Throw rocks at them. Hahaha, no, seriously...I called home Sunday night and had the rare pleasure of getting to speak to The Wind. He's called so because he blows in and blows out of the house, but you usually never see him. Anyway, after an injunction to make it quick so he could get back to his Xbox 360 (apparently when I call the house from here the wireless internet disconnects), he told me this little story:
Animal is grounded again. Why you ask? Well, mostly it has to do with the hour or so he's at home by himself in the afternoon and my parents techno-tardedness. He gets home from school about 2:15PM every day. My father does not arrive until about 3. Animal's first order of business is to either eat something he's not supposed to (I'm not kidding. We have a combination lock on our kitchen pantry door.), or he'll jump on the computer. Since he's 17, he has a more than healthy interest in the female form shall we say. My parents don't know how to check past site visit history, and find a parental control program too much hassle with us all being older. This means Animal can do whatever he wants...Lately he decided that he'd try to be sneaky in his porn endeavors (which NEVER turns out well), and print out his favourite nude ladies, then hide the evidence in his pillowcase of all places, 'cause my mom never changes the sheets... (Shakes head.) Neeldless to say he got caught pretty quickly. As this was not his first offense of this nature (the last time he got caught with the pictures actually on the screen), he's lost computer privaleges for a while, and is receiving the requisite ribbing for stupidity from the rest of us.
I seriously don't know how my parents keep a straight face sometimes. If that had been me, I would have had to go in my room and laugh before being able to lay down the law. I'm sure they had a giggle about it later.
And so I say again. Boys are stupid.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
My Time with Sweeny Todd
Yeah, yeah, yeah, no post in 3 weeks. I was uninspired (read lazy). Anyway, we're starting to hit crunch time for my next exam, so I'll probably post more than usual. LOL Anyway, on to the reason for tonight's scribblings.
First, a little background. EU (European Union) veterinary schools require their students to take quite a few modules on veterinary public health. I think more of them go into the meat inspection field than anywhere else. When Britain became part of the EU, the amount of public medicine and VPH that had to be taught increased. Thus I am stuck with the crap course of PMVPH to cover these bases. It runs throughout your first 4 years (3 in my case), as well as having its own week long rotation in final year. It involves lots of bits and pieces that would make a hell of a lot more sense pooled together than broken up, but I digress....
When you hit 4th year, the last bit of the PMVPH course you learn is meat hygiene. This involves numerous lectures from a nearly 200 page coursebook as well as several pratical sessions. Lucky for us, the guy who ran the meat hygiene course QUIT right after Christmas, leaving us with NO lecturer and a ton of material we were still responsible for. The school's response to this was to have 4 ONE HOUR lectures in ONE DAY to cover all said material. Let me tell you how much fun that was...I saw so many pictures of condemnable meat, I never want to eat food again. And the stories we heard about infractions at slaughterhouses...shudder...
The best part, though, are the practicals. The first one was held in the post-mortem room (NOT my favourite place in the vet school), and I got stuck with Sweeny Todd for an instructor. He spent the entire hour long class waving around a gigantic knife, hacking away at cow and sheep innards, and mumbling about pneumonia or something. This was until he picked up the pluck (trachea, lungs, and heart) from a sheep and began swinging it around. I was waiting for him to swing it around his head like in the hammer toss and chuck it at the other instructor! It also happened to be Burns' Night, where the traditional food is haggis. I liked haggis before then....It'll be a while before I'm able to eat it again. :P I generally have a pretty strong constitution when it comes to this sort of thing, but I walked out of that class feeling decidedly nauseous. I made sure to go with the other instructor the next time we were in there! The other two practicals have involved meat and milk "safety".
We are also forced to spend a week in a slaughterhouse with a state veterinary surgeon as part of our internship weeks, no matter that NONE of us is interested in becoming a meat inspector. If I'm lucky, my placement will only really require a day or two and sign me off for the week. I'm thinking it's going to be chicken and pasta for a loooong time after this is all over.....BLECCCH!!! Enjoy your dinners. ;-)
First, a little background. EU (European Union) veterinary schools require their students to take quite a few modules on veterinary public health. I think more of them go into the meat inspection field than anywhere else. When Britain became part of the EU, the amount of public medicine and VPH that had to be taught increased. Thus I am stuck with the crap course of PMVPH to cover these bases. It runs throughout your first 4 years (3 in my case), as well as having its own week long rotation in final year. It involves lots of bits and pieces that would make a hell of a lot more sense pooled together than broken up, but I digress....
When you hit 4th year, the last bit of the PMVPH course you learn is meat hygiene. This involves numerous lectures from a nearly 200 page coursebook as well as several pratical sessions. Lucky for us, the guy who ran the meat hygiene course QUIT right after Christmas, leaving us with NO lecturer and a ton of material we were still responsible for. The school's response to this was to have 4 ONE HOUR lectures in ONE DAY to cover all said material. Let me tell you how much fun that was...I saw so many pictures of condemnable meat, I never want to eat food again. And the stories we heard about infractions at slaughterhouses...shudder...
The best part, though, are the practicals. The first one was held in the post-mortem room (NOT my favourite place in the vet school), and I got stuck with Sweeny Todd for an instructor. He spent the entire hour long class waving around a gigantic knife, hacking away at cow and sheep innards, and mumbling about pneumonia or something. This was until he picked up the pluck (trachea, lungs, and heart) from a sheep and began swinging it around. I was waiting for him to swing it around his head like in the hammer toss and chuck it at the other instructor! It also happened to be Burns' Night, where the traditional food is haggis. I liked haggis before then....It'll be a while before I'm able to eat it again. :P I generally have a pretty strong constitution when it comes to this sort of thing, but I walked out of that class feeling decidedly nauseous. I made sure to go with the other instructor the next time we were in there! The other two practicals have involved meat and milk "safety".
We are also forced to spend a week in a slaughterhouse with a state veterinary surgeon as part of our internship weeks, no matter that NONE of us is interested in becoming a meat inspector. If I'm lucky, my placement will only really require a day or two and sign me off for the week. I'm thinking it's going to be chicken and pasta for a loooong time after this is all over.....BLECCCH!!! Enjoy your dinners. ;-)
Friday, February 8, 2008
Damn Gym Bunnies...
So I finally went back to the gym today. For those that don't know, I've been rehabbing some knee issues since October, and only got cleared for exercise after the New Year. (I was supposed to start a month ago, but the weather here sucks and the gym is a 20 minute walk! Don't tell my physio!) This week I finally decided that I was sick of my own laziness and got my ass in gear. After some non-gym stuff (walking, swimming), it was time to try cycling today. (Weather was warm, but I'm not allowed to run yet.)
Now, I tend to have numerous pet peeves associated with the people that go to the gym, mostly the women. The first of today was the girl who sat down on the bike next to me, and immediately started screaming into her cell phone. WTF?? I could hear her OVER the million machines in the room AND my iPod! What conversation is so bloody important that requires you to disrupt everyone around you with your mindless gossip? Unless Bill Clinton offered you a cigar or Tom Cruise tried to rent your womb, get off the damn phone!!! Not only that, she was barely pedalling. She knows that doesn't actually count as exercise, right? Luckily she only stayed around for about 10 minutes.
After the Cell Phone Witch, another girl sat down and was continually looking over her right shoulder and breathing on me. It might sound trivial, but was HIGHLY annoying (not to mention gross). I have no idea what she was looking at, but unless it was her boyfriend having an orgy on the treadmills, I don't give a crap. Pay attention to what you're doing! At least she was actually exercising, unlike her predecessor.
My biggest issue by far is the girls who dress up and PUT ON FREAKING MAKEUP to go work out. You know who I'm talking about. The girls in the velour track suits with their breasts on display halfheartedly walking on the treadmill or elliptical while gossiping and staring at the guys in the weight room. I don't know who they think they're fooling, but everyone else knows this is a giant "I'm looking for a hook-up" sign. Too bad the dumbasses fall for it...anyway.... I've been playing sports since I was 5. While not a Serious Athlete right now, I don't half-ass my workouts. When I'm done, I'm bright red, my ponytail is stuck in place, and I'm gulping water and air like I just came in from the Sahara. And I don't glow, I SWEAT, especially after 30 minutes or so on the torture, er... rowing machine (which thankfully I don't have to do anymore!). Damn bitches make those of us actually trying to get in shape look bad! Which brings me to my second BIG peeve...
An open message to all: IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO USE THE ROWING MACHINE (or erg as we call it) PROPERLY - ASK!! I cannot stand to watch someone try to row who has not been taught the proper form. It calls up a primal urge to rush over and stop them before they hurt themselves (or the machine)! The number of variations on this theme are astounding:
1) The wimpy girls who have no upper body to speak of that hold the bar like a dumbbell and pretend they're exercising....
2) The boys who put the resistance up to 10 and row like maniacs for 30s distracting those of us who are trying to do a 6K test...
3) The girls who slip in, put the resistance down to 1, row for 5 minutes pretending they know what they're doing, but are really just chatting and pissing off people who have to be on there for an hour...(Trust me, if you can talk while erging, you're not doing it properly! There's a reason rowers loathe the thing...)
4) The girls who come while you're at the end of your 6K sweating like a pig, grunting out the last 100 meters of a Power 10 and trying not to die and look at you like you've just grown an extra head even though your team logo is clearly displayed on some article of clothing...
I could go on. My hatred for these people is so well-known that TPC will tell me when he's seen people at the gym using the erg wrong. Even he who has never rowed knows the proper technique (mostly 'cause I badgered him into learning). It's not difficult, really! Sigh...maybe I should stick to the pool....
Now, I tend to have numerous pet peeves associated with the people that go to the gym, mostly the women. The first of today was the girl who sat down on the bike next to me, and immediately started screaming into her cell phone. WTF?? I could hear her OVER the million machines in the room AND my iPod! What conversation is so bloody important that requires you to disrupt everyone around you with your mindless gossip? Unless Bill Clinton offered you a cigar or Tom Cruise tried to rent your womb, get off the damn phone!!! Not only that, she was barely pedalling. She knows that doesn't actually count as exercise, right? Luckily she only stayed around for about 10 minutes.
After the Cell Phone Witch, another girl sat down and was continually looking over her right shoulder and breathing on me. It might sound trivial, but was HIGHLY annoying (not to mention gross). I have no idea what she was looking at, but unless it was her boyfriend having an orgy on the treadmills, I don't give a crap. Pay attention to what you're doing! At least she was actually exercising, unlike her predecessor.
My biggest issue by far is the girls who dress up and PUT ON FREAKING MAKEUP to go work out. You know who I'm talking about. The girls in the velour track suits with their breasts on display halfheartedly walking on the treadmill or elliptical while gossiping and staring at the guys in the weight room. I don't know who they think they're fooling, but everyone else knows this is a giant "I'm looking for a hook-up" sign. Too bad the dumbasses fall for it...anyway.... I've been playing sports since I was 5. While not a Serious Athlete right now, I don't half-ass my workouts. When I'm done, I'm bright red, my ponytail is stuck in place, and I'm gulping water and air like I just came in from the Sahara. And I don't glow, I SWEAT, especially after 30 minutes or so on the torture, er... rowing machine (which thankfully I don't have to do anymore!). Damn bitches make those of us actually trying to get in shape look bad! Which brings me to my second BIG peeve...
An open message to all: IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO USE THE ROWING MACHINE (or erg as we call it) PROPERLY - ASK!! I cannot stand to watch someone try to row who has not been taught the proper form. It calls up a primal urge to rush over and stop them before they hurt themselves (or the machine)! The number of variations on this theme are astounding:
1) The wimpy girls who have no upper body to speak of that hold the bar like a dumbbell and pretend they're exercising....
2) The boys who put the resistance up to 10 and row like maniacs for 30s distracting those of us who are trying to do a 6K test...
3) The girls who slip in, put the resistance down to 1, row for 5 minutes pretending they know what they're doing, but are really just chatting and pissing off people who have to be on there for an hour...(Trust me, if you can talk while erging, you're not doing it properly! There's a reason rowers loathe the thing...)
4) The girls who come while you're at the end of your 6K sweating like a pig, grunting out the last 100 meters of a Power 10 and trying not to die and look at you like you've just grown an extra head even though your team logo is clearly displayed on some article of clothing...
I could go on. My hatred for these people is so well-known that TPC will tell me when he's seen people at the gym using the erg wrong. Even he who has never rowed knows the proper technique (mostly 'cause I badgered him into learning). It's not difficult, really! Sigh...maybe I should stick to the pool....
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Psych!
Yeah I know, it's been like 2 weeks. I have a few comments on air travel after my latest trip, but I'm stilly trying to organize them (and I'm lazy as hell). My only excuse for lack of posting is that I've been back at school and am so bored that I have nothing interesting to say. We're currently in the middle of our horse lectures, a topic in which I have no interest whatsoever. In fact, most of the time I'd rather stick pencils in my eyes. Horses are the worst designed animals on the planet, and their owners, for the most part, are NUTS. 'Nuff said.
In order to avoid doing any work outside of showing up to class, I have returned to the world of internet TV. I can pretty much watch any episode of any show that I want. (With the exception of Arrested Development which is really annoying.) My newest favourite is Psych. In case you're unfamiliar, it's about a guy with a crazy photographic memory who pretends to be a psychic and solves cases for the Santa Barbara PD.
This and the ridiculous amount of reading I'm doing at the moment to relieve the boredom has prompted me to play the game "What do I want to be when I grow up". When you were little the possibilities seemed endless. The Wind, for instance, ran the gamut from Ninja Turtle to gas staion attendant to Chippendale dancer (when he was 7!!) to professional athlete. In fact, at nearly 22, he's still playing the game. The Perfect Child, slightly more mature than when he wanted to be Batman, wants to go to law school. He still harbors professional athlete dreams that have a slightly better chance of coming true as he kicks for his college football team. And don't tell him I said this, but the kid is GOOD. I think Animal wants to be a professional video gamer. Sigh.
Now, as for me, I was firmly in the Ghostbuster camp. It was a toss-up between that and Olympic gymnast. Right now I vacillate between hotshot detective and some involvement with Philly's professional sports teams. (And no, not as Rink Bunny, although that could be fun...) I've toyed with sports reporter as well as professional singer. I've been plotting lately to somehow become the vet for all Philly's teams, and then maybe get on Animal Planet or the Discovery Channel (preferably not When Animals Attack). Anything to break up the monotony of vaccinations and removing animals' reproductive bits. Sigh. Maybe TPC and I really will just buy our own island like we discussed...
In order to avoid doing any work outside of showing up to class, I have returned to the world of internet TV. I can pretty much watch any episode of any show that I want. (With the exception of Arrested Development which is really annoying.) My newest favourite is Psych. In case you're unfamiliar, it's about a guy with a crazy photographic memory who pretends to be a psychic and solves cases for the Santa Barbara PD.
This and the ridiculous amount of reading I'm doing at the moment to relieve the boredom has prompted me to play the game "What do I want to be when I grow up". When you were little the possibilities seemed endless. The Wind, for instance, ran the gamut from Ninja Turtle to gas staion attendant to Chippendale dancer (when he was 7!!) to professional athlete. In fact, at nearly 22, he's still playing the game. The Perfect Child, slightly more mature than when he wanted to be Batman, wants to go to law school. He still harbors professional athlete dreams that have a slightly better chance of coming true as he kicks for his college football team. And don't tell him I said this, but the kid is GOOD. I think Animal wants to be a professional video gamer. Sigh.
Now, as for me, I was firmly in the Ghostbuster camp. It was a toss-up between that and Olympic gymnast. Right now I vacillate between hotshot detective and some involvement with Philly's professional sports teams. (And no, not as Rink Bunny, although that could be fun...) I've toyed with sports reporter as well as professional singer. I've been plotting lately to somehow become the vet for all Philly's teams, and then maybe get on Animal Planet or the Discovery Channel (preferably not When Animals Attack). Anything to break up the monotony of vaccinations and removing animals' reproductive bits. Sigh. Maybe TPC and I really will just buy our own island like we discussed...
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
And now back to real life...
Just a few quick words from New Year's Eve as I'm in the middle of packing to fly back to school tomorrow. (Which translates to I've been sitting on my bed messing around on the Internet for an hour and nothing is actually in my suitcases.)
The party this year was 90s themed and required costumes. I was informed of said theme the NIGHT before the party, at which time I had to scramble to come up with a costume. I went to Catholic school for 12 years, and definitely DID NOT keep my uniforms. Managed to find bits of an old Halloween costume from college when I went as a naughty Catholic school girl that could double as Britney Spears before the crazy. (Incidentally my very Jewish friend went as a priest that Halloween, but I digress.) The costumes were actually fairly clever:
As you can see Cris Cross was in attendance, as well as myself as Britney (minus the blonde). A few of the girls had on open flannel shirts (with clothes underneath), although the fact that this was a 90s fashion statement had escaped my notice. My best friend's cousin wore jeans, a sports t-shirt, and an imitation Stater windbreaker with a baseball cap, but really only managed to look like an inner city crack head. Another couple wore t-shirts that simply had 90s words on them - radical, awesome, etc. The best part of the party by far was the music. I'd forgotten how many big names got their start when I was just a young'un.
There were a few choice drunken comments as well:
Said of my best friend's brother dressed in pink polo shirt, white jacket, and old man blue pants: "Dude you look like a drug lord from Miami."
Unfortunately the winner of the night came from yours truly after a bit too much vodka and cranberry. Somehow the discussion got around to people, erm, "getting friendly" with goats.
Big E: No, Welshmen %^& sheep!
Me: You remembered! (pause) Although if you're going to &^^&* an animal, it should be a horse. At least you'd enjoy yourself. (The entire room looks askance at the drunken vet student in the corner...)
My anatomy teachers would be so proud.....
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