I have decided that I want Rihanna and Drake's 'What's My Name' to be the soundtrack to this year. More specifically, I want to walk down a street in some wickedly crazy, but somehow spectacular clothes with awesome red hair while people rush to play drums around me. Making this particularly challenging, I need to look ethereally beautiful while doing so. How can we make this happen?
I read In the Cut this past summer. (Yes, I can often be found reading erotic thrillers. Just perusing the Amazon reviews, one boldly states "Not for the faint of heart!" Why, that's the perfect description of me!)
Jane Campion turned the book into a movie, which I haven't seen, but I want to. Because...Mark Ruffalo. That's the only reason one could need, really. Mark Ruffalo.
Last night, what I presume to be the EXTRA-EDITED, SUPER SLIMMED DOWN, BLEACHED AND LYSOLED version of In the Cut was featured on Lifetime, which David and I tuned into for about 3 minutes, until he was all, "What else is on?"
I was trying to give him the rundown on the graphic nature of book, and its...um...more interesting parts. The scene we watched happened to be one of the best in the book, where the two main characters (let's just call them Mark Ruffalo and Meg Ryan) are having a drink in a bar, and Mark Ruffalo starts telling Meg Ryan all the things he can be to her.
If she wants.
"You want me to romance you, take you to a classy restaurant, no problem...."
Of course, it then becomes progressively dirtier, with a few more 'you want me to' items that I cannot in good conscience type out here.
And I was thinking, what a great ringtone that brief monologue would be. If I didn't care about manners and decorum and inappropriateness. (Which I do. Don't worry.)
It can be the ringtone in my dream world where I walk down the street with awesome red hair and drummers and Rihanna and Drake playing in the skies and Mark Ruffalo chatting me up like a naughty boy when the phone rings.
So I didn't get into my first choice nursing school. I guess there were a billion applicants for 3 spots. (The numbers may be slightly different than that in reality.)
So the fact that there were a lot of applicants for a few spots kind of makes me feel better and kind of doesn't. Better because I know that the odds were long. But worse because then I know I'm entirely unremarkable.
I'm feeling okay with this now that's it's not last Wednesday, and it's been almost a week from when I logged in and received a rejection notice telling me to go jump off a high spot because I suck and I'll never be a nurse. Never!
(That same rejection notice also told me that I need to deep condition my hair more often, go to confession already, and get my winter-worn feet some Eucerin and socks, stat!)
I'm still trying to figure out what will happen if I don't get into my other first-choice nursing school (it was a complete and total tie for first).
So this was a bit of a setback. Or at least, it feels that way. I mean, not the definitive end of the world, but certainly a solid punch to the solar plexus. And head. And a hearty kick in the rear.
We've begun reading on blood vessels as we wrap up the circulatory system. I find pathophysiology so bizarrely fascinating, I want to start a binder entitled "Crazy Body Facts To Keep You Up At Night" and fill it with all sorts items that require an anti-anxiety pill just to read.
For instance, each kilogram of excess adipose tissue requires an additional 450 miles of blood vessels.
Yes, you read that right.
2.2 lbs. of extra padding = 450 MILES of blood vessels. Which increases blood pressure and makes the heart work harder to have to pump blood all those extra miles. Of course, as I was stuffing my face with gummy bears last night, this completely slipped my mind.
During Christmas, I had approximately 2250 more miles of blood vessels than usual.
So delicious, but too good at paving new, unnecessary circulatory pathways in my hip flesh.