Hot, Hot, Hot!

Unless you live under a rock, in an air conditioned bubble, in Seattle, or in the southern hemisphere, you are well aware that it is blisteringly hot out there.  And living in a city that was essentially built on top of a swamp does nothing to help this situation (oh, the humidity!).

I’ve noticed a distinct polarization in heat-complaints on Twitter and Facebook, divided up by where one resides.  The city-dwelling folk, reliant on feet and sweltering un-air conditioned city busses, are dying.  We arrive to work drenched in sweat, light-headed, and longing for the cold temperatures of winter.  On the other hand, we have the suburbanites, who choose to complain about the city people complaining about the heat.  “It’s summer… it’s SUPPOSED to be hot!” or “I don’t understand what’s so bad, just stay inside” continue to pop up across my social media streams.

Ah, the luxury.  I have a legitimate phobia of having to move to the suburbs some day, but right now, it almost sounds appealing… leaving my central-air conditioned house, walking 10 steps to my air conditioned car, driving to work in climate controlled luxury, walking 200 steps across the parking lot, and heading straight into my air conditioned office (stopping, of course, to chat about how that dash across the parking lot was a little toasty).

But instead, the reality of a city girl is walking 1.5 miles each way with a heat index of 115.  It’s so humid, my hair hasn’t fully dried since last weekend.  And central air conditioning?  Who can afford such a luxury on a graduate student stipend?  I have a window unit in my bedroom which normally does okay, but it just can’t keep up with this kind of heat – running full blast when I’m home, it’s still stuck at 86 in here, but at least that’s livable.

The living room and kitchen, however?  Last night when I returned home, the thermostat registered at 102 degrees.  Inside.  In my living room.  So, I’ve decided to do what any poor graduate student does in an unfortunate situation – come up with a way to profit from it.

I’m going to open a sweat lodge.  I hear they’re all the rage among the new-age crowd.  What’s the going rate for a weekend of spiritual cleansing at a sweat lodge?  I’ll offer a 50% discount to come hang out on my couch this weekend.  Surely a couch is more comfortable than sitting on the dirt floor?  If 102 isn’t toasty enough, I can turn on the oven, which typically gets the kitchen up to around 115, and I can feed you baked goods while you sweat all the calories right back out! 

Need a cleansing cultural experience?  Stressed about an upcoming grant submission?  Need to pray to the manuscript gods while you wait to hear back from Reviewer #3?  Book an appointment today at Sugar Scientist’s Sweat Lodge!

4th of July

Even before I moved to DC, July 4th was probably my favorite holiday. I'm not super patriotic or gung-ho American, but I am thankful to live in a country where I have so much freedom (mostly, I love summer gatherings with friends and fireworks). This is my 10th year living in DC, and yet I've only been in DC on the 4th for three of those years -- mostly thanks to weddings dragging me across the country. I am sad to report that once again I am missing out on the fun, since I am still recovering from surgery and taking a temporary hiatus from my life in DC.

I am super bummed to miss out on the tradition of gathering for food with friends beforehand and walking down to the mall 15 minutes before the fireworks start. You sure can't beat living in DC for that kind of convenience -- tourists sit out all day to claim a spot, and we sneak in right as the first firework goes off. And then, while everyone elbows their way back to the metro, we just walk right down the street, back to a friend's apartment, and pass around the tequila.

In the meantime, these pictures from last year will have to suffice since I can't make it in person this year. My secret superhero alter-ego is The Human Tripod -- I love taking fireworks and night photography, because I can hold still enough to not need a tripod. I've read so many articles stating how a tripod is necessary when photographing fireworks, but I'm pretty content with my hand-held pictures. So, what's your superhero alter-ego?

Good Luck, Lo!

If you don't already read Dissecting Jane, I highly suggest that you add it to your RSS reader of choice. Jane is incredibly sweet and caring, both on her blog and Twitter and in real life.

Jane's sister Lo will be receiving a kidney from her father on Tuesday. In honor of Lo's recent birthday, Jane asked all her friends to gift her sister with prayer and mention it on their blogs.

Lo & Jane

Religion isn't something I openly discuss, and because of my own experiences I'm never comfortable asking for others to do anything remotely related to religion. But there is nothing controversial about thinking positive healing thoughts, so I'm going to ask everyone to do that, instead.

If prayer is your thing, go for it. If it isn't, just take a second to stop and thing a good, positive, happy kidney thought for Lo and her father.

And while you're at it, think about the people who mean so much to you that you'd give them a kidney, and let them know exactly how important they are to you. After watching a segment on the news a few weeks ago, Husband and I were discussing the individuals to whom we would each give a kidney, and without hesitation we both named our own best friends (in addition to immediate family, of course). So, Mark and Shannon, if either of you ever need anything, I'd give you the shirt off of my back or the kidney out of my retroperitoneum.

Twenty Eight

On Sunday, I turned 28.

It marked the end to a very disappointing, frustrating year. I set several goals for myself for 27 -- publish a first author paper, defend my dissertation, take a weekend trip away somewhere with just Husband, sort out a few health problems -- and accomplished none of them. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

These were all very practical, obtainable goals, and my inability to complete even one of them really leaves me to write off 27 as a year of failure. It's certainly not for lack of trying, but I've never put so much effort into things and had absolutely no positive results. I'm used to working hard and reaping the rewards -- I was accepted to every college in which I was interested, was offered an interview for every graduate program to which I applied and was accepted to all except one, every lab I rotated with in graduate school wanted me to join. I've already had two investigators express interest in bringing me on as a post-doc (though of course, such offers are useless if I can't actually manage to graduate.) But this year disproved the notion that hard work equals results. I taught myself multiple new techniques and sought out the advice of collaborators to further my project to no avail. I completed the 8-month daily dosing animal study my boss said was required for my manuscript -- and now he has decided not to publish the results. Every weekend Husband had off, I was either tethered to the lab or we had family/friend obligations (we did get one fun weekend away in Austin, though it was specifically for purposes of visiting someone). We each scheduled off time and arranged to stay in his family's vacation home in South Carolina, but instead I had surgery that week, costing us enough to ensure it will be a very, very long time before we can afford to spend money on anything as frivolous as a vacation. I met with more new doctors this year than I have fingers, and yet the particular health problems I set out to resolve still remain mysteries.

On the other hand, my lack of satisfaction with my current life means that I have never been afraid of aging. I truly believe that the best is yet to come. I'm not going to make some silly declaration that next year can't possibly get any worse, because of course it can, but I think the general overall trend is that I am stuck in a ditch of suckiness, and at some point, I have to start climbing out. To me, the future doesn't mean wrinkles and grey hair (I already have lots of those, anyway) and becoming old and boring -- it means eventually living with my husband, possibly finding a career I enjoy, slowly paying off Husband's medical debt, and having both the time and financial freedom to travel.

As my birthday approached, I was inundated with the standard questions regarding how I felt about turning older. I answered each person with the same response -- that I think the best is yet to come, and I look forward to the future. With the exception of one person, everyone threw the answer back in my face.

"In 10 years, you'll long for the days of being 27 again!"

"What are you talking about? Everyone knows the 20s are the best years of your life!"

"You don't have kids yet! Getting older means having kids, and it's all downhill from there!"

"In 5 years, you'll realize how stupid you sound right now thinking the future will be better."

I chose not to share my unhappiness with individuals in my daily life because no one likes a downer, so I'm not sure if the responses would be different if they knew how truly discontent I am right now. Either way, I'm unsure why everybody feels the need to point out that things will only get worse. Just because they are unhappy with aging surely does not mean that 100% of the population feels the same way and that it MUST be the same for me.

So, in light of all the negativity regarding aging that surrounds me, I am setting only one goal for my 28th year of life: to avoid falling into the anti-aging trap by reminding myself every single day that the best is yet to come. For individuals who base their value and worth on beauty and youth, I am sure the 20s really are the highlight of their lives, but I think my life is only going to improve with time.

Flowers from my Birthday Bush -- my parents' hydrangea blooms every year the week of my birthday.

Three Years

Three years ago, at roughly 9:00pm, I was doing this:

Three years ago, at roughly 9:30pm, I was doing this:

Three years ago, at roughly 10:30pm, I was doing this:

Three years ago, at roughly midnight, I was doing this:

Tonight, at roughly 9:00pm, I was doing this:

Tonight, at roughly 9:30pm, I was doing this:

Tonight, at roughly 10:30pm, I was doing this:

Tonight, at roughly midnight, I am doing this:

My anniversary date for the evening consists of a luciferase assay, a Western blot, and 12 Excel-sheets worth of qPCR data, which seems rather appropriate, considering that I typically feel more married to the lab than to my own husband.

After three years, I am more thankful than ever to have found a spouse who manages to put up with me. While I may not be high maintenance, high stress, or demanding, my chosen career is all three and more, and I cannot imagine it is pleasant to be married to me (and my experiments, we're a package deal) most of the time. So far, our marriage hasn't quite gone as anticipated (so much for that one year long distance plan), and I am eternally thankful for a husband that acknowledges how important science is to me and has never once pressured me to give it up, even if I appear to be taking the (very) long, (extremely) windy road through graduate school.

After all, what are a few years of living apart when we plan on growing into shriveled old octogenarians together?