What Should I Call Forensic Anthropology?

If I were more inspired had more free time to waste I would make one of those Tumblr pages like the ones they have about law school, grad school, and being Mormon*, but I'd make it about forensic anthropology.  Since there aren't too many forensic anthropologists though, it probably wouldn't be stunningly popular, but here's one that I came up with today:

Coloring in my Homunculus:

*Laura Taylor, don't you dare look this one up until after you take the bar exam!

Goals

I'm taking the GRE again for two reasons:  1) I hate fun, and 2) My original scores (though quite respectable) are four years old, and some programs to which I'm applying want scores that are a little more recent.  So I'm studying again, and I'm a little more intimidated this time, as I've spent the past years surrounded by some really smart people who have made me realize that my scores were not as awesome as I thought they were*.  It's okay though, because this motivates me to really study and kick the Revised GRE's bum.

Now fun as it may be, bum-kicking is a very vague goal, so here, for all the world to witness, are my target scores for the GRE (which has been revised so that it's now scored from 130-170 instead of 200-800):

Verbal Reasoning:  165 (95th Percentile)

Quantitative Reasoning:  167 (96th Percentile)

Analytical Writing:  5.0 (92nd Percentile)**

If I don't meet these goals, I won't kill myself or anything, but I'll probably have to start dating dumber guys.

*Really, they were fine.  Maybe not NSF-GRFP fine, but good enough to get me looked at seriously by a lot of good programs.
**Because it's really, really hard for me to get inspired in only 30 minutes.

How Today Ended up Not Sucking

What?  A positive post from Little Miss Mopey Von Hatesithere?  That's right.  Today had major sucking potential, but it all got turned around.

I was supposed to go meet the head honcho of the Forensic Science Academy at the other laboratory building on Pearl Harbor at 1300 (that's 1:00 for you civilian-types) so I figured I'd walk there from where my office is on my lunch hour.  I used to walk everywhere in Provo and Boston, so no sweat, right?

Turns out, lots of sweat.  So much sweat.  It was freaking hot outside at high noon (but apparently only on one side--my arms are asymmetrically sunburned now).  To top it all off, I got lost.  The bad thing about these military bases is that everything looks the same.  There are no landmarks.  Here's an analogy for you Boston people:

Turn left at the tan building with the brown roof : Hickam :: Turn left at the Dunkin' Donuts : Boston

Yeah.  Also, it doesn't help that my sense of direction is nonfunctional on this island where everything is basically one big circle and there are extra directional terms like "Windward" and "Leeward" (still will never know which one is which).  I digress.

So Hot Alex + Running Late Alex + Lost Alex = Frustrated, angry, tearful Alex.  

Thankfully, I figured out where I was supposed to go (it turns out I had turned right when I should have turned left so there was some backtracking involved) and got there only fifteen minutes late (I called the guy and told him I was late/lost and it was fine).  I still looked (and smelled) way worse than I would ever want to look (and smell) for an appointment with a really important forensic anthropologist.  After spending two minutes at the water fountain and thirty seconds in the ladies' room wiping off my face, I sat down with the guy to talk about my assessment.   Here's where the "not sucking" happened:

What I was expecting:  "You call yourself a forensic anthropologist?  You giant fraud!  How did you even get this job!  Leave this place immediately!"

What actually happened:  "Overall, good work.  Here are a few things that you need to fix*, but I think you'll do well here."

Also, there was an impromptu quiz on fragmentary osteology.  I rocked the pants off of that impromptu quiz on fragmentary osteology.  

Sure, I still smell awful, and my right arm has attained a level of crimson lacking in my left arm, but things turned out not all that bad.  With all of these experiences that I have, I've kind of developed a new way of thinking:

"When life sucks, don't worry:  you still have forensic anthropology."

Skeleton, you are my friend.

*Like photography, which was no surprise.  I suck at taking pictures, probably because cameras that are worth more than my life intimidate the heck out of me.

Phantom

My right hand hasn't yet forgotten that it used to wear a ring.  I haven't worn a ring on my right hand for over a month, and yet my thumb keeps pawing* at where it used to be.  I wish habits, like rings, were also things that could be put away in one's jewelry box.

*Can thumbs paw?  I can't think of a better verb.

Why I Don't Hate Hawaii

I've told many people about all the reasons I hate Hawaii, and because I love unsolicited advice so effing much, people have given me a few of their own.  This is for all of those people:

I don't hate Hawaii because:

1. I have some sort of disorder.
2. I'm not "making enough of an effort" or "trying hard enough" to enjoy it.
3. I had to leave a boyfriend to come here.
4. I'm not a "normal" person.
5. I decided to hate it from the beginning and am therefore ignoring anything I do like.

Can you tell that I'm in a really crap mood right now?  I must be, to use words like "effing" and "crap" in my blog post.

Short post today, but lighting all of these bridges on fire really took it out of me.

Here I Go Again...

It's Angry Blog Post Time!  Remember my post back in May about the overwhelming amount of "Single Saints" articles on my now-former ward's website?  Go back and refresh, I'll wait.

I thought they'd died down, but then this happened:

Single Saints:  The Talk

I know, I could just stop following the page and take myself off the list, but I'm a masochist and like to see all the Boston things I'm missing while I'm in my Hawaii apartment studying for the GRE on a weekend because I have no friends in my singles' branch here.  

My online written response was a simple, "oh, good grief," but my actual response was a little bit more wordy.  This "advice" (and I use the quotes because this is advice in the most loose sense, so much so that it's not actually advice at all, come to think of it) basically assumes that all LDS Single Adults have the emotional maturity of nineteen-year-old BYU freshmen.  Ooh, and stereotypes!  Did you know that, after being rejected, all single LDS women binge-eat and watch six-hour-long Jane Austen movies?  Yes, it's true!  Gag me.

While I'd love to go on about how dumb this all is, I'll instead move on to my larger point, which is the following:  IT'S NOT THAT FREAKING BIG OF A DEAL!!!!!  All these articles and stories about the talk just reinforce this idea that dating is this huge, scary, overwhelming thing where you have the potential to  have your heart completely destroyed beyond repair, and this idea is the reason nobody dates!

I dated* a guy one time.  Do you want to know how our "talk" went?  Him:  "I really like you."  Me:  "I really like you, too."  Both of us:  "Cool, now let's proceed to the snogging**."  That was it.  Done.  You know why?  Because there were enough unspoken indicators that we were already on the same page and we weren't all "high stress" about it!  

My advice (for what it's worth):  Date people that you like.  If you like them, show them.  If you don't like people, don't date them.  Girls, don't keep saying "yes" to a guy if you don't like him, no matter how good the free meals are.  Also everyone, if you're holding hands/snuggling/snogging, at least one of you is going to get the idea that something more than friendship is brewing, so don't be slutty.  Let's get the dark, looming cloud away from dating, shall we?

*Note the past tense.  Take that, all you "Not everyone is in a relationship, you know" commenters.  Not that being in one should sway one's opinions at all.  Want proof?  Check out this post, written pre-relationship.

**Kidding...sort of.

My Actual "To-Do" List

I'm determined to stop hating Hawaii.  It's the only way I'll survive, because I've heard from more than one source that trudging through and counting weeks is not going to do any good.  So because I like making lists for everyone to read, here is my checklist for how to start tolerating this place:

• Go to the beach at least once a month.  My old roommate Chris had this poster in her room saying that the cure for everything was salt water:  sweat, tears, and the sea.  I've had enough sweat (it's hot here, okay?) and tears in the past few weeks; it's time for some sea.
• Go to the Laie Temple at least once a month.  The temple is already one of my happiest places, and having it be a beautiful temple like this one can only be happier.

And I'm not even going to make a comment on how it's not the Boston Temple!

• Climb a Banyan tree.  These are the coolest things ever and as soon as I can find a good one that's not next to where I work with a bunch of really well-paid forensic anthropologists who will judge me, Imma climb that bad boy.

This is one right outside of one of the CIL labs.  So tempting to climb it on my lunch break!

• Get brave enough to jump off the rock at Waimea Beach.  Google Image search that one if you want to see it (I don't have to do everything, you know).  It's this really big rock that kind of looks like Jabba the Hut, and people jump off of it into the ocean.  There's a high part and a low part, but if I can jump off the low part, I'll feel pretty triumphant.
• Go on ≥ 3 dates with ≤ 3 people.  This one probably won't happen for a reasonable/appropriate amount of time, but I do want to date a bit, if for nothing more than some free Hawaiian dinners.
• Buy and learn to play a ukulele.  It's the only musical instrument I can purchase here that will travel well.  And then I can finally compose the mash-up of "Mele Kalikimaka" and "Blue Christmas" I've got going in my head and play it at a Christmas party!
• Meet Daniel Dae Kim.  I know he's married and too old for me, but he's so darn attractive and he lives here somewhere!  I've never celebrity-stalked before, and I figure it's a female rite-of-passage.
• Get a little bit tan.  This is a thing that I have mixed feelings about.  On the one hand, I don't want to get skin cancer, and I don't want to alter my pale skin/dark hair/green eyes combination, which I think is one of my favorite things about my appearance.  On the other hand, I hear sunlight is a good remedy for depression and it would be sort of nice to no longer be the pastiest haole (pronounced "howlie") on this island.  So we'll see...maybe I'll tan...or just get more freckles.

So there's my list.  I think I can manage to do all of these things and still go to work, right?  At any rate, I'm turning over a new leaf (or palm frond) and maybe, just maybe, I'll learn to like it here!