Sunday, October 29, 2006

Party Pooper

I often wonder what possesses people to drink so heavily that they achieve a BAC of .39 and wind up in the hospital. (Let alone the infinite other BACs below that, which are equally as stupid)

Now don't be under the assumption that I'm against drinking. I drink from time to time, but probably considerably less than that of my peers. To put it quite frankly, I think alcohol is extremely overrated. Sure it's nice to get loosen up from time to time, and it can be helpful during certain situations, but I often I think I have just as much fun (if not more) when sober and with friends, than when I'm drunk.

Why don't I like to drink? No, it's not because I do/say less embarrassing things without alcohol, cause I can honestly say that I only regret one alcohol related incident that I caused. Actually, outside of that incident I’ve yet to do/say anything really regretful. I don't spill my heart, (trick question: Dr. House is heartless) I don’t have unfortunate hookups (or fortunate ones for that matter) and I don’t put my friends in any situations that I would be pissed that they put me in. (Like the way I worded that one?) All things considered, I keep a very strong grasp on my better judgment. I can't really explain it, but I like being more aware and competent than being under the influence. Although, it would seem that I’ve missed out on a number of life experiences because of it. I wonder if it’s for the better.

Does that make me a prude/kill joy? Possibly, but I never ever get on anyone's case about drinking. God knows I’ve gone plenty out of my way to supply my friends with their fuel, and places to burn their fuel, and rides to and from these locations for that matter. (Yeah, I’m a huge tool) So, don’t even start accusing me of thinking that I’m holier-than-thou for avoiding the bottle, because I approve of its consumption fully when it’s in responsible moderation. (I’m holier-than-thou because I’m completely self-sacrificing to my friends! (Heh, that’s a joke.)) When it comes down to it I probably don’t drink that much because I’m more useful to my friends when sober and God knows that I like to feel needed. That’s an entirely different self-psychoanalysis entry though.

What I don’t understand though is how people get to the point of near (and actual) death. Do they drink that much to prove something? Is it because they can’t get the same sensation that they use to be able to with a lesser amount? Can a bad situation really drive someone to the bottle that hard? What’s the deal? I have a very hard time ever feeling bad for these people and I wish I could better understand how they get to that point. Does this make me a judgmental asshole? Yes, but I’m sorry if I hold the human race to a higher standard. I think people should be able to take bad situations and deal with them without the bottle.

Tonight, Roommate texted me that he was at the hospital with his friend who managed the feat of getting a .39 BAC. He concluded the text with his friend being “lucky to be alive.” Like the jerk I am, I responded with, “But he’s not so lucky to be stupid enough to get like that.” To be honest, I don’t regret saying that in the least. He did that to himself and he’s dealing with the consequences of his actions. I’m willing to alter my opinion of the situation with more information, but as of now I think the guys is a jerk.

Disclaimer: I have drunk to the point of blacking out, passing out, puking (not always where I want to) and taking naps with my head on toilet seats. I tell you this not to impress you in anyway. (I don’t know why it would) But to just put it out there that I too have gotten completely smashed and all the steps in between.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Dr. Wannabe going soft

I swear to God I think I'm growing a uterus.

Ever since I saw this family at the dermatologist's office the other day I've had kids on the brain. The kids were soooo happy to see daddy come out of the office, and he was equally as happy. It's really quite disgusting. And I just read some retarded article from on tactics to getting your kid to go to sleep for no reason. The only people I ever hear randomly say, "Ohhhhh, I want a baby..." are my girl friends, and I'm pretty sure it's when they're ovulating.

Ugh, I don't think I want to be 30+ when I start a family. I think I want to spend my 50's with older children, unlike my own parents whose youngest will turn 20 when they're 60. They're currently 52 and I'm 20, and the oldest. And since I also think I would want like 4 kids I would have to get the last one in by the time I'm 35ish at the latest...

Oh, and then there's the whole meeting the person I want to spend the rest of my life with...

Dr. Wannabe, just stop right now. This whole looking to the future has to stop now.

WTF, why am I even telling you people (read as: c-wod/imquietchris) this.

I'm going to go listen to my most guilty pleasure song ever now.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Count It!

Dr. Wannabe just got accepted into the short term abroad program to Italy next semester!

I will be traveling throughout Italy for three weeks between the end of May and early June!!!!!

Wow, nothing's gone wrong yet.

Passport has arrived at home fully renewed.
Plane tickets have been bought.
Hotel reservations have been made.

Looks like it's gonna happen.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Little Old Women Are Funny

Today, I went in to intern today in the ER. I don't know when I first noticed her, but there was a little old woman, maybe about 80, all by herself in Isolation Room #2. At first I wasn't sure whether they gave her that room because she was old, or if they were using for what it's intended, crazy people.

Later on, I heard one of the nurses remind the PA that the woman was still in there waiting to been seen. I had seen her sleeping just before and figured there was no huge rush to see her.

In the last 15 minutes of my 3 hours we finally got around to seeing her. When we walked in we were first greeted by the patient's daughter. The PA started asking the patient where she was from and what was the matter, to which she snapped, "You know where I'm from and why I'm here." The daughter was a little taken aback and then whispered to us, not all that discreetly, that her mother has some dementia. The patient was not deaf, nor dumb, and quickly said, "I'm not what she says I am." I liked her already cause she didn't take shit.

We went along with the history and learned that she was visiting us because she had slipped out of her wheelchair somehow. It was a very non-descriptive story. The patient kept insisting that it was a very gentle fall and that she had no pain, thanks to her "big fanny." Everyone chuckled and the PA said, yeah I have a big fanny too. She then gave him a look over and said, "That's not all you've got," while staring right at his gut. The daughter was completely horrified at what her mother had just said, but the patient fought saying she had the right to say whatever she wanted because she had been there for 5 hours. (And no, I don't think she was at all exaggerating) The PA just chuckled and said that was fine. I think I was the only person in the room that she liked. At one point she had asked for a tissue, which I went searching around the ER for, and when I came back she was very thankful, something she did not at all feel towards the people who were keeping her where she was.

Ugh. I hope I never get to the point where I can't make my own decisions. It's completely degrading, especially when you are capable of making your own choices.

Thursday, October 12, 2006


I want to blog, but I don't have a topic. I hate blogging without a topic because it makes me feel like a n00b. Oh well.

Oh, oh, oh, I know what I can write about...
(If you can't tell I'm very excited about this.)

When I was home last weekend for Mom's birthday I was talking to 3 of my friends who are currently studying in London and it was driving me insane. Ever since I was in high school I've wanted to study abroad for a semester. Back then I wanted Australia, but once I got to school I changed my mind to London because it gave me greater access to other countries I wanted to visit. Plus, I'm not much of a beach person since 1. No one wants to see this with a shirt off, and 2. I'll die of skin cancer, which is actually kind of unfortunate cause I actually do love the beach, but no one really knows that. But when I talked to the abroad people and told them I was a science major they more-or-less said, "Ewww, ewww, ewww, get out of here!"

Okay, you got me. I'm a little bitter towards them. Really they just told me that it's very hard for science majors to go abroad and get any of their science requirements accomplished. But they didn't even try to find a way to make it work out. Bastards...

There and then I decided that I was going to figure out a way to go visit my friends in London this semester. I pulled up the old events calendar on the school's website and realized that my only real break was Thanksgiving. A couple of months ago I was hesitant at the idea of going away for Thanksgiving, but something changed and I didn't care anymore.

I marched up to talk to my Dad about the idea of me going away and he was surprisingly supporting. Like, was on Continental Airlines' website looking at how many reward miles he had that second, supportive. It was weird, but I think it has something to do that my entire family vacationed overseas without me last summer since I had damn, damn, damn, Physics. I wasn't even really looking for him to take care of the airfare, but I guess he felt he owed it too me.

The next day I went to the post office and had my passport expedited. I thought it was going to be a real pain in the ass, but it was surprisingly hassle free. I wasn't too crazy about my picture and also realized my friend was right about pale people not being meant to wear yellow. Whateves. Such a non-issue.

Everything going so smoothly started making me very, very weary that something terrible was going to happen to prevent this trip from happening. Things never work out for me this well. Something was bound to go completely wrong and really have the potential of ruining everything. Then, it happened. I was in the kitchen emptying out my pockets and I found the shipping receipt from the post office. I had never really looked at it when I was at the post office, but the words on it hit me like a train and made my heart stop dead.

Ship to:
P.O. BOX ######
Philadelphia, PA #####-####

Oh. My. God. Why was my passport mailed to CITI GROUP?!
I started freaking out on spot. I was sure that my passport had been mailed to the wrong place and I was never going to make it to London.

Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out.
Okay Dr. Wannabe, let's check things out online and figure out if something really terrible actually occurred.

::Google "passport"::
::click link::
::click link for renewing passports::
::scroll till see an address::
PO BOX #####
Philadelphia, PA #####-####
::anxiety goes down 95%::

I'm feeling okay about this now. My passport is going to an address very similar (if not the actual) to the one it needs to go to. And you know what the worst thing that happens is that it's sent back to the post office and they realize where it really needs to go.

::crosses fingers that they're that smart::

Actually, the worst thing that happens is that it goes to the wrong place and no one does anything with it and I'm out a passport and a trip to London.

I’m going to call my Dad tomorrow to confirm that tickets were bought. He has the exact time, date and flight number so everything should be taken care of. Then we’ll move on to booking a hotel, which is already picked out, but baby steps people, baby steps.

Next time on House, D.O. I think we’ll talk about how I’m less than impressed with emergency medicine and my future predictions for my specialty. (Talk about getting waaaay ahead of yourself)

P.S. – If you read my blog regularly drop a comment so I can check out your blog. My regulars seem to be hitting lulls in entries and I need to make up for it.

(**Anyone else really annoyed by the number of “but’s” I used in this post? I was. But (ugh) it’s blogging and I’m not going to fuss over my writing. Although, I truly feel my blog entries are complete crap compared to my academic writings. I suppose I just feel inferior to all the good blog writers I read.**)