I SHOULDA KNOWN BETTER

Note: This was originally submitted via my Facebook post, but I have decided to place on my blog in an effort to give the readers a better perspective of my oh-so-sad (hysterically sad) life. This post is also formally dedicated to all of the graduate students in the struggle trying to find a place to study during finals week.

I shoulda known better…

After hours of procrastination this morning, I finally decided that my final paper was never going to be completed within the comforts of my own home. The TV Land Christmas Marathon was incredibly distracting, and turning off the television only opened an invitation for me to listen to my iPod. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t have any songs worth listening to, but that only prompted me to log onto my iTunes account and purchase three albums that I quickly lost my interest within an hour time span. It was with that final attempt at “sloughing” off my paper that I decided to get up and head for Leavy Library, the birthplace of so many “A quality” midterm examinations and gap analysis segments. It’s also the place where I met (and broke up with) my fake library boyfriend and where I consumed over 350 milliliters of caffeine in 10 minutes. Yes, this was my destination…

I shoulda known better…

In an effort to prepare myself for the long night ahead of me, I stopped at my local Starbucks to fuel my caffeine craving. I have discovered that there is a strong correlation between my caffeine consumption and the grades I receive. The higher the caffeine intake, the higher the grade. I was going for a Venti White Chocolate Mocha with a double shot of espresso! However, upon the evaluation of the menu prices, and my checking account balance, I decided to get a cup of “free” ice water and one of the new Vivanno smoothies. I figured it would have enough sugar to cause at least three of my teeth too fall out, so it should match the caffeine equivalent. Turns out there’s no sugar in the drink, just a natural fruit mixture. If I wanted nature, I would have eaten my neighbor’s lawn. To top it off, the drink was too thick, so I couldn’t even use the straw they gave me; I had to take the lid off and tilt the cup until the drink came out. What’s wrong with that? Remember, the drink was incredibly thick, so the cup had to be at a 45 degree angle in order for any liquid to move…which it did…all at once directly onto my face and clothes. Lovely…

I shoulda known better…

Traffic on the 10 was unusually slow, but there was no one on the freeway. The cluster of fifteen cars that were on the freeway drove at a maximum of 30 mph. I understand that it is a Sunday, and the Lord rested, but COME ON!!! He created the world in six days! All these people did was get into a fight with someone at the Toys-R-Us for the last “Tickle-Me-Because-I-Lost-All-My-Money-In The-Stock-Market-So-I-Need-A-Reason-To-Laugh-Elmo”. Perhaps they were feeling especially relaxed because USC beat UCLA the previous day…I don’t know. In any case, they weren’t moving fast enough and I spent a lot of my gas dipping in between cars with Christmas trees and USC license plate holders that dated back to the 80s.

I shoulda known better…

I finally exit the freeway and proceed down Figueroa to campus. I make my usual right turn onto campus and zoom by the parking attendant so that I may retrieve my normal, illegal parking spot on the second floor. There’s no parking. Anywhere. I circle around for minutes, praying to get a glimpse of an opening. Nothing. At one point, I briefly contemplate squeezing my car in between a Tahoe and an Escalade, but I love my Volvo too much and just drive to another parking lot. I finally find a park, but not after almost running over three undergrads skateboarding in the street. THIS IS A UNIVERSITY, NOT A SKATE PARK, TONY HAWK!! GO HOME AND READ A BOOK! I need coffee…

I shoulda known better…

FINALLY! I am walking on campus to the library. The crowded parking lot must be a reflection of some convention or alumni event, because by no means is it a reflection on the number of people in the library. I’m an expert. I know these things.

I take the elevator to the fourth floor, make a right around the corner to see THOUSANDS (well not really, but a lot) of people sitting in my spot! HOW DARE YOU? First of all, where were these people at the beginning of the semester? Where were these people in the middle of the semester? Where were these people LAST WEEK? Doesn’t this library have VIP seating for their frequent guests? This is Los Angeles, after all, so the library should have the same policy as clubs on Sunset.

I quickly find myself getting frustrated. Here I am, a DOCTORAL STUDENT, searching for a place to sit amongst toddlers. I start to look at the engineering majors who are asleep on their computers; their books and notepads consuming an entire table. Wastes of space! Oh, and here is someone who is reading Hamlet, probably for an Introductory Shakespeare class. What’s the matter, the Sparknotes version won’t help you on your final? And let’s look at the people on MySpace and Facebook! Don’t you have a dorm room for that? GET UP! I shouldn’t have to deal with this! I’m a grown up! In two years, I’ll be making the administrative policy decisions on how much you PAY to even SIT in this library! I accept defeat and move down to the third floor.

I shoulda known better….

The third floor is even worse because the problem is multiplied. Not only is the floor overcrowded, but it is overcrowded with CUTE PEOPLE and FRAT BOYS.

If you are looking for cute Ethiopians, you should go to Pico and Fairfax or the third floor Leavy. That’s where you’ll find them. Now normally, I wouldn’t have a problem with this…except I am dressed like a homeless woman. Seriously. I have on a head scarf, no earrings, poorly applied eyeliner, no mascara, an oversized gray sweatshirt I purchased from the Gap Outlet (so it fits irregularly and the collar is hemmed incorrectly), Adidas workout pants and tennis shoes. Let’s not forget that I have recently accessorized this outfit by spilling smoothie all over the top half. Everyone else on this floor is matching and then there is me. I’m just waiting for the fashion police to come and ask me for my USC ID and then kick me out.

To compound my fashion problem, I cannot find a seat ANYWHERE EXCEPT IN FRONT OF THE CUTE PEOPLE. So as I type this, they are literally facing me. They are cute AND they look like they are really studying! Nothing is more sexy than a man who can read at a college level! (Oh wait, they are using graphing calculators, which can only mean one thing…Math or Economics majors! Oh, they are over saturating the market of my heart!)

However, the day dreams of my Ethiopian wedding are being dashed by the Macbook frat boy and sorority girl coalition, one of whom believes that it is proper library etiquette to tell his “bro” how much he just “f***in’ rocked out to this f***in’ song dude”. I know you are “f***in’ rockin’ out to that f***in’ song dude” because you are playing it loud enough so that everyone can hear it! Furthermore, your iPhone just rang, so now everyone is “rockin’ out to that f***in’ song dude”. Oh please, let’s continue the offense by ANSWERING the phone and telling the person to call you back so that you can “rock out” to it again, while the other members of the 13 inch Macbook frat can laugh hysterically and disturb everyone.

Now I sit here without having made any progress on my paper because I felt compelled to write about this!

I shoulda stayed home.

I'M THE CHILD WITH THE LUNG ISSUE

Disclaimer: Let me preface this blog by stating, I have the most wonderful parents in the world. They have given me everything a girl could possibly want and then some. I am truly blessed to have them in my life. With that being said, there are times I wonder if I was left on their doorstep and they kept me around for tax purposes.

It is officially Christmas break, a treasured time for teachers when they can escape from their responsibilities, slough off on their grading and enter a life of normalcy (for at least two weeks). This year, considering the fact that have embarked on so many different adventures (new school for teaching, new grad program, seeking administrative aspirations) I decided to retreat to my parent's home in Sacramento. I knew that I would have the opportunity to do nothing there because I did nothing there during the eleven years of my residency.

It is the perfect vacation spot. I can turn the heat on as high as I want, eat as much as I can stomach and watch high definition television on a large plasma screen at no detriment to my pocketbook. It is lovely...

However, no vacation can last very long in my world. There is always something that needs to be done, as USC so kindly reminded my in an email stating that I had a hold on my registration due to my inability to verify my immunization records for measels, mumps and ruebela. No problem! I think to myself, I will just drive up to the Kaiser, have them print out a copy and have them fax it to SC. If I finish in enough time, I can get home in time for Montel.

Normally, I would put on a decent outfit for a trip to the hospital. But I'm on vacation, and did not bring any outfit to impress (you would think I would learn my lesson from my library experience during Finals Week [See blog "I Shoulda Known Better]). The most high fashion outfit I have is a pair of flanel pajamas peppered with the image of Spongebob Squarepants and a stretched out Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt with a faded moose on the back. Once again, I think to myself, No problem. This is Sacramento, and there are never any cute people roaming around. I'm safe. Just put something on, get in the car and get on!

And that's what I did. I threw a scarf on my head, fished out some dark denim, threw on the faded moose with a pea coat and ran out the door. I won't be gone too long.

But once again, this is my life...

I arrive at Kaiser only to get into a verbal altercation with a man in a wheelchair who decided to hit the hood of my car because he felt I was driving too fast in the parking lot. I tried to to maintain my compsure until he got out of the wheelchair to come to my driver side window and share more of his Christmas cheer. I threw up my hand, mumbled a "peace be with you" and proceeded to park in a handicap spot just to spite him.

I then proceeded to the Member Services counter to request a copy of my immunization records, only to discover that my parents haven;t had me immunized...for anything. There has to be some mistake, I tell the secretary, I know my parents had me immunized. You better check again! No record. I call my mother at her office to clarify the situation.

Mom, Kaiser says that I wasn't immunized!
That can't be true. Your father took you when you were younger.
Are you sure Mommy? We all know Dad has a tendency to forget!
No, I'm pretty sure...I think. Well, know that I think about it, did he take you or Julian?
Mom, should I be talking to you or Dad about this?
Try calling your father. He should remember.
Mom...Daddy can't remember anything other than the sports channels and the Raiders home game schedule.
Don't talk about your father like that! Just give him a call. I know he'll remember. I can't talk for very much longer. I have to check my bid on eBay.
Shouldn't you be work...nevermind. I'll call Dad.

I call Dad.

Dad, did you take me to get my immunization shots?
Who's this?
I'm the child with the lung issue. The one who was born prematurely. Spent a month in the incubator. Racked up several hundred dollars in parking tickets. The one you forgot to immunize.
Oh, hey! What's this about immunization?
Did you take me to get my shots when I was a kid?
I think so...or was that Julian?
Nevermind...I'll just get them today.
Sounds good. I gotta get back to my bid on eBay.
Shouln't you be work...I'll talk to you later.

I return to to counter to make my appointment. Luckily, they were able to schedule me for the same day and I quickly proceed to the third floor to nervously wait for my injection. When I try to check in, the nurse looks curiously at me and then my appointment. She questions if I made the correct appointment.

Yes. I need my immunization shots.
A little late in the game aren't you?
(In my head) Woman, if you don't check me in, I will snatch that discount Santa hat off your head and make it a floor mat.
Well, sweetie, the only doctor that can give you this shot is down in pediatrics, so you will have to go there.
(In my head) WHAT?!

I angrily march down to pediatrics to sit with toddlers and their parents. I am surrounded by Barney stuffed animals, ancient "Child Today" magazines, Tinker Toys and miniature multicolored plastic furniture. To make matter worse, all of the "grown up furniture" was taken, so I had to squeeze my butt into one of the small chairs. When the nurse finally called my name, I solicited the help of some three years olds to pry it from my rear end (I guess I need to go easy on the Christmas coookies).

As with standard procedure, they took my blood pressure and noted that it was unusually high. Hey lady, if you just found out that your family forgot to immunize you and you have been walking around the past 25 years catching Lord-knows-what kind of airborne illnesses, you would have high blood pressure too. They then take my weight and note that it is high too. Yes, I am aware of this because there are two three year olds in the waiting room who are probably suffering from a concussion because they flew into the wall after trying to pry your plastic furniture from my a$$. Plus, I'm on vacation, so I can eat what I want. I'll start my rigorous running program when I get back to Los Angeles. I'll go to some neighborhood in South Central, put on the wrong colors, insult someone's mother and start running.

They direct me to the doctor's office,and instruct me to wait. I guess now would be the time to mention that I hate hospitals. The entire time I am sitting there, the only thing I can think about is how much I want to get out of there. And then, the doctor walks in...

Remember, this is my life...

The doctor was hot! When did Sacramento receive an import of tall, young and hot Nigerian doctors? They never lived here during my residency. I guess it is time to move back! In his thick accent, he asks me how I am feeling and the nature of my visit. I am almost too embarassed to answer. He must think I am an escaped mental patient with this outfit on, so I better clarify. I tell him I need my immunization shots. He asks me what took so long and I told him that my parents were so busy taking care of their other 13 adopted children, I just fell through the cracks. He chuckled because he knew I was lying. Score. All I have to do is ask for his hand in marriage and I am home free! He says that he will get things squared away for me and leaves the room. Minutes later he returns with the nurse, informs me that she would take care of the immunization and wishes me a happy holiday.

Did Kaiser send this man in as a teaser? Why am I sitting here now with Esther giving me a shot in my right arm? Should I try to find him after the shot? How crazy would that look...my grown up self running around the pediatrics department trying to find a husband.

I take the shot, get my Fairly Oddparents band-aid and return to my car, hoping, that by some Christmas miracle, he will run into the parking lot to ask for my number. But alas, that did not happen. Instead, the security guard working next to the pharmacy yelled out "Hey lil' momma!" and I pretended not to hear him.

Happy Holidays...I wonder if Santa can put a man under the tree?