The other intern

Today I met my better half. Or as I like to call her (always with an internal sneer), the other intern.

Okay, I just met her today. How can I hate her that much? It turns out I have a good reason:

They hired two interns because they wanted someone to be there during business hours every day. Naturally, this means I have to compete with her to be the more outstanding intern (not that I'm competitive). Usually, I am the master at this. I don't brown nose, but I'm pretty damn charming (I hope... it's either that or I brown nose unknowingly). The problem in this case is that she started working on January 5th, whereas my first day was January 25th.

Twenty days may not seem like a big difference, but when you're doing the same job it really is. Since this is an internship, I already have only 3 months to prove myself as a valuable worker. On my first day I was subjected to comments like "I don't want to teach you this; the other intern will show you how. She has a system." Clearly I have no say in the matter. Since she already knows how to do everything, our superiors will probably prefer to give assignments to her over me. Then it will look as though I'm not a "go-getter". Little do they know, I love going-and-getting. Love it.

Oh. And also I'm still recovering from surgery, so even though walking around a bunch isn't a medically sound idea, people might still interpret that to be laziness. Perhaps I should tape a sign to my face that says "I am temporarily crippled" and one on my back that says "No, seriously." If I do that, though, maybe I should also put up witty bumper stickers or the Sunday comics.

So even though I met the [sneer] other intern and she was really nice, and she was sympathetic when I complained about being in pain... all I could think about was how irritating it was that she knew how to do everything. That and her shirt was way too low-cut. Skank.

Competence easy to achieve in 2007

I went to my post-op appointment on Monday, still limping a little and very sore. Overall, though, things seemed to be healing. I was concerned because they hadn't found what they were looking for: a tear in the cartilage of my hip socket. Instead, they found things that seemed insignificant, and a chunk of missing cartilage "of uknown importance."

So I was a tad nervous walking into the room. Had anything been fixed? Would I ever be able to walk again? Screw that; when can I have sex again?!

The post-op doctor was not my surgeon, who I trusted the most. I decided to ask her a million questions. Here is a good sample of the conversation:

"Are you having any problems?" She asked while taking out my stitches.

I winced and waited for elaboration. When none arrived, I prodded: "Problems...?" Like... a T-Rex coming out of my stitches? Soreness? What's the scale, here?

She refused to give me any options. "So I guess you don't have any, then."

I was pissed off. Clearly she didn't mean T-Rex, but... "Actually, there's a piece of skin that's irritated..." I hesitated.

"Where?" She asked.

I glanced at my mom, who was in the corner. I then pointed as best I could with my pants half down, to the spot. Riiiight next to my va-jay-jay. "Y'know... down there kind of." I was hoping she wouldn't tell me to take my clothes off in front of my mother.

"Oh, yeah. Sometimes that happens." She proceeded to explain exactly what they did to me after they knocked me out. They pulled my naked legs apart, set one still and pushed my other one as far away as they could. Basically, they tried to dislocate my leg. And when they were done, they set my leg, the tender part right next to my va-jay-jay, right up against a pole that must have been coated with something akin to sandpaper. "Some people get a little sore and chafed."

Part of me was relieved; my hip was sore because they basically threw my legs around as they saw fit. Y'know, probably punched me in the groin a few times. At least it wasn't an actual complication, and no wonder I was so sore. The rest of me was horrified. While she explained all this, she pantomimed by thwacking the place that was next to the pole and spreading her legs open. Her clothed legs. Mine had been naked. No panties. They had ripped my legs apart and were standing right next to my crotch for the whole procedure. When someone got bored, did they try to stare inside me? Why hadn't I trimmed and shaved before going in?

I smiled and moved on. "So, they didn't find a tear when they went in. What did they find?"

"There was an abnormality in the joint." I had watched the surgery video. That abnormality was so tiny and seemed so insignificant.

"That was enough to cause the problem?" I asked skeptically.

"Oh, yes. Of course."

"Oh, good! Wow, that's relieving..."

She explained my recuperation very vaguely. "You should start going walking, to increase strength and flexibility."

"When should I start doing that?"

"I don't really have an answer for you; it's different for everyone." Was she glaring at me? No... what's the step just below a glare? That's what she was doing.

"Um, so how long should I walk for?"

"It really depends. You'll just have to see what hurts and what doesn't and respond to your body." She looked like she wanted to leave. Did she have lunch plans? Diarrhea?

The rest of the appointment went pretty much like that. I kept trying to get information, and she gave me no answer other than a variation on the phrase "listen to your body." Somehow I still felt much better walking out of the building than I had walking in.

As my mom and I got into the car, she remarked "That doctor really seemed to know what she was talking about."

I agreed and then realized we thought her to be so competent even though she barely gave us any of the answers we were looking for. "Listen to your body"? Is it me, or is it getting easier to be a doctor these days?

Asking permission

As I recently mentioned, The Ex invited me to go home with him for the weekend. Not only would I like to see him before I go back to school, but I recently moved with my parents to an island filled with doll shops and retired people. The view is gorgeous, but my boredom is rising. I see this two days as a vacation filled with The Ex's endlessly amusing family and hopefully some nice cuddling.

I realized that it might be hard to convince my mom that I'm ready to leave for two days, since I just had surgery a week ago. And at the beginning of the week, I was equally concerned. At that point I had to be served every meal and got up only to pee and go back to bed.

By Wednesday, it was a different story. I was making my own breakfast, sitting at the table for dinner, and off the heavy duty painkillers. Deeming myself able to leave, I popped the question to my mother. My aunt and uncle (two doors down the road) had come over for dinner, and I caught my mom alone for a moment in the office.

"So, I've been invited to spend a couple days at The Ex's this weekend, and I'd like to go" I started. "What do you think?"

She looked startled. "Do you really think that's a good idea?" she asked, and proceeded to orally wag her finger at me for visiting an ex. "You seem very off-and-on with him. I don't understand why you won't just break up and move on."

I explained to her as best I could the status of my relationship with The Ex. (Summary: If we didn't have to deal with the distance, we would be together (maybe not forever, but at least right now). So since I'm here, it'd be nice to see him once or twice before going back to school.) Mom was not enthused.

Neither was I. "Whether I continue seeing him or not, I feel that it's my decision to make" I said reasonably. "Some relationships end abruptly and cleanly, and other people decide to remain friends after they break up. There isn't one way to do it." I couldn't believe I had to explain my behavior to my mother; I'm twenty years old. If we hadn't moved and I hadn't just had surgery, I easily could have simply told her I was leaving for the weekend. It felt like a formality to ask her at all.

Finally, she moved on to the more valid argument: "I don't think it's a good idea, since you just had surgery. What if you injured yourself?"

I explained to her that this was why I had waited to ask her; I wanted to make sure it was something my leg could handle. "I'm walking without crutches, I can take care of myself at this point. We're going to be sitting indoors for the whole time." I knew it would be just as relaxing to hang out at his house as it had been at ours; the scheduled events included football games and the 24 premiere. And it's not like I couldn't ask for a favor if I wasn't feeling well.

She briefly went back to her former argument, the emotional one. I stopped her. "What is this about, mom? Is it about my health or you disapproving of my relationship with The Ex?"

She was caught. In a wild conceptual leap, she said "Remember when you were there that night, playing with the dogs and you hurt yourself?" Two and a half years ago, I had run into a huge rock in their backyard because there were no lights on and had to get stitches in the emergency room.

"What's your point?" I asked, confused.

"Well, my point is... you could do it again!"

I wanted to laugh at her. Instead I said, "Mom, it's not like I hurt myself before I started playing with the dogs. It's a completely different situation. I'm not going to play with the dogs at all. I'm not trying to sabotage my recovery, okay?"

After a minute more, my mom excused herself to tend to the company. I joined my mom and aunt for a game of Upwords, and felt triumphant for acting completely normal. I wasn't spiteful or rude; I made jokes and laughed with my aunt while my mom ignored us.

I took a quick bathroom break while we were playing, and as I rounded the corner on my return I heard my aunt ask, "Well do you think they're sleeping together?"

Unfortunately, it was too late to hide and listen, so I pretended I hadn't heard anything and joined them. Shame on mom, but fortunately I had already discussed The Ex situation with my aunt and she was on my side (my uncle and her had gone through something similar before they got married).

After my relatives left, I watched Grey's Anatomy with my mom. As it ended, Mom said "Well, I'm going to bed," but made no move to get up. She was leaving the next day for the weekend, so I knew I would have to refresh her memory soon.

"When do you want to talk about the visit?" I asked innocently.

After a few reasonable questions about timing, she very undramatically relented. So undramatically that I have no idea what she said. Still, success! I love having the better argument, especially with my mom.

Attention whores don't offer much support

The day after I had confirmed without a doubt that I was newly single, I called up AW. We both wanted to hang out, but as usual our ideas regarding possible activities were meager. Specifically, there was:

1) Rent a movie
2) Go visit the frats AW never shuts up about (she's in a sorority)

(Did I mention that I live in a suburb?)

I was tired, but this was the first time frat-visiting had ever been suggested. Movie-renting, on the other hand... let's just say that it's pretty much always the first option listed when we brainstorm.

"Let's go to the frats," I said. I'm single, I thought, I can even fuck one of these guys if I want! ...Super...

AW drove, and we ended up at a frat playing beer pong. Since she was driving, AW didn't drink. I attempted to make up for it by drinking any and all beer that no one else wanted to chug, and never made a single shot during the game. After a round, I stood next to AW and chatted with her for a moment.

"God, I suck at this game!" I complained.

"Last weekend, when we were playing bitch-beer pong," she replied loudly so the men nearby could hear, "I took off my shirt to distract the opposing team."

"Seriously?" I asked. The thought was funny to me for some reason. I guess I had never seen her strip. Also, I was tipsy. Also, I had forgotten what an attention whore she is.

"Yeah, and bent over and took my pants off." She looked past me at a particular frat boy while she said all this, demonstrating the 'bending over' part as if it could be interpreted another way. The frat boy came over and asked her a few questions, then went back to his shot at beer pong.

I pushed her playfully. "AW! What are other, respectable girls supposed to do for attention when girls like you are taking their shirts off and bending over?"

AW continued to look past me at the frat boy's back. "Those girls should take off their shirts."

Though I have been known to wear scandalous outfits when the occasion calls for it (Halloween, my school's skankily-themed spring dance, walking around campus..), AW's comment reminded me how much I hate it when girls like her attract men by flaunting their bodies. I have enough trouble getting guys interested in me (in the real way, mind you) without whores like her shoving their bosoms in everyone's face.

I pushed her a little less playfully. "What are we supposed to do if we don't want to be whores and take off our shirts like you?" I glared at her.

"Tough luck," she responded. "That's just how it works."

Though the object of her eye was the only cute guy in the room, and I was newly single (don't I get priority for my recent troubles?) and drunk, I let AW have him. After all, I'm only here for a month. Also, dating/fucking him would screw up AW's life more than if I dated/fucked him, since at the time she was already dating the frat boy's roommate.

I guess I was hoping for a bit more consideration: here I am, newly single, and nobody's pushing me to date or get some lovin'? For shame.

There's a reason mom doesn't know

If you followed me here from my last blog, you know that I recently broke up with my boyfriend of three years. The final conversation I had with him, in which I told him I wasn't interested in being his fuck buddy or anything of the sort, happened over the phone while my friend AW was in the room.

At one point during the phone call, my mom walked into the room to tell me goodnight and saw that I was upset. "Are you okay?" She whispered. "No," I said. She made a face and put her hands on her hips, in what appeared to be a huffy-yet-joking manner. I covered the mouthpiece and said "Mom, it's not funny." I then struggled to hold back tears.

AW told my mom that I was on the phone with The Ex, and my mom became more genuinely concerned, leaving the room so that I could continue my call. When I hung up, I had to tell AW what happened. Then I told my dad. Then I told L. Then I blogged about it. Then I told S. I felt kind of bad for not telling my mom why I had shooed her out of the room, but she didn't ask me what happened, so I procrastinated. After a few days, I fooled myself into believing that I would never have to explain it to anyone again if I just avoided the topic.

Then L's mom came to visit us. My mom and her have a polite friendship that grew out of my close friendship with L. The mothers chatted for about an hour while I attempted to entertain L's 10-year-old brother. At the end of the "okay-I'm-really-going-though" portion of our standing in the entryway next to the front door (about 20 minutes), L's mom asked me a few questions about school. Then she asked "How is that boy of yours up in ____?"

"Oh, um... we broke up," I said breezily, then looked awkwardly at my mom. How bad is it to find out about your daughter's big break-up at the same time a distant acquaintance does? Pretty bad, I figured.

L's mom was clearly uncomfortable that her polite question had revealed some personal information. "Oh. Well, you'll be all right, things change. Biiig changes happening, aaaaall the time," she said in an unecessarily comforting tone. (Had I burst into tears? No.)

It was one of those moments when you're required to express both sympathy and optimism even when it's not appropriate. One of those "I'm SOOO sorry your dog died three years ago even though you probably haven't thought about it in a few months and got a new dog."

Shortly after they left, I went out to dinner with my mom and stepdad. After a break in the conversation, my mom turned to me and said "So tell us what happened with The Ex." She sounded excited, as though she was asking about a vacation or first day at a new job.

I delved into the story, starting all the way in October, which was the last she had heard anything about our relationship. I realized how out of the loop she had been compared to my dad who got a phone call every time I had an argument, and felt bad. She was my mother and I never told her anything about my personal life.

Our food arrived during my explanation, so I paused until the waiter left. I felt very awkward resuming the story, but I finished it anyway. After neglecting to tell my mom so much, I wanted to make up for it by telling her the whole story now.

Just as I finished, the waiter returned to ask how our food was. I assured him it was absolutely excellent, looking down at the uneaten bite of fettucine dangling from my fork. The waiter walked away and I took the bite, waiting for a response from my mom.

She turned to my stepdad and said, "You know, I was talking to someone today who still doesn't have their power back on."

And thus I was reminded why I don't tell my mom anything that happens to me.