Heart Attacks and Pocket-Comb Moustaches

It does not bode well that it's only my first week of review classes and I already feel like I'm having a mini heart-attack.

Contributing factors:

1. There are only 4 people in my state science review class.


2. My instructor for this class is The Evil Witch. I actually haven't had her in such a long time that I had to doublecheck her nickname on my blog before posting it here. It is difficult for me to believe I once despised her quite so much as to nickname her The Evil Witch, but I figure, if I give it a little bit of time, I'll probably be reminded of why I chose the nickname. Thankfully she was bearable on our first day though. But she still talks incessantly about her child when, truly, no one cares.


3. Thankfully I don't think The Evil Witch remembers that she is supposed to hate me.


4. I remember that she's supposed to hate me.


5. There are only TWO people in my state massage review class. TWO PEOPLE. One of which is Yours Truly. The other of which is my girl-crush, which is both good and bad luck since a) she is my girl crush = good luck, and b) she doesn't often come to class, and if she does, it's not always on time = bad luck, as this will mean that I will frequently be the only student there. Which leads to my next point...


6. Scrub Nazi is teaching my state massage review class. On our first day, he went over EVERY SINGLE SCHOOL POLICY AGAIN as though we aren't in our last semester and haven't heard it 500 times and didn't in fact realize that a) we're required to wear scrubs, and b) no piercings. I am horrified to think that I once had a bit of a crush on the man. Horrified. He is not a BAD man, but still: horrified. I mean, seriously: the man listed off amidst his school-policy lecture the fact that we should have our fingernails cut short. And we're not actually massaging anyone this semester, so the only situation I could even fathom arising would be that I might trip and accidentally fall onto my own finger with my eye, and even if this DID take place, short fingernails aren't going to jack shit when my finger is nonetheless knuckle-deep in my eye.


7. I am already overwhelmed by the amount of info that we're going to be plowing through each week. Overwhelmed, as in my tummy hurts right now, here, today. Overwhelmed, as in I sat and listened to my instructor's lectures on-line today while working (for this first week's worth of material), and it took me about 3 hours to do so.


8. I couldn't remember the name of the part of the sternum that the clavicle attaches to.


9. I couldn't remember the name of the cavity on the scapula that the humerus sits in.


10. I *could*, however, remember that you should handle a man's erection professionally. But I somehow doubt they'll ask this on our state board exam.


11. I couldn't remember the name of the muscle that attaches near the mastoid process and on the clavicle & sternum. Despite the fact that it has derivations of the words 'mastoid' and 'sternum' in its name.


12. I had too much coffee to drink this morning, which is mostly unrelated but nonetheless evident.


13. Scrub Nazi has toned down his moustache a bit, but now it just looks like a stiff white version of an old man's pocket-comb.

Seriously: prepare yourself for a whole shitload of freakout on this blog in the next few months. May the freakouts at least be interestingly written.

Two finals down, one more to go.

My A&P class went out on a good note last night, thankfully (despite the fact that I think my Anatomy final may have been the most difficult test I've ever taken--despite studying during the latter portion of Saturday night and then from 10am to about 10pm on Sunday, I still struggle with all those goddamn muscles).

I think my instructor senses that I dislike her quite a bit, and it upsets her a little, which in turn upsets me a little (since I don't like making people feel upset). But lo and behold, this fact thankfully blossomed into something good, and instead of incessant meat-talk, my instructor stood outside with us (while we waited for other folks to finish their finals so we could get our grades), got on the topic of food, looked at me and said "You're vegan, right?" and then proceeded to gush about the raw vegan lasagna another student had brought in the other day which she said "was the most phenomenal thing she'd ever tasted."

Bless your little vegan heart, raw lasagna-making student! Bless your little vegan heart!

This, This, and This

I haven't written much lately on this blog. Shame on me.

But last week was mega-stressful. And next week's forecast is the same, seeing as it's finals-week.

(Please, dear eye, no twitching next week, k?)

But here is some stuff you should know:

1. I cannot wait to be done with my current A&P instructor. Please, whoever is listening, lemme have someone good next semester. And not the guy who does the powerpoint presentations at 500 mph. Thank you.

2. I heard that the anatomy instructor I had last semester (the one I had a crush on and dubbed The Bane of My Existence?) is in fact a big softie underneath all his lame macho talk. Thank god--I was starting to think my Asshole-Radar was broken.

3. I'm actually gonna really miss my Wednesday night massage classes this semester--they are weirdly centering, and when my week's stressful, they are kinda like a warm fuzzy blanket I can pull up to my chin, warming me up and letting me feel snuggly and comforted.

4. Did you know you can get staples put into your ear on your weight-related reflexology point and it'll help you lose weight? True story.

5. I hate muscles.

6. I spent $25 on flashcards in the hope that I'll learn to love muscles.

7. My Massage II instructor is a really touch-oriented person (like me); last week, when I was asking him a question about our quiz, he stood so close to me that his arm and thigh were pressed against mine, partially, I think, because he has trouble hearing out of one ear--probably explains my smittenness (the touchy-feeliness, not the hard-of-hearingness).

8. I've gotten requests from two different people to set up regular massage-appointments with them. I must get a table already. *Sigh* Until then, if you want me to practice on you (which'll typically require you sprawling out on my bed), gimme a holler. I could use the added practice. (You must book me three weeks in advance for a happy ending though--just be forewarned, my kind of happy endings involve me shouting HURRAY, smiling, and throwing confetti into the air while in the distance, lovers run across a beach into each others' arms.)

9. The body still fascinates me. (Even though I hate muscles.)

Perhaps One of My Biggest Pet Peeves

My anatomy instructor last night during class:

"There's nothing that makes me more angry than when I hear about someone hurting a child or hurting an animal. If I ever saw you doing one of these things, I would *mess you up*."

Five minutes later (with absolutely no sense of irony):

"Oh my god, a really nice, tender pork chop is *the best*. Oh, and ham. OH MY GOD. To die for." (This continues on for about 10 minutes. Yet again. During the middle of class.)

I'm sorry, if you eat meat, do not even say to me that you give a shit about animals and their well-being. Because you do not. If you did, if you truly felt compassion for them, you'd make that connection, and you wouldn't eat meat. And I can't think of anything more deserving of a big, juicy wad of spit in the face than some stupid asshole pining about how much they love and care about animals and then skittering off to their meat-laden breakfast, lunch, and dinner.


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*Yes, venomous anger. But I'm allowed it once in a while, goddammit.

All-Consuming Bitterness and a Desire to Rip Someone in Half from Limb to Limb

Thank god we only have two more anatomy and physiology classes before the end of the semester. Thank godly god about that.

Because right now, it's taking all my will-power not to pin down my A&P instructor and rip her lips and nose and eyebrows off with my teeth, like some voracious zombie.

It's not irritating enough that she's an obnoxious, irritating, rambling bitch most of the time, but now she also is sucking the teat of favoritism.

All semester we've been getting reminded again and again and again to take out our facial jewelry so that she doesn't get in trouble if someone walks by the classroom and sees someone out of dress code.

Fine.

But all semester, two students in the front row have been nonchalantly donning t-shirts without a word of complaint from her, despite the scrub-top policy. Wanna know why? One of them is the son of some higher-up guy at the school. The other is a girl she works with at her office practice every day.

To quote Dane Cook, this makes me wanna punch babies.

And to top it off, last night, M____, who sits in the back row with me, took off her scrub top about 20 minutes before the end of class and was sitting there in a t-shirt. And *AS SOON AS* she took it off, our instructor immediately zoned in on her and was like, "M______, have you been wearing that t-shirt all class? Do you have your scrub top with you?" This was met with some really disgusted moans in the back row, as we'd JUST been bitching about her obvious and obnoxious favoritism.

Her response to the moans was, "What? Are there *other* people disobeying the dress code in this room or something?"

Mind you, these two assholes are sitting *RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER*. Like literally, two feet away from her. In the first set of desks. Right in her line of view. If she moved too quickly, she could knock one of them out with a boob or some belly-flab, they're that close. And yet she *PEERED AROUND THE MOTHERF-ING ROOM* with a sailor's hand above her brow, as though she was seeking out deviants with as much energy as she could muster. And then, sudden epiphany, she noticed and noted the t-shirt of the son of the president (or whomever the fuck he is) and said, "Is that a t-shirt you're wearing there, J____? Do you have your scrubs top with you?" He pulled out his scrubs top and showed that he'd brought it. And then she had the nerve to say to the class, "See, he *HAS* his scrub top." To which most of us in the back row moaned with disgust again as she'd not demanded he put it on, as she demands dress-code adherence from everyone else. To which *SHE* responded by rolling her eyes and saying to him, "Looks like they want you to actually put the scrubs top *ON*, J_____." And yet, the rest of the class, he sat with his big bushy hair in his shitty pseudo-vintage t-shirt.

The only thing keeping my rage from burning out of control like a wild-fire is that most of us in the back row are planning on wearing t-shirts to class next week. And the nose ring stays, my bitches.

And if I hear one word out of her mouth about it, she's gonna find herself missing some important organs next week. *GRAWRRRWRWRRRR*

Death... Poop... What's Your Poison?

I had my first long night of classes yesterday and found out that I do not, in fact, have my Assholey But Crushable (henceforth referred to as ABC) Anatomy instructor this semester. This is probably a good thing as I will get to avoid the discordant medley of swooning and then angrily berating myself during four hours-worth of class.

And yet, somehow I was a tad bit sad. Color me masochistic.

Our new Anatomy & Physiology instructor is a bizarre little fireball of a blond woman whose brain meanders with an incoherence remarkably akin to my own. Her attitude towards learning is a bit intimidating (this is good), but she cracks my shit up--I have not laughed so hard and consistently in a while. Her bizarre comments will be finding a place in my sidebar to replace ye old insane Ethics instructor, no doubt, and this time they're shared with love, not bitterness.

Oh, and she giggled when she referred to a bony structure as a "horny protuberance," so I suspect I shall enjoy her.

My current A&P instructor discussing my ABC Anatomy instructor's obsession with all things death-related:

"He talks about death. I talk about poop. Death... Poop... What's your poison?"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Continuing A&P Quote Collection:

"He talks about death. I talk about poop. Death... Poop... What's your poison?"

"Fissures! They're the cracks around your anus!"

"Cells! Make you wanna yell! ...
I's just kiddin'.""