At ten minutes until 8 last night, Lena and I decided we would continue our Grey's marathon with some cranberry and vodka. Much to our dismay, the liquor was M.I.A. To compensate, we stole Wiker's beer. I thought that karma had gotten the best of us when the beer tasted like a moldy ball sack, but she was just beginning to rear her ugly head.Today at my psychiatric clinical, I heard the "kkkkrrrpt!" of my pants ripping. Right there in my crotch was a hole. As the day went on, the hole spread into a full blown, four finger wide beauty. This excessive spread may have been due to the fact that I was running around hidden halls, putting my finger down my pants and out the hole, and poking the only male nurse in my clinical group. The pokes were followed by me smacking my hand over my mouth to dilute the fact that I was giggling obnoxiously loud at how funny I'm not. The point is, the floor I was on has a plethora of troubled adolescent males and my scandalous black panties (THANK GOD that I actually wore some today) were all about being in your face. Speaking of my clinical group, I am so bummed that not a one of them knows who Dr. Steve Bruel is... quite disappointed.
Anyway, I blame you, Miley Cyrus. Perhaps if your voice wasn't so gawd damn annoying, the pants you make wouldn't rip so easily.
For now, though, I am going to make a pot of coffee and try to learn about the anatomic and physiologic mechanisms of several cancers. This tantalizing task will be done so that I can then forget the true aspects of what I've learned and apply it to some bullshit NCLEX-style questions (I hate those things). Yum, coffee...
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