Now, if you ever want to test the strength of our friendship, ask me to drive to southeast Hell Orange County to see you, pause, and observe my response.
You see, I HATE driving to Orange County. For those who are familiar with Los Angeles, I generally prefer to stay south of the Hollywood Hills, north of the airport and west of downtown. For Angelenos, this is probably the equivalent of people who refuse to leave Manhattan; yeah, I’m one of those.
Everything in LA that is convenient is within that particular box. However, I will occassionally invest 30 minutes into a trek to Long Beach, the Valley, Pasadena or the South Bay area, but Orange County is generally out of the question.
THE BALL GAME
My mentee, a junior bio/pre-med major at UCLA (that I am VERY proud of!) is a huge baseball fan. Me? Not so much, but I love hot dogs, beer and baseball caps so hey, same difference.
When I DO get into baseball, however, I prefer good ‘ole rustic Dodger Stadium. Yeah, it’s kinda old and the fans can be ghetto (basically Raiders fans with different jerseys on), but it totally fits the whole hot dog and beer motif. Besides, being located only a few hundred yards north of downtown basically qualifies it for my Hollywood Hills/downtown/airport radius and, therefore, acceptable to drive to.
The problem is that my mentee is an Anaheim native and loves the Angels. LOVES them. I had promised a summertime baseball game after we had a great time watching the Lakers barely escape the Clippers back in January.
At the beginning of the season I thought I’d be slick and buy us some Dodger vs. Angels tickets in Dodger Stadium. Yet, thanks to that damn UCLA quarter system, each time this arrangement was happening, my mentee either had mid terms or final exams. And the most recent series was in the heat of my final study days before the GMAT.
So with all such opportunities past–and the fact that he is now on summer break and interning in Ahaheim, I had no choice but to suck up the 55 minute trek to the far edge of the earth called Orange County. At any rate, the hot dogs were good, the Stella was ice cold, and we had a blast almost winning (the Orioles won 3-2) and catching up.
THE BACHELOR PARTY
So not one, but TWO people in my life tested the strength of our relationship by requesting me to drive to the OC for them this weekend. Luckily for them, I value both friendships greatly.
After standing still in parking lot traffic for 45 excruciating minutes (I’m not the most patient person), I left Angel Stadium and headed another 15-20 minutes east (further and further off the edge of the earth!) to Anaheim Hills. My line brother was getting married and I was about to join the caravan to his bachelor party.
I was pretty excited because it was the first time that my entire line (pledge class, basically) would all be together in one place in about two years. One of us is a bit more than half way through a Ph.D. in engineering out of state.
Since no one was willing to be a designated driver for this momentous occasion, we cabbed it over to the “establishment”. Of course, since we were in the most podunk far eastern reaches of Orange County, the cab took 25 minutes just to come pick us up.
As a line, we spent a good deal of money trying to make sure our brother had a good time; but alas, he just *happens* to hold a very high ranking position with in the finance department of the *COUGH* Larry Flynt organization (HUSTLER–lucky guy). Needless to say, he was only mildly impressed with our efforts at pre-martial debauchery. I’m sure it was quite pedestrian compared to what he’s used to seeing at *COUGH* work.
Oh, and then there’s that “other” reason he probably wasn’t so impressed. He also just *happened* to be getting married to one of the most beautiful women this side of Saturn the next day as well (imagine a Miss Universe pageant–lucky again!). I swear that 80% of the guys who bothered to show up to this wedding did so just to see if she had a single sister (or cousins…or an auntie…or….) that might possibly come close.
After a day and a half of non-stop celebration, eating, drinking and salsa (the bride is from Nicaragua), I drove back to civilization fairly beat down and in a daze. I kept to myself the next day and pretty much stayed in the house recuperating except for my gym workout (a return to the gym at long last, post GMAT). I also spent a few hours writing and researching until I had cooked up a half decent working draft of Wharton essay #2, which makes the current tally for working drafts as follows:
1) Stanford essay #2 (a refugee from a failed attempt at a Stanford essay run; this one survived the fire squad)
2) Wharton essay #1
3) Wharton essay #2
Today I experienced of deja vu: a message from the Berkeley Haas office of admissions. It was an invitation to a local info session for prospective students.
If you’ve been following my blog then you are probably well aware of the infamous Berkeley incident that went down last spring as I was just starting this journey. I was basically denied admission to a Haas info session because it became booked within just a few hours of being announced.
This time, however, I was prepared. This time, I had an iPhone. I was able to register for the event–FINALLY. Even though it happened on a Monday afternoon, it put a nice exclamation point on a fun-filled, yet moderately productive weekend.
This evening I plan to put some time into coming up with the 1st rough, rough draft of my 3rd and final Wharton essay—AFTER catching up with the most recent episode of True Blood. I got a burst of inspiration at work today and am anxious to put pen to paper (so to speak) to bring my ideas to life.
Well–back to work! ttys.
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