Vanity

My hair is falling out.  Who do I call to raise the national alarm to orange or something because this is serious.  I am a Leo for heaven's sake, I am supposed to have a mane!  I am almost ready join the women's hair club or do an infomercial for Rogaine.  What are my options here? Implants?  I was planning on eventually getting some further south but this situation dictates immediate action.  I even thought about five finger discounting my sister's pre-natal pills since my nails could use a touch up, too.  Don't worry, the baby has arrived.  I  would never think of heisting the pills if she were still preggers (for very long anyway).  

I know you don't believe me but I am way too young for this to be happening to me.  Every time I shower and wash my hair I lose a yeti down the drain.  Maybe I should pre-empt the hair loss by shaving my head.  It's just that after my time in Hawaii seeing all that gorgeous, flowing, long and beautiful hair gave me aspirations.  Something to believe in, something I was capable of.  It would be a travesty indeed if I decided to go really short again but is it not a greater tragedy to idly watch my hair dissipate until I have three strands left?  I thank Donald Trump, but the combover is not a viable option for women.  

I am a girlie girl.  Prior to the airport fiasco coming from Maui I owned a vast array of hair products, and was proud of it!  Maybe I should just get Beyonce extensions but I'm worried about the actual quality of my real hair if I take that path.  I guess either way you cut it . . .

I'm vain.

Things that make me happy

health

the green trees

fun music

dancing

my family

yummy food

my nephews

rose

big words

stephanie meyer

mr. darcy

babies

pizza

the beach

mom

fun socks

rivers

adam's canyon

hot showers

perfume

rainbows

massages

new york accents

beauty

caramel

v chocolate

ballet

sephora

six packs

flowers

autumn

learning

scrabble

can I take a peek at your list?

Occupational Hazing

I really dragged my feet in deciding to apply to medical school again. I consider the entire process the equivalent of an Iron Maiden. They do it on purpose: the MCAT (the godzilla of all standardized tests), the grueling undergraduate pre-requisites, the entire AMCAS (the American College Application Service) application, application fees, secondary application fees, IT'S ALL A RACKET! In fact, I can't believe I'm doing this. Am I crazy, a glutton for punishment? Let's be honest, they've already rejected me once. If they have the nerve to reject me again, I'm intent on becoming a hobo on Maui. I'd be in good company, too. Oprah has a house there you know, not that she's a hobo or anything but I'm just saying, maybe she'd spot a sista a twenty here and there.

What I am saying is that despite the fact that it's occupational hazing and everyone's been through it, is there not a better way? How about me just sending in an honest self assessment which would go something like this: alright, alright, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed but I've seen medicine up close and personal and I'm absolutely sure that I would make a wonderful physician because it's all I've ever wanted to do with my life, besides be a ballerina. See there, in one sentence I've covered all the bases. That's how we do things New York style:  curt, direct, to the point.

So here I am again fueled by the hope that this year will be mine (cue Whitney Houston's One Moment in Time here). I guess I am kind of holding on to an experience that touched me a few years back. I took a leadership training in 2005 and I had a "stretch" or challenge to go and interview several medical students at the University of Utah, which I did. I happened to meet with some second years in the lunch room and I asked them about their experience. I was surprised to find out that about half of the students I spoke with were second year applicants meaning they had applied once and got rejected then applied again and were accepted. That has both enlightened and inspired me.  It has also fueled me through yet another round  at the AMCAS application, another personal statement, letters of recommendation, and all the other BS everyone applying for the 2009-2010 school year has to muddle through. If those faces had given up at "no" they wouldn't be the doctors I am sure they are today, right?

Enter stage left yours truly.  As mentioned before, this application process is long and time consuming. It's kind of a challenge to stay consistently motivated.  Sometimes I wish there were more hours in a day, just enough to take a three hour nap and write my personal statement. I realize I get to suck it up at this point (have no doubt, readers, that I certainly will) but a little venting is just what the doctor ordered. And at least there's Oprah.

Captain's Log

Stardate 08.07.2008  

I survived a 12 hour journey from Maui to North Carolina and am comfortably settled in my sister's home.  The trip is not without its casualties, though.  Of course I had baggage issues-I always do.  I flew US Airways and they charge $15 for your first bag under 50 lbs and $25 for your second.  Needless to say, my first bag weighed 69 lbs (this is after sending two boxes ahead of time), so here I am removing items at the ticket counter to throw away while the line of people waiting to be checked in are watching in agitated impatience and the counter agent is checking her watch every five seconds.  Luckily, she let me get away with 54 lbs but I had to throw away a pair of Merrills that my Mom gave me and all my toiletries which were in a ten pound bag all by themselves.  

Those of you who know me know what a tragedy this is.  By toiletries I mean my hair product, of which there were several, my perfumes, my Bath & Body Works Japanese Cherry Blossom Body Lotion and Body Spray, my Victoria Secret Vanilla Lace Lotion and Body Cream, my nail polish, make-up remover, shampoo and conditioner, massage oil, and who knows what else. Bye Bye birdie!  Come to think of it, the total cost of these items is more than the $100 they wanted to charge me.  My yoga mat had a near miss, too.  I ended up snatching it back out of the garbage can unable to bear the thought of parting with it.  Don't laugh!  That yoga mat has seen more than you have!

I even thought for a minute about parting with my lucky blanket.  My lucky blanket was bestowed upon me over a year ago by my best friend SheRoos as a favor for being her bridesmaid at her wedding.  It's sage green, super soft on both sides AND has my name embroidered in one corner.  Thank goodness it didn't come to that!  I truly count my blessings for every single item that has made it through the fiery furnace of baggage check-in and is now safely arrived in North Carolina with me.

This fiasco has been a catalyst to some introspection on me and my stuff.  First of all, there is a lot of it.  Second of all, what is my personal attachment to it, and most importantly, do I really need it?  Let's try an argument in defense of having lots of stuff.  I guess I would be prepared in the event of a job interview or the joining of an intramural athletic team (think Boy Scouts).  In addition, should Imelda Marcos need an empathetic ear, I'm here. Lastly, if I should need reminders that people love me, i.e. the really expensive perfume my sister got me for my birthday one year or my lucky blanket, there are physical objects around me that hold sentiment and have personal meaning beyond their practical use.

Now, an argument for becoming a minimalist.  After first having to pay over $100 on the way to Hawaii and chucking over $100 worth of goods leaving Hawaii, I realize there is something to be said for not having much.  That experience has seriously made me contemplate owning just two or three outfits: one for working out, one for daily wear, and one for church.  My goodness, that would make life so much simpler!  I would never have to worry about traveling or what to wear!  I could fit everything into a carry-on.  Just imagine.  To be honest, it's really appealing.  I am almost tempted to try it for thirty days just to see if it suits me.  Three outfits and my lucky blanket, that is.

I think I might have to join an ashram for that kind of austerity, though.  Sometimes I am sure I am an in-the-closet Buddhist.  Except that I don't think that all life is pain.  Especially when my nephew is trying to improve my horrible hair situation with a misplaced and too big green hair clip.