vendredi 30 septembre 2005

I hate meeting new people.

An unlikely pairing - plastic ice cube flamingos and glass fish.

Really, I do, which is funny because any of my friends would say that I'm one of the more social people they know. And being social chair, or on a social committee, for the last 5 years of whatever organisation at which I was would also belie the fact that I don't like meeting new people. But I don't. Really. Hence, why orientations are absolutely wretched places for me.

And this Wednesday was orientation for school. Hopefully, it will also be the last orientation I will ever have to attend for school, unless I completely lose it and, I dunno, decide.. what? To get another masters? Right. I think then, my parents will really kill me.

I am very bad at attending orientations. My college orientation was nearly a week long full of Fun! Bonding! Activities! And! Panels! And! Other! Crap! After the first day and a half, I was bored silly, skipped most of the rest of the planned events (at least I didn't get drunk during the alcoholism talk as some of my friends did), and hightailed it up to Boston to visit friends there.

For medical school, it was similarly boring although only half a week long . Besides, I already knew the majority of my fellow students, as we all went to undergrad together, so I left as soon as I could to visit my then-bf down in Charlottesville, because tanning by the pool at his apartment complex was far more interesting than listening to.. well, whatever they were talking about. How to be good doctors? Whatever. It's not something that can be taught or lectured about in the hopes of transferring good doctor skills.

Last year, I went to an entire day of orientation (although I skipped half of the convocation talk because - um, bored - although I was able to play on the internet with my palm pilot during the talk) and drove down to NY for the rest of orientation because hrm, well, seeing the guy I was sort of dating then was obviously far more interesting than meeting new people, even if he did live in a stupid dorm room (complete with twin long bed, which was a tight squeeze given that he was 6'2) at a stupid school (what is funny is that I can't remember his real name now because I decided to call him by a different name [because I was convinced that he looked like that name, Charlie, rather than whatever his real name was], which he went along with. But now I don't remember his real name. I'm sure I wrote it down somewhere).

This year - well, orientation was only a day long, so there was no opportunity for me to jet off to another city (breaking the nice pattern I'd established). I did, however, catch up on all my snail mail during convocation, and played on my palm pilot a lot. That was fun.

And I know that you're all wondering about classes. Turns out that you can go to professors, explain your dilemna (or simply say, "I am a doctoral student and I would like to take your class"), and they give you this handy little number that overrides formerly "closed" classes. It is great! And in other fantastic news, I get to waive my ass out of two beginning stats courses. This, of course, means that I have to replace them with more advanced courses. But that latent overachiever in me loves it.