MCAT should not stand for Medical College Application Test. No. It's more like a warning: May Cause Anal Tearing. Why? Because it's currently raping me up the arse. It is Summer and I want to be not studying, dammit. I was going to post something earlier, but for some reason my brain had a responsible adult moment and decided I should study for the MCAT. I even had an idea as to what I wanted to write about, but I guess ye olde hippocampus decided no to store that idea into long-term memory as soon as brain started studying asinine things like electronegativity, ionization, electron affinity and azimuthal quantum numbers. Silly chemistry with your silly words. You're so silly.
Also? I had a good laugh when I saw that the translation for the French term 'hippocampe' is 'hippocampus'. HIPPO. CAMPUS. See, I studied Human Kinetics almost entirely in French and I've gone to French schools my entire life. Naturally, there are terms that I've learned in French for which I don't know the English translation. And when I go looking for the English equivalent? Oh, boy, do I find some gems. HIPPOCAMPUS. It's a campus for hippos! IN YOUR BRAIN! Although I think the best translation to date is phalanges. Now, you're probably thinking, "What the hell is the big deal? Phalanges. Nothing special about them." And for you guys reading this, sure, it may not be so big of a deal, but to me it is absolutely hilarious. Let me explain.
You see, 'phalanges' is spelt the exact same way in French : phalanges. And it means the exact same thing : fingers. The difference, however, lies in the pronunciation. It French, we say 'fa-lawn-je' (pronunciation at the bottom of this page because I can't type out pronunciations to save my life). Now, I remember there was a day when I was talking to a friend about English and French anatomy terms and I jokingly said "Ha, and what the hell is 'phalanges'? Fuhlanjeez?" And then I found out later that my pronunciation was RIGHT. In English, 'phalanges' is pronounced 'fuh-lan-jeez'. FUH. LAN. JEEZ. fuhLANjeez. FUHLANJEEZ. fuhlanjeezfuhlanjeezfuhlanjeezfuhlanjeezfuhlanjeezfuhlanjeezFUHLANJEEZ.
...in hindsight, this might seem only absolutely hilarious to me. But I don't care because FUHLANJEEZ! Extra emphasis on the LAN. fuhLANjeez! I'm typing fuhLANjeez with my phalanges.
I think Bones would be able to explain this better than I would ever be able to:
DANCING PHALANNNNNNNGEES!!!! SHOW ME YOUR PHALANNNNNNNNNNNNGEES!
I think the all the hippos on campus would appreciate some phalanges instead of whatever the fuck terms I had to study tonight. Poor hippos.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
What's in a name?
OK all you muchachos, muchachas, margaritas and macarenas, I need your help. No, I don't need money (well, I do...who doesn't? Well, I guess Oprah doesn't. That wench is crazy rich. Anyway, so I'm not asking for money even though I do need money I just don't need your money). No, I'm not dying or anything (although it is hotter than Hell outside. And humid. I'm surprised my lungs didn't immediately collapse as soon as I stepped outside this morning). And no, I haven't been abducted by aliens, carried off by a hoard of kamikaze watermelons or been forcibly strapped to a chair in front of a television playing a loop of Rebecca Black's newest "song" while my eyes have been taped open so that I can't shut out the absolute horror from my mind. Nope, none of that.
Here be my dilemma, all you jive turkeys:
I'm going to be attending the local university next year. Which means that I will be living back home for at least a year (please, pray for me). But home is about a twenty minute drive to the university. There are three of us in the house (me, Marge and Farge) and only two vehicles. SO. I decided that instead of having to rely on my parents driving me to school (HELL NO), I would be an adult and buy my own car. SO I DID. That's right, this gal (that's me, by the way...I'm this gal...in case you were wondering or something), went and got herself a hold of someone else's wheels and made them her own.
Aye, look at that shine. She's a 'bute, isn't she? Or he. See? THIS is my dilemma. I don't know who this car is. I've had it for a month now and it has no name. Now, maybe that guy from America didn't mind that he rode though the desert on a horse with no name, but there is no way I want to keep driving through town in a car with no name. It's just so... wrong. All of the vehicles that I've ever driven have had a name. First there was the Evergreen, a '95 forest green Plymouth Voyager that I drove all throughout high school. I even bought a chrome license plate cover that had an LCD screen on it so that when I stepped on the brake, the message "EVERGREEN 4 LIFE!!" would start scrolling across the screen. I know what your thinking and, hells yes, I was one of, no, the coolest people in that school. How could I not be popular with wheels like that? After the Evergreen was retired, along came the Blue Pearl, a 2001 light blue Caravan. I know, I get all the best cars.
I came up with both of those names. The Evergreen and the Blue Pearl. I knew those vans. Like, I knew them. They weren't just cars. Heck. No. They were an extension of me. It was like I myself had wheels. That would actually be really cool... ANYWHO. That little car up there? This gals car? I got nothin'. Nada. Zilch. Names have been going through my mind as of late, but nothing is sticking. THIS IS WHERE YOU COME IN. I figured if anyone could help me sort this out, it would be you wonderful, amazing, stupendous people of the internets. And no, I totally wasn't trying to suck up to you all right then. Pfft. I would never suck up to anybody. Do I look like a vacuum to you?
So, if you guys decide to help me out, here's a little bit on info about the car:
Year: 2001
Make and model: Chrysler Neon
Colour: Brownish gold... or goldish brown. It changes with the light.
What are the names that I've already thought of?
I dunno. What do you guys think? Pick your favourite from the list of my names or let me know your suggestions by leaving me a comment! If I don't find a name for this thing, I'm going to have to start riding Blongster everywhere.
Here be my dilemma, all you jive turkeys:
I'm going to be attending the local university next year. Which means that I will be living back home for at least a year (please, pray for me). But home is about a twenty minute drive to the university. There are three of us in the house (me, Marge and Farge) and only two vehicles. SO. I decided that instead of having to rely on my parents driving me to school (HELL NO), I would be an adult and buy my own car. SO I DID. That's right, this gal (that's me, by the way...I'm this gal...in case you were wondering or something), went and got herself a hold of someone else's wheels and made them her own.
Aye, look at that shine. She's a 'bute, isn't she? Or he. See? THIS is my dilemma. I don't know who this car is. I've had it for a month now and it has no name. Now, maybe that guy from America didn't mind that he rode though the desert on a horse with no name, but there is no way I want to keep driving through town in a car with no name. It's just so... wrong. All of the vehicles that I've ever driven have had a name. First there was the Evergreen, a '95 forest green Plymouth Voyager that I drove all throughout high school. I even bought a chrome license plate cover that had an LCD screen on it so that when I stepped on the brake, the message "EVERGREEN 4 LIFE!!" would start scrolling across the screen. I know what your thinking and, hells yes, I was one of, no, the coolest people in that school. How could I not be popular with wheels like that? After the Evergreen was retired, along came the Blue Pearl, a 2001 light blue Caravan. I know, I get all the best cars.
I came up with both of those names. The Evergreen and the Blue Pearl. I knew those vans. Like, I knew them. They weren't just cars. Heck. No. They were an extension of me. It was like I myself had wheels. That would actually be really cool... ANYWHO. That little car up there? This gals car? I got nothin'. Nada. Zilch. Names have been going through my mind as of late, but nothing is sticking. THIS IS WHERE YOU COME IN. I figured if anyone could help me sort this out, it would be you wonderful, amazing, stupendous people of the internets. And no, I totally wasn't trying to suck up to you all right then. Pfft. I would never suck up to anybody. Do I look like a vacuum to you?
So, if you guys decide to help me out, here's a little bit on info about the car:
Year: 2001
Make and model: Chrysler Neon
Colour: Brownish gold... or goldish brown. It changes with the light.
What are the names that I've already thought of?
- Neo (I'm SUPER CREATIVE)
- Nugget (Get it? Because it's GOLD... well, sort of gold)
- Bobbert The Brown
- Shit bucket
- Battlestar Craptica
- The Golden Girl
- ROFLCOPTER
- Edna
- Gilbert
- Pudding Pop
- Brown Chicken, Brown Cow
- ChaFUNK (...this is also what I call chipmunks)
I dunno. What do you guys think? Pick your favourite from the list of my names or let me know your suggestions by leaving me a comment! If I don't find a name for this thing, I'm going to have to start riding Blongster everywhere.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Obsession
Call me vain, but I am obsessed at watching the stats page for my small-time blog. I'll just sit here and keep pressing Apple+R every couple of seconds minutes to see if the little graph has gone any higher. It goes up and down and up and down and it's like being on a freaking roller-coaster. Although I imagine it being more like a monster with very poor dental care sinking its crooked teeth deeper into the realm of the Internet and I'm its master, sitting back in my lair, cackling as I watch the Blongster's progress. It may be a small blongster, but one day it will grow to be big and strong.
Maybe I shouldn't name my blog monster Blongster. It just brings to mind some sort of hairy, phallic-shaped monster with horrible teeth rampaging about. And Blongster is awfully close to Blingster, so now Blongster is not only hairy, phallic-shaped and lacking good dental genes, but someone went and bejazzled it with loads of bling. And a mobster hat so that people will take it seriously. And it has crab claws.
Seriously, if you saw this thing crawling toward you, you'd want to do whatever the hell it tells you to do wouldn't you?
Except, with those teeth, it would probably sound more like TREED TISS CLOD.
So, do as Blongster says: keep treeding tiss clod. FEED MY VANITY.
**APPLE+R, APPLE+R, APPLE+R, APPLE+R, APPLE+R, APPLE+R**
Maybe I shouldn't name my blog monster Blongster. It just brings to mind some sort of hairy, phallic-shaped monster with horrible teeth rampaging about. And Blongster is awfully close to Blingster, so now Blongster is not only hairy, phallic-shaped and lacking good dental genes, but someone went and bejazzled it with loads of bling. And a mobster hat so that people will take it seriously. And it has crab claws.
Seriously, if you saw this thing crawling toward you, you'd want to do whatever the hell it tells you to do wouldn't you?
 |
| Blongster says: READ THIS BLOG |
So, do as Blongster says: keep treeding tiss clod. FEED MY VANITY.
**APPLE+R, APPLE+R, APPLE+R, APPLE+R, APPLE+R, APPLE+R**
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
My bad, yo.
Holy mongoose babies, it has been FOREVER since I've updated this thing. I also just realised that you ten stalkers over there have had nothing to stalk for months, for which I apologize. School got in the way and then work took over and then my mind has been all "Does not compute" to just about anything else that it encounters. So, time to bring y'all up to speed on all the cool and maybe not-so-cool jazz I've been up to since my impromptu hiatus.
First things first! After a crazy last semester of university in which I had yet another crazy exam schedule that brought me to the brink of insanity, I have finally graduated. That's right, someone thought it was a good idea to give me a degree, bitches. Which means I have to retire my current certificate:
And replace it with my new DIPLOMA:
Yep, now I have an official piece of paper that I can shove in peoples faces to prove that I'm smart. I'll even shove the frame in their face to get the point across if it comes to that.
I did try applying to a couple of physiotherapy masters programs, but they were all NOPE. So that sucked. Maybe if I go over there and smack them in the head with my piece of paper that will convince them that they made a horrible decision. Actually, it might reinforce their decision to not let me in. Bad idea. Anyway. I'll be going to the local university back home now for the next year while I prepare my applications for chiropractic college. I was checking out the information files for the one in Toronto and there was this video and as I was watching, I was all "OH MY JEEBUS IS THAT A CADAVER?!" and then it was a cadaver and I got excited because the guy in the video holding a brain in his FREAKING HANDS. I can't wait to apply. Being a chiropractor would be bad ass. "Oh, hey Mrs Tammy Thompson! You have a sore back? Maybe a subluxation? No problem!" CRACKCRACKCRACK "All better!" Tammy Thompson would be so happy and I'd be standing there all heroic chiropractor-like with my little chiropractor cape gently blowing in the wind from a fan that I would have my receptionist hold behind me. My mission: to help all of the Tammy Thompsons and Gary Gerbers of the world. All back pain and nerve pain will cower in fear at my chiropractic powers!
Except, in reality the real enemy is the receptionist...
And that's the story of my most awesome summer ever.
...except I forgot to tell you the rest.
First things first! After a crazy last semester of university in which I had yet another crazy exam schedule that brought me to the brink of insanity, I have finally graduated. That's right, someone thought it was a good idea to give me a degree, bitches. Which means I have to retire my current certificate:
 |
| Aww yeah, platinum status, dawg |
 |
| Check moi ça! Official in English AND French. |
I did try applying to a couple of physiotherapy masters programs, but they were all NOPE. So that sucked. Maybe if I go over there and smack them in the head with my piece of paper that will convince them that they made a horrible decision. Actually, it might reinforce their decision to not let me in. Bad idea. Anyway. I'll be going to the local university back home now for the next year while I prepare my applications for chiropractic college. I was checking out the information files for the one in Toronto and there was this video and as I was watching, I was all "OH MY JEEBUS IS THAT A CADAVER?!" and then it was a cadaver and I got excited because the guy in the video holding a brain in his FREAKING HANDS. I can't wait to apply. Being a chiropractor would be bad ass. "Oh, hey Mrs Tammy Thompson! You have a sore back? Maybe a subluxation? No problem!" CRACKCRACKCRACK "All better!" Tammy Thompson would be so happy and I'd be standing there all heroic chiropractor-like with my little chiropractor cape gently blowing in the wind from a fan that I would have my receptionist hold behind me. My mission: to help all of the Tammy Thompsons and Gary Gerbers of the world. All back pain and nerve pain will cower in fear at my chiropractic powers!
 |
| BAMF |
Except, in reality the real enemy is the receptionist...
 |
| Look at her standing there behind me... that unibrow screams evil. |
And that's the story of my most awesome summer ever.
...except I forgot to tell you the rest.
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