Thursday, October 30, 2008

Confessions of an insecure single dude.

So this last week I finally did the deed. I bit the bullet and got a Utah State driver's license. It's something I was hoping I would never have to do, but in all reality I knew it had to happen eventually. It's kinda like when your at the park with a dog and it takes a poop right at the bottom of the slide. Sure there aren't any kids around at the moment, so you don't have to scoop it up right away, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you KNOW you can't leave that park until you do the deed and scoop the poop.

So that's what I did this week. I scooped the poop and got a Utah license. When I bought a truck this summer my insurance agent (How do you like that? I, Daniel Nelson have an insurance agent. He is very good at finding me cheap insurance. So whereas before I was paying an arm and a leg, he's managed to cut it back to just a little more than a forearm and an ankle.)

Anyway, my buddy Chris who happens to sell insurance, told me when I opened a policy here that I would need to get a Utah license sooner or later....I was hoping in after I'd moved to Colorado, built a log cabin and grown a beard long enough to put the Honor Code office into shock, and make Brigham himself jealous. That was the plan. Little did I know I'd be getting out the scooper this soon.

So as I was sitting there (at the DMV), waiting for Vern (I am only assuming his name was Vern. He seemed to be able to talk about everything and anything like he was an expert on the subject matter. Really the type of guy I always mentally pictured would hang out with Ernest P. Worrell, so I just assumed his name was Vern) to get the camera ready to take my glamor shot picture for the license, I noticed a gorgeous red head.

Red heads, as many of you know, are polar. They are either extremely attractive, or extremely...not. No middle ground on this one. Anyway, this one was gorgeous. (If by some strange coincidence, you are that red head, now reading this, I must first admit I am extremely embarrassed to be writing all this about you. Please stop now, as the rest of this will only embarrass me more. Second I must admit I should very much like to have your phone number)

So there she sat. Red hair and all. As she moved to a counter, a beautiful blonde made her way over and started chatting with the red hed. Here is where the insecure thought process all starts up. (and no, I am not prejudice against dark haired girls. They are equally attractive. One just didn't happen to be at the DMV this particular morning)

For some reason, as soon as these two started chatting, my poor little insecure mind ran wildly along, creating what MUST have been their conversation:

Gorgeous Red Head: Hey, you're good looking, just like me! We should start chatting here in line
Beautiful Blonde: Totally. And look, we're both too good for that boy over there with the white socks and highwater slacks.
Gorgeous Red Head: Like, for sure. He looks like he got his hair cut at Petco. Must have been a buy one get one free dog grooming day.
Beautiful Blonde: He he! Totally. He keeps looking over at us. What, does he think he could ever even hope to posses the level of intelect necessary to converse with us? He probably just failed his Endocrinology test at BYU last Tuesday night.
Gorgeous Red Head: Like, for sure. My rear looks totally good in these jeans right now, doesn't it?
Beautiful Blonde: Totally.
Gorgeous Red Head: I'm so glad we're friends. BFF!!
Beautiful Blonde: Totally. Let's go be friends somewhere else, where that boy will stop staring at us.

And so it goes. I am sure they were actually having a conversation about something serious like the economy, politics, or Paris Hilton's newest shnanigans, but being the ultra self conscious boy that I am, I always just figure everyone is out to judge me for the worst.

I like to think I've come a long way in maturity since the 7th grade. Like how I used to pull girl's hair when I liked them. Now I've moved on to poking them on Facebook. I used to hide my insecurities and self consciousness behind a No Fear, Mossimo, or Gecko brand T-shirt. Now I just put on spandex, very dark sunglasses and ride around on a bike. Definitely made some strides in the maturity department :)

Either way, the point is, mentally, I am still in Jr. High. Maybe that's why I am not married. Maybe that's why I can't seem to pass Endocrinology tests. Maybe that's why I stare at my feet when I am, by some unnatural force, found actually making conversation with a female. Who knows. Maybe its just a phase I'll grow out of sometime in the next 25 year segment of my life. Maybe someday I'll learn "social skills". Maybe someday I'll start communicating with real people instead of writing on a blog....who knows....who knows...

Tuesday, October 28, 2008


I have been in school for too long.
Now I understand that is a very subjective statement. I am in the middle of the first semester of my 6th year of college. A lot of guys go to college for longer. Yeah, they're called doctors. And they go for 4 years, then 4 more, then a bunch of stuff like internships and residencies where they get to call themselves doctors, don't make as much as real doctors, but probably still more than I will after almost as much school.
No, despite the apparent tone of this post, I am not bitter. And no, that last comment was not completely saturated with enough sarcasm to sink the Titanic along with Jack, Rose and the whole crew.

The point of this is that I have been her too long. I understand that many people have been here for longer. I am not trying in any way to say I've been here longer than anybody else. Just that I, for myself, have definitely worn my brain out.

Its like those stupid round rocks you used to get when you were a kid that when you smashed them together, they would spark and make funny smelling smoke. They were awesome. But like all good things, eventually they wore out. My brain is like an expired sparky ball. Worn out. It has lost its capacity to memorize enzymatic reactions, lost its ability to focus on the clinical applications of beta mercaptoethanol and why the inhibition of cAMP causes a myriad of disorders in young female rats with hypo-crap-face-ism.

I realized this today as I went up to take a test in the BYU testing center.

I used to be a chipper fellow every time I went in there. Usually quite well versed on whatever pointless material I had spent hours memorizing. I even used to get comment on my test results screen such as "Congratulations", or "Nice Work" which I am assuming now to mean "Congratulations, you are one hell of a bubble filler-inner" and "Nice work with that no. 2 pencil, good job completely erasing all your changed answers"

But now, I am just bitter. Tonight, I walked up to the counter, handed over my card and asked for my test.
"Which class would you like?" the attendant asked politely.
"PDBio 565" I answered, maybe just a tad less than politely.
"Wow, that's a really high number" the attendant commented excitedly
"Yeah, it means I've been here too long" I replied a tad less than excitedly
He then asked to see my student ID. I showed it to him.
"Wow, this thing is really old" He said grinning
"Yeah, your mom is really old" I said, now very much grinning.

Ok, so I didn't comment on the poor fellow's mother's age, but I was tempted. After getting my test I snuck back to my usual seat in the far back and began filling in bubbles. Sometimes I would read part of the question before filling in a bubble, just so I could get a feel for just what exactly I was being tested on, but most of the time I just went with what felt right.

After the test, I started my walk back to my office. I was feeling pretty angry for being so stupid. Don't get me wrong, I don't think all stupid people should walk around angry, just the ones who used to be smart, but now are stupid. The ones who have always been stupid have no right to be angry about it.

Anyway, I am done ranting now. I'll try to post something funny sometime. I am a lot better at being funny than describing enzymatic reactions in the posterior adrenal cortex in ACTH deficient patients. Or at least hope so. Cause, man, I suck at the latter.