Would You Just Man Up Already?

PROTIP: Tuna straight out of the can satisfies your hunger AND gets your roommate to call you a cat for two years.

And there you have it. Yet another wistful end-of-an-era transition, though this one was tougher than most. This dingy, overpriced, ant-infested house with cotton candy for insulation was the first place in which I've lived for more than one year since I moved away from mom's nest. It was also especially difficult leaving one of the best roommates I've ever had. I mean, it's pretty hard to beat coming home at midnight in snowy January to fresh, warm apple pie on the dining table. (Let's face it - I'm a cheap date and food wins me over easily. HEY LADIES.)

Re-invading Normandy, Part I: What Do You Mean We're Not Near an Ocean?

And there it is. Seven years' worth of blood, sweat, and Jameson have finally opened the door to my father's heart. I've been accepted to medical school. Now I just have to not fail out, pass the boards, all the while keeping my liver at least 50% intact. Then my father HAS to love me, right? RIGHT?

I came home on that Friday at around midnight, exhausted after taking my weekend guest on Gordo's The District Walking and Face-Stuffing Tour Experience: The Ride, Now in 4-D. My mail slot was still crammed with junk because neither of my roommates had been at home that day, presumably off doing actual adult things that required responsibility and pants-wearing.

Dreams from MY Father, or, WHY YOU NO DOCTOR YET?

…and we're back.

Sorry for the absence, but I've been traveling all over the U.S. and A. basically every single weekend for the past three weeks in my seemingly endless quest to become a depressed gunner and eventual doctor.

Lessons from the ER, Part II: Keep Your Mouth Shut

3:08am. Lord.

I sat there in my chair, constantly pushing F5, hoping that new test results would come back from the lab so I could update them in my chart and get rid of the patient. I felt my eyes start to droop.

Lessons from the ER, Part I: Leave Your Jimmy Choos at home

I sat at my computer station, staring at the ER patient status board on the screen.

Twelve patients in the entire ED. Twelve. Out of thirty-four beds, fewer than half of them had bodies. And about a third of those weren’t even real emergency cases, just whiny twenty-somethings with itchy va-jay-jays and blood in their urine.