Damn heterophobes

After meeting one of my bosses at my new internship today, I've been a little man-crazy - he is so cute it boggles the mind. You know how some guys are cute, but they're not really hot; they're cute? He is so cute that it spills over into the hot. It may even spill over into something beyond hot.

Oh, and he's married. Fuck.

So I came home from my internship and gushed about him forever, then watched Grey's where George is sex-crazed, and then looked at pictures of hot celebrities with my friend HP (heterophobe).

We got a call from a mutual friend and decided to go over to her place. At this point, all I could think about was looking as attractive as I could (as if there would be any guys for me to meet there), and I turned to HP and whined: "HP, what am I going to wear? I'm not going to look any good!"

HP, who was on his way out, stopped for a second. I quickly remembered that every time I have requested some friendly encouragement about my body from him, HP utters the dreadful words "I'm gay, I don't know" and my pleas for help are frustrated.

Before he could answer this time, I yelled "I know you're gay, just tell me I look sexy and that everyone wants to do me!"

... I'm never asking him for reassurance again. Some friend he is.

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.

Bad manners at the doctors office

Hi, new blog!

My new name will be The Accidental Bitch, or TAB. Also note the new picture. I think she's hot and though I may never wear that exact outfit or play with my hair in a spotlight with my back turned to people, we're going to pretend that that's me.

So anyway, enough about me.

Haha just kidding.

I injured my hip in August, my last week before returning to school. I had just done some light jogging, per the instructions of my physical therapist (my leg had been hurting for about a year and I was getting physical therapy to supposedly fix it). I was in that oh-so-sexy V position, bending to my left, when all of a sudden I heard a distinctive popping sound. "Shit fuck shit," I believe I said, getting up to see if it would hurt to walk. It didn't, but I continued to swear intermittently.

I sat down to dinner with my parents, and when I tried to get up I found that I couldn't walk. My muscle began twitching in my leg every few minutes (or if I was walking, every few steps) and it was incredibly painful. I made an appointment to see an orthopedic doctor. We'll call him the "bad doctor." The bad doctor told me that I had pulled a muscle. Having dealt with an injury on my leg that hadn't gone away for a year, I was skeptical.

"What if that's not what it is?" I asked him.

"Well, there's a small chance that it could be something else," he replied soothingly, "but I'm almost 100% sure you just have a bad muscle pull."

I wasn't soothed. "But I heard a 'pop'," I protested.

"Well if you want to, we can get an xray and MRI and I'll prove it to you," he told me.

Please do prove it to me, Mr. Smartypants, I thought. "Okay, I'd like to do that."

I got an X-ray and he took a look at it, saying "See, there's nothing wrong here. There are no abnormalities in your hip, everything looks good. If you still want to get the MRI, you can go schedule one and we'll call you with the results."

I scheduled an MRI and he called a few days later. "You have some interesting results," he started. I was smug for a few seconds before I realized that overall, that wasn't a good thing. He told me I have a torn acetabular labrum, didn't describe what it was, and expressed doubt about the necessity of surgically correcting it. I got off the phone with him and had no idea what to do.

I was soon able to walk without immediate pain, but every night my leg would ache. After a month and a half, I did some research on the good 'ol Internet to see what this little "acetabular labrum" was and how to fix it. After researching for several hours, I found that the acetabular labrum is a piece of cartilage in the hip socket. Recovery without surgery is highly unlikely, so I called a surgeon and made an appointment. January 5th.

I saw the doctor on Wednesday for my consultation. He put my Xray up and said "You have some abnormalities in your hip." The bad doctor was wrong. The good doctor (this one) said he could fix the abnormality during surgery and I would hopefully never have a similar injury again.

On my way out, I sat down with a surgery scheduler who told me what to do and what not to do before the surgery. I asked her, "I heard that a lot of times before surgery they give you medication to help with anxiety, would that be possible?" Not that I'm a druggie or anything, but my dad had told me they would probably give me some happy pills and if I could get a prescription for Valium... all the better.

"He isn't really one to give out Valium before surgery," she responded.

"Oh, okay," I shrugged, but on the inside I was mourning my fleeting chance at a relaxing pre-surgery vacation.

And then she had to be a total bitch. "You just have to remind yourself that it's not a major surgery. You know, it's done with a scope so it's no big deal." The surgery is done with tiny instruments that they snake up through two tiny incisions in the thigh. It's called minimally invasive surgery. But still. Did she have to act like the surgery was comparable to taking a 90 minute nap? It shouldn't matter how big a deal the surgery is compared to open heart surgery; if people are freaking out over it, they can freak out. I decided to remind her of this.

"Yeah, well, it's not as though I get surgery every day." I glared at her and then smiled. "But okay, no big deal!!"