Murphy's Law

Murphy's Law states: "Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong," and I really feel like that is the perfect summation of my existance.

Sure, sometimes I luck into things, but when it comes to health-related issues, it's just one big barrel of What The Fuck. Take Lupron Round 2, for example:

I put in the prescription for my Lupron injection nearly 2 weeks ago, knowing that I needed to get the shot somewhere between 2 weeks and a week-and-a-half before the prior Lupron dosage ran out. Which means I need it by next Friday. So of course the insurance company dicks me around for days and days, and I'm not actually able to have it mailed to me until yesterday. Which is okay, because as of today, it's about a week-and-a-half before the shot runs out. So I'm thinking "well, at least I have it now!"

Which of course means that this morning I wake up, feel terrible, and - whoops! - get my period. Nearly 10 days before the shot runs out. Which, might I add, is nearly impossible, seeing as the shots surpress ovulation so that I do not get my periods. Medical marvel, or freak of nature? You decide.

Now you may be wondering, "why is this such a bad thing? Besides the whole bleeding and PMS-craziness factors?" Well, loyal readers who enjoy TMI, it's a bad thing because when I ovulate and my happy little egg gets pushed out, endometrial tissue from my uterus sheds inward, rather than outward with all the other delightful gunk that constitutes a period, and then it likes to float around in my abdomen and attach itself to nerve endings, which is why I'm always in pain. Fabulous!

So no periods = no endomerial tissue = no pain. But of course I got my period - directly after having surgery. The whole point of having surgery and then being on Lupron continuously is to make sure periods do NOT happen, so that I have no more pain. Course we're not even sure now if the surgery was a success, and now I'm going and sloughing my innards all over the place, so I think it's safe to say that I am not a happy camper right now.

Well, I'm in quite a bit of agony, but I took a happy pill I had left over from the last time I was hospitalized, so I don't... care. It's a bizarre feeling. By this point I should be bawling and throwing whatever's handy, but right now all I want to do is eat chocolate and sit in a dirty little heap. Course then I'll get fat, and since I can't work out I can't eat and sit on my ass, especially since I'm supposed to be getting back into modeling. Ah, nothing says "beautiful young woman" like a bleeding, menopausing, hunched over freak of a girl.

Fabulous.

The Beauty of Amy Whinehouse

Today I find myself absolutely speechless.

It's not like I don't have a barrage of witty things waiting to come tumbling right out of my mouth (or is it my fingers, if I'm typing?) - but because I was just made witness to these pictures of the ever stunning Amy Winehouse. Seriously, you need to see these. Now.

It's like all of the horrible British stereotypes rolled into one terrifying ball of fury:

Horrific Teeth? Check!
Absolutely Smashed? Check!
Shockingly Unattractive Woman? Check!
Wasted Rocker Potential? Check and Check!

All "Rehab" jokes aside (no, no, no!) Amy Winehouse is a one-woman boozing demolition team. It's shocking that someone who weighs roughly 15 pounds soaking wet can consume so much alcohol on a daily basis and still keep on breathing. I'm starting to think her blood is actually just a constant stream of Jack Daniels - it would really explain everything.

To give her some credit, she has an amazing voice and her music is great. Unfortunately, she's turned herself into some kind of living zombie, and seems entirely unable to actually function as a member of society. Even the dirty, disgusting, disease riddled pigeons in the city gutters are more appealing at this point than she is.

I can't wait to see pictures from tonight's escapades!

And here's one more picture for your enjoyment - it's small, but packs a punch.

Tornados, Typhoons, and The Spy Museum

Do you know what the best part about waking up bright and (ridiculously) early on a Monday morning is?

To see that it's downpouring outside! Hurrah! Just when I thought things couldn't get any better! I trudged to work with my dress pants tucked jauntily into my galoshes, pretending like I couldn't feel the rain soaking all of my clothing (despite hiding beneath my umbrella.) I don't mind the rain if I can hide away in my apartment and watch scary movies or something, but actually having to get up and go somewhere in the rain makes me one hell of a cranky bitch.

My sentiments exactly

DC is just running the whole weather gambit lately. Friday and Saturday were hot and sunny, and we clocked in around 85 degrees; Sunday it downpoured again and the weather dropped into the mid-60's. Last night there was not only a fucking tornado watch, there was also a fucking tornado somewhere outside the city. I couldn't figure out where it was, because every time the news said it this morning, I was gargling or in the other room or eating my cereal (it's very loud to chew it, really) but still. And today is 60 and pouring. Tomorrow? The same. Then back up to the mid-70s. Talk about a pain in my ass.

On a lighter note, however, Erin bought me tickets to - drumroll, please! - the SPY MUSEUM for my birthday!!! I've been dying to go ever since I first came to DC, and never actually managed it in the four entire years I was here for college. I blame it on the booze.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, it was amazing! First we went in and did the Operation Spy simulation, in which Erin and I proved that while we're arse at surveillance, and totally would fail out of it during CIA training, we had the best intuition of the group; if only they'd trusted us and not Topaz! If we'd had our way, we would've saved the Trigger and made sure that nuclear warfare stayed out of the hands of the Kandhar Black Ops group. Damn you, tourists!

Then we spent 2 or so hours wandering around the museum, where we learned all sorts of fascinating tidbits about spies, especially during the major wars. We learned that Aldrich Ames was willing to sell his country out for only 2.7 million dollars (seriously, I know it was like 1985, but that is still not enough money to sell out your role as head of the fucking CIA to work for the KGB of all people!) and learned that in the 50's, even after celebrating the amazing achievements of a spy that helped crack the Nazi codes during WWII, one brave man was driven to suicide because - oops! - he was a homosexual and even though he saved the Allies' asses, they wanted to torture him with humiliating hormonal treatments because, you know, homosexuality was a crime. Ah yes, that makes perfect sense. I love the government.

Also, there was an exhibit on Ninjas!!!!

After wards, we hit up the gift shop, and I got myself yet another shot glass to add to my collection, while Erin rapturously delved into the hundreds of books about spies, historical plots, and all the other things that set her little heard a-patter. All-in-all, downpour aside, it was a fabulous day. Oh, and we have pictures somewhere of me attempting to crawl through an air duct... I'm still debating over whether or not to post them. Flattering, they are not, but they're quite amusing. Perhaps next time.

The Pope Has Landed

So the Pope's in town, and apparently this is some kind of big deal, but to be honest I don't get it. It could be because I'm Jewish, or because I know nothing about Catholicism (is that even the right sect? are they even called sects?) or because I have no soul, but I can't be too sure.

I mean okay, so the Pope is the central figure of the Catholic Church, but haven't we progressed a little since the heyday of... oh, I don't know, the 1500's? The guy's like 90, and he's the head out an outdated, hate-propelling institution that seeks to force it's ideals and practices on anyone who's been "saved" and sees the ways of God and Jesus. That and I'm pretty sure he can shoot fireballs out of his hand, and kill people with his brain.

Now, to be fair, I believe myself to be tolerant of any religion, and of anyone's desire to practice as they please. In the same way that I don't want someone cramming religion down my throat, I in turn don't want to try to talk someone out of their own beliefs - to each their own. But with the current administration in the White House, and all of this ridiculous religious BS being crammed down our throats lately, I hardly want to play nice with a man that embodies that ultra conservative group that says women shouldn't be able to have abortions, that gays shouldn't be married, that Islam is inherently wrong, that sex-ed shouldn't be taught to children, etc etc. It's one thing to feel that way privately (though it still makes you an asshole) but it's quite another to make sweeping, stupid generalizations and try to force others to bend to your will. Gimme a break.

Other people, however, love the Pope and all he stands for. Apparently they think he's the new Elvis, the way people have been clamoring over barriers and shrieking with joy whenever he passes. Now, I understand why people do that with rock stars and such - there's always a 50/50 chance you'll be pulled out of the crowd and treated to a night of cocaine and sweaty, dirty sex - but something tells me that the Pope isn't one to pick up groupies for a drug fueled sex romp. Although he does drive a - wait for it! - Popemobile (says Wikipedia) which seems only steps away from a Pimpmobile.


Now that is a scandal I'd love to see - can you imagine the headlines?

Pope Benedict Involved in Illegal Prostitution and Drug Ring!

Amazing. Much better than those pesky Catholic Priest Gets Caught Diddling Group of 14-year-old Boys! headlines that seemed never ending a few years back. And maybe then the Pope would really deserve all the fascinated attention he gets. And hey, if he's banging prostitutes and snorting coke, at least the guy's having a good time. Although the Catholic Church will never condone the use of condoms, so he'll probably get something nasty, and then we'll need a new Pope. Well, this guy's only got a few years left in him anyway, so maybe it's for the best. C'est la vie.

The Order of the Hippo

Now, it's common knowledge that GW - oh, excuse me, The George Washington University - is a very pretentious institution. The school has spent the last several years preening, much as a male peacock would, and working as hard as they can to tell everyone in the higher education world that they're absolutely the best. So what if we're not Ivy League? Fuck the Ivies, we're like the younger, hipper, cooler version of them. Just ask anyone who works for the school.

Going to GW, you just sort of accept the whole thing. People will tear your face off if you dare to say that Georgetown might be a better school, yet when you make fun of American, people are all too willing to trip over themselves in an effort to crow about how much better we are. Competition is fierce, although I'm not entirely sure who we're competing against, as I don't think other schools realize just how rabid GW is about climbing the ranks (both on the US World News Rankings, and the "we're just flat out better than you in reputation" rankings.)

It's all very embarrassingly "Nouveau Riche" - like the awkward Californian dot-com millionaire who decides to declare himself a Boston Brahman. Sure, you have the money to play with the big boys, but your breeding is decidedly lower class (think: gardner's bastard, rather than the true heir of 300 years of exclusive blue blood breeding.) People just sort of... accept you without accepting you. And you never look quite right in those plaid beach shorts.

It's not easy being WASPy

So then it comes as no surprise that GW is not only cavorting around with it's very own "secret society" but is purposely being ridiculously obtuse about the whole thing, and is "accidentally" bringing the society to light (repeatedly) while denying it fervently, knowing full well that obviously people will realize it exists, and will believe it to be some kind of powerful, influential secret movement, comprised solely of tomorrow's Senators and Presidents. They want to pretend like they're an Ivy, just the more up-to-date younger brother version of it.

Most unfortunately, it is called The Order of the Hippo. And it's based on this hideous monstrosity (which, might I add, was a piece of absolute junk that our former president, Trachtenberg, picked up when shit faced one night, and only "donated" it to the school when his wife threatened to kick him out if he didn't get it the fuck out of their house - charming!) :


The Hatchet, GW's school paper, recently published a story about the 12th Order of the Hippo induction (for a secret society, they're awfully easy to find information on.) Here are some highlights, in bold, to show the absurdity (and pomposity) of the situation:

Students, alumni and administrators donned gowns, tuxedos and gold hippo pins Friday night in celebration of a pseudo-secret society's 12th annual induction dinner, which was held at the Law School.

Most of the 20 attendees who entered the Law School denied the Order of the Hippo's existence but failed to provide an explanation for their presence at the induction ceremony for new members.

"I'm going to an event," said Order founder and former University president Stephen Joel Trachtenberg, who was wearing a tuxedo. "It is some kind of alumni event."

Other University administrators who entered the Law School in formal attire included Peter Konwerski, assistant vice president of Student and Academic Support Services, and Barbara Porter, University President Steven Knapp's chief of staff. Knapp was not seen entering the Law School Friday night.

"Am I my brother's keeper?" Trachtenberg said when asked about Knapp's whereabouts.

Many of the students seen going into the Law School were 2007 graduates, including former Student Association Executive Vice President Josh Lasky, Justin Neidig and Jeff Goodman - all of whom have been previously linked to the Order.

"I will swear on my mother's grave that I don't know what is going on," Neidig said.

"Some 180 venerables" were invited to this year's dinner, according to an e-mail sent by the Order's Sergeant-At-Arms Chris Brooks to members of the society and given to The Hatchet.

Members of the Order should "only let a dozen or so members of the junior class become aware that they will be members of it in their senior year," Trachtenberg said in a speech at the society's first initiation, according to a transcript.

Little else is known about the initiation ceremony and the society's rules for membership.

In a 2007 interview, Neidig refused to discuss many of the details of the organization's membership.

"Membership is secret," he said. "(However), no individual is entitled to membership based upon arbitrary titles or campus involvement."

He added that initiation is "done in accordance (with) University guidelines."

In 2005, Student Judicial Services charged 12 Order members for violating the Student Code of Conduct and participating in hazing and underage drinking after Order members were seen on campus with blindfolds over their eyes and mud or face paint on their bodies.

The Code of Conduct defines hazing as "any action taken or situation created intentionally, with or without consent, whether on or off campus, to produce mental or physical discomfort, embarrassment, harassment or ridicule."

Attendees gathered outside the Law School said they did not know who would be admitted to the society this year.

In February, The Hatchet owas given an invitation for Friday's ceremony that listed Brooks, the chairman of the College Republicans, as the contact-person for the event.

Brooks, who was not seen entering the Law School, would not disclose his association with the Order in a February interview with The Hatchet.

"If I was involved, I wouldn't mention any involvement," Brooks said. "I find it interesting that an anonymous source tipped (The Hatchet) off to something that may or may not be true."

So, long story short, people are parading around campus in tuxedos, festooned with gold hippo pins, giving outrageously ridiculous statements and quotes, and pretty much bursting with excitement because now people are going to know they're all in a secret society! It'd would be hilarious, if it weren't so sad.

And the worst of it is that the Order hazes people. This is coming from a former President who wouldn't hesitate to try to get a greek organization booted off campus if there was even a hint of hazing, and yet they spend their time blindfolding their members, covering them in mud and paint, and parading them blindly around the campus quads. Genius! And since when was that the appropriate rites for a secret society induction? What about solemn oaths, brotherhood, and the ritual sacrifice of a goat? What would The Skulls say??

Happy Birthday To Me!

Shit - I'm really old.

I mean 23 - twenty-three. I'm still technically in my early-twenties, but next year marks the beginning of my mid-twenties. Mid-twenties. If you couldn't already tell, I keep repeating words today in a shocked, bewildered sort of tone. Anyway, today I'm 23, not 24, not any other age, so I'm going to enjoy it as much as I can. If this is the last year of my mid-twenties, I sure as hell better enjoy every minute of it.

Quite literally, an online birthday card from my Blingee.com account

My mother left me a card in the bathroom this morning, and true to form, my mother continues to give me the most touching cards imaginable:

Card Outside: (3 old women on lounge chairs, in towels)
Old Woman 1: So I said, "I just don't see how that trapeze is going to hold both of us..."
Old Woman 2: You're making this up!
Old Woman 3: Who cares? What happens next!

Card Inside:
Getting older is fun if you hang out with the right people. Happy Birthday.
Hope you have a real hoot!! on your birthday - I know I will!! xoxo, Mom

(And just so you know, for my mom's birthday this year I gave her a card with an image of old, scantily clad people playing Hop Scotch - on the inside, it said "Fuck it, let's skip the Hop and go straight to the Scotch! Happy Birthday!" We just... get each other.)

I've already received some lovely presents, including season 1 of Torchwood, 3 books and 2 audio books from Sheridan, ridiculously adorable anchor print Vineyard Vines flip flops from Jen, and a gorgeous tan leather purse from my mother. I want to put all my books in the bag, put on my flip flops, and... charge outside into the 50 degree weather? Maybe not. Anyway, today I also received a present from my Tarot.com account (psh, like you don't get your horoscope delivered to your inbox every day!). It's a... um. Celtic Cross 11 Card reading? I'm not sure, I forget. But here's my prediction for my 23rd year - and it's the best reading I've ever had!

Self: Three of Wands

Main (positional) meaning: You are prepared to take risks to explore new opportunities or enterprises. The card in the Self position reveals aspects of how you perceive yourself right now. When the Three of Wands is in this position an adventure is about to be set in motion. This card represents the burning drive that compels a person to risk his or her worldly fortunes for a chance at greatness. Committed to a plan of action, you have gathered resources and designed the step by step procedure. An enterprising spirit inspires you to strike out in this new direction rather than stay with the status quo. Now you can confidently set out on this journey of exploration and hopefully, enrichment.

Situation: Seven of Cups

Main (positional) meaning: Make sensible choices based on self-knowledge. The card that lands in the Situation position refers to social or circumstantial factors which could be affecting your life at this time. When the Seven of Cups is in this position, you may be entering a climate of affirmation and opportunity, perhaps in direct contrast to what has gone before. It is as if you have broken into a clearing after hacking your way through a thicket. The possibilities are so lush it's almost embarrassing, although not all of them can be acted upon. Be sensible. You have to know yourself well enough to determine which of all the available delights is truly for you and you alone. Take care not to be greedy in this situation. Sharpen your powers of discrimination, use your intuition, and follow your heart.

Challenges/ Opportunities: Ten of Cups

Main (positional) meaning: You know in your heart that you have done what is best for all concerned. The card that lands in the Challenges/Opportunities position refers to ways that you can turn obstacles into stepping stones. With the Ten of Cups in this position, let yourself relax, knowing your labors are completed. The worst is over and a much-improved future lies ahead. You are moving forward to a life which is very different from the one you inherited. You know that your heroic effort has made a real difference in the way things are now unfolding. Even if you don't receive all the recognition you have earned, a solid core of self-esteem is now your permanent possession. You did the right thing under challenging circumstances; you kept the greater good in mind. Knowing this produces feelings of personal gratification. Now you can lay this situation to rest and learn to live in a totally new way.

Foundation: Four of Coins

Main (positional) meaning: Take stock of your many blessings and honor your powerful roots. The card in the Foundation position points to influences from your personal history, your roots and background. The Four of Coins in this position suggests you are blessed with substantial gift assets of one kind or another. Some families are culturally rich; some are spiritually rich, while others have financial wealth. All of these can be blessings. Take stock of your personal inheritance, and honor your roots. Be grateful for, and take advantage of, the natural resources passed down to you in this lifetime. In the English-school decks, we see the image of a person who is stuck in his or her misunderstanding of how the material plane works. He's afraid to let go of his four measly coins, because he doesn't know he has to give in order to get. When looked at this way, this is the card of "poverty consciousness."

Recent Past: Ace of Wands

Main (positional) meaning: Someone has shown you how to develop singleness of purpose. The card in the Recent Past position refers to events that are just departing, recently influential but now diminishing in power. With the Ace of Wands in this position, you have been shown an example of a person who has unified his or her will, heart and mind. Such an example is an extraordinary gift. Such a person is not only without duplicity but is like the still center of a howling gale. Capture this person's image and remember it, because it will help you develop a sense of inner harmony and singleness of purpose. This is not only an important lesson but also a real blessing that shouldn't be forgotten.

Higher Power: Justice

Main (positional) meaning: Divine power trusts you to do the right thing. The card in the Higher Power position reflects the broader perspective and influence of your conscience, Guardian Angel, inner wisdom. When Justice comes up in this position, you are given the sword and scales to mediate an important debate, contract or negotiation. Two decidedly non-neutral parties are arguing a case before you as you sit in the seat of the village elder, the wise person. Your task is to find the balance point. Do not be swayed by sentiment, cut deals or do favors. Listen closely, then state the truth, guided by your Higher Power. Show each party how to surrender selfish considerations and cooperate around the most even-handed solution.

Near Future: Eight of Coins

Main (positional) meaning: Continue to cultivate your mastery and you will reap abundant success. The card in the Near Future position indicates which way the wind is blowing with regard to your situation. If you follow the Advice card, however, you can improve on or neutralize tendencies. With the Eight of Coins in this position, you are gearing up to design and render more sophisticated projects. Everything is in place for great success as long as you persevere. Your artistic and intellectual development are evolving in an upward spiral. Continue to refine your skills. Master your craft, building your reputation and attracting new projects, and you will be richly rewarded. Stay on track.

Blocks & Inhibitions: Ten of Wands

Main (positional) meaning: Preoccupation with externals obstructs your purpose; focus instead on the inner reality. The card in the Blocks position points to self-undermining tendencies, areas where you could be in denial, where you could get stuck -- unless you examine yourself and make some corrections. The Ten of Wands in this position indicates you are placing too much value on outwardly oriented pursuits when what you are truly seeking -- inner peace -- is being neglected. Ask yourself if you purposely invite distractions into your life to keep from feeling and having what you are truly longing for, your source of true passion. If that seems true, decide what changes you will make to keep from obstructing inner progress any further.

Allies: Four of Swords

Main (positional) meaning: Look to history for personalities and deeds to model your aspirations. The card in the Allies position points to people who can be supportive or helpful to you at this time. The Four of Swords in this position suggests that your allies, role models and greatest inspirations may be members of previous generations; they may even be historical heroes or legendary figures. Seek inspiration from your archetypes of change, healing and wisdom, whose stories and deeds stir the urge within you to overcome obstacles and resolve problems. Turn the wheels of transformation and evolution. If none come immediately to mind, take time to search for role models who will inspire the qualities you wish to emulate and cultivate within yourself.

Advice: The Hierophant

Main (positional) meaning: Develop your expertise, and have faith that you are a master in the making. The card in the Advice position suggests a course of action which will harmonize what you want with what is currently possible. The Hierophant in this position advises that you return to the role of a meticulous student. Learn everything you can about your chosen area. Let that knowledge become a part of you and an operative influence on your day to day awareness. In this way, you can slowly and steadily establish real credibility in your field or chosen subject. Earn respect and recognition by completing your education and broadening your experience. If you already have all the necessary experience you need, then rewrite your resume so others can appreciate who you are and what you can bring to a situation. Focus on your goal and be determined. You may be destined to be a master in your realm.

Long-term Potential: Page of Coins

Main (positional) meaning: When you work smarter instead of harder, you may well devise a better way. The card in the Long-term Potential position points to unknowns still taking shape. It is the "wild card" yet to be played. The Page of Coins (in some decks, a Princess) in this position indicates that the more completely you master the basics now -- whether regarding a relationship or some enterprise -- the greater your accomplishments will be in the future. Study how a small adjustment in technique can produce a substantial difference in outcome. Only after you have learned the history of your area of interest, and the demands that it makes on all who would master it, can you begin to see where you would make changes or invent better ways. Don't expect to just repeat what those who came before you did; refine your art and you will put your stamp on what is now like a dream in the mind of an apprentice (i.e. the Page). You have the power to gain true mastery if you remain devoted enough to put in the necessary time and effort.

Hot damn. BRB, fulfilling my awesome destiny!

My Last Day as a 22 Year Old

Days till Old Age: Tomorrow

Crap.

So today is my last full day of being 22, and already I'm not so sure I want to live to see tomorrow. First of all, my uterus still motherfucking hurts, which is baffling me; last time I had surgery, it was much more intensive, and yet I was up and dragging my ass around after a few days. Hell, exactly a week after surgery, I began driving myself into Quincy, hopping on the T, and taking freaking summer classes at UMass! But now I'm cranky and sore and my belly button is fucked up, and really people, can I just be healthy???

Second of all, seeing as I'm home for my birthday, tomorrow can mean one terrifying thing, and one terrifying thing only:

Family. Dinner.

Like most people my age, my parents are divorced, and have been divorced for quite some time. Nothing out of the ordinary there. However, unlike most other people, my parents are entirely incapable of being human around each other, and even if they're not screaming and ripping each other's limbs off, they're so anxious and awkward around each other that it always drives me into panic attack territory. Either my father is ranting and raving about something that happened (or, often times, never actually happened) twelve years ago, or he's babbling on so rapidly about something exciting but intelligible that it makes everyone dizzy. There's no happy, calm middle ground - extremes all around for us, baby.

Add in to the mix our latest ex-almost-stepmother (to clarify, she wasn't our step mother, but may have well as been, but now she's another ex, but she still hangs out with the family, so it immediately brings the awkward quotient up to "Insanity") and I think the world might collapse in on itself. I have the urge to flee into the night, but A) it's not night, and B) I can't even mosey, let alone flee, so I think I'm stuck here.

At least we're going to 53 South, which means MARTINI BAR! So I'll be wasted within minutes of arriving at the restaurant, and that's the only solace I can cling to. If I'm lucky, I can pass out somewhere between the appetizers and the main course (ooh, like a mini diet!) and I won't remember anything the next morning. Good thing my tolerance is at an embarrassing low right now.

So, in honor of my last day of being 22, I've put together a list of highlights from the past year. Here goes:

1. The Mormon Mauler: Aw! Nothing says "romantic fun" like a guy that can't hold his liquor or his cocaine. Add into the mix that he's a Mormon that has no problem mauling you half to death, but freaks out at the idea of sex, and you have yet another reason why I refuse to date again for a very, very long time. Also, no, there were no onomatopoeias in the stuffed shells - and yes, he asked this right before passing out on top of Erin on our couch in the dorm. Aw.

2. Graduation: I did it! I graduated! Hooray for a BA in English! I find it hilarious that I graduated with an English degree, and my brother now wants to get a BA in Art History - my parents somehow managed to have children that want the least lucrative degrees in the history of time. Hello, never ending debt! At any rate, somehow my 4 years of boozing, sorority life, and skipping 99% of my classes paid off - well, by paid off, I mean GW became the most expensive school in the country, and we paid over $200,000 for my education, and now with an English degree I'll never make any money, so the school owns my soul. Yes!

3. Getting My First Apartment: I seriously lucked out hard with this apartment. While the rent may be insane, it's much cheaper than anything else in the area (because the building is gross and people are regularly murdered in the halls, if you didn't already know), and you really can't beat the location (midtown on the cusp of downtown? Right between Dupont and Logan Circles? Right between 3 of the largest Metro stops in the city? Hell yeah!) I also lucked into this place because I signed a freaking lease the morning before I got my first job!

4. Appropriately, Gettiing My First Job: Aw, I remember thinking I was going to have such a great time. I was a legal and marketing assistant (or so I thought) and what could be a better stepping stone than that?? And then I realized that by "legal and marketing assistant" my bosses meant "cute chick that does nothing but makes us look good" and then I was sad. And planning my escape.

5. NYC Summer: This summer was the most amazing summer I've ever had. I spent most of it in New York City, being almost entirely broke, and loving every minute of it. New York in the summer is just breathtaking; there's so much to do, and so much fun to be had, and I miss it like crazy. And I realized that I loved living the "bohemian" (aka "broke ass") life. It was exciting and you never knew what was going to happen next. Or when you were going to eat next.

6. Go (Mid)West!: I dunno, I went to the midwest for the first time (other than just going there as a layover before moving onwards.) It was much cuter than I thought it would be, even if you could smell animal in most of the city.

6. Surgery Round 2: Yeah, uh, still holding out hope that this is eventually going to make me feel 100% better again, like the last round did.

So that was, partially, being 22. Of course there was more, but I'm tired of typing, and my uterus is complaining about my laptop being on top of it. So, before I go, I want to type out a list of things I want to achieve during my 23rd year:

- Move the fuck out of DC
- Go to back to Europe
- Sign the contract with the agency in LA
- Bang a celebrity
- Become a celebutard
- Have a haircut named after me

And more! I can't think straight, I need to go take a pain killer and try not to throw up my breakfast, so I'll figure this out once I'm actually 23. Good times!

I Am Alive

But oh, what a crazy few days it's been. Let's start at the beginning.

Saturday: I took the Amtrak's regional overnight on Friday, and got into South Station in Boston at 8am on Sunday. My mom picked me up and we went back to Hull to drop my things off, and then decided to go out for a very unhealthy, calorie-laden breakfast. As we were getting ready to walk out the door - around 9am - I realized I needed to call the blood lab to see about my blood results, so I called and they said they'd sent the results in, but couldn't give them to me even though they were my blood results. Fab. So I called my doctor's office, and my doctor said she'd go check the fax machine, seeing as the results came in late the night before.

She calls me back a minute later and says: "Sorry, surgery's off." The last time I was checked for Factor 7, I tested at 40%. I don't know exactly what that means, other than that I was healthy and it was barely an issue, and it pretty much just meant I was a carrier of the gene and nothing else. Well, this time, I tested at 17%. My first reaction was "Oh yay, I'm better!" but this means that I'm worse. Apparently 20% is the severe risk level, and I was, obviously below it. So of course I freaked out.

Yep, crying on the phone, panicking, making an ass of myself. My doctor was very apologetic, but she wanted to be safe, and while I can't blame her, it's quite a punch in the gut. And she didn't know when I could have surgery, which would've meant I would've had to change pretty much all of my plans for the next few months (including getting the fuck out of DC and moving elsewhere.) So my mother gets on the phone and talks logistics with my doctor, and I try not to pass out from anxiety. My doctor says there's still a slim chance surgery could go as planned, but she'd have to get in touch with the hematologist and work out all the issues, and find more Factor 7 to have on hand in the OR. And she's not even sure my hematologist would consent to surgery, seeing as she hasn't seen me in close to 2 years. It was one giant mess.

After we get off the phone, we decide to still go out for breakfast to cheer me up. I pour myself into the car, feeling terrifically sorry for myself (but looking forward to chocolate chip pancakes and hash browns) and we start driving. About a minute later (this is now around 9:30am) my phone rings, and once again it's my doctor's office. I pick up, and my doctor announces: "Surgery's on! I'll see you Monday!"

To say I was shocked was a bit of an understatement. In that half an hour, my doctor had not only gotten hold of the hospital and found more Factor 7, but she'd already talked to my hematologist and they decided that since I have absolutely no history of bleeding, I'll be okay for surgery. With the extra Factor 7 on hand in the OR, I'd be okay in case anything happened. Again, all this in half an hour. So then of course I cried on the phone again, but at least my doctor is a young woman who specializes in women with hormonal insanity, so she was used to it. So, within a half an hour, surgery had been canceled, then was back on, and I was almost insane. At least we ended up going to Stars and eating enough food to feed a small army.


Monday: Surgery day! I woke up at 6am with my mother to go to school with her before surgery. Since they'd bumped me up to an earlier time, we decided to go ahead and do the before school program that my mom does, and then just go right to the hospital from there. And to drop off my rent check along the way, since I was juggling a million things at once when I left and DIDN'T DROP MY CHECK OFF. Sure, it would be in on time since it's not due till the first of the month, but still. Ugh. So at 8am we left for the hospital, and I went right in for blood work. Everything panned out and I changed into one of those super flattering hospital johnnies, and settled in for the long haul. I was supposed to have surgery at 11, but it ended up being closer to noon because of another surgery before mine that had to start late.

I have no memory whatsoever of getting my anesthesia or waking up after surgery (I got my anesthesia in the pre-op area so god only knows when the hell they pulled that one on me) but I do remember waking up an hour or so after surgery, covered by this awesome blanket that was hooked up to a machine that pumped hot air into it, so I constantly stayed warm. This was amazing because the last time I had this surgery, the anesthesia made me so cold that I was shaking and kept hurting my surgery area, and they had to pile, like 8 blankets on me. Oops.

I would've been out of recovery about an hour or so after surgery, but without thinking I said sure to having pain meds pumped into me (twice) and so I ended up spending FOUR HOURS there, while I tried not to puke my brains out. I can't handle any pain meds anymore - no percs, no vicoden's, not even morphine. All of it makes me feel like my stomach has turned itself inside-out and is trying to spew itself forcefully out of my mouth. Sexy.

So, around 6pm my mom and I finally emerged from the hospital. Some retarded new nurse brought us all over the place because he got lost wheeling my wheel chair out to the door (brilliant.) Then, while my mom went out to get the car and bring it round to the door, some crazy, haggard looking woman wandered up to us and asked if we had an extra cigarette. Yes, because a nurse and a chick hunched over in a wheelchair, clutching a pillow and looking like hell, would definitely be toting around packs of cigarettes. Nothing says "smokers!" like scrubs and someone obviously out of surgery.

Anyway, my mom carted me home and put me to bed, and I spent much of that day sleeping and whining and whatnot. I actually felt (much) better than I'd anticipated. Last time, I spent 3 days out flat on my ass, and had a hard time getting up and moving around. This time, it was much easier, and I'm much more mobile. The day after surgery, I could maneuver the stairs without it hurting too much. The surgery itself was far more minimal - rather than thick bands of scar tissue everywhere, and endometrial tissue on nerve endings and stuff, there was only a bit of endometrial tissue on the underside of my uterus. More sexy! At any rate, my reproductive organs are still operating swimmingly, and I'm fine.

Everything in gerneal was pretty fab, really, until late yesterday afternoon, when I realized I was having some bleeding issues. As far as I'm aware, this is considered normal, but given my Factor 7 issues, I'm freaking out a bit. As of yet, I haven't died or anything, and a trip to WebMD said it was normal, but I'm waiting for my doctor to call me back and assure me that I'm okay. Fingers crossed.

At any rate, I feel okay, and I'm definitely getting better. As long as all this blood crap checks out, I'll be good to go!

Just Kidding

I'm not done yet.

Just got off the phone with my doctor, who informed me that the blood lab, rather than performing a Factor 7 Activity Level test like instructed, performed a Factor 8 Activity Level test. Now, I'm not quite panicking yet because they said they can rush the results for the correct test and have them in either this evening or tomorrow morning.

Now, my doctor originally said the results could be in tomorrow and I'd be fine, so that's... good at least. The only problem is that they were supposed to be in yesterday or today, so that my doctor had ample time to speak to my hematologist in case my risk factor had gone up (which I still don't understand, given as I have the gene, and do not have hemophilia) but she thinks surgery should go on as planned. The only issue would be if the results changed, but they still would have the Factor 7 on hand just in case, so I have no idea what the fucking issue is. Just order freaking extra, if you're worried.

This is ridiculous. All of this could've been avoided if they'd just told me in ADVANCE that I needed this test done. Then the lab could've fucked up and it wouldn't be an issue. Now, of course, I get to go home and spend the entire train ride worrying that something will be off, and I won't be able to have surgery on Monday. I swear to god, if I don't have surgery, I will kill someone. Happily.

Last Minute Craziness

Days till Surgery: 3
Days till Old Age: 12

So today is the day I pack up my comfiest pajamas, make sure all the food in my apartment that could go bad is thrown away, and prepare for a week full of surgery, recovery, and eating entirely too much ice cream at home in Hull.

I am, most unfortunately, at work for the better part of the day today, although I get to leave early to make sure I have enough time to get everything together and actually get to the train on time. For those of you that have had the immense pleasure of traveling with me, you know I like to be early for any train/plane/automobile I may be taking. When I travel Amtrak, for instance, I arrive precisely an hour early, and I sit in the seat closest to the gate, so that when it comes time to line up, I can leap up, push aside the elderly and any small children, and guarantee that I have a window seat. You never know - sometime the train comes from Virginia, and the good seats are few and far between.

I also need extra time to finish packing, even though I have been packing for several days now. I always cause immense levels of stress in those around me when I pack, because I can never make up my goddamn mind. Even when I'm going home to basically sit on my ass for a week, I spend hours stressing over which pajama shirt best goes with which pair of pajama pants - because you never know who may come bursting in your room and judge you on your outfit. Hey, it could happen.

Oh honey, those striped Victoria's Secret loungewear pants are so last season!

So I have much to do when back at my apartment, and a few things to actually do at work before I can take my week long pseudo-vacation. For instance, upon arrival in the office this morning, I had to tally up the first round of the Sweet 16 scores, and see where we all stood in our office pool. If that's not important, earth shattering work, then I just don't know what is. Unfortunately, I am in a tight spot, as I'm currently in last place...

...but! A few of the guys have teams going all the way to the last two (or even winning the entire thing) that have already been knocked out, and since those rounds are obviously worth more points, I may be able to turn the table at the last minute. C'mon, UCLA and UNC! Especially UNC - if I don't win this, heads will roll. Literally.

Once I get home, things will hardly slow down, at least for the weekend. This morning my brother is having oral surgery (goodbye, wisdom teeth!) so I'll spend the weekend helping my parents make sure he's suitably comfortable, and trying to help out as much as I can. I'd feel really bad if he was still really in pain and then I went and had my surgery and stole their attention away, so hopefully things will even out and he'll be in good shape once it's my turn to have Operation played on me. Why we're having surgery so close together I don't know - I don't think anyone really realized what was going on until both had already been planned and it was almost show time. Now we're all looking sheepish and going "Oooh yeah... damnit!" At any rate, this will be one very interesting long weekend.

So now I must say adieu, my loyal readers. I won't be updating for a few days - at least until I can sit up and attempt coherent thought. Hopefully I'll have an update on Wednesday or Thursday, if all goes well. I'm crossing my fingers and already dreaming of a giant vat of Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream. Here's to our dreams.

The Trials of (Pre-) Surgery

Days till Surgery: 5
Days till Old Age: 14

So yesterday's post was made before even more insanity went down. Here's what happened:

Like I said yesterday, South Shore Hospital informed me that I had to come in sometime before surgery for blood work. They said Friday morning was fine, as long as I was in before 5pm when they close. It was a pain in the ass, but I started planning a new trip home, and was waiting on my mother to call me back to change my travel arrangements.

Well, then my doctor's office calls, and informs me that no, I cannot have the blood work done on Friday, as that specific test has a WEEK turnaround time, and we're going to have to reschedule surgery. EXCUSE ME??? You do not schedule an over-the-phone consultation 6 DAYS before surgery, then inform me that I HAVE to take a test that has a WEEK turnaround time. On what planet does that make sense?? I'd talked to my doctor and several people in her office numerous times since scheduling my surgery (which was, by the way, weeks ago) and not once did they inform me that I needed more blood work. My doctor even said I didn't need a real pre-op, since I'd already had the surgery before, and all my blood work was up to date.

Obviously, I freaked out. I've been anxious for days now because of surgery, and my hormones are touchy as hell as it is, being on the Lupron, so hearing that I might have to rearrange all my travel, fight with work to move my schedule around, and have to wait another week for surgery (meaning it would be 2 days before my birthday, which is no fun) pretty much pushed me over the edge.

My doctor spoke with my hematologist who said I had to get the blood work done, but said if I could find a lab in DC that could get the results in by Saturday, I could have the surgery as scheduled on Monday. A million thanks to Sam for pointing me towards LabCorp, a lab on K Street, as I called them and they seemed outraged that the test would have a week turnaround time, as they could do it in 2-3 days. I literally got teary eyed, I was so grateful.

So I called my doctor, informed her that she was doing surgery, and then skedaddled down K Street to get my test done. I was in and out in less than 10 minutes, and now I'm all set (for real this time) for surgery! I understand that my doctor is very busy, and really likes to take all possible precautions, but this was just insane. If you really want me to have a test that's practically needless, at least tell me beforehand, so you don't fuck up my entire schedule. It's so horrifically unfair to announce "well we didn't tell you more than a week before, so we're gonna reschedule!" The surgery itself really isn't all that bad, but all the anticipation and anxiety and stress leading up to it really gets to me, and it's too much to have to push it back.

Sure, you might say I'm being a baby, but I've already had it happen once, and it was a disaster. I went in for surgery the very first time, was hooked up to an IV and ready to go, when they announced that some ridiculous test (not a standard test at ALL) had shown I had the gene for the Factor 7 Deficiency - and I had to go home. The test is almost never preformed (and shows just how ridiculously slight my deficiency is) and obviously I was fine, as I'd already had my wisdom teeth out, and if I really had hemophilia, I would've died a horrible, bloody death in the operating room. I'm all for better safe than sorry, but not when it fucks my mind and body over. At least give me some damn warning so we can schedule accordingly.

So, enough ramblings - I'm coming home as planned on Saturday morning, having surgery as planned on Monday morning, and hopefully all will be well. Although if I get another call about yet another issue, I'm gonna start snapping necks left and right, so I might end up in prison - and that wouldn't be good.

I'm Screwed

Days till Surgery:6
Days till Old Age: 15

Royally screwed.

I spoke with South Shore Hospital today (if you couldn't guess, it's where I'm having my surgery done) and they informed me that I had to - not if I wanted to, or was inclined to, but had to - come in for blood work prior to my surgery. Problem? They're only open on weekdays, and I'm not going home until Saturday morning. with surgery at 11am on Monday morning, there's obviously no time to come in and have any work done. But, as I said, they stressed that I had to go in.

Of course I've already booked my train home, which means I get to cancel the train, pay the cancellation fee, rebook the train, pay the extra amount, come home a day and a half earlier, take a day and a half more off of work, and attempt not to lose my mind over all of it.

Now, it's great that they're so fastidious about blood work, especially because I have the gene for Factor 7 Deficiency, but the point is, I only have the gene. Technically I do not have hemophilia, it just shows up on certain tests because I carry the gene. The only time anyone is at risk for fun side effects like bleeding into their brain is if I mate with someone else that carries the gene, and 1 out of our 4 children actually contracts the Deficiency. But they still want me to come in to make sure everything's okay, which is fine with me, it really is - better safe than sorry. But it's a hell of a lot to smooth out in order to actually take this precaution.

So now I have a mother who's MIA (how, pray tell, does a Kindergarten teacher go MIA?), a father who's dealing with my grandmother who just had surgery, a brother who's having oral surgery either that Thursday or Friday, and one big mess of a fucked up schedule. I feel like a liquid lunch is in order today - preferably several martinis, with lots of olives.

Surgery, Travel, and March Madness

Days till Surgery: 7
Days till Old Age: 16

So today marks the beginning of several week's worth of insanity. It also marks the beginning of my downfall in our office's NCAA Bracket, but I'll get to that in a minute.

This week is a whirlwind of last minute preparation before surgery next week, including a few doctor's appointments, making sure my surgeon has Factor 7 on hand (just in case I decide to start bleeding profusely out of embarrassing orifices), finishing the limerick book drawings for my mother's Kindergarten class, packing, pre-op stuff, and traveling. Oh, traveling.

I'm heading up to Boston on Friday night, taking my old standby, Amtrak's Regional Overnight. Some people hate taking the train, and I'll admit that it can be difficult to spend anywhere from 8-12 hours (depending on whether or not there are delays) stuck in one seat, but the way I look at it? I'd much rather be comfortable and on my ass for hours on end, than plummeting out of the sky when a plane has a mechanical failure and crashes to the ground in a massive, fiery explosion. Unless I ended up on the Lost island... hmm...

Now this should cure my fear of flying!

Surgery is on Monday, then it's a week on my ass for recovery/binge eating/chocolate consumption. Then, MOST unfortunately, I do have to fly back on Sunday the 6th. I wanted to take the train, but I feel like 8+ hours on a rumbling, shaking train probably isn't the best way to travel so soon after having surgery. I mean, I'm mobile again after about 3 days, so by that Sunday I'll be feeling much better, but still, I figure it's best not to risk it. I'd be so pissed if I felt good, then got on a train and fucked myself over.

So yes, I'm flying, and I'm taking Jet Blue and I'll probably be on lots and lots of happy pills so I can do it, but oh well. You gotta do what you gotta do.

So I get back on Sunday night, and go back to work on Monday. On Wednesday I turn 23 (speaking of which, I found another gray hair this morning - delightful!) and immediately lapse into a coma of self-despair. Luckily, I'm going to the Celtics game that night, and watching then crush the Wizards (while drinking copious amounts of FREE alcohol in our company's Box Seats) will surely cheer me up. Nothing says "Happy Feelings" like booze and basketball.

¡feliz cumpleaños!

I hope the bar in the Box has Margaritas.

The very next day, I drag my hungover ass out of bed, and roll into yet another Amtrak seat, as I'm whisked away back to Boston for my post-op appointment, and more birthday celebrations. Hopefully by this point I'll be walking with ease, and the train shouldn't hurt too badly. I seriously considered flying back and forth for this weekend, but the idea of flying literally makes me so nervous I want to cry, and since I'm already subjecting myself to it once this month, I decided to risk the train. If the appointment were any earlier, I'd fly, but I lucked out. I think. I hope.

Anyway.

I was hoping that after this weekend's NCAA college basketball games, I would at least have the Office Bracket to cheer me up. As of Round 1, I was firmly in second place in our office, with an impressive score of 44 points (which, okay, was only 2 points more than the person in third place, but that's beside the point.) Well, this morning I added up the points after Round 2, and realized...

...What the fuck, I'm in last damn place! By 4 points! When my boss first announced we were doing a bracket, I didn't even want to participate. Sure, I know the basics of the NCAA; I know who's good and who sucks, I know who's favored to win and who isn't, but I had no burning desire to get caught up in the mayhem of it all, especially considering I'm the only female in my office, and everyone takes it very seriously indeed.

But then I got roped into doing it, and now I'm freaking out about it. We're all getting so competitive it's ridiculous, stooping so low as to count and re-count our tally, even when we all know that everyone in the office has counted each sheet about 20 times. One miscount turned into a massive brouhaha, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a certain co-worker so riled up about, well, anything. It was somewhat impressive.

I will fuck your shit up

At any rate, I now know why they call it March "Madness." Talk about insanity. I'm hoping that UNC continues to kick ass - I have them going all the way, and beating UCLA to take home the title. Of course I had Georgetown in my Final 4, and Davidson kicked their stupid ass, so who knows. As long as UCLA and Memphis keep going, and UNC stays strong, I'll be all set. I better fucking win this bracket - there's not only Nat's tickets on the line, there's my pride.

America's Next Top PETA Target

Days till Surgery: 18
Days till Old Age: 26

We've seen a lot of crazy photo shoots on ANTM, there's no denying that. There was the model suicide shoot, the smoking effects shoot, the "controversial political issue" shoot, and so on and so forth. But this week, Tyra thought she'd outdo herself by draping the girls in meet, ruining a plethora of potential meals, and exposing va jay jays everywhere to the tastiness that is E Coli. Mmm, where to begin!

But I don't want to get ahead of myself. There were so many highlights before we got to the girls dressing in dead animal carcasses, and it would be a disservice to myself and all my readers if I didn't go into those issues first. So, let's see... we had the girls screaming over everything once again; we had the girls shrieking out the Tyra mail messages again; we had Fatima being a bitch again; we had Amis being a fucking moron again; we had Lauren prove that she's entirely incapable of putting one foot in front of the other again; and we had Dominique prove to the world that she's really a male-to-female transsexual. Again. Seriously, what the fuck Dominique! When people can't tell your gender, at least do something with your hair so they can sort of tell you're supposed to be a female! Is that really too trying??

Okay so, moving on!

Here are the girls' pictures, complete with my very own sassy commentary:

Aimee:

Well... she's not great, but she's not terrible. She's still definitely one of the best looking girls, and she has potential (her walk isn't all that bad) but she needs to bring it up a notch. She's just sort of... there. This picture is whatever. I mean, it didn't land her in the bottom two, but it sure got her close to it. I still think the red hair was a terrible choice - maybe she'd feel better if her head didn't constantly look like it was on fire. Just sayin'.

Claire:

Okay, I don't understand why the fuck Claire is the Cover Model of the Week every damn week! Last cycle Heather was CMoW because she was awesome and everyone lived her. Claire is... well, she's not Dominique and she's not Fatima, so automatically she's okay, but there's nothing special about her. She doesn't do anything that endears us to her. Sure, this picture's pretty good, but that's about all she's got.

Dominique:

Ugh ugh ugh ugh UGH!!! What the fuck, girl? (Girl?) Every single fucking time Dominique went face-to-face with the camera, it was like she was intent on confounding ever viewer. Am I a woman? Or a man? You'll never know! It's called makeup and a hairbrush, even the J(ay)s get it, for fuck's sake. She's just so hideously offensive looking, I can't get over it. And why do the judges insist on picking poses where her leg cellulite and flab are showing? Stop highlighting it! If you want to focus on something, focus on trying to get her to prove she's a woman!

Katarzyna:

Thank god for her. She's beautiful and capable, she won the runway challenge (she's mastered the art of "walking," even if it was a little too quickly) and she can actually pose. I don't understand why the judges keep insisting she looks like a Russian hooker (okay the shoot last week was a little mail order bride-ish, but she was in lingerie and the photographer kept making her pose that way!) but at least they called her out third this week. Lord only knows she should've already gone home by now, given that she's attractive and capable.

Lauren:

Oh, Lauren. I don't know what to do with you. You take fierce pictures, okay? I'll give you that. But you're the most awkward thing I've ever seen in my entire life. At least Heather last cycle could walk. Her idea of walking is to hurry (nearly sprint) down the runway, then turn and dash away just as quickly. Don't you dare get offended with Jaslene "The Chin" Gonzalez asks if you really want to be there - you looked like you were running away from your very worst nightmare. Or maybe Dominique first thing in the morning.

Marvita:

Marvita is the perfect example of why ANTM is absolutely pointless, and why the girls never get any work. Marvita is a joke - she's ugly, she's manly, she can't pose and she can't walk - yet the judges continuously praise her and claim they see real model potential. What? Last time I checked, models weren't based off of horses. Coat hangers, sure, but at least they have a certain "whimsy something" to them. Marvita looks like a crotchety old hose with teeth issues, that should've been put out to pasture ages ago.

Stacy Ann:

Try as I might, I just can't take Stacy Ann seriously. Be it her lap dances, her butt shakes, her squeaky cartoon voice, or the fact that she looks like an ostrich on speed, this girl is just one walking cartoon character. She makes no sense, she's obnoxious, and she's not even remotely model material. Which means that she'll probably end up in the top two at the end of the cycle.

Whitney:

Girl, I love you something fierce! Whitney is beautiful and fabulous, and it makes me so damn happy that she's doing so well in this cycle. She has talent both on the runway (boob falling out aside) and in the shoots, and she's confident and strong without being arrogant. And she stands up for the other girls when Dominique and Marvita & Co. go on the attack. I can't wait to see her beat some serious bitch ass next week! Hopefully she'll end up "accidentally" snapping Fatima in two as well.


And now we move onto the this week's Winner, and this week's Bottom 1.5. You'll see.

Winner: Anya

Okay, this is a fabulous picture, I must admit. Anya has a great body, and she has a very high fashion look right here. She does photograph well, you have to give her that much. She knows what to do with her body in shoots, and she works it well. Her walk is pretty bad, but so is everyone else's, so for now we can overlook that. But in person, it's another story entirely. Why does the Hawaiian girl have a Russian accent? And why hasn't she fixed those monstrous eyebrows? She needs to get herself together, stat.

Bottom Two: Fatima

As usual, Fatima spent the entire hour bitching, complaining, and making fun of everyone around her. Now, some people can do this and it's hilarious (see: Dionne) but that's because she had a heart and was sweet too. Fatima is just an angry, angry bitch. And this week she sucked royally. Her walk was awkward as all, and what the fuck is this picture? She looks like her legs got stuck in concrete, and she's halfheartedly attempting to swivel free. And the face? When the photographers constantly tell you to CHANGE YOUR EXPRESSION, you do! It's for a reason!

Bottom Two (Went Home): Amis

The CW Website doesn't even have Amis' picture up right now. That's probably because it's so horrible it's literally painful. Amis was (as usual) a fucking maniac this episode, showed the world that she doesn't brush her hair, and then tried to play it off like she was just nervous. No, you skipping maniac, you're not nervous, you're an idiot. And a pathetic one, at that. Thank god she's gone - and hopefully, Fatima will be next.