thousand and I were in some swanky hotel restaurant, having an urgent conversation because we were being followed. In the middle of the conversation, I noticed that a long-haired and bearded Johnny Damon was seated a few tables away from us. On seeing him, we knew that the time machine had worked! Then, the spies who'd been tracking us burst into the room, prompting us to fight and flee.

Proof of successful time travel.

My Waking Life Not as Exciting as My Dream Life

Frankly, not a lot is going on these days. I await word from Mercer University School of Medicine regarding my admission. As they have until March, it's become a cruel waiting game. Each time the phone rings, I leap for the phone to check the caller ID. So, at this point, no news isn't good or bad news, it's just stinking frustrating.

Really, other than praying to the telephone gods to make my phone ring with a call from the Macon area, I've been staying busy with handyman projects around the house, continuing the job search, and having the occasional lunch with friends. All in all, not a bad life.

Much more exciting, however, has been my dreams life. In fact, this week might be a banner week for crazy-assed dreams. Following is a brief synopsis of what has happened so far.

Monday Night
This one was a bit of a time-warp, Terry Gilliam type dream or, at the least, and unfunny Chappelle Show episode. I'm standing around with a bunch of my ancestors trying to defend one of my forefather's patriotism and, it turns out, his life. The person hearing the case is a black George Washington. He's having none of my relatives' arguments. I take the floor and give an impassioned speech that touches African-American George's heartstrings. I appeal to his sense of fairness and make him recall what he fought for to help win independence for the country. Then, I deftly illustrate that my ancestor's love for America isn't that different. Black George ruled favorably and my relative lived. I suppose, by the "Back to the Future" rules of time travel, that his survival meant that I also survived.

Tuesday Night
Instead of our actual house, we're living in an enormous two-story house that's full of visitors coming and going. In particular, our friend Heather (a.k.a. "R") is there with her mother who keeps trying to sell us on a life insurance policy. We're stuck in this quandry about how to continue avoiding her sales pitch while being polite. Just as we're lying down to go to sleep, an enormous rocket falls from sky and, while remaining perfectly vertical, crashes through our roof and both floors of our house. (Think of the rocket in "Weird Science.") Understandably, we're freaked out and feel lucky that we weren't killed. On closer inspection, the rocket, which we've determined to be Cuban, appears to be a U.S. rocket that has been stolen and painted by the Cubans. Seriously, you can see the U.S. paint underneath. As we're examining it, the thing starts to rumble and make a lot of noise. Expecting an explosion, we look for what cover we can find in the bedroom. Instead of a deadly explosion, however, the rocket belches out about 30 soccer balls and 15 pairs of athletic shoes.

"Wow, I've got to let my Ethiopian friends know that we're starting a team! We're going to rule rec league soccer!," I rejoice.

Wednesday Night
I'm hosting a barbecue at the house and using a reproduction of an "illegal barbecue pit," which looks exactly like a regular pit. Anywho, guests continue to arrive at the house and venture into the back yard to have a look at it. One guy in a wheelchair arrives and keeps making suggestions about improving the pit. Evidently, he's the authority on building and running illegal BBQ operations. As I'm listening and discounting his advice, I notice that my good friend, Joe Torre, has arrived. I walk up to thank him for coming and he gives my a huge bear hug. Obviously, it's been a little while since I've seen him. He thanks me for playing for him and tells me that he misses me around the clubhouse. I let him know that I think the Yankees thing was a huge debacle on the part of the Steinbrenners and wish him luck in Los Angeles.

As I'm introducing my friends to him, I go to put my arm around his neck but accidentally punch him in the chin, causing him to snap shut his mouth and chip some teeth.

"Damn, Joe, I am so sorry, buddy. Look I'm trying to help you out with your dental plan! You've only got two more days under the Yankees coverage. This will help you get all your money out of your Flex Spending Account so you don't lose it!," I explain.

Joe Torre looks at me, smiles, and mumbles that "it's OK" through his broken teeth. We share a hearty laugh and go look at the illegal BBQ pit.

How awesome are they? Seriously, each morning I wake up smiling, if not laughing.

Dreams and Other Weirdness

I continue to work on applications. I thought I'd share some gems from the last few days.

Awesome Dream #1
So, about a week ago, I had the following dream. I woke up at 2:20 a.m. laughing and almost dialed Dr. J3K to tell him about it. Enjoy.

J3K and I are in a Michael Bay movie. As is typical in Bay's pictures, we're back lit by the setting sun. We're armed to the teeth and heading into an amusement park to battle the bad guys. Each of us is carrying several enormous guns, wearing bandoliers, and almost any conceivable weapon of destruction. It's similar to the scene in Commando where the Governator prepare to go ashore to rescue his daughter. As we get fully outfitted and begin making out way into the amusement park, dramatic music plays and the camera shot widens to reveal that ... we are dressed like Care Bears.

That's it: Care Bears. My once in a blue moon bad-ass dream and I'm dressed like Hugs-a-lot Bear. What the hell?

Not pictured: Special Forces Bear and Shoots-a-Lot Bear

Strange Dream #2
This probably has something to do with Ingmar Bergman dying.

I'm in a black and white film with Max von Sydow running around the countryside. We're fleeing Death just like in The Seventh Seal. Unlike the movie, Death isn't as benign but more ruthless and cold-blooded. We run and run, just barely staying a step or two ahead of him. Finally, we take refuge in my Uncle Mike's house as he blasts music from Koyaanisqatsi on his home stereo. Death arrives.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm a little stressed about getting my MCAT scores.

Neighborhood Weirdness
This morning, I'm taking Dylan down to the park for his morning walk. As I get into the heart of the village, two guys pass me. One of them is carrying a foil. Neither are dressed as though they're on their way to a fencing match. (In fact, they're dressed as though they're on their way to the nearest park bench or shelter.) I curse myself for not having a camera and promise myself that if I hear the phrase "En garde!," I will run away very quickly.

Better than seeing someone carrying a gun, I suppose.