When it was clear I was rejected from UCSF, I took it really hard. I deleted all the bookmarks for the UCSF MEPN blogs I was reading, I didn’t go to the UCSF applicant forums on allnurses.com. I dismissed the possibility in reapplying and I threw away the letter that told me how to speak to an advisor about my application. I just stopped. I deluded myself into thinking I was over it. Saying I was rejected is stupid, because it wasn’t really a rejection as much as it was a lapse in good decision making on their part. I’m not being sarcastic, I honestly believe the 2009 MEPN program will be lacking without my presence and not in a self-centered way, in a real way. Of course, it will be an amazing experience but I won’t get to add my spice to the mix. All that aside, I didn’t realize how not over it I was until I finally was over it. It is truly their loss, no matter how amazing the people that got accepted are. But it worked out great for me.

When the semester started at my local college a couple weeks ago it became clear how much I love teaching and not just teaching but how much I love science and knowing science and helping completely confused people understand science. Two years ago the thought of being a real life scientist seemed like the farthest possibility, but now I feel legitimate. I walk into the biology department and professors says hello, they ask me how I am, they ask me for help. I love it. I love knowing about human anatomy and physiology. I am grateful for the knowledge. I can read a health report and understand it. I can call bullshit on Jenny McCarthy and her crusade for publicity and the whole antivaccine sham. A side note: don’t be fooled by that woman.

If I had gotten into UCSF maybe I still wouldn’t realize that I want to be a nurse and I want to be a college professor, preferably in a nursing program. I suspect I’ll be a fucking awesome nursing instructor.

I got student reviews back from the last semester I taught and they showed me that my effectiveness was equal to the enjoyment I get from doing it. The second semester I taught an anatomy class I hit my stride, I figured out a way to keep my sense of humor, have fun and still get the respect of someone who knows what they’re talking about. I am either the same age as or much younger than the students and if I were any less confident or any less committed to what I was doing I don’t think I would be as well liked. There have been a few rough patches where 45 year old soccer moms didn’t want to take instruction from a 24 year old. But professors have been extremely supportive and have made it clear to students that they are lucky to have me as a TA. Students have come to my class telling me that their friend told them to take my class because I was the best. Once a shy, older lady who easily fell into the background told me that she went to other labs to make up work and was completely ignored by the TA’s, how unapproachable they were and that she was glad I was there to help her. That’s exactly the kind of nurse and teacher I want to be. The kind who kicks ass and makes everyone feel important, the kind I like knowing. I knew I liked TA-ing as soon as I started doing it two years ago but today when I left the classroom I had a strong sense that this is where I was supposed to be. If I were off to UCSF, I wouldn’t be able to TA this semester and that feels like a tragedy.

It’s a rush being in there with all the evidence and forms of science. I like that people leave with an appreciation for it, that somehow something I said made them grateful for the cadavers instead of fearful. TBU thinks I like it so much because I like knowing everything and I like being in charge and he’s not wrong. That’s not a small part of it. But I like that I’m also really freaking good at it and that I can make other people want to be good at it.

This is not where I expected this to go, I totally forgot what I opened up this post for anyway. I guess I felt it needed to be said. I feel like I should apologize for the length and general lack of entertainment I provided you.

The Millionizer accidentally locked her cat in the bedroom all day

A few times a week, on my way home I pass the harbor. For the past month there has been a sign blocking my view of the Pacific, advertising a raffle in which I could win a sailing trip for me and 48 of my friends. And every single time, every single gd time I think to myself, I don’t have 48 friends to invite. Who has 48 friends? I don’t want to know the person who has 48 people at their disposable. I have enough trouble finding 5 people I want to have dinner with, 48 people sharing MY fucking raffle win? No thank you, doesn’t sound like much of a prize.

TBU just mentioned the Counting Crows and I said, I just wrote a post about them. To which he replied, I know. Then I questioned, You did? But you didn’t leave a comment? And he said, I know, it’s not very inviting. And I’m pretty sure that’s indicative of me as a person, like my boyfriend, the person I live with and who(m) the post was about didn’t even feel invited to leave a comment, that has to say something about my writing style and in turn, me.

It’s not a bad thing necessarily, in fact I’ve made it perfectly clear that this is about me, by me, for me blah blah blah but I still really like the interaction. I like reading comments and emails, I like “meeting” new people. Really, I do. It’s just, I don’t know what it is. Certainly, an aspect of it is the social anxiety which has only become less and less crippling with age and alcohol. Another thing is the fact that I am kinda self conscious about my writing. So I’m inclined to not invite commentary (even subconsciously) for fear of reading things that make me feel worse. But I have learned over the past two years (can you believe two years?!) that you should come to expect the kindness of people on the internet. As great as I think I am, I am well aware that the opinion may not be shared, so I try to shelter myself from the fact. I don’t know what I’m getting at.

Let’s move on shall we? Yes, this way please [hand movement to the left] on to a slightly related topic

Last weekend, Savage and Lou were in town. Lou was my next door neighbor freshman year in the dorms, Savage lived upstairs. How do I express the awesomeness of these two? There is no way really. I just asked TBU to remind me of a story and he said exactly what I was feeling, The snake, the car? I don’t remember much, really. I just remember feelings and strong impressions. How can I be expected to remember anything when I was so busy getting drunk off Smirnoff Ice? Remember when that shit came out? It’s like a neatly packaged ghetto drink, which means fabulous. Lou is the guy who shows up at 2am and wants to go spelunking and drinks Zima to prove you wrong, while Savage is the guy who tries to communicate by grunting for a whole week and continually passes out in your living room, forcing you to step over a large human form for 12 hours straight. These are my buds.

I grew up as an only child of a single mother, there was never a male presence in my house. I had no clue how guys worked on a real, personal level, my only guidance was Saved by the Bell and Friends. So when I finally lived on my own and had to use a co-ed bathroom it got real personal and I was like Oh my god, you mean they can act independently of social expectations? I had no idea. I guess it should be mentioned that certain segments of the population find Lou (and Savage too, but mostly Lou) to be devastatingly attractive, namely my mom. When I told her he was going to be in town she made that noise you make while simulating a shiver, or an orgasm, god I hope it wasn’t an orgasm. These are people who you expect one thing from (rampant sexual objectification of women fitting only a narrow definition of beauty and inability to communicate with other women on a level of respect) and you get the complete opposite, well you get some of it but it’s in context and comes off as, oh I don’t know, harmless? I consider living with these guys essential to my personal development. I can’t really explain it anymore than that. I love them, bro-style. Anyway…

They were in town last week and one thing led to another and suddenly there was something happening I had never seen before. Something I don’t think anybody has seen before. TBU sang karaoke. As if that weren’t shocking enough, he got onstage without any encouragement whatsoever. I walked up to help Savage out before he drowned in the deep sea that is “Like a Virgin” and TBU followed. They were rocking it so hardcore all I had to do was gunshot my beer, which by the way illicited the loudest applause. Even the extremely drunk surfer dude who heckled everyone, cheered us on. The Teebs hates karaoke. He once left me in San Francisco because he couldn’t handle all the karaoke. When I asked, “the fuck?” all he said was, “Eh.” After seven years of boycotting all you have to say is eh?

God, what is up with all this weird introspection and lame linearity lately? It’s like my fingertips are on their period, are about to start their period or are 14. I think I know what it is. I haven’t smoked any weed since Canada. I could pass a drug test right now. Well not right NOW but tomorrow afternoon once all the pinot is out. I don’t really know why, my only explanation is eh. I just stopped taking it when it was passed to me and realized I could remember my dreams in the morning. But maybe being this in touch with my mind is getting to me. I’m uncovering the underlying reasons for things that should just be because they are. I don’t like it. I need a hobby or something, something other than grad school applications and human anatomy.

And with that, I have to go to bed. If you need me I’ll be elbow deep in cadaver by 8am.

You know that really juicy color your lips turn when you drink a couple glasses of red wine? Do they sell that in a non-caloric, non-alcoholic form? Like maybe lipstick? So far my research says no.

So it’s getting down to it. I’ll have my application for UCSF in by this weekend. Like, seriously, my life plan hinges on this. It’s incredibly exciting and so nerve racking. I’m drinking red wine with my juicy lips and I keep thinking of all the things I’ve done in the past year. I’ve been working full time and taking up to 9 units of ridiculously hard classes. And not only that, I’ve been doing really well in them. I know that no matter what happens with UCSF I will look back on this time and be like, Holy eff, how did I do that? I got five people I genuinely admire to write me letters of recommendation. When I found out I needed five letters of recommendation I couldn’t fathom that that many people would think highly enough of me to do it. But I had to start turning down offers, and that kinda shocked me. I took the GRE and did way better than I imagined I would. Granted, it’s not a GRE score Josh Her-fuck me- nandez would be happy with, but it’s good enough for The Millionizer. This whole application process is coming to an end and it’s scary because from here on out nothing is up to me. I can’t rewrite my essays, study for the GRE or tweak my application, this is it. They are judging me now and that is some scary shit.

That’s pretty much all my mind is dedicated to and probably will be until notices are sent out in late fucking December. I go to sleep with thoughts of the thick evelope in my mailbox.

The Millionizer is on edge