September 28, 2003

A retraction

I had fun, did really well, and now realize that I am cut out for this. I take back what I said. Thanks Steph, Xee, & Shannon.

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September 25, 2003

Licking my wounds

My ass has officially been kicked.

Today was preparation day for the upcoming conference in which my lab group will be presenting research in a poster session with a room full of lifelong nerds. It's the Pavlovian Soviety conference, named in honor of good ol' Pavlov. Gotta love Pavlov. Anyway, I've been feverishly preparing for this thing... reading articles, reading more articles, reading the same articles again. I have a stack of notecards I made to help me study, and I almost memorized the damn poster word for word.

Yeah, none of that actually helped me today.

In a practice run, the big kahuna had me stand in front of our 4' x 8' poster and answer questions from a faculty member who stopped by to partake in the bloodshed. I stuttered, mumbled, and failed to answer anything that mattered. All of the crap I studied left my brain as soon as I was dragged to the front of the room. Why did I blank on damn near everything? Why couldn't I explain even the most ridiculously simple ideas?

The professor kept firing shots for what seemed like hours, and I did little more than make a complete ass of myself in front of everyone I work with. I felt like the fat girl in dodge ball again... such a deliciously easy target. It's so frustrating, because I know I'm not stupid, but I sure did sound that way. Dammit.

I've never really had a problem explaining my own research, honestly. But this is not my research, and I'm just not comfortable with talking about it. I didn't conceptualize it. I didn't do the research in preparation for it. I didn't design the experiment. I didn't run the analyses. I didn't write the manuscript. I didn't create the poster. This is not mine. I have no business presenting it, and there is no reason for my name to be listed alongside the author. I just know so little, so damn little, and knowing this makes me blank on the little that I have down.

The practice session was a huge red flag --one that made it pretty clear that, in addition to being unprepared for the conference, I may not be cut out for this. It's third grade gym class all over again. Fifteen years have passed since then, yet I'm still just the same little fat girl.

What do I do now?

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September 21, 2003

Communal bathrooms and life after college

My little baby sister, who will most likely have the urge to fire shots at me when she reads that I called her this, is all moved in at Ohio State. Today we hauled two car loads of clothes, cd's, and Campbell's Chunky Soup over to what will be her home for the next four years.

When my family got to her hall, we were shocked to find that her room was little more than a glorified broom closet that in no way had enough space for her and two roomies. The storage space she was given she couldn't even reach while standing on a chair. The floor's bathroom, which remains locked at all times, has only three showers. I can't wait until Klara starts moaning about her daily fight for a stall. And to top it off, she had no place to plug in her computer and hook up to ResNet.

We left my poor sister in her painfully cramped room with a couple of hugs and a few see-ya-laters. She did not look happy. Considering the circumstances, I wouldn't have either.

Well, maybe.

All of the crap we went through today to help her get settled --running around for keys, spending an hour driving bumper-to-bumper down a two-mile stretch on campus, fighting for parking, unpacking a dozen overstuffed boxes, desperately rearranging furniture, saying goodbye-- it all kinda makes me realize that I miss living on campus. I really do. I miss all that crap. I miss getting to live with new people, move into a new room each year, and listen to gossip while taking a shower in the communal bathroom. It's stupid, I know. But the daily grind is never as much fun as it was when I was with my friends 24/7.

Whatever. My sister gets to do all of this now, and I know that in a few weeks her little room will start to feel less foreign, less cramped. She'll get used to her roomies' weird habits, and they'll get used to hers. Soon, she won't even want to come home anymore. She'll be at home right where she is.

Of course, it will take her at least a few weeks to get used to her new life. For me, probably longer. I don't know. For now, my bed is calling me. I have work in the morning. Yuck.

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September 18, 2003

The best prayer I've read in a long time

Lately, especially since the Septmeber 11th attacks two years ago, I've heard a lot more prayer than I ever have before. It's a good thing, sort of. Getting in touch with God is the most important thing a person can do. Honestly, though, some of the prayers being offered have been discouraging, at least to me. I've heard enough of God, pour out your blessing on America, and let's demolish all those evil Arabs kind of stuff. America is god nowadays. But as widespread as the patriotic prayers have become, I've also found prayers such as these:

Heavenly Father, Help us remember that the jerk who cut us off in traffic last night is a single mother who worked nine hours that day and is rushing home to cook dinner, help with homework, do the laundry and spend a few precious moments with her children. Help us to remember that the pierced, tattooed, disinterested young man who can't make change correctly is a worried 19-year-old college student, balancing his apprehension over final exams with his fear of not getting his student loans for next semester. Remind us, Lord, that the scary looking bum, begging for money in the same spot every day is a slave to addictions that we can only imagine in our worst nightmares. Help us to remember that the old couple walking annoyingly slow through the store aisles and blocking our shopping progress are savoring this moment, knowing that, based on the biopsy report she got back last week, this will be the last year that they go shopping together. Heavenly Father, remind us each day that, of all the gifts you give us, the greatest gift is love. It is not enough to share that love with those we hold dear. Open our hearts not to just those who are close to us, but to all humanity. Let us be slow to judge and quick to forgive, show patience, empathy and love.

What can I follow that up with?

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September 15, 2003

Kids, it's time to play the Michael Jackson game!

So yesterday I was procrastinating as usual, and decided to waste my time fooling around on Photoshop. Instead of finishing my work, I came up with a new game. It's called, What would you look like if you were a Jackson? It's an easy game, fun for the whole family! Send in your pics, and I'll post them in a new entry.

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September 12, 2003

Shorts, shorts, shorts

News of a celebrity's death always saddens me, especially when it's someone I grew up watching. John Ritter was a funny guy. Fifty-four is just too damn young.

I have always been afraid of this. It's the future.

An incredibly blessed person I am, I know this. But it sucks working hours at your job that you know you'll never be compensated for. I'm a sucker.

I have been listening to non-stop Relient K in the car.

Where my life is headed, I still have not a single clue. Shouldn't I have this all figured out by now? Everyone else seems to.

I killed another bonsai. Disregard all of my previous green thumb crap.

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September 10, 2003

Oh, stupid dilemma

Today I left work around 5:30 after spending the whole day training students, running the experiment solo and doing random crap. I had last eaten at 8:30 in the morning, and I couldn't wait to leave work. I sped all the way home --my usual 40 minute drive was cut down to a half hour flat. When I hopped off the freeway and rounded a turn down my street, I saw a man sitting on the curb about 50 feet way from me holding a sign that said Please Help, Anything You Can. He looked a little scary, to be honest... His wooly black hair looked like it had straw sticking out of it, and he was dressed in a dirty plaid shirt that probably smelled like my rat's poop corner. I drove on by, concerned only with my headache and growling stomach.

When I pulled into my driveway, I started to ask whether I should back out and go find this man, this dirty street panhandler. I may have been feeling crappy when I got home today, but I had a house to walk into, and a bed to sleep in. This man probably had little more than his dirty shirt and cardboard sign. Was I wrong to pass him by? What should I have done?

I've heard countless times before that giving money to a bum is more wasteful than hitting a slot machine --it usually ends up feeding little more than an addiction. For all I know the liquor store could very well be the reason this guy was sitting on the curb tonight. But... I don't know that. What is worse? Unknowingly enabling a drunk or drug addict, or failing to help someone who is genuinely in need? What is it like to have nothing? To have no place to shower or change your clothes? To have no clothes to change? To be addicted to something that has ruined your life? To have people pass you by as you hold a cardboard sign on a street corner? To be the guy I drove by today?

What do I do if I see him tomorrow?

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September 08, 2003

I hate Mondays. I hate Mondays.

I hate Mondays. They are frustrating, unholy days that never fail to leave me feeling like a slug tortured with table salt by the neighborhood brats. I woke up tired, unable to sleep more than 3 or 4 hours last night. I came to work only to have 37,864 students asking me questions and needing my full attention. I have an army to train this week in the lab. Yay. I left work with this nasty ringing in my ear, and came home to a pretty scary credit card statement, a bill from my school for a class I've signed up for, and my rat nestled comfortably in my dirty laundry basket after stuffing himself with a meal of denim and black t-shirt. This day, pardon my French, sucketh like no other day can. Mondays, I hate Mondays. Every last one of them.

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September 07, 2003

I haven't died, nor have I been abducted

Okay, for all of those out there who have assumed that I've dropped off the face of the planet, guess what... um, I haven't. I've just been busy. Very busy. There are deadlines and responsibilities coming out of my ears. I have three businesses waiting for websites, one wedding portrait to finish, and a roomie to find. It's been a little crazy at chez Drina.

I've also been working on this new layout thing. If you've been here before, refresh your screen once or twice if they old layout is still up. AOL will be especially unkind to the change... usually the old files are up for a couple days. Good news though, there are new pics, new faqs, new Drina section, new survey, and soon to be new artwork and new Words section. I'm getting there, slowly but surely. By the way, if anyone sees any mistakes (spelling or otherwise) let me know. I'm always the last to find them.

I missed you. I will blog tomorrow, I promise (Happy Steph???) Also, big props to two of the most awesome hostees around, Aimee and Raddy.

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