Organic Chemistry Is Hard (In All The Right Places)

I have a v. dirty dark secret: I love organic chemistry.

Yeah. I said it.

I. love. organic chemistry. o-chem. orgo. that class that everyone complains endlessly about. the course that turns pre-meds into anthropology majors. yes. that one. can't get enough. If I had my way, I'd draw resonance structures all day every day. and night. all night. no sleep. just resonance.

If I ruled the world (and for some reason the MCAT inexplicably continued to exist), the Bio section on the MCAT would be 75% orgo and 25% bio. You know why?

Because organic chemistry is sexy. 

see what I did there?

From day one I  knew that I was going to fall head-over-heels for organic chemistry; my genius of a professor began the first class by loftily throwing his scarf across the podium and announcing "no need to fear--in organic chemistry all we have to do is learn the choreography of the electrons' dance." My first thoughts were:

1. I love you.

2. You are so gay.

Over the period of the semester I was proven correct on both accounts--little did I know that the electron's dance involved a pole--and I derived infinite pleasure when the professor spent a substantial amount of time repeating the phrase "backside attack" while describing SN2 reactions.

didn't even see it coming

The point is, organic chemistry is by far the sexiest subject on the MCAT, and it's not just because the Kaplan Review book references "Hey Ya!" while describing immiscible solvents ("shaken like a polaroid picture"). It's because:

1. To the uninitiated eye, oxygen-containing compounds look like little people. Specifically, little people getting it on.

 if only I had the foresight to create this poster instead of this blog

2. Like a pair of lovers, organic chemistry uses a secret language. Except instead of "pumpkin," we call each other. . .

is that extensive nomenclature or are you just happy to see me

3. There's alcohol. Everywhere. 

I blame it on you

 4. All it takes is a little heat. . .

. . .to double in size

5. Or a cold finger. 

. . .to make her sublime

Like you may have predicted: this blog was a quickie. 

In conclusion--and only tangentially related--if you have to take the MCAT, at least you can take it while Marie Curie glares from your nether regions.

 

hey girl hey