Tomorrow the first

Tomorrow will be the first day of the worst year of my life.

I'm reading all these blogs filled with resolutions, highights, things to look forward to. I haven't read a single blog dreading the new year. Allow me to be the first.

I've mentioned all the reasons in some way before, but for those just now tuning I'll recap.

January 2007, I will start my last semester in the lecture hall. It's great because I hate memorizing all this medical stuff I most likely will never have to know after June 2007. It's bad because this is the majority of the material to know for the USMLE step 1.

That brings me to Step 1, the most important exam of my life. The exam that determines my future, possibly my happiness. The exam that might destroy my ego and take down my self-worth and confidence for kicks as well. I will take the exam on June 15th, 2007. I received my prep books from Kaplan back in August. Amazon JUST shipped the 2007 version of First Aid to me.

Once the exam is over, I go straight into the hospital where I am everyone's bitch, the bottom of the totem pole. Nurses will own me. I'll be on call. If I show up to work at 4am with alcohol on my breath, I'll have to sleep with the chief resident to make sure I don't get in trouble. There are no McDreamy doctors. TV lies to us.

Did I mention I'm dating a great guy? Yeah RedSox... you've read all about him. Thanks to him, I haven't thought about another guy. I haven't wanted to be with another guy. I get mad when he has to work Saturdays and Sundays instead of spending the day naked in bed with me. I've gone completely psycho girly over this guy, and starting January 2007 I'm going to have to see him less.

My pool of friends has dwindled and might drop to negatives in 2007. It is not so much a bad thing because I understand that lives change and we will always be there for each other. It just sucks that I will have to hang out even less. It sucks that people will move away. It sucks because I will miss them... already do.

Tomorrow most people will start fresh. Most people will tackle their resolutions.

Tomorrow I will make the most of what I have.

Tomorrow I will continue my struggle.

Tomorrow will be no different from today.

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Zero with Junk in the Trunk

I don't like fat people. Am I offending you? Should I use the proper medical terminology? Overweight, obese, morbidly obese. Who cares... can't stand any of them.

I'm sorry. Let me clarify. I don't like fat people who complain about being fat, and yet don't go to the gym or only eat carbs.

At Christmas Eve service, the kids choir got up to sing. The first thing I did was turn to my mom and say "Do you notice how fat this country is getting? If not, take a look at the youth." About 80% of these pre-teens were fat.

I'm mad at retailers who feed into the American public. Banana republic, express and virtually any name brand feels it is necessary to boost the American self-image by screwing around with sizes. I do not need a self-esteem boost. My ego is already out of control.

I need to love myself and take care of my health. I'm doing both with therapy, a healthy diet (ok maybe my diet isn't so healthy) and Boston Sports Club. The rest of the country should shut the F(at) up and do the same thing.

Thanks Express for my size ZERO editor pants. They look fabulous. I'm sure you know I'm really a size 4. Piss off Banana Republic for making my ass look flat in your size zero Martin fit pants with all the extra room in the bum area. I am not some virtual woman with a tiny waste and an apple bottom.

I am me and I am ok.

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Sliders

I'm a closet sci-fi/fantasy geek. I can't wait to see Eragon. I still haven't unwrapped my Lord of the Rings trilogy. I love X-files, including the techno remix of the theme song... and YES... I own a light saber.

One of my favorite shows of all time is Sliders. I loved the idea of alternate universes, parallel worlds where the people were essentially the same but the worlds were different and so were their lives. Women ruled. Russia took over America. Penicillin didn't exist.

I often imagined how I would be different. What would I be like if my parents never left India? What if I wasn't Indian? What if I was Indian French? All the possibilities. All the fantasies.

Today I was sitting at Christmas service completely bummed out, and slightly hungover. I am freaking out about 2007. Medical school is unfreakingbelievably hard for me. I love science. I love people. I even love medicine. BUT I HATE MEDICAL SCHOOL. I can't stand the majority of my classmates. I can't believe the people who are going to be doctors.

I admit I am jealous that they're able to memorize everything and spit it back out on exams... and still remember the useless crap afterwards, but that's not what medicine is supposed to be about.

Unfortunately, that's what the first 2 years of medical school are all about. Memorize, spit, memorize again, spit again. It is miserable. I'm tired and unhappy, and everyone knows that I don't do well when I'm unhappy. In high school I used to pretend to like a class, then magically I would like it and get an A. For some reason that tactic is not working with medical school.

Did I mention I take USMLE step 1 in June? This is quite possibly the MOST important exam I will take in medical school. The score I receive on this exam will determine my residency. In case you were wondering, I'm passing... just... passing. If I just pass Step 1, I'm gonna end up as a primary care or something worse if that's even possible. I honestly can't imagine anything worse than primary care.

Today I was trying to be thankful for everything I have. I was trying to not want to get the best residency, rather to find happiness. I can't think of a time I was ever truly happy. There are fleeting moments, but that is about it. Then I thought about alternate lives. In each one I am alone with my creativity, my financial freedom, my happy life.

If only I had Quinn's timer right now. I'd open the portal and jump, and keep jumping through wormholes until I landed in the world where I am happy.

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Get over me please

LegalSeafoods is an incredibly charming and handsome man. He's well-read and funny, and he's a bartender. How could I resist a man who works his butt off to provide the precious nourishment that is alcohol.

We had a rocky start to our short-lived relationship. I met him on his birthday. He was late. I knew where he worked, so after waiting for about 30 minutes I gave up but didn't give in. I "wandered" right over to his restaurant and chatted up the hostess. I asked if she could give me his number. For security reasons, she couldn't disclose his info. I explained he was supposed to meet me for a date, but didn't show. After much prodding, she finally called him for me. There was no answer.

By this point, much of the front of the house staff was at the hostess stand. Having worked in a restaurant, I know how much servers LOVE gossip. When LegalSeafoods didn't answer nor called back within the next 5 minutes, I officially gave up. But of course I had to exact the tiniest, teansiest bit of revenge. Upon exiting the restaurant I thanked everyone for all of their help and asked them if they could do me a favor.

"Next time you see LegalSeafoods, please be sure to tell him thank you for standing me up."

Did I mention most of the staff were women?

As I walked out of the restaurant, guess who called me to tell me he wasn't too far from our original meeting point? I told him I left after 30 minutes, but I just walked out of his restaurant. I was starving and on my way to get some food if he wanted to join me. He did, but he told me to wait by his restaurant because he wanted to quickly run in and get his check. We met, he ran in, he ran right out... apparently a bunch of people were giving him a hard time for standing me up.

We both had a laugh and that was the beginning of our relationship.

A month later it was my birthday and I had told him that a friend of mine would be visiting from NYC. I had planned this visit before we met, and it was someone I was sorta involved with. Not a boyfriend, but a friends with benefits... very good benefits. I told LegalSeafoods if he didn't want me to have my friend visit, I would promptly call and cancel. I did this several times before my birthday. LegalSeafoods appreciated my honesty and assured me he was absolutely fine with my friend's visit.

This was the point where I knew we were not going to last. Telling me you're was fine with an FWB visiting is the same as telling me you're just not that into me.

After my birthday, LegalSeafoods wasn't fine. He expected me to NOT hook up with my FWB. I told him he was crazy to expect that. He had plenty, PLENTY of opportunities to tell me that he was uncomfortable. Acting like he was fine is the equivalent of lying. To blame me is pathetic, and I promptly dumped him.

A week later we got back together. He apologized. I apologized. We were together again, but of course I kept my distance... and went out on plenty of dates. He knew this, and he made it clear that he didn't like it since he wasn't seeing anyone else. After weeks of trying to make me feel bad, he finally stepped up and asked for what he wanted... exclusivity.

I was skeptical, but I agreed. A few hours later I found out that he HAD been seeing other people the entire time we were together.

Why ask me to be exclusive when you KNOW I don't care for it? Why lie to me about yourself when you know I have trust issues?

I promptly dumped him... for the second time.

He begged and begged to have me back. He admitted everything. I forgave him, but I would only try again after he did one thing for me.

I asked him to get tested... a very simple thing to do.

He wouldn't do it. I made appointments. I set time aside to meet him. He never showed. I nagged. I hate nagging but I did it. I also refused sex until it was done.

After about a month, he finally did it... or so he said he did. I asked for the written results. He refused. I asked to see his hospital card. He didn't have one.

You cannot get anything done at Massachusetts General Hospital without a blue card. LIAR LIAR LIAR.

Third and final dump.

It's been a year and a half since I last saw him. For a year and half he has been trying to make conversation online. More recently he has been trying to get together. He has a girlfriend and he STILL wanted to hang out with me.

How powerful.

I made plans. I broke plans. I wore him down until he admitted he was pathetic. An idiot. A fool. The truth. A sincere apology.

A weight lifted off my shoulders, and I could finally be his friend... or at least try. We met for lunch the other day, and everything went really well. We laughed, joked, caught up. He paid.

As we were parting, he hugged me and told me he didn't want to let go. He asked me to come back to his place to continue talking...

HA

Goodbye Legalseafoods. I'm not a challenge. I'm impossible. Get over me please... for your sake.

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VIP players can communicate

I was watching this youtube video called Keys to the VIP. The first "player" was describing why he is the ultimate player. He points to his bookshelf and says, "In order to communicate with girls, you have to be able to... intellectually communicate with them."

uh... yeah he's a one-nighter and nothing more.

But he did bring up an interesting point. In order to communicate, you HAVE to communicate. Chop out a few words, and you know what he really meant to say.

I suck at communication, and as a gemini I'm supposed to be the best. I'd rather not say anything and hope things work out in my favor. I have this tendency to jump from one extreme to the other in my thinking and it comes out in my words. I don't make sense. I confuse myself. I confuse others.

I'm confused right now.

Monday night after a fun shag, RedSox wasn't as tired as he claimed to be. In fact he was rather talkative... and he asked me if I was really getting off every time we had sex.

If that isn't the kiss of death, I'm sure I could find some poisonous gloss and plant one on him... or myself.

I don't get off every time I have sex. I don't get off any time I have sex. It's me. I have a mental block. I enjoy sex so much, but I focus so much on the act more than how I feel.

I guess I should go back to the beginning. I'll make it short. My mom is very religious and shunned all sins. My dad didn't wanna get nagged, so he went along with everything. We never talked about sex, nor were we ever comfortable enough to bring it up. Hormones kicked in, and I thought my feelings were dirty and sinful. I thought only men masterbated. I never touched myself, never really did anything about it.

In college I hooked up more than the average girl, about 2 guys per weekend. Four years of that, and well you can do the math. BUT I never had sex with any of them. Most of the men reading this may ask how that is possible. It was a power thing. I took control and they all loved it.

By the end of senior year I was ready for more. My first time was great. I trusted my friend. He was a complete gentleman. He made sure lent was over, and I assured him Easter was the day before. The act wasn't dirty. It didn't hurt. I felt great.

So great that you could say I went on a rampage after that. I couldn't get enough sex. I never orgasmed, but it still felt incredible. I didn't know what an orgasm was until months later when Berklee went down on me. I thought I was having a heart attack... a really satisfying and wonderful heart attack. But a heart attack nonetheless.

I freaked out internally and wouldn't let him go down on me again. I didn't want to die naked... back then. Now I think it's the way to go.

And Death by Orgasm? Well it sounds like a cocktail, but I do love COCKtails.

Anyways, life went on. Men came and went. Sex came and I never came...

My first therapist helped me get over my fear of myself. Now I can't stop masterbating. My new therapist is helping me get over my fear of relationships. I'm still a work in progress.

I told RedSox the truth. I told him it's a comfort thing. It was hard to get all the words out in a coherent and well thought manner, but I'll get there.

And when I do, I'll have the keys to the VIP.

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I've got this one...

I wouldn't say I date up. Occasionally I've dated down. In general, I date money.

I'm used to being taken care of. My parents pay for everything. My mens pay for dates. I like it. I still believe in parental and gender roles, so I don't feel bad about it at all.

All day yesterday I had a very odd headache. Not hangover, not piercing forehead, not even pressure on top of the head. It was new. A periphery headache.

Needless to say it wasn't fun. I planned to go to a wine tasting with a wine club that I have yet to try and then to Saint for my first time on a Monday night and meet a good friend I haven't seen in a million years, but I didn't know if drinks and pounding music would be a good idea. Instead I stuck to the futon until RedSox called.

RedSox called to tell me the wine-tasting sold out and his connections were disconnected. I was kinda happy. The colts/bengals game was a go though if I was interested. I love football, so of course I was interested. He picked me up and we drove around the corner to get great burgers and watch the game.

It was a pretty typical date for us. Chatting randomly, enjoying each other's company, watching sports. I told him about my headaches. He told me about his stomach aches.

Around half-time we had finished our food. RedSox got up to go to the mens' room. I grabbed the bartender and paid.

Paying for a date might be MY next step in a relationship.

I think it's a comfort thing. I do expect men to pay because of my belief in gender roles, but more because I believe my time is worth it. I finally feel very comfortable with RedSox, so paying didn't feel weird to me.

When he got back, I got up to hit the ladies. He went to pay and I told him, "Put your wallet away, I've got this one."

And then I ran away.

Childish... a little. But it's still progress.

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I don't fear commitment. I fear Monogamy.

I didn't even realize it until I was watching the Girls Next Door. Holly was talking about her 5 year relationship with Hef. When asked why they weren't married, she made it clear that Hef is very committed to her. He just fears monogamy.

I couldn't have described myself any better.

Over the weekend I had planned to talk to Redsox, but it didn't happen. I wouldn't say I chickened out. I just didn't know what to say. If I told him "everything" what would that accomplish? If I told him nothing, what would be wrong with that? What did I even want to tell him? Did I really have something to say or was I trying to do something I think I "should" do?

In addition to being an all or nothing type of girl, I am a should/should not type of girl.

We were lying in bed saturday morning and I was thinking about what to say. I realized telling him about Vegas or NYC or any other guy would be doing what I think I should do. I wasn't afraid of what might happen if I told him, but I actually wanted to keep it private. I don't tell my friends everything, and Redsox is just a friend. What I do for fun is for me (and everyone who reads my blog).

I am not interested in an exclusive relationship. I like being friends with benefits. I like the way things are going, so why was I thinking of changing anything?

Because I think I should. I think I'm supposed to be moving along some timeline, when the reality is there is no such thing as a timelime in relationships. In fact, following a timeline is a guaranteed destructive and awful ending.

I hope I didn't dissapoint any of you. I won't be singing the blues. I also won't be in a monogamous relationship any time soon.

It scares me...

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Southern Blues

I met OleMiss 3 years ago in Boston. He was a craigslist date. A simple dinner turned into an amazing friendship.

I know you were expecting me to tell you we hooked up, but I was actually dating ex-boyfriend (who wasn't boyfriend quite yet). Since I'm afraid of relationships, I purposely kept myself available... yet unavailable.

We kept hanging out, bringing in our respective friends. Finally the tension reached its peak, and I chose ex-boyfriend. My friends loved OleMiss. I knew he was great, but I was a chicken and chose ex-boyfriend because I knew it ultimately wouldn't last.

OleMiss wasn't happy, but he decided that a friendship was more important. We remained awesome friends, and I guess I did spend more time with him than I did with ex-boyfriend.

Two months after we decided to be friends, OleMiss got an amazing job offer in NYC and off he went. I was sad to see him go, but I was also happy for him because his ultimate dream is to make it on Wall St.

We kept in touch regularly through instant messenger. Ex-boyfriend finally became ex-boyfriend and I turned to OleMiss. Not so much for comfort, but actually for laughs and fun. I even hopped the cheap Greyhound bus and went for a visit.

We hooked up. (I knew you were waiting for that). It was great. He and I had amazing chemistry. We had fun in and out of the bedroom. I kept going down to NYC. He came up to Boston.

Last year he came up to Boston for Thanksgiving. I realized I felt more for him than I normally would allow myself to feel for anyone, and I couldn't control it. Right after Thanksgiving, I bought my tickets to head to NYC for a weekend. That would be a year ago today (approximately).

It was a year ago today (approximately) that OleMiss told me he met someone.

For the first time in my life, I was heartbroken. I didn't know what to say because I wanted to be happy for him, but I wasn't. I was upset. I had just received the confirmation email for NYC bus tickets, and I wouldn't be using them.

Lucky for me, I have an incredible roomate who felt the rift in the universe, confirmed my feelings and dictated exactly what was going through my mind.

I had a choice. I could tell OleMiss exactly how I felt or I could run away and pretend everything was fine.

I told him. I put my heart on the line. I said everything I felt for him. I told him I was upset, but wanted to be happy for him. "I know we're hundreds of miles away blah blah blah." It was your standard logorrhea.

The pause was only 2 seconds, but of course felt like hours.

He replied, "I feel the same way."

The joy was overwhelming. It was so wonderful that I didn't care what happened next.

And what happened next was the right thing. He gave his relationship in NYC a shot. Now a year later... they're still together.

Now a year later.... they're on the verge of a break. She wants to move on to the next step. He's struggling with making that move.

I know you're thinking I want to try again, but actually we're just gonna be friends. I know how he feels. Struggling to make that next move is the story of my life.

Most people would love to be in a relationship. I don't want to let go of my single life. I have freedom. I can date whomever I please. I can go out on a ton of dates, use and abuse. I can basically never grow up.

But I am growing up, whether I like it or not. Everything about me has changed in less than a year. I am trying to stay the same old Roxy. I'm holding on for dear life, but it's not working. It doesn't feel the same anymore. I no longer feel proud of the hearts I've stepped on. I don't care about any of the gifts anymore.

I think God has answered my prayers. I asked for someone I am attracted to, someone good, someone who really likes me for more than looks, someone who listens... someone patient, accepting, fun, intellectual. And in addition to all of that... RedSox loves to drink and has blond hair.

So what's the problem? I am a "future negative" thinker. I can only imagine the worst case scenarios.

(I never finished reading "The Power of Now." I swear I will over the break).

My therapist has been helping me realize and understand my behavior, and never once has she judged anything I've done. She's been encouraging me to take steps towards change, and because I'm an "all-or-nothing" type of girl (ie. typical med student), I go at change with my all... and somehow survive the multitude of anxiety attacks.

So this weekend I plan to tell RedSox everything... well almost. I'll try to be less "all", but more than "nothing."

It scares the crap out of me. It has also brought me to a bit of a low because I am imagining the worst, and it doesn't feel good.

For OleMiss, a break doesn't feel good... but it's not the worst, in fact it's the right thing to do. After this weekend, I guess we'll both either be singing the blues or doing whatever the best case scenario brings.

I wish I could imagine that.

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Typical

I'm pretty sure we all have typical behaviors.
Anything I do to a guy is "typical Roxy." Any rearrangement of the apartment is "typical Roomate." I could come up with a typical behavior for practically everyone I know.

So it's Christmas time, and I'm trying to think of gifts for the family. Our family here in Boston keeps growing, and I honestly don't know any of my cousins that well. For the past few years instead of trying to come up with good gifts for each one of them, I would send out a mass email asking them what they want and telling them what I want. No surprise Christmas morning when we all get exactly what we asked for.

Every day I walk past the Opera House. Every day I see the banners for the Nutcracker. The other day I decided I wanted to see the Nutcracker.

Typical Roxy would get one of her mens to take her.
Atypical Roxy decides to take the cousins as their Christmas present.

Six cousins for good seats = $420

I can swing that, BUT typical Roxy will try to get the best deal possible. So first I solicit a few friends with membership discounts. BAM! $40 off. SAWEEET! Down to $380.

Next I call my mom. She always makes a big deal about the importance of family, I know she'll be so excited I want to hang out with my cousins that I'm sure she'll help me pay for half.

Mom likes the idea (especially because I made a big deal about the new addition to our family courtesy of my cousin's marriage). But of course she needs to discuss with dad.

The next day I get the call from mom. All systems go! My instructions are to pick up the cash and get 10 tickets. Hmm... there's only 6 of the cousins total.

My mother has decided to invite herself, force my dad to come along and throw in my aunt and uncle as well. Typical mom.

I figure I'm getting help with the funds. Christmas is more than Jesus. It's family, too. So cool deal... let's ALL go.

I drop by my mother's office and she hands me a thick envelope of cash. I head over to the box office, ask for 10 tickets. I get $40 off and I pull out the cash to start paying. I keep counting out the 20s and in the end it's evident that my father has decided to pay for the whole extravaganza and let me keep my money. Typical Dad.

I keep the $40 I saved with plans to spend it on trinkets for others.
I don't try to argue against my parents for buying my Christmas presents for me.

Typical Roxy.

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It ain't over til Celine Dion sings!

And she has laryngitis, so it truly isn't over.

Even though I end things... Even though I may say "don't call me"... most of them still call or email or text or instant message.

LegalSeafoods: He's instant messenging me as I write this.

Harvard Business School (HBS): constantly begs me to visit him in Milwaukee.

Ex-Boyfriend: Keeps in touch platonically. It works out well. I just asked him for sex advice. (I know!)

Strays here and there: When are we gonna hang out again???

And now... LV.
He said he wanted a serious relationship. I said no. I knew I'd hear from him again, but I wasn't expecting to hear from him as soon as I did.

I'd say about 2 weeks after things ended before they even really began, he emailed me and asked if I had any free time coming up to come to Vegas.

HBS played this game with me a few months ago. He expected me to plan my trip out Milwaukee. Please... you want me, you do the work.

And that's exactly what LV did. I told him the weekend of Dec 3rd. A half an hour later, he emailed me my flight itinerary.

I flew into Vegas Friday night. On the flight there, I got drunk with the girl next to me and we chatted about all about Vegas and whatnot... you know that whole "I'm drunk and you're my new best friend" deal.

I arrived at midnight East Coast Time. LV picked me up and drove me around the strip. We then went to a new hotel called Red Rock and met up with his old boss and a few clients. I wasn't tired at all, so we played craps until 5am EST. My first time rolling the dice I hit the dealer, but afterwards I kept hitting the wall as I should and it was a blast!

Saturday I wanted to walk around the casinos and watch LV play in a poker tournament. He had a couple tournaments to choose from, and each could go for 4+ hours depending on how well he did. Since he tends to make the final table he told me it would be boring to watch him for 4+ hours, so he gave me $1000 and told me to go have some fun and call him when I'm done or if I need more money.

I know you think I'm joking, but I assure you that he was for real. I took the money and went straight to the shops in Ceasar's palace. LV called me before I was done because some amateur nailed him 2 hours into the tournament.

Bad for LV. Good for me to have cash... and now his credit card.

Purchases:
Purse from Louis Vuitton $650
Sunglasses from Gucci $300
Shoes from Burberry $250
Dress from Intermix $270
Headband from Burberry $65

After shopping, I sat and watched him go almost all the way in the second tournament. I figure sitting around and watching him play for 5 hours is worth $1500 in designer fun.

Unfortunately he didn't make it to the final table, but we went back to Red Rock and won some money playing craps. We slept well last night and he dropped me off at the airport this morning.

I got home a couple hours ago, and I actually wondered whether LV had fun. He spent thousands just to have me visit for 2 nights. I wouldn't spend that kind of money on any man.

The second I landed, I got a text saying he missed me already. So yes he had fun.

Will I see him again?

Maybe

Do I care?

Nah

VIVA LAS VEGAS!

(and I'll admit I am bummed that I didn't get to see Celine Dion sing. I hope she feels better soon!)

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