Jean Grey is reborn as...

This is Phoenix. She's my new ride.

This is Dexter. He was my old ride. As you know.

Truth be told, though it kind of feels like I'm cheating on Dexter, I think I like Phoenix better. I thought I'd be fine with an automatic transmission, considering how absolutely adamant I was about not learning to drive a manual until I was in my 20s, but manuals are SO much fun to drive. Additionally, my go to car for a very long time was a 2001 Hyundai Accent that survived until my third year of medical school, though I didn't use it for any of my med school time. And it was a manual, and Phoenix is also a Hyundai Accent, albeit a 2010 model with more features, but the response is exactly like my old car only a little punchier. Also, lights and trunk latches and such.

But Dexter was my first. First new car ever, first financing ever, first total loss/gap insurance payoff.

Let me tell you, if you ever finance a car, get frigging gap insurance. I would have been paying a thousand extra dollars on a car I no longer own because a hoodrat burned it down.

Right, the fire... so... new update. Yes, it was in fact arson. Said arson was committed by a 14 year old boy who was attempting to fight the squatters next door for some giant I-don't-give-a-f*** reason, and when they didn't emerge (because they weren't there), he set their house on fire very deliberately, which subsequently spread to everything else.

As a doctor, I feel like I should understand environmental pressures, along with conduct disorder and other things that create this sort of... child. I know the inevitable progression to Antisocial Personality Disorder in adulthood and all sorts of organic biological nonsense. I get it.

Problem being? I don't care. I lack empathy for the unempathetic. Does that make sense? If you are schizophrenic, and the voices tell you that the girl on the subway is the devil threatening humanity and you murder her to save humanity, you certainly need to be locked up and heavily medicated, but to some extent, I understand that you meant well and you have a demonstrable chemical imbalance that is both putting crazy things into your head WHILE giving you a bonus lack of insight into your own condition. It isn't who you are, and before the disease took you in your teens or twenties, you had a whole other person you were before your dopamine levels went tits up. Got it. And I sympathize. I don't want to be on the subway with you, but I sympathize.

The axis II stuff, the personality disorders, it's harder. The person's bastardry is a part of who they are. When you take the schizophrenia away from a schizophrenic, they're a normal person. When you take the antisocial personality disorder away from a person, you're removing a key part of who they are, which is a jerk. When I did my psych rotation, I could deal with crackheads, gang members, and bipolarity but the antisocial personality disorder people were just GARGGGHHH. And the attempts to manipulate into their own worldview, double GARGGGHHH. I can't take it, and for some reason, the same function that allows me to forgive other behavior just doesn't extend to people who are incapable of being able to have a basic sense of empathy.

So I became a pathologist instead of a psychiatrist, because it's very difficult to treat your patients if you hate them.

The hearing was today. My colleagues, who have already been wonderful, made sure I was covered so I could go. I got a call on Friday from first the fire chief, and then the SC equivalent to the DA that started with "We have you listed as the owner of one of the cars that was damaged?" And I was like "Um... that's kind of an understatement", so I told her our side, and she emphasized that she wanted to see us at the hearing, and I forwarded her all the pictures I took of our home and Dexter, which seemed to make her happy. I thought it was just going to be my roommates and I but there were at least 15 victims of this nonsense, including our landlord, who at the end of all this was like "Oh, I owe you guys your security deposits", which was nice.

We can't name names, obviously. A juvenile hearing is a bit like a bail hearing, except no money in kiddie cases, so it's whether he can be under "house arrest" with his parents (no) or stay in juvie (yes). The fact that this was a possibility made me choke on my coffee, but turns out I should have had a little more faith in the state, because even his lawyer didn't put up any kind of a fight to get him out. I never saw him though; he waived his right to be at his hearing, but his parents were there, and refused to look at any of us. He's likely going to be locked up until the trial, and I'm guessing he's not going anywhere after that. The prosecution passed some of my pictures up to the judge.

I feel an odd sense of closure. I'm not sure whether I should blame general perceptions of the government on the media with the idea that if you're under 18, you can torch half a block and go home to your xbox, but I was actually impressed and feel like justice will be served and all without my having to put on Christian Bale's growly voice and patrol the streets. Which is good, because I can't fight for crap.

Friday was a really bad day for me. It started waking up from a nightmare, as many of the nights this last week have, and then I got lost on my new way to work, causing me to be 15 minutes late to lecture despite leaving well in time, had a bunch of stuff go down on complicated cases at work, and then my insurance company called to say my settlement would be minus a thousand dollars and my rental car was up on Wednesday. This was also the day I learned that the fire was arson. Honestly, before that I felt strangely fine. Nightmare ridden and dyspeptic, since doctors are the kings and queens of somatization, but fine. Friday, the combination of the end of the comfort zone of driving around in a rented Chevy Impala and the new information that this was a motivated attack gave me a full dose of rage-a-hol, which was hard to try to keep under wraps, especially with everyone at the hospital being so wonderful.

And it's gotta be confusing to them.
Day 1: Hey colleague! Funny story, my house burned down, still need a roommate?
Day 2: Thanks for the pick up from the airport! Red wine and Incredible Hulk? Hooray! Look at this awesome bed!
Day 3: Wow, coworkers, this support is amazing! How am I doing? Fine. Nope, haven't seen the house.
Day 4: Yup, saw the house. Nah, figured from the pictures nothing was left anyway. I got a computer and can watch Dexter again!
Day 5-6: Springing Dexter from the junkyard! Wow, look how damaged he is!
Day 7-9: Doop doop, surge path, hmm, not so bad! I'm having fun! I feel like I'm getting it this time around!
Day 10: (*&(*&)(*&@(*&(*!! ******* BURNED MY HOUSE DOWN RAWRRRRRRRR

Friday night, I saw female former-roommate for the first time since the fire, and we drank margaritas and her boyfriend gave me the third season of Arrested Development, because he's awesome at gift-giving and likes to demonstrate it. Seeing them helped a lot. Saturday, I decided to turn my misanthropic bend to the positive of using it to intimidate car dealers since the Wednesday of rental car expiration is not a good day to car shop, nor is it ever a good idea to do your shopping on a day that you're desperate.

So I went to a few dealerships, and test drove a few cars. The dealership where I bought Phoenix had a 2009 Nissan Versa with a hatchback and a stick shift, which was kind of my final opportunity to revitalize Dexter and remake him in an image I actually initially wanted, but were too expensive and not available, respectively. It was even black. But the response was a little sluggish and no features, including no auxillary jack, which is a dumb thing that is critically important to me since five minutes without my iphone causes me to cry uncontrollably and chew my elbows.

I had finally settled on Phoenix as "a car I like and I'm tired of dealerships", which had a price on the window that was hilarious, particularly since someone mentioned in front of me having trouble moving it off the lot because no one wants manual transmission anymore. Dealer fail 101. States he "might be able to come down a little on it".

I'm usually a people pleaser. I don't to offend people or have them be mad at me, which to people selling anything, puts me in a sort of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo position (how's that for graphic imagery?). Fortunately, Friday left me in a state of pissed-offery and the fire taught me to spurn strong attachments to any material item, PLUS I hate shopping and was being forced to do this again, so I rode into Saturday with a rampaging chip on my shoulder. Which is a plus if you're buying a car. Which seemed to carry across, such that he was like "So, you're not from Charleston?" since Charleston is billed as a polite city. I pulled the Brooklyn card, neglecting to mention that I lived in high-gentrification Brooklyn for two years and moved there when I was 29 so it gives me absolutely no objective excuse to be an asshole. I can even fake the accent. I can also fake a Caribbean accent, but it's harder to sell people on. And it's not like my home state of California is known for having manners.

I also don't think I was a lot of fun for them. They kept doing that "Excited about getting a new car???" thing, and I was like "Not really."

I also fortunately have the Kelley Blue Book application on my phone. So I'm idly tapping away on it while he's talking (HIGHLY RUDE) about the car's features. Because I'm entering them one by one. So he finishes, and I turn the phone around and slide it over to him because its "excellent" condition for the same car with the same mileage is 1500 dollars less.

I frigging love technology.

Ishie 2.5, the Reboot

Wow, where to even start.

I've been smiling a lot lately. That's been out for a while.

So essentially, as you've no doubt been guessing, the first month of residency was okay, the next two months systematically broke me, and now, I'm building myself back up with a great deal of help from starting a blood bank rotation, aka, "Now you can rest and learn about what you've been doing for the last three months".

The last week of surg path was actually pretty good for me. The surgeons gave me a break, PLUS I finally started to feel a little more confident in my skill level which spelled not getting home at midnight which spelled not getting snarked at by the fellow which spelled being able to get to lectures in the morning which spelled not sobbing uncontrollably into a pancreas.

As part of the whole "I'm not going to be that person anymore" thing, I chopped all my hair off, gave it to Locks of Love, and told the stylist to do whatever she wanted with it so long as it was short and some variety of red, so my 'do looks a bit more like Ed in my profile picture, which I kinda love. My hair's never been this short before, and never this successfully red, since I tried to dye it myself in high school with clairol and it ended badly.

But the big news: I GOT A CAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can't even properly express how big this is to me. I haven't owned any type of car in over two years, and I haven't had regular access to one in over four years. I've had rentals and Zipcars and etc, but never MY CAR which I can do whatever I want to with, with the loan in *my* name. And it's a new car, which I've also never had before, since some variety of witchcraft and the economy has led to used cars holding their value to an insane extent and the financing is better on a new car.

And he's so pretty. I named him Dexter because it sprang to me and it fit, so now he's Dexter forever. He has automatic *nothing*. I was so desperately afraid of getting taken advantage of and snake oiled, since I have *literally* never done this before that I went in with a paper full of Kelley Blue Book values and was like "NO. No power windows. No power locks. No trunk light. You're lucky I'm caving on not having manual transmission. I know the base price of this vehicle and I'm sticking to it" To his credit, the salesman was like "O..kay." When the maintenance guy went through the orientation with me, he kept checking his list going "Uh... well the cruise cont... no.. Um... so... this is how you turn on the air conditioner."

Which was the only feature I care about. Charleston is hot 6 months of the year and excruciatingly hot for another 3 months.

I still bike to the hospital, because it's genuinely faster, but ARGH SO GREAT. I hadn't realized how much I had completely adapted my life to be carless, and how much I would absolutely adore going back to a vehicle life. Example... I can use shopping carts again. I haven't had much of a use for them when people haven't been bussing me around because whatever I can carry in the store is what I need to either shove into a backpack or load up my arms with. Most of the food I've purchased in the last three months has been cylindrical because it fits well in my bag. "Hmm... I'd get this head of lettuce, but that's going to get crushed. More olives, cookie dough and wine. Perfectly shaped."

And I love Trader Joe's and Whole Foods because I'm gradually turning into a hipster f-tard, and in Charleston, they're inexplicably next to each other and now I can fill up my car with fancy schmancy stuff from them and stock the essentials from Costco, on the same trip, without holding someone up for an hour to watch me shop. And as much as I loved those stores, it was totally out of my biking range here, and in New York, anything obtained by them had to be carted home with upper body strength. Even in Grenada, my grocery abilities were limited by how much stuff I could haul onto a bus during a rainstorm.

Can you tell I'm excited? Also on the exciting scale, I got doctor treatment at the car lot, which I didn't even know was a thing since the "Catch me if you Can" days. Usually it seems to be more the assumption that I have way more money than I do with a general thought that my salary (heh) is what's wrong with health care today. My credit got pushed through without a lecture on not spending four years running up revolving debt AND installment debt, and I got a lower interest rate than any average I looked up, and as I tried to look tough in my little blue dress while pretending I know how cars work, the guy was like "Oh... credit check for DR. Sancho. You're a full MD right?" "Uh... yes?" and then boom.

I keep driving across the big bridge in Charleston just because I can now.

Okay, that's it for now. So long story short. Life. Not sucking. Stay tuned.

Adjusting to life outside the hospital...

Wow, it's so bright out here in the light of day... no hospital; no digging my ID card out frantically as I race up the escalators with the 15 second window I've given myself, it's like... it's like a new world.

Either that, or this winter is ending, which is spectacular, because I was beginning to think that I was going to end up on The Road with Viggo Mortensen and he is way better at rocking the hobo beard than I am. Plus I'm worried I'd go cannibal too fast.

Oh to all of you happy clickers, thank you!!! You all are the best.

My future adopted city is sending me enough literature on it to make me think they're going to elect me mayor. I'm also getting a lot of correspondence from real estate agents who seem to be drastically more optimistic about my credit score than I am. I just need a car. Perhaps one I can live in.

I'm also in a car vs motorcycle debate with myself.

Car: Pro: It has a roof. Palmetto bugs can't fly into my face. I can take stuff home from the grocery store in it. Cons: Expensive. Gas sucks.
Motorcycle: Pros: 75 miles per frigging gallon! Are you kidding me??? Looks badass. Easy to park. Cons: No carrying capacity. Will probably smear me across the pavement like an oddly shaped butter knife.
Our runner up, Vespa: Pros: Hipster street cred. Seems safer even though there's no reason it objectively would be. Cons: Still expensive, can't take on freeway, more embarrassing death.
6 speed BMW wagon: Pros: have you been in this thing? It's like being in the space shuttle. And it keeps your butt warm. Cons: Selling both my kidneys wouldn't cover a down payment on this thing. Plus I'd need dialysis.

I'm feeling my NYC countdown more and more. There's so much stuff to do here that it's just reminding me of all the stuff I missed. Broadway show is on the list, though to be fair, I've tried that one, but can't score a ticket for under 70 bucks. Sigh. Groupons are directing me, so I'm getting a bit more bang for my buck, and my mom seems to have read my Christmas List from... forever, and got me a groupon to Evolution. This is a store filled with articulated rat skeletons and 5000 dollar dead peacocks. If there were a food court with a dosa guy and some Butter Lane cupcakes, it would just be called the Ishie Emporium.

Incidentally, some of those skeletons cost as much as my desired car (I'm actually thinking of seeing if I can score an Elantra. Thoughts?). How much does an attending make? I want something practical to shoot for, like a chimpanzee skeleton. The secret to success is setting realistic goals, so I think I'm improving.

Sometime, between working, geeking out over deceased fauna, and grouponing my way through Manhattan, I managed to attend my first baby shower. It probably says something about my friends that I was 30 before this milestone. It also highlighted how immature I am, because it's still strange that one of my friends is having a baby. That's like... something grownups do. I was going to pair my first baby shower with my first surfing excursion (bad Californian! Bad!) but couldn't squeeze my NYC pizza butt into the thick wetsuit, so I'm going to have to learn to surf out the Jersey Shore on another day.