Last night, my chemistry professor said we remaining kids were the Navy SEALS of summer students.
That's right. Not only was I able to slide under the 'kids' umbrella, but I can now compare myself to a guy that willingly jumps off a boat into the rough seas -- harnessed to a hell of a lot of gear -- who somehow has to swim to shore ready to bust out an AK and mow down evil-doers.
I was grateful for the comparison, without the requirement of a buzz cut.
We started out a class of 27, and now 14 remain. This shit is hard, yo.
And also last night, some asshole in my lab was trying to copy our figures last night. This is the same guy who decided to schedule a 9-day vacation in the middle of a 6-week summer course. And he wanted the professor to give him a make-up test for the one he'd be missing. And our professor was all like, "Um...no."
I wanted to take him aside and say, 'You're not Navy SEALS material, son, otherwise you'd know that you cannot copy our figures for your own acid/base titration. Now drop and give me 20, and then get the hell out of here.'
Speaking of push-ups, I had a dream about Denzel Washington last night. We were in a long hallway in some building constructed by the architects of my subconscious, and I was trying to show Denzel that I could do walking push-ups. (You know, where you do a plank and then walk forward and then do a push-up, walk forward again and then do another push-up? No? Okay, well I know for a fact that Jillian Michaels does staggered push-ups, so this is my own personal variation on them. (Note to self: copyright the walking push-up today.))
But get this. My hands were just covered in lotion. Just covered. And how can you impress Denzel Washington with your athletic prowess if your hands have just been dipped in a big ol' vat of Curel?
The answer, of course, is that you cannot. My hands were slipping on the beautifully finished wood floor of my brain, and so I had to stand back up and, rather embarrassingly, wipe my hands on my shorts.
I don't recall Denzel's dream expression, but I like to think it was this:
Practically smoldering. Despite my slippery palms, despite my questionable fitness routine. He was impressed, my friends. Totally. And then my subconscious was all, 'That's quite enough Denzel, Kelly,' and that was it. Gone, and most likely, never to appear again.
I do think Denzel would really enjoy the fact that I can do real push-ups, and not those wimpy on-your-knees variety. And I think he's be impressed by my Navy SEALS-like tenacity when it comes to chemistry.
I'm just not going to wait by the phone for him to call and congratulate me.